Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

VOLUME I. TILE Cl DEPENDENT. SATURDAY, SEPI'EMIIEU TANARUS, 18T3. Published Weekly m.t s‘i 00 per Annum In Advance. Hinglr Copies 3 rent*. THE SYCAMORE PASS. BY GEO. E. BLAKELY. I shall ever remember the night of the 10th of January, 18—. A heavy snow was laying on the ground; the mercury had risen many degrees since noon; the hu midity of the atmosphere and hazy sky in dicated a storm of Borne kind, whether of rain or snow it wns hard to determine. After our evening repast my little family, consisting of four, including two children, had drawn around our genial hearth, when my ever-thoughtful wife-remarked: “Have you been to see Mr. Jones about the school matter?” “I have not,” I replied, “and shall have to attend to the matter to-night, as the board meets to-morrow. If Ido not con fer with him before that time it will be doubtful about our getting the school house at the bend of the river. ” I was one of the school directors, and had the interest of my children at .'take. Jones was another member of the Board, and the only one who was likely to turn the scale in my favor. Putting on my overcoat, and telling my family that I would not be gone long, I started out. Before passing the door yard —gate, I heard the earnest voice of my wife calling after me: “You will go by the way of the bridge, my dear, won’t you?” she said, pleadingly. “It is too far to go by way of the bridge to-night,” I replied. I have crossed on the sycamore log many times in the night, and know every inch of it, besides the snow makes it plenty light enough to see plainly, if the moon is obscured by clouds." “But, dear," she pleaded, “I shall worry about you, and to please mo do go by the bridge to-night!” “Oh, you little plague,” I laughingly replied, '“you are always borrowing trouble about something; think no more about it, and I v ill show you in an hour or two that the sycamore pass is safe.” I started off whistling a lively tune, hut did not whistle as happily as I have done in my life, for somehow the injunction of niv good wife, and the image of her sweet, pleading face kept coming up be fore me; besides I had culled her a plague, and accused her of always borrowing j trouble, which, though pleasantly spoken, was unjust, for she ever used better judg ment than myself, and had I heeded her loving entreaties, on occasion in point, it would have been better for me, as the se quel will show. I reached the crossing, and found the river a good deal swollen, but the water not yet up to the log. The river at this point—which is the narrowest for miles either way— was about 60 feet wide. A large sycamore tree had fallen across, reaching from bank to bank, but long years before the time of which I write, the tops and roots had fallen into decay, only the trunk remained, which formed a ; good foot bridge. I passed over with a more careful step than ever before, for I must admit a feel ing a little akin to superstition had taken j hold of me, but when safe on the other; side a sensation of relief came, and I; laughed at my silly notions. The visit at Jones’ was protracted much i longer than I expected, and when I started back the rain was falling in great drops, and the snow was nearly all melted away. It was raining too hard to think of going around by the bridge, which was fully half a mile away, so buttoning up my great coat, I went directly to the point where I crossed a few hours before. The water was higher than I had ever seen it; the log was nearly submerged, and j I had to wade to reach it, as the rushing j waters had broken their bounds. When I I mounted the footbridge, it appeared to give under my feet; but thinking that im possible, rushed along to reach the other bank. When about midway, the old sycamore, I to my horror, began to sway around, and in a moment, shot like an arrow down the river. I could not keep my footing, and dropping down, sat astride the floating object, with my legs in the chilling water. I grew wild with excitement; thought of my little family. I recalled the bright faces of my little children as I had seen them in the morning at the window feed ing the snow birds. Who could care for them if I were lost? I remembered the earnest injunctions of my watchful wife; of the miles before me where nothing would be offered to rescue; of the falls, where death would be sure. . It would be [ madness to leav(*the log, for the current j would sweep me away as a tornado would j a feather. The terrible situation was tak-j en in at a thought. I was nearing my peaceful cottage, could see the gleam of the lamp set at the win dow as