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by and. b. freeman. CALHOUN TIMES Office: Wall St., Southwest of Court House. Kates of Subscription. One Year $2.00 Six Months 1.00 Ten copies one year 15 00 Rates of Advertising. For each square of ten lines or less for the first insertion, sl, and tor each sub sequent insertion, fifty cento. NoTfc'Tq’rs | 1 Mo. | 3 Mos. | 0 Moe | 1 year. Two $4.00 $7.00 I $12.00 | $20.00 Four “ G.OO 10.00 | 18.00 35.00 x column 9.00 15.00 25.00 40.00 2 “ 15.00 25.00 40.00 05.00 I “ 25.00 40-00 05.00 1 15.00 glgy* Ten lines of solid brevier, or its equivalent in space, make a square. Rates of Legal Advertising. Sheriff's Sales, each levy $4 00 Qtation for letters of Administration and Guardianship 4 00 Application for dismission from Admin istration, Guardianship and Exec utorship 5 00 Application for leave to sell land, one square 4 00 Each additional square 2 00 Land Sales, one square 4 00 Each additional square 3 00 Application for Homestead 2 00 Notice to Debtors and Creditors 4 00 grotwfotutl & -Busincs# Cavils. in J. KIKEIt &, SON, 1j * attorneys at law, Will practice in all the Courts of the Cher olcee Circuit; Supreme Court ol Georgia, and the United States District Court at Atlanta, Ga. Office : Sutheast corner of the Court House, Calhoun, Ga. ANY IN & MILNER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, CALHOUN, GA. Will practice in all the Superior Courts of of Cherokee Georgia, the Supreme Court of the State and the United States District and Circuit A ourts, at Atlanta. | I>. TINSLEY, •J . Watcli-Maker & Jeweler, CALHOUN, GA. All styles of Clocks, Watches and Jewelry ready repaired and warranted. JHJ FE WALDO THORNTON, D. D. S.. DENTIST. Office, over Geo. W. Wells & Co.’s Agricul tural Warehouse. j iTTartTt ur DEALER IN QENER AX MERCHANDISE, RAILROAD STREET, Calhoun, Ga. T. CRAY, CALHOUN, GA. Is prepared to furnish the public with Buggies and Wagons, bran new and war •Milt ed. Repairing of all kinds done at short notice. Call and examine before buying elsewhere. ~ Dime. MAIN, M. D., PRACTICING PHYSICIAN, Having permanently located in Calhoun, offers his professional services to the pub lic. Will attend all calls when not profes sionally engaged. Office at the Calhoun Hotel. J. W. MARSHALL, RAILROAD ST., OLD STAND OF A. W 3ALLEW. eeps corstantly on hand a superior stock oi Family & Fancy Groceries, Also a fine assortment of Saddles, Bridles, itaple Hardware, &c, to which especial at tention is called. Everything in my line Jol<l at prices that absolutely defy competi tion. Looks, Stationery and Jewelry. IRWIN & CO. Ce JX k) (Sign of the Big Book & Watch.) TTTE sup ly Blank Books, School Books VV and bmks of all kinds; also, pens, inks, paper , and everything in in the line of ►Stationery, at Atlanta Prices. A good lot of JEWELRY always on hand. Watch, Clock and Gun repairing done cheaply ami warranted. Country produce taken in exchange for goods. IRWIN & CO. BARBER 811 OP ! By ESSEX CHOICE . HAVING opened n Barber Shop between the Calhoun Hotel and W. & A. Rail road, 1 earnc-tly solicit the custom of the public,pledging an honest endeavor to mer it the good will of every one. Single shave, 15cts. ; hair-cutting, 2octs.; shampooing, 25 cts. Shaving per month 2 shaves per week, SI.OO, hair-cutting and shampooing included. Other prices low in accordance. july2B tf. T. M. ELLIS’ IMRV HALE STABLE. Hood Saddle and Buggy Horses and New Vehicles. Horses and mules for sale. Stock fed and cared for. Charg is will be reasonable YVill pay the cash for corn in !hc ear and fodder in the bundle. feb3-tf. DO NOT SING THAT SONG AGAIN. BY IILCII F. M’DERMOTT. Do n n t sing that song again, For it fills my heart with pain ; I am bending to the blast, And it tells me of the past, Of the years of long ago, When my days were young and fair, And my heart as light as air— When one feeling filled the breast, And one image gave it rest. In the long, long ago. Do not sing that song again, I have lived rry years in vain, And my hair is thin and gray, And I’m passing fast, away ; On the dark and downward steams I’m a wreck of idle dreams ; And it puts me on the rack At the weary looking back, At the ebb and at (lie flow, In the long, long ago. Do not sing that song again, There’s a tear in its refrain ; It brings sadly back the time When my manhood felt its pi ime ; When the comrades, dear and true, Closer, warmer