Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME I.
THE INDEPENDENT.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 4, 13.
Pit till.hod U'rrkly |4 00 por Annum
In Advance.
Single Co|>l*s S cent..
A MOTHER'S PLAINT.
BY WU>RKI) MONTKIWE.
The sweet Bering .{wed. o'er the level}' earth,
With the bin!* anil the early flower*,
And the warm, soft wind come* freighted with
The perfume of Southern bowera.
And the heart* of all seem light and gay,
Mid the air so calm and mild;
But my weary thought* mam far away,
For thou aft not here, my child.
1 wander oft in the dim old wood*,
And 1 find in ita aheltereil nook
The meek, blue violet peering forth,
With it* quiet, lovely look;
Audi think bow oft I have twined for thee
A wreath of tlioae hloeaom* wild;
And I turn to gaae on thy Bunny brow,
But thou art not here, my child.
O, where art thon, while I'm roaming here,
Lost idol of my heart ?
O, why ia it thus that the bitter tear
Amid nature’s bloom must start ?
In a wild, dark grave they have laid thee down,
And the Know on thy breast was piled.
And I wept a* 1 kissed thy cold, cold lips-
Thou art dead, thon art dead, my child.
I know that my heart must lonely throb,
Ab the apring-time glideth by,
And the summer flower* will lie seen by mo
Through the veil of a tear-dimmed eye.
But 0, when the autumu day* ahull oome,
With their sunshine calm and mild,
’Mid thv withered flowerß they'll lay me down—
I will'be with thee. then, mv child.
Paul r ri:>ii*i* vk,
A PEOSE IDYLL.
Thirty years ago! Ami now, ns the wild,
gray Bky is fast glooming to utter dark
ness, and the ragged clouds, urged on by
the mad northeast wind, are hurrying
across the smooth face of heaven, aud I
feel all the chill and depression of the
dying hour of day palling upon my soul—
I bring to memory this night thirty years
ago. A night so like this one—as wild, as
cold, as joy-killing, with just such a gray
clouded, hard-breathed sunset, the sun
unseen, its heat unfelt, nnd all nature
shuddering because the angel of the North
had wrapped it in its deadly embrace.
TLc shadow of that night hath ever
since been round me; I have dwelt in it
walked in it, worked in it, and out of it,
have been evolved, for good or evil, all
the issues of my life.
Thirty years ago this November day, I,
Paul Templar, son of a Yorkshire farmer,
living far up near the Durham border, in
wards a mile or two from the great eternal
ris ks that breast the waves of the North
ern sea, had wandered to some familiar
caverns, deep nuder the jutting cliffs,
where I loved to sit and hear the sea bel
lowing through the resounding vaults, or
hearken to the curlew's scream, or watch
the scurrying gales as they whirled past
thick and misty—while through and above
it all rolled the ceaseless noises of the dis
tant waves murmuring in their deepest
tones, and clapping their hands to God.
A queer, bookish fellow was I, not over
loved of my father, who strengthened his
hands and loins to win his bread, aud lit
tle cared for my idle fingers aud mooning
brains about his house. But he had to
yield to the necessity of my laziness. I
was deformed in the shoulders, and my
pale face marked me out as a weakling,
from four brawny, herculean youths who
were the pride of our homestead. How
much they four loved and pitied me! How
gentle were they to their “gentleman
brother,” as they used to call me—given
to books aud lounging, while they worked
hard and sweatfully, tending and forcing
the fitful, often too thankless soil, under
the invidious sky.
My mother was dead—died in bearing
me.
Noblest of all these noble brothers was
the eldest. I see him now, Harold, with
his great ruddy face, the broad forehead,
and the cnrly auburn hair, and the brown
eves, deep and lustrous, and the well-knit,
massive form.
I see, too, that fair girl lie brought from
Devon, whither he went to serve his farm
apprenticeship, flaxen haired, blue-eved,
cordial-lipped beauty that she was, and
so tender and fragile, our big folk for a
while looked at her with gentle awe,
knowing not what to do with her or how
to entreat her. As if some rare Dresden
vase had fallen into the Ixands of brutish
hinds, who recognized only Its beauty,
not its use, and cherished it fearfully,
with a feeling something between worship
and wonder.