my guide, and I hallooed at the top of my voice, screamed with the des peration of a mad man; but the wild roar of the infuriated river seemed to hush every articulation as they left my lips. I was carried on by the dark wild waters, as a blade of grass by a madening whirl wind. The light from home windows was soon lost to view, and hope of ever seeipg it again left my heart. The falls, some six miles away, could not be passed without a ] THE INDEPENDENT. plunge into eternity, and I gave myself up to earnest meditation. How long this retrospect lasted I cannot tell; the terrible roar of the cataract awakened mo again to a full consciousness of the situation. “Oh ! how dreadful to dio in this way, without a parting word from my loved ones,” I cried aloud, and the thought of their sweet faces frenzied my brain. I tore my coats from my person, and throw ing them from me, prepared myself to breast the merciless waters, and to lose my life with every nerve of my benumb ed body exerted to reach the shore. I was not far above the falls; the bank to the right was nearest. I knew the sit uation well, and gathered myself up for a desperate leap. Just at this instant I heard a splash close behind me at the left and at the same instant something came against my feet which Igmsped, nud thank Merciful Heavens it was a rope. I dung [ to this as only one could in my situation. The log passed from beneath me, and I felt myself carried down by the current, but at the same time swinging around to the bank. A moment more and I was clasped in the loving arms of my faithful wife. The rest of the story is soon told. My wife becoming anxious about my long ab sence, went out to the path upon the bank, and at the time my wild cry broke faintly upon her ears. She believed that I had lost my foot ing while upon the sycammore, and was clinging to some floating object. Hastening to the bam she slipped the bridle on tin- fleetest horse, then giving a few hasty orders to the children, and taking from the house a coil of rope, sped away like the wind down the river road some six miles before she could reach the bonk. Dismounting, she tied one end of the ropo to a suppling, and to the other a stone, and as I was passing she cast it with desperation high up and far out into the river, and fortunately it fell in front and behind me. We both returned home on the lmek of faithful “Charlie.” He was in his prime then, but is old now. I still keep him for my wife’s sake. We yet live upon the bank of the river in the little cottage, and evrey time the waters get wild and furious, and the rum bling, rushing roaring comes up to us like the mocking laugh of a defeated maniac, there is a mingled feeling of joy and sad ness in our litle circle, and on all such occasions I press my preserver to my heart, and bless her for her wisdom and ; goodness. * A Whale Breaking an Electric Cable and Getting Killed. “On the evening of July 4th, the Indian Cable between Kurraehee and Gwndur, a distance of three thousand miles, suddenly failed. The telegraph steamer, Amber Witch, Capt. Bishop, with the electrical staff, under Mr. Manee, started on the following day to repair the damage, which appeared to be one hundred and eighteen miles from Kurraehee. The Amber Witch arrived on the ground on the 6th in a heavy seu and thick fog, but the cable was successfully grappled within a quarter of a mile of the fault. “Mr. H. Izaak Walton gives this ac count of what was found: ‘On winding in the cable unusual resistance was expe rienced, as if it were foul of rocks; but after persevering for some time the body of au immense whale, entangled in the cable, was brought to the surface, when it was found to be firmly secured by two and a half turns of the cable immediately above the tail. Sharks and other fish lmd partially eaten the body, which was rapidly decomposing, the jaws falling away on reaching the surface. The tail, which measured twelve feet across, was perfect, and covered with barnacles at the extremi ties. Apparently, the whale was, at the time of entanglement, using the cable to free himself from parasites, such ns bar nacles, which annoy them very much, and the cable hanging in a loop over a subma rine precipice, he probably, with a flip of his tail, twisted it around him, and thus came to an untimely end.’ ” We think a just retribution for swal lowing poor Jonah. He has escaped for a long time, but Jonah finally captured him in the coils of his gourd-vine, and hung to him like a preacher. Philadelphia objects to so much court ing in her theaters. Every other pair of seats is occupied by a spooney couple, his arm around her and her head half the time on his shoulder, and their soft and silly twaddle is is an intolerable nuisance to people who have outgrown such things. Ohio Democratic papers express them selves as almost certain of the election of Wiliam Allen for next Governor. His pop ularity seems to be growing day by day among the farmers in the interior of the State. It is said that English adventurers are expected to be very numerous at the water ing places this season. Cincinnati wants her fat thieves turned out of office, so as to fatten some more, probably. That lover who made his prospective fath er-in-law a present of a cord of wood has a fine sense of justice. A Tennessean was observed the other day setting his watch by the wooden sign of a Nashville jeweler. QUITMAN, G Y., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1873. SOLD. “It is too bad,” said Clara Morton, “How happy we should be if father would give his consent; but he still declares that I shall marry nobody hut Lewis Haiding —merely because he is rich. ’’ “Which would never influence you, dear Clara," returned Will Jordan. “You are right. I would not marry Lewis Harding if all his lands and houses would turn into gold.” “But you’d marry me with no house at all ?” / “I would,” and Clara blushed. It was a summer day, and the lovers were walking in shady wood; Their rambles hud brought them to the hanks of a little brook, and hero they sat down on tho trunk of a fallen tree to rest. “Well, dear Clara,” said Will Jordan, “I •see no reason for further delay. Your father has already threatened to compel yon to marry Lewis Harding, and you constantly incur his displeasure by refus ing. Now, were you once my wife, be carried out, and so cease to persecute you. He may never be reconciled to us, but we will be all to each other, and can get along ! without his friendship—although I would much rather have his esteem than not, j Now, I’ll tell you what I propose.” “What?” asked Clara, faintly. “There is but one way—don’t start— we must elope. ” Clara was silent. “And this very night,” Will added. “Oh, so soon ?” “Yes; delays are dangerous. Tho sooner you are relieved from your present un pleasant situation the better. Lewis Hard ing calls daily, you say, and thrusts him self into your society, while you endure' him rather than your father’s anger. Let us put an end to it. ” “I believe you are right.” “Then you will go with me to-night ?” “Yes.” “Good!” ho said, kissing her. “Asa matter of form, I will make all arrange ments for our marriage, and will bo tit the edge of the wood in the rear of your j father’s house at exactly eight o’clock this j evening, and will have a buggy not’far off. Asa signal, I will imitate the cry of the whip-poor-will, which I can do with great exactness. Then, very quietly— without ever speaking—we will hurry' away to our conveyance.” They supposed that only the innocent lit tle birds heard this very confidential dia logue and there was no fear they would re j veal the plot. Alas! how tho lovers would have trembled had they caught a glimpse of the angry face that frowned upon them from behind a great tree a few yards distant. An hour later old Jacob Morton entered i the village, which was only a half mile distant, and walked into the real estate office of "Lewis Harding, finding that gen tleman in. “Wlmt do you think ?” lie exclaimed, excitedly. “I don’t know. What has happened ?” “Why, they’ve met again—had a confab in the wood.” “Ah! How did you find it out ?” “I was there.” Harding turned pale. “What! you don’t mean—” “Without their knowledge,” explained j Mr. Morton. “I stood behind a large tree and heard them—will you believe it? planned a deliberate elopement. Oh, the audacity of—” “An elopement! When?” “This very evening.” “What! And did you—” “I felt like rushing forth and striking him, hut a better plan occurred to me. Let the elopement go on, but you be the party instead of Jordan. (Here Mr. Mor ton detailed minutely' the plan of the lovers ns he overheard it.) “Now, you go to the appointed place in the edgo of the wood, and there conceal yourself. Go a little ahead of time. Then he will come arid give the signal at tho proper time. It will take her about two minutes to reach the place, because she will move slowly' in order to make no noise. Meantime there shall be, another person in the lawn —whom I shall bribe for the purpose— who will step out and join him before Clara has time to get out of the house; and he, thinking it is my daughter, will hasten away with her. Soon after Clara will join you, thinking that you are Jor dan., Then take her to w here yon have a buggy waiting, and