About The Newnan herald. (Newnan, Ga.) 1865-1887 | View Entire Issue (March 31, 1885)
1 One inch one year, $10; a column one ( ear, $100; lea* time than three months, 1.00 per tech for first insertion, and SO cents additional for each subsequent in sertion. N Notices in local column, ten oents per line for each insertion. liberal arrange ments will be made with thoa* adrerti*- ing by the quarter or year. All transient advertisement* must be paid for when handed in. Announcing candidates, Ac., $3.00 strictly in advance. Address all communications to A. B. CATES, Nesraan, Ga. Our lives are albums, written through Withgood or ill, with false or true. POOR FELLOW. A few stray folds of satin and laee Fell lightly over your knee, As sbesat by you reside, a marvel of grace That every one turned to see. She graciously gave y'« her fan to hold, She smiled on you while you spoke. She listened to all th* stories yon told. And laughed at your poorest joke. She danced with you, flattered yon every way. The m< n were all jealons that night; You were only a card In mv lady's play, The tool of a woman’s spite! Tw«s T she wanted to vox and tease; You answered her purpose well; But for her sake and mine (and yours, if you please,) This isn’t a storv to tell. JOHN’S DAUGHTER. “You will care for my child? You will not let my little one suffer?” My old friend and college chum, John Harmon, said this as he wrung my hand hard. I repeated m> promise that in my own home nest, where there was a nursery full of little ones, Susie Harmon should hold a daughter’s place. We were standing upon the wharf • waiting for the signal that it was time for nay friend to step aboard an outgoing California steamer. He had lost his wife within the year, and soon after was heggarod by a fire that totally destroyed the cot ton mills in which he had held the position of superintendent for ten years. With his home desolate, his purse empty, he resolved, as many a man had done before him, to seek his fortune in the modern El Do rado, and dig for gold in her mines. The only drawback to this scheme was the difficulty of taking his threo-year-old daughter, who had been in the care of hired nurses since her mother died. I, who shared every thought of John’s mind, talked with my wife, and found her eagerly willing to take care of the little one. “I am sure I loved Mary as well as you loved John,” she said, “and there is no one who can have a stronger clnim upon the child than we have.” So, sure of her cordial welcome in our nursery, I made John the offer of a home for his little one, and It was accepted as lovingly as it was offered. This care removed, my friend hastened his preparations for departure, and I accompanied him to New York and saw him off. The next morning I returned home to find Susie almost inconsol able, crying perpetually for “papa to come to Susie." My wife was distracted at the failure to comfort this childish sor row, and our own three children looked on wonderlngly at “Naughty Susie, who cried and cried, after mama told her to be quiet.” Fortunately, Susie was accustom ed to see me, to snuggle in my arms when I talked with John, to asso ciate me with her father, and she allowed me to comfort her. In time this violent grief wore away, and the child became very happy in our care. My business, that of a hard ware merchant, being very prosper ous, we did not feel the additional expense of the child’s support a burden; and as the years wore by, phe was as dear to us as our own little ones. But she understood always that she was not our child, but had a dear father, who loved her fondly, )and was away from her only to make a fortune for her. As soon as she was old enough she had her j father’s letters read to her, and her E first efforts at penmanship were let- |ters t(p “Papa.” John wrote often for ten years, r recounting his varying success, sometimes sending money to buy presents for Susie. He was win ning fortune slowly, not at the mines, where his health broke down, but in the employ of a San Francisco merchant, and some spec ulations in real estate. He was not a rich man, he wrote after an absence of ten years, but prospering. He wrote hopefully of seeing his child, perhaps of taking her home with him, setting no defi nite time, but leading us to expect soon to see him. Then his letters ceased, and he did not come. I wrote again and again. Susie wrote- No answers came to either one or the other. We did not know the name of his employer, and after nearly two years more passed we sadly thought he must be dead. It might have seemed to many unnatural for Susie to grieve so deeply aa she did fora lather al most unknown to her in her reality, but she was a girl of most sensitive feelings, with a tender, loving heart, and we had always kept her father’s name before her, striving to win him a place in her fondest affection. That