Fondly did I love Eva with a pure
brotherly love—and more fondly still I
loved Eveline, the double image of her
father and mother, and the pet of all our
hearts.
And it is of these two, that, recalling
the events of this night thirty years ago,
the bright, fair figures stand out to my
eyes as real as at the time, against the
background of gray and black and stormy
eve. O bright, fair figures, long since
translated and transfigured, where my eyes
can no more behold your beauty.
The morning had risen as glum and
cold as the evening afterward went out.
Fast drove the steel-shaded clouds, harsh
was the voice and angry the breath of the
wind. A sort of day I loved much, when I
conld get down on the shore behind some
rock and shelter myself from the chilling
blasts. Eva intended to go to N , a
town twelve miles off, down in a little
vale that carries a small stream to the sea,
where a few houses und fishermen’s huts
sheltered a community queer and quiet;
living mostly on the trade done with the
surrounding thinly populated district.
THE INDEPENDENT.
Tart of the way was over a hill, nearly four
miles from our house, auil along its top,
where it was senrped away in a huge Ti
tanic break straight down to the sen.
Great rocks jutted out here and there,
and many a cave and fissure pitted its
blaek face; below was a pavement of tre
mendous fragments strewn and piled with
the strougthftil abandon of nature, among
which the high tide surged and boil.nl and
hiased. Over this hill, down again, to a
valley, and then along the shore round
the next headland went the road to X .
They had promised Eva the light, two
wheeled cart; and Eveline, who was to
have a now dress, the main object of the
journey, was to accompany her. A ha
uler's wife thiuks little of such on excur
sion, and, though the giants humorously
warned Eva, at breakfast, of the rough
ness of the day, they never thought of
dissuading her from the drive. I offered
to go with her as far as the cliff, about
four miles, taking witli me my dinner and
some books, nml to await her return in
the early afternoon. So Harold brought
round the cart, with the patient old marc,
and lifted in Eva and Eveline, and last of
all, in the wautonness of strength, me,
amidst jokes and laughter, anil away we
went.
*****
I wandered about above and below, and
by and by sat down secure in a favorite
cave, reached by a path from the top,
which only a light body and cunning
hands and feet could safely use. My eyes,
weary with reading, had been resting
simply on the weird, troubled acene be
yond ; my ear had been lulled by the thun
der of the waves on those glistening rocks.
I knew not the hour, but I was so inti
mate with nature I felt sure that Eva
should long since have been with me on
the way home.
Twice hud T gone out and struggled up
to the highest point of the cliff, whence I
ought to have seeu her curt climbing the
hill. After noon the weather had grown
colder, angrier, ami more gloomy. Grand
indeed, were the waves, with their tossing
manes of snowy foam under that bluek
sky.
As I descended the second time disap
pointed to my cave, I saw, with alarm, the
north and east growing more desperately
dark—the clouds quickened their speed to
a riotous rate -and the drizzle blew cold
and hard upon my face.
“Coom, Evu,”lsuid, “coom along soon,
Eva and Eveline. Storm and uicht are
behind ye. Coom on safe and speedily,
my darlings!”
By and by the storm drove up fell and
furious. O, how the monster sea lashed
out and roared amain! The scouring drifts
of rain dashed past my cave’s mouth and
filing their cold drops hack into my face
as f shrank to the farthest end.
“Nay,” said I, peering out anxiously,
“God save thee, Eva. Muyst thou not
leave the shelter of the cozy haven till
this be over.”
I grew- uneasy. There was danger now,
so viscious was the gale, in climbing even
the few feet between me and the top; but,
after waiting vainly a long time for a lull
and finding that the air grew darker and
darker aud the storm more fierce, I braved
my heart for another effort, and went up
again.
Whiff—whirl—what a gust! It nearly
blew me off my feet. I stood as manfully
a* I could, and tried to make out the line
of road. I could not see a hundred yards.
The mist and rain ami falling dark! -ss
veiled every feature of the landscape from
my sight. I listened trembling.
