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s
As You Go Through Lift*.
Don t look for the flaw* aa you go through
life;
And «von n h< ii you find them
h -*• wl*e and kind to be somewhat blind
And )o >W for <h«- virtue behind them.
For ther loudlot night hns a hint of light
Somewhere in it- »ha<Jow» hiding;
It is N iter by far to hunt for a star
Than the spots on the sun abiding.
The current of life runs ever away
I o t Be bosom of God’s great ocean.
Don’t set your force 'gainst the river’s
coarse,
And think to alter Its motion.
Don’t waste a curse on the universe—
Don't butt at the storm with your puny
form —
But bend and let it go o'er you
I Ih* world will ne ver adjust lts*4f
To uit our whims to the letter,
*om» things must go wrong your whole life
long,
And the sootier you know it the better,
li i* f< y to light with the infinite,
And go under at last in the wrestle
Hie wi ,- *t man shapes Into God’* plan,
A* tli' water fdi.-tpc* into a vessel.
IE h Wheeler Wilcox, in the Weekly.
GOLD-HEELED SHOES.
ISY GEOKGK t. PUTNAM.
“A million a minute! Gold heels
on my shoes!” A tall spare woman
bobbed up from tho blueberry patch
and looked around half guiltily, then
drew a reassured breath, for no one
was within ear-shot. “True as I
stand here*,” sho said, addressing a
mingled multitude of ferns, rocks and
berry bu-dies, “some day I’ll do it.
And when I’m worth a million u min
ute, I’ll have gold heels to my shoes.”
She shut her lips tightly, defying
more thoughts to escape; but even
then tho lino of her mouth was pleas¬
ant. She knelt and industriously
stripped tho low bushes, holding her
pail beneath with an experienced hand
to catch tho dropping berries. She
had ID quarts to deliver at sunset, and
the terms of her contract left no time
for monologue.
This was Abby—“Miss” Abby to the
children, “Aunt” Abby among tho
sick, simply Abby to ordinary adults.
People did not trouble themselves
about her surname. They did not
even think much about her, but accept¬
ed her as their just due from a friend¬
ly Providence. Children discovered
her living in a little house in (lie edge
of Pomfrct, and spoke of Miss Abby
as an acquisition. Then some sick
man, yearning for herb remedies, was
gratified by her and thereafter declared
Aunt Abby had saved his life. The
wise— those who moiled with an eye
single to tho inrolling dollar—began
by mistrusting her sincerity, and
ended by questioning her mental bal¬
ance. They did not perceive how
one e ouhi live by non-resultant
in a stipulated wage.
Abby moved towards a competency
<is steadfastly as xiid tho wise, but by
a different path, pleasanter and as di¬
rect. There wero happy, kindly faces
along her way. And if they did not
always comprehend her, they at least
nodded and smiled encouragingly as
sho passed. To such a one, brighten¬
ing some dark turn of tho path, sho
would say:
“Y ou wait till I got my gold-heeled
shoes. Then 1 can smile for von.”
“Real gold, Abby?” inquired tho
practical one.
“Y'es, indeed Why not? When
you’re worth a million a minute, von
fan do I hat sort of thing.”
At sunset she walked, fatigued, to
the village store, and delivered the
berries.
“And hero’s your pay,” said the
storekeeper, “Eiglit cents a quart,
fifteen quarts, dollar twenty. What
yon going to do with so much money,
Abby?’ with an expectant oblique
glance for the benefit of some dozen
loungers.
“It all goes towards those gold
hoeled shoes, ’ said Abby, cheerily.
Then th 0 loungers followed the store¬
keeper in a laugh.
“Abby s all right," said he, after
fcho went out. “You don’t have to
measure her berries. But she’s a
little queer, A fel.ow has to laugh at
her now ami again.”
Abby ploughed her way home along
tiie dusty July road. “One twenty,
>»e twenty,” she repeated. “There’s
:i day’s work for you. There’s another
teg in your gold-heeled shoes. They’re
CO ming, coming.”
