Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

BY SAWTELL & JONES. €t)e €utl)bcrt Appeal. Terms of Subscription: On 00 | Six Months. ..,.$1 25 invariably in advance. Rates of Advertising = Qnu square, (ten lines or less,) $1 00 for the first and 76 e nts for each subsequent insertion. Contract advertising as follows : Space. 3 Months 6 Months 12 Months | Coin ran $25 00 sls 00 $75 00 | Column 40 00 75 00 100 00 One Column... 60 00 90 Oo 150 00 JMT* Obituaries, $1 00 per square. Humble Life. Tell me not that he’s a poor man, fjP That his dress is coarse and bare; Tell me not his daily pittance la a woman’s scanty fare ; Tell me not his birth is bumble, That his parentage is low { 8s be honest in his action ? That is all I want to know. Is'his word to be relied on ? Has his character no blame ? Then I care not if he’s low-born ; Then I owe not wbaie’er his name. Would he from an unjust action Turn away wRh scornful eye ? Would be than defame another Soonor on the scaffold die ? Would be spend his hard-gained earnings On a brother in distress? Would he succor the afflicted, And the weak one’s wrosgs redress ? Then he is a man deserving Os my love and my esteem, And I care not wli.it his birthplace In the eyes of man may seem. Let it be a low thatcheil hovel, Let it be a clay-built cot, Let it be the parish work-house — In my eyes it matters not. And If othors will disown him As inferior to their caste, Let them do it—l'll befriend him, Asa brother to the last. Point D’Alenoon. FABT ALIOB DE LONGUEVII.LE. There are some towns in old Europe itbat never appear to change. They lb out of the highway of travel, and do mot possess sufficient attractions of their own to induce the tourist to deviate from the beaten path. Tlio inhabitants know little or nothing of the outer world, and their sphere of action is bounded by the walls with which many of these old cities are surrounded Such are to be found in France, Germany, even Wales, without mentioning Sweden and Norway, Holland and JXelg-ium, howev «v, contain them in their greatest per fection, Belgium is the more interesting of the two, historically ( aud it is in one of her. seldom visjted cities that our story commences. (Jourtrai is a very old city; part of the Roman wall still remains. Her feu •dul castle is nearly entire, though now applied to another put pose than that for which it was built ; but at the time wo write of—namely, at the beginning of the seventeenth century—the position of Courtrai, with respect to France, ren dered it expedient to keep the strong fortification in good repair, for it had endured many a siege, and more than once had fallen into the hands of its warlike neighbors. At the present day, it has many houses outside the wails, built according to the taste or fancy of the proprietors; but the majority of the intramural buildings have retained the massive architecture of the Middle Ages. In the year 164—, a widow woman ■was sitting in one of the small .stone fcouses of the Beguinage. Her hands were busily engagod with her work, ■and a young girl sat at her feet, watch ing the deft movements of the old lady’s fingers, who was talking away all the time that she was busily employed. “Yes, my dear,” “your fath er was the youngest son of a noble French family, and was well brought tip, wanting nothing »s long as his fath er lived; but when yonr grandfather died, all the possessions descended to tiis eldest son, yonr uncle. The second son went into the army, and married the rich Reguiers ; hut your fath er, who had just left the University, could do nothing. His eldest brother promised to allow him a hundred francs ■a month until he got some post fitted to iiis birth and education-; and his other brother and married sisters said that there would always be a place for him at their table whenever he felt inclined to visit them. At the end of three months, however, his brother appeared to pay his allowance grudgingly; talked about the increasing expense of his growing family; wondered why your father didn’t find something to do, and so forth ; while his sisters were always going out when he paid them a visit— so that, in short, he felt that he was de. torp, and one day he threw his noble birth to the four winds, exclaiming, what a stupid rule that was which forbade the well-born to work; came to this place, engaged himself to a mauufac' turer of tapestry, and set to work with a good heart to gain his own bread. His family was scandalized at this act; he had brought disgrace on their name. ADe Longueville to work ! One of that ancient house a tradesman! From that day the doors of all his rela tives were closed to him. Hiß letters of explanation were possibly not read —were certainly never answered —and fill intercourse with the Marquis ceased entirely. Three years after his arrival he mar ried me and that was