we had succeeded only too well was shown by;he» sorrow, when week after week passed, and there was no good news from California. When we had really lost all hope, it became Susie’s great pleasure to sit beside me and ask me again and again for the stories I remembered of her father’s boyhood and youth, his college life, our many excur sions, and, above all, of his marriage and the gentle wife and mother so early called to heaven. She dearly loved those talks, and no memories were more precious than my description of her father’s pain in parting from her, and his desire to win money in California only for her. Time softened Susie’s grief, and at eighteen she was one of the sweet est, most winning girls I ever saw. Without being a wonder of erudi tion, she was well educated, had a fair musical talent and a sweet, well-cultivated voice. She was tall and graceful, and when she was in troduced to society with Joanna, iny handsome brunette daughter, both became popular. Albert and Will., my boys, were ilder than the girls; Albert in busi ness with me, and Will at college, the winter when Joanna and Susie made their debut. It would take me quite too long to tell of the pleasures of the young folks during this winter, but Joanna was won from us by a Cuban gen tleman, and Susie became, if possi ble, dearer than ever. Spring had come, when one even ing Albert came into my library, where I was plodding over a book, having worked busily all day. He fussed about the books in a nervous way, quite unlike his usual quiet manner and finally said: “Father, you have often said Su sie is as dear to you as otie of your own children.” I looked up amazed at this open ing speech. . “Well ?” I asked. “Will you make her your daugh ter in fact by giving her to me for a wife ?” Dear! dear! To .think I had been so blind. Susie had in truth become so much one of our children that I was as much astonished as if Albert had fallen in love with J anna. But I soon found’, when Susie’s blushing face was hidden upon my breast, that she, too,had given away her heart, and I was only too well pleased that no stranger had won the precious gift. In September they were married, my son and the child of our adop tion, and I gave them a house next to our own for a home, having old- fashioned ideas about such matters, and believing it is better for young married people to live by them selves and assume housekeeping cares. The new home was a gem of neat ness under Susie’s dainty hngers, and the spirit of perfect love kept it ever bright Having been brother and sister for so many years, Albert and Susie thoroughly understood each other’s dispositions and I have never known domestic happiness more perfect than their’s. Susie’s first child named for her father, John Harmon, was two years old, when the mail brought me a letter in an unknown hand from Cincinnati. I opened it, and upon a large sheet of paper found written, in a scrawling, uneven hand, three lines: “Dear Sir: Will you come to me at 47 M street without letting Susie know. John - Harmon.” At first it was a hoax. John had written a bold, clerk-like hand, clear as print. This was a scrawl, strug gling all over the paper, uneven as the first penmanship of a little child. But the more I pondered over the matter the more I was inclined to obey the summons. So pleading business, saying nothing of the let ter to any one, I left home by the night train for Cincinnati. No. 47 M street I found to be a boarding house for the poorest classes, and in a shabby room, half furnished, I found an aged, worn man, perfectly blind, who rose to greet me sobbing. “Fred, I knew you would come.” “Why, old friend,” I said, when surprise and emotion would let me speak, “how is this? We thought you were dead.” “Does Susie think so ?” “Yes. We all gave you up.” “Do not undeceive her, Fred. I meant to come home to her rich, able to gratify every desire of her girlish heart. Do not let her know that only a blind, sick wretch is left for her to call father. Tell me of her, Fred. Is she well? Is she hap py?” “She is both, John—a happy wife and mother.” “Married! My little Susie?” “Married to Albert, my son, ot whom yon may judge when I tell you folks.any he is his father over again.” “I would ask no more for my child,” said John. Then, in answer to my anxious questions, he told me the story of the years of silence. He was pre paring to pay ns his promised visit when a great fire broke out in San Francisco, that ruined his employer for the time, and swept away a row of buildings uninsured, in which John had invested all his savings. Worst of all, in trying to save the books of the firm, John was injured on the head by a falling beam, and lay for mouths in a hospital. When he so far recovered as to be discharged, his mind was still im paired, and he could not perform the duties of clerk or superintend