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The Calhoun Times. Volume I. The CALHOUN TIMES. RAILROAD 6TREET. OFFICE OVE* “ Terms of Subscription. : : $2.00 On* T ear i \ ; . 1.25 gix Months : • * * Itatcs of Advertising. 1 yeajv : I'&Ttju &M)0 ijUo.OO $25.00 Two „ 8(1) 12.00 25.00 40.00 Four , ioH) 18 00 35.00 45.00 18 00 30.00 50.00 75.00 I <« 30.00 50.00 75.00 1 40.00 arc pajaW® strictly in a n re- and at the expiration of the time ft Which payment is made, unless pre riousU renewed, the name of the subscnber will be stricken from our books For each square of ten lines or less, for the frit insertion, sl, and for each subsequent insertion, fifty cents. Ten lines of -olid nrovier or its equivalent in space, make a Advertisements under the hCBU 01 Notices,” twenty cents per line for first in sertion, and ten cents each sebsequent inser tion. All communications on matters of public iuterest will meet with prompt attention, and eoncise letters on general subjects aie re spectfully solicited from ull parts of the eounfry. RAILR< >ai>s. Western & Atlantic. night passenger TRAIN—OUTWARD. Lstva Atlanta **.45 p. m. Arrive at Calhoun 11-21 a. m. Arrive at Chattanooga 2 45 a. m. DAT PASSENGER THAIN— OUTWARD. Leave Atlanta 8.15 A. m Arrive at Calhoun 1-2 P* “• Arrive! at Chattanooga 5.30 P. M. ACCOMOD TION TRAIN—OUTWARD. Leave Atlanta 530 P. a. Arrive at Dalton 3.80 P. a. night passenger train—inward. Leave Chattanooga 7.50 P. a. Arrive at Calhoun.,.. 11.21 p. a. Arrive at Atlanta 4 00 a. m. h DAT [PASSENGER TRAIN—INWARD. Leave Chailanoo/a s -30 A. a. Arrive at Calhoun 244 a. u Arrive at Atlanta 3.00 P. a. accomodation train - inward. Leave Dalton 200 p u Arrive et Atlanta .... 11.00 a. m. PROFESSIONAL CARDS. _ W. S. JOHNSON, Attorney At Loav, CA LIIO UN, , GE OR GTA. Hgr Office in Southeast corner of the llourt House. Aug 11 1 If I. C. FAIN. JOS. M’CONNELL. fain and McConnell, yVttovne.ys at Law, CALHOUN, GEORGIA. mr Ollice in the Court House. Aug 11 1 ts R. M. TARVER, Attornoyat Law, CAUIOUN, GEORGIA. tsjT Office in the Court House. Aug 11 1 ts W. j 7 CANTRELL, Attorney At Law. Calhoun, Georgia. WILL Practice in the Cherokee Circuit, in U. S. District Court, Northern Dis triet of Georgia, (at Atlanta); and in the Su preme Court of the State of Georgia. E. «T. KIKEH , Attorney at Law, CAIJIOUN, GEORGIA. [ Office at the. Old Stand of Cantrell if Kiker. J ITTILL practice in all the Courts of the TT Cherokee Circuit; Supreme Court of Georgia, and the United States District Court *t Atlanta, Ga. augl9’7oly RUFE WALDO THORNTON, DENTIST, Calhoun, - - - G, o.igia. THANKFUL for *onner patronage, solicits a continuance j* the same. Office orer Boaz. Barrett & Co's. sepls DR. D .C. HUNT, Physician and Druggist, CAUIOVN, GA. New Management! CALHODNHOTEL E. R. SASSEEJt, [ Formerly of Atlanta, Ga.] RESPECTFULLY announces to the travel ling public, that he has refurnished and iefitted the above hotel, and is now ready to accommodate all who may stop with him. hates moderate; and table furnished with the best the market affords. Calhoun, Ga., August 19th, 1870—ts jTdTtixsley. WATCH-MAKER AN!) JEWELER, ' ALIIOUX, : : : : GEORGIA. o A Lb styles of Clocks, Watches and Jewelry “A neatly repaired and warranted. augl9'7otf CALHOUN SALE AND LIVERY STABLE! u. R. BOAZ, |\ ' FINE STOCK, ami Vehicles to correspond, and is at all times pre pared to furnish any kind of at S on veyanco, LIP* 1 ' 0 " Rates FOR CASH, tern r bought and Bold on reasonable ■ul 1 ,ts ROME ADVERTISEMENTS. “Home Again..” J. C. RAWLINS, Prop’r. CHOICE HOTEL BROAD ST., ROME, GA. Passengers taken to and from the Depot Free of Charge ocU> 70tf TENNESSEE HOUSE, ROME, GEORGIA, j. A. STANSBURY, Proprietor. rpHK above Hole is heated within Twenty J S'e:-s o' th. Kaiiroad Platform Baggy® handled ft** »t Charge. ° tG ,U f i'itu'er. henry h. smith! PITNER & SMITH, Wholesale and Retail Grocers & Commission Merchants mmm - VU ,IRX -’ IRH "GEORGIA. octfi,lß7o-ly colcloughT HARKINS & GLOVER, Homo, G-a., CALL the attention of dealers to the fact that they have just received the largest stock of Dry Goods, Boots, Shoes, &c., ever offered in the Cherokee country, and can furnish them at exactly New York prices. Call and be convinced. sept 22 70-ly Bones, Brown & Cos., I J. &. S. Bones & Cos., Augusta, Ga. Home, Ga. Established 1825. J Established 1809. J. &S. BONES & CO. ROME, CjtA. IMPORTERS AND Wholesale Dealers IN