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BY D. 15. FREEMAN.
CALHOUN TIMES
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Xjl J. HIKER St SON,
’ ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Will practice in all the Courts of the Cher
okee Circuit; Supreme Court ot Georgia, and
the United States District Court at Atlanta,
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ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
CALHOUN, GA.
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MORE CRUEL Til AX WAR.
A Southern prisoner of war at Oamp
Chase in Ohio, after pining of sickness
in the hospital of tit at station for some
time, and confiding to his friend and
fellow-captive, Col. W. S. Hawkins, of
Tennessee, that he was heavy of heart
because his affianced bride in Nashville
did not write him, died just before the
arrival of a letter in which the lady
curtly broke the engagement. Col.
Hawkins had been requested by his dy
ing comrade to open any epistle which
should come for him thereafter, and,
upou reading the letter in question,
penned the following versified answer.
The lines were imperfectly given by the
Southern press immediately after the
war, and deserve revival, if only for the
sake of the corrections requisite to do
justice to their sentiment and win for
them a wider appreciation :
MY FRIEND.
Your letter, laly, came too late,
For Heaven had claimed its own ;
Ah, sudden change from prison bars
Unto the great white throne!
And yet I think 1 e would have stayed,
To live for lii; disdain,
Could he have read the careless words
Which you have seut in vain.
So full of patience did lie wait,
Through many a weary hour,
That o’er his simple soldier’s faith
Not even death had pow’r;
And you—did others whisper low
Their homage in your ear,
As though among their shallow throng
Ills spirit had a peer ?
I would that you were by me now,
To draw the sheet aside
And see how pure the look lie wore
The moment when he died.
The sorrow that you gave to him
Had left its weary trace,
As ’twere the shadow of the Cross
Upon his pallid face.
“ Her love,” he said, “ could change for me
The winter’s cold to spring
Ah, trust to fickle maiden’s love,
Thou art a bitter thing!
For when these valleys, bright in May,
Once more with blossoms wave,
The Northern violets shall blow
Above liis humble grave.
Your dole and scanty words had been
Dut one more pang to bear,
Eor him who kissed unto the last
Your tress of golden hair;
1 did not put it where he said,
For when the angels come,
I would not have them find the sign
Of falsehood in the tomb.
I’ve read your letter and I know
The wile that you had wrought
To win that noble heart of his,
And gained it—cruel thought!
What lavish wealth men sometimes give
For what is worthless all;
What manly bosoms beat fo-r truth
In folly’s falsest thrall!
You shall not pity him, for now
His sorrow lias an end :
Yet would that you could stand with me
Beside my fallen friend ;
And 1 forgive you for his sake,
As he- if it be given—
May e’en be pleading grace for you
Before tho court of heaven.
To-night the cold winds whistle by,
As 1 my vigil keep
Within tire prison dead-house where
Few nourners come to ueep.
A rude plank coffin bolds bis form ;
Yet death exalts liis face,
And I would rather see him thus
Than locked in your embi'ace.
To-night yom home may shine with lights,
And ring your merry song,
And you be smiling as your soul
Had done no deadly wrong ;
Your hands so fair that none would think
It penned these words of pain;
Your skin so white—would God your heart
Were half as free from stain.
I’d rather be my comrade dead
Than you in life supreme;
For yours’ the sinner’s waking dread,
And his the martyr’s dream.
Whom serve we in this life we serve
In that which is to come:
lie chose his way ; you yours : let God
Pronounce the fitting doom.
MRS. POPE AND THE BEAR.
“ You must look out for tlic sheep,
wife. These warm days will bring the
bears out of their dens. They will be
ravenous, and like as not they will break
into the yard and carry off some of the
sheep. 1 saw bear tracks np the moun
tain this morning.’'
“ Well,” said Mrs. Pope, “ they need
not expect to get any of our sheep. If
they come prowling around here, I’ll
drive them off some way. Wo uecd the
sheep too much to have them carried off
by bears.”
“ I wish you understood using the
gun, wife. When lam gone, I worry
about leaving you and the baby all day
alone. The woods are so near, I can’t
he p thinking some wild animal may
come down from tne mountain and at
tack you.”