drive to the church, which you cun to-day arrange to be opened and lighted up. She will not discover her mistake till she is standing at the altar by your side. I will be there, and I believe she will marry you without a word. ” “Capital! capital! my dear father-in law—for I think I may now safely call you so. What a dear, shrewd father-in-law it is!” said Harding, foppishly. Mr. Morton placed his index finger by the side of his nose and looked very know ing, after which he bale his intended son in-law a glorious good afternoon, and left. On reaching home he asked where Clara was. “Out walking yet, sir,” replied the ser vant girl, Mary Malone. “Well, Mary,” aaid he, “I want you to ; do me a great favor, and if you succeed I will make you a present of a twenty dol lar bill.” He then confided to her that he had overheard Clara and Will Jordan planning an elopement, gave the details, revealed his plan for cheek-mating them, and in formed her of the part he wished her to play, | | “Very well, sir; I’ll do it," said Mary. “Thunk you, and you shall have your money to-morrow.” Mary went about her work, muttering to herself: “Twenty dollars! Pooh! I wouldn't j betray Clara for twenty hundred. I’ll tell ! her every word, you hard-hearted old siu -1 nor, if I lose my place by it. ” Ten minutes later Clara returned, and I promptly she told her tho whole story. “Oh, dear! that it will defeat us for the present," said Clara. “No, it will only assist you,” replied Mary. “How?” “I will tell you.” And Mary lowered her voice, lest the very walls should hoar, and told what her plan was.' “Oh, Mar.V, you dear girl!" Clam ex claimed. “You’ll lose your place by it, but you shall have a better one.” Mary’s plan—whatever it was—seemed to please Clara, and as the afternoon wore away five persons waited anxiously for eight o’clock. The shadows of night were gathering when a mule figure crept along the edge of the wood, and crouched among some brush opposite the rear of Sir. Morton’s muttering: “She’s getting ready. She little imag ines she is going to elope with L. 11. lisp. Ha! ha! the old buffer and I are just six too many William Jordan and Clara Hard ing that is to be.” About the same time ft sly old man quietly seated himself by a back w indow of the lower floor and watched. “It’s working nicely,” he muttered, ns a female figure glided across the lawn and hid in the shrubbery near the wood. About this time female figure—number two, let us call her—took a seat at a win dow of Clara Morton’s room, and gazed anxiously toward the gloomy wood. Finally another male figure—number two—appeared at the edge of the wood, where a gate ted into the lawn, and the cry of a wliip-poor-will was heard upon | the stillness of the night. Instantly female i figure number one passed quietly out through the gate, seizing the arm of male figure number two, and hurried away into the gloom. “Good!” chuckled tho old man at the window. “Good!” said male figure number one, who lurked in tho bushes. A quartet of a minute —a half—-three quarters—a minute —two—three—four. “Why doesn't shecoitte?” also muttered the sly old man at the lower window. “Oh, there she goes at. Inst! Probably forgot something. Nervous, no doubt. Now for the village!” A female figure -number two—emerged from the rear door of the building, stepped out a few paces into the lawn, looked nervously, then walked stealthily toward the wood. At the gate she met male figure number one, who hud now come forth from his place of concealment, and he hurried through the wood toward a lane not far off. A bugby was waiting there and they I got in and drove toward the village. They stopped at the church and went, ! in. The interior was lighted up, anil a 1 score or mope of people sat in the front pews. The newly arrived pair walked , straight up to the aisle and stood in front of the altar. A moment more the sly old man came in and complacently took a seat. The lady was closely veiled, and her male companion—who of course was Mr. Harding—kept his own face somewhat averted, naif from bashfulness. “Bhe may say the word that makes her my wife before she discovers that I am not Jordan,” he muttered, and he trembled a little. The minister proceeded with his usual solemnity, and was just uttering the words “If any man can show just cause why they may not bo joined, etc.,” when the sly old man started from his seat and yelled: “Look here! What’s all this? That isn’t my daughter!” “Wlmt!” exclaimed Harding. Everybody started. “Why, you haven’t got her, you blun dering donkey!” exclaimed the plain spok en old man. “There she is!” And ho pointed excitedly to a pew