the finishig blow to his disgrace; for you must know, my dear, that lam not of gold birth. Good birth or not, I loved your father dearly, and was a true wife to him. Ho got on very well, and his scholarship stood fcim in good stead, for scarcely any one here could write, and very few could read. In the course ol time he set up for himself, and all appeared to be pros porous and well. It was not till four years after our marriage that you was born, and yonr father, as in duty bound, notified the head of the house of the fact, as he had previously done of his marriage, but, as is the former case, no notice was taken of the event. Ido not say it a reproach to voupmy dear child, but, from the day of your birth, nothing ap> peared to go well. First of all, tire broke out ia the town, which destroyed CUTHBERT WM APPEAL. a great deal of our merchandise. Then the French government began to en couraged the manufactories at Arras; and after that, worst of all, there were war, and levies, and taxes, without any trade doing whatever. We got poorer and poorer, and every thing seemed to melt away. Your father’s courage, also, appeared to begone, and he would sit all day long in his room, passively accepting the bad news that poured in upon him. When you were eight years old, some French regiments swept into the town. I can see them now, with the gay cav aliers—all plumes and lace, and gay colors, and large boots with great spurs —and fine ladies in the train of the ar my. I took you to the window, and your father came also to look at the gay scene. Suddenly, I saw a deep flush come to his cheek, as a tall, handsome man rode carelessly by, apparently watching some workmen who were re pairing one of the old gateways. “Great heavens,” cried he, “that is Armand, my brother, who knows that I live in this town and teas wot come to see me—perhaps knows my house, and will not look up as he passes it.” He turn ed away from the window, and sat down with that despairing look that grieved me so much. For the remainder of that day he hardly spoke, and I knew that bis thoughts were with the homo of his i childhood, and of the days when he and that cold brother played together, thoughtless of the future, little dream ing that, the time would come when they should be alien to onejanothe.r The following morning, he told me to dress you in your best clothes, and I remarked that he, himself wore bis fete-' day suit. He theu told me that he was determined to make one effort to touch his brother’s heart; and that was to pre sent himself before him with you. “I feel,” said he, sadly, “that I have not long to live, and God knows what will become of iny child when I die. For, after all, she is a De Longueville,” he cwntteaed. “She has never sullied the family name;; her hand has never turn ed to any thing that he might call meni al. As for myself, X have no right to allow my anger to stand in the way of my child’s welfare; and however bitter it may be to me to humble myself, I will undergo the ordeal.” You were a very pretty child then, my Alice. Your fair hair flowed oyer yorar shoulders, in long curls. Your dark eyes and eyelashes looked darker still by contrast with your fair complex ion; and, as X kissed you before your father led you away, X thought that surely the stern captain would be mov ed, and would take you to fais heart. It is now nearly ten years ago, yet I well remember every incident of that day, and how long the time seemed that you were absent I was sick at heart at the thought that, perhaps, he might want you to go away with him ere my time was come, and what, then, was 1 to do ? My whole life was wrapped up In yfru ; X could not live witbynt you. Nevertheless, I felt that if they deßired your presence, I must let you go.— Again : you might be the means of re conciliation between your father and his family. I felt that I would be con tent to sink uniK-itieed into my grave, if you and he could be admitted there.- And thus the time wore on, and you came not back ; so that I was sure that your father had forgotten me do his hap piness, and that you, in your delight at seeing all the gay uniforms aad the soldiers, wouW not think of time. At length you came back and I saw at a glance that the attempt had been unsuccessful. Shall I confess it ?—a thrill of joy passed through my heart— a selfish sense of preserving my treas ure. That soon vanished at the sight of the wretched look in your father’s face. Ychi only saw that something was wrong, as your father said almost savagely: “Take off her fine things, and clothe her in rags. Fool that I was, to think that affection could conquer pride.” 1 led you away, and when I returned he was sitting again at the window, gazing vacantly at the crowd that passed to and fro in tlse busy street. He turned his head as I entered, and, in answer to my inquiring look, said: “i went up to him with our sweet child, in my hand, and said, ‘Armand, brother, don’t you know me? I .have brought your little niece, my child, to see you.’ He turned fiercely around, and exclaim ed, ‘I have no brother here; he is dead, and he and his are blotted out of the records of our house.’ I could have struck him, wife, but I felt little Alice’s hand tremble in mine, and she pulled at me, saying, ‘Let us go away, papa ; I am afraid.’ So I swallowed my wrath for her sake, and for that sake deter mined on one more effort. ‘Brother,’ said I, ‘I ask nothing for myself; my time is short on earth, but when I am gone, will you befriend this little one ? Will you take her to the home of her father's childhood, so that she may be brought up like the children of our hous£ V ‘Yes,’interrupted he, ‘so that she may act as her father did, and bring disgrace and dishonor on the name she bears. No, no; let her go and spin flax, and scrub the convent floors. I’ll have none of her. I tell you, man, that I know you not,’ he added fiercely, as a crowd of his brother officers came up; ‘begone, and never more offend my sight.’ My first impulse was to humble him by proclaiming who I was, and to what I was reduced; but I merely walked quickly away. I could not come home then; so Alice and myself wandered through the city, looking at the soldiers, who seemed to consider the place as forever their own.” It was not long after the events de scribed by the widow had taken place, the poor trader, broken in fortunes, bro ken in spirit, took to his bed, and would have died with a sigh of relief, had not the thought of his child racked his last moments. He knew that the good Beg uines would admit his widow into their community; he knew that Alice would be safe under her care as long as she lived; but, after death, what was to become of her ? His thoughts ever re verted to his own family. Nothing was to be hoped for from that of his wife, she being the daughter of a Spanish soldier, who had married a peasant girl. Surely, thought be, when i am dead and gone, they will forgive the father, in the child!—they can not thrust her from the gates 1 He wrote an earnest appeal to his brother, the marquis, who was rich, full of titles and honors, with a large family of his own, to which this fairy-like, bright child would, of a cer tainty, be looked upon as an acquisition —not regarded as an imcumbraace.— He dwelt upon their past affection ; of the love he still cherished, spite of their broken intercourse; and implored him, ia the name of their mutual father, to accept Alice as the only legacy that he could bequeath, and bring her up as his own daughter. This letter he confided, on his dead bed, to his wife, enjoining her to give it to Alice, in case of the necessity for so doing ever arriving. In less than a year after the above mentioned scene between the mother and daughter, a violent epidemic devas tated the territory of Hainault, which carried off upward -of one-third of tire inhabitants of Courtrai— Madame de Longueville amoDg the rest. Alice was left alone. Alone, in the very tmth I—alone1 —alone in her grief, ail solitary in her sorrow 1— fur old age is seMsh, and the other Be guines were more careful to look after then owd health and avoid contagion, than to comfort or console the poor, bereaved girl. So that, had it not been for a good old priest, she would have been the only mourner, as the sexton laid the remains of one she loved so well iD their last resting place. Her grief was silent, while the good father led her away from the scene of her calamity. PART II. —MADAME COLBEBT. Louis XIV, was king and Colbert was his minister. The ambitious mon arch, have escaped from the iron grasp of Mazario, had adopted the astute Col bert as his counselor. Philip XV, held tbe Netherlands with a feeble grasp, and the frontier towns were as ofteu garrisoned by French, as they were by the soldiers of the most Catholic mon arch. The inhabitants, except during an actual siege, were not disturbed in their avocations, aud having no heredita ry attachment to either of the contend ing parties, took little or no interest in the-result of a battle, provided they could follow their pursuits in peace. At that time the French had overrun Hainault, and were strongly fortified in Courtrai; and a deputation of priests, headed by their bishop, left that city for Paris, in order to lay certain griev ances, under which their order was suf fering, before the Court. Therefore, Alice gladly availed herself of their es cort to seek her uncle, the Marquis de Longueville, and present her father’s letter. The Marquis’s chateau was at Clermont, a few leagues from Paris, and the good fathers bad to pass through it on their way to the capital. The fair young orphan sold all the mov ables that her mother had left, reserv ing only some few