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TIIE MONROE t
VOL XXXVIII
Highest of all in Leavenino - Power .--Latest U. S. Gov’t Report
w 1 V awn e
ABSOLUTELY.PURE
\V llALLlJUiNE »Sl BSTiTlTEiS.
CAUSES THAT ABE KILLTNO A
GREAT MARITIME INDUSTRY.
I he Product of the Leviathan of the
Sens Ili-in:; Driven Out of the Mar
ket by Cheap Devices.
F ()H among has England the been last the a ten const widespread will vein towns there of feeling New ha
G as us anion rr
dealers in sperm til and whalebone in
all the large American seaports that the
American whaling industry h, to use
the language of one of t in* largest-deal
ers in baleen, the whalebone of com¬
mnree, in this city, “on its last legs.’
With the extinction of whaling will
end one of the most glorious periods
of American sea life, for more true
heroism and romance have clustered
about the hardy mariners who have
sailed out of Nani icket and New Bed- 1
ford harbors three hundred years and ]
more to engage in the perils and hard- j
ships of whaling voyages than Sir Wal
ter Scott ever dreamed of investing his
heroes with. But, like the feudal
times of tho Middle Ages, with their
barons and knights and mail-clad war
riors, the whaling epoch of American
seafaring life, it seems, must disap
pear. Already its sun is far down
toward the ocean rim, though stout
craft and stouter hearts are still fitted
out in New Bedford to chase the sperm
whale through tho “rolling forties” of
tho Atlantic, or to follow the “bow
head ’ in the frozen seas of the. Arctic.
Devices to supply the place of whale
bone have been multiplying with fear
ful rapidity Down of recent years, until now
he Fast whaling masters are
dreading, as stated above, that the
actual extinction of the w haling indus¬
try is only a question of a few years.
A dozen years ago the thin, fiat ‘strips
of whalebone were considered as < s
sential in tho make-up of a woman’s
rornet as the laces that drew it snugly
to the form of tho owner, while now, i
according to the statement of a leading
manufacturer of OOI'H • *m, il in Du* ex- .
ception and not tho rule that whale
bom’ is found in a corset. I lie factory
mado corset is ribbed with such sub
stitutes for whalebone as '‘leather
bone,” hornbo of steel.
wire, rattan, reed h ,,i coralline, and
ovcl » •, ej et?.Ul ,x fthr? Vv s' on
the Spanish dagger plant of the Far
West is brought into play, sewed down
and passed off on the public because it
is cheap, and much of it palmed off as
genuine whalebone.
are corsets only thingR into
the manufacture of which whalebone
enters largely flint is being cheapened
and tho business being revolutionized
by substitutes for the whalebone.
These substitutes are gradually driving
whalebone out of the factories where
w hip handles are made, and from the
milliners’ establishments where whale
bone has been used largely in the fash
soiling of hats and the shaping of
waists of dresses, especially the latter,
Steadily, but surely the cheap substi
tutes are forcing out the genuine ar
tiele in dozens of other directions
w here it long held a monopoly, such
as tho stiffening of shoes for persons
with weak ankles, etc.
The flooding of the markets with
substitutes for whalebone began a
dozen years ago, but the practice re¬
ceived an immense impetus in 1883,
partly through natural causes and
partly through the folly of a few own
ers of whalebone in trying to put an
outrageous price on the stock of bone
held by them, practically all the bone
in the market at that time. In the
summer of 1891 a sale of whalebone
was made iu this citv, 500 pounds for
$6.70 a pound, which was the tiptop
price ever paid for w halebone in this
or any other country. At that time
practically the oulv whalebone held in
the world was the stock of 50,000
pounds owned by the Pacific Steam
Whaling Company of San Francisco.