at the right of the altar, where, lo! Will Jor dan and (Jlara sat calmly. “Why, why',” stammered Harding, ad dressing his companion, “wlmt does this mean? who are yon?” She removed her veil, and stood re vealed —Mary Malone. “How is this?” demanded Mr. Morton, no longer sly. ‘ ‘Don’t know, ” replied Mary. ‘ ‘Gness we must have got mixed up somehow.” “Tho, mistake shall he corrected!” said Mr. Morton angrily “Clara, step right up here and marry Mr. Harding! Do you hear?” “Mr. Morton,” interposed the minister, “that cannot be. She has just been mar ried to Mr. Jordan.” The recently sly old man had taken a step towards Clara, as though he would have dragged her to the altar; but he soon paused, feeling very much like uttering a few imprecations; but remembering where he was, he summoned his reason and bet ter nature to his aid, and said: “Sold!” “Sold!" repeated Harding, with an ac cent of despair. “Sold!” echoed Mary Malone rougue ishly. “Soldi” reiterated Will Jordan and the bride. “Hold!” rang through tho holy ediftoe, accompanied by a loud and merry laugh; and even tho minister, before ho know it, found himself smiling and muttering the word “sold!" Old Jacob Morton, though obstinate and self-willed, was not, a vindictive man, and realizing that, wlmt was done could not he undone, and that it could do no good to rave and howl, he walked ever to Will and Clara, and shook hands with them, say ing: “Yes, sold! Now I’ll freely forgive both of you, and all concerned—here he glanced at Mary Malone—if you will toll me how it was done.” “I’ll tell you then, said Clara, for I know you will keep your word. Mary di vulged to me what you mid Mr. Harding had put on Will and mo, and suggested a plan to baffle you. Instead of going out into the lawn to personate mo and deceive Will, she remained in my room, while I ! went forth and personated her to deceive you. I therefore joined Will as soon ns I heard the whip-poor-will, and wo left. Mary then came down and eloped with Mr. Harding. “Such perfidy! I—well, I promised to forgive all, and I’ll do it.” “Well, I wouldn't if I were you," said Lewis Harding; and pale with anger and disappointment, he strodo from the church. “It is an outrage.” “Sue him for breach of promise,” were j the words that followed him ns ho went j out in the dreary night. It was Mary Malone who spoke them. ►— The King and the Surgeon. One day, ns au ancient King of Tartary was riding with his officers of state, they' met a dervish crying aloud, “To him that will give me a hundred dinars (small pieces of money), 1 will give a piece of good ad vice.” Tho King, attracted by' this strange I declaration, stopped, and said to the der vish: “What advice is this that you offer for a hundred dinars?” "Sire, replied the dervish, “I shall be most thankful to tell you, as soon as you order the money to be paid mo.” The King, expecting to hear something eytranrdinary, ordered tho di nars to he given to the dervish at once; on receiving which, he said: “Sire, my ad vice is, begin nothing without considering what the end may bo.” Tim officers of state, smiling at what they thought ridiculous advice, looked at the King, who they expected would be so enraged at this insult as to order the der vish to be severely punished. The King, seeing their amusement and surprise, said: “1 see nothing to laugh at in the advice of this dervish; but, on the contrary, I mil persuaded that if' it were more frequently practiced men would escape many calami ties. Indeed, so convinced am I of this maxim that I shall have it engraved on my plate and written on the walls of my pal ace, so that it may be ever before me.” The King, having thanked the dervish, i proceeded towards his palace, and on his arrival he ordered the chief bey to see that the maxim was engraved on his plate and and on the walls of his palace. Some time after this occurrence one of the nobles of the court, a proud, antbi ! tious man, resolved to destroy the King and place himself on tho throne. In or | der to accomplish this bad purpose, he se cured the confidence of one of the King’s surgeons, to whom he gave a poisoned lan cet, saying: “If you will bleed the King j with this lancet I will give you 10,000 pieces of gold, and when I ascend the j throne you shall he my vizier.” This base j surgeon, dazzled by such brilliant pros i poets, wickedly assented to the proposal. An opportunity of effecting his evil de | signs soon occurred. The King sent for ; this man to bleed him. He put the poi. ined lancet in a side pocket and has- toned int the King’s presence. The arm was tied, and tin- fatal lancet was about to be plunged in the