ent, while his health was too feeble for manual labor. “I struggled for daily bread alone, Fred,” he told me, “and when I re ceived your loving letters, and dear Susie’s, I would not write, hoping to send better tidings if I waited for a turn of fortune’s wheel. It never came, Fred. I left California three years ago and came here, where I was promised the place of inreman in a great, pork-packing house. I saved a little money and was hoping for better times when my health failed again, and this time with it my eye-sight. I hoped igainst hope, spending my saving to have the best advice, and not until I was pronounced incurable would I want you to take roe to an isylum, Fred; and, as I must be a pauper patient, I must go to my iwu town. You will take me, Fred ?” “I will take you to an asylum, John,” I promised. “And Susie? You will keep my secret. You will not disturb Susie’s happiness ?” “I will not trouble Susie’s happi ness,” I said. Yet an hour later I was writing to Susie, and I delayed our departure from Cincinnati till an answer came. It was the answer I expect ed from the tender, loving heart, but I said nothing of it to John. Caring tenderly for his comfort, I took him on his way homeward. It was evening when we reached the railway depot of our town, and as we had been long cramped in the car-seats, I proposed to walk home. “Is it not far off?” John asked, “1 thought the asylum was a long way from here.” “Oh, the whole place is changed from the little village you left!” I answered; “We have a great town here now, and your asylum is not very far from here.” He let me lead him then, willing ly enough, and we were not long in reaching’ Susie’s home. She was alone in the cheerful sitting-room as we entered, but obeyed my mo tion for silence, as I placed John in a great arm-chair, after removing his hat and coat. He looked wretchedly old and worn, and his clothes were shabby, yet Susie’s soft eyes, misty with tears, had only love in their expression as she wait ed permission to speak. “John,” I said to him, “if I had found you in a pleasant home, hap py, prosperous, and I had known that Susie was poor, sick and blind, would it have been a kindly act for me to hide her misfortune from you, and passing by your home, to ,iave placed her in the care of char- table strangers?” “Fred, you would never have done !hat!” he said, much agitated. “Never!” I answered. “You are right. But you, John, ask me to take from Susie this happiness of knowing a father’s love, the sweet duty of caring for a father’s afflic tion.” “No, no. Fred, I only ask you to put no burden upon her young life, to throw no cloud over her happi ness. I am old and feeble; I shall trouble no one long.” “And when you die, you would deprive your only child of the satis faction of ministering to your wants—take from her father’s bless ing.” He turned his sightless eyes to ward me, his whole face working convulsively. “Where is she, Fred ? You would not talk so if you did not know my child still loves her lather.” “I am here, father,” Susie said; and I stole softly away, as John clasped his child in his arms. Albert was in the dining-room with John nie, and I was chatting still with him, when I heard John calling: “Fred.! Fred.!” I hurried to the room to find him struggling to rise, Susie vainly try ing to calm him. “I want my child!” he cried, de liriously, “you promised me my child!” I saw at a glance that the agita tion of the evening had brought back the wandering mind, of which he had told me. Albert and I released Susie, who left us quick ly- Some finer instinct than we pos sessed guided her, for she returned with Johnnie, and whispering him to be very good and kiss grandpapa she put him in her father’s arms In a second his excitement was gone, and he fondled the curly head, while Johnnie ooediently pressed his lips upon the withered cheek. So, in a little time, they fell asleep, Johnnie nestled in the feeble arms, and the withered face drooping upon the golden carta We watch ed them silently, till we saw a shad ow pass over John’s face, and a change settle there that comes but once in life. Gently Albert lifted the sleeping child, and carried him to the nurs ery, while Susie and I sat beside the arm-chair. “Uncle Fred,” she whispered, “Albert will go for a doctor. But may I waken him ? Let him speak to me once more!” Even as she spoke John opened his eyes. AU the wild look was gone from them as he groped a mo ment till Susie put her hands in his. Then a heavenly smile came upon the wasted lips, and he said softly, tenderly: “Susie, my own little child, Su sie.” And with the name on his lips John’s spirit went to seek an eter nal asylum, in which there will be no more poverty, pain or blindness. XR. GRANT’S LESSON. Mr. Grant had finished his break fast and was seated in his easy- chair by the cozy fire reading the morning