This short supply was due to several
successive seasons of poor luck and
disaster for the whaling fleet in the
Arctic. The reeords of whale fishery
show that in 1854 the hone brought to
American ports by vessels engaged in
the pursuit of right whales, nearly all
American vessels, by the way. with
seasoned and salted Down East skip
persin command, reached the splendid
total of 3.44.),200 pounds, which
was worth an average of forty cents a
pound. destructive Notwithstanding improved
and more methods of fish
ing, the use of steam vessels which
could follow the whale in young ice,
and the invention of the terrible boom
lance or harpoon, and its accompany
ing destroyer, the shoulder gun—the
industry in 1882 yielded only 271.999
pounds of bone, which, however, sold
at an average oi 81. il a pound. The
year 13S3 was one of miserable luck in
the only Arctic.^ 254,037 The pounds catch before amounted the to
fleet
was blown out of the whaling grounds,
The price, because of th*. shortage,
began to rise, and it rose steadily,
though w i h fluctuation as the new
came, good or bad. from the North to
the excessive figures reached in 1891
mentioned abo\ o.
As the price soared ^ the milliners and
manufacturers of Europe and America
became desperate, an 1 substitute-be
gan to appear rapidly, bn Pacific
Steam Whaling Company realized that
th“v were killing the goose that had -
been laying the golden eggs for a cen
tury. It i# related that Maun Isaac, of
FORSYTH, MONROE COUNTY; GA-, TUESDAY MORNING. JULY 4. 1893.
one of the heaviest users of
whalebone in the world, when the prico
got to $5, gave out notice that he
would not buy a pound. He kept his
word. Whether lie used substitutes or
what he did, none of the American
whalebone dealers seem to know. Last
uimmer. however, when the price had
• .-ceded to a somewhat lower figure,
Xir. Isaac placed an order in America
for 30,000 pounds, What he did on a
wale nearly every body else in
the business did in a lesser degree, and
the consumption of whalebone fell off
enormously. The cheap divice to fill
the place of the genuine bone multi¬
plied and flourished rankly, like the
wicked. They struck their roots into
tin* business world so deeply that
whalemen see the future as through a
gl»*«. darkly, and expect nothing short
of total extinction of their business.
Ami this, with the North Sea full of
whales Fuller, in fact, than ever 1m
F»re, il ’ the assertion of some New
Bedford owners of whales are to bo
believed. But it must be said that the
views of these New Bedford whalers as
to the number of whales left are not
shared in by the body of people who,
while they may have no special knowl¬
edge of the subject, are firm in the
faith that one of the great causes of
reduced output of whalebone is the
extinction of the whales.—New York
Tribune.
SELECT SIFTINGS.
Dogskin is a wall decoration.
People never think of whistling in
Iceland, It’s a violation of the divine
|, lu
Louis Seabright, of Martin’s Ferry,
Ohio, has four blind geese, each forty
live years old.
At a recent wedding in Clarke
County, Alabama, the groom was fif¬
teen years old and the bride thirty
live.
Before the year 1100 everyone wore
mittens or went bareheaded. Gloves
with twelve fingers were invented in
t 'ie Twelfth Century.
The old superstition about the had
effect of the moon’s rays shining on
the face of a sleeping person still ob
tains among most sailors,
I n a of etery adjoining a small
town in State of Vermont there is
ii tombstone bearing this remarkable le¬
gend : “Sacred to the memory of three
twins. ”
When Doorkeeper Isaac Bassett first
went to the United States Senate as a
P«ge sixty-five years ago, there were
Frry-sixdesks in it. Now there are
e iffhty-eight.
I lie railroad constructed by Stephen-
1 p on south of Liverpool and opened for
traffic in 1832 remained in use almost
as the great inventor left it until a
few weeks ago, when a new line was
constructed,
Spirit Lake. Iowa, is situated upon
the pinnacle of one of the most ele
vated regions in the State—1650 feet
above sea level. In Mrs. Yelverton’s
book, “A Journey in a Junk,” there
j s a description of a Buddhist temple
in Cochin China, but in the form of a
triangle, the whole having an area of
over a mile!
The Blue Grotto, on the Island off
Capri in the Bay of Naples, is abso¬
lutely unrivaled for the vivid splendor
of its colors. Owing to the peculiar
nature of the refraction of the sun¬
light on its waters, wall, roof and sea
are tinged a beautiful ultramarine,
which shades into a deep violet in the
furthest recesses of the cavern.
