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TMOtfITiMNQANNift, EVERT FRIDAY. «m—Ljjf-n 1 :,;: " —== iERMS or SUBSCRIPTION. IX ADVANCE. For ojm year „. $3 00 Fopis mouths 2 00 Ftt three months 1 00 JFor single copy 10 / CLUB RATES FOR SUBSCRIPTION. Fora club of five $12.50 For a club of ten $22.50 For a club of twenty $40.00 JOB FRIimWQ. * Wc have attached to our newspaper establish tnentu complete Job Office. Hand-bills of all kinds, Programmes, Cards, Blanks, Pamphlets, S*., executed In the best manner. INDEX * TO BUSINESS ADVERTISEMENTS IS THE QEITHIH BASSES. Asa convenience to the reading public, we pre sent to-day a complete index to all business and professional advertisements that appear in the Bonner. It will be corrected weekly, and we hope very materially increased within a few weeks. Quitman. Bennetdt lane. Attorneys at Law. Hunter * ttcGail, “ J. L. .VoAdeyTCollecting Attorney and Real Es , tatc agent. t. A. Jelks, Physiclaft. D. L. Ricks, Dentist 3f. L. Battle, Dentist 8. w. Brooks, Warehouse and com. Merchant. H. Padgett, Carriage Repository and Variety . Worts. CWpeimer, Creech <t Cos, Pry Goods and Groceries. A. P. Parham, dealer in Dry Goods aud Groceries J R JSdmotulsvn, Dry Goods and Groceries. Smith A Walker, Dry Goods and Groceries. Wuitman Hotel. Mrs. Mclntosh. Dr. J.H. McCall, Druggist. W. E. Barnes, Jeweller. James B. Finch, dealer in Dry Goods. T. J. Livingston, Livery and sale stables. J. W. Stalnaker & Cos., dealers in merchandize. Stevens A Rountree, Dry Goods merchants. Isaac Mabbeth. dealer in merchandize. Groovorvlllc. J. ST. Raysor. Dry Goods and Groceries. B. F. Linton & Cos, Dry Goods and Groceries. Savannah. IH4ALKRX IX rVRXm'RK. A. J. Milter 1 1 Cos, 138 Broughton street S. s. Miller, 157 Broughton street. COMMISSION MERCHANTS. Mercer <k Anderson, Bay street Guerrard, Eerrill ts" Cos, Bay street, A Dvlenhofer <t Cos, Bay street A. S. Hartridge. »2 Bay street. Pelot, Tucker & Wright, 177 Bay street. Bryan, Hartridge 4 Cos , Bay street. attorney at law. Fitch and Pope , 163 Bay street. BOOT, BHOK AND FL-RNTBBINO HOUSES. Meinhard, Bro. <fc 00., 100 Bryan street, WHOI.ESAIJE OROGERS AX'O LIQUOR DEALER. H G Ituwe, Opposite Pulaski House, DRY GOODS HOUSES. Einstein <t tickman, 151 Congress street, DeWitt <t Morgan, 137 Congress street, DEALERS IN SASH AND BLINDS. T IF Shea, St Julian street. Blair * Bickford, 203 Bay street. John Oliver, 11 Whitaker street CONFECTIONER. John E Hernandez. 146 Broughton street. M. Fitzgerald, Whitaker street. nOTKTiS AND BALOOXB. Pavilion Hotel, D. C. Noe, Proprietor. Screven House, G McGinly, Proprietor, Marshall House, A 11 Luce, Proprietor, Our House, EII Kirlin, Proprietor. , DEALERS IX DELOS, AC. W M Walsh, oorner Broughton and Barnard, A A Solomons <fc co, Market Square, W. W. Lincoln, Monument square. HEALERS IN HAKO AND TIN WARE. Palmer <t- Deppish, 148 Congress street, XowBA LalUtnore. 155 Congress street, BOOT AND SHOE MAKER. James Roach, Whitaker street, CROCKERV, GLASSWARE, AC. Bolshov 4 SUm, 68 St Julian street, SADDLERY. E. L. Neidlingcr, corner Broughton and Barnard. SETTING machine agency. H D Hawley, 116 Broughton street. GENERAL AGENCY OFFICE. L. H. Bryant, opposite the Planter’s Bank. CLOTHING BOISE. T. Brown, 98 Bryan street. DEALERS IN ICE, FISH, AC. Forrester 4 Sullivan, 116 Bay street, Haywood. Gage 4 Cos., Market square. James J. McGoffin, Congress street Lane. SAVANNAH If CHECH. Theodor Mevls. Chippeway square. PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY. ft. U. Brown, 72 St Julian street. TAPER HANSIXOR. w. J. McLaughlin. Drmigbtoo stoeet Baltisaoro. Griffin, Brother 4 Cos., Grocers and com. merch. Miscellaneous. W h Evan«, Attorney, Waresboro. Pr U VanGueso*, Dentist, ausokton. D J. M. Ma4fi<*n, Physician, Okapilco. £Uevons House,|*N. G. K. Chase & Cos., Prop. 'SFFLItTED REA [I THIS. /Tfiayton’s Oleum Vitae. rpuis Great German Liniment is an almost • JL infallible cure for Rheumatism, JtmruMa, Rheumatic Pains in the Rack, Breast, Sides or Joints, Nervous Headache, Toothache, Earache, Sprains, Bruises, Swellings, Outs, Bites, Burns, <fcc. This great remedy should be in every bouse.— For Horses this remedy has no equal. Ask for Kayton’s Oleum Vitae. Take no otoor Sent by express for ei.oo Kayton’s Magic Cure. An Egyptian Remedy, For the cure of sudden Coughs and Colds, Asth ma, Acid Stomach, Heartburn, So re Throat, Sea Sickness. Cholera. Diarrhoea, Cramps and I’ains in the stomach. Sent by express for sl. Kayton’s Dyspeptic Pills, Are a sure and pleasant cure for DYSPEPSIA. BII.LIOUS DISORDERS, CONSTIPATION, and all disorders of the liver, stomach and bowels, and when taken regularly will cleanse the blood. These are the greatest Anti-Billious Pills ever placed before the public. Sent by mail for 30 cents per box. The above Medicines are prepared and sold by PROF. H. H. KAYTOJf, SAVANNAH GEORGIA, To whom all orders should be addressed ; or to his Wholesale Agents, A. A. SOLOMONS & CO., Savannah. Ga. A liberal discount to parties selling again. For sale in Quitman, at Dr. J. H. McCall’s drug store. February 22, 1867. ly * SAMUEL W. BROOKSj IWHAREHOUSE & COMMISSION MERCHANT, ■ ~XT EEPS constantly on hand a general assort- IJTV ment of Family Groceries, Liquors, and other articles. Quitman, December 21,1866. 