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F. R. FILDES, Editor.
VOL. 111.
the (Quitman jCauntr.
— tJJ — HED EVElfr FRIDA v.
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Obituary notices, Tributes of Respect, and all
articles o a personal character, charged for as
advertisements.
For announcing candidates for office. SIO.OO
poetical
The Confederate Dead.
Linos written upon reading the following remark
of the late Bishop Elliott, when some of the
Confederate Dead were reinterred at Savan
nah in 18H5 : “The time has not yet gome to
render appropriate honors to our heroic dead.’*
Not yet! in memory of our dead,
Os Southern life-blood nobly fthed,
Shall shaft of sculptured marble rise,
Lifting its proud head to the skies.
Not yet! not yet!
Not yet shall history’s honest scroll.
Their knightly names with truth enroll,
As heroes in the ghastly fight.
As martyrs for the sacred right,
Not yet! not yet!
Not yet! shall poets' heaven’born fire.
Hashing their glories high, and higher,
Entwine with wreath of deathless tame,
Each fallen patriot’s stainless name.
Not yet! not yet !
Not yet ! where heart of manhood beats,
Where'er the eye of woman weeps.
Fball honor, Love their tribute pay,
To deeds that ne’er can pass away.
N'-ot yet! not yet !
Not yet! wherever the Im.ve may be,
Wherever the sons rs men are free,
.Shall the Southern Cross with tears be West.
No warriors' tombs with garlands (best.
Not yet! not yet !
Sleep on ! sleep on ! ye true and brave,
A nation's heart is still your grave;
There—calmly rest—one shrine ye share,
.Sleep to the requiem chanted there'
Not yet! not yet !
Not yet! the writhing lips are closed.
But tin-steadfast heart without repose,
From its depths like the restless main,
Fends ever back a sail refrain
Not yet I not yet 1
A SorTiri:u\ W6sf.iV.-
Fareucll to Johnson’* Island
BY AKA HARTS.
I leave thy shores, oh hated Isle,
Where misery marked my days,
And seek the land w here loved ones smile,
Where sunrise scenes the heart beguile,
In genial balmy rays.
i quit thy loathsome prison walls,
With joyous bounding heart.
To tread again dear Southern halls,
To go where'er my duty calls,
And bear my humble part.
No more thy snows (God grant, no more)
Will robe my prison coll,
Nor ill winds beat against ray door,
Nor storms blast around my prison ward,
Within this Northern Hell.
No more my ears will hear theory
Os suffering braves for bread;
Nor scenes of sorrow meet ray eye.
When those, far worse, who cannot die
Than those already dead.
But soft. I’ll drop a parting tear
In memory of those,
Who, lost to loving heart's fore’er,
Now rest in dreamless slumber hero,
Secure from heartless foes.
Then haste the stream and friendly wind,
To bear me from the shore:
To leave this God-cursed soil behind ;
To bear me where ray heart shall find
Freedom forever more.
July 28. 1865.
A seven year old boy was lately heard
to use profane .language. On being’
reproved by his parents and directed to
askJOod’s forgiveness, he retired to his
room and was overheard to say : “Oh,
God I am very sorry I said that naughty
w >rd, and won’t say it anymore; but
please hurry and make me grow up to
he a man and then I can swear as much
as I want to, like pa, and nobody will
notice it.”
A down East editor .has got such a
cold in his head, that the water freezes
on his face when he washes it.
fHtaUattfotts.
LOVE AND PRIDE.
We were sitting by the fncsitle- Leon
ard and j ;ho leaned back in bis wide
am chair, and I at his foot.
'•llow can I hope to win her now,” he
murmured, looking down at his maimed
arm with a bitter defiant glance. ‘Sbc,
with her glorious beauty her regal pride;
so far above me 1 Oil, my love lias so j
compassed me about with its strong j
arms lias sheltered me under its shelving i
toof that I felt like an outcast—homeless i
and lost forever.”
