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VOL. I. I'tTBLIHHED EVERY THUItHDAY BY WHITE & McIXTOSII - - - Proprietors mmamspmw ijw j t rs^rsr.raucji Wilms of suuscrtptiox: l oopy on£ year $*2.00 1 “ 6 months 1.00 ADVERTISIXG I TES: One Dollar per square for first insertion ; fifty /’cuts for ermh subsequent insertion. Loorti notices will be charged 20 cents per line. Special arrangements can be made for advert -sing by tlie quarter or by the year with t'be proprietors. bmul.-t-a*■.*<■■\ pgr* 1 tr* 1 tto POET I* \ . ‘ i ■ [Written for the Reporter.] FRIENDSHIP. BY T. D. D. As star shine on a moonless niglit, With pale, yet steady ray, * Illumine by their cheering light ... The weary wanderer’s way, So friendship’s flame, all calm and bright, Seems sweetest, when in sorrow , It sheds its pure lieart-warming light, With lustre naught can borrow. As ocean’s breast, when calm and still, Reflects like some clear glass The ships that on jjs bosom lie, The clouds that e’r it pass, So love, deep hidden in the heart, L Betimes one image dear, Whose radiance can ne’er depart, E’en when grief’s clouds appear. FAMILY HEADING. MY OPAL RING. I am very susceptible to the influ ence of associations, anil to this day the Sunny October haze l , or the pecu liar balsamic odor of the pines, waft ing across my senses, clings vividly to my mind the witchery of that day j when I wandered with Percy amid the pine forests and sunny hills in Oali f; >rnia. It was a bevutifnl balmy afternoon. Far off in the blue distance the snow capped mountains bounded the scone, (U'onnd us floated the summer atmos phere, over ns bent the deep blue J‘"hali skies of that delightful land. i't was a deserted mining claim th >u di which we strolled. Man, in . ’ s eager search for grid, had torn up the Airfare of the earth, uprooted rock i and trees, built sluices and ; turned on water to melt away the t. T-l mting hills, but the claim was j w • he 1 out and abandoned, and now the busy ri ... r.s and sweet influences . of nature were striving to repair the damage*, covering file ravages with 1 g..'cu mivi a.:. 1 gnus and wild fl liv ers. It vis a wild, romantic" spot.— Around us towered the gray rocks; the ground was carpeted with dry ])ina leaves, with here and there a spot of green sward, where a little spring gave root to the grass. A’earied with our ramble, wo sat down on the clean soft matting of the; . pine leaves. At our foot the soft •murmur of the ditch that used to work the claim as it trickled through the gravel, but aside from that all was still. This was the first time we had been alone together, and I knew he would tell me that he loved me in words, for as yet naught but his eyes had spoken of love. Our laughing badinage, the over flowing of our happy hearts, had died away into silence. I was conscious that his admiring, loving gaze was fixed on me, and that T was looking well in my white muslin dress, with a knot of blue ribbon at the throat, my liat hanging to my neck by its blue ribbons, my eyes downcast to the ground, where I was making nonde script figures with pay parasol. Percy sat a little lower on the hill at my feet, where lie could look up into my face. As we sat there in thought, my mind went back over the long happy days of that delightful summer, during which I had learned to know and love him. For it was not three months ago, at a picnic in early spring, a merry laughing group of us tumbled into a large farm wagon, to return home by moonlight, and it happened that lie was at my side. A noisy, rolicking group we were at first, but soon the delicious moon light cast its wonted spell, and we sank into silence. “Sing something for us, Aline,” said merry little May Elton, turning to me. “Agreed,” said I. “ \’. hat shall I sing ?” “Oh, sing something sentimental, nothing else will suit this hour.” I don’t know why I chose the song I did, for I was then a very wild girl, full of fun and mischief, contemning love, and despising all sentimentality, but immediately, under tlie impulse of the moment, I burst into the love sick trifle— ’Tvverc vain to tell thee all I feel, Or say for thee I'd die ; I find that words, will but. conceal What ray soul would wish to sigh. never, never say my love for thee ; let me silently reveal ■Lvswul would wish to sigh. ■ n ' w i ||gLs if in\ | trie spark that went from one to the I other, was horn the love that linked our hearts together for nil time. During the summer there was not a week, scarcely a day, in which we did i not meet, and as our acquaintance progressed our iutorest and affection deepened. Until now, it had been sufficient to be in liis society, know ing that I was dear to him, but now 1 