“God help thee!” I cried; “Oh! where
art thou, Eva? O, little Eveline, evangel,
where are now thy little face aud feet, the
sunshine und the music of our home?”
At this moment I heard a shrill cry
coming through the storm. It was a
seamew surely. It seemed not far from
me, and it was sharp and so inhuman.
There it was again! And now another
* * * * f a inter, sweeping by my ears
on the loud-voiced wind. I breasted the
storm down the bill, shading my eyes witli
my hand from the blinding drift, and
pressing on desperately with a strength I
was unconscious of. Two hundred yards—
and I heard the shriek again, more sub
dued, but this time quite close to me. Yet
I conld see nothing in the road. It was
certainly the cry of a child.
“Good heavens! Am I bewitched? It
is in my ear. Eva! Eveline!” The little
cry again. I looked about me. I was
standing at a well-known point of the road.
Here there jutted up two pinnacles of rock,
named the Danish Twins, and the road
maker had carried his road around them
on the hind side. Betwixt the pinnacles,
which were about twenty feet apart, was
a chasm, which came up to the edge of
the road in the shape of the letter V,
sloping gradually from the apex. Around
its slips and sides were mingled together
rocks and brushwood and broom. It
sloped down some fifteen feet towards a
broad ledge of rock, a vantage place shel
tered by the pinnacles, where I often stood
and gazed at the glorious prospect; and
then there was a sheer fall over the ledge
of two hundred feet, down to the monster
rocks that threw up their jagged points
below.
I leaned over the lip of the upper end
of the chasm, peering down through bush
and brier, towards tbe first hedge, and
then, as my eyes fell on two light objects
stretched upon the ledge, with the wind
and rain whirling about them, my heart
nearly stopped its beat, and the breath
went of my body.
I stooped down and examined the road.
'Twaa clear enough what had happened.
QUITMAN, GA., SATURDAY, OCTOBER 4, 187:!.
Here was tlio mark of the wheel, which
hud come too near the treacherous point
of the cliosm, and had broken away its
crumbling apex. There just below were
the bruised bushes to show how the curt
hud turned over—curt and horse and pre
cious freight—and, for the rest, by some
God’s chance, there, before my eyes, were
the two figures lying upon the ledge. As
for the cart and marc
I remember how, when seeing that
sight and taking into my soul all that it
implied, there seemed to well up iuto me
a fountain of devotion and resolve, such
as I had never felt before. Of a sudden
it was as if I had become possessed with a
supernatural power. My heart grew like
steel. I forgot, in the mastering enthusi
asm of the moment, my poor, nerveless
body; and the soul within me, big with
the idea of saving those two precious
lives, seemed to swell with a giant's
strength.
“Eva!” I shouted, in the mad noise of
the elements.
The larger of the two dim figures did
not move. The smaller I thought I could
see take an arm from the other’s neck.
Then it cried out piping and shrill:
“ Uncle Paul! Uncle Pau ———//”
“Eveline!" I cried, “darling Eveline,
keep still for God’s sake! What’s mamma
doing?”
“O, O, 0, Uncle Paul, come here!”
Down I dashed in a stupid frenzy, head
long and careless, and missing my grasp
of a hush, stumbled and fell. A sharp
scarp of rock received my thigh on its
point, rent it down for twenty inches, and
then let, me drop on my buck, roughly on
the ledge, beside the figures.
It was many minutes before I recovered
my senses. All the while the pitiless
storm beat on us three. I came to myself
to find Eveline with her arms around my
neck, calling still, “Uncle Paul!"
The blood flowed copiously from my
wound. I tore the skirt frohi the little
girl uud hound up my thigh as well as I
could. I felt that their lives depended on
mine. When I turned to look at Eva I
found her lovely face pallid and wet, her
clothes and hair drenched with the ruin.
On her right temple was a bruise. She
showed no signs of life. I chafed her
hands. I breathed into her cold lips. I
dragged her in under some sheltering
bushes, and urged the little one to help
me rub her mamma's hands. At length
there were symptoms of life, and by and
by she opened her eyes and spoke to me.
She could lie there conscious, hut she
could not move. 1 knew why- —there was
a fourth, a hidden life in the balance that
night.