paper. Mrs. Grant lingered by the break fast-table, although she too had completed her morning meal, and with a worried look on her pretty face was nervously tracing patterns in the crumbs that lay beside her plate. She looked at her husband two or three times as if she had something to say, then her courage seemed to fail her and she was silent. Presently when he tossed aside the paper and rose'to go she said, rather timidly: “Will, can you let me have some money this nforning before you go?” “More money!” exclaimed Mr. Grant, a slight cloud overspreading his pleasant face. “Why, I gave you $3 yesterday morning. Surely you haven’t sf>ent that already ?” “Willie’s shoes cost just $3,” an swered Mrs. Grant. “Well, I don’t see how you man age to get through so much mon ey,” answered Mr. Grant, paying no attention to her explanation. “How much do you want? What do you want with it?” “I am going in the city to do some shopping with Mrs. Dean.” answered Mrs. Grant, “and she has taken me to lunch with her so often that I thought I would like to in vite her to lunch with me for once.” ‘Oh, nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Grant, impatiently. “There’s no necessity for that, if Mrs Dean chooses to spend her money for lunches in the city, don’t you think that you must do the same thing. There’s plenty of necessary ways to use up money without doing any thing of that kind,” and he button ed up his coat as it the matter was conclusively settled. Tears gathered slowly in M r s. Grant’s blue eyes. It had been an effort for her to ask her husband for some money, and only the re membrance of the humiliation she had so often felt at never beiug able to extend any invitations to old friends who pressed them upon her so cordially had enabled her to do it, and she had been unsuccessful af ter all. “Will,” she said, presently, as her husband was fumbling with a re fractory button, “would you mind making me an allowance ?” “An allowance, Eva!” and Mr. Grant stared at his wife with un feigned surprise. “What in the world do you want an allowance for? All the money I earn is as much yours as mine; so what do you want to divide it for ?” “Because practically I don’t feel that I have any right to a cent of your money,” answered Mrs Grant. “If I want any I have to ask for it, explain just what I want it for, and then if you happen to approve of my plan you dole it out to me as if I was a beggar. I have been mar ried eight years, and in all that time you have never even given me as much as a dollar for myself.' you have no idea how I dislike to ask for money even for the necessa ry purchases for the table. Now if you give me reguir rly ever so little money I would divide it up and try to get along without asking yon for any more. Won’t you do this,Will?” she pleaded. Mr. Grant looked at his wife in astonishment. “I don’t see any use in it,” he an swered. “Now, if I was in your place and had everything I need ed I wouldn’t care if I never had any money to spend. “Try it once!” exclaimed Mre- Grant eagerly. “Let me take charge of your purse, and I will give you money for any necessary expendi tures. I just want you to give my suggestion a fair triaL Yon say you would not care to have any money if your wants were sup plied; now just see whether you would be impecunious and ask for everything yon wanted. Let me keep your money for a week. And tnen see whether you do ’ not think an allowance would be a bet ter plan. “All right, it’s a bargain,” said Mr. Grant, after a moment’s hesita tion, emptying his pockets of all the loose change and throwing his pock et-book on the table. “Now, I want 12 cents for car fare, and, well, say, a quarter for lunch.” “Here it is,” answered Mrs. Grant, counting out 37 cents and gathering up the rest. Mrs. Grant’s thoughts wandered to her husband many a time that day, and she wondered how he liked the sensation of being almost pen niless. As for herself she felt rich in having so much money in her pos session, and ventured to make two three little purchases that she. had wanted to make fora long time, but. had put off because she disliked asking tor the necessary money. At least a dozen times that morn ing Mr. Grant’s hand found its way to his pocket before he remembered he had only the exact change for his lunch and car fare. At noon, when he went for lunch, he met an old friend, and nothing but the con sciousness of his empty pockets kept him from inviting him to lunch with him. Then, tor the first time, he realized that it might be a trial for Eya never to be able to extend invitations to her friends. He was not prepared to admit the incon venience of empty pockets when he went home that evening, though. “I got along first-rate,” he said, in answer to his wife’s question, “bat I’ll ask you to give me a little.more money this evening.” “What for?” demanded Eva, se