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<£f)C ittcEJuffic Journal A !tu! Live Country Paper. PoMjAed Entry Wednesday Morning, by WHITK Jfc COMBS. Terms es Subscription. @ne copy, one year SU.OO One copy, six mouth* 1-00 Ten copies, in clubs, one year, esck.... l.»0 Single copies ts. W AH ■mboeriptions invaribly in advance. POETICAL. Gone llofora. There's a beautiful face in the silent air. Which follows me ever and near. With smiling eyes and a nl>er hair. With voiceless lips, but breath of prayer. That I feel, but cannot hear. The dimpled hand, and ringlet of gold, Lie low in a marble sleep ; I stretch my arms for the clasp of old. But the empty sir is strangely cold. And my vigil alone I beep. There’s a sinless brow with a radiant crown. And a cross laid down in the dust; There’s a smile where never a shade comes now, And tears no more from those dear eyes flow, So sweet is their innocent trust. Ah, Well! and summer is coming again, Singing her same old song ; But, oh ! it sounds lihe a soli of pain. As it floats in the sunshine and the rain, O'er hearts of the world's great throng. There’s a beautiful region above the skies, And I long to reach its shore. For I know I shall find my treasure there, The laughing eyes and amber hiar Os the loved one gone before. THE "ONLY CHIU)! A TALE roCNDED ON FACT. BT VIRGINIA HE F BREST. A lady sat musing at her window. The evening shades were gathering fast over the lovely landscape upon which she gaz ed. A beautiful garden lay directly lie fora her, and far away she could see the sun sinking, almost hidden, in the west. The air was cool and pleasant, and the stillneas refreshing, after a warm, bustl iug day. The room in which she sat was small, and the furniture mean, with the exception of two articles, one a tine piano forte, and the other a bookcase tilled with French and English publications. The occupant of the room was very young, not more than nineteen years of age, but there was an expression of care in her dark-brown eyes that told of early sorrow. Her dress consisted of a plain white muslin robe, confined at the waist by a black morocco belt; and her dark and abundant hair was parted simply from her forehead, and gathered into a rich knot liebiad. In spiteof the simplic ity of her dress ami her plainly furnished r.xnj. an,you looked upon the rare beauty of her face and figure, yon felt that she was born to grace high circles. It was Eugenic Latour, a French orphan, who had once, in her own coun try, been heiress to a large fortune. Mr. Latour waa of noble birth, and had im parted gome of lus own fine education to this, his only child ; hut, about two years previous to the opening of my tale, he had died, having squandered his im mense fortune in trying to discover per petual motion. He had been living two years iu Charleston, and, finding himself |iemiileas, had committed suicide, leav ing Eugenie alone iu the world. She had never kuown a mother's care, having loat that parent in infancy, and she had not one relative in Charleston. Kind frieuds, however, stepped forward, and she waa placed iu a situation to earn her living by teaching French and music, in both of which accomplishments she was proficient. Oue lady bad wiahed to adopt her, but the girl's proud, high spirit scorned dependence, and she pre ferred earning her own bread ; so, grate fully but firmly, she declined the gener ous offer. Now there was anew path ojiened to her. She was engaged to be married to Victor Dupont, a poor draw ing-master (he said), but handsome, ac complished, and of noble disposition. He came under the window, as she sat there, and, in a low voice, spoke her name. With a smile she kissed her hand to him, left her seat, and went into the garden to meet him. “May I come in ?” was his first ques tion. “It is plesanter out here, Victor; and besides, my landlady has visitors in the parlor. We can go into the summer itonae," “Can we be alone there ? No ; see, it is occupied. Come into > his walk ; the trees will conceal us. I have something to say to you.” He looked down into the lovely face that was ruised to his, and then said, abruptly : "Eugenie, do you love me ?” The face turned to his had an expres sion that sufficiently answered his ques tion ; but she replied: “Better than life I love