Probably the majority of the people
wao havo sun & the plaintive ballad,
‘‘The Mistletoe Bough,” have believed
lts stor v to be purely romantic. It is,
-
however, founded on fact, and its
bC ’ elul is laid at Marwell Old Hall, near
Winchester, England. Only recently
tJie “old oak chest,” which had been
Preserved in the family for many
ve ars, was sold at auction,
.
Three years of hiccoughing has
killed Julius Lord, aged sixty-three, of
M illiamstown. Mass. The attacks were
frequent and severe, and weakened
Lord so that he was confined to his
bed. Letters were received from all
over the United States suggesting rem
edies. Three days before his death
the hiccough left him, but he was too
weak to survive,
Ilow a Famous Rose Was Yarned.
Although many flowers owe their
names to famous people, there is onlr
one instance know n, says Drake's Maga
zine, where a man and a flower received
a title at the same moment. When
Niel, a brave French general, was re¬
turning from the scene of his victories
in’the war between France and Austria
he received from a peasant who wished
to honor the hero, a basket of beauti
ful, pale yell ow roses. One of the
stems which happened to have roots
clinging to it. the general took to a
florist in Paris, iu whose care it re
mained until it became a thriving bush
covered with blossoms. Niel took the
plant as a gift to the Empress Eugenie,
she expressed a great admiration for
the exquisite flowers, and on learning
the roM was nameless, said signifi
cantly : “Then I will name it. It shall
bg the Marechal Niel, ” and at the same
moment she bestowed upon the aston
lahod general the jeweled baton that
betokened his promotion to the high
office of marshal of France.
LOVE’S VOYAGE.
W** are going with the wind. Love,
Blowing fair and free,
Somehow the breeze is always good
That blows for you and me.
Behind us lies the dear old land.
Before us dreams the new.
Beneath us swells the joyous sea,
Above us bends the blue.
What is there that can hinder love,
Or make our hearts afraid?
The ocean deep can never fail,
The sky can never fade.
•
You are my universe, and I.
Oh, I am yours, my-sweet;
Then how can any cloud arise,
Or any tempest beat?
We are going with the wind, Love,
Blowing fair and free,
Somehow the breeze is always good
That blows for y ou and me.
If we go down, the sea is love,
And holds us evermore ;
Our tide, whatever way it move,
Will reach a golden shore.
-YI. Thompson, in New York Independent.
THE OLD CEDAR CHEST.
EY H. M. HOKE.
HAD not returned
to my old home
since the death of
to. mv parents, many
years before the
summer of which I
'h write. That sum¬
mer, as will be seen,
m ft powerful influence
drove me thence,
from the activities
of business. My
uncle, w h o had
taken charge of the place when my
father died, received me cordially at
the spacious, old-fashioned farmhouse.
“Ralph,” he said, as we smoked on
Ihe w ide porch after supper, ‘ ‘you will
have a companion during your visit. ”
‘ ‘A companion ! Who ?”
“Grace Northbrook.”
“Grace,” I cried, in astonishment.
“Yes, she will come to-morrow at
the same time you came to-day,” he
replied, rising, “I’m going to the
barn now. I hope you and she will
find it agreeable to renew your old ac¬
“Grace coming here,” I said to my¬
self '‘Her he had gone. “What does it
mean ?” Striving for an explanation I
naturally fell to calling up the circum¬
stances which caused my astonishment.
The Northbrooks had in the old days
o-w "'id the farm adjoining oir». arid
tl ^families had been intimate. Grace
being an only child, and I the same, a
peculiarly close friendship sprang up
between us. We were inseparable play¬
mates, and it easily came to be the wish
and intention of our parents, so far as
they could direct events, that we should
marry. But condiU ms changed. My
father and mother died, and I soon left
home; and when I learned afterward
that Mr. Northbrook, moved by ambi¬
tion, had sold his farm and gone to
New York to live, my belief was that
Grace and I were finally separated.