relics of her dear parents, and, with sad forebodings, set out on wbat was, to her, a long journey, aud the only event that had hitherto broken upon her even course of life. After a tedious pilgrimage—for trav eling, in those days, was difficult and very wearying—the small cavalcade ar. rived at Clermont, and passed the night at the monastery—taking belore .departing, to leave Alice in good bands. The poor girl could not sleep toe whole of that night, notwithstanding the fatigue ofhefjourney. Her thoughts were continually reverting to that dreaded morrow, which was to decide whether she should be admitted into her family or not; and yet, while toss ing and agitated, she feared the day light. Yet, as she stood, the following morn, ing, at the portals of the chateau, there was no servile fear of greatness in her mind. She felt that she stood on the threshold of her forefathers; that she was of km to those who were reared under that roof; and, as a lackey ush ered her into the reception-hall, she trod the floor of the vast apartment as though she had been accustomed to it from childhood. It is true that she glanced around the walls, and looked with young curiosity at the old paintings, and , the armor, and the great carved oak fire' place; but she no longer felt the dread of the past night, and, when the Mar' quis entered, stood up before him as proud as himself. She gave him the letter, but, before he opened it, he looked long and earn estly at her face. He partly guessed the truth, as his brother’s lineaments came back to his memory. He broke the seal and read slowly ; but Alice, as she watched his countenance, saw no relaxation of that cold, haughty ex pression which his features possessed when he entered. “This can not be !” he said, without a pause, as he finshed reading the let ter; “young lady, this can not be!— Your father left us of his own will, ask ed no advice, confided his intention to no one, and took that step which forev er shut him out from this house. I have vowed never to kaovv him or his. However, you are his daughter; you still bear our name. If you will change that name, aud assume another, I will grant you an annual stipend that will be sufficient for your support during your life.” As Alice rose and stood opposite the Marquis, there was a marked resem blance between them. Her pale face was as rigid as his, her forehead was held as high, aud her voice as firm, as she said : “Is this your final answer to the let' ter ?” “I have no more to say.’’ Alice de LoDgneville bowed her head and walked through the broad hall, re turning the salute of the seneschal with the air of a duchess ; passed along the avenue that led to the great gates with the same composure; but once outside the domain and unobserved, the hot blood rushed to her cheek, even to her eyes. She went back to the convent, and hid herself from all eyes. The whole oAhat day her looks were turned to the great oak-trees that surrounded the manor. She pictured to herself the time when her father had played there, a boy, and had hunted there as a man— and now he was in his grave, and she was forbidden to cross the threshold. — All that morn and afternoon she sat at that window. The summons to dinner was unheeded, and a little before sun set an irresistible impulse urged her to see for the last time the house and park of her ancestors. She made her way to the old ruined wing, with its fallen tower, aud sitting *on the ivy-clad stones, watched the sinking sun. She was far enough from the inhabited part of the house to bo free from interruption; and there she sat till the cold evening dew made her shudder, and the full moon cast black shadows in tho angles of tbs walls. She felt weak CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 27, 1870. and faint: her long fast, the excitement of the day, had been too much for her. She dragged herself slowly along the paths that ted outward —growing weaker and weaker, until at length she found herself lu the highway, cling to some iron railigs for suppostaud then all grew dark, and she knew no more. Before this house, which she had fondly hoped would bo her shelter, and where she would find the calm peace of home, the poor orphan fqlt her self dying. Worn out and prostrated, she with her face to the ground, and lay there utterly senseless. In a short time the noise ©f wheels and horsemen was heard approaching, and soon a carriage drawn by four hor ses, and surrounded by an escort of cav aliers, carne in sight. One of these lat ter reioed up his horse suddenly, as he saw, by thg light of the rnoon, the dark 'vei? crndntecTi dress of Alice, as it on the light-colored gravel of the patf^ way. “What is the matter, D’Arteville?” said a young and pretty woman, putting her head out of the window; and then, herself seeing the cause, she stopped the carriage, and alighted. “Great