HARDWARE, CUTLERY, QUfIS, sc, WILL offer for sale, the coming season : 350 Tons Swedes Iron, 75 Tons “Jenka” Plow Steel, A LARGE LOT OF Imported Cutlery and Files, Together with a full assortment of GEN ERAL HARDWARE. WE are Agents for It. IIOE & CO'S. Pat ent Inserted Tooth Circular Saws; Machine Belting, Orange Rifle Powder, and Rome Iron Manufacturing Co’s. Merchant Bar Iron and Nails. All of above to compete with any House South. nov!7’7o-4m ~W. T. ARCHER," Wholesale and Retail Dealer in Mattresses, Looking-Glasses,&c. All of which lam offering at extremely low p "ices. 82 Whitehall st., : ATLANTA, GA. novl7’7o-3m J. H. CAVAN, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALER IN Fine Wines, Liquors & Cigars, No. 11 Granite Bloch, Broad Street, - ATLANTA, GA. AGENT FOR THE SALE Or THE Celebrated Cincinnati LAGER BEERand ALE sept 29 For the State of Georgia. 3m GT H. & A. W. FORCE, SIGN OF THE BIG IRON BOOT, Whitehall Street, : : : Atlanta, Ga. BOOTS. Shoes and Trunks, a complete Stock and new Goods arriving daily! Gents’ Boo*s and Shoes, of the best makes. Ladies’ Shoes of a'l kinds. Boys, Misses and Children’s Shoes of every grade and make. wr We are prepared to offer inducements to Wholesale Trade. sept 2 ,’7O-1 v BETTERf ON7FORD & Cos., WHOLESALE DEALERS IN 1111 IMS. U lllSkllX Wines, Tobaccos, Cigars, &c., NO. 209. MARKET ST., No. 209. CHATTANOOGA, TKNX. 0ct13,1870-ly (.ESTABLISHED IN 1855.) J.O.MATHEWSON. PRODUCE COMMISSION MERCHANT AUG UJSTA, GEORGIA. sept 22 1870 ly Established in 1850. T. R. RIPLEY, Removed to Peachtree Street, ATLANTA, GEOBGIA. Wholesale Dealer in CROCKERY & GLASSWARES, WILL duplicate any Bills bought in any Market, to the amount of One Hun dred Dollars, and upwards, adding Freight. P. S. All Goods guaranteed as represented from khia Ileus* Aug 19 It CALHOUN, GA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 19,1871. rok r r it v . ROWING AGAINST THE TII>E. It is easy to glide when it ripples, Adown the stream of time, To flow with the course of the river, Like music to some old rhyme. But oh! it takes courage and patience Against the current to ride, And we must have strength from Heaven When rowing against the tide. We may float on the river's surface, While our oars scarce touch the stream, And visions of early glory On our dazzled sight may gleam; We forget that on before us The dashing torrents roar, And while we are idly dreaming, Its waters will carry us o’er. T> u tfew—ah! would they were many— And mind neither toil nor strife; Though weary and faint with labor, Singing, triumphant they ride, For Christ is the hero’s captain, When rowing against the tide. For on through the hazy distance, Like mist on the distant shore, They see the Avails of the city, With its banners floating o’er— Seen through a glass so darkly, They almost mistake their way, But faitli throws light on their labor, When darkness shuts out their day. And shall we be one of that number Who mind not toil nor pain ? Shall we mourn our earthly losses When wc have a crown to gain ? Or shall we glide on with the river, With death at the end of our ride, While our brother, with Heaven before him, Is roAving against the tide? jJSaT’ A party of young men were din ing during Christmas at a public bouse, and among sundry dishes served up for the occasion, was a chicken roasted. One of the gentlemen present made an attempt to carve it, when he stopped suddenly and called for the landlord, who was in another part of the room. “Landlord,” said he, “you might have made a great deal more money with this chicken than by serving it up in this way.” “How so?” asked the landlord, star ing. “Why, in taking it round the country to exhibit it.” “Exhibit a chicken ! Who would give anything to see a chicken?” said mine host, getting a little riled. “Why everybody would have paid to see this one, for you might have in formed them. I have no doubt, with truth: that this is the same rooster that crowed when Peter denied his Master.” t A good story is told of an eccen tric old gentleman, who was Post Mas ter in Providence, Rhode Island. A wag, who thought he would play off some trick upon him, went to his house some time in the night, after rapping loudly for some time, the old man came to the window,and exclaimed: “What do you want?” whereupon the wag replied very coolly: “Nothing—only I have put a letter in your box —you will know where it is to go by the directions