We could now scarcely see each other's
faces. I drew the child in under the
brush and tied her to her mother. I be
sought them both not to stir hand or foot.
I took oft' my coat and threw it over them.
I buttoned my waistcoat about the little
one. And then I resolved, wounded and
half-naked as I was, to try to get to W'li
nersly, our home, for help. There was
no dwelling nearer. I hoped that Harold’s
anxiety might bring him out in search of
us, aud that I should meet him on the
way. By this time, what with loss of
blood and the forlorn responsibility of my
situation, I began to feel giddy nnd weak.
Then I knelt down and prayed. I know
not wlmt I said. I only know that I
pleaded for their precious lives—nnd of
fered my own as a ransom for them if it
might be. I only know that in the course
of that transcendent appeal 1 seemed to
see new light and gain new strength,
though the sharp pain in my thigh warned
me that the work I had to do would task
my very life. Then I kissed them both—
I could no longer see their faces—and,
commending them to the God of the w inds
and storms, I essayed to climb to the top
of the cliff. Into the rough bushes, among
the thorny broom, grasping und letting
go—feeling and doubting—step by step
upward I fought my way. I forgot the
anguish of my wound in the freshness of
my spirited resolve to save the dear ones
below. Twice or thrice I heard Eva’s
gentle voice cheering me and and saying:
“Are you up yet Paul? Save us, Paul!
God help you, Paul!”
I kept my groans quiet, thrilling as was
my pain. Twice I missed my hold and
nearly fell backward, twice recovered, with
bleeding hands aud fainting breath, but
my soul was strong and hopeful.
“God bless yon, Uncle Paul! Save us,
Uncle Paul! God help you, Uncle Paul!”
echoed a tiny voice, and my heart leaped
to hear it.
“Paul, weakling, now for a steady, de
termined heart. They must and shall be
saved!”
At length I stood on the brink. The
most dangerous part of my work was over.
For the sake of their lives it had been
carefully and slowly done. But the exer
tion left me feebler. I bad to stop and
adjust tbe bandage. The lacerated thigh
was so painful I could scarcely bare to
touch it. With a grim resolution I
clenched my teeth, and drew the cloth
tight, until the anguish was intolerable.
I hoped to stay the bleeding.
“Good God, how shall I ever do these
four miles?”
I had not even a stick to lean upon to
relieve my leg. Yet I set out briskly. On
Buyback was hurled the fury of the storm
as I stumped and limped toilfully along.
Every step was a fresh agony. But every
moment I seemed to hear
“Save us, Paul! God help you, Uncle
Paul!”
And it formed a sort of burden and re
frain, keeping time with my trembling
footsteps as I labored along. It was so
dark I could never have kept the road had
it not been very familiar to me. An age
seemod to have passed when I knew, by a
change in the level, that I had gone only
one mile. My heart began to sink, and I
sat down a moment to rest. The stiffness
and soreness of my wound were keenly
brought home to me liy the act. Could I
possibly go three miles more in my pres
ent state? I ran over in my mind the dif
Acuities of the way. There was not a hut
or a house between me and home. A long
piece of common, a deep dip in the road,
and a hill, up which I had often bounded
—these things lay before me, ami here was
I groaning with pain and the very life
flickering in me.
"But," I said, “Harold’s wife and Har
old's child must be saved. Courage, Paul.
‘God bless you, Paul! God help you, Un
cle Paul!’ ”
As I put my hand on the ground to raise
myself it lighted on a round object. I
seized and felt. It was some wayfarer’s
staff. He had gone on liis journey, lmt
he had left this here for me—l thought.
My spirit revived.
“Bravo, Paul, push on? God hath sent
thee a staff to lean upon.”
I was so encouraged that I did the next
mile almost rapidly. My thoughts went
hack to the two poor things behind me—
“Oh! shall Ihe in time?” —and they went
on to the house before me, with the five
sturdy, unconscious men, who, had they
known, would have swept along this road
withjgroat rapid strides, and have borne my
beauties in their giant arms home to life
and warmth.