49- f L FOR SALE l r y-vNE YOKE OF EXCELLENT OXEN. Apply to J D. DELAXNOY. Quitmac, Ga-, March 29, 1867. 3-ts F. R. FILDES, Editor. YOL. 11. Jjaetiral. “ ill Quiet along the Potomac Te-night." The following was published during the war, and we reproduce it for its beauty. All quiet %long the Potomac to-night, Except now and then that a picket Is shot, as he walks on his post to and flro, By a rifleman hid in a thicket. 'Tis nothing—a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the news of the battle ; Notan officer lost—only one of the men, Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle. All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ; Their tent.* in the eye of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming ; A tremulous sigh, os the gentle night wind Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping, While the stars up above with their glittering eyes Keep guard, for the army is sleeping. There’s only the sound of the sentry’s tread, As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, And thinks of the two on the low trundle bed, Far away in the cot on the mountain ; His musket falls slack, and his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children sleep. For their mother-may Heaven defend her t The moon seems to shine now os brightly as then, That night, when the love yet unspoken, Leaped up to his lips, and when low murmured VOW’S Were pledged to be ever unbroken : Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling, And gathers his gun closer up to its place, As if to keep down the heart-swelling lie passes the fountain, the masted pine tree, The footstep is lagging and weary ; Yet onward he goes through the broad belt of light, Toward the shades of a forest so dreary, Hark! was it the light wind that rustled the leaves? Was it the moonlight so wondrously flashing? It looked like a rifle—“Ha! Mary, goodbye 1” And the life blood is ebbing and plashing. All quiet along the Potomac to night. No sound save the rush of the river ; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead, The Picket’s off duty forever! # Hlktlhtiuous Jleabing. Mrs. Partington says : For my part I can’t deceive what on airth eddication iscomin to. When I was young, if a gal only understood the rules of distrac tion, provision, multiplying, replenishing and tlie common donominator, and knew all about the rivers and their obituaries, the couvenants and their dormitories, the provinces and the umpire, they bad eddication enough. But now they have to study bottomy, algerbay, and have to demonstrate suppositions about the syco phants of circusstangonU and diagonies of parallelograms, to say nothing of ox hides, asheads, cowsticks, and abstruse triangles. And hco the old lady was so confused with the technical names that she was forced to stop. - » The most graceful principle of dress is neatness —the most vulgar is precise ness ! Better try all things and find all emp ty , than to try nothing and leave life a blank. The way to make a tall man short is to ask him to loan you a hundred dol lars. Why are soldiers like clocks ?—Be cause their first duty is to mark the time. Wealth make a man proud when he has little else to be proud about. To cure the toothache let an omnibus run over your foot. A sermon in four words on the vanity of all earthly possessions : ‘Shrouds— have—no—pockets !’ Why is a retired carpenter like a lec turer ? Because he is an ex-planer. Good order is bread, disorder is starva tion. ‘My heart la thino,> M tho onhhage said to the cook-maid. We can carry nothing with us to the next world, save the good we have done in this stage of existence. ‘Scatter the germs of the beautiful.’ as the fellow said when be kicked his wife and children out of doors. If you see a wife carefully footing her husbands stockings, yon may conclude that he will not find it Laid to foot her bills. Not a few people imagine that chil dren should learn politeness lrom the public teacher. This 10 wrong that brnnoh of tuition lays in the mother’s lap. A sensible ‘down east’ female is deci dedly opposed to the interference of wo men with politics. She pointedly asks: ‘lf men can’t do the voting and take care of the country, what is the use of them?’ Dean Swift, hearing of a carpenter falling through the scaffolding of a house which he was engaged in repairing, dri ly remarked that he liked to see a me chanic go through his work promptly. In Japan their horses are shod with nothing but shoes of grass, dried and twisted together in hard masses, and then fastened to the hoofs by a thong of the same brought up and fastened round the fetlock. A farmer who bad married a rich wife after promising another of meaner cir cumstances, endeavored to pallitate his conduct to a clergyman, who told him it was s i wrong that he did’nt know of any thing like it. ‘lf you do not I do,’ says Hodge ; ‘it is like your leaving A poor parish for a rich one.’ A man very much intoxicated was sent to jail. ‘Did you not bail him out?’ exclaimed a bystander to a friend. ‘Bail him out! ‘exclaimed the othe; ‘Why you could hot pump him out.’ A Western wag remarks that he has seen a couple of sisters who had to be told everything together, for they are ' so much alike that they could not tie told ; apart. HERE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE’S RIOHTS MAINTAIN, UNAWED BY FEAR AND UNBRIBED BY GAIN. Modern Purity, Virtue,Charity,4c [The following sarcastic and pithy il lustration of modern philanthropy, chari ty, patriotism, etc., we find in the Metro politan Record, over the signature of ‘R. E. Bel.] Purity? Virtue? Honesty? Philanthro py? Charity? Patriotism? Relegion? What are they? Are they not idle sounds, or ghostly satires! Are they not words without meaning? “purity!” What is it but a lustrous absurdity? The snowy petals of the lily, the waters of the crystal streams, are its highest, purest symbols. Yet that lily’s stainless folds are but a refinement of the filth of the stable or barn yard; its soft perfume but a modification of the vile odors of muck-heap and the poultry house. The glistening stream is hut the washings of a thousand nauseous things. On its clear, sparkling bosom, or beneath its suriace, float unnumbered loathsome types of death and rottenness. Here the putrid, swollen carcases of some vet eran watch-dog, whose bark has gone down forever amid the silent waves of oblivion; here a decaying porker, whose soul has taken lodging in bog heaven, to await the coming of Butler, Stevens and Chandler; there a way-worn old ox who has slipped off the yoke, and found, at last a l.othe-like place of repose, where wicked drivers cease from troubling and weary oxen are at rest. Hore floats a rat with his cue-rious appendage, and side by side his old antagonist, her nine lives all long since extinguished, "re quies-cols in pace,” which is antiquated Italian, for drifts in peaceful stink ing ness. Yet these, the lily and the water, are “purity’s'' choicest emblems! The very air wo breathe comes to us laden with reminiscences of pig-pens, back alleys, butcher shops and dead horses, with which it has dallied in its wander ings. We ourselves, in the noonday of our strength and comeliness and pride, are but incipient carrion, futurity’s worm feed! Purity, indeed! An'airy nothing’ an empty name without a ‘local habita tion,’ the phantasm of a fevored or a whiskied brain, the shadows of a lunatics dream, an evanescent vapor, a myth! And “virtue!” What is it? What but the mere ab sence of temptation? It is the raising of the hands with holy abhorrence, at acts that our most righteous solves would long ago have committed, if opportunity had been given us. The arching of the eyebrows, the pursing of the lips, the toss of the head at mention of things from which we have, been kept only by UcV of sufficient Indurs*inftni H 4bo pulling aside of the garments to avoid the contaminating touch of some object on which might justly be stamped, "our selves if circumstances had permitted!” Modern “Virtue” is the broad phylactory of Pharisaism, the whitewash on the se pulchre, the silken cap that hides the scald head, the green moss that clothes decay, the phosphorescent light that gilds decomposition, the blooming rind that encloses the aßhes of the apples of Sodom! “honesty!” Ha! ha! I chuckle, I snigger and gig gle like a whole bevy of rustic maidens swinging on the schoolhouse gate, as I think of it. Honesty, forsooth! It’s the synonym of stupidity. “An honest man is the noblest work of God,” sang a dis tinguished blank versifier, and it was an intelligent individual who completed the sentence and the sense by adding: “And a dem sight the scarcest!" Honestyl.bah! ’tis the weakness of an Idiot, the misfor tune of a fool. Honesty is that sacred principle that animates quartermasters, commissaries, government contractors, stock speculators and Wall street gamb lers; it’s the high-pressure engine that moves generals, Congressmen, legisla tors, governors, chief-justices and "inves tigating committees;” the divine afflatus that restrains your fellow-traveler to eternity from swindling you-—just when ever he has no chance to do it! ‘Honesty’ is villainy too shrewd to be found out; dishonesty is only the folly of being caught in the act. “philanthropy” Is a ravening wolf whose fangs and claws are thinly covered with a lamb-like