“ You needn’t fear about that,” an
swered Mrs. Pope. “To be sure it is
lonesome with neither man nor dog
about. I presume I would feel safer if
1 understood using a gun, but I don’t
think anything will come near in day
time. So don’t worry about us, only
be sure to get home before dusk.”
“ Well, good-bye, then. Don’t ex
pose the baby or yourself to any dan
ger, and I’ll be back before night.”
So saying, Mr. Pope, with a bag of
grain on his horse, started off to mill,
leaving his wife and baby alone in their
solitary cabin iu the wilderness.
This conversation occurred in the
town of Kirby, Vermont, in the spring
of the year 1811, when that region was
but little settled, when even women un
derstood they were in constant peril
from wild beasts. Jesse Pope’s cabin
stood at the foot of the Kirby moun
tains, in whose rocky fastnesses bears,
catamounts and wolves had their inac
cessible dens. Bears especially, were
so thick as to be a source of constant
dread to those who had flocks, or were
compelled to leave their rooms unpro-
CALHOUN, GA., WEDNESDA Y, SEPTEMBER 22, 1875.
tected, while they went to*larger settle*
ments on business.
Mrs. Pope fully understood tho peril
that surrounded her during her hus
band’s absence. Her checrfull talk
with her husband was not mere brava
do. She said what she did, as much to
keep up her own spirits as to dispel her
husband's anxiety. She knew that he
must go to mill, and there was no way
for her but to stay at home and be as
brave as possible. She was a brave
woman Natuie had endowed her with
courage, and the surroundings of her
early life tad tended to foster and
strengthen it. She fully understood her
situation, and when her husband passed
out of sight she knew that she and her
baby were alone in the great wilderness,
beyond the reach of help, should any
thing serious occur. Rut she had al
ways lived in the wilderness. The
howl of the wolf and the growl of the
bear were familiar sounds to her, and
she had become accustomed to a lonely
life in the woods. So instead of shut
ting herself in the house, she went on
with her work as usual.
After the breakfast dishes were wash
ed and put away, she brought out her
little “ linen wheel ” and went to spin
ning flax. They must have clothes for
summer wear, and that was the season
to spin and weave, before the summer
fully set in. I can remember mother
and her spinning wheel, and I imagine
just how Mrs. Pope looked, sitting with
one foot on the treadle.
All the long forenoon her musical
wheel kept humming its pleasant tune,
stopping only now and then as its mis
tress either crowed to the baby in the
cradle or looked out to see that no wild
anima's were prowling around. Noon
came and went and nothing disturbed
them. The baby in the cradle went off
to sleep, and she kept on with her work.
After a time she rose and looked
again. This time she saw an astound
ing sight. Coming down the mountain
side from the woods, she leheld a full
grown bear, not a hundred yards dis
tant. He was on his way to the yard
where the sheep were in fold, and she
knew he was after the sheep. She had
a gun,but that would not avail anything,
for she had never learned to use it. She
had an axe, but she knew an axe would
be a poor weapon to fight a bear with.
The next thing she thought of was a
pitchfork. Their few sheep were a
treasure to the family. A’l their wins
ter clothing was to como from the
sheep, and now they were in peril, she
was aroused to in tant action. The one
absorbing thought cf saving the sheep
banished all sense of personal danger.
Instead of shutting herself op in the
house she darted out closing the door
after her lest something sholud molest
her baby. Then running into the log
barn she snatched up the pitchfork, ran
around the barn and planted herself di
rectly in the bear’s path.
Brandishing her pitchfork aud scream
ing at him she attempted to scare him
back to the woods. But the bear was
ravenous with hunger, and he came
straight down the hill at her, showing
his teeth and growling fiercely. As he
approached and sprang toward her,Mrs
Pope dodged and dealt him a blow,with
the ring of the fork striking him exact
ly on the end of the nose. The shock
stunned the bear for an instant,and du
ring that one instant.with almost super
human strength,Mrs. Pope plunged both
tines of the fork into the bear’s side,
where she supposed the heart to be.
Either good fortune, or the hand of
Providence directed the weapon, for one
of the tines passed clear through the
bear’s heart, and he fell over dead,
leaving her not only victorious, but un
harmed. After the excitement of the
contest was over, Mrs. Pope went back
to the house,shuddering at the extremi
ty of peril she had been in. But after
a time her nervousness passed off, and
she went on with her work again, and
so the afternoon wore away. At length,
when the sun was about an hour high,
she saw her husband emerge from the
woods near the house. She left her
spinning wheel, and, with the baby in
her arms, she met him at the door as if
nothing unusual had occurred.