you, Victor. I could die for you.” “Thank you,” he said, gayly ; “I pre fer your living tor me. But I have some thing to say to yon about this same love. Do you know Louis De Courcy ?” “What has he got to do with our love?” said Eugenie, laughing. "No, Ido not know Louis De Courcy, save from the report that pronounces him the hand somest, most talented, high principled, and wealthy man in Charleston. Miss Augusta Villiars, from whom I got this information, adds that he is very proud, very reserved, and deeply in love with her fair self.” “Eh? what?” said Victor, “in love with Gus Villiars ? No, my dear Eug enie, he is in love with you. ” “With me 1 Louis De Courcy, the millionaire ! In love with me !' Non sense ! Be has sever seen me.” (The Jjftcljttp (lUccliln Journal. VOL. V. “You are mistaken ; he has often seen you. lam his intimate friend, and he has charged me, his rival, to deliverthis.” And he banded her a tiny note. “Come into the house, Victor, in my room, while I read this formidable epistle.” And she led him into her room, brought a light, and opened the note. “Why, Victor !” she cried, “it is an offer of marriage. Yon are white as a sheet, Victor.” “Yes,” said he, in a low tone, drawing her close to his heart, and looking down into her eyes, “it is an offer of marriage. He is the richest man in Charleston, Eugenie, courted by all the intriguing mammas and fortune-hunting daughters, aud he loves yon. I am but a poor drawing-master, but I too love you. Choose between us.” Eugenie laid her head down upon his Ixisom, and said, in a low, sweet voice, full of passion and feeling: “I have already chosen. I thank Mr. De Courcy for his offer, but I lore you." “One moment, Eugenie ; he has sent, his miniature to you. Look at it before yon decide. ” She took the picture from his hand, aud looked first at it, then at her lover, with an expression of great perplexity. “Can you uot solve the riddle ?” he said, "I wished to be loved for myself alone, not for my money, so I have im posed upon you, and passed for a poor teacher. lam Louis De Courey, aud I hope you will consider my offer again before you refuse it so decidedly ns you did just now.” Eugenie stood silent for a moment, aud then said : “And you wish to marry me, a poor governess ! You love me .' Courted, as you have been, by wealth aud beauty, you choose me for your wife ! Oh, Victor ! how can I ever show my love for you ? how repay yours ?” “By becoming Mrs. De Courcy to morrow,” replied her lover. One year after the wedding-day, Eugenie De Courcy stood by the side of her dying husband. Louis had been thrown from his horse, and received such severe internal injuries that the doctor warned him he had uot many hours to live. He was evidently conscious and resigned, thanked the kind doctor for his fraukucsH, aud, dismissing all his at tendants, implored his wife to stay with him until tho last. The physician and nurse withdrew, 7 aud they were alone together. Eugenie had heard the doctor’s warning ; Bltfdjud borne calmly the chill it threw upon her heart ; she had watched all night iu hope, and felt it crushed with those fearful words; while others were present, she iiad stood silent and motionless, bearing the fearful agony iu her heart without one cry ; but now, when "she was alone with her husband, the forced calmness gave way, and, with a burst of anguish nut to be restrained, she sunk upon her knees by his low couch, and, kissing passion ately the loved face gave vent to her des pair. “Louis, my husband, how can I live without you ? Alone! No father, mother, no husband; I cannot live ; soon, soon I will follow you, Louis, for my heart is breaking. ” “Eugenie ! Eugenie ! you will live ! Would you leave our boy an orphan ? Bring him to me, Eugenie.” It was a noble baby, not more than six weeks old, that she placed on the couch beside him ; and, as he murmur ed low his blessings, she was inwardly praying that all might die ; they were so happy together ! and mnst that trio be broken ? “Eugenie,” said the dying man, “you would uot take all from him. I must go. You would not leave him motherless. For my sake, my wife, you will live, He is a sacred trust, aud you canbest guard him, Eugenie ; will you not speak ?” “May God deal with me as I am faith ful to the trust !” said she, solemnly, as