So I seemed to walk and leap and praise
God for the help of the staff. But in the
faith of it I was doing too much. I was
using up my strength at a terrible rate.
When I knew I had gone more than an
other mile my steps slackened, and with
my heart palpitating and my breath gene
I tumbled on the ground. The shock
wrung from me an irrepressible shriek of
agony.
0 via dolorosa ! I cannot go on. This
anguish is greater than I can bear. God
himself seems pitiless, as hiisstorm comes
down so ruthlessly, and the awful gloom
drapes and stifles my ardor and my hope.
0 via cruets!”
These last words reminded me of the
Great human Kedemptor. “Is it not so,
ever?” I said. “Is not the way of love
the way of tears?"
Here was I wailing over my own an
guish, and there were the three lives, and
the voices ever in my ear, yet unregarded
in that moment of selfish depression.
“God help you, Uncle Paul.” I staggered
again to my feet, and with desperate slow
ness aud patience halted along—that torn
hip excruciating me at every movement.
How I got on I know not. Weakness
and pain were fast subduing my zeal. Ho
how often succumbs the noblest soul to
bodily anguish! I must have become de
lirious. I shouted and sang —I adjured
my own body to be patient—l called aloud
to heaven to help me. I said:
“They shall be saved, Paul. ‘God
help you, Paul. ’ ” And then I stumbled
again, coming cruelly to the ground. The
staff flew out of my hand, and I sank
down with a groan, thinking that at last
God had deserted me.
“Oh!” I said, “I lmd hoped that this
poor, weak and worthless life might have
been redeemed from its abjectness in my
brothers’ sight, in my own consciousness,
in God’s estimation, by the saving of
those three lives. Gladly then would 1
have lain down to die, rewarded by the
manly shout of my manly brothers, ‘O,
well done, Paul. Well done!’ ”
But, as it seemed, it was not to be. I
lay on my side unable to move. The
groans I could not repress answered the
wild menace of the winds, and said, “I
yield ye all.”
I groped for the staff. It was past re
covery. Vainly I tried to get upon my
feet without it. My wounded leg was now
useless.
Then I was tempted to lie still there and
die. The life was gradually chilling in
me. My head swam. I nearly swooned.
But again there came before my vision the
two pictures; the precious lives to be saved
there on the ledge behind me—in front of
me the nobler heart to be blessed.
“0, Paul, if every step were bloody, yea
with great drops of blood, and every
movement anew torture, it were thy meed
to save them.”
My heart grew stronger at the thought.
I dragged myself along on hands and
knees, weeping with anguish, as I went,
hut praying and hoping still. * * * I
cannot describe the horrors of that part of
my way. A good deal of it must have
gone on unconscious. I was losing my
reason. Hands and knees were bleeding.
The cold driving into my exposed body
ma<lc my teeth chatter. At length I
swooned in good earnest. * * * *
I know not how long I had lain thus,
when suddenly I woke up with a vividness
that was startliug. I thought I heard a
terrible shriek, which pierced through
swoon and deadness—to my very soul.
“Paul, for God’s sake save us, quick!”
I could just lift my head. It was all I
could do. The numbed, stiff, bruised
limbs, I no longer bad any power over
them. There was only one more effort
left to me. I shrieked with all my re
maining strength like the voice I hail
heard—like a maniac; shrieked out un
ceasingly, the wild wind carrying away my
cries from me on its wings, God knew
whither. I thought, ‘I will spend ray last
breath to save them.' Ami so thinking,
as my voice grew weaker anil I felt myself
to he dying -I cancel!tratfed my strength
in one lust effort—
Yes! O thank God, there was a respon
sive cry close at hand! Voices and lights,
and in a minute or two the four strong
men with Harold at their head had reached
me!
“Paul, for God’s sake, Paul, what does
this moan? Where are they ?"
He had gently taken up my head, while
the lantern glow fell upon my ghastly face
and on my glazed eyes. I could not an
swer him. I simply clasped my hands in
token of thankfulness.
The strong man wrung his hands.
“Give him brandy, quick, Do you
know where they are?” I tried to nod.
“He does. G Paul, wake up and tell us.
Nay, look here, look here brothers! How
dreadful!”