heav ens ! it is a woman that has fainted,” said she, raising her in her arms, and looking around for some house. No sign of a habitation was to be seen; so calling some of her people, she ordered them to carry the young girl into her carriage, and then turning to M. D’Ar teviffe, said: “Be so good as to stay here I can see, by the beauty and the youth of this girl, that someone will claim her. You will tell them that Ma dame Colbert, the wife of the king’s minister, has taken her off to Versail les.” M. d’Arteville bowed acquiescence, and Madame Colbert got into her car riage, placed herself by the aide of Alice, who had not recovered her senses,, and whirled away as fast as tho four horses could go. Marie, daughter of Jacques Charrons —the lord of menars and high steward of Blois—had married the great minis ter, Colbert. She not only brought hid a considerable dowry, but, what was Ot greater consequence, a mind and undsr standing that, while superintending the brilliant fetes, or inventing some aew costume for that extravagant period, never lost eight of any thing that would aggrandize her husband’s power, or in crease his influence. Early the following morning, D’Arte ville, having learned a portion of Alice’s history and conjectured the rost, repair ed to Versailles, where he bad an audi ence of the wife of the minister. Her own physician had been immediately sent to attend the young girl and he rep resented that there w»3 no serious dan ger—only excessive weakness, the re sult of past nervous excitement. He re commended absolute repose for one day, and insured a cure for the following.— So Madame Colbert determined to hear her story from Alice’s own lips, and if it was as she supposed, she would take her into her household. Alice’s story was soon told, and she thankfully accepted the home that was offered to her. Her health was quickly restored, and the bloom that returned to the cheek, together with the vivacity ot her manner, endeared her more and more to her newly found protector. One morning early, the minister sent to beg an audience, and was in such haste that he followed close upon the heels of his messenger. “You see me in the greatest distress!” he said, so much excited as not to no-» tice that Alice was in the room.— “Mme. de Grespigny has married the Duke de Nevers.’ “I know that; but what then ?” an swered Madame, in vain seeking the meaning of this speech. “But he has given an entire trimming to her wedding dress, of Venice point, lace.” “Well, what’s the harm of that ?” said his wife, almost laughing. The minister continued with increas ed excitement: “And this lace cost thir ty six thousand frances; and what is worse, created a great sensation at the last Court ball,” “Very well,” she again replied; but without sgiiling, although she could not conceive what all this would lead to. “What, Madame, can’t you see that all the ladies of the Court, yourself among the first, will send to Venice for your lace." “If that would vex yon, you may rest assured that I shall uot.” “You are speaking for yourself, Mad ame; but the other women will all go to Venice for their lace, and will drain France of her capital. France is not rich enough just now to allow our wo men to buy their dresses of foreigners; and all the money we send there enrich es them ami impoverishes us. We haven’t one smgle lace manufactory to oppose that of Venice.” He rose to go, and his wife said, “Whoever should see the Minister’s anxious face to day, would little think that the cause is a bit of lace.” “Ah 1 Marie, Marie, after all, you are only fit to talk lace to.” He went out, and after he was gone, his wife said bitterly, “I would give a great deal that he had not said that to me.” “You must -make him repent of it, dear mistress,” said Alice. “But how ?” said Madame Colbert, “Is it possible to see this famous lace ?” “Certainly ; the Duchess is my great friend.” “Well, then, quick, dear lady, give me but one fine, so that the Duchtss shall show me this magnificent and uni' que robe, and—but I will say nothing, until I am certain of success—l fear—l hardly dare tell you—but if I can devote the labor of my life, as a recompense for you kindness, I will doit; therefore, I entreat you, for a word to the Duchess." “You silly child. You will be tired. You want to go out.” “Oh, I shall not be in the least tired; I have only one desire, and this is to see this lace.” “I can easily satisfy you on that headso, taking up a rich tablet of ebony and gold she wrote ; ‘•Dear Antoinette —Accept this tri fling souvenir, and let one of my women look at your Ve.jice lace, the beauty of which has made so much noise iu the world. Your affectionate “Marie Colbert." Alice seized eagerly the tablets, and flew out of the room. When she re turned, instead of repairing to her mis tress, she shut herself up ia her