As he came to the door leading the
horse with one hand, and holding on
the bag of flour with the other,he spoke
“ Well, wife, I am thankful that
nothing has happened to you while I
was gone. I suppose it was foolish,but
I couldn’t help worrying all the time.
“ I don’t know as it ‘vas foolish, hus
band. But hitch the horse and bring
in the bag, I want to talk with you.”
When the bag was deposited in the
house, 31 rs. Pope said : “So yuu were
nervous about us then ?”
“ Yes. I don't remember ever being
so nervous before iu all my life.”
“ Well, husband. I was nervous too
I could not help thinking what could
I do, should a hear come down from the
mountains after these sheep.”
“ Why, common sense would tell you
what to do ; shut the door, take care of
yourself and baby, and let the sheep
go”
“ Do you think so, husband ?”
“ Of course I do, what else could you
have done ?”
“ You will see if you will go out be
hind the barn and look.”
“ Behind ihe barn 1 What do you
mean ?”
“I mean what Isay. Go and look
behind the barn.”
Mr. Pope started out in the greatest
wonder, while his wife buried her face
in the baby’s apron, to smother the wo.
manly tears which she could no longer
restrain.
To his utter astonishment Mr. Pope
found the dead bear behind the barn,
with the pitchfork sticking in his side.
When he went in and heard the
whole story from his wife, he fully re
alized that something had happened
during his absence, and that he had
more reason than ever to be thankful.
I am indebted to the wife of James
Harris, Esq., of St. Johusbury, for this
history of Mrs. Pope’s encounter with
the bear. Mrs. Harris’ father—Rev.
Timothy Locks—lived not far from Mr.
Pope's house at the time. Mrs. Harris
still distinctly remembers seeing the
bear skin nailed on the outside ot the
barn, where it remained all summer,
while Mrs. Pope became famous through
out the neighborhood for her heroism. —
St. Nicholas. ,
A Vacant Chair.
It isn’t the little high chair at the
table, nor the sowing chair at the win
dow, nor the substantial arm chair by
the grate that’s empty. Our ears do
not ache for tho sound of pattering lit
tle feet; our hearts arc not heaving witli
grief for an absent mother; the strong
voice of our father is still in our midst.
But when we look toward the corner,
and see the great easy rocking chair
empty, and beside it the stand, upon
which rests the big Bible and gold
bowed spectacles, the tears come into
our eyes and a smile on our lips, as we
whisper softly,“ Grandpa’s gone home.”
We do not weep ; it would be wrong to
grieve for him; he is not dead. He’s
only gone home.
I remember when grandpa first came
to our house. It was the next day af
ter grandma’s funeral; the old house
was so lonely grandpa cauiq to live with
us. Then he used to hoe in the gar
den and take long walks with us child
ren.
Such frolics as we used to have
climbing over his knees, combing his
gray hair and hiding his spectacles,un
til mamma would say, “ Come,children,
grandpa is tired now.”
I remember how he used to read a
chapter out of the great Bible every
morning, and then we all knelt down
while he prayed. Sometimes,too, there
tvere tears in his voice when he prayed
for the “ little children.”
And then Sabbath afternoon we used
to draw up our stools at his feet and lis
ten while he told us about Heaven,
where grandma was. But after a while
grandpa didn’t hoe in the garden any
more ; he didn’t take any more long
walks; he just sat in his chair all day,
sometimes reading in his Bible and some
times sleeping.
One Sabbath afternoon—it was a glo
rious June day —we were all out in
the garden among the flowers, when lit
tle Rose plucked a bunch of rosebuds.
“ They are so sweet,” sue said, “ I’ll
carry them to grandpa.”
Pretty soon there came a frightened
cry from little Rose. “ Mamma, mam
ma. something ails grandpa.”
’We all entered the house, and there
sat grandpa in his easy chair, a beauti
ful smile hovering on his lips, and such
a glad eager look in his eyes, oh ! it
seemed as if Heaven itself reflected in
those eyes ! Mamma stepped to his
side and laid her hand on his head.