I looked up to him as ho spoke, and
thought of the time when he hail pledged
his troth to Mariam by that same sliin- ;
ing fire light when his manly beauty (ell
on him like a rapid sunset ; when lie 1
grasped in his vigorous hands such no
ble pictures of the future. Now without
even that future to call his own, poor,
maimed and useless, he had conic back
to the old trysting place broken in health
in hope, in fortune, and oh ! more de
plorable titan all—not even rich in love.
‘Leonard,' I said rising and leaning
my hand on bis chair, ‘1 am now—going
to see Miriam.’
lie started and a flushed anguish came
over his still beautiful brow.-lie grasp
ed my band convulsively.
j ‘One moment,’ he whispered ; “one
moment and 1 shall he myself again. 1
must not meet her thus.”
He bowed his face and the light brown
curls fell in a cloud about itand conceal
ed the outward struggle. Then he raised
his head and spoke calmly:
“1 am toady now; I will release that
vow which cannot be otherwise than
irksome to her proud spirit. Sho shall
never know the agony it cost me to give
her up. 1 will meet her bravely—like a
man I”
| So 1 went out and left hint sitting
! there, his loyc lying like a shattered vase
| at his feet.
\ I found Miriam before her mirror, ar
ranging her hair. She turned her gleam
ing face towards me as 1 entered and it.
[ was overflowing with love hope and ex
pcctancy.
| ‘ls it bright.and cheerful below stairs?’
she asked quickly.
, ‘Quite beaming,’l replied,
j ‘I am so glad,’ she continued in a joy
ous tone. ‘What a long journey he will
have this freezing day ! Oh, I am so
thankful that 1 am mistress of Ashburn,
that I can offer him a resting place.’
I stood beside her, where I could sec
her beatify in tbe rni ror as I have seen
the sunshine lying afar on the hill, Red
scornful lips, dark pridefnl eyes, glowing
checks, and waves of raven hair, braided
gem-S; _
“Miriam,” said I earnestly, “I should
like to toll you a little story while wc
arc all alone ; something that weighs
upon my mind about—about a friend of
mine.”
She turned and looked at me with a
curious glance ; then she said Cheerfully
and quickly :
‘Oh, I understand; you are going to
tell mo something relative to Lucilathat
old frit nd of whom you used to speak.’
I bowed my head in silent acquiesce. !
Then I commenced in a luw voice—play,
ing with the coral with which she was.
going to adorn her loveliness.
‘The ft icud of mine is very proud.— I
Three j'ears ago she plighted her troth
to a brave, manly lover. Thov both
joined ha nils and stepped together into ]
life and the world. He with a glorious *
future stretched out before him a hopeful ,
heart and a soul full of noble aspira
tions.’
‘How like to him,’ murmured Mariam,
pride flashing out again into her eye -.
‘Ho went abroad,’ I continued; ‘misfor
tunc came upon him; and that ripe luc
ionsjwt-ure turned to ashes in his grasp.
Stilt he struggled on: and when he had
conquered destiny and built for himself
another and fairer castle, he lost his right
arm and became a crippled miserable
thing.
The hand that braided those shining I
tresses trembled violently. The face of j
the mirror assumed a softer expression j
—the eyes grew darkly tender'.
‘Broken hearted, toilworn, and grown j
old with care he returned to his old home ’
He came to me for he dared not meet that 1
cold, withering glance of pride—that
scornful triumph of station and beauty,
in tlic face of her whom he had so wor
shipped, so adored wrth love exceeding !
-all tilings in width and boighth and povv
< r.”
HERE SHALL TILS PRESS THE PEOPLE'S RIGHTS MAINTAIN, UN AWED BY FEAR AND UNBRIBEII BY GAIN.
QUITMAN, GEO., MAY 22, 1868.
i ‘Was her pride, then mighty ?—her
woman’s nature so much less ?' asked
Miriam in a voice made lmsky with in
dignation and (ear, ‘Could she—dared
shelling him from her who had once
dweltpre-emminent in her heart! lie
broken hearted and alone in the wide,
pittilcss world 1”
‘She is a woman ?' 1 replied, ‘her heart
is time and l iving, blither pride has ev
er been to bet a second self. She l’cars
j the world with its sneers and jibs. I have
| promised to go to her—to prepare her for
j this sad event, Miriam, how shall 1
\ counsel her?’