she bent over the babe. The nurse took the little oue, and again husband aud wife were alone. Three hours they conversed, for Eugenie, stifling hei despair, spoke calmly with him she was so soon to lose. “I have left you all I possess, my wife,” said Louis ; “you will provide for our boy. lam failing fast ; let me lay my head upou your shoulder, and then sing to me.” Sing she must. Was it not his dying wish ? One moment of prayer for strength, and then she began a hymn. At first her voice was low and trembling, but it gradually gained strength until the whole room was filled with the grand, solemn strains ; then it died away in si lence, and she ceased. One look into his face, and the widow fell lifeless as himself back into the chair. For a long time she lay ill, and would have died, but oue thing held her to life—his boy, his dying trust. Oh, it was a twofold love she had for her fatherless baby. Her own mother’s love was strong, as was every passion of her warm, impul sive nature, and then there was that dy ing command. He must be all in all to her. Orphaned, widowed, her whole be ing was bound np in that noble boy. With judicious patience all bis baby faults were borne, and, day after day, as his strength and beauty increased, the mother’s love grew stronger, more pas- sionate aud intense. She could hardly bear him from her sight, and, with de voted care, nursed, guarded, and petted his Little life. One afternoon she was re clining on a low couch in the balcony. It was oppressively wftrm, and lier rich, half mourning silk wrapper was thrown back from the snowy shoulders, and fas tened at the waist by a loosely knotted black and white scarf. She had recov ered her health, and, although quieter, more serious, and reserved within the past two years, she was beautiful as ever. Her boy, now some two years old, was seated upon her lap admiring the gay flowers she held up before him. For an hour or two, he played gayly, aud then, laying his pretty head against her bo som, he said, iu a low, wearied tone : “Mamma, Victor sick.” She had called him Victor in memory, she told her husband, of her first love. ! “Sick, darling !" she said, fondly, as : she looked into his face. “Only tired, i little one.” He had uever had a day’s illness in his ; life, and she searched anxiously for | the traces of paiu in his face. There were the usual bright rosy cheeks, the sparkling eye, but the breath came short and heavily, aud the little hand was very hot. With anew terror in her heart, the mother bore the little one into the house, and sent- for a physician. All night she watched him anxiously as he lay either sleeping heavily iu her arms, or tossed his limbs restlessly, and moaned fever heat. The next day, he was worse, and the next; then the doctor pronounced his disease to be a malignant contagious fever, aud strongly urged Eugene to leave him. Leave him 1 The idea seemed to the idolizing mother an insane one. No, no, she could not leave him, hut watched alone by him, and saw the disease take stronger hold of Ilia infant frame, saw him grow deliriqws, then weaker and weaker, aud felt the hope iu her heart fainter day after day. “Father,” she prayed, “spare him - or take me—-nay only »me 1 I have lo„t all else. Father in heaven, spare, my baby ! O God, 1 cannot let him go ! God spare Louis’s boy !" She had bore without a murmur the cruel decree the doctor passed, uot to embrace the babe for fear of contagion, she had starved her longing for one kiss, one caress, and heard the sweet voice imploring a mother’s sweetest, blessings, and denied him the tokens of love lie asked. She had tnkeu every precaution against contagion ; for, if she were ill, who would nurse her boy ? Her friends and servauts had deserted her, fright ened at the contagious suture of the fe ver, and she had tended him alone. If lie should die ! her baby ! her only com fort taken from her ! She dared not think of it. She must hope or lose her reason. One morning she was sitting with the baby in her arms as the doctor entered ; and her face, as she raised it to his, was flushed with hope. “Doctor,” she whispered, “look at ! him now. See how soundly he sleeps ; and his hand is cool ; the fever is gone. My baby is better, is he uot ? He will live ?” The entreating accent of the last words