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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