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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