Miriam shook back the waving hair
from her brow and turned her regal face
fi om me. It was lighted up with noble
and womanly love, a deep dewy, tender
ness.
'Tell her to go to him and pour out at
his feet a.l! that depth of devotion which
lies so rich in the heart of woman. To
hold out her hands to him and raise him
up to stand beside her tn that high pin
nacle of wealth and "estate. Tell her
that of the great heart of life love is the
dearest throb within it. It is a beauti
ful creation and oh, not lightly to be
dashed aside.’
I burst into tears, and pointed to the
door, and cried.
‘Miriam 1 there is a despairing and
heart broken man sitting by your fireside
It is Leonard.’
She started and fell backward against
a chair. The gush of imperial beauty
flowed away from tier face and left it
colorless. Then, with a linn step and
graceful majesty she took my hand and
led me out into the broad ball down the
groat staircase, and across to the door of
the room where he sat. Her brow was
! pale and calm, her hand did not tremble
I within mine.
| Still in the wide seat where I had left
I him the lire light shining vividly aiounil
j him, sat Leonard. Ho arose when he
saw ns and took a step forward into the.
■ middle of the room. 1 could have fallen
down and worshipped him, us he stood
j there with noble yet attenuated form,
and his adoring soul standing on the
threshold of his eyes. He looked ill and
| sorrowful but a conscientious dignity ol
manhood hung about him like a cloak.
Miriam leaned heavily upon me, and
I now she trembled like an aspen He
took another step forward and spoke to
her.
I ‘Miriam, I have come to release you
; from the ties that bind you to this
I wretched and maimed being—the shad-
ow of myself. Lam hero to give you up
forever.’
His voice died away in agony of an
guish. lie assayed to regain his cour
agfcons and manly bearing ; his love om
| nipotent supremeiloosed all the fountains
j of his heart and he wept most bitterly.
! With one bound she reached liis side
!—with one wide embrace of arms she
made a circle of love about him—with
: one burst of tears she ruined a heaven of
light and hope devotion in to his crushed
soul. Through the veil of her jeweled
hair, I saw her face lifted up in divine
gratitude, the lips j moved as if in
prayer—the broad bright brow wore a
halo about it like a golden band.
! I departed silently, and throughout
that happy daj I repeated truly and earn
estly—“Of all the great bearlquf, Life,
: Love is the di arcst throb within it.”
'■ Sir Robert Napier, commanding the
; British army in Abyssinia, is not rcla
j ted to the famous Napier family. He is
I a native of Ceylon, entered the Indian*
arniy’at the age of sixteen, and has par- !
' ticipated in most of the military enter- |
prises in li.di ■ during the last’forty j'ears. ;
! Without family connection or patronage
; lie has fought his way upward to the fore
most rank in the Indian armj' is a knight
of the Bath and of the Star of India, and |
! will obtain a peerage and large pension '
for bis success in Abyssinia.
j An Irishman, upon seeing a negro for
the first time, said, ‘Boy, sing us a song’
j Negro—‘l can’t sing no song, massa.’ j
Pat—‘Then what the devil have ye got
jer legs set in the middle of yer foot like
a lark for ?’
1 John Phoenix onqo said that when, j
from the deck of an out going steamer,
'hejshouted to a friend, 'G ol by Colonel,’
two thirds of the crowd on the wharf
raised their hats, and said, “Good by ole
fel. Tekkar yourself.”
A negro being asked if his master was
Christian, replied, “No sir—lie's member
ob Comrres.3.”
fertilizer from tiie South—Wealth
from the Palmetto State.