on it!” It is needless to add that the old man retired in a rage. A lad, a day or two since, was called to the witness stand in the Com mon Pleas Court, whose tender years raised doubts as to his competency as a witness by not understanding the nature and obligations of an oath. The first question put was, “Are you a son of the plaintiff ?” The little fellow, crossing his legs, and putting about half a paper of tobacco in his mouth, with the utmost sang froid, replied— “ Well, it’s so reported.” He testi fied. It is an old story, but a good one, that tells of a very negligent man who was going away on a visit to some friends. His wife extorted from him a solemn promise that he would abandon his usu al custom, and put on a clean shirt eve ry day. So she packed a dozen in his trunk. When he came home again,his wife was glad to perceive he had grown more fleshy ; but she was alarmed when, on examining his trunk, she discovered there was not a shirt in it. He had kept his promise to mount a clean one every day, but he always put it on over the others, and now he was sporting around with a whole dozen on his back ! Some men will never let women have their way. £@ n ‘ Dissenting jurymen in Indiana are sometimes reasoned with by their colleagues in a singularly forcible man ner, The arguments used in a recent ease at Evansville were so strongly put that the puzzled minority man felt com pelled to ask elucidations from the judge. Addressing that functionary, he said : Ts I believe that tlrt: evidence was one way, and the other eleven believe differ ent, does that justify any other juryman in knocking me down with a chair?” The judge answered in general terms. A Cincinnati girl sued a shoemaker because she couldn’t get inside of a pair of shoes he made for her. He set up a plea that leather was scarce, and charged that she could have got them on easy enough if she had washed her feet. A merchant advertising an assort ment of goods for sale, gives notice that he will take in payment all kinds of country produce, except promises. miscellany - Escaped from Justice. It was a bitter night in January a niuht when homeless wanderers on the i moors mio-bt have sunk down and frozen to death, and the very marrow seemed to congeal in one’s bones. “There’s one advantage in steam.” growled a fat old gentleman in the cor ner seat; “ wind and weather don’t affect it. No flesh and blood horse could stand a night like this, but the iron horse keeps straight ahead, whether the thermometer is at Zero or a boiling water heat.” Just then the conductor entered. « Tickets, gentlemen, if you please.” “ It’s a dreadful night, conducter, I said, feeling with stiffened fingers for my ticket, in the breast pocket of my inonconductor. “ Why, the brakemen can’t live outside, and so I look the other way when they creep in, poor fellows to get a breath of warm air at the stove. We have not had such a night since a year ago the 2d of Feb ruary, when Tom Blackslee, the bag gage master, froze his feet, and a wo man who was coming on from Chicago got off at Bunn’s Four Corners, with her baby in her arms a corpse!” “ Frozen to death ?” “ Aye, frozen to death, and she never thought, poor thing, but it was asleep. “ My baby’s cold,” says she, “ but we’ll soon warm it, when we get home.” It was just such a night as this ?” And the conductor opened the door and plunged across the soupling into the next car, crying out: “ Hardwick l” It was quite a considerable city, with a handsome iron depot, flaring gas lamps and the usual crowd around the plat form, with hands in its pockets, and its cigar ends flaming through the night. Our car was nearly the last of the long train, and but one passenger enter ed it—a slender young girl wrapped in a gray blanket shawl, and wearing a neat little traveling hat of gray straw, trimmed with stone colored velvet flow ers. She seemed to hesitate, like one unused to traveling, and finally sat down near the door. “ Pardon me, young lady,” said I, “ but you had better come nearer to the stove.” She started, hesitated an instant, and then obeyed. “Does this train go to Bayswater?” she asked in a voice so deliciously soft and sweet that it seemed to thrill through me. “Yes; can I be of any service to you ?” “ Oh, no—at least not until we reach Bayswater. I would like a carriage then.” “We shall not be there yet these three hours ” “ Do we stop again ?” “ Only at Fxmouth.” She