She invigorated herself, mind and
body, by this alchemic formula.
’ Gold-heeled shoes” to the storekeeper
>nd his ilk u as a vagary for their
diversion. To Abby the words were
mere qualitative signs.
fne widow Basket*, with her wav
"ard son Jim, wore Ahby’s nearest
neighbors. Barker pore had served in
the navy. After his death a small
pension came regularly, affording the
widow a meagre living. It was her
sole support, for Jim was a thorn.
I P'ight mothers quoted him to c!;i 1
dren as a warning. lie even pricked
Abby until sho was half minded to
'<'P<>i! his lapses to his mother, when
-lie would fall in a temper and rate
herself roundly.
“Gold shoes, indeed! I don’t dc
hm'\c leather. As if that woman didn’t
have trouble enough without its being
piled on free! Provixlcnco has been
toe good to me; there’s nobody to
mourn over; nobody to worry over.
A little cross like this will do
me
good.”
Abby bad intended to stop for a
moment’s chat with the widow, but
'I'llK MONROE ADVERTISER. FORSYTH. GA.. TUESDAY', MAY 10. 1892. EIGHT PAGES.
the house appeared deserted, and she
passed on.
-It’s pension day," she thought. “I
know where she is. Upstairs crying
! for him that’s gone. Blue—blue as
ihe can be. IPm! I’m blessed that
my past don’t sorrow me, nor my
future either. There it is now I Mil¬
lion a minute! Gold-heeled shoes!
Keep it up!”
Abby spoke of wealth with rfeh
exaggeration. Her ideal independence
was simply freedom from debt.
She had one desire that ruled her life
and that, to possess a home. The
i knowledge that her landlord might,
j on a lapse of payment, turn her out, j
rode her ns a sense of inferiority. Her j
material standing seemed as insecure I
1 an her credit. But to own the ground
she walked on, that was to wear gold
heeled shoes. Every step left the
impress of wealth’s equality. All
her efforts, then, were directed to the
reduction of the insufferable mortgage
that threatened her home.
She labored hard in every channel
known lo her countrywomen. She
picked and sold berries. She gathered
and cured sweet-flag. She had a
patch of garden with many herbs in
it, and others she gathered wild and
sold in bunches for the druggists and
medicine-makers. She stitched boots
when that seldom work offered. She
knit and sewed. Sho did not know
an idle moment the year round.
By years of patient toil Abby had
reduced tho amount of the mortgage
to one hundred dollars. And one
night, when she looked at her bank¬
book and counted the day’s receipts,
she found enough to cancel the debt.
It was a matter of verification only,
l’or she knew to a cent tho state of her
finances.
Pardonably she wept a little that
her work was accomplished, Tho
goal was readied she had set, and be¬
yond which she had not before looked.
Now she was brought fuco to face
with blankness. Whither should she
wander through it, and what should
sho strive for? She asked herself
these questions, for it was borne in
upon her that the old desire was a
thing of the past, being gratified, and
that sho must discover a new one.
Through anticipation, her hope had
mirrored brightly, but now she found
its reverse side dull; and with the dis¬
appointment mingled a bitter surprise
that it was so.
The widow broke in upon this con
jnred-up sadness with x*eal living sor¬
row of her own. She was crying,and
all Ahby’s heart-tenderness went out
to her at once, for the widow was a
proud little woman, and had kept her
griefs at home until now, fairly driven
for consolation to Ahby’s kindly arms.
And there she lav and sobbed her
story—h tm had been placed
under bonds^S bad broken them,
and could not pay and mxxsU^o away
to some prison. Little by little sho
laid bare the trial of desolate years,
and Abby listened sympathetically.
“Jim could get away,” said the
widow, “lie would go into the navy,
as his father did. Jim always wanted
to, but 1 couldn’t let him go; he is all
1 have. He can do nothing else, and
I would not let him go. I was so
selfish—I kept him against his lean¬
ing—and now he must go to prison.
It’s a judgment on me.”
And Abby consoled her distress anti
lulled her to rest as gently as she
would a grieving child.