They looked at my bleeding hands,
then at my khocs, then at the bloody rap
pings round my thigh. I began to revive.
In a few minutes I told them slowly where
I hud left Eva and Eveline.
“Where did you hurt yourself?”
“There. At the Hurry Scar, below the
Twins.”
“Have you come all the way like this?”
I nodded.
“0, well done, Paul, bravely done/" cried
the lusty giants in a chorus, and I swooned
away for joy.
* * * * # * *
Long was 1 the hero of that homestead,
where, by-aml-hy another little Evangel j
came to look upon the uncle who had
saved her life. Sweet, sweet and priceless
to me are the memories of the grateful
devotion of them all to me—still further
wrecked and weakened by the terrors of
that night. For my wounded thigh long
kept me in peril of my life, and when it
was healed had so shrunk up I could only
walk with the help of crutches.
****** *
Nevertheless, from that night the im
becility of my past years went away. I
had learned a lesson in the mysteries of
life. It were possible, I had been dis’-
covered, that even I should hold in my hand
the precious balances of human fates, and
with weakling but determined zeal, there
were yet left to me by Providence, powers
of good, of rescue from evil.
A Western chap who went to New York
to purchase goods, etc., was invited to one
of those fashionable parties so common in
large cities.
He was el early a western original —but
said very little, until he found the party
was about to close with an attempt to
corner him. At length it bevy of laugh
ing girls, by the merest Accident in the
world, found themselves groped about
said western green one in a most animated
discourse on music und city playing.
When all this had progressed just, far
enough, one of the damsels, with head
more adorned without than within, and in
that peculiar drawl which fortunately ho
type can present, accosted the observed of
all with:
“Do the ladies piny music at the West,
sir?”
Original saw the game and resolved to
win.
“(), very universally, miss,” was the
cool reply.
“Indeed, why, I was not aware of that.
Pray, do they use the piano mostly?”
“Never, miss; the only instrument used
out our way is the Swinetlo, and the girls
all play it. ”
“O dear, I am sure I never heard of that
before; do tell us what it is und how they
play it.”
“Well, the instrument is a small pig;
each girl takes one of these under her arm
and chairs the end of its long tail , and that
produces the music.”
The preconcerted “come,” made no
farther progress; and for the balance of
the evening our western “green” was the
only lion of the show.
The Augusta Constitutionalist publishes
one of Gen. Gordon’s stories of Hon. A.
H. Stephens: “When the three Commis
sioners met us at Fortress Monroe,” says
Grant, “Mr. Stephens came swaddled up
from top to toe in an enormous overcoat.
Lincoln called me aside, as Mr. Stephens
was disrobing and observed: ‘Grant, what
does that performance of Stephens remind
you of?’ I answered him: ‘Mr. President,
I do not know: but what does it remind
you of?’ With one of his queer winks,
Lincoln said: ‘lt reminds me of the big
gest shuck off the smallest ear I ever saw in
all my life!’ ”
An exchange says that Pittsburgh re
joices in the possession of a woman so
faithful and loving that she always kissed
her husband “good-by” when he goes into
the back yard to feed the chickens. The
sagacious woman has reason to believe that
her husband will meet liis death by being
hen-pecked.
A St,, Paul woman, who used to keep
three girls, now does her own work cheer
fully. She found her husband throwing
kisses at, them. The happy husband is now
engaged on ail original poem beginning.
“Now, by St. Paul, the work goes bravely
on!”
MISCISLLASKOGS ADVKIITISEMKKTS.
NEW STOCK.
riIHE UNDERSIGNED HAVING PURCHASED
1 in person in Mu* Eastern Cities, a large and
well assorted stock of
General Merchandise,
is now prepared to offer peculiar inducements to
his many customers and the public generally.
His stock embraces a complete variety of
Dry Goods, lteadv Made Clothing,
Huts, Capa, Roots and Shoes,
Hardware, Tinware,
Crockery and Glass ware,
All kinds of Woodware and
A COMPLETE AHHOHTMKNT OP
FAMILY CtROCKKIBS,
all of which lie offers on the most reasonable
; terms. D. R. CREECH.
scptJ.fJm
( lo riii>(i.