apart- ment, begging that she might be left undisturbed for one week. Partly be cause she hoped something from the young girl’s enthusiasm, and partly be cause her affection for her prompted the yielding to the whim, Madame Colbert gave ordeis that Alice’s request should be respected—indeed, she respected it herself. At the end of the week, Alice reappeared iu her mistress boudoir, and her face was radiant with joy. “Madame,” she said, “I addressed myself to you, to obtain a moment’s au dience with Monseigneur the Minister.” “Without letting me know the rea son 1” replied Madame Colbert. “Well come aloftg.'” It was the hour when Colbert was scheming those vast plans which shed such lustre over the reign of Louis XIV. No one except his wife dared knock at htedeer at that moment; and, as they Wf&V;jj||)g, Marie told her companion wftat aooid stjp they were taking. At the noise of the door creaking on its hinges, Colbert turned sharply round, “ with an angry expression ; but, at the sight of his wife and tho young girl, his brow cleared, for he was sure that only something very important would make Madame Colbert interrupt him. So, with a charming smile, he waited for his wife to speak, when, to her great aston ishment, Alice broke the silence. “Monseigneur,” she said, opening the bos, “will you do me the honor to ex amine this lace, and say if that of Ma dame the Duchess is superior ?” “It is the same—the very same 1 Why this is a miracle 1” said Colbert, whose hand almost trembled under the light, vaporous material. “Where does this work come from—who has made it ? Iu what part of the world does that fairy Sve who can imitate so well ?” “It is no fairy, ;Monseigneur; only a poor young orphan, too happy to repay by the work us her hands, the goodness, that your wife has bestowed ou her.— Flemish by birth, I have often watched the working girls making lace, and learned all the mysteries of the trade.— At Courtrai, I used to amuse myself by making new patterns and fresh stitches for the young girls, and they used to come to me if anything difficult or out of the way was wanted. At last, it was only necessary for me too see a piece of work twice, in order to understand it; and if your Lordship will give me a building and some young girls, I will make a workshop of the former, and skilful lace-makers of the latter.” Colberts quick intellect seized upon the idea at once ; but he said, sadly ; “They will be made in France, and our grand ladies prefer to buy from the foreigner. What will compel them to buy this lace, when made V “The Fashion, Monseigneur!” said Alice. “Let the King command that the first lace that comes from the work shop shall be given to the Duchess, who will prefer her royal present to her Ve netian lace ; and the second to Madame Colbert. They will both wear them at all balls and public spectacles. If it does not become the rage, then I will close my workshop.” What she desired was accomplished. The Court was going to Aleneen and Colbert sent to Flanders for thirty young girls, whom he established at his cha teau of Louray, near the city, with Alice de Longueville at their head, to whom he advanced 50,000 francs. When the first pieces of lace were made, the King, instigated thereto by Colbert, appointed a day to inspect them, informing his courtiers that he would show them something better than Venice poi nt. The King and the whole Cojirt were deligbed. The former or dered large sums to be given to Made moiselle de Longueville out of the treas ury, and commanded that no other lace should appear at Court And thus rose and prospered the fa mous Point d’Alencon; and Colbert said, as lace-making schools sprung up all over the country : “Fashion is to France what the mines of Peru are to Spain.” And Alice became Comtesse d’Alen con.— Overland Monthly. Curiosity. —The Dunkirk Journal says that a curious individual was greatly perplexed, at the opening of the Masonic rooms, to understand the whys and wherefores*of the three large can dles which bacl conspicious positions.— He viewed them on all sides, thought fully summing up in his miud their pro bable use. At last his patience was exhausted, and he asked a Mason what those candles were for. The Masou, looking about him to see that no one was near, and exacting the most sol* emn promises of secrecy, got close up to the ear of his friend, and with bated breath said : “The candles are to burn." The curious man hasn’t told any per. son about it, but somehow such things will leak out. What a Single Dollar WilA Do. — A paper in Illinois talks in this way ; “It you owe but one single dollar, go and pay him, when there is so little money we ought to keep it moving around lively. Jim owed us, and we owed Bill, and Bill owed Jim. Jim got mad because we made him pay one morning last week ; but we paid Bill, and Bill paid Jim, and Jim