fonder grew In the hour of friendship’s proof, When the false ones stood aloof, And their friendship was but show. In the long, long ago. Do not sing that song again, It distracts my weary brain. Ah, too well, alas! I know It is time for me to go, And to leave to younger eyes The mild mystery ot the skies, Ami this mighty world 1 tread, And the grander age ahead. Theres’ a mist upon the river, And there’s bleakness on the shore. And in dreams I pass forever, While sad music-wafts me o’er. ■W T9yzr^^JM!WßinttUß&CMK* THE WHITE CRYSANTHEMUMS. Marian Grey’s heart was full of bitter ness. Two years ago she had gathered these very white crysanthemums of the first week in November to lay on her mother’s coffin. There had been plen ty of unusual funeral flowers—japoni cas, and tube-roses,and white health,and the rest; but Maiian had stolen out and gathered the Chrysanthemums because her mother loved them, and because they grew in the old garden at home. “ She will not care for the others,” she had said to herself; “she always loved our own flowers best, and she shall take them with her.” Marian was four teen then —old enough to mourn for her mother passionately —old enough.too, to understand and feel deeply what her mother had said to her just at the last “ You must care for papa and the boys,Marian. You will be mistress now, I think, young as you are. At least you can be, if you are so careful of papa’s comfort that he doesn’t feel the need of getting any one to keen house; and T trust (he boys to you. You must be elder sister and mother’ too,and nev er let them miss me more than you can help.” And then Marian remembered how her mother’s sad eyes had searched her face, and how she had kissed her at the end, and said, “ It’s a hard lesson for you to learn when you are so young but you must always think of yourself last, and by and by you will see that it brings its own exceeding great reward.” Mrs. Grey had lived several hours af ter that, and kissed Marian again, and kissed the boys also, and blessed them, and then gone to sleep, like a child, on her husband’s shoulder, with a child’s smile on her lips, and a beauty as of long passed youth, at which the child ren wondered, on her face. Rut Mari an always felt that the true parting with her mother was in those few iaos ments when they were all alone, and mama had charged her to be her fath er’s comfort and the boys’ mother. And she tried faithfully. She looked back over the two years that had passed, and she said, with tears streaming down her cheeks, “ Yes, mother, I have been faithful!” She had left school, and de voted herself to making her mother’s place good. She had kept the same servant her mother had ; and the wo man, touched by the unconscious pathos of the young girl’s efforts to make good the vacant place, and helped her silent ly in a thousand ways. And Marian thought she had succeeded. She could not think that any comfort had been lacking in her father s home ; and as for the boys —Hal and Geordie —they al most worshipped her. “Butof what use had it all been ?” she thought, hit ' terly ; for now her father was going to brirg home anotjier wife in her moth er’s stead. He had told her very ten derly, to be sure. lie said that he had felt that she was too young for so much care. She ought to be in school; and in bringing home to her tor mother the only woman he knew who seemed to he worthy to fill her own mother s place,he was securing to her as great a blessing as to himself; and then he said, as lie kissed her good-bye, — “ Make the house look as p*etty ns you can —won’t you, Marian ? Elizabeth loves beauty. I don t think there are many flowers left, except those, white jsrj san them urns ; but I wish yon and put some of those in her room.” Marian thought she could have borne it all, if it hadn’t been for that last re quest. The white flowers that she had gathered, just two years ago, foi her mother’s funeral,to do duty now as bridal flowers for the usurper ! It seemed to her that this was one drop too much. She did not consider that her father could not have thought of this; that, indeed, he probably never knew that she had made the Yrreath of them for her mother’s coflln at all. Her passion ate girl’s heart swelled almost to burst ing with the bitterness of the thought that she was to use the tloweis she had held sacred to her mother for this_ new bride’s pleasure. „ “ Oh, she