There was just one fluttering sigh, aud
then the eyelids drooped. When mam
ma raised her head with tears in her
eyes,as she said, very quietly : “Child
ren, grandpa’s gone home.”
After that came the funeral, and the
choir sang a low sweet song, the minis-,
ter made a prayer, and a long line of
carriages went up to Hillside cemetery.
When we had laid *our wreaths of
white flowers on the grave we came home.
Now everything goes on as it did before
only there’s the Bible, the gold-bowed
spectacles, a green spot in our memory,
and tho vacant chair.— A.ue Nik , De
troit Free Press.
Words of Wisdom.
Let no man turn aside, ever so slightly
from the broad path of honor on the
plausible pretense that he is justified by
the goodness of his end. All good ends
can be worked out by good means.
Those that cannot are bad, and may be
counted so at once and left alone.
Popular rumor, unlike the rolling
stone of the proverb, is one which gath
ers a great deal of moss in its wander
ing up and down.
Spite is a little word, but it repre
sents as strange a jumble of feelings
and compounds of discords as any poly
syllable in the language.
But for some trouble and sorrow we
should never know half the good there
is about us.
Bre king up are capital things in our
school da}s, but in after life they are
painful enough. Death, self-interest
and forune’s changes are every day
breaking up many a happy group, and
scattering them far and wide, and the
boys and girls never come back again.
Repining is of no use. Of all fruit -
less errands, sending a to look af
ter a day that is gone is the most fruit
less.
Though necessity has no lav; she has
her lawyers,
Some men change their opinions
from necessity, others from inspiration.
There is money, and very good money
too, to those that reckon interest by
it.
Any propogation of goodness and be
nevolence is no small addition to the
aristocracy of nature, and no small sub
iectof rejoicing for mankind at large.
All good things perverted to evil
purposes are worse than those which
are naturally bad.
Mere empty-headed conceit awakens
our pity, but ostentatious hypocrisy
awakens our disgust.
A contented spirit is t.he sweetness of
existence. Dir kens.
“Who would thought they
would take to lacing around the hips ?”
remarked a countryman in astonishment
this morning as a “pin back lady” pass
ed him on the street.
-YSr. amt Mrs. Squiggs’ H’iienl
Cukes.
We will call them Mr. and Mrs.
Squiggs. They live on Reading avenue.
Sunday morning Mrs. Squiggs prepared
a lot of batter for wheat cakes, wheat
cakes being a favorite with the family,
especially with Mr. Squiggs who was
now present in the kitchen, watching
with hungry eyes the preparations going
forward. The batter vessel sat on a
chair, and Mrs. Squiggs was preparing
the pan for frying. She stepped back
to the tabic for something, when her
skirts caught the chair and over turned
it over in a flash, sending the batter
like a stream of snowy lava over the
flooj.
“ Mercy,” cried she.
“Thunder and lightning,” shrieked
he. “ You’ve done it now with your
cussed dress.”
“ It was not my fault,” she snaj ped
back.
Whose fault was it then, yon good
for-nothing, careless leut ?” he roared,
turning purple in the face.
“ What’s you going to uo about it.
old stick-in-the-mud l r ” sue retorted.
“ I’ll show you what I am going to do
about it,” he ground in between liis
clenched teeth, as he dashed from the
room.
Almost in a flash he came tearing
back, bearing with him her best silk
dress, just made up, and to be worn for
the first time on that blessed Sabbath.
There it was grasped ruthlessly in his
hands, and his eyeballs aflame with rage
The next instant lie had fallen on his
knees and was mopping the dress in the
batter.
The spectacle nearly paralyzed her.
She felt her brain throb as if it would,
burst. With the cry of a stricken fawn,
she dashed out of the room, and then
dashed back again. She had his sixty
dollar dress coat in her trembling hand.
She dropped down od her knees on the
opposite side of tho stream of batter,
and went to sopping it up with desperate
haste.
