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The Newnan Herald.
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volume xx.
XEWXAX, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, JUNE 16, 1SS5.
NUMBER 35.
The Newnan Herald.
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Our lives are albums, written through
XVithgood or ill, with false or true.
The Family Black Sheep.
“And you, Freda," says my pater
nal ancestor, sternly gazing down
from his superior height upon my
petty five feet two, “are to behave
sensibly, if possible, and consider
yourself engaged to Mr. Comyn.”
I feel myself sink—figuratively
speaking—away to the lowest deptli
of despair as papa goes on reflec
tively.
“Really a fine offer for you! You
have always been tfie black sheep
of the family, Freda, and certainly
do not deserve such good fortune as
to marry a man worth a cool mil
lion, who is quite devoted to you.
8o take the goods the gods provide
«nd make no demur.”
“A sacrifice to appease the wrath
of the gods,” I quote demurely. Rut
my heart is mutinous and rebellious
to the last degree. How dare my
father, or any one else, dispose of
me in this cold-blooded, mercenary
fashion? I hate Mr. Comyn! lam
positive that it is hatred which is
devouring my heart at the present
moment, although, never having
met the gentleman in question, how
can I tell what my sentiment in re
gard to him may be?
Yes, I have never met Mr. Comyn;
yet he is mad enough to ask me to
marry him! Such a curious affair in
every way!
Sister Rita ami I had attended an
arehery party at Mrs. Somers”?
lovoly country home, and Mr.
Comyn, chancing to be present, had
fallen deeply in love with me! At
least, such is his astonishing an
nouncement in his letter to my fa
ther, which has just been received.
Yet 1 am positive he was not pre
seated to me at all; and, indeed, was
so engrossed with the game, and so
fully occupied with (well yes, the
truth must be told) flirting with
Harry Rlake, that I have simply no
recollection of meeting this aspirant
for the honor of my hand at all.
Rut tiie party was a very large one,
nml so, perhaps, it is not strange
i nit I have forgotten him.
I take the letter from papa's
band (ho is strangely deferential tt
me, “the black sheep of the family,"
since this proposal from Mr. Comyn)
and I glance eagerly over the page
■of note-paper covered with a
sprawling ehirography. I caught a
glimpse of my name, and my heart
sinks; yes, lie means me!
The epistle goes on to observe
that having had the pleasure of
meeting Miss Freda Rowell at the
archery party given by Mrs. Som
ers, he had fallen a sudden victim
to the little blind god, and begs the
honor of her hand in marriage, pro
viding that ho shall be able in time
to win her heart.
Ah, there is a loophole! He will
never win her heart—oh, no! Some
thing of my thought must have ex
pressed itself in my face, for papa
observes hastily:
“Now, remember, Freda, no tricks!
It is my desire—my command—that
you accept Mr. Comyn ?”
“Oh, papa, don’t maka me say
‘Yes’ now! l)o give me a few daysot
grace! Even the condemned crim
inal going to the scaffold is al
lowed time for preparation—fasting
•and prayer.”
I’apa frowns severely.
“Freda?" His voice is very stern
and 1 tremble in my boots. “You
ungrateful child! Do you realize
that it is all I can do to keep up the
family?”
“Oh, papa!” 1 cry piteously (Fred
says when I turn on the “water
works” there is no resisting me),
“do let me support myself; I can
teach—I know I can! I have never
considered marriage. I am young,
Rita is the oldest ; why can’t he con
tent himself with Rita?”
Yes, why can’t he? She is decid
edly the prettiest—though, truth to
tell, we look wonderfully alike. We
are respectively 17 and 19, and look
even younger. Rapa is frowuing
prodigiously. I see there is no use
in remonstrance—his mind is made
up. A millionaire in the family!
Papa puts an end to the controver
sy at last by quietly leaving the
room. 1 sink down upon the broad
window seat, and prepare for a good
cry, when some one pulls my hair
emphatically. I stifle a yell and
spring to my feet. Only Fred! An
inspiration seizes me!
“Oh, Fred," I wail, piteously,
“can’t you help me? You have in
fluence with papa—do beg him to
give up the horrible marriage!”
He is only fifteen and the pet of
the family.
“Freda, don’t be a goose,” he ejac
ulates at last. “Wish I had the
chance to marry a girl as rich as
Mr. Comyn. I’d perpetrate matri
mony if she was as ugly as original
sin and my pet aversion.”
“Et tn Brute!” I pout indignantly.
Fred laughs.
“Precisely. And Freda, what do
you think ? Rita is as mad—oh, as a
March hare, because Mr. Comyn did
not propose to her. Funny, isn’t it,
that he didn’t fall in love with
her!”