fleece. Ship loads of red flannel shirts and tracts on predestination for the young cannibals on the banks of the Ni ger; gushes of affection and cargoes of provisions for the suffering Greeks; sym pathy and testaments for the benighted Hindoos and Siamese; overflowing ten derness for Hayti, Hungary, Poland and the Sandwich Islands; buncombe resolu tions in behalf of Ireland; tat, tender, juicy missionaries, in prime order for barbecuing, for the Caribs, Feejees and New Zealanders; and naught but hatred, persecution, abuse, "arsenic” confisca tion, damnation, and an occasional ship-1 ment of strumpets arid school-marms for j the destitute millions of their own flesh | and blood. This is “philanthropy?” Ears acute, and hearts and purses open to ev erv whimper of distress that comes a cross the ocean from any heathenish, un pronounceable Affghanistan, Belcochist an, Timbustoo, or Booria Boola-Gba; but the grindstone hearts, sole-leather con sciences and ears of lead to to the wail ings of their own despairing, perishing brethren and sisters This is the acma of modern “philanthropy!” Thirty years of lachrymose harangues and lugubious dissertations on the sufferings of the op pressed and downtrodden African broth er, loud professions of benevolence bran bread, “anti-eruelty-to-animale” societies, whaugdoodle sermons and sniffling pray ers—four years of slaughter, outrage and devastation, a million and a half of human lives, three millions of widows and orphans, a deluge of blood and horror at which all creation stood aghast, to tear a race of tailless baboons from com fortable homes and kind protectors, and tarn them out upon the highways of the world, helpless, hungry, naked beggars and vagabonds. This is the sublimest, the “cari’t-fly any higher-on-mortal-wings est climax of philanthropy!” Its all a smiling, lying, horn blowing cheat! And QUITMAN, GEO., AUGUST 2, 1867. Sumner, Garrison, ’Qhase and Phillips know it to the bottom\f their false souls —if they’vo got souls at ail (and the devil won’t get his dues if they haven't). •‘charity 1” What is il, and where found? Heav enly minded charity, without which, though I may be pure as Morton, vir tuous as Fletcher, honest as Butler and philanthropic as Wilson—without which, though I may boast ail other good quali ties and gifts, I am but a leaky brass kettle and a tinkling pot-metal cow-bell! Charity lounging on her luxurious sofa weaves beautiful homliness on the sor rows of the poor, and kicks the unhappy Lazarus from her doorstep Charity in spires onr "sewing circles,” whose nee dles fly so briskly on linsey petticoats for infantine Hottentots, whilst their tongues are no less active and untiring in abusing their neighbors, manufactur ing at. least two substantial scandals for every flimsey garment they produce. Meek charity flaunts her gayest plumes and brightest ribbons at "festivals” and “fairs” for the relief of the destitute.” Enter that brilliant hall. Hear the soft, voluptuous mvmic that floats from a fairy bower of evergreens and roses. Sec the glare and glitter, tbo fashion and luxury. Oboorve the innumerable munificent and magnificent gifts. Note the pompous placards that blazo on every article; “Do nated by Ketchum & Skinnom, dealers in staple and fancy dry goods, corner Fourth and Locust, streets“ Donated by Bunkum & Stuffem, grocers aud provi sion merchants,‘2Bs Vino street;” “Do nated by O. A. Blowhard, manufacturer, 112 Main street,” and so forth, and so on, ad infinitum and ad disgustitum. No business advertising about, that—oh! no, all pure charity! Nut letting the left hand know what the right hand doeth, with a vengeance! Charity heads the public contribution lisis with a thousand dollars, and drops horn buttons and rag ged three cent shinplasters into the col lection plate and the poor-box. Charity sympathizes with distress in an inverse ratio to its distance and the likelihood of being called on for aid. Charity but re cently got up a three hundred thousand dollar “fair” for the “Southern Relief’ in one of our great cith s, and let a gallant Confederate officer die on the streets of “ starvation aud exposure 1” Charity groans, "Lord help the poor in this hard weather,” and forthwith doubles their rent and raises the price of coal 1 Charity, gives her fine sewing to emaciated seam stresses, and then forgets to pay them! Charity examines with a two-forty-double back-action microscope the inflnitessimal speck in hor brother’s optic, but fails to perceive the raft of saw logs in her own! Charity for three score years and ten grinds the faces of the poor into knife blades, wrings the last mite from the famishing clutohes of the widow and fatherless, and then on her death-bed, when all her ill-gotten money-bags won’t purchase another gasp of bieath, loaves large bequests to hospitals, asylums and churches, gets puffed by the papers and canonized by