began to hope that lie would tell me with liis lips what in liis manner lie had long disclosed. “Aline,” said lie at length, “in a tone deep with earnestness, “Do you not wish it could be always thus, this delicious afternoon, this lovely scene ry, and alone together?” The imp of the perverse that often possessed me, made mo a reply in a light mocking tone to the earnestness of his rein, r . “Do you upt think you would tire of it, for a steady thing?” A shadow fell on his face, a slight color rose to liis cheek. “Aline,” said he seriously, not re plying to my mocking spirit. “If I am so dear to yon as you arc to me, I do not think you could tire of my : society.” The color flashed crimson over my face ; in a moment my eyes filled with tears. I could not speak imme diately. “Percy,” said I with sudden earn estness and fervor, smiles and tears strangling, “you know I could never tire of your society—-for I love* you.” j “Then if you love me,” said he with attempted playfulness, “don’t you see liow heavy my head is, how I have i been longing, yet not daring to rest my head in your lap—can I lay it there?” Not waiting for mv assent, lie laid his head down, while I frightened at; his audacity; yet mingled emotions swept over me, as I rested my hand on his brow, and suffered hit fingers 1 to stray carelessly through his laiir. IJlionght then, with the unreason ing partiality of a loving girl, that the j face that lay there was the model of j manly beauty, as I deemed liis char j acter free from faults. His dark, reddish brown hair curled ! in little bronze rings about his open [ broad brow, his earnest, clear blue eyes, his arm set lips, and rather square lower face indicated earnest- 1 ness, firmness and resolution. But; iookiug back at (his lapse of time, I can see that lie had his faults: with his warm feelings he had a rather | quick passionate temper, and often acted from impulse rather than from ! judgment. Tie was rather reserved, grave, and i serious, and I then, full of my fun, 1 often delighted to lease him. But I had very quick (act rnd true love for him, and instantly detected was! quickly subdued by the sparkle in liis eye, which warned me, when 1 was going too far. I liked to try my power over him, 1 but I loved him too well to wound his feelings or give him cause for; jealousy. I often look back to that delicious summer of my life with feelings of tender regret. It seems as if that wild thoughtless girl could not bo I, so different from what I am now. But as we sat there in silence a kind of fori boding, a presentment of evil, that often haunts our brighter hours, as if they were too happy to last, came j over me. I shrank from the trial, as if it contained some groat trial. Nothing that we can endure to- j gotlier will be dreadful, thought I;- but my heart sinks at the idea of [ treachery, misunderstanding and sep aration. ‘•Percy,” said I, with more than ray : usual earnestness, “promise me tii.it you will believe in me always, no mat ter what happens. You know lam gay and thoughtless, but not frivo lous. I have deep, earnest fceligs and warm affections, and they are all yours. You must not likely think me \ fickle and changeable.” “Aline, dear,” said he, “warm, pas sionate love cannot exist without jealousy. I ran naturally of a jealous disposition, and I love you with my whole soul, so I hope you will not try me too far; and on my part I will promise to boas reasonable as I can, and not easily believe your feelings j have* changed toward me. My dor- j ling, do not try me, for it will bo like blotting the sun from the heavens to j make me doubt your truth and love.” j “I never will, said I, and yielding to an irresistible impulse, I bent over and pressed nip lips to his forehead in a long, passionate kiss—a kiss in which I vowed to love him, and, him alone, during the rest of my life, no matter what happened, even if he ceased to love and believe in mo. Just at that moment the pressure ; of my foot dislodged some little peb -1 bles. They rolled away, and where they had been I saw something shi ning in tlie sluice bed. “.See there, Percy,” exclaimed I, starting up, and picking up a piece of gold that lay in the crevice of a rock, I undiscovered by the miners who had worked the claim. “What a rich specimen,” exclaimed lie, examining it. “I will tell you what I will do, Percy,” said I, after a few moments, i “I will have a ring made out of this, that will always be a memento of this trust of ours.” “And let me have a sliaro in it,” said lie. “See here,” withdrawing a silken cord that was around liis neck, “hero is a little pin that was my mother’s.” It was a quaint little opal pin, with fckgettiiig of live tiny