drew a deep sigh, seemingly of relief, and settled back in a corner. By the light of the lamp that hung in its brass fixture opposite, I could see her face, that of a lovely child. Apparent ly, she was no more than sixteen with large blue eyes, golden hair, brushed smoothly back from her face and a little rosy mouth like that of a baby. “Do you expect friends to meet you at Bayswater, my child ?” I asked in cidentally. “ No, sir; I am going to school there.” “ It will be an awkward hour for you to arrive at —one in the morning.” “ O, I am not afraid,” she said, with an artless little laugh; “I shall go straight to the seminary.” So the express train thundered on, with steady, ceaseless pulsing at its iron heart, and constant roar. Suddenly the signal whistle sounded, the train began to slacken its speed. “ Surely we are not at Fxmouth yet,” I thought, “ unless I have fallen un consciously asleep and allowed the pro gress of time to escape me.” I glanced at my watch ; it was barely half-past eleven, and I knew we were not due at Fxmouth until after twelve. I rubbed the frost from the pane and looked out. Wc had stopped at a lonely little way station in the midst of a dense pine woods. “ Is this Exmouth ?” It was the soft voice of the pretty traveler opposite “No:—I don’t know what place it is; some way station.” “ Does this train stop at way sta tions ?” “ Not generally; they must have been speci illy signalled here. You are cold, my child ; your voice trembles.” “It is cold,” she said, in a scarcely audible voice, drawing her shawl around her. “ Oh, I wish they would hurry on !” “ We are moving once more,” Psaid. “ Conductor ” —for the man of tickets was passing through the car—“why did we stop at that back woods place?” “ Out of water,” was the reply, as he hurriedly passed by. Now I knew perfectly well that this auswer was not the true solution of the matter. Our delay did not exceed half a minute, altogether too short a time for replenishing the boilers; and where on earth was the water to come from in that desolate stretch of barren pine woods. Five minutes after, the conductor re entered the car. I made room for him at my side. “Sit down, conductor;'."you’ve noth ing to do this minute.” He obeyed. “ What do you mean by tolling such a lie just now?” I spoke uuder my breath ; he replied in the same tone : “About what ?” “About the reason you stopped just now.” He smiled. “ To tell you the truth, I stopped to take on a single passenger —a gentleman who has come down from Bayswater.’ “ For the purpose of traveling once more over the same rout ?” “ Exactly so—for the purpose of traveling it in certain society. Don t be alarmed for your owu safety —it’s a detective policeman.” I was about to repeat the words in astonishment, when he motioned me to silence. “ Where is ho ?” “ The detective ? He sits by the door yonder, with a ragged fur cap pulled" over his eyes. D' i.you ever see dated countryman ?” I smiled; I could hardly help it. “ What is the case ?” "A murder—a man and his wife and two little children—their throats cut, last night, and the house set on fire afterwards.” “ Great heavens! what a monster!” We had continued the conversation throughout in a whisper, scarcely above our breath, and now the conductor rose and left me to study the faces of my fellow passengers, with curious dread and horror. Some how, often as I revolved the matter in my mind, my fancy would settle on a coarse, gross looking man opposite, with a bushy beard and shag gy coat, with the. collar turned up around his ears. I felt convinced that this man with the heavy hanging jaw was the Cain ! and as I looked furtively cross I caught the wide open blue orbs of the fair little girl. Obeying the instantaneous impulse of my heart, I arose and went over to her. “ You heard what we were saying, my child?” “ Yes—a murder—oh, how horrible!” “ Do not be frightened—no one shall hurt you.” She smiled up in my face with sweet confiding innocence. Our stay in Exmouth was but brief; but during the delay [ could see that the watchful detective had changed his seat for one nearer the brutish man in the shaggy coat. “ Seo,” faltered the young girl, “ they locked the car-doors at Exmouth; they have unlocked them now ” She was right. “ Probably they were fearful that the criminal would escape,” I remarked, in an undertone. “ Will you—may I trouble you to bring me a glass of water ?” I rose and