The next day Abby strode down the
white rode to the village, and drew
all her money from the bank. The
cashier joked her upon extravagance.
“Going to buy gold-heeled shoes
now, Abby?”
She looked up smiling. “Y'es, my
gold-heeled shoes. Took a long time
to pay for them, didn’t it?”
*‘1 wish we might all get them if it
would make us look as happy as you
do now,” said he.
Abby mai ched from the bank into
tho presence of the town xfficiuls sit¬
ting on Jim Barker’s case. The con¬
stable was there, ready to conduct him
to the state reformatory.
“What will it cost to get Jim off ?”
9he demanded.
“One hundred dollars,” said the
clerk.
Abby counted the amount on the
table, while all the room, stared.
“Come, Jim,” said she.
Jim came from his constable-guard¬
ed corner, and followed her out. He
was aixiazed. His malodovus career
had not brought him many acts of
kindness at tho towns-people’s hands,
“What does this mean, Miss Abby?”
he said, huskily.
She smiled at him reassuringly.
“Just this, Jim—gold-beeled shoes.
And, Jim, go home now, and say
good-bye to your mother. Then be a
good sailor—and a man.”
Quickly he stood bareheaded. “Be
fore God, I'll try,” lie said,
That night the widow again lay in
Ahby’s arms. “Jim’s gone; he told
me all,” she whispered, “H w conld
you? Abby, Abby, here I’ve lived be¬
side you for years, aud I never knew
you.” haven’t changed speck,” said
“[ a
Abby. in affected grimness, her face
turned away.
“Abby, don’t turn away, you’ve
saved Jim. You've saved me. And
think what it cost! Oh, Abby, you*
gold-heeled shoes!”
“There,don’t mind. Leather is good
enough the rest of the way.”
“I can never pay you back, Abby,
but while I have a crust— Oh, Abby,
I can't tell yon all I think,” she cried,
for the event bore a poetic fancy info
her plain-furnished mind. ‘‘But I d©
believe your gold-heeled shoes are lay¬
ing up for you to walk the streets of
Paradise.”] — Harper’s Weekly.
As the Flame of the Candle.
One who looked the crowd over as
we waited for the train would not,
writes M. Quad in the Now Y'ork Sun,
have set us down as hard hearted and
indifferent; but so we proved to be, ns
a young girl not over Id years of age,
leading an old man who was store
blind and very feeble, passed slowly
around the room soliciting aliru
They got a penny hero and there, but
even those coins seemed to bo given
grudgingly, and those who gave
nothing consoled themselves with tire
reflection that the pair we e frauds
and really needed no financial assisN
ance.
AV'nen they had mado the tour of
the room tho girl led the old man to
a 6 eat in a cot ter, atid after a few
words had pass‘d between them they
began singing i hymn. She had a
wonderful voief for a child, clear and
sweet, and his was a deep has-*. The
hymn was that entitled “Nearer, My
God, to Thee.’ You have heard it
by a full choir, accompanied by the
strains of a grand organ, but you
never listened so intently as we did
there. There was a plaint in that
girl’s voice which touched a chord,
and there was a quaver in the old
man’s bass which saddened you. They
sang low and soft, and they had not
finished a verse when half of us were
standing up to see them better.
The girl kept her eyes on tho floor
at her feet. The sightless eves of tho
old man—her father—were raised to
t ie ceiling, and over his wrinkled face
crept a glad smile as they finished the
chorus:
Nearer, my God, to Thee—
Nearer to Thee.
The hymn was not finished when
every man began feeling for a contri¬
bution and women opened their porte
monnaies. It was different now. They
were no longer frauds and every one
was glad to give something. Two or
three were ready to move about to
take up a collection, but they waited
for the end of tho hymn. When it
came to the chorus of the last verse
the old man was singing bravely.