starry diamonds. QITTMAJM, oa„ twitusdaY, APRIL *:!, ISM. “She gave it to me not long before she died, when I was a mere boy, bid ding me keep it us long ns I lived. Ever since then I have worn it, on a cord around my neck next my heart. You are my promised wifo. I will have it set in this gold for our betro thal ring. I will have no alloy put in the virgin gold, and it will he such a ring as no onu. ever had, unique and costly, with the memory of my mother and our love united in an imperish able memorial.” And truly, when a few days after, Percy placed the finished ring on my linger, it was a miracle of workman ship anil beauty. The pure, pale opal, with the im prisoned fire at its heart, like a glob ule of bail with the firelight shining on it, the sparkling diamonds encir cling it, and bound together by the delicate tracery of tiny leaves and tendrils of pure gold that formed the ring. _ “What a beauty!” exclaimed I, pressing it to my lips as it gleamed on my finger. “And as long as you wear it,” said • he, “you are mine as sacredly and truly as if you were already my wife.” But showy and attractive as it was, connected with such associations, was it an ill fated ring ? It seemed so, for that interview in which lie placed it on my finger was the last loving, satisfactory interview we enjoyed. A slight shadow seemed to fall be tween us indescribably, almost imper ceptible, yet it was there. There was a : petulance, a quickness to take offense I on his side, a mocking perversity on j mine. The sweetness and confidence j of early love seemed to have vanished, j and yet it was possible to divine the I cause. Several weeks passed on, and one j day I lightly remarked: “Percy, I believe this ling, beauti- j ful as it is, has brought us ill-luck.’ . “Then I would not wear it,” said he, liis face darkening with the sudden ! jealous anger that often visited it now. "Return it to me and I will bestow it on someone that will like it more.” “You forget,” said I, “that it ! is as much mine as yours—that I have j as much right to bestow it on some j one 1 like better as you have.” “I wish I had never seen it, said he : angrily, as he left me. That niglit there was an out-door political meeting, a very earnest and ' enthusiastic one. “Of course,” thought I I, “Percy is too angry to come and; go with me, but J. will go with a par-' ty of friends, and perhaps if lie sees us lie will come where we are and ! give me an opportunity to make it all | right with him.” Notwithstanding his petulence, and the grave faults of temper and disposition Percy often displayed now, I never cherished a ! single indignant feeling toward him. ! True, sometimes I spoke rather J hastily, but the moment ho was gone, I I felt the same tenderness that a | mother feels toward a wayward child; no matter what were his faults, he I was still dearer than all the world to j me. With a party of gay young friends, I was on a low balcony overlooking the crowd. Excited by the scene, the brilliant torchlights, tlie music of the brass band, the cTieefs of the excited [ crowd, I indulged in a lightness and recklessness of spirit I had not felt for \ some time, and was apparently the gayest of the gay. Dressed in a soft creamy white dress, my hair uutor tured by the prevailing mode, those | unsightly chignons, so trying to most I faces, fell in careless ringlets behind j iny ears, a little shawl of scarlet Shet- j land wool around my shoulders, 1 was conscious I was looking my best, and was looking carefully around for I Percy. “rie, Aline,” said one of my merry ! young friends, “you have won a dc- j voted admirer in the crowd, and no ! wonder, for you never looked better | in your life.” i turned, and in the surging mass of men that thronged beneath, I saw | a face intently regarding me. Only the face, with keen, dark eyes, fixed on me, dark hair massed over his brow, : and heavy black 1 card covering his j face. It was the face of a stranger, and wliat was remarkable, instead of seem ing to be interested in that which interested the crowd, listening to the speaker, and hurrahing with the rest, lie seemed to see nothing but my face. A cold thrill went over me, as I en countered bis eyes, and although I turned away, and tried to ignore liis admiration, again and again, in spite of myself, I felt my eyes drawn to ward liis by the persistence of his gaze. It was not a bold, insulting, im pudent stare. It seemed as if he was mesmerized—fascinated unconcious ly. He gradually moved nearer the balcony, and when lie was as near as he could get, his lips moved, lie mur mured something, evidently intended to draw my attention, but I could not distinguish what it was. I was a