the saintsl Charity is a polished thimble-rigger, an accomplished “now you see me,” a moral Barnutn, a pious humbug, a player’s mask to be worn under the eye of the world, and jealously thrown aside in the privacy of counting rooms and back parlo.s. Char ity is charity—just when it “pays!” “patriotism!” “Patriotism 1” I idly repeat an Idle word. Patriotism 1 Sacred flame that fired the bosom of Le nidas, of Tell, of Wallace and of Washington, what art thou now ? The gaudy circus tent that covers the uncountable and never-ending tricks, tumblings and hocus-pocus-inge, wheel-abouts and turn-abouts, somer saults and wintersaults of political gym nastic riders and clowns. Patriotism ! Tear to shreds the Magua Oharta of oor liberties—and shout,‘Loyalty and Union.’ Dot the whole land with graveyards, let our rivers run blood, rear pyramids of fraternal skulls, lay waste with fire and sword, leave vast districts so that to pass over them even the dove of reconciliation “must carry her rations with her”—and shout “Humanity and Union!” Enlarge our bastiles, crowd our dungeons with captives, fill our penitentiaries, jails and calabooses with preachers, priests, Sis ters of Charity and children—and shout “Freedom and Union !” Murder our wo men as at Kansas City, seat our old men aud boys on their coffins and butcher them, as at Palmyra, at Kirksville, at Macon City, at Paducha, Lexington, and a hundred other places; torture men, women and children to extort “confes sions,” as in Arkansas, in Tennessee, in Georgia and the Carolinas—and all the while shout, ‘Magna imity and Union 1’ Roll up our debt by billions, pile on the taxes till every bone in our wretched car cases cracks, build up the rich, trample down the poor, stick an infernal revenue stamp on every breath we draw, on evej ly morsel we swallow and every rag we I wear, on everything we use, from the j cradles we are rocked in to the coffins we are buried in—and shout, ‘Progress and Union!’ Make ‘government’ the paradise of thieves, steal by legislative enactments, steal like highwaymen, vi et armis, steal like pickpockets, by slight of hand, steal openly and secretly and any way at all; steal everything from a pew ter spoon, or a pocket Bible, to the con tents of a tomb or a bank, as Butler did —and shout without ceasing, “Hallelu jah and Union!” Rend the country asI’rider, 1 ’ ri der, kick ten States back into utter nihil ity, turn them over bound and bleeding to the merciless mercies of shoulder strapped w masters, like bickles, and land pirates like Sheridan—and shout “Equality and Union!’’ Clap the knife to the throats, the revolver to the breast of eight millions of people, force them at the point of the Bayonet to doff their hats and bend in low reverence be fore some petty satrap’s dirty shirt, .or sortie Strong-minded female’s petti-skirt, suspended on a ( liberty ) pole; compel eight thousand free born citizens to go down on abject knees and lick the dust from the feet of their former slaves —anff shout, ‘Hail Columbia, happy land, John Brown’s soul, Yankee Doodle and Union! To-day, point to the ‘Star spangled ban- ner,’ and howl with Greeley, ‘Tear down the flaunting lie;’ to-morrow, roar with Dix, ‘Shoot down the first roan that rais es a hand against that flag!’ For four years chant, ‘Stand by the President and save the country 1’ and in the very next breath yell, ‘To hell with the President; support to him is treason to the nation!’ —and all the tirao shout, ‘Constitution and Union?’ Refuge of all things abomi nable, varnish that cunning smears over rascality, lid on the stink pot of official scoundrelism, demagogic fig-leaf that hides every iniquity and impurity— This, THi-s ais modern ‘Patriotism!’ And last of all the sacred band—■ “religion,” heaven-descended female, dost thou not shudder, dost not tby very “waterfall” bristle with indignation and horror at the profanation of thy name, at the vile uses to which thou art put by those who profess to be thy chief guardians, thy principal protectors? Poor fallen, degia ded, dirty skirted creatures as you are, don’t you sometimes sigh your gaiter boots into your throat as you think of your lost estate? Unhappy beer-jerker in the doggery of politics, do no gleams ever visit you of your former beauty and purity and glory? Miserable dam-sell, I pity you—pity you from the crown of my feet to the sole of my head. Religion, fi°?L fi^w« D TO lo 6c«i n «iirto inenl’ Religion of the lowly Savior, who when smitten on one cheek, mildly turn ed the other! Religion of the Prince of Peace, whose every breath was love! Are not your celestial robes all bedrag gled in mire and blood? Ilavo not your temples, those training places for the peace of heaven, rang lor years with the bugle calls of savage war? Have not your churches been turned into recruit ing offices, and your ministers, succes sors of Ihe meek Apostles, heralds