shall have them all, she cried, passionately, ‘‘ and much good CALIIOUN, GA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1875. may they do her 1 They are funeral flowers. It is a bad omen.” Then she went out and gathered them every one. She made boquels of them for the mantle ; she put. knots of them in the looping of the window curtains, and a glass fuli upon the bureau. Ev cry whore in the new mother’s room gleamed their whiteness—fit alike for bridal or burial. In the parlor below she would-have none of them. That was garnished with the fire-tintea leaves she nad gathered in the late September, and w'th the pale, bleached ferns she had brought home in October—ferns that seem always like the ghosts of the dead summer, holding none of its warmth or brightness, but only a hint of its vanished grace. Then she went into the kitchen with the pretty littl ; mistress of-the family air which became her so well. “ Bridget,” she said, “ Mrs. Grey will be coming to-night. Let us give her a good supper ; she will need it af ter her journey ; and then,” she added he' native honesty coming to the front, “ I don’t want her to think that no one knew how to keep house here until she came.” Bridget understood and smiled. There was no danger but the coffee would be clear that night, and the waf fles light, and the broiled chicken done to a turn. Then Marian went into the parlor and sat down in her mother’s chair. Should she have to give that up, too ? Her eyes filled with tears, as they bad so many times that day. She closed them, and her tnoughts went back to ihe hour when her mother had hidden her good bye. She thought the whole scene over, as she had so often, and seemed to hear the words afresh, in her mother’s low, tender voice. And,some how,a new sense of her mother’s meat ing came to her. “ l T ou must always think of yourself last,” her mother said. IFas she doing that now ? Was she not thinking of herself first—of her own pain—of the wound to her self-love in being set aside when she thought she had done so well —of having someone else nearer her father than she was —of being no longer at the head ? “ No,” she cried, hotly. “ It’s not that, it’s having someone else in my own mother’s place. He had no right —no right.” But a tender, unseen presence seemed near her, all the while, breathing gen tler thoughts. Something told her that her mother up in heaven would not bo jealous for herself; and some thing asked her if she were sure she could devote her future to her father,so as to keep him from weeding that com panionship which is the very life and soul of living. She would not yet con fess it, but she knew it, in the soul of her soul, that she had been wrong; and when she got up to call the boys, she said to herself, “ Think of myself last, yes I can try to do that for your sake, dear mother : and for your sake I will keep the boys as happy as I can. If they are too young and unreasoning to fee! it all, so much the better ; you would not want their hearts to ache as mine does.” Site went, to tbc door and called the the little fellows playing outside, and they hurried in. “ Come boys,” she said, “ you must go and dicss. I want you to look nice when your new mother sees you for the fir t time.” The boys looked at her curiously. Not at all in this tone had she spoken of the new comer before. Was she go ing out to the enemy? “ She ain’t my mother —is she ?” said sturdy Geordie. “ She’s not our mamma,” Marian said, resolutely—trying to do what her mother would have wished ; “ she’s not the dear, sweet mamma whom G°d gave you first, and then took home for heaven, because, I do believe, she was too good fur this world ; but she’s your new mama, whom papa thinks it best for you to have. We ought to know that papa’s judgment is better than ours ; and he’s been too good a father to us all our lives for us to have any right to suppose he is not doing now what he truly thinks will be the best for us.” The words bad cost Marian great ef fort, but she had uttered them quietly and resolutely. The boys felt that she was in earnest, and went away to dress with anew sense of trust in their fath er. “ But mother, it is so !” Marian cried out. when she was leit alone, “ How can I ? O, how can I ” And she thought—no doubt it was her own fan cy — b u t she thought she heard a voice s?y —a dear voice, whose tones she would know out of all the world —“But the