young, inexperienced, gid dy girl, and with tlie folly and reck lessness of youth, instead of drawing back out of liis sight, I advanced near the edge of the balcony, laid my hands on the railway, and spoke to him in the same low suppressed tone with which lie had addressed me. It was an act of the merest audacity and bravado, without reflection, on the impulse of the moment, but dear ly did I pay for my folly. “'Were you speaking to me ? What did you say ?” I said as I bent over liis flashed and eager face. His reply was a course expression of fulsome flattery and admiration. I would not distinguish all of liis thick, hurried words, but heard enough to causo me to draw back, with the color flashing over my face. “You are either drinking or crazy,” said I, throwing up my hand to ward him away, for he seemed bent on com ing nearer, “go homo and go to bed, if you have one.” “So I would if I were blessed with you,” cried he, springing up on the edge of the balcony, seizing my hand and pressing it to liis lips; his hot, fevered, drinking breath swept across my face, a moment, and lie was gone. Startled, frightened, indignant, 1 screamed and fainted away, and my I friends who until then had not no ticed the episode, carried me in the parlor and laid mo on the sofa. But when 1 had recovered a little, i and began to try to tell the story;! when I spoke of liis seizing my hand, I lifted it, and, for the first time, no- i tired the ring was gone ! That com- ■ pletely overcome what little self-pos session I had left; my nerves were j shaken by that incident, and a sense | of my loss, and the probable conse- ! qnences, rushed over me; in an over- 1 whelming flood I fainted away again ! and again. I went from one passion ate hysterical fit of weeping to anoth er, until my friends were alarmed. In vain they tried to comfort me, assuring me that a ring so singular and showy as that could easily be traced. It was not the loss of tlie ring so much as that which it forebo ded—the loss of iny lover. And sure enough, tlie next morning, before I was able to rise from my bed, a note was handed to me from Percy. “Nothing that you could have done,” was the curt and abrupt manner in which it begun, “eouldhave alienated and wounded me as the lightness j with which you have treated my ring I —our ring—the memorial of our sa- \ crod betrothal. So little did you j prize it that you could bestow it on i a gambler, a libertine, a rough, a man j unworthy to touch the hem of your j garment. And yet you have exclian- j ged words with him, you have per-1 mitted him to take the ring from your finger, the ring that you promised me [ should never quit your hand. He told me so last night, and flourished i it in my face, but nothing. I struck I him down and left him for dead on the j floor of tlie drinking saloon where we j met. Now I must get out of the way I but what difference does it make! what becomes of me ? There is noth- j ing left to render life desirable to me.! My love for you is turned to bate. | To think I have bestowed my heart’s love and confidence on a heartless flirt such as you are. Farewell for ; ever, you will never see or hear of me again.” That was the angry, bitter, unjust, ' incoherent note, so like Percy, so< madly jealous, not stopping for ex-! planation or justification, but jump- j ing to a wild, absurd conclusion, re- j fusing to listen to reason, anil acting from the impulse of the moment. In spite of our utmost endeavors, advertising anti offering rewards, no trace of Percy, nor the ling, nor the j fellow that robbed me, could be dis- j covered. Wc had at first thought | that robbery was tlie sole motive of [ the man; that the sparkling of my ring had attracted his attention, and j he had taken the means to get it;! but Percy’s note disproved the idea, ; and there was a mystery about the ■ whole transaction impossible to fath om. I suffered keenly and intensely for a while. The sense of loss, outraged, j and iTOunded feelings, suspense in re- j gard to Percy’s fate,kept me in alow, ' discouraged state of mind all that summer, which had its effect on my body. And when tlie hazy frosty days of autumn came around again, with all their haunting memories, I thought my heart would break. I found I must rouse myself, I must banish this melancholy, or I knew not what must; be tlie consequences. I was an orphan, and had sonic little property of my own, and instead j of putting it into the hands of some j man to manage for me, I resolved to j manage it for myself, both to interest j my thoughts, and I believed I could , do so to good advantage. I loaned it on good sreurity, I in vested in real estate, I speculated, I read the papers, kept myself