touched the doctor's heart. He saw death's seal oil the infant face, aud he trembled as lie thought of the agony that must follow the mother's wild hope. She read in his face that she was deceived, and, with the quiet of despair, spoke again : “Do uot deceive me, doctor. Tell me the truth. Can my boy live ?” He mistook that calmness, aud re plied : “Not many hours, Sirs. DeCour cy. He is in a stupor. My God, what have I done !” he cried, as Eugene, witli a cry of agony, pressed the baby to her breast, and started from her chair. “Mrs. De Courcy, madam, for Heaven’s sake calm yourself ! She is mad ! What an expression of agony ! My dear madam, do not kiss the baby so passionately. You have escaped the disease so far ; but, if you inhale his breath, I cannot answer for the consequences.” “Is he not dying?” cried Eugenie, in a -tone of agony that wrung the kind physician’s heart. “Is he not dying ? I have heard him pleading night and day for a mother’s caress, and have denied it. Would you have him die without one kiss ? Victor, my boy, I will draw conta gion from these sweet lips„ and follow you. What have I left to live for ?” Before the doctor could prevent her, she, wi,h a steady hand, drew a piece of orange through the child’s mouth, and ate it. “Madam ! Mrs. De Courcy !” he cried, “this is madness ! suicide !” The baby, at that moment, began to struggle in her arms, and iu a short time breathed his last in convulsions. Her passion left her, and she calmly assisted the doctor in his efforts to relieve the lit ile sufferer. The baby lay dead. Eu genie pressed the corpse of her only tie to life in her arms, and, with a bitter cry, fell senseless upou the floor. The doctor tried in vain to restore her ; her heart was broken ; and mother and babe were laid in one grave. It stated that, of the present Congress composed of 386 members, 200 are law yers, 50 merchants, aud the rest editors and farmers. Fifty-two persons were baptised in DeKalb county last Sunday. THOMSON, GA., ,£(JCtUST 18, 1875. THE REJEOTjD BANK BILL. ‘What is the j®oe of this dressing gown, sir ?’ asked Msweet faced girl, en tering the elegaiiMßtore of Huntley A Warner, iu a city aKI iu a st reet of a city which shall be nainlless. It was a cloudy day. The clerks lounged over tho table and yawned. The man to whom Alice Locke addressed her self was jaunty nqjji middle aged. He was the head clerk of the extensive es tablishment of Huntley & Warner, and was extremely consequential in manner. ‘The dressing gown we value at six dollars; you shall have it at five, os trade is dull to-day.” ‘Five dollars !’ Alice Locke looked at the dressing gown "longingly, aud the clerk looked at her. Ho saw that the clothing, though liEtotu aud worn gwn teely, was common enough iu texture, aud that her face was very much out of tho common lino. . How it changed 1 now shaded, now lighted by the varied play of her emotion*. The clerk could almost have sworn that she had no more than that sum, five dollars, iu her pos session. The gown was a wry good one for the price. It was of a.i cry common shade, a tolerable merino, Bml it was lined witli tho same material. I ‘1 think’—she Imitated a moment—‘l think I’ll take it,’ n|ie said, then seeing iu the face before lui an expression she did not like, she blqshed. as she handed out the bill the clerk had made un his-, mind to take. ‘ . Menu is,’ cried TqsjknL the head clerk, iu a quick, pompous tone, ‘pass us the bank-note detector.' Up ran the tow headed hoy with the doteeter, and run the clerk’s eye from coin n* ,nmii. Then ho look ed s ;iver -• ,|V -..inrp glance and ex elairt , 1 FKSt r s ivcounterfeit, Miss.’ 'Counterfeit ! Ok), it cajmot be ! The man who sent it <•. tiid not have been so careless, you must he mistaken, sir.’ T am not (mistaken ; I’m never mista ken, Miss, \rhis bill is counterfeit. I must presumV of course, that you did not know it, ulthoiqjL’ so much bad mon ey has been offered i.#Uol lute that we in teud to secure such (persons as puss it. Who did you say s«)t it ? ‘Mr. C— r~, ifiri ,of\New York, lie could not send mi fad money,’ said the trembling, qftl giil. ‘Hump !’ aaqj thetjfderk ‘Well, there is no doubt abr%,t ’ ytjL cau look for yourself. lifow dou t ymi /here agnin until you can bring good | money, for we always suspect such per | sons as you that come on dark days with a well made story? 