Having been young when I left
home, and whatever boyish liking I
had had for little Grace Northbrook
being quickly ground into forgetful¬
ness by business strife, the severing of
our youthful engagement caused me
little regret. But one evening, after
I had taken up my residence in New’
Y'ork, I met her again at a friend’s
home. Our surprise and pleasure
were mutual. Walking together that
night on the broad piazza of my
friend’s house, I soon found that her
temperament had brightened rather
than dimmed. In the daring way that
is so easily excused in merry people,
she lightly called up our old engage¬
ment. I met her in the same spirit,
and we had a hearty laugh over the
youthful declarations and promises,
but, charmed by her mature beauty,
I, even then, had a misgiving that,
w itli me, this spirit would soon settle
lnto senousness. A few moments
a ter oui promenade ended, I saw her in
com pany with Mr. Frederick Adlow, the
son of a wealthy banker, and in the
happiness of her face, and the de
votion of the young man, I found the
reason for her amusement over our
childish love-making and her freedom
in speaking of it.
I met her frequently after that, and
our chief topic was this youthful at¬
tachment. She took particular de¬
light in jesting about it in her half
reckless, light-hearted wav, and seemed
to think it equally delightful to me.
But, though I joined in her mirth,
the tflort was greater each time, and 1 ’
realized that the boyish liking I had
had for her as a little girl had risen
into a man s love for the beautiful,
sweet-hearted, noble woman into j
which she had grown. I saw, too,
with growing concern, that, in the joy j
of her love for Adlow, she was per
fectly innocent of even a possibility of
seriousness on day, my part; I did, and. for wishing revival j
more every as a
of danger our into childhood which engagement, drifting the j
we were
grew plainer. We were setting up a
barrier of mirth, which, I feared,
would be difficult to overthrow. I
At last I felt that I could no longer
endure this jesting upon what had be
come sacred to me, and, shrinking
from the possibility of her amused sur- •
prise at a revelation of my love, I de
termined to go away. This determi
nation was fixed one evening when
Grace came to me with the announce
ment that she had been authorized to
invite me to accompany a party to
spend two weeks at Long Branch. She
mentioned the names, concluding with
Adlow’s. The prospect of seeing their
joy day after day at the beac-h, showed
far from a P leasnr ^
i-i ’ nih < ee me. I
• , .
She
oT°t I>L J me ft ° 60 dd i‘ U V ’ "g *! al m W ° ndermgl UI P ,r - V D ;
flro- dress, it that t ] I would , 1 have thrown , our
jesting aside and told her my love
there in the qu^et corner behind the
people who were watching the danc
ers, had not Mr. Adlow came up and
claimed her for the waltz She left me
with a merry glance over her shoulder
and a joking entreaty for her “little
old-time lover to change his mind.
Not many days after I made an excuse
that took me from New York, and I j
went as I have stated, to visit my old j
home. j
“And now,” I said to myself while
sitting alone on the farm porch, “she
is coming here? What has changed
her plans? The party was to be at
Long’Branch by this time. I cannot
understand it.”
The next day was rainy, and I spent
it roaming over the old house to solve
the puzzle of Grace’s coming, Of
course, she could not know that I was
there, because I had kept my destina¬
tion a secret, and because had she
known it, she would not have come. I
felt that I could not long remain with
her among those pleasant scenes of our
childhood without telling my love, and
the relations which she and Adlow sus¬
tained toward each other forbade such
a declaration.
In the old farmhouse was a room
which had irresistibly attracted me as
a boy. It was a long, narrow com¬
partment, in which were preserved
several ancient pieces of furniture,
some curious prints, quaint records
made by my grandfather while he had
been a squire, and many other inter¬
esting relics. One of the piec "<3 of
furniture was a large cedar chest
which had beeh, in my childish eyes,
a veritable casket of wonders. Often
had little Grace and I played in this
room, and revelled in the curiosities
of the chest, which embraced several
old-fashioned playthings, a coat my
great-grandfather wore in an Indian
light, with a bullet hole in its sleeve, a
number of tomahawk, arrow heads, several moc¬
casins, a some camp uten¬
sils, and four queer, little, half-con¬
structed inventions at which my great¬
grandfather had worked. Much of that
long gloomy day, so filled with my
heart’s 'perplexity, I curiosity strove to occupy
by re-exploring this chamber,
and once again examining the contents
of the old chest; and I discovered that
my interest in it, thougii of a different
kind, was as strong as it. had been in
my boyhood.