And I marched away in high
dudgeon, and, trying on my b<g sun-
hat, fly down to the beach—my usual
place of refuge. Here my little boat
is moored; I spring in, and push off
upon the broad bosom of Lake
Pontehartrain. Before I have gone
far I am seized with another inspi
ration. There isn’t a living soul in
sight. I find a retired nook, and
landing my boat, draw it upon the
white sandy beach for safety. Then
I seat myself upon the sand, and
deliberately pull off my shoes and
stockings; I am going to wade, tor
the tide is out, and the water is cool
and delightful. I have not gone far,
however, holding the skirts of my
gray linen dress up rather high,
and thoroughly enjoying the situa
tion, when I catch the sound of a
'aint groan. I drop my skirls in
voluntarily, and putting my hands
to my mouth, as I have seen Fred
lo upon similar occasions, I shout
lustily:
“Halloa!”
The answer comes at once, and so
close to my side that I cry aloud in
alarm. I turn quickly, and then I
understand. Just around a little
bend, which forms a sort of a cove,
I catch a glimpse .of a man lyi"g at
full length upon the sand. Even
from that distance I could distin
guish the palor of his face, and un-
ierstand intuitively that some ac
cident had overtaken him. I glance
down at my hare feet. No time for
hoes and stockings now. I dart
through the water, and soon reach
his side. The very handsomest man
I ever met. He raises his dark
eyes to my face, and says quick
ly;
“I beg your pardon, miss, but I
have sprained my ankle severely,
and—is there any place in the
neighborhood where I can remain
until able to travel? My name is
Compton—Walter Compton—from
St. Louis, and—” he hesitates, and a
a spasm of pain contracts his face
for a moment.
“Yes,” I cry immediately—“you
can come home with me!” So I run
to get into my discarded articles of
wearing apparel, and then spring
ing into my boat, I row to the spot.
With great difficulty I succeeded in
assisting the stranger into the boat,
and then pull slowly homeward. I
find papa quite willing to receive
the stranger, who after all proves to
he no stranger, but the son of papa’s
old friend. We made him as com
fortable as possible, an d then fol
lowed days and weeks of pleasant
companionship. Six weeks from
the day upon which I brought Wal
ter Compton home in my boat he
asks me to be his wife. I burst into
tears. For \ love him with all my
heart; yet there is that hateiul Mr-
Comyn! He has never revisited our
town since the letter was written in
which he asks for the heart and
hand of Freda Lowell, but u'e may
reasonably look for him now, at any
time. I sob out my story to Walter,
my head upon his shoulder. He
smiles, and stooping, kisses me.
“Don’t cry’, sweetheart!” he say?
soothingly. “You shall never marry
Mr. Comyn—or any other man, but
myself, if you really love me! We
will explain the whole affair to him
and to your father; and Mr. Lowell
will not object to me on the score ol
poverty, for I am a rich man,
Freda.”
And then, some one raps at the
door, and the servant announces:
“Miss Freda, your father says
please come to the library. Mr.
Comyn wishes to see you.”
At last! So, it has come, and I
must face the music. And my eyes
■SAVED BY A DAY.
are red with crying, my hair is aw
fully tousled. I am a sight to make
a iover weep. Nevertheless, I’ll go
just as I am, if I make him hate
me, so much the better.
So I leave Walter’s side, and
march straight into the library, with
white cheeks, my head defiantly
upraised.
Mr. Comyn arises to greet ine—a
fine looking man—but not one-half
as handsome as my Walter. He
hesitates, and draws back with in
tense surprise on his face.
“Mr. Lowell,” he ejaculates, in be
wilderment, addressing my father,
“there is some mistake. This is not
the young lady.”
I clap my hands, gleefully, re
gardless of papa’s severest frown.
So, it is Rita after all. I’m not two
minutes getting her into the libra
ry ; then I close the door and fly
back to Walter’s side.
Yes, it is really Rita. Mr. Comyn
has only mistaken the name; but it
is Rita whom he loves and wishes to
marry. And best of all, Rita loves
him in return, and has been griev
ing in secret all this time.
So there is a double wedding, and
papa smiles serenely and never
frowns now for he has two rich son-
in-laws; and poor little mad-eap
Freda, the bride of wealthy Mr.
Compton, becomes quite an envied
personage, and there is no longer*
any 4 black sheep in the family.”
Isaac Hibbs, postmaster at Lewes-
ton, Idaho, has absconded with
$50,000 belonging to the govern
ment.
I had only one hour—only one
hour to be Norah Glennie. At the
time the clock struck 10 I should be
Norah Mapleson, a wife, a true wife
to a true husband. I rearrange my
dress with feverish haste. I only
stop to drink a eup of milk ere I
leave the house, just in time to
catch the train as it passes our sta
tion.
Once more my hands are clasped
in his. We say no word; only hur
ry through the sleepy streets till
we enter the dingy office, where,
by some strange method, we are
made man and wife. All is a
dream to me. I have only my
cle, and he is lying bedridden at
Norlington farm. How could he be
here? The only thing that seem
real to me is the shining ring on
my finger.