Yesterday, two vessels arrived at
Phillips’ chemical works, in Camden, la
den with phosphate 1 rought from the
banks of tbe Ashley River, near Char
leston, South Carolina. The news of
these novel arrivals soon spread through
out Camden, and the phosphate ships
were beseiged by a crowd eager to see
what .South Carolina had to send to Now
Jersey. Visitors were permitted to ex
amine the cargoes, and a number ot
sharks’ teeth and petrified vertebioo of
marine monsters were found in the phos
phates. These curiosties were highly
prized bj- their lucky finders. There is
hidden in this South Carolina phosphate
something far more valuable than the re
mains of the finny, inhabitants of the
great deep. A careful and thorough
analysis by competent chemists have re
vealed tin? important fact that this plioS
phato contains properties superior to
those of all similar agents known, and
fully equal to the best guano. This im
portant discovery is verified beyond per
adventure and arrangements bare been
made to bring full supplies of the phos
phate wherever it may he needed. A rev
.olution at agriculture is atjhnnl. The
phosphate fields of the Ashley river are
very extensive indeed, almost inexhaus
tible. They are in the hands of a num
ber of prominent Philadelphians, who
have invested largely and judicionsly in
good and appropriate machinery, maim
facturcd in this State for the purpose to
which it is now applied. With the aid
of those appliances from throe to five
hundred tons of the phosphate can he ex
. cavated each day. The vast beds of
this material are contiguous to naviga
ble water, and the precious earth can be
readily and economically shipped.
Tlteic is but oifc other deposit of phos
| phato similar to this of the Ashley River
| known to exist in the world, and this is
jin the north of England where it is
i found in what is technically known to
j minors as a "pocket.” This important
discovery and its practical development
will work untold good to the South, as
well as benefit to the agricultural inter
est of the North, East and West. The
sunny iS'outh is nearer to this restorer of
weakened arable lands, and her wide but
fallow fields can easily be made to blos
som as tbe rose, by means of the phos
phate ’found in such abundance near the
city of Charleston.— Philadelphia Inqui
rer, May ti.
NEGRO LABOR AND MORTALITY.
A Louisiana correspondent of the Lou
isville Democrat, writing on tne L2tli
inst, saj'K:
Circumstances threw mo’with a large
planter from Tonahaw, near Vicksburg.
.Discussing various questions, he said the
rise in cotton would not help the planter
I tit the middle men, into whose hands
the bulk of cotton has passed. A natural
reforcncr-to the cause of this induced him
to speak of the con iition of labor.
The planters have ceased to make con
tracts with negroes. The latter disre
gard them, and the bureau cannot-and
will not compel them to specific obedi
ence. His ylan was to trust to daily la
bor. Ho rented patches to negroes who
wore willing sometimes, when not em
ployed at home, to give the planter a
day. This was very haphazard; still it
was the best, lie added that another
cause was at work, which seemed little
regarded in the North. That is the
fearful mortality of tile negro. Fifty per
cent, of his negroes have died off this
I year. Negro mothers had killed their
i children. Infanticide addedpts terrors to
j neglect and disease. Refering to reluc
| tanco of the European to come to the
| South, he said that German and Irish
labor was not fitted to the cultivation of
I cotton and sugar. He sp >ke with saa and
i serious alarm of their future prospects,
| saying if any one could point out now a
| substitute for African labor he would be
j entitled to national gratitude.
“What do you think of impeachment?'
aid a gentleman to a Radical anight
*or two ago. “Well, I’ll tell yon. It’s
like the boy who was digging after a;
I wood-chuck like blazes. A man who ■
was passing inquired “what are you do- i
i ing', hoy?” “Diggin’ for a woodchuck.”~
: “You dont expect to get him do you.”—
‘Yes, sirrcc, by G ——d. 1 must have
him; we are out of meat.”
Whatever may be the end of mail,
there can lie no doubt when wo see, those
long trains gracefully sweeping the
, doors and roa is, that the en 1 oi woman
; is—“ Dust.”
Frmu lltc Wust Florida Cuiiimm-eial.
I.ct its Work forOiiiselves.
England has been trying to get her
cotton from her East India possess o 1 is,'
and spending large amounts to encour
age i's cultivation there”, to relieve her of
an . uncertain depemlanee upon the cot
ton of the South. This worked well dur
ing the war, but seems now to be falling
out of favor. The cotton us tbe Spulh is
a necessity to her, as it js to the whole
world, and she is bidding high of late to
induce our planters to produce a plctili.
hi) supply.