renely. “For ‘sundries,’" laughed Mr, Grant. “Cigars, et cetera; half a dollar will do.” “I don’t see what you want cigars for,” answered Eva, calmly. “I guess you can get along without them if you try. Half the wants in this world are merely imaginary ones.” Mr.Grant’s face flushed; he rec ognized the words as his own. He would not ask again for any more money, but settled himself with his paper in moody silence, wishing that he had possession of his pocket- book again. The first day it had seemed more like a joke than any thing else to start off for the day with barely sufficient for his most necessary expenses, but the next day it was decidedly disagreeable to know that he had not a single cent over the money for his lunch and car-fare. “If Eva feels this way all the time I don’t wonder that she wants an allowance of her own," he said to himself as he rode homeward. One day more convinced him thoroughly that it was annoying as well as humiliating to be obliged to present a petition for every small sum, and when he went home that evening he confessed that he had learned by experience how incon venient an empty purse is, and ad mitted that a regular allowance was no more than was justly due his wife. He set aside a certain portion of his income for Eva’s use tor the household expenses, and af ter this she never put off making some necessary purchase for weeks because she had to ask for money. “I learned a lesson that I never forgot in those three days,” Mr. Grant olten tells bis friends when they are arguing against making regular allowances to their wives. The Eclectic for April contains an unusually varied and attractive list of contents, both the subjects and the authors being of a sort to command attention. “A Word More About America,” by Matthew Arnold, will be read with great in terest. Frederic Harrison gives a “Review of the Year,” and Henry Irving has something pleasant to say on “The American Audience.” Th» celebrated English essayist, John iioriey, is represented by a masterly paper on George Eliot, apropos of her husband’s life of her just published. Other thoughtful articles of special note are Stimu lants and NarcoticSjby Percy Greg; “Automatic Writing,” by Frederick ‘ W. H. Myers; and “Scientific versus Bucolic Vivisection,”by James Cot ter Morison. There are two bright and interesting short stories, poems by W. E. H. Lecky and Paul H. Hayne, and a number of choice and well assorted short papers on sub jects of popniar interest. A special from Sycamore, Illinois, says a remarkable failure of faith cure has jnst terminated in the death of the Wife of A. W. Var- ny, Methodist minister. The cause of death was, according to medical authority, puerperal fever. The pa tient refused medicine and medical aid and the whole church indulged in a seventy-two hour prayer for her recovery. Her death ended the service. The Supreme Bench of Baltimore filed an opinion in the case of Charles S. Wilson, colored, who made an application for admission to the bar of Baltimore. The Court states that under the rating of the United States Supreme Court no distinction can be made on account of color or race, and he will be per mitted to practice in the Coarts. Taxes G*iig n*wa. “I tikes to know,” he said to the -aptain at the Central Station yes- :erday, “vat you call doee me; vho go aroundt und make our taxer- tor ust” “You mean assessors.” “Ah! dot vhss her- How many .lafwegotin Detroit?” “Three, I believe.” “Not more ash dot?” “No. How many did you suppose we had?” “Vhell! vheil! but I pelief I vhas let biggest fool in dis country! One lay last week tree men comes in to my saloon and pegins to look ail aroundt aud-aak questions, end hj- und-hy one of ’em says to me: “‘Misther Dander, taxes vhas a leedle higher dis year, but as yon vhas a good feller we make der as sessment der same as last year. Keep a leedle sthill about him, you know.” “Vhell, dot vhas a great favor to me, und I sets oopder beer und ci gars.” “I see.” “Dot same eafnings tree more men vhalks in and shm9lls around und asks about my shtock on hand, und one of ’em whispers to me: “‘Misther Dunder, taxes vhas higher dis year, but we haf some feelings for poor folks. We cut your assessment down, but- you keep a leedle quiet, you kn tw.” “Vhell, dot means more beer und cigars, und I beliefs more ash fifty men come into my place und tell me dot same thing. My oldt vho- mans says I vhas shwindied again, und again, und my p >y Shake says I petter go t > some grazy asylum. Mow, Captain, vhas I shwindied ?” “You were. It was a regular Jead-beat game.” “Und won’t my taxes be any low er?” “Not a cent” “Und Her oldt vhomans und Shake vhas right?” “Undoubtedly.” “Vhell, Captain, you hear me I I shall go home. It won’t be two hours pefore some more assessors come in. Shust as soon ash dose men pegin to look on my pool ta bles und shmell aroundt some cir cus pegins mit a great contortion act! If somepody telephones you: ‘Hello! Captain, tree assessors vhas mashed up all to palp in Carl Dun- der’s saloon—hurry op mit some coffins!’you vhill know dot vhas me. I tike to haf yon come oop in person und see der corpses, und maype you like to tell Shake und der old vhomans I vhas not soocb a fool after alL Prepare to hear some taxes drop!”