He stopped as if struck dumb by a
supernatural power. Could it be possi
ble that the infuriated woman opposite,
lapping up batter with a sixty dollar
dress coat just from the tailor was his
wife. Was this mas3 of passion once
a fair young girl, leaning on bis breast,
caressing his face, and sighing happily
on his arm ? Was she the one he had
kissed, and fondled and dreamed of day
and night,but a few years ago ? The
lumps came into his throat as the past
flashed by him, aud ho hoarsely cried :
“ What are you doing with that coat,
you old huzzy V’
It was her husband saying this—the
man who had once asked for no other
sunshine than the smile of her favor —
the man for whom she had lighted par
lor fires for two winters—the man whose
words had once been as sweet aud ten
der as the roses in the yard.
“ None of your business you old rip,”
she retorted.
“ Take that coat out of that stuff,”
he shouted.
“ I won’t,” she cried.
“ I’ll make you, then,” he yelled,
jumping up.
“ Let’s see you,” she jeered, coming
to her feet.
There they both stood—he with the
new silk dripping batter, she with tlie
coat distilling liquid flour—glaring fe
rociously at each other,
“ Drop that coat,” he hissed.
“ Drop that dress first,” she hissed
back.
“ Are you going to drop it,” came
from his clenched teeth.
“Never.” she hurled back to him.
In a flash he raised the dripping skirts
and brought them sharply down upon
her head—the head he had once so lov
ingly, fondly caressed. And what a
head it was now. No sunshine played
lovingly over it, but instead a mass of
batter dissolved at the top, and went
careening and wu the tresses to the back
of her neck and along her nose to her
chin.
A time will come —if only a brief
instant —when the sweeter memories of
the past bring their happy pictures dis
tinctly before us. However hardened
and indifferent time and trials and vex
ations may make us, tneie are memo
ries which will be heard and cannot he
put. aside unheeded. And so she thought
as she gathered up the coat and fetched
him a lick across the chops which could
have been heard out doors, and which
extinguished the flame in his face, and
left that object a desolate waste of white
ness, relieved only by two half drowned
eyes and a small section of chin whis
kers.
“ Guch!” be yelled and made fur
her with the streaming dress.
“Two can play at that game,” she
gasped, as she lammed him again. He
rallied, so did she. They fought all
over the room. They battered each
other right and left. The flapping of
the garments and i*he quick catching of
wrath, with an occasional over urning
chair, were the only sounds made as
they dashed in and out of the fray. The
batter tilled her hair, and streaked her
face, and lay in splotches over her cloth
ing and the walls. She had less ma
terial to handle than he did, but she
made it go farther She plastered his
and face, and tilled his ears and neck
and mouth with the sticky stud. Finally
by one happy bit she fiiicd one ot his
eyes, and he, with a yell of mingled pain
and defeat, broke from the room and
tied up sta rs, leaving her firmly braced
in the middle of the floor, a triumphant
and panting victor of the field.
Neither one of them will ever forget
the gloaming of their wedding day, but
they will never hare pancakes again
never, never again.— D troit Free Press.
How the 55 amen Orgimi/tul.
It is a sad thing to see ten or twelve
women get together and attempt to or
ganize a “Society to Aid the Deserving
Boor.” They h ied in Ninth avenue the
other afternoon, after having talked up
the matter for three or four weeks
Thirteen or fourteen of them met by
appointment, and after some skirmishing
one of the members called the meeting
to order and said that the first duty
would be to elect a President
A sharp faced woman gut up and said
that she didn’t want the position, but if
it was the wish of the meeting that she
would take it, why, she would
There was a pause, and a fat woman
rose and said that she had considerable
experience with such societies, and that
she could render greater personal aid if
made President. There was another
painful pause, and a little woman rose
up and squeaked :
‘ I move to lay the motion on the ta
ble !”
The other woman looked at her in a
freezing way, and it was suggested that
a ballot be taken.
Ali readily agreed to this, and l a’lots
were prepared and a bonnet passed
around. When the votes were counted
it was found that each woman had put
in at least one for bdreelf and three of
them had put in two or three. T;c
President pro tern, looked very grave as
she remarked ;
‘ Ladies, I trust that error may not
occur again.”
It di<l, however; or at least each one
cast a vote for herself, but on the third
ballot a choice was made, and the lucky
woman took her seat, smoothed out the
folds of her dress and remarked :
“The next thing in order is the—the
next thing!”
A woman with a wart on hi r nose then
made a speech, saying that she had been
treasurer of several associations,and that
if it was the wish of the convention she
would accept the office. It didn’t seem
to bo the whh, however.