1 j ‘But sir’— j ‘You need make no explanation, Miss,’ ! said the clerk, insultingly. ‘Take your j bill, and the next tkue you want to buy a dressing gown, don’t try to pass your counterfeit money,” and as lie handed it, the bill fell from his bands. Alice caught it from the floor and hur ried into the street. Buch a shock the girl had uever re ceived. She buri ed to u banking estab lishment, found ler way in, and pre sented the note to a noble looking man with gray hair, faltering out : ‘ls this bill a bad one, sir ?’ Tho cashier anil his son happened to bo the only jiersdlfS present. Both no ticed her extreme youtl), beauty and agi tation. The cashier looked closely and handed it back, as with a polite bow aud somewhat prolonged look, he said, ‘lt’s a good hill, young lady.’ T knew it was, cried Alice, with a quivering lip—‘and be dared—’ She could go ns further, but entirely overcome, she bent her head and the hot tears had their way. ‘I beg pardon, have you liad > any trouble with it ?’ asked the cashier. ‘Oh, sir, you will excuse me for giving way to my feelings—but you spoke so kindly, aud I felt so sure it was good. And I think, sir, such men as one of the clerks in Huntley & Warner’s should be removed—he told me it was counterfeit, anil added something my father did not hear. I know MP publisher would not send me bad money.’ ‘Who is your father, young iudy ?’ askSd the cashier, becoming interested. ‘Mr. Benjamin Locke, sir.’ ‘Benjamin—Bon. Locke—was he ever a clerk in the Navy Department at Wash ington ?’ ‘Yes, sir ; wo removed from there,’ re plied Alice. ‘Since then,’ she hesitated ‘he has not been well, aud we are somewhat reduced. Oh, why do I tell these things, sir ?’ ‘Ben Locke reduced,’ murmured the cashier ; ‘the man who was the making of me. Give me his number and street, my child. Your father was oue of the best, the only friend I hail. I have uot for gotten him. No. 4, Liberty street. 1 will call this evening. Meantime let me have the bill—let me see—l’ll give you another ; there is a ten dollar bill—your father and I will make it all right.’ That evening the inmates of a shabby, genteel house received the cashier of the bank. Mr. Locke, a man of gray hair, though numbering but fifty years, rose from his arm chair, and, much affected, greeted the familiar face. The son of the cashier accompanied him, aud while the elders talked together,’ Alice aud the young man grew quite chatty. ‘YeB, sir, I have been unfortunate,’ said Mr. Locke, in a low tone. ‘I have just recovered, as you see, from rheuma tism caused by undue exertion, and had it not been for that sweet girl of mine, I know not what I should have done. She, by giving lessons, has kept me, so far, atxive want. ’ ‘You shall uot want, my old friend,” said the cashier. ‘lt was a kind provi dence that sent your daughter to mo. There is a place in the bank just made vacant by the death of a valuable clerk, aud you shall have it. It is my gift, aud valued at twelve hundred a year. ’ Pen cannot describe the joy with which the kind offer was accepted. The day of deliverance had come. On the following morning the cashier entered tlic handsome store of Huntley anil Warner, and inquired for the head clerk of the establishment. He came obsequiously. ‘Sir, said the cashier, sternly, ‘ls that a bail note ?’ ‘I—I think not, sir,’ stammeringly re plied the clerk. The cashier wont to the door. From the carriage stepped a youg girl in com pany with his daughter. ‘Did you not tell this young lady, my ward, that this note was counterfeit ? And did you not so far forget self-re spect and tho interest of your emplyers as to oiler an insult ?’ The man stood confounded—he dared uot deny—could say nothing for himself. ‘lf your employers keep you, sir, they will not longer have my custom, suid the cashier sternly. You dcscivo to be horse-whipped, sir. ’ The firm parted with their unworthy elerk that very day, and he left tho store disgraced; but punished justly. Alice Locks became the daughter of the good cashier. All of which grew of calling a genuine bill a counterfeit. How She Turned Presbyterian, Mrs. Magruder will probably leave Dr. Hopkins’church, and go hereafter to tho Presbyterian meeting-house. Dr. Hop kins for a week had a frightful boil on his leg. and he experienced very severe pain when he tried to walk. While he was sitting in his study on Friday, Mrs. .Magruder called, and was ushered into the parlor. The servant went up the back stairs to tell the doctor, and while she was on the way, the doctor started to go down the front stairs to get a drink up the steps, that he concluded to r,lide down the banisters on his stomach, and so, after looking carefully over the land" ing to satisfy himself that nobody was about, he mounted tho banister, and be gan to descend. The stairs ran directly past the parlor door, and Mrs. Magruder was amazed to see the clergyman descend ing with great rapidity, aud in that sin gular fashion. It seems that the servant girl had placed a coal scuttle by the newel-post, while she went for the doc tor, and, as he descended with awful ve locity, he alighted in the scuttle, and fell to the floor. Without being aware of the presence of the visitor, he leaped up iu a rage, and exclaiming : “Hang that woman I” He gave the scuttle a kick when sent it whirling into the parlor, where it brought up in Mrs. Magruder’s lap. Os course she thought the demon stration and the ejaculation was intended for her, anil after rising to her feet, and shaking her umbrella at her pastor, she shouted, “If you kick another coal scut tle nt me, I’ll punch the stuflin out of you with this yer umbrella!” She emerged from the front dixir with the conviction that Presbyterianism was the only religion for her. How Boys who Disturbed a Camp- Meeting were Served. —Boys who disturb camp-meetings by crying “Amen” in the wrong place, aud remark ing “Glory” with more zeal than judg ment, should read and ponder the fate of thirteen small boys in Kansas. These thirten ill-advised hoys were guilty, so the Btory goes, of disturbing a Kansas camp-meeting by insisting upon shouting “Amen” when a very muscular preacher, who prided himself on his voice, was singing a hymn. The preochei' boro it for some time, but finally, becoming fill ed with righteous wrath, he descended from the pulpitand, never once interrupt ing his hymn, successively reversed and spanked the thirteen small boys. As his avenging hand descended, and the dust of the small boys filled the air, the rest of the congregation shouted in rapture, ami encouraged him with loud cries of “Go on, brother, go on !” Then he returned to the pulpit, still singing, and those boys went half a milo away behind a haystack and laid down with their faces to the ground, weeping bitterly. Floriculture.— All lovers of flowers should remember, that ono blossom al lowed to mature or go to seed injures the plant more than a dozen new buds. Cut yeur flowers, then, before they be gin to fade. Adorn your rooms with them ; put them on your tables ; send boquets to your friend* who have no flowers, or exchange favors with those who have. All roses, after they have ceased to bloom, should be cut back, so that tho streugth of tho root may go to forming new roots for next year. On bushes uot a seed should be allowed to mature. NO. 32. BUSINESS CARDS. H, C. RONEY, ATTORNEY AT LAW, THOMSON, GA. *HT Will practice in the Augusta, North om and Middle Circuits. nolyl R. W. H. NEAL, ATTORNEY AT LAW, THOMSON, GA. PAUL 0. HUDSON, A TTOIiXEY AT LA W, Gn. Will practice in the Superior Courts of the Augusta, Northern and Middle Circuits, and in the Supreme Court, and will give attention to all cases in Bankruptcy. Aug. 25, 1?74. ts Cnitral |)ote!, ib^st MRS. W. M. THOMAS, AUGUSTA. GEORGIA 861)11 ts COTTON STATES LIFE Insurance Company, CHARTERED BY THE STATE OF GEORGIA. Assets - S6OO-000.00! THE ONLY COMPANY Doing business in the South that has ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS deposited with the authorities of the State of Georgia for the protection of Policy-holders 1 Policies upon all the various plans of Insurance issued! All Poliriex Xon-Eorfeitable Noßestrictionsas to Residence or Travel! Strictly a HOME CO., with its CAPITAL and INVESTMENT at HOME! PEOPLE of the COTTON STATES, Foster HOME ENTERPRISE! O FFICJOK WM. B. JOHNSON, - - - President. WM. S. HOLT, - - - Vice-President. GEORGE S. OBEAR, . . . Secretary. O. F. MoCAY, Actuary. JOHN W. BURKE, - - General Agent. JAS. M. GREEN, - Chief Medical Officer. VV. J. MAG