Why should our people make them
selves footballs for England any more
than for the ootlonlurds of. the, North?
They arc regarded but as “hewers of
wood ami drawers of wafer’’for either.
While England was systematizing the
growth of cotton in India, and making
some wealth thereby, what advantage
did the people derive therefrom ? Not the
slightest. Roads are built, harbors im
proved, &c , and much money spent to
develop the country, but who has heard
taut the people of the East Lidias arc the
gainers? They get their small pay and
their rice and live as host they can when
famine does not scourge them.
But England, she is imt losing. Her
commerco is increased her wealth is
growing—her people are fattening. This
,is enough. Civilization moves on. Not
in the enlightenment of the poor East
Indian, not in anj’ lessening of,his bm
dens or labors, but in a ’more plethoric
stale ol the English purse, and greater
good the English people are to gain from
such a purse.
And so it is here. Woof the South
are to make cotton, to exhaust ourselves
running after the fluctuation markets for
the great staple. Wc arc to play the
part ot the East Indian workers, with
only the diflernec that our serfage is to
the North and to England besides. Wc
do the producing, they enjoy the profits.
So it has-been in all the past, and so it
will bo in all the future, unless we apply
ourselves to the diversifying of our labor
| Our work is for others, not for oiirselvtjs
j Our profits go into other pockets, not in
jto ours. If wc are wise, this condition
of tilings will cease, and all the tempt a-
I tion to us by high prices’of cotton to sell
our birthright will be unavailing. Let
| us remember that we can only prosper
by working for ourselves, and abondon
| this life-long contribution, at ruinous ex
pense, to the wealth ol other people who
; thank us by oppression and defama-
I tion.
A GOOD STORY ON BUTLER.
There is a loose darkey about Will
ard's Hotel named Tom. You can bribe
: Tom to do anything. The other day
* (here was a dinner party given by a
i New York contractor, at. which it was
; understood that Ben Butler would.be a
geest. Some disloyal wag. without, fear
of Congress before him, got. hob! of Tom,
j fed him liberally and put him up to a
piece oi outrageous and treasonable tom
| foolery. Alter the plates were served
the host said “that will do Tom, you can
go.” But Tom did not go. Observe
j ing that bis orders were not obeyed the
contractor repeated, “1 told you to go,
j Tom. If I want you I’ll ring.” Still
Tom hung about the door and did not re
tire. At last, very much worried at bis
j contumacy, Now York turned upon
Ethiopia and said stonily,.attracting the.
whole company, “I've told you twice to
leave the room and by G-—d I’ll be obey
ed, or put you out myself/’;: Tom ap
i preached the table humbly and replied
in a subdued tone, but loud enough to be
heard by all present. ‘lf ybu please sir,
submissively —I ciin't go; I’m obliged to
stay.” “The h—ll j-ou are! Wlmt for?”—
"Well, sail, if I must tell, I must. I ax
es Mars Butlers pardon but I’m sponsi
ble for do spoons. Dem spoons is silver
an’ I was specially sot to watch 'cm. I
can’t go, sir. It’s as much as my place
is worth, sir” The sequel can better be j
S imagined than described.— Wash. Cor.
Nath eille Ha n her.
A man down cast has iuventod a rna-l
I chine to. renovate old bachelors. Out of j
a good sized, fat, greasy old bachelor, he |
can make quite a decent young man, and *
have enough left to make two small pup- i
pies, a pa r of leather brcctehcs, and a ,
kittle of soft soap.