end is peace.” Night brought the new mother. The boys had been growing reconciled to the idea of her since Marian’s word an hour before, and they tan out to meet her with smiling faces. Marian tried to go forward, too ; but it seemed to her that her feet were fastened to the floor and it was all she could do to stand still, and keep the tears back. “Here are the boys,” she heard her father say, cheerfuly. No dbubt he and his bride kissed them; but she could not see, she was for a moment so very, very dizzy. “And here is Marian,” in the same cheerful voice; “ my one daughter and my faithful little house-keeper. Marian looked up, struggling with herself, and saw her new mother. Her own mamma had been, perhaps not beautiful but lovely—a woman whose sweet charm every beholder must feel. If this one should be younger and hand somer, a flighty girl bride, Marian felt that all the grace in the world could not keep her from hating her. But she looked and saw that she might Well have trusted her father. The new wife was a large, fair woman, not beautiful, but ; with a noble and serene face, where | large and generous thoughts had their ! home. She was certainly not older than Marian’s own mother had been ; and in the sober richness of her dress there was none of that girlish flightness which Marian had dreaded. The girl’s judgment was forced to approve, but her heart was alien still. She went forward a stop and put out her hand. No doubt Mrs. Grey understood her feeling, for she made no ardent demon stration. She only bent a little—she was a tail woman —and touched her lips to her new daughter’s brow ; and then she said something about the pleasant ness of the house, and Marian took her up stairs to her own room. She looked around as she entered it, and saw the white crysanthemums gleaming everywhere. Marian, who was furtively watching her, thought she grew a little pale, but she only said, quietly — “ My father br r ught me home anew mother, Marian, when I was just your age. I understand it all.” Marian’s heart warmed toward her a little then ; but it grew hard and cold again when she went down stairs, for site found her father in the parlor look ing unmistakably happy and radiant. Had he no heart, no thought for the dead, who had lived there with him so long? In that moment she felt as if she ha*ed the new comer. Her father drew her towaad him. “ Well, girlie, surely you like her ?” he asked eagerly. She withdrew herself from his arm. “I am not a man. I don’t think I was made for forgetting,” she answered, coolly. Her father’s face darkened. He spoke with a tone different from any she was accustomed to in his voice. “ Marian, you knew your mother well. Do you think she loved me so selfishly that, since I could not have her, she would prefer that I should live out my life alone ? If that were so, she must have changed, indeed ; for she always thought of herself last.” Marian could not reply for just then the new mother came down the stairs, and took what was to be henceforth her household place. It was not in the chair that had been the dead wife’s Had she avoided that by delicate tact ? or was it only that she was another mould of woman from his first wife, and her taste was different ? Marian never knew. Time went on. Marian went back to school; and she really enjoyed her free dom, her opportunity to return to the books she loved. Only there was a cold, hard spot in her heart, and she would not own to herself that there could be any gain in the coming of a new mother into her own mother’s place. All the winter passed, and the spring, and the summer. Maiian was perfectly respectful, perfectly obedient, always kind; and yet her father, who knew her so well, knew she was no more like the same Marian than a stone stat ue is like the living woman after whose grace it is modeled. It was the cnc bitter drop in the sweet cup of his new domestic happiness. "With October be was taken very ill. A typhoid fever, which bad been very prevalent that fall, seized him ; and for a lung lime there was great doubt wheth er he would recover. Then for the first time, Marian lealized what their house hold had gained when the new mother came into it. She herself would have done all she could ; but she lacked the wisdom and experience which made Mrs. Grey the most perfect of nurses. “ Will he get better ? Is there any hope ?” she asked the old doctor,whom she had known