made my way toward the ice-cooler by the door, but with diffi culty, for the train was again under rapid motion. To my disappointment the tin goblet was chained to the shelf. “No matter,” said she, with a win ning smile, “ I will come myself.” I drew the water, and held up the cup; but instead of taking it she vap proached, she brushed suddenly past me, opened the door, and rushed out upon the platform. “ Stop her ! Stop her !” shouted the detective, springing to his feet; “ she will be killed; conductor, brakeman hold up !” There was a rush, a tumult., a bustle. I was first upon the platform ; but it was empty and deserted, save by a half frozen looking brakeman, who seemed horror-stricken. “ She went past me like a shadow, and jumped off as we crossed Cairn turnpike road,” he stammered. “Jumped off the express train.” “Well,” said the conductor, shrug ging his shoulders, “she must have been killed instantly. What mad folly!” “ It’s five hundred dollars out of my pocket, said the detective, ruefully. “ I didn't want a row before we got to Bayswater, but I was a confounded fool. A woman cornered will do any thing, I believe.” “What?” I ejaculated, “ you sure ly, do not mean that child—” “I mean,” said the detective, calmly, “ that child as you call her, is Attila Burton, a married woman of twenty six years of age, who last night mur dered four persons in cold blood, and was trying to escape to Canada —that’s what I mean.” The train was stopped, and a party of us, headed by the conductor and detec tive, went back to search for any trace of the beautiful young creature, whose lovliness and apparent innocence had appealed so strongly to my sympathies. Nor was it long before we found her. lying quite dead by the side of the track, frightfully mangled by the force of the fall, and mutilated almost beyond recog nition. “ Well she escaped justice in this world if not in the next,” said the de tective, gloomily, as he stood looking down upon her remains. “Do you suppose she expected to be able to spring off the moving train without injury ?” lasted. “Without much injury; women are unreasoning creatures. But I never dreamed of such insane folly or I should have taken prompt measures to prevent it.” They lifted up the dead fair thing, and carried it to the nearest place of refuge—a lonely farmhouse among the frozen hills, and we returned to the train, reaching Bayswater only a few minutes behind our regular time. And when in the next morning’s pa pers I read an account of the murderess, I thought of the slender creature’s blue and rosebud mouth, with a strange pitying thrill at my heart. “Call a Man.” Any one who is disp-.*sed to try a j laugh, will do well to read on. John Jackson was a very industrious, . hard working man. of twenty-three j years. Being the eldest child, aud the only son. he had always remained at , home, assisting his father upon the farm. ; John was much respected by every one j in the neighborhood, and many a bright eyed girl had secretly thought she would like to change her name to Mrs. John Jackson. But John was no ‘ladies’ man.’ The fact was John was very bashful. He would rather hoe potatoes all day than undergo the ceremony of an introduction to a young lady. Not that he disliked the dear creatures —far from it. We believe that he, in com mon with all bashful, well-meaning men. entertained the very highest admiration and respect for them. And this, no bashfulness. lie Teit nf \\iat U nu-y°V! 1 /c superior beings, and that he vhu* un worthy to associate with them upon terms of equality. But we cannot stop to moralize. Nancy Clark was the daughter of a respectable farmer, whose lands adjoin ed the Jackson farm. Nancy was a pretty, saucy little weneli. and she liked John Jackson. When they were chil dren, they attended the same school, and as lie was a few years her senior, was usually her champion in the childish disputes that arose, and her companion in going and returning. At last John became so much of a young man as to be kept from school, as she had been in past years. John discovered, too, that he had been growing in stature, and it seemed as if he had been growing out of shape. His feet and legs appeared very awkward ; he did not know what to do with his hands; his face pained him, and, taken all in all, he was inclined to think that he was not more than half put together. Now, the truth was, John Jackson was really afine looking young man, and nought but his admiration of Nancy could have suggested any such foolish thoughts about himself. As the novelists say, it was a lovely day in August. The heavens were clear, serene and beautiful—the trees were la den with golden fruit, and the beautiful birds twittered their songs of love in the branches. Earth—(there, we’ve slid down to earth once more; such lofty heights, they make our head dizzy).