vein, when suddenly the surgeon’s eye read this maxim at the bottom of the basin: “Begin nothing without considering what the end will be." He immediately paused as he thought within himself, “If I bleed the King with this lancet lie will die, and I shall be seized and put to a cruel death. Then of what use will all the gold in the world be to me ?” Then, returning the lancet to his pocket, he drew-forth another. The King observing this, and perceiving that he was much embarrassed, asked why he had changed his lancet so suddenly. He stated that the point wsis broken, .but the King, doubting his statement, commanded him to show it. This so agitated him that the King was reassured that all was not right. He said: “There’s treachery in this! Tell uu bl atantly what it means, or your head shall be severed from your body!” The sur geon, trembling with fear, promised to relate all to the King if he would pardon his guilt. The King consented, and tho surgeon related the whole matter, ac knowledging that, had it not been for the words in the basin, he should have used the fatal lancet. The King summoned his court, and or dered the traitor to bo executed. Then turning to his officers of state, ho said: “You now see the advice of the pervish at which you laughed, is most valuable; has j saved my life. Search out the dervish, that I might amply reward him for his wise maxim. ” MISCELLANEOUS ADVERTISEMENTS. NEW STOCK. rnilE UNDERSIGNED HAVING PURCHASED _1 in person in the Eastern Cities, a large and well assorted stock of General Mercliun<l ise, is now prepared to offer peculiar inducements to his many customers and the public generally. His stock embraces a complete variety of Dry Goods, Ready Made Clothing, Hats, Caps, Boots and Shoes, Hardware, Tinware, Crockery and Glass ware, All kinds of Woodware and j A roMPLETK ABNOKTSTENT OF F A HI I L Y ii K O C E R I E S , all of which he offers on the most reasonable terms. I). K. CREECH. soptbOm (j < > r 1111\ l . €. M. HR OWN, of Florida, —WITH WEILLEK & TIRO., 274 W. Baltimore St., Baltimore, Md. augJd lm MIM'ELUSBOtm ADVERTISEMENT)!. I.L. FALK & CO. ONE PRICE Wholeeale and Retail CLOTHING WAREHOUSE, Corners Congress, Whitaker andßt. JulanSts., SAVANNAH, OA. A LARGE ASSORTMENT OF FURNISHING GOODS, HATS, TRUNKS, VALICES, ETC. Always on llaml. Manufactory No. 48 Warren St. N. Y Ilrniich lloum’, ( Itn rloHton, S. C*. may24-tf CLEARTHE TRACK When the Whistle Blows. 8. jS II AND A L, QIITMAIV, - - - GEORGIA. j IF YOU WISH TO PURCHASE CHEAP GOODS Of all descriptions, such as DRY GOODS, CLOTHING, HOOTS AND SHOES, GROCERIES, HARDWARE, TIN WARE, and AU other kinds of Goods you may need, Call and hoc for yourself before Pu r c basing Else \v here. We Guarantee to Sell as Low as AnyOne Else. | niay24-tflp i AS. H. HUNTER, ATTO R N E Y A T EAVV , QUITMAN, lIROOKS COUNTY, GEORGIA. O Willpraoiico in tin.* CountUu of tlic; Southern Circuit, Echols and Clinch of the Brunswick, and Mitchell of the Albany. #**Oftice at the Court House. june2B-tf DR. E. A. JELKS, PRACTICING PHYSICIAN, Quitman, Gu. OFFICE- Brick building adjoining the store of Messrs. Briggs, Jelks ft Cos., Hereven street. maylOtf Crass Cloth, at reduced prices, at Biuoos, Jelks A Co’s. l’laid Grenadines, black and colors, at reduced ; •i'\c cm, at JBIUUG&, JLLLb A Co's, ' NUMBER 21. j KIINCRLUNBOViI AIIVKItTIHKMEKTS. SALE AND LIVERY STABLE, < initinini, (4a. rjIHK UNDERSIGNED KEEP ON BAND SADDLE HORSES, HARNESSHORSES, BUGGIES, CARRIAGES, Etc., etc., etc., For the Accommodation of the Public. THEY ALSO KEEP CONSTANTLY ON HAND A GOOD SUPPLY OF HORSES AND MULES For Hale, SELECTED BY OKU OF THE FIRM, And Always Purchased on Such Terms as to Enable Them to Sell at the LOWEST PRICES. PERSONS DESIRING TO PURCHASE SADDLE OR HARNESS HORSES ■ Can be Supplied upon Short Notice. If not mi hand, if a dcscriptioo of the slock wanted in left at the Stable the order will be filled I in a few days. CECIL A THRASHER. mayl7-tf CITY HOTEL, QUITMAN, GEORGIA. The Proprietor Offers to Visitors l NSI RPASSED INDI'CEMENTS. ROOMS LARGE, WELL FURNISHED, -—AND —- THOROUGHLY VENTILATED. TABLE BUFFLIED WITH THE BEST THEM A RKKT AFFORDS. Polite and Obliging Servants HOUSE SITUATED CONVENIENT TO THjjl / t Dopot and the Business Portion of the Town. D. U. McNEAL, Proprietor, may 17 *f w. B. BENNETT. S. T. KJNCJSBEBMY. BENNETT ft KINGBBERRY, Attorneys at Law, QUIT M A N, Brooks County, -- - Georgia. / jnne2B-tf EDWARD R. HARDEN, Attorney 11 1 Law, QUITMAN, BROOKS COUNTY, - - GEORGIA, Late an Associate Jusf/ce Supreme Court, U. . for Utah and Nehraika Territories; now Judge County Court. Brooks County, Ota. in 24-12WO