of universal peace, have they not been the fiercest urgers on of deadly strife, the loudest clanging trumpet' rs of revenge and hate? Have they not cast out of your sin-agogues with execration and contempt the few who have dared to raise their voices, as their Master would have done, for peace and reconciliation? Oh, religion! religion! once so fair and holy; the radiant star that pioclaimed the coming of unending day I What art thou now? A black cloth coat, a white choke-rag, a cat-like walk, a sanctimoni ous roll of the eyes, a mouth demurely drawn down at the corners, long whining prayers, psalms droned through the nose —-in public; meanness, knavery, licen tiousness, doviliam— in private! Wanton paramour of one-horse politicians, last resort of disappointed schemers; sancti ty-daubed bundle of bypoorrey, disguised ambition, ill-corkod malevolence, and maggot-like lusts reveling in moral car rion. This is modern ‘religion.’ What is true? What can be trusted? Which is which and what is what? Equality. On last Sunday night, at the speaking on Broad street, we noticed a Radical who was talking with the negroes about equality, advising them to demand their social rights. A tall negro, evidently from tho country, but sharp withal, said to him: “Are you willing for us niggers to sit in your parlor, court your daughters, ac company them to church and balls, and marry them?” Mr. Rad commenced to explain what equality was, mid what he meant. ‘No, no!’ cried tho negro, ‘what I want is an answer, yes or no.’ ‘Well,’ said Mr. Rad, ‘I was raised,’— ‘No matter whar you was raised" in terrupted tho negro, dat ain’t got noth ing to do wid it, you is either in favor or you aint.J and I would like you to answer tny question.’ Mr. Rad tried again and again to ex plain his position on that particular fea ture of negro equality But the, negro would stop him aud demand a 'yes or no;’ so he finally gave it up, leaving the ne gro master of tho field. Wo believe in the old negro’s manner of answering white Rads when they preach negro equality— Nash. Gazette. Would Diserace the Radical Party We heard oi a conversation in our streets tbo other day, that may servo to ‘point a moral.’ A white Radical was electioneering with some froedrnen in behalf of his par ty, when a Conservative came up and remarked that it was very’ strange that the Radicals were so very anxious to get votes of the negroes, but never proposed to give their votes to the ne groes for aoy office; that for his part, if the blacks were to be allowed to vote, he was wilting to give them offices too— would fleet them to Congress. 'Ah, “exclaimed the white Radical, ‘I see what you are after—you want to disgrace the Radical party I’— Columbus Sun. Under the Rose.— That is, secretly; unknown to others; on the sh 1 . Origin: Amirig the ancients, the rose was re garded as the emblem of silence, aud a custom prevailed among them of sus pending a rose from the ceiling over the upper end of the table, a3 an intimation of whatever transpired there was of a confidential nature. The same is also used in its Latin original— sub rosa. Affection. —On the proper and com plete exercise of the affections alone; the best happiness of life depends; and as the meanest scrap of gauze, of bead or of tinsel, looks beautiful aDd costly through she reflecting mirror of[a kaleidoscope, so does the most common and dreary scene acquire attraction and value when be held through the beautifying medium of gratift and affection. As an EngTishnjan and an Irishman j were passing By a gallows, the former | asked : ‘Pat, jf that gallows had its due, pray i ‘Ocb, faith, and fd be i iding to town all alone,’ wao the quick reply. | $3.00 per Anntiitu NO* 26. i Familiar Conversation. i NUMBER ONE; “Ah, Mr Editor, I wish to advertise by the year in your paper. What Will four squares cost I” “Fifty dollars, sir.” “Fifty dollars 1 Why I it Red to get it done for thirty, before the war. I can’t pay any more now—there is no justice or reason in such high prices.” "Very well, sir, if you don’t like the price let it alone. I wish to buy a pair of good sewed shoes. "What is the price.” ' ix dollars, sir—a very nice article.” “Ahem ! what was the price of such shoes before the war ?” “From two and a half to three dollars, sir 1 everything in our line, you know, is higher now.” “Yes, sir, have you some coffee, and what is the price ?” “We have some very nice Java at fifty cents.” “Fifty cents 1 What was the price be fore the war ?” ‘‘From eighteen to twenty sir,” "Well, Mr. Graspall, let me see some of your bleached shirting. What is the price of that ?” “Bleached shirting is worth half a dol. you uot formerly sell it from fif teen to twenty cents per yard ?” “Yes, sir : but as I before remarked, eveiything in our line is higher tlan for merly.” “Well, sir, I see I can’t afford to buy dry goods aud groceries, but I am