all her life,one day when he was going away. “ If he does,” he answered, “ his wife will have saved him. Such care I nev er saw.” Marian went into the old garden. It was the first week in November,and the white crysanthemums were ail in flower. Would she be gathering them next to put on her father’s coffin ? O, what would the world be worth then ? Had she made him happy the last year?”her conscience asked. If he had been hap py,surely he did not owe it to her. She bad been thinking of herself all the time; of her own pain, and loss, and •heartache. If he got well, would he ever forgive her ? If he died, could she ever forgive herself?” She stood there, leaning sadly over the white flowers, which meant death to her. She did not hear any approach ing footfall, and she started in surprise when her step-mother s hand touched her. “He is asleep, Marian. O, so calm ly and sweetly ! I had to .come to tell you ; for there is hope now.” “ And you have saved him !” Marian cried, her eyes shining through their sudden tears with such a light as Mrs. Grey had never seen in them before. “ The doctor said it would be you, if he lived. YY>u have save him for me, and I have never loved you. ’ “ Was that because you thought I ex pected to be your mother '. ’ asked Mrs Grey, with a quiet tenderness in her voice m 1 manner. “We can have but one mother; and if you call me so, it is a matter of form. I cannot be to you in place of the dead. But l might be your friend, dear, just as if I were not your father’s wife ” Marian drew closer,and clung to her, silently. She could not speak just tben. “Don’t you know I told you the first that 1 knew it ajl ? When I saw those whi'e crysanthemums it almost bn ku my heart; for they brought an old pain back so keenly. 1 had gathered them once myself, and put them in the eham her of my father’s new wife, as you had duuo in mine ; and I hud saflored just is you did. But long afterwards I knew that a bles.-ing had’eonre to mo with her; and I meant to he a blessing to you if I could.” Still Marian did rot speak ; but she bent and gathered a little not of white crysanthemums—the purest and whiles! she could find. She touched the little posy to her own lips when shelnd made it, and then fastened it to her step- bosom. The white crysanthe mums had been flowers for the burial and for the bridal ; and now they were the blossoms of reconciliation — Louise Chandler Moulton,, in IJYJe Awalce Magazine. til Onion There is Strength. The Governor of Ohio, whom a great many people irreverently call “ Old Bill Allen,” in his younger days had not on iy a voice closely allied to seven fold thunder, but was a shrewd practical lawyer. His rude demolition of senti-- incut once gained him a case General Murphy, a member of the Chillicothe bar, thirty years ago was one of the most noted advocates that rode the circuits of Ohio, Ho could weep profusely over the most hardened criminals and shed quarts of re 1 tears whenever the occa-” sion required it. The result was that he usually carried the jury with him Oh one occasion General Murphy wus engaged to defend a noted horse thief in Boss county, while the State secured the services of Gov. A’len. The usual routine was gone through with, and the prisoner’s guilt was pretty clearly demon strated, but General Murphy relied up on working up the sympathies of the jury. His effort was unusually briliant, and toward the close of his appeal tears rolled down his checks in torrents, while the jurors rubbed their eyes with their cuffs. All this time Allen sat stiff and upright, glaring with dry and fro zen eyes upon Murphy. When the lat ter wound up with a final hurst of elo quence and tears, which left the whole audience sniffling, Ohio’s tali Governor, that was to be, straightened himself to his fullest height, and pointing his long bony finger at the jury, said : “Gentleman, there is such a thing as blotting out justice \vith tears and con futinding judgment with much weeping. General Murphy understands this beG ter than any living man. But before his tears work an absolution of the sin hardened criminal at the bar, and client the sta'e prison of its dues, I wish to show the fountain from whence these tears flow so copiously.” With one swope of his long right arm withdrew an immense red onion.denuded of its out er covering, and holding it aloft before the eyes of the astonished jurors, ho continued : “The ancient Egyptians worshipped the onion because it was typical of the celestial srheres. Here in Ohio we have good reason to curse it, because in General Murphy’s pocket it has so often cheated the gallows and the prison of their dues.” The prisoner was convicted, and General Murphy never rubbed his handkerchief on a peeled onion again when Old Bill Allen had the other side of the case. How He Wou lier. A young couple were occupying a rus tie seat in the Park one evening recentlv and from the expression of the mascu line representative’s face it was evident he had, as it were, drifted over the great psychological Niagara of affection, and was even then being whirled about in frothy whirlpool of sentiment. The swimming swans had no charms for him •he eagles were as nothing and he did not even notice the big white bear. ‘Oh, be mine,” he said attempting to draw her a little nearer his end of the seat. She made herself rigid, and heaved a sigh. “I’ll be a good man. and give up all my bad habits,” he urged. No repiy “I’ll never drink another drop,” he continued. Still Unrelentingly sat the object of bis adoration. “And give up chewing—■” No response. “And smoking—” Cold as ever. “And join the church—” She only shook her head. ‘ And give you a diamond engage ment ring, he added in desperation Then the maiden lifted her drooping eyes to his, leaning her frizzles on his shoulder, and trembling murmured in to his ravished ear : “Oh, Edward, you you are so good ! And there they sat, and sat,until the soft arms of night—that dusky nurse of the world—had folded them from the sight, pondering, planning thinking— she of the diamond ring, and lie of how on earth he was !o get it. Tiie Poor Boy. —Don’t be ashamed my lad, if you have a patch on your el bow. It is no mark of disgrace. It speaks well for your industrious mother. For our part, we would rather see a dozen patches on yo>’r jacket than hear one profane of vulgar word escape your lips. No good boy will shun you, because you cann t dress as well as your companion, and ifa bad boy sometimes laughs at your appearance, say nothing, my good lad, but walk on. \Ye know many a rich and good man who was once as poor as you There is your next door neighbor in particular —now one of the wealth iest men —who told us a short time since that when a child he was glad to receive the cold potatoes from his neigh bor’s table. Be good, my boy, and you will be respected a great deal more than if you were the son of a lich man and were addicted to Lad habits.— Ex* change. How Her Father Holpoil the Kiishi'al Lovers, There’s no foolishness about some of the fathers of Dubuque comity who have marriageable daughters, and they know how to precipitate business when the fruit is ripe for plucking, and hangs wasting its sweetness when it should be plucked. Matters were brought to a climax with a rush, at a certain farm er's residence in Vernon Township, re cently. Y young tiller of the soil had for months been paying most assiduous attention to one of his daughters, but he was such a bashful, modest chap, never having been much in the company of girls,except this one,that he had never been able to raise his couragb sufficient ly high to pop the all-importaut ques tion. lie had gone to the house in which his admired lived, upon at least twenty occasions, resolved to know his fate, but when ushered into the the presence ot the fair one, in whose keep ing he had placed his heart, his cour age would invariably “go back on him,” and he would return to his lonely room in greater suspense than before Upon the evening in question he had deter mined that come what would he would tell Miss Mary he loved her. Uc would once for ail decide the matter; but as upon each former occasion he could get the proposal no further than his throat. There it stuck,’and he had just deter mined to gulp it down and give up the siege, when the door opened and in stalked the girl’s father, who advanced to where they were sitting and thus ad dressed them : “ I come in to put a stop to this ’ere foolishness. It ain’t the courting ex pense that I’m looting at, for coal oil’s cheap,an’ wood can be had for the haul in’; but I’m sick an’ tired of this billin’ and cooin’ like a pair of sick doves, keepin’ me awake o’ nights, an’ it’s got to be stopped right here. Mary Jane look up here. Do you love John Hen ry well enough to marry him ?” “ Why, father.I —l—you must ” “ stop that foolin’,” yelled the old man. “ Answer yes or no, and quick too. It’s got to be settled now or nev er.” “ Well, but, father, don’t you know —if you’d only wait and ” “ Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ Speak,” roar ed the old gent. “ Well, yes, then. There now,” and Mary hid her face again. “ That’s business ; that’s the way to talk. Now John look here—look up here or I’ll shake you all to pieces. Do you waut that gal o’ mine for a wife? Speak out like a man, now.” “ Why, Mr. —, ain’t this rather a I mean can’t you ” “ Speak it out, or out of this house you go, headforemost. I won’t wait a minute longer. There’s the gal, an’ a likelier gal ain’t in the State, an’ you just heard her say she wanted you. Now, John, I won’t stand a bit o’ fool in’ ; once for all, ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ ” “ Well, yes sir,l have been presumpt uous enough to hope that I—” “Oh, none of your soft talk; the thing’s settled now. You two fools would have been six months more at that job that I’ve done in five minutes. I never saw such foolin’ as there is among the young people now-a days. Aint like it was when 1 was young—an’ now, good night. You can talk the thing over to-night, an’ you an’ me; John, ’ll go to town an’ get the license to morrow. Soon be time to go to plow in’— no time fur love makin’ then. Good-night, good-night; l hope I wasn’t too rough, but I was determined to fix the thing up one wa v < r ’tother;” and the old man went back to bed Now that the ice was broken the young people' laid their plans for the fu ture,and John felt a little bad when Mary looked at him slyly and said: “ This v ould have been all right four months ago. John, if you hadn’t been skeery; I know’d all the time that you wanted to ask me ; but it wasn’t my place to say anything, you know.” “No cards.”— Dubuque Times. The Green Neckties. Tiiere has just been brought to light in Paris a most dangerous band of thieves known as the “ green neckties.” This association was not so verdant as the color of their neck ornament, as their deeds and spoils prove. The mem bers had their club room and held meet ings there once a week. The king of the gang was called Maillot, after a celebrated thief and murderer now un dergoinga sentence of hard labor for life. The principal places of operation weie the Batignolles,Park Moncrau,afld Les Ternes, districts, and the spoils consisted of everything,from a handker chief and chicken up. For the menial work the band used young boyt?, trained and brought up by the Begins and Art ful Dodgers of the profession. They had customers with whom they couli place their night-earned goods.and every thing worked smoothly until one of the members was “ taken in by the police.” This particular individual was in the habit of lounging around Park Moncry u flirting with the bonnes who were out airing themselves and the children in thier charge. A detetive spotted him, and, suspect-* ing that he knew something of the theft? committed in that section, tried to get into his confidence, but it was no go. He had no suspicion that the detective was a detective, but thought him a low tiiiet or a spotter. As the Micawber iike follow wore the same tie constant'y it occurred to the detective that it meant something. He had a brother detective put on that same kind of tie and Lane • round the Park. The thief saw the green tie on ibe stranger and saluted him as “ partner. ’ Ilis new friend asked if be had seen any no durwg-the day-, and if there was VOL. VI.—NO. 7. anything up. The tree, oisy manner o/ ihe stranger struck the right ehord, and the thief talked steal to him quite freely. The theif being sure that the t inger was “ one of them” lately ad. uiitted into the club, propoed that they take a drink. They vent into a win (9* shop and sat down. In a short time iit ■ walked detective No. 1. “Look out for that fellow just come in ;he is a low theif or spotter, I can’t tell which said the thief in whisper. Detective No. 2 (the stranger), took his hat off and brushed it. This was a signal to detective No. 1, who came over and invited the two to ride. “Where to,” Slid the thief. “To the Perfec'uro of Police 1” said the lu-t corner, and Mr.