At train time I easily persuaded
Uncle John to let me dr ve alone to the
station. Grace came, arid her sur
prise upon seeing me we ,,unbounded.
“Why, what are you
Ralph?” she asked, walkb tru tn
“Rusticating,” I replied, evasively,
as I helped her in.
After I had started the horses, I
turned to her and asked soberly :
“What has brought you here, Grace?
I though you were in Long Branch. ”
‘ ‘Excuse me, Ralph,” she answered
with a confusion which 1 pretended
not to notice, “but I don’t wish to tell
you—at least, not now.”
“Very well,” I said, “I won’t ask
you, but I will leave to-morrow, I can¬
not stay here with yon—I—”
I stopped the confession and she
looked at me in that same odd, ques¬
tioning way.
“Why not?” she asked, after a short
silence, and regaining her jesting tone
with an eff ort, “I’m sure it will be very
amusing to run about our old play¬
grounds. We have been unexpectedly
thrown together here and might enjoy
recalling some of our—foolishness. I
don’t see why you want to run away. ”
Her merriment and Adlow’s relation¬
ship to hex made it impossible for me
to give my true reason ; but it was well
the rain had brought darkness early,
for my face would else have betrayed
too much emotion. I was silent a mo¬
ment, and then said t
“I’ll tell you why, Grace. I don’t
think it is just to Mr. Adlow. Every
one knows how attentive he has been
to you, and although your engagement
has not been announced, we have rea
gon to believe it soon will be. I re
spect Mr. Adlow and will not remain. ”
“Still the same careful boy you al
ways were,” she answered, laughing,
“Don’t bother about Mr. Adlow. If I
choose to roam once more through
these beloved scenes with such an old
friend as yon, he shouldn’t object.
Now, you will stay until I say you
should go, won’t vou?”
She looked at me with such an ap
peal, that I readily yielded.
Days passed—blissful days—and
Grace was adorable. I loved her more
and more, and saw more clearly that,
for the sake of my future happiness, I
should go away ; but she was so merry,
and still so unconscious of my true
feeling, that I remained, and fearing
to cloud her pleasure, feigned equal
gavetv. So surelv, though, as the
days were passing, I felt that my re
could last long. ‘
straint not
One sunny afternoon, walking down
a quiet lane, shaded by the orchard
trees on each side, I said :
“Grace, I mnstgoawav. You haven’t
told me vet to go, but I must. We
have been as candid and frank as true 1
friends should be, but there is one
point we must meet. If vou are en- !
gaged to Mr. Adlow, I must leave at '
once. Tell me plainly. ”
She kept a steady look at me during
the words, wearing the odd expression
I had before noticed, but more intense I
I had schooled mvself for the ordeal
and had assumed the half-banterin^
But tone in which we had alwavs talked° !
she was now sober, and. after !
drooping her head and walking ° on a
short distance, she answered : I
“You are right, Ralph. I have kept
you here and yon are entitled to know j
before the party started for Lonsr
Branch. Mr. Adlov asked me to be his 1
wife. I had thought I loved him but i
hen he asked me I felt that I was not
sure. I knew that if I should go with
the party I could not give his proposal i
the thousrht that it deserved, j
so I came down here, never expecting
find you; and I have been thinking
seriously, though you may not believe
it. To-morrow is the day I promised
Mr. Adlow to let him know. There it
all is, Ralph. Please don’t think me
unwomanly in telling yon this. Our
relations have been unusual, because
of those old—those dear old times, and
I feel towards you almost as I would
towards—towards a brother.’’
“And am I entitled to know how you
will answer?” I asked, with a thrill of
hope, for it was the first time I had
heard her speak tenderly of the “old
times.”
Again she east that strange, pene¬
trating look at me, and replied :
“I w ill write to him to-morrow, and
I will tell you how I have decided iu
the evening.”