ILL, - - Supt of Agencies. J. W. Willingham, Thomson, Ga. District Aoent. Flfi-d* Our Gratuitous Exponent. Gentlemen, although perfectly neutral in this raattei, as far as self-interest is con cerned; not being a man of fashion myself, yet I cannot refrain on this occasion from rising to explain the observation of which my studied experience in regard to matters of wearing apparel, and the comfort and satisfaction of —of—yes gentlemen—ftltho’ unaccustomed to—that is—l firmly believe, from what I have seen—my wife has heard the same thing that economy, durability, splendidity, substantiality, and good fits can be had in the clothing line by trading at A. J. ADKINS’. i. Augusta, Ga. Importer and Dealer in CMipapes, Clarets, Rhine & Native Wines, ms, form &w. Also agent for the celebrated ANHEUSER St. Louis Lager Beer, I D2l-tf AdvtirtiMing Katew. One square, first insertion $ l 00 Each subsequent insertion 75 One square three months 10 00 One square six months 15 00 One square twelve months to CO Quarter column twelve mouths 40 OU Half column six months 6 ) 00 Half column twelve months 75 00 One column twelve months 125 00 Ten lines or less considered a square All fractions of squares are counted as full squares. STOVES, STOVES! XHEY are made of the best material. They always have a good draft. Every Stove is warranted to bake well. Our lowest cash prices are published Persons wishing CHARTER OAK STOVES can send money by Express. PRICES : No. 6, *30,00; No. 7, *35,00; No. 8, *40,00; No. 0, *47,00. Refer to WHITE & COMBS. B. L. FULLERTON, Stove Dealer, A - 13-a§ Augusta, Ga. Jas. H. Hulse’s AUGUSTA STEAM DYEING AND SCOURING WORKS, No. 123 Broad Street, near Lower Market, Augusta, ( i si. J. THORNE & CO. 137 Br.o.vr Stkket, AUGUSTA, GA., nearly opposite the Fountain, WHOLESALE ANT) UETAIT, DEALEIiS IN HARDWARE, NAILS, HOES, SHOVELS. PLOWS, SWEEPS. GRAIN CRADLES, SCYTHES, AXES. BUILDERS’ HARDWARE and CARPENTERS' TOOLS. IRON and STEEL, and BLACKSMITHS’ TOOLS. Merchants supplied at bottom prices. Planters give ns a call. We keep the celebrated White Man’s Cotton Hoe. El’.’-a§ Mrs. V. V. Collins, I site with Eli MusUn. DEALER IN CROCKERY&GUSSWARE. TOILET SETS, VASES, LAMPS, Fruit Jars and Jelly Tumblers. Sufferers, by the late Tornado, who buy of me, a liberal discount will be mode. No. 187 RROAD STREET opposite James A. Gray s Dry Goods Bouse. AUGUSTA, GA. CBl-I* Notice to Debtors and Creditors. ALL persons indebted to the estate of Nathan A. Lewis, decessed, are request ed to make payment ot the seme to the undersigned or her authorized Agent, R. W. Neal, Attorney: and all persons hold ing claims against said estate are requested to file the same duly verified with the under signed. S. R LEWIS. Adm'x Estate N. A. Le-sis. June 21st, 1875-3 m ORDERS FOR % DRY GOODS. PEOPLE in want of Dry Goods will save money, by sending their orders to C. J. T. BALK, No. 138 Bboad-St., AUGUSTA, OS. Best Calicoes at Bc. per yard; fine yard wide Bleached Homespuns, 10c.; fine yard wide Unbleached Homespuns, 10c.; Splendid White Pique at 15c. per yard ; Coats Spool Thread, 16 spools for *I.OO ; Good Neck Ruches at sc. each ; Ladies’ and Misses’ Untrimmed Straw Hats, new styles, at 40, 50, 60 and 75c., worth double; Splendid Quality Black Silk at SI.OO and *1.25 per yard ; Black Iron Grenadines at 35 and 50c. Orders amounting to Ten dollars or over will be sent by Express freight paid. C. J. T. BALK. F. W. FITTS. R. M. HOLMES. FITTS & HOLMES. Contractors & Builders, Thomson Ga. Estimates and plans furnished on application for any description of work in our line. Agents for the celebrated P. P. Toale Manly, Charleston, S. C., Mannfacturer of and Dealer in DOORS, SASH, BLINDS and Builders’ material generally. F2-c* Citation for Letters of Dismission. GEORGIA— McDuffie County. WHEREAS, Mrs. Harriet Lazenby, ex ecutrix of John M. Lazenby, repre sents to the Court, in her petition duly filed and entered on record, that she has fully administered J.no. M. Lazenby’* estate: This is, therefore, to cite all persons, con cerned kindred and creditors, to show cause, if any they can, why said executrix should not be discharged from her adminis tration, and receive letters of dismission, oh the first Monday in September, 1875. A. B. THRASHER, j June 7, 1875 3m. Ordinary