C. M. BROWN, of Florida,
—WITH—
WEILLER & BRO.,
£74 W. Baltimore St., Baltimore, Md.
augJU tin
I>IlS(Kl*Ii.V \ HOCK ADVKIITIMKMKVrS.
I. L. FALK & CO~
ONE PRICE
Wholesale anil Retail
CLOTH ING WAREHOUSE,
Corners Congress, Whitaker sndSt. Julnn Sts..
SAVANNAH, A.
A LARGE ASSORTMENT OF
EUR NISHIK (l (iOO OF,
HATS, TRUNKS,
VA LICKS, ETC.
Always on Hunil.
Manufactory No. 48 Warren St. N. Y
Km null lloiimc, tharlunton, B.C.
may'24-tf
GLEARTHE TRACK
When the Whistle Blows.
8. S II A N I) A L,
QUITMAN, GEORGIA.
IF YOU WISH TO PURCHASE
CHEAP <iOOI>BS
Of all descriptions, such as
DR 1 WOODS,
CLOTHING,
HOOTS AND SHOES,
GROCER IKS,
HARDWARE,
TIN WARE, and
All other kinds of Goods yon may need,
Call and see for yourself before
Purchasing Elsewlicre.
We Guarantee to Bell as Low as Any One Else,
mny‘2l-t,f .
JASH. HUNTER,
ATTOII Ai E V A T 1. AW ,
QUITMAN,
BROOKS COUNTY , GEORGIA.
Will practice in the Counties of the Southern
Circuit. Echols and Clinch of the Brunswick, and
Mitchell of the Albany. #4'Office at the Court
House, ii JntfeflMf
JAS.R. SHELDON,
COTTON FACTOR
—AND—
Gen’l Commission Merchant
No. 102 Bay Street,
Savannah, - - - - Georgia.
Liberal Advances made on Consignments.
BAGGING, IRON TIESawl ROPE FurnishrA.
Correspondence and ConsigDtnonte Solicited.
/• BO VPT RETURN!? (I L A RA MEED.
septi-llm
NUMBER 22.
miscfUjljAiv tiorn adverTlsßMUnt*.
SALE AND LIVERY 6TABLE,
Quitmiin, (jr n •
rjIHE UNDERSIGNED KEEP ON HAND
SADDLE HOUSES,
HARNESS HORSES,
BUGGIES, CARRIAGES,
Etc*, etc., etc.,
Far the Accmnntodrrlinir the Public.
THEY ALSO KEEP CONSTANTLY ON BAND
a naov nu ppi/Y or
HORSES AND MULES
For Kale,
selected bt off of the firm.
And Always Purchased on Bucn Terms as
to Enable Them to Sell at the
LOWEST PRICES,
PERSONS DESIRING TO PURCHASE
SADDLE OK HARNESS HOUSES
Can be Supplied upon Short Notie*.
If not on band, if a description of the stock
wanted is left at the Stable tile order will he filled
in a few ilavs.
CECIL fc. THRASHER.
mayl7-tf
CITY HOTEL,
QUITMAN, GEORGIA.
The Proprietor Offers to Visitors
I ASI RPASSBD INDUCEMENTS.
ROOMS LARGE, WELL FURNISHED,
—ASD -
THOROUGHLY VENTILATED.
TABLE SUPPLIED WITH
THE BEST THE MARKET AFFORDS.
Polite and Obliging Servant*.
HOUSE SITUATED CONVENIENT TO THE
Depot and the Business Portion of the Town.
I). U. McNEAL, Proprietor.
may 17 tf
W. B. BENNETT. B. T. K INWSBEBJfcV.
BENNETT & KINGSBERRY,
Attorneys at Law,
£ UITMA N,
Brooks County, - - - Georgia.
june2B-tf
EDWARD 1 HARDEN.
Attorney at Law,
QUITMAN,
BROOKS COUNTY, - - GEORGIA.
Late an Associate Justice Supreme Court, V. ■
S. for Utah and Nebraska Territories; now Judga
Comity Court, Brooks County, Ga.
uiaytti-KJiuo