“I move to adjourn, solemnly exclam
ed a woman with a large back comb.
“The motion is not in order,” replied
a woman across the room.
“Am I in the chair or arc you ?” de
manded the President.
“I move to reconsider the motion 1”
said a little woman.
“I support the question !” put in the
fat woman.
The President then wiped her spec
tacles rapped on the stove pipe and re
plied :
“Ladies and gentlemen, there is no
motion before the house,and the question
of adjournment is entirely out of order.”
“Not much !” exclaimed a woman
nearly six feet high, drawing herself up.
“I’ve seen more meetings of this kind
than the President ever heard of, and
I know that an order to adjourn is al
ways in motion !”
“So is your tongue !” said someone
on the lounge, and the President knock
ed on the stove pipe fiercely aud said :
“The chair be i ives she knows her
business as well as any woman wearing
plated jewelry, or as weli as if she had a
wart on her nose. We will now prccied
to elect a Secretary and Treasurer.
How shall the officers he elected ?”
“Vicer voeer !” cried one.
“By ballot!” added a second.
“By exclamation !” shouted a third.
“You mean acclamation,” exclaimed
the President, looking sharp at the last
speaker.
“I don’t wear an Alaska diamond,”
was the reply; but I know as much as
some folks that do !”
“Less jour !” shouted a female who
was born in 1810.
“I move the previous motion,” put in
the fat woman.
“Will someone nominate a candidate
asked the President.
A painful silence ensued.
The fall of a hairpin would have
sounded lide a crow bar falling over on
a stove boiler. Each hoped to have
someone else to nominate her, and all,
therefore, breathed hard and kept si"
lent.
“I nominate Mrs—,” finally said the
President, seeing there was a dead lock.
“You can’t nominate and put the
question too !” squealed and old lady
with beau catchers.
“I order the previous motion !” said
a woman with a red shawl.
“And I’m going huai !” added the
fat woman.
“Soam I!”
“Soam I !”
“Soam l!”
“Soam 1 !”
"“Soam I !”
And they stalked out, leaving the
President tying up her left shoe and
her eyes flashing like a wild cat’s. And
all this is why Detroit hasn’t another
“Society to Aid the Deserving
Poor.” —Detroit Free Dress.
Klepying vs. Snoring.
A minister of Crail had long been an
noyed by the drowsy propensities in
church of a farmer, one of his parish
ioners,one “ David Cowan,in Troustie
and remonstrating on the subject he
had his patience conciliated by two cart
loads of coal, which the offender en
gaged to drive to the manse door. Nev>-
erthelcss, a few' Sundays afterwards Mr.
Cowan, soon after the commencement
of the sermon, fell into a sound sleep
as formerly, and not only so, but made
such a noise as to disturb the sisters
near him and the minister, Mr. Glass
bore with it for a while, but at last, be
ing able to stand it no longer, desired
the people in the north loft to “ wauken
David Cowan.” David awakening sud“
denly and forgetting where he was.asked
the minister “ if he diuua drive twa
cartloads of coal to the manse last week
to let him sleep ?” “ True,” replied
the minister, “ but I didn’t agree to let
you snore ! ”
VOL. V.I .—NO. 1).
I his .>;i!tUU
Tlie Brunswicker relates the follow
: Ihe other day a young African
asked us it it was “agio the law” to
change his name. \\ e replied that,it ho
li.ul a good name he had better keep it*
as a good name was a thing to be desired
in this world.
“ I so got a putty fair name,” he sr.id
'wat Ise had rber sincede war. but it
won’t do for dis chile any moah.”
“ hy, what’s (he matter with it?”
we asked,
“ " you see, boss,dnr’s a fool nig
ger come hyar trout ofai 11 icoffee, rtn ho
is buzziri’ 'round wid my name, an’ no
two niggers can circumgite in the sanuj
tow n unless or e or de udder of dem hab
a different procogNem.*’
'• Perhaps you can prevail on hi 2 til
adopt another name,”
“ ; I offered him foah bits an*
a tahzor to call hisself somethin’ elsif
sides (riorgo Was.iin’ton Jones* but
theyaller fool won’t do it.”
“ YeUuw, is he ?”