—Detroit Free Press. A Reporter Interviews a It*bum. Energetic reporter of esteemed but somewhat contentious contempora ry to the Roman citizen who keeps the fruit stand in the shadow of the post office: “Who gave yon authori ty to run a stand here on the side walk?” Italian, just over, smiting greasily: “Epples? Tree P 5 cent—a.” “I say, who told you you could keep a stand here?” “A—h,” intelligently, “pananahs. Nicla piece—nice.” The reporter seemed to be angry about something now, and spoke in a load voice ss though his whole heart was in his tongue: “Darn yonr ‘pananas! Who gave you per mit to sell here ?” Italian, fairly cackling witlf un derstanding: “Oy-a-a-s, aixensia me. Yaas, dem peanuts. And he seized the tin measure, with three fingers in the inside, af ter the thrifty fashion of his tribe, and made a dash at the goobers. Bat when he turned to offer them to his customer the inquisitor had gone on towards the mayor’s office, murmuring to himself in large cap itals. 'Csesar Fruiticus walked onl to the curbstone and gazed wistful ly after him until he turned the corner, and then sat down on bis stool muttering his disgust at “Dutcb-a-mans who spik not Inglta ’ He had been the boy of the office the lowest one in rank about the concern, and when he was promot ed a notch he was as pleased as an actress with a bouquet ebe didn't pay for herself. They asked him abont the change. “No,” said he, “my work Isn’t easier. It’s meaner too, and the salary isn’t raised any to speak of. But, by honkey, now I’ve got some one under me that I can kick around. It’s a heap of comfort!” A Chicago minister makes a note of the fact that he has never seen a lady reading a newspaper in a streetcar. Well! A woman isn’t obliged to have her attention so ab sorbed that she doen’t observe that she is desired to give up her seat to a man. It is reported that the 8loss fur nace company will erect another 125 ten furnace at Birmingham this spring. The late David Dfckaon left the bulk or his fortune, some #400,eoa, to a colored wane and her children. Arnall Bros<fe Go* Is the place to find the prettiest and largest line of DRY GOODS, FANCT GOODS, NOTIONS, HOSIERY, Clothing, Hats and Shoes* ALSO A COMPLETE STOCK OF Family Groceries. THEY ALSO SUPPLY FAHMERS AND SINNERS WITH BAGGING AND TIBS. Having watched for our chance and been very careful in the pur chase of our stock, we have BOUGHT CHEAPER THAN EVER BEFORE, thus being enabled to offer Bargains in all Kinds of Goods. A visit to our store, an examination of our goods and an inquiry of onr prices is all that is necessary to convince you that ours is THE GREAT BARGAIN STORE ! ARNALL BRO’S * CO., Newnan, Ga. W. B. ORR D. P. WOODROOF. G. M. SHARP. 1884 TS 1873-4 and 5. In 1873-4 and 5,1 had D. P. Woodroof and O. M. Sharp with me as salesmen—now they are associated with the new firm of W. B. ORR & CO. Where can be found s well assorted stock of staple and fanoy Dry Goods, Motions Boots, Shoos and Hats. C L b~T N H I N G we claim novelties and attractions that defy competition—come and examine for yourself before purchasing elsewhere. Please come and see something beautiful in decorated inter Sits, lostt Cups, Gtossvan ail Mori. We are a till agents for the CELEBRATED MITCHELL WAGONS. Thanking the public for patronage in the past, the new firm promise to put forth their beat efforts to please all who may favor them with a call. J. E. OENT Jr. is with this house and will be glad to have his friends call on him, that he may serve them. THOMPSON, BROS. Bedroom, Parlor and Dining Room Fornitore. Big Stock and Low Prices. PARLOR AND CHURCH ORGANS. WOOD and METALLIC BURIAL CASES seplfi- ly ‘Orders attended to at any hoar day or night^g THOMPSON BEOS., Newnan, Ga. r, Mder aid Hanaro. 1 WILL TAKE Contracts or Superintend Buildings In town or country at reasonable prices. WSatisfaction guaranteed. febl7-3m B. F. KING, Newnan, Ga. THE UNRIVALED ew Farmer Girl COOK STOVE. It has large fines and oven, patent oven shelf heavy. Large single oven doors, tin-lined, with handsome nickle panels. Every stove folly warranted. A. O. LYNDON, Sole Agent, Newnan, Ga. GRIFFIN HeNAMARA & G. G. McXAMARA. X. ROBERTS. IN FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC MARBLES AND GRANITES, AND IRON RAILINGS eonatantlyon hand or made to order. Tablets, Monuments, Ac. - - Marble or Granite worl • fornisbed on application for MarMeer Granite work t Lock box 912. i NW D. F. BREWSTER, Agent, NnnuijGA..