- Thief was immediately handcuffed, pull ed ii to a cab, and hurried off'. The next night the detective with a grccii' tic went to the club room with a force, of police. It was the regular night of meeting, and the police were hid out side, while the detective went in. Two new members were addmitted to tho fraternity. The detective, whose featutrs were not closely scrutinized when he went iff arise after the election of the two just mentioned, and said he had a few names to propose. “Who are they, and who* are you T’ said the King. “Oh la uf only an officer, and the men I have to propose are in the pay of the city, and are endorsed by the Perfect ure of Police. The band made a rush for the door,, bat it was no use attempting to escape, as the police were masters of the situation. The twenty two captured were tried three weeks ago, and received sentences ranging iroin live to seventeen years. The King received a sentence worthy of his high office—seventeen years afe hard labor. Two Stoys-A Contrast. A lad dined with me one day ; he was from twelve to fourteen years old. lie had a pug nose, red hair and a freckled face. 11 is poor coat was batch ed at the elbows, and his pocket hardkerehief was a cotton one, and coarse at that. After he went away tlio lady of the house said : “I like to en tertain such company as that lad; he had such beautiful manners.” At another time a woman left her son • with me fur a day and I took him with me to dine. His face was very hand some. lie had fine eyes, a fair skin,and was very richly dressed, ilia mother w is a rich woman, and her son had every advantage that wealth bestowed, When the day was over a friend remarked : “Jlovv much relieved you must feel 1” I asked why 'i lie has such disagreeable manners, lie is only fit to he shut up in u pen with wild animals.” “Put that boy’s mother was to blame,” you exclaim. Certainly, and so are man# of yours, and for this very reason boys must take the making of their ‘place and fortunes’ in their own hands. One gets tired talking to mothers about their duties, especially when they are more concerned about the spring jackets of their boys than their manners. Then possibly many of them say, as I heard one the other day : “Oh, Johnnie will couio out all right. It will be Miff'd enough for fine manners ten years hence.” An ill fruiting tree may be grafted to bear good fruit, but one can always de tect the joining of the stocks. ’Very much so it is with manners acquired late in life—they have stuck on ap. pearance. But if acquired in youth, taken in when the body, mind and heart are especially active and open to influ ences,they become “ bred in the bone,” and the man never loses their controlling power. They become a part and portion of the man, and of such an one we say, he is a perfect gentleman.” Boys must learn to read and reflect more for themselves. They should take more pride in becoming the architects of their own fortunes. The most suc cessful men of the present day are thoso who have made themselves such by their own individual efforts. A Soil Answer. The husband was of quick temper, and often inconsiderate. They had not been married a y ar, when one day, in a lit of hasty wrath, he said to his wife : “I want no correction from you. If you are not satisfied with my conduct, you may return to the home whence I took you and find happiness wi'h your kind.” ‘ II I leave you, ’ returned the unhap py wife, 11 will you give me back that which I brought to you ?” ‘■Jovery dollar. I covet not your wealth, you shall have it all back.” “ •” she answered, “ [ mean not the wealth of gold. I thought n t of dross. I mean my maiden heart- my uist and only love—my buoyant hopes and'the promised blessings of my woman hood. Can you give these to me ?” A moment of thought—of convulsion and then taking her into his arms : ‘■No, no, wife, [ cannot do that, but I will do more; I will keen them hence forth unsullied and Uhpainetf. I e’Hci*. ish your blessings as my own ; and never again will I forget the pledge f .rave at the alter when you gave your peace and happiness to my keeping.” How true it is that a soft answer tuineth away wrath ! and how many, oh . how many of the bitter strifes of domestic life might be avoided by re membering and acting in accordance therewith ! ——* ►— —- A butcher who-was on his death fied said to his Wife; “Tf I die, Fran ooise. you must marry our shop-boy— fie is a good youug man, and the busi ness caun.it be carried on without a ma i ou 1 J *k after it “ t have been think iug about tuat already;” said his wifo.' *