Half way through his voice suddenly
choked and the last two lines were
sung by the girl alone and died away
in a sob and a cry. All of us saw the
old man’s head drop forward and his
body lurch. He woxild have fallen
to the floor had not the girl seized and
held him up. A dozen of ns were
there in a moment, but we were too
late. Tire old man’s life had gone ont
as you breathe upon the flame of a
candle and on his ashen lips still
trembled (he sacred notes of (he re¬
frain :
Nearer to Tbee!
Not so Long, but Quite as Wide.
It is customary for railroads to issixe
annual passes to the highest officials
of other railroads in the same section
of the country. A while ago the
president of a little lumber railroad in
Minnesota—a line only four miles
long and built solely for the transpor¬
tation of lumbei’—called at the general
office of the Great Northern Railway
at St. Paul, presented his card and
said that he had issued an annual pass
to President James Hill of the Gre.at
Northern and would like a similar
courtesy. The office employes wero
thunderstruck by this display of
nerve and politely refused to honor
the request. The caller gi*ew indig¬
nant and demanded to see “Jim” Hill
personally. Being ushered into Presi¬
dent Hill’s private office ho again
stated his case and asked for an un¬
nual pass.
•‘But, my dear sir, your road is not
a passenger line, and a pass over it is
worthless,” said Mr. Hill.
“I know it,” replied the insistent
caller, “but it is customary to honor
requests for courtesies. We railroad
magnates cannot afford to discriminate
against each other, you know. It’s
a matter of regular form—discipline.
It’s part of the railway business, you
sec, and we oxxglxt not to violate any
of the regular xisuages of reputable
lines. See?”
“Y'es—perhaps; but don’t you see
that you have no real railroad lines?
Yoxxr is only a ‘jay’ freight line about
fotxr miles long, beginning at a lnm.
her camp and ending the Lord only
knows where.
“Well, Mr. Hill, I'm willing to ad.
mit that my road isn’t as long as
yours; I never claimed it was. But
my road is just as wide as yours, sir,
and I want you to keep that fact in
view. Don't yon forget it. sir.”
“By George! I never thought of
that,” cried Hill, and a minute later
the caller left the office with an annual
pass over the entire Great Northern
system. — [Chicago Mail.
Would Provide the Water.
“Never mind, dearest,” cried a girl
who bail been cast off by her family
on marrying a ne’er-do-well. “With
you I can be content to live on bread
and water.”
“Y r es, beloved,” was the earnest
reply. “And if you’ll just get the
bread, I’ll skirmish around and try to
earn the water.”—f Hamer’# Basat,
I DIRT ROADS.
I
i
Best Methods of Maintaining
Country Thoroughfares.
Proper Drainage is the Essen¬
tial Feature of Improvement.
Bv this term (dirt roads) is meant those
roads which are formed of the natural
soil found in the line of the roadway.
They are so common as to be almost
our only roads outside of town and
city' limits, and will for many years
be used largely in country districts,
and especially on the lines of cross¬
roads which connect the main high¬
ways. Dirt roads, at their best, are
greatly inferior to Macadam and Tel¬
ford roads in every essential of a good
highway; in durability, cost of main¬
tenance, drainage, tractive qualities,
and, in many locations, in point of
economy also. But the dirt road is
here, and the public hand must be
directed to its treatment. The first and
most important thing necessary for the
maintenance of a dirt road may be
stated iu a single word—drainage. It
is the one thing that can neither be
dispensed with nor neglected. Most
dirt is soluble and is easily' displaced
under the softening influence of rain,
and tiiis process is hastened in the dirt
road by the passing of heavy wagons
over the wet surface. On every mile
of roadway within the United States
there falls each year an average of
27,000 tons of water—a heavy, limpid
fluid, always directing itself to the
nearest outlet and seeking the lowest
level. Water is hard to coniine and
easy to release, and yet, through sheer
neglect of the simplest principles of
drainage, water is the most active de¬
stroyer of our country roads.