ob liged to have some flour, bacon, and corn. What arc the articles woith ?” “Flour is from sixteen to twenty dol lars per barrel ; corn two dollars and a half per bushel, and bacon twenty-eight cents per pound." “Don’t you remember when I advertis ed for you at thirty dollars, you sold flour at five dollars per barrel ( corn at sixty cents per bushel and bacon at I3J cents per pound ?” “Well, yeß, I believe so.” “How then ; do you expect me to pay from one to two hundred per cent, ad vance on former prices and not raise my rates ?” “Well, I don’t know, Mr. Editor, but it does seem to me your prices are very extortionate 1 1 !” Reader the above is no fancy sketch ; nor does it apply to merchants alone. NUMBER TWO. “Hello ? is the Editor in ?” “Yes, walk in, Mr. Muggins—take a seat, sir.” “I justjcalled to see about taking a pa per, Squire. What are they going at now?” “Four dollars a year, sir.” "Four dollars 1 why I never heard of sucbextortioD.” "Well, Mr. Muggins, I understand you have some wheat—w hat, do you ask for it ?” “Three dollars a bushel, sir.” “I also want some bacon. What is the price ?” “Twenty eight cents per pound, sir.” “I wish likewise to get some corn and fodder—what are the prices of those ar ticles ?” “Corn is two dollars and a half per bushel, and fodder a dollar and a half per cwt. But hold on let ns settle that newspaper affair. Can’t you let me have it for less than Four dollars ? Ido not see any good reason for asking more than you formerly did—which was two dollars, I believe.” (Editor, somewhat excited) “The thunder you don’t I formerly bought wheat at a dollar a bushel—yon now ask three 1 I bought bacon at 12J —noiV you ask 20 1 I bought corn at 50 to TO—you now ask two dollars and a half! I bought fbdder at 60c pet cwt—you now ask $1,50 1 And so on to the end of the chapter,, Let us look at tho practical working of the thing. I offer you my paper at two dollars—the old price—if 3'ou will pay in produce at, old prices This you decline to do, because it would take two bushels of wheat it would take four bushels of corn, which would at the present price amount to ten dollars. It would take 400 lbs. fodder for which you now ask six dollars.” “Hold on. Squire—don’t’go any further Here are four dollars ; put down my name. I find editors are not after all as unreasonabl as some’ of the rest of us.” —.— The Colonel’s Horse. I have never been able to ascertain the cause of the quarrel between the Crickley’s and the Drakes. They have lived within a mile or two of each other in Illinois for five years and from their first acquaintance there had been a mu tual feeling of dislike between tho two families. . One day Mr. Drake the elder was re turning with a pocket full of rocks, from Chicago where he had been to dispose of a load of £’rain, and Sam Barton was on ! the wagon with him. As they approach ed the grove Which intervened between them and Mr. Drake’s house he observed to bis companion : “What a beautiful shot old Cricklcy’s roan is over yonder, “Hang it, so it is,” muttered old Drake. The horse was standing under some trees twelve rods from the to a;t. Involuntarily Drake stopped his team. Me glanced furtively around, then with a queer smile the oicl hunter took up his rifle from the wagon, and raising it to his shoulder,' drew a sight on the colonel’s horse. .. . - v “Beautiful,” murmured Drake, lower ing his rifle with the air of a man who lias resisted a pojyerfnf temptatiqp. “1 cou)d drop tho old roan so handsonie ” “Shoot !" sugested Barton who lovod ; :Mn in Any Shape. ~, „ I “No’twon’t do,” sairf the old hunter, I glancing cautiously around, t “I won’f tell,” said Sam. I “Well 1 won’t shoot f'rae, tell or in tell, 'i'tm Uorse'ts 100 nigh—if he was fifty rods off twelve uo Ttieve would be a mere risibility of mistaking TERMS FOR ADVERTISING INVARIABLY in advance. „ One square, (10 line!!, or less,) flt|t llttsrUea $2.00; each |o)lowing Insertion, SI.OO. When advertisements are .continued month or longer, the charge will be as follows ) 12 Months.. ■ 6 Mentha. - 1' 3 Months. 1 Month. Number of Squares. 1 $6 00 *lO 00 1* i$ 00 It 20 TO 2 800 15 00 25 00 35 IN* 3 f* 00 18 00 35 00 4? 00 4 .. . 1b 00 24 00 40 00 63 00 5 20 00 S5 00 46 00 ,-W 00 AOol’mn 35 to 85 00 80 00 Wto i•• 60 oo so oo 130 oo 200 oq OfcUiiarj notices, 'liributeaef Respect, and *R articles o la persona! character, charged far ad advertisements. .-*< - !