went to bed that night happy as a clam, with just as much money as he had in the morning, and three men out of debt.” Light. —Light moves with a velocity of one hundred and ninetytwo thousand five hundred miles in a second of time. It travels from the sun to the earth in seven minutes and a half. It moves through a space equal to the circumfer ence of our globe ia the eighth part of a second ; a flight which the swiftest bird could not perform in leas than three weeks. flgS-An orator, who had raised his audi ence to a great height by his lofty soar ings, exclaimed, “1 will now close in the beautiful and expressive language of the poet—l forget his name—and—and I forget what he said too.” The fireside is a school of infin ite importance; it is important because it is universal, and because the educa tion it bestows, being woven in with the woof of childhood, gives form _and color to the whole texture of life. A newspapmijust started in Os wego, N. Y., declares that it will be neutral in religion and politics, as it “knows very little of the former, and nothing whatever of the latter,” SA VANS AR CARDS. P. H. BEHN> COTTON and RICE FACTOR AND General Commission Merchant, West of the Exchange, BAY STREET, : : SAVANNAS, GA. augl9-6ra* AUSTIN & ELLIS, COMMISSION —AND forwarding merchants aud Cotton Factors, SAVANNAH, : : : ; GEORGIA. |3f Bagging and Ties and other articles fam ished, and advances made upon Cotton on Con signment or for sale. augl9-6m CQTTQJF TIES! COTTON TIES Dorr’s Pateßt Self-Adjusting HORIZONTAL COTTON TIE AS AGENTS for the above namsd Patent, we beg leave to commend it to the attention of Planters and Merchants. This TIE is a decided improvement, had contains the advantages of GREAT STRENGTH, GREAT SIMPLICITY. EASE IN MANIPULATION. Being superior to any other TIE manufactured, W« can confidently recommend it to the public. JNG. W.'ANDERSON'S SONS A CO. augl9-6m _ Agents ia Savannah, Ga. JOSEPH FINEGAN & 00, Cotton Factors AND COMMISSION MERCHANTS, BAY STREET, SAVANNAH, : : : ; GEORGIA. KT Liberal Advances ma le on Cotton consigned to us or to our Correspondents in New York aud Liverpool. augl9ly* PALMER & DEPPISH, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DBALES IN HARDWARE, RUBBER BELTING, AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS, Powder, Shot, Caps and Lead. 148 Congress & 67 St. Julian Sts. SAVANNAH, GEORGIA. augl9-6m* GROOVER, STUBBS & CO., COTTON FACTORS AND General Commission Merchants Bay Street, SAVANNAH, GA. Bagging. Ties, Rope and other Supplies Furnished. Also, Liberal Cash Advances made on Consign ments for gala or shipment to Liverpool or North ern Ports. C. E. GROOVER, Savannah, C. F. STUB 138, “ aug!9-6m A. T. MACINTYRE, Thomasville R. H. Andbes'js, G. W. A.vdebson, Jr., Jobs W. Anderson, A. H. Cole. JOHN W. ANDERSON’S SONS & Cos COTTON, FACTORS AND COMMISSION MERCHANTS, Anderson's Block, Drayton St., near the Bay, SAVANNAH, GA. Liberal cash advances made on con signments for sale in Savannah, or on Shipmont to reliable correspondents in Liverpool, New York, Philadelphia, Boston or Baltimore. To old patrons we return thanks ; to new ones, promise our best services. ALSO— Agents Empire Line of Side Wheel B‘eimerg to New York. augl9-l y* THOMAS M, ALLEN, WITH COLQUITT & BAGGS, COTTON FACTORS AND Commission Merchants Savannah, Ga. pB~ Liberal Advances on Consignments when pesired. may 13-6 m CLAGHORN & CUNNINGHAM, Wholesale and Retail Grocers, And dealers in Fine Wines, Liquors, Segars, Etc., Corner Drayton and Bay Streets, SAVANNAH, GA. jgy*All Goods Warranted. Orders from the onntry promptly attended to. augl9_ ly A. J. MILLER. C. P. MILLER. A. I MILLER & CO.! Furniture Dealers f 134 Broughton St., SAVANNAH, : : : GEORGIA. WALNUT Bedroon Sets, Imitation French Sels, Parlor Sets, Bureaus, Wash Stands, Bedsteads, Chairs of all grades, Children’s Carri ages, etc. par* Jobbing and Repairing neatly dene and with dispatch. Mattress making, Feathers. Up holstering, etc. augl9-6m* A. S- HARTRIDGrE, General Commission Merchant AND FACTOR. 92 Bay Street, SAVANNAH, GA. Having had over twenty years experience in said business, he will pay the same strict attention to the sale of Cotton and other Produce, and to the purchase of Supplies, as in former years. He will not have any interest in the pur chase of Cotton. Liberal advances made on Consignments. augl9-ly* J. J. DICKISON & CO, { COTTON FACTORS and General Commission Merchants. SAN ANNAH-, GA. }' ' . •*/ . fly' ■ J3F* Liberal advances made on Consignments. augl9.6aa SAVANNAH CARDS. A. M. Si.oa.ir. J. H. Sloan. A. M SLOAN & 00, COTTON FACTORS - ■Am Creneral Commission Merchants CLAOHORN * COSXIXGham’s RAJCCE, BAY STREET, SA VANRAR, ii : GEORGIA . Bagging and Rope or Iron Ties, advanced on crops. Liberal o-sn advances made on consign, tnenta for sale in Savannah, or on shipments to