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F. R. FILDES, Editor. VOL. 111. the (Quitman jCauntr. — tJJ — HED EVElfr FRIDA v. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. IS ADVANCE. For oneyiwr For six months - 11 For three months 1 tK) For single copy 10 TERMS FOR ADVERTISING. IXVAKIABI.T IX ADVANCE. One square. (10 lines, or less.) first insertion $2.00; each following insertion, SI,OO. When advertisements are continued for one mtmth or longer, the charge will he as follows : 12 Months. ; 6 Mouths. . .'{Months. < 1 Month. , Number of Squares. 1 |ss 00 $lO 00 slsoo|s 20 00 2 8 00 15 00 25 00 05 00 5 | 12 no 18 00 85 00 45 00 j 4 I 16 00 24 00 40 00 53 00 5 | 20 00 35 00 45 00 00 00 | 1 Col'inn I 35 00 55 00 80 00 12 0 00 j 1 *< | 00 00 80 00 180 00 200 00 '• 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.