— We were about to say that ‘earth had yielded her bountiful harvest of a year’s grass, and clover, and honey-suckles, which the noble yeomanry of Chester ville had gathered within their store houses’—hut upon second thought con cluded to word it thus : ‘The farmers of Ohesterville were done haying.’ John’s sister had a quilting that af ternoon. Ilis father had gone to the mill, to get some wheat ground, and John was left to repair some tools, to be ready on the morrow to commence mow ing the meadow grass. Suddenly it oc curred to him that if he remained about the house in the afternoon, lie would be called in at tea-time and required to do the honors of the table. To avoid this, he quietly shouldered his scythe and stole away to the meadow, half a mile distant, fully resolved that he would net leave there until it was so dark he could not see to mow, and thus avoid seeing the girls. The meadow was surrounded on all sides by a thick forest, w hich effectually shut out what little breeze there might be stirring. The sun poured his rays as though the little meadow was the fo cus point where the heat was concentra ted. John mowed and sweat —sweat and mowed, until he was obliged to sit down and cool off. Then it occurred to him that if he took off his pants he might be more comfortable. There could be no impropriety in it. as he was entirely concealed from observation, and there was not the slightest reason to suppose that he could be seen by any person. So he off. and with no cov er save his linen—commonly called a shirt—he resumed his w r ork. lie waR just congratulating himself upon the good time he had haying, and the lucky escape he had made from meeting the girls, when he chanced to disturb a huge black snake,* a genuine twister, with a white ring around his neck. John w r as no coward, but he was mor tally afraid of a snake. ‘Self-preserva tion’ was the first ‘passage’ that flashed upon his mind, and ‘ legs take care of the body’ was the next. Dropping his schythe and spinning round like a top. he was ready to strike a 2:40 gait, when at that moment the snake was near enough to hook his crooked teeth into John’s shirt, just above the hem.— With a tremendous spring, he started off with the speed of a locomotive. — His first jump took the snake clear off the ground, and as he stole a hasty glance over his shoulders, he was horri fied to find the reptile securely fastened to the hem of his garment; while the. speed with which he rushed forward kept the serpent at an angle < f ninety with his body. Here was a quandary. If he stopped, the snake would coil about his body and squeeze him to death; if he continued the race, he’d soon fall from sheer ex haustion. On he flew, scarce daring to think how his dreadful race would end. Instinctively lie had taken the direction of home, when a feeling of security came over him. Suddenly flashed across his mind the true state of affairs—his father gone —the quilting—and worst of all, the girls ! This new horror sent t! e blood curdling about his neck, and he came to a dead halt. The next moment he felt the body of the cold, clammy monster in contact with his bare legs, bis tail creeping around them in a sort of an oozing way, as though his snake- Number 23. ship only meditated a little fun, by way I of tickling him upon the knees, j This was too much for human endtfr ! ance. With a yell, such as man never • utters save when in mortal terror, poor ; John again set forth at a brake-neck | pace, and once more had the pleasure of seeing the snake resume his horizontal ' position, somewhat after the fashion of | a comet. On he flew ! lie forgot the quilting, I forgot the girls, forgot everything but I the snake. His active exercise, (he paid particu j lar attention to his running) together with the excessive heat, had brought on the nose-bleed, and as he ran, ears erect head throwu back, his chin, throat and shirt-bosom were stained with tho flow ing stream. His first wild shriek had startled the quiltere, and forth they rushed, wonder ino, if some mad Ind an was not prowl- By the time John waa with in a tew rftds of the barn, still running at the top of his speed, hia head turned so that he could keep one eye on the snake, and with the other observe what course he must take. The friendly barn concealed him from the sight of tho girls. He knew they were in the yard, having eought a glimpse of them as thoy rushed from the house. A few more bounds and he would be in their midst. For a moment modesty over came fear, and he once more halted.