inform- j ed as to the state of the markets, and was either very lucky or very shrewd, for I prospered. I seemed to be inspired to know just when to buy and sell. Every thing I touched turned to gold, and as years passed on I became wealthy and my mind became interested in my | business, just as a man does ill similar ; circumstances. The love dream of youth was laid j away, not forgotton,*but embalmed in | a sacred and tender memory. No ! thought of love or marriage with an | other ever entered my mind. Seven years had passed when busi ness required me to take a voyage to Europe. On board the steamer on which I sailed was a beautiful and fascinating young actress. The other women on board treated her with coolness, which she appa rently did not care for, anil drew around her with much ease plenty of admirers among the men. I never tired of watching and ad miring lior fascinating manners, her winning ways, her restless, glancing beauty, like some tropical bird; her \vayivardiiefe, n L. air . s ’ I,0 l" . Cft P ri > ! ! ted head, the Kpa&B? °1 j (lark eye, the ripple of her laugnV. *, i i r her musical voice, as it rang out [ over the water in some ballad. I had not treated her with quite the of the other women, had not considered myself contaminated I>v ! exchanging a few words with her i | whenever it came in my way, and that ! perhaps was the reason she sent for mo one night when she was taken i suddenly ill. The doctor pronounced i I her dangerous, and said if sho did | not got relief soon she would not live | ! many hours. My state room was just across from hers, and I went immediately to her. . How changed from the bright, beau- j j liful creature I had so often admired. Pale and blue, pinched and cold, j she lay in her night-dress on tlie nar- j row lounge, under the window, her | hands tightly clenched over the head. Alarmed I dropped on my knees at j her side, chafed her cold hands, forced j a spoonful of brandy between her teeth, and such was the good effects of my efforts, that she begun to get j better. “Thank you ! thank you!” murmur-! ed she, “you are kind—- you will not | let me die. Take off my rings please, ’ they hurt me when I clasp my hands.” i I took the soft, white, slender bauds in mine, and removed three or four sparkling rings from her fingers. “Where shall I put them ?” said I. “Look in my travelling basket—you will find my jewel case.” I soon found the box, a little toy of rare and cost scented wood, crusted with coral and gold. I opened it, | and on the rose-colored, silken lining sparkled a variety of beautiful jewel ry. “What a number of pretty rings you have,” said I, admiring such j things, as any woman will. “Yes,” said slio, faint and exltans- ! ted with her recent struggle with! death, but still interested in her trin- j kets. And they are all presents from devoted admirers. I have nine ; diamond rings, some such lovely—• “This ring—my opal ring!” ex-} claimed I, suddenly, as I discovered } in the case my own ring. I could not mistake it, for there was no other like it in the world. “Where did you get this!” said I} more calm!}’, holding it up to her. | “That,” said siie, hesitating, “I | bought that at a pawnbroker’s.” “How much did you give for it ? j It is mine, and whatever the cost Ii must have it again,” said I, eagerly, j “No,” said she, after a pause, “I ! will not lie to you. You have been a friend to me, and I will tell you the whole story. It was given to me by the one * fiat robbed you of it, and j itjjwas ..ty fault that you lost it. Was j it much of a loss to you ?” “A loss!” said I, as the memory of j tlKit lost love rushed over me, and ! fSRYse long years of suspenso, anil | slow heart-break, “with that ring I j lost everything that makes life desira- j ble.” “And your lover, where is lie now ?” j “Never have I heard a word from him from that day to this.” “And I have done this. lam sorry, j I did not think of all this.” “You! what did you have to do with it?” said I, in surprise. “Listen, I will tell you. You will see what wheels within wheels give motion to the most trivial action, and how the circumference of one cubit of society intersects and influences an entirely different one. Marston, the fellow that took your ring, had been my lover for some time, but we were beginning to get rather weary of each other. About this time I met with Percy. He seemed rather struck with my "appearance. We were thrown together several times, and lie idulg ed in the careless admiration; the light flirtation that men of the world will toward women that will ecourage them. It was merely the pastime of an hour with him, but 1 was strongly attracted toward him. Perhaps if lie had been