All next day Grace kept her room,
and I strolled alone. Her action puz¬
zled me greatly. Why had she not ac¬
cepted Adlow at once? Had she learned
something which made marriage with
him undesirable? Sometimes I felt
that I had been weak iu not declaring
my love in spite of Adlow, but I could
not make myself believe that she saw
5?*££$£SShS
hearing that she had accepted Adlow,
and if she should tell me of a refusal,
I feared that she would meet lightly
.ho confession that her boyish lover
1 ”+ mHI °°
t? al l Ut i 1 n ° t + h i I i V
T Late a+n m ■ the afternoon f+ I L.,.. ’.ed - i n back
to tne house. Finding my uncle I
told him untruthfully, but excusably,
perhaps—that I was called away by
busmess, and asked him to bid Grace
good-bye for me. He was a man of few
words, and assented without comment.
I had previously obtained his permis¬
sion to take some article from the old
cedar chest as a memento, and I now
hurried up to the room to select one.
I sat down upon the chest, fighting
my desire to call Grace from her room,
to tell her that our laughter over the
old times had, with me, changed to
love, and to beseech her not to marry
Adlow. But I conquered. Grace was
too noble, too just, to accept anyone,
even though sne might love him, in
this underhand manner.
I raised the lid of the chest and re¬
moved the blanket, which was used as
a cover, when my eye caught sight of
an article which had not been there
before. It was a letter newly addressed
and stamped. I took it up curiously,
and instantly was thrown into perplex¬
ity. It was in Grace’s writing, and
was addressed to Frederick Adlow
the letter giving him her decision. I
saw liow it had happened. Hav¬
ing written her acceptance, as 1 believed
it to be, she had come into this room
to look through the chest, which had
been as interesting to her as to me,
and had accidentally left the letter
there. It was unsealed, and I stood
still, crushing Yi&th., with violent self
scorn, a wild temptation to detain it.
1 took a step toward the door, with in¬
tent to call Grace, when I heard hasty
She came in, anxiously, anu found
me with the unsealed letter in my
hand. She paused in sudden confusion,
and I, distracted by the natural suspi¬
cion to which the unsealed letter ex¬
posed me, could only say—
“Here is your letter, Grace.”
“Have you read it?” she said quick¬
ly—a question she would not have asked
but for her confusion.
“Grace,” I said reproachfully.
“Please forgive me,” she cried, tak¬
ing it from me. “Of course you have
not. I left it here by mistake.”
“And I have just found it. If you
will seal it 1 will mail it as I go to the
train. I am called away on business.
Mr. Adlow will be here soon.”
She had raised the envelope to her
lips, but now stopped and looked at me
in that same peculiar manner.
“Ralph,” she said, “Will you
never—”
She blushed and dropped her head,
but there was a tone in her voice
which came as an interpreter of the
over which I had so often puzzled.
I made two hasty steps forward,
paused doubtfully and asked:
“Will I never what, Grace?”
She looked looked UP and I saw tears
in her eyes, but a smile was breaking
behind them, and, drooping her head
again, she said softly and in her half¬
daring way —:
“Never be anything but my boyish
lover.”
“Boyish,” I repeated, a new glad
light dawning upon my uncertainty.
I hurried to her and caught her hands
in mine. She let me have them and
yielded tremblingly as I drew her over
and sat down with her on the old
cedar chest.
“Can it be true,” I cried, “that
your "hide—to amusement was only meant to
hide—”
“ Just w hat yours was meant to
hide, wasn't it, Ralph,” she interrupt
ed co Y 1 v -
.
“Yes,Grace, my love, which came again
as soon as 1 saw 7 ou - But k° w easil y
vre have missed each other.”
“Indeed we might,” she answered,
Then ’ in a moment, “Oh, I’m so glad;
and to think that this dear old chest »
t<bat we Iiked 60 in those ha PP>' da TS ’
-
skould tke means of making us un
derstand each other. ”
“ I1: is g lorioU6 1 And what a
Measure I selected from it, ” I said
merrily, taking the letter from her
kand and n P- “Shall we
S° out and maiI it? ”
“Yes, she replied,
And so we went out, along the gravel
P atk and t ^ rou gl 1 lane led to
the village street, she carrying the let
ter in ker kand ; the stars came
out a1 °ove us like the clusters of bright
hopes that were already shining in our
lives -—Yankee Blade,
The railroad constructed by Stephen
son south of Liverpool and opened for
traffic in 1832 remained in use almost
as the great inventor left it until »
few weeks ago, when a newline was
constructed.
a
CLOTHING, CHESS GOODS AND SHOES
Are my hobbies, and for Prices and Styles I defv even Macon or Atlanta.