■ For annonneing candidates for office, SIO.OO , him forT^eerTTlotTy - As it iis I’d give old Crickley five dollars for a shot." At this moment the colonel himself stepped from behind a big oak, , not half ’ a dozen paces distant and stood before ’ Mr. Drake. “Well,.why don’t ypu shoot ?” The oldbdtiter stammered otit Some ■ words in confusion. ■ j “That you color el ? I—l was tempted | to I declare. But as I said I’ll give you a V for a pull. , “Say an X and its f- bargain.” + Drake felf for his riflo and looked ks the old horse. ■ t , . ; “How much is tlie cld roan worth ?” ‘Fifty dollars’ he,.whispered jfi Sam’s ear. “Well I’ll do it. Here’s an X.” , “I’ll be hanged if I thought you’d do it,” muttered the colonel, pocketing the money. , Witn high glee the old banter put a fresh cap on his rifle, stood up in his wagon and drew » close sight on old. roan. Crack wtht the rifle. Tlie hunter let out in a horrid oath which I will not repeat. Sam was cstonished : the colo nel started ; old reap never.stirred. — Drake stared at.his rifle with "'a face as black as Othello’s. , . “What’s with ( you hey ?—; Fust tirtie youTver served me such a totoK I jIWSUI." And Drnhu *-. Am pAmm " ‘ Lli wrath and indignation. . , , "People say you’ve'lost your knack of shooting,” said the colonel, in a ton* of cutting sarcasm. "Who said so ? It’s a lie 1”, thunder ed tlie enraged old hunter. “I can shoot “A horse at ten rods 1 Ha 1 ha 1” Drake livid. ..,, .< I “Look here, colonel, I can’t stand that' he began. j "Never, mind, the horse can,” sneered the colonel. "Here, I’m bound to have my shot,’’, growled Drake grinding his teeth aud producing anothpr bank note. "Crack away” said the colonel, pocket ing the money, ■ ... . Drak. did crack away ; with deadly, aim too, but the horse did not mind it in the least. To the rage and disgust of the old hunter, rone stared him right in the face as if he liked, the fun. , t “Drake,”Jcried Sam, “you’re drunk—a horse at a dozen rods ! O Lord !” “Shut your mouth or I’ll shoot you,” said old Drake. , “f'bc man lies that; says I can’t shoot. Last week I shot a goose’s head at fifty rods and l cau do it ngain. Crickley, you cau laugh now, but I’ll bqt yoq fifty dollars that I can bring down old roan at the very next shot.” ■_ . The wager, was readily accepted. rti» Blakes were placed in Sam’s hands. Ela ted with the idea-of winning back his two tens, and making atyX in the bar gain, drake carefully selected a perfect ball, and with a buckskin patch careful ly loaded his, rifle., ■ • » It was now near nigbt, bpt the hunter was in the habit of boasting that he could shoot a bat on the wjng by star light and without .hesitation he drew «t bead oq rokti’s head. . A moment Inter and Drake was driving though the grove, flic most enraged and. desperate oi men. . His rifle innocent vie limos hie ife lay with brqken stock in the bottom of the wagon. Sam Barton was too frightened to laugh. J In the meantirho the gratified colonel was rolling on the ground .ponvulsed with mirth and the. oid roan was stan ding flndet the. tree. When old Drake reached home his two sons discovering his ill humor, hastened to arouse, his spirits _VHtb' the news, which they were sure would make him danpe with joy. • t ■> “Clear quV' growled the angry old man. ..“I don’t wjao’t to hear any news 1 get away or I'll knopk you dpyvn.” : “But father it is such a trick played on qlfl Crickley.” . “Old Ctjckley ?” said-the old tnan getj ting interested. "Glad you haye playe<k the colonel $ trick; let’s have it.” “Well father .Ted and I tliie evening went for deer—” , . . “Hapg : the deer ; let's hear about yonr trick.’ ‘Could’nt find the deer, but I thought wp must kill something,.so jed away at the colonel’s old roan—shot him dead.’ ‘Shot old roan!’ thundered the old hun ter. 'Jed rfid you shoot the colonel’s lIOBS ?’ • , , 4 ‘Did’nt do anything elec. Then,’ said Jed confident that the joke must be a grecable to his father. Jim and I prop ped him up autl tied his head back with a string and,left him standing under the tree just as if he wete alive. Ha! ha f isn’t it a joke ?’ ~ .. , Old 1 Drakes head fell upon bis breast. He felt his empty pocket book,and looked, at Ipq .rifle. Then in a rueful tone bo whispered to tpe boys. ~. It's a joke but if you ever tell of it—; or if yon do Sain Burton—l'll Rkin you, alive. I’ve been shooting at that dead, host for over lit If an hour at ten dollars a shot.’ , r „ Seasonable Hints.—These seasonable hints .if true, will l;elp to keep many a, fail .one from having th< ir faces aqd. arms, etc., bitten by these, annoying lit tle bugs,.called mowpl.i tocs, some friend try it, ? 'Thp. oi,! of, pennyroyal will keep mosquitoes put of a room if scattered abopt even in small quantities.' Roaches,sre exterminated by scattering a handful of fresh encumber parings 14- bout the Ijoupq. No fly will light window Vfhich has been with water’d which a little garlicY has been . boiled.” . . Eating while the body tt fatigued, is a very injurious *ev e labor soon alter a hearty meal, is none the less so. A large sharTn&j{ital force is inquired tq'prpperjy perforw7te"procfSS. ot digestion, and if this is called away* to tho muscles or brain to accoropliau severe physical or meuta labor, tho . stomfkJus left ineufiicienty supplied* anffthe tood remains for a lova ti»‘“ h*' digested’.