‘ es, .iah ; an’ dal’s what makes ihe
so irijuiious about it. lie says de
Joneses was the fustest families of Fir
ginny, an dat he has condescended in
a direct line from dem, an’eonseijuerioh
ly darloah walucs de name moah ex
ceedingly dan underwise.”
“So you propose to off with the old
name and on with the new?”
“ Somethin’ like dat, I s’pose, boss.
An’ I wants to ax you do favor tosejest
some disappropriate name dat’ll do for
a cullud pusson ob standin’. 1 don’t so
ahate wid de common, low-class niggers*
an I wants a name out o’ dere unco in -
prehension—w’at dey can’t steal, you
know.”
“ llowMl Benedict Arnold do ?”
‘'Be Arnold am tonish, forsuah, but
dar’s too many Bennys an’ Bickys
around. Try anudder one boss.”
“ Well, Algernon Sartoris, how *3
that?”
“Bat’s supertagsnt! Algerneyman
Sartoris Arnold—dat’ll do for some ob
de name. Please reach for anudder
one, sail.”
“ Why, that’s name enough. How
much do you want,for goodness sake ?”
“ Boss, you must ’member dat I’sc
deekin in de church, an’ ’prietor ob a
bouse an’ lot.”
“ Ah ! yes,let’s see—Bill Allen ?”
“ Bat’s too common.”
“ Abraham Lincoln ?”
“ Too ordinary,sah. Git up higher.’*
“ Phil Sheridan ?”
“ Higher yet, sah, if you please.”
“ William Tecumseh Slier ”
“ Stop, sah—dat’s nuff—needn’t feel
no furder. Wilyum Chercumsey—dat
sounds like ole Kaintuck Wilyum
Chercumsey Algerneyman Sartoris Ar
nold. \ es, sah, dat’ll do—no low-class
nigger can git inside o’ dat. You’s de
solm witness, boss, dat dat’s my name
from hencefo’th on to all precedin’time.
I’se obliged to you, sah.”
As lie walked majestically away, re
peating the name over to himself, ho
was the proudest nigger in Brunswick.
And yet Shakspeare says there is noth
ing in a name.
Pleasant tor the lfnslanl.
The New Zealand Herald has a pain
>ul story, told in illustration of the pres
ent dearth of respectable dressmaking
hands in that country. It seems that
a well to-do settler near Aukland, was
lately attacked by an illness, which his
medical attendant declared must termi
nate fatally, so severe were the symp
toms. After lying in an apparently
hopeless state for some days he sudden*
ly took turn for the better,and, thanks
to a good constitution, made a rapid re
covery. Not long after he had returned
to business he was much startled
on opening an account presented at his
office, to find himself charged with a
full set of widow’s weeds of elaborately
complete description. A. domestio ex
planation naturally followed, when his
wife reminded him that he had always
expressed a special desire that the fact
of their having emigrated to a colony
should never prevent her dressing
as a lady ; “and the dressmakers here,
you know,” she added, “ have matters
so entirely in their own hands that they
generally keep you waiting for months
for anything new. So. when I was told
you could not possibly recover, I order
ed beforehand what I knew you would
wish me to wear, and now the things
have only just come home.” The lit
tle account was paid.
< liincse Time-keepers.
The Chinese are skillful in imitat
ing many European appliances,but they
have n )t yet succeeded in manufacturing
watches for themselves, at any rate not
to any extent; and during a residence
of several years in various parts China,
wo ne\er met with a single specimen,
though we have often found Chinamen
quite capable ot repairing foreign watch
es. r I he native methods of telling th<*
time are the clepsydra, inscencc-stick,
sun dial. M ith regard to the first, Dr.
Bridgman tells us that iu the south of
China it is formed of six water pots ar
ranged in successive order, one above
another, and from which through small
perforation the water gradually drops;
the lowest vessel of all which receives
tiie water has a wooden cover with a
hoie cut in it; in this hole an index is
inserted,on which are marked “periods
ihen as the water in the ves
sel fills one degree, the index, floating
on the surface, rises one quarter. The
periods of time into which the Chinese
divide the day and the watches of the
night are ail indicated by this means.
1 hese water-clocks seem to have varied
in construction at different times ; but
waterpots were formerly of brass, but
ere now of wood.