easily won I would have soon tired of his admiration; but it was so evidently tlie merest nonsense with him, that lie piqued my vanity, and aroused my interest; The first thing I knew I was as desperately in love with him as it was possible for me tube with any man. But my arts appear ed all in vain, and I heard that lie was engaged to be married to a young lady moving in an entirely different circle from mine. Naturally, I had a strong curiosity to see her, and one night at tlie theatre, Marston with me, said: “Ada,” there is a woman in that box, near, that I have been sometimes more than half in love with,” and j looking up I saw you, and, Percy j with you. “And that is liis fiance,” thought I, I j while a subtle train of thought went; like lightning through my mind. “If! ;it had not been for her, perhaps he | might have looked at me.” “At that time you raised your hand, and this ring sparkled into the light.” “What a lovely ring ?” said I. “I wish I had it.” “I wish I had it!” growled Mars ton. “I would throw it into the sea. It is no doubt the engagement ring, ! and I would give a great deal to J break the engagement. I don’t sup pose she would speak to me, though, muttered lie, more to himself than to me. She is too proud—too far above ! me; but she could not have a more devoted slave. I would kiss the ground she walks on, if it would do i any good.” “Could you not gain possession of the ring, Marston, by some means, fair or foul, and by making him think she gave it to you, break off the on |-;V nient? He is very passionate ! ami then, ,H easi! { d ! mp > love might win hers. ''2r i f l £“^ 8 it is worth trying, nothing venture nothing have, ilo you not think so?” “Perhaps so,” muttered he, but he did not say whether he would or not. However, the very first opportunity he hail he ocized it to carry out my suggestion. “ When he displayed it to Percy, he struck him down and left him for dead, and fled the country, so you see I lost the opportunity to try to get him. “Marston lmd a long and danger ous spell of illness succeeding liis wound, and I took care of him and nursed him back to life. When lie recovered he gave me the ring and went away. 1 have not heard of him since, so the possession of tho ring was all I made out of that transac tion. “But it is yours; vtiu can have it, and if you knew what a passion 1 have for beautiful and unique jewelry, you would appreciate the sacrifice I am making. But while I feel grate ful and generous, and equal to the occasion, let me put it on your finger with the most unselfish and disinter ested wish I am capable of making, that it may be the means of reuniting you to your lover.” “I hope so,” said I fervently, “but that is too much to hope. I fear Percy is dead, or I would have heard from him. ****** It was tlie close of the long sultry day. I had been travelling all day, and was still on tho cars, with the prospect of night’s journey before me. Arranging my baskets and [bundles I laid down on my seat, preparing to forget my fatigue and all mundane things, in sleep. As I laid down I laid my ungloved hand on the back of tho. seat, just as the guard lighted the lamp, and a} gentleman entered at the seat back of j me. The lamplight flashed on my ring, just as he took his seat, and he start ed up with an exclamation. “My Clod !” and looking up I met the blue—the unforgotten eyes of Percy. What passed in the next few mo ments I can scarcely remember. The tiryt glance of recognition seemed to sweep away by magic all the mist of years, and absence, and misunder standing. He clasped both my hands in his strong grasp. As ho bent over looking into my eyes, lie asked sev eral questions, which I answered as hurriedly and incoherently. I told him all the circumstances connected with the loss of my ring, and what I had lately heard, and soon everything was explained, we were still true, and loved each other still. Tlie lapse of time, tlie experiences of life, had happened, strengthened and improved both characters. We were better calculated than we were in youth to be happy together. We were never separated again.