In providing for the drainage of a
dirt road we should first consider the
material of which the roadway is
composed. If a heavy, viscous clay
predominates, the ordinary sidc
ditebes should bo of good depth, and
will even then, in many cases, bo in¬
adequate for thorough drainage with¬
out the addition of a centre-drain run¬
ning midwny between, and parallel
with, the side-ditches. The centre
drain should of coureo be tilled with
loose irregular boulders, cobble¬
stones, broken bricks, or similar till¬
ing, covering a line of tiles or fascines
at the bottom, and should be connected
with the side-ditches by cross-drains
carrying the water outward from the
centre-drain at proper intervals along
the length of the roadway. Centre
drains, thong-^often greatly needed
for the improvement of country
roads, are not in common use. They
add somewhat to the cost of the road¬
way, but, in most cases, considerably
more to its value, and should be em¬
ployed in all situations where sand or
gravel cannot be had to relieve the
heaviness and water-holding proper¬
ties of the clay. If gravel, sand, or
other porous material can be con¬
veniently or cheaply obtained, the
centre and cross-drains may often be
dispensed with by mixing the gravel
or sand in plentiful quantities with
the clay roadway, so as to insure as
nearly as possible a porous and self¬
draining surface layer, which should
not be less Ilian ten inches in depth,
and should be laid on the rounded or
sloped sub-soil so as to insure easy
drainage into the side-ditches.
In locations where the prevailing
material is of a loose, sandy nature,
the difficulties of drainage are more
easily overcome, and side-ditches, if
found neceasary at all, may be made
of moderate depth and left open,with¬
out incurring risks and dangers of
travel that prevail where the deeper
open ditches are use for draining
heavier soil-. But. on the other hand,
the light and shifting nature of sandy
road-material destroys its value as a
surface layer for an earth roadway,
and its deficiency iu this respect is
most easily remedied by the addition
of a stronger and more tenacious sub¬
stance, such as stiff clay. When mixed
with sand in proper proportions
(which in each case depend upon the
nature of the clay and sand
used, and which can best be deter¬
mined by c-xperitneut), this composi¬
tion affords many advantages which
make it superior to a roadway com¬
posed of either saml or clay when
used alone. The sand serves to quick¬
en the drainage and to destroy the
sticky, tenacious qualities of the clay,
while the clay supplies the quality of
cohesion iu the substance of the road- '
surface, counteracting the shifting
qualities of die sand, and making the
roadway more easily packed and
rolled, and more likely to retain its
proper Magazine. grade and slope. — [Century
Curious Conveyance In India.
A curious mode of conveyance in
ludia is the thoppa, a I" 11 ? cane
basket with a seat in the middle, from
which hangs a small board to sup¬
port the feet. Over the head is a
covered top of cane and cloth. As
you sit in this basket, says Grace
Grimwood, in “My Three Y'ears in
Manipur,” a man carries you on his
back, supporting some of the weight
by a strap which attaches the back
of the thoppa to his head.
He always begins by informing
you that you are much too heavy to be
lifted by a single individual, except
for doable nay, but eventually pick*
you up and carries you as if you were
a mere feather weight.
Going along backward and know
Digthaf, should the man’s headstrap
break, you will doubtless be precipi¬
tated down the cliff, are not pleasur¬
able sensations; but one becomes ex
ceedingly callous after a lengthy cduiso
of thoppa rides iu the hills.
Sometimes the bearer remembers
that it is a cold night, and his patron
is going to a ball, and to be there four
01 . five hours whilc he „ j cft outside
in the cold. Having arrived at the
conclusion that tHe cold will probably
by that time be intense, he will begin
the journey enveloped in all the
clothes lie can muster.
After lie has gone some distance
with the thoppa ho becomes warm,
and rapidly divests hinisc f of his
many wrappers, placing them on top
of the machine, where they flutter
about, now and then hit mg one play¬
fully in the mouth or eye. Having
made themselves as unpleasant as they
I possibly can, they end by falling off
into the road.
The bearer perceives them, and im¬
mediately descends with you to his
hands and knees, and grovels about
until be recovers (lie fallen raiment.
