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BY D. 15. FREEMAN. CALHOUN TIMES Office: Wall St., Southwest of Court House. Kates of Subscription. O&e 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, §l, and for each sub sequent insertion, fifty cents. No.Sq’rs | 1 Mol | 3 Mos. | 0 Mos \ 1 year. Two $4.00 §7".00 7 SI2JK) §20700 Four “ 6.00 10.00 I 18.00 35.00 4 column 9.00 15.00 25.00 40.00 i “ 15.00 25.00 40.00 65.00 1 “ 25.00 40-00 65.00 115.00 Ten lines of solid brevier, or its equivalent in space, make a square. Rates of Legal Advertising. Sheriff’s Sales, each levy §4 00 Citation for letters of Administration and Guardianship 4 00 Application for dismission from Admin istration, Guardianship and Exec* utorsliip 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 gwfeSSionat & business Cards. 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, Ga. Office : Suthcast corner of the Court- House, Calhoun, Ga. J.gAl N & MIEN Eli, 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 Courts, at Atlanta. J I>, TINSLEY, Watch-Maker & Jeweler, CALHOUN , GA. All styles of Clocks, Watches and Jewelry neatly repaired and warranted. UFE WALDO I HORNTON, D. D. S. DENTIST. Office over Geo. W. Wells & Co.'s .Agricul tural Warehouse. J H. ARTHUR, DEALER IN GENERAL MERCHANDISE, lIAILROAD STREET, Calhoun, Ga. K. MAIN, M, I>. PRACTICING PHYSICIAN, Having permanently located in Calhoun, offers bis 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 BALLEW. ceps constantly on hand a superior stock of family & Fancy Groceries, Mso a fine assortment of Saddles, Bridles, Itaple Hardware, &c, to which especial at tention is called. Everything in my line told at prices that absolutely defy competi tion. Books, Stationery and Jewelry. /W 73 IUWIN & €O - \i A& 'iZ (Sign of the Dig Book & Watch.) IITE sup ly Blank Books, Nchool Docks W and b oks 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 anl Gun repairing done cheaply and warranted. Country produce taken in exchange fur goods. IRWIN <N ( 0. Mi- IljXjXj LIVERI & SALE STABLE TcR NR. Good Saddle and Buggy Horses and New Vehicles. Horses and mules for sale. Stock fed and cared for. Charges will be reasonable Will pay the cash for corn in the ear and fodder in the bundle. feb3-tf. AGE NTS WANT ED for the CENTENNIAL GAZETTEER UNITEDSTATES. A book for every American. Sells every where at sight. Farmers, Teachers, Stu lents, Lawyers, Merchants. School Direc 'ors, Manufacturers, Mechanics, Shippers, Salesriien, men of learning, and men who can only read, old and young, all want it for everyday reference and use. -Shows the grand result of the FIRST 100 YEARSt&UEPUBLIC Everybody buys it, and Agents make from SIOO to S2OO a month Send for circular.— Address J. 0. McGUKDY & CO., Publish ers, Philadelphia, Pa.; Cincinnati, Ohio; Chicago, 111.; or St. Louis, Mo. apr27-26t. mxjh DAY GUARANTEE© using oar ®^ WELI - AUGER & DRILL ingccJ M--9-7 territory. Endorsed b> Goverw’l of IOWA, ARKANSAS &DAKO? £ Lc,d* t 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.