— It was not long till vve were married, and to this day my opal ring, with all its associations, is one of my most cherished treasures. One Peculiarity of Lore. At first, it surprises ono that love should be made the principal staple of all the best kinds of fiction; and, per haps, it is to be regretted that it is only one kind of love that is chiefly depicted in works of fiction. But that love itself is the most remarkable thing in human life, there cannot be the slightest doubt. For see what it will conquer! It is not only that it pre vails over selfishness, but it lias the victory over weariness, tiresomeness and familiarity. When you are with a person loved, you have no sense of being bored. This humble and tri vial circumstance is the great test, the only sure and abiding test of love. With tlie persons you do not love you are never supremely at your ease. You have some of the sensation of walking upon stilts. In conversation with them, however much you admire them, and arc interested in them, the horrid idea will cross your mind of “What shall I say next?” Converse with them is not perfect association. But with those you love, tlie satisfac tion in their presence is not unlike that of the relation of the heavenly bodies one to another, which in their silent revolutions, lose none of their attractive power. The sun does not talk to tlie world, but it does attract it. Scandal. The story is told of a woman who freely used her tongue to the scandals of others, and made a confession to tlie priest of what she had done. He | gave her a ripe thistle top, and told her to go out in the various direc tions and scatter tlie seeds ono by one. Wondering at the penance, she obeyed, and then returned and told her confessor. To lier amazement he bade her go back and gather the scattered seeds; and when she object ed, that it would bo impossible, he re plied that it would still be more diffi cult to gather up and destroy all tlie evil reports which she had circulated about others. Any thoughtless, care less child can scatter a handful of thistle seed before the wind in a mo ment, but tho strongest and wisost man cannot gather them again. FRO LESS I ON A E. Dr. E. A. *1 E L K S, Practicing Physician, QUITMAN, GA. o/ m,; bsi u adjoining store street. [l'-'L evou \V. IS. BI N NET. 8. T. KINUSBERP.Y. RENNET & KINGSBEIIY, Attorneys at Law, 7 QUITMAN, BROOKS CO., GA. February 11, 1871. tf EDWARD H. HARDEN, -AMtoimey nl T^aw QUITMAN, GEORGIA. * - Office iu tlie Court House, first floor. 1-tf O. A. HOWELL B. A. DENMARK * HOWELL A DEN HA UK, ATTORNEYS ATLAW, NO. 8 DRAYTON ST., SAVANNAH - - GA. Refer, by permission, to Messrs. Groover, Stubbs A Cos., and It. 11. Reppard, Savannah, Hon. A. 11. liens'll, .1. 1,. Seward, Thomas villa. Rennet A Kiugsberrv, Quitman, Ga. 39-1-ly MISCE LEAN EOF\s. .W. PRICE & SONS, DEALERS IN Gen era 1 .Merchandise, Cloths and Cassii lores, READY-MADE CLOTHING, Hats, Caps, Shoes, Trunks. V disos. Ac. would inform {the citizens of Qaiimni md surrounding country that their Fail and Winter stock comprises the largest and best assortment of Gentlemens' Furnishing Goods ever brought to this market. I). AV. PRICE will continue his business as TAILOR, and will cut and make suits 'at the 'shortest notice, and satisfaction guaranteed. ~ Cutting. Cleaning uml Repairing done with neatness and dispatch upon reasonable terms. AVe invite the public to call and examine the quality and prices of our goods before purchasing elsewhere. D. AV. PRICE & SONS. 1-tf F. It HARDEN, DEALER IN DRY GOODS, N O i l O IV s, Hoots and Shoes FANCY AND FAMILY GROCERIES, QUITMAN - GA. BI'SIRES TO NOTIFY his friends and the public generally that he is now lo cated on Screven street, one door West of (’apt. Brooks’ store, iu the building formerly occupied by Mr. AV. S. Humphreys, with a complete assortment of Family Groceries, Dry Goods, Notions, etc. consisting princi pally of Bacon, Canned Goods, Flour, C’oLiho, PVnits, C'mh c 1 i os. Nuts. Ivioe, Cheese, Dross Goods, Domestics, Sh i rt iiihrs, Slie-t ings, Drints,' Scc., &c. All of which ho proposes to sell cheaper than the cheapest, for the cash. The highest market prices paid for Coun try Produce. Thankful for past, favors, a continuance of custom is solicited. F. R. HARDEN. 1-tf A. J. ROUNTREE "firrOITLD INFORM HIS FRIENDS and ▼ V the public generally that he has now on hand a good assortment of Dry Goods, Groceries, I I ardware, &c., &c. and will sell them as cheap as the same quality of goods can be bought from any ono else in this market. TO DEBTORS : rno THOSE INDEBTED TO HIM he 1 would say that he is obliged to have the money to carry on his business, and he can indulge no longer. He hopes they will set tle without delay, and save costs of Court. A. J. ROUNTREE. 1-tf T. A. WHITE," Boot & Shoe Maker, / } QUITMAN, GA. BEGS LEAVE TO INFORM his old cus tomers and the public generally that he is still at his old stand on Depot street, and will continue to keep constantly on hand the best quality of material and as many active and experienced workmen to work it upas liis patronage may require. Boots and shoes cut and made to order, and a neat tit always guaranteed. r Repairing neatly and expeditiously done, at prices to suit the times. J&-ALL WORK WARBAXTED.^ 1-tf NO. 10,