During this process your bead assumes
a downward tendency, and your heels
fly heavenward; should you move ever
so lightly in any direction, you im¬
mediately find yourself sitting on Die
ground, in an attitude less dignified
than hasty.
Then you may rage at the native,
and abuse all his relations, according
to custom, in his own language, and
you will not impress him in the least;
but use good, sound, fishwife Eng¬
lish and he will treat you as becomes
a person worthy of respect.
Lost in the Australian Woods.
At first sight it would seem impos¬
sible for one to lose himself in these
sparse, open woods, wherein long
avenues open and through whose
feathery gum trees the sky can always
bo seen. I can voucli by personal ex¬
perience, however, that nothing is
more deceptive than the apparent se¬
curity of the Australian bush. All
the trees are alike ai d afford no land¬
marks; the monotonous gray color of
the trees and leaves is without accent
or change for miles and miles, and tho
hazy atmosphere that fills the place
from decaying vegetation and tho
sweating balsam of the eucalyptus add
to the unsubstantial effect of one’s
surroundings. Straying a little out
of the beaten track through a very
open stretch of woods, in chase of a
flock of cockatoos, I once became in
live minutes so bewildered and turned
about as to plunge every moment
into deeper labyrinths, while confident
that I was returning to the road.
It was a cloudy day and night was
coming on as I wandered for half an
hour amid new perplexities and in an
awful silence. What might have been
the result I do not know, had I not
heard in the distance the ring of ax
blows, and seen tho spectral smoke
curling up, which show the work of
the squatter in cutting a clearing for
his future home. I soon came upon
three stalwart young men who were
hewing at a giant log; two horses
were hobbled in a grass plot near
by, and before a canvas-covered
wagon a woman was cooking the even¬
ing meal over a brush fire.
Apprised of my predicament, one
of the men left his work to set me
right, turned in the direction which I
thought to be less likely to be the right
one, and in five minutes put me in tho
road to the station from which 1 had
set out. My experience had been a
mild one and with a fortunate issue,
but it gave me an insight into the
causes of some of the mental wrecks
which the traveler through colonial
wilds so often encounters.—[New
Y'ork Times.
A Remedy That Never Failed.
His hist >ry is briefly told.
After sevreal days of thought he
discovei-ed a sure way to make money,
and, like other men, he was in a hurry
to try it.
lie made haste to insert an adver
tisement something like the following
in several country weeklies:
“Sure way to kill potato bugs; send
twenty 2-cent postage stamps to X. Y'.
Z. —, for a recipe that cannot fail.
Then he hired a dray to bring his
mail from the postoffice, and had 10,
000 of his recipes printed. Inside of
two weeks something like 6000 or 7000
farmers had contributed twenty 2-cent
stamps each for the printed recipes, i
Then several hundred of them
bought clubs and railroad tickets and
stalled out to interview the advertiser.
At his office they were informed that
he had left to attend to some business
in Europe, and he was not expected
j back. All lie had left was a package
of 3000 or 4000 slips of paper, on
which were printed the following:
“Pat your bug on a shingle. Then
hit it with another shingle,”—[Chica
go Tribune.
.
111
AVooden—-Any money in it! We„.
I shou d say so! All of mine, all of
my wife's, aud about fifty thousand
that I got from my friends.—[Bosto n
Co uric
PRICKLY ASH, POKE ROOT
AND POTASSIUM
Makes
Marvelous
in Blood Poison
Bjieymeilsm
and. Scrofula
P. 1. P. purifies the blood, builds up
the weiikanddebiLCated.gRessirengtn
to weakened nerves, expels diseases,
giving whose the patient health and happiness
lassitude sickness, gloomy feelings and
first prevailed.
In blood poison, mercurial noison,
malaria, dyspepsia and in all blood and
skin diseases, li;,© blotches, pimples,
old chronic ulcers, tetter, scaldhead,
we n ay say without fear of contru
nurTer l*m .i.er Vi'.ihe ini.be ivVrt w orld. V' “ th ° b£5St blood
Lanins whoso systems arc poisoned
and whose blood is in an impure eon
dition, due to menstrual irregularities,
are dcrfnl peculiarly benefited by tho von
tonic and blood cleansing pro
tterties < f I*. P. P., Prickly Ash, Poke
Root and Potassium.