’ To prompt paying customers I will ehn-ge Go< ds until Fall 1 1
i Strictly Cash Prices.
;
! When urged by credit-bu vine competitors to listen to their “Tale of woe ” tell
them to wait until you see ROGERS and get his terms and prices.
C v CllV /l jjj{ ____ * 1 jjfr-e * 1^^* |-a ■
■
I will make you glad you come. Extortion and High Prices can’t live
around me.
YOURS TRULY,
EDGAR L. ROGERS.
BARNESVILLE, February 1st, 1893.
N. B. —Messis. Howard and Collier are here to look after your interests.
i | SO3. 1893.
| * *•—
j —^ I A P T T3 P Xu II
j JLi H JL* il VA t A"jLJlL JLj« XV. || VXJQdXV
V/ * #
j
NEW STORE! NEW 000DS!
T I want . to , say to , my friends , . , of , Monroe ,, County and the surrounding
"a'In floH/ihcT ^ * t0Ch, countiy
“ ‘ ""•* " h '" 1
10 y ears P ast I have exerted mvself to merit the approval and patronage of
the> " hol ° P eo P le - 11 h!l9 beei1 my endeavor to deal alike with all, appreciatin g the
p 0or mau ’ 8 penny as well as the rich man’s pound. Last Fall, knowing that
ing I pushed Stock off was
go to move, my at cost, so I start in mv New Store with an
almost New Stock.
I flatter myself that my long experience in business, and my intimate aequamt
ance with the wants of my trade, places me at a great advantage over competition
of 20 I discount cent, with discount the Hard prices Cash made every bill that I buy, and make a. standing < ffe'r
per on by any merchant. /
VAN WINKLE
Gin and Machinery Co.,
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
-MANUFACTURE KS.-
COTTON SERI) OIL
MIDI, m achinery
COM PLETJ3.
FEKTILIZER
MACHINERY
COMPLETE
ICE MAC.
COMPLETE.
Tbx Viest system for elevating cotton and distributing same direct to gins
Many gold medals have been awarded to us. Write for
Catalogue and lor what WANT.
Van Winkle Gin and Machinery Co.,
_ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
a,nxif a.ct'ajrors o-rxd. T olo'bers of
Steam Engines, Boilers, SAW MILLS, Cotton Presse 0=5
General Machinery and all kinds Castings.
-Sole Owner and Manufacturers of
Schofield’s Famous COTTON PRESS 1
-—To Pack by Hand, Horse, Water or Steam
■BASS GOODS, PIPE FITTINGS, LUBRICATORS, BELTING, PACKIRG.SAWS.ETC
-General Agent for
HANCOCK INSPIRATORS AND GULIETT’S MAGN0LIAT0TT0N GIR
J. S. SCHOFIELD & SON,
MACON, GEORGIA.
Porter’s Business College
AND
SHORT HAND SCHOOL,
Triangular Block, MACON, GEORGIA.
The advantages afforded by this school are unsurpassed. The ablest
faculty and very best methods; terms reasonable. Endorsed by the lead
ing business men of the country. More of its graduates holding lucrative
positions than are those of any two rival schools.
Write for full particulars.
PORTER & ANDERSON.
Having greatly enlarged our shop and capacity for turning out work, w «
again solicit the taade of Monro©.
FLOORING, CEILING,
BldJSDS, DOORS and SASH constantly on hand. SHINGLES and
LATHS always in stock.
LIME, BRICK,
TERRA COTIA PIPING, PAINTS, GLASS, WALL PAPER, and a
kinds of builders supplies can be had here at any time.
TURNED WORK.
BRACKETS and SCROLLS of endless pattern and yariety.
GIVE US A CALL.
We are prepared to make POPLAR FRUIT CRATES to order and
any quantity.
TURNER & PR Ou”
BARNESVILLE, GA. ,fone 2nd. .1894
«m
NO. 26 . ■
CYPRESS TANKS,
WIND MILLS,
PUMPS, ETC.
COTTON GINS,
KEEPERS
CONDIiNf
Fj Presses.