— The snake, evidently pleased with hi# rapid transformation, manifested his gratitude by attempting to enfold the legs of our hero within his embrace. \\ ith an explosive ‘ ouch /’ and urged forward by ‘circumstances over which he had no control,’ poor John bounded on. The next moment he waa in full view of the girls, and as he turned the corner of the barn, the snake camo round with a whiz something after the fashion of a coach whip. Having reached the barn-yard, to his dismay he found tho bars up; but time was too precious to be wasted in letting down bars. Gathering all his strength, he bounded into the air—snake ditto— and as he alighted on the other side, his snakeship’s tail cracked across the upper bar. snapping like and India-cracker. Again he set forward, now utterly re gardless of the presence of the girls, for the extra tic of the snake’s tail as he leaped the bars, banished all the bash fulness and modesty, and again he had the pleasure of finding the snake in a straight line, drawing steadily at the heel of his solitary garment. The house now became the centre of attraction, and around it he revolved with the speed of thought. Four times in each revolution, as he turned the corner, his snakeship came round with a whiz which was quite refreshing. While describing the third circle, as he came near the group of wonder-st ruck girls, without removing his gaze from the snake, he managed to cry out: ‘call a man !’ The next moment he whisked out of sight, and, as quick as thought, re-ap peared on the other side of the house— ‘CALL A MAN !’ And away he whirled again, turning the corner so rapidly that the whiz of the snake sounded half-way between a whistle and the repeated pronunciation of a doublc-e. Before either of the girls had stirred from their tracks, he had performed an other revolution— ‘CALL A MAN !’ Away he flew, but his strength was rapidly failing. Nancy Clark waa the first to recover her presence of mind, and seizing a hoop-pole she took her sta tion near the corner of the house, and as John re-appeared, she brought it down upon the snake with such a force that it broke his back and his hold upon John's nether garment at the same time. John rushed into the house and to his room, and at tea-time appeared in his best Sunday suit, but little the worse for the race, and to all appearance cured of bashfulness. That night he walked home with Nancy Clark. The New Year they were married, and now. when John feels inclined to laugh at his wife’s hoofs or any other peculiarity, she has only to say, ‘Call a man,’ and he instantly sobers down. tSF* An exchange tells the following pretty story : “Chippewa Falls, Wiscon sin, has a young lawyer who follows the formal phraseology of legal documents to—well, to a considerable distance.— Drawing up a complaint for assault and battery, recently, he made the following representation of facts: ‘And plaintiff further alleges that, at the same time and place, the said A. B. said to complain ant, ‘lf you come another step nearer I’ll kick you to h—ll/ which complain ant verily believes he would have done.’ ” Sk&T Bismarck lately received a letter marked ‘private.’ It was opened by his confidential clerk, who had read only a few lines when he was seized with vio lent pains in the head, and fell back in a swoon. Another clerk picked it up felt the same symptom*. After a little while they recovered, and carried the document to a chemist, who soon ascer tained that the letter had been poisoned with veratine, a subtle and dangerous substance, the odor of which mounts in to the brain, and is very liable to pro duce death or insanity. -a ♦» “Are you fond of tongm, sir?” “I was always fond oft« ngne, madam, and I like it still." It turns out that the woman who baa not spoken to her husband for twenty years never had a husband to speak to. “How is that for high!” ballooning out of Paris.