All druggists sell it.
LI PPM AX B IiOS., Proprietors,
l-ippmaii’s UlocJr, bavannah, Cra.
CMS H. HALL, II
SMITH & HALL,
—DEALERS—
Steam Engines,
BOILERS,
Sawmills, Grist Mills, Belting,
Lubricating Oils, Etc.
SPECIAL AGENTS FOR
r i Perkins’ Blxingle Machinery.
j. Address,
Smith & Hall,
Macon, Ga.
rm
Manufactory, Baltimore, Md. WaSHIIN'GTON, D. C.
213 W. German Street, Cor. 7th ct E. Sts.
EISEMAN GO
i
CLOTHIERS,
TAILORS.
HATTERS AND
FURNISHERS.
15 and 17 Whitehall St., ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
NO BRANCH HOUSE IN THE CITY,
mm
Atwater - Carriage - Co.,
IEj- 2D. ClEl A_2 STIEj, ^Proprietor.
35, 37 and 39 West Alabama Street, ATLANTA, «A.
GENERAL AGENTS FOR
The Celebrated Owensboro Farm
CARRIAGES,
PHOTONS,
BUGGIES,
ROAD CARDS,
AT BOTTOM PRICES. Correspondence solicited.
FRICK & C a
ECLIPSE, G0RLISS
-and
igfjjBfr m m Automotic Stationary ^
-3f
83 m (ENGINES,
«g
Boilers, Saw Mills, Pratt
tOrS, GillS, Seed Cane Cotton Mills, Ele Wood a it' . • i \
Working Machinery,Shaft- $2.25
i n g^ Etc. GillS from
to $2.50 Per SaW. I
m
MALSBY & AVERY., »I j
4s =£3
Southern Managers, ' _
_-
81 South Foasyth St., ATLANTA, GA.
| REDDING & BALDWIN
KEEP THE
FINEST AND BEST CLOTHING
! IN THE STATE.
Their Prices are Lower and Their Goods Better,
368 Second Street, MACON, GEORGIA.
3 CD CO
Blotches
and
Old Sores
tl „, y
Prickly Ash,Toko Root and Potassium, earth.
tho greatest blood purifier on
Roils, eresypelas. syphilis, rheimia
tism, scrofula, blood poison, mercurial
poison, and all other impurities of ti.f*
Blood arc cured by P. P. P.
Rcndall Pont*, the retireddruggistof
N 'dison, I'la.. says : P. 1*. P. in t ho best
a'iterative aud blood medio no on (ho
marlit t II© being adrupgist and hav
jo : sold nil kinds of medicine, his un
s heited testimonial is of great impor
tauco lo the sick and suffering.
Capt. 15. Jolt ism ton.
7'o r.?! r hom it may concern :—I take
pr tit | ! •.■•stir© in testifying to the old
cicj.l e. alities of the popular remedy
for eruptions of the s! in known as
P. P. P. (t rick!y Ash, Poke Root and
Potass,nm ) I suffered for several
yeais v, iiii an unsightly face, and and disagre
eat lo eruption on my tried
various remedies to remove if, none of
which accomplished tho object, until
this valuable preparation vras resorted
t*>. After taking throe bottles, in ae
eordanee' with directions. I am now en
tirely cured. J. IX jORNbTON,
Of the firm of Johnston & Douglas,
Savannah, Ga.
Savannah Henry Winter. Superintendent bo has of had the
rheumatism Brewery, heart sa> « : for several
of the
years, often unable ro walk bis pajn was
so intense: he bad professors in Pliila
delphiabut received no relief until be
came to bavannah and tried P. P. i\
Two bottles made him a well man and
he renders thanks to P. P. 1*.
<
;
^ 38 TO «*sBr
HARNESS,
LAP ROBES,
UMBRELLAS
WHIPS ETC