re liable correspondents in Lireipool, New York, Philadelphia, or Baltimore. augl9-6m* H- H. LINVLILE, WITH S. W. GLEASON, Iron and Brass Foundry and Ma chine Works, Manufacturer and dealer in SUGAR MILLS, SUGAR PANS, Gin Gear, Cotton Screws, Shafting, Pullevs, Portab'e and Stationary Steam Engines, Corn Mills and Ma chinery of all kinds. St. Julia* Street, West of tbe Market, SAVANNAH, GA. £SV Orders respectfully solicited.' auglStf M. KETCHCM. A. L. ttARTRIDC*. KETCHUM & HARTRIDGE. BANKERS - „AND-• * * COMMISSION-’ MERCHANTS, EXCHANGE BUIIDING, SAVANNAH, : : :* GEORGIA. References:— Moses Taylor, President City Bank, N. Y.; P. C. Calhoun, President Fourth Na- Bank, N. Y. > John s. Cisco A Son, Bankers, N. Y.; Morris Ketchum,* Banker, if. Y.; J. N. Notris, Cashier First National Bank, Baltimore; M. Me Michael, Cashier First National Bunk, Phila delphia. augl9 ly >. A. SCHWARZ. ISAAC A. BRADY. SGHWARZ & BRADY, Wholesale and Retail Dealers in OARPE T Floor Oil Cloths. Mattings, SHADE LINENS, WALL PAPER, WINDOW SHADES, CORNICES, CURTAINS, CORDS, TASSELS. 115 Broughton Street, WyUg's Budding, (South Side, Between Bull and Whitaker Sts.) SAVANNAH, GEORGIA. Post Office Box 494. aug!9-ly* ■ W. M. DAYIDSON, Wholesale Dealer in FOREIGN and DOMESTIC Wines and Liquors, 150 Bay Street, Savannah, Ga. (Established in 1844.) HAS constantly on band a large assortment of French Brandies, Holland Gin, St. Croix and Jamaica Rum, Scotch and Irish Whiskey, Port and Sherry Wine, (the latter direct Importa tion from Spain.) All the above Liquor* are guaran teed tv be genuine a* imported. Also on hand, JOHN GIBSON’S SONS * GO ’S Celebrated Whiskies, of all grades. Sole agent for Georgia and Florida, for Massey, Huston A Co.’s celebrated Philadelphia Draught Ale, in barrels and half barrels. augl9-6m* WM. HENRY WOODS, COTTON FACTOR AND nui commission me hat, BAY STREET, Savannah, Ga., I* prepared at all times to advance liber ally on consignments for sale in Savannah, or for shipment to bis correspondents in New York and Liverpool. augs-6m* L J. GUILMARTIN & CO. COTTON FACTORS ▲KB SIMM mm MEEK Bay Street, Savannah 6a. Agents for Bradley's Super Phosphate of Lime. Bagging, Rope, & Iron Ties, always on hand. Usual Facilities Extended to Customers. ang!9 6m DEMIS FALVEY, FURNITURE DEALER, 153 Brough ton SA VANN AH, : : : GEORGIA. MAHOGANY, Walnut and Chestnut Bed-Room Suites; also Imitation French and Teastcr Suites ; Mahogany and Walnut Parlor Suites, in Haircloth aud Reps; Sofas, Marble-Top Tables, Bureaus, Sideboards. Wardiobes, Book-Cases, Washstaods, Chairs and Bedsteads of all kind. New Work made to order, and Country or ders promptly filled. aug!9 ly. W. Duncan,.... ....J. Q. Johnston. DUNCAN & JOHNSTON, COTTON FACTORS AND * General Commission Merchants, 76 bay street, savannah, ga. sepil ly* RANDELL-& CO„ Wholesale G-rooerW, SOI & SO3 Bay St., West of Bernard, SA VAiVXAU, GA, tSY General Agents of the Orange Rifle Pow der for Georgia, Florida and Alabama. augLW-tat* VOL. IV--NO. 11. SA VANNAH CARDS. ¥. H. STARK & CO., WHOLESALE G-R.OGERS, COMMISSION MERCHANTS AND Cotton Factors* Agent* for the **k of Giilett's Steel COTTON GINS. ALSO, L P. Co£’S SUPERPHOSPHATE of LIME, tSP* Careful attention given to Sales of Shipments of Cotton, and all kinds of Produce. Liberal advance* made on CentignmenU. BAGGING, ROPE and ARROW TIES Constantly on hand. sepSO Cm ADOLPHE SACK. Importer of SILVER AND GOLD *W .A* T CHBB CHOICE JEWELRY, BIJOUTERIE , CLOCKS , Eta., A?*, Cottier Bryant A Whitaker Street*, SAVANNAS, « < * t GEORGIA. Repairing of Watches and JeweFy executed with dispatch, and Warranted to Give Satisfaction* angl'd 6m W*. H. Tison. Wm. W. Gordon. TISON & GORDON, COTTON S-AOTona —AND— HnuL uinm street f Savannah, Georgia* Bagging and Rope or Iron Ties advanced on Crops. Liberal cash advances made on consignments es Cotton. Grateful for liberal prtrotiage in tbe past, a son* tinuance of the same is respectfully solicited, sep2-6m* ISAACS’ HOUSE, Cherry St... Macon, Ga. E. ISAACS, Proprietor. fT'HTS HOTEL is located in the central portion A of the city—convenient to Ware Houses and bu <iness houses generally. It being the osiy boas* in the city kept on the EUROPEAN PLAN, Offers unequalled advantages to the planter tad traveling public generally. The table is supplied with the best the market Rfr>ads, and the rooms furnished with new and je»t furniture. 13T A FREE Hack will be in attendance at all trains. jySOtf EACH CARGO OF THIS G- TJ A IVTO IS ANALYZED Before Being Offered for Sale, And Warranted Equal to the Original Standard Value. a&'J'o It used on att Crops precisely at Peruvian Guano. H. H. JONES, Agent, ang26tf Cuthbert.Ga. Now is the Time TO BUT Drugs, Paints, Oils, Glass, Chemicals, Etc. C H E A. 3?. marll-lr J. J. McDONALD. Dr, M. A. SIMMONS’ GENUINE LIVER MEDICINE! TABaNE’S Plantation Bitters,