A eni Jy old bachelor, m t liking the:
way his luudiadys daughter had of ap-i
propriating his hair oil, filled Ids bottle
with liquid glue the day before a ball, 1
to w ic'i di girl whs invited. She stay-'
[53.00 per Annum
NO. 16
A Raii.koau lxcinnxT—.Fi;kt vs. llk .r>»
Scene—A lqilrcmd depot train ahont to
depuitr-r-oiigirro bell ringing for tbe last
time- conductor erics "all, aboard?” A
yell heard down the road leading to the
village-horse attached to a lumber w«g
op coining at a heavy gallop —boy driv
ing aqq laying on the lash—man stand
ing up, swinging a white hat, and Jt It
ing: Hold on with them keers!”—hair
trunk, with brass nails, in the back end
of wagon bobbing up and down, stand
ing oil its head and throwing flip flap.—
Conductor holds on a minute-—man with
white hat. jumps out before the train?
reaches the platform-fains his hat on Ida
head, side to the front—grabs Lair trunk
and rushes for the “keers”—trunk pitch
ed into baggage ear, and white iiat turn-
I bled aboard by several accommodating
individuals on the platform as the train
moves away.
White hat, disheveled, ont of breath
t and perspiring, drops into a seat by the
side of a crusty looking passenger, who
is rending a paper.
White Hal—“ Whew! Right smart
chase they give me. Reckon this train's
, head of time, ain't it stranger.
Crusty—“ Hump h! Don’t i. oP
W bile hat—-“ Hurried so hadn’t time to
cheek my h'ur trunk. Think it's safe
i l bout one of thingumbobs on to'it hey?”
Crusty—(gShriitking.deep into his coat
i collar and drawing impatiently away)—
I “Can’t say.”
White hut—(Determined to make him
self agreeable)--“Live fur around
here?”
Giusty—(very gruff)—“No!”
White Hat—“ Ben trav’lin long?”
Grnstj’—(Burying himself still deeper in
his paper)—No I hainl.”
White Hat—■(Peering carefully at
(Trusty's paper)—“l see you’re roadili
the New York Tribune. Up in our
parts we think Mister Brooks paper bout
right. Ever read Express?”
Crusty—(very snappish) “No, wipe
my feet on the Express.
White hat—(Taking a big chew of
tobaco) —“Well stranger, you jes.t keep
leadin’ the Tribune and wipin’ your feet
on tbe Express, and your feet’ll know
’ more’n your bead docs!”
] Crusty gathered himself up with a
! growl and made for another seat, amidst
* the laugh of the passengers.
Three tilings to h.ve -Courage, gen
tleness and affection. -
Three things to contend fir—Honor,
country and friends.
Three things to govern—Temper,
tongue and conduct.
Three things to like—Cordiality, good
humor and mirthfnluess.
Three things to pray for-I'aith, grace
and purity of heart.
i Throe things to think about—Life,
i death and eternity.
; Fat’s Goxtkhsioii.—‘ Patrick,” said a
1 priestto an Irishman, ‘how much hay did
1 you steal?’‘Well,’ replied Pat, ‘I may rnt
Well confess to your revifence for the
1 whole sack, for my wife and,l are going
to take the rest of it the first dark night?'
frit?" ‘What should you like to die of?’
aske I Satan once of a slippery victim.
“Well, Mr. Devil, if its all the same to,
you, I should prefor to die of old age.”
Stiikncth.—Although men nrc accused
ot not knowing their own weakness per
haps a few know their own strength.
It is in men as in soils, where sometimes
there is a vein of gold which the owner
knows not of.
“Only marry me, my dear lady, and
j-ou will sec the end of trouble.”
“Yes, sir but which end?”
A man said rhe only reason why his
dwelling was not blown away in a late
storm was, because there was a hoary
mortage on it.
Hem tits, like flowers, please only wl on
fresh.
A work of art—a widow trying to g-t
Ia husband.
I Give neither council nor salt till you
i are asked for it.
Every one can master a grief, but hu
j that has it.
Extreme vanity hides under Uie garb
I of ultra modesty.
He that speaks doth sow ; he that
i holds his peace doth reap.
The price of excellence is labor, aiid
! time that of immortality.
if you see anything going “at a ruin
ous sacrifice” let it go 1
Fay for your pantaloon,; don’t bo
charged for breeches of trust.
Often a man drives a pqir of grays,
while lie himself is driven by duns.