“Don’t be so distressed, my dar
ling! Don’t look so or I cannot bear
it.”
I draw a deep breath; I stretch
out my hand a little wildly, I sup
pose, for he takes it firmly in his
ind lays it on his arm as he hurries
ne through the streets back again
in the direction of the railway sta
tion. Once more we are in the
train.
“Mine—mine forever! I do not
fear the future now!” is all my
husband says, but there is a world of
love in his eyes.
Poor William! In a week’s time
he will he on the ocean, and w T e will
have parted for many months—
perhaps years. I get out of the
train alone, as he is going on some
business two stations further
then he will come back for the rest
of the week to the farm.
“Before you go into his room
wife, darling, you will take it off,”
and he touches my finger on which
the bright new wedding-ring glit
ters.
“I cannot!” I cry, shuddering
“It is unlucky to remove a wedding
ring.”
“But, my darling, his sharp eyes
will ”
The train goes on and I am alone.
1 see his face looking at me from
the window alarmed and anxious,
but I nod reassuringly and he
smiles.
It. causes no remark that I have
been out so early this morning, tor
everything lately is so upset by rea
son of my uncle’s illness and Wil
liam’s near departure.
Aboutmyring. 1 must hide it;
but 1 cannot take it off. I hurry up
into my room and hurriedly turn
over the contents of an old musty
dressing-case that had been my fa
ther’s. Where can it be ? That old
garnet ring, with the queer under
groove in it, that I feel sure will let
this thin wedding ring into it, and
so keep my secret from prying eyes
Ah! with hot, trembling fingers I
find it; it does exactly as I thought
it would do. With that broad old
ring always on I need fear no dis
covery.
During the day my old uncle is
aken much worse, and he will let
io one come near him but me.
William comes in and out- of
the room, but I am tied to it all
day, ’til toward evening uncle falls
into a deep sleep and I can safely
leave him with his nurse. It was a
rambling old house. Norlington
(arm, and it had been my onlv
home for nearly seven years, ail of
which time William Mapleson
had lived as my uncle’s steward
and helper under the same roof.
It had been a hard, self-denying
life for him, perhaps: but for me—
or rather for his love for me—he
would never have borne it. Till
lately the hard old man had never
discovered our love, and when he
had there was no more peace for us
under his roof. He had raged and
stormed, declaring that no neice of
his should marry William Maple
son, on pain of disinheritance.
I had been weak and helpless,
alone in the world, not very strong
in health, when he came to my fa
ther’s funeral, and paying all ex
penses had simply said: “Now go
and pack up your kit. You must
come with me to Norlington farm.
Can’t say, I’m sure, what old Betty
will say, but there’s nothing else,
as I see, to be done. Remember,
my girl, ’tis not a lady’s life I am
offering you, but I suppose you are
not too fine a lady to know what
work means?”
If I had been then, all was cor
rected by now. During these seven
years I have worked hard. Yet
there are those who say that old Pe
ter Glennie is worth half a million
of money.
My golden week of happiness is
gone, but although William is gone
I am strangely content.
I do not regret the step I have
taken. Since the morning after my
marriage my uncle had been better
and quieter. Old Mr. Baines,
the lawyer, had been with him a
full hour that morning, and Old
Jenkins had been called into his
room to sign his name to some doc
ument, together with the hired
nurse.
“He’s a miserable man,” she said to
me that same day. “I suppose it is
his will we signed. What a grudge I
he seems to have against marriage.'
He growls continually in his sleep j
about fools getting married.”
He had called her at this mo-1
ment,and I was left alone to ove:-
hear a conversation between old
Jenkins and Betty, who, being both
deaf, were talking over the same
matter in the kitchen.
“Ah, well Betty, it’s a hard day
for the farm when William goes
away; an’ how’ll the old master do
wi’ a new steward at his toime o’
life, I wonder?”
“He knows what he’ about, never
you fear. Do’ee think for a moment
as how he don’ know a-letting him
go is the on’y- way o’ preventin’ a
marriage between he and Miss No
rah? Ha! ha! ha!”
As I hear her cunning old laugh
at my expense I sit hugging my
love to my heart.
Old Betty always owed me a
grudge for coming to Norlington
farm, although she had been com
pelled to show me ordinary civili
ty-
How little she knew we were
married only yesterday, under her
very nose, as it were. So far I have
deceived him and the few other
people I knew—deceived him
through his own hardness. So far
as I was concerned I would have
told him, only I know, and my hus
band knew, that any sudden shock
would in ail probability kill him.
We should have parted and kept
true faith to each other if my strenth
had not been weakened when i
that good offer to go to Canada had
come so suddenly. Then he had
prayed me to marry him before he
started, so that if my uncle died I
might at once come out to him as
his wife.
And now William was gone. The
ship had sailed, and I was -alone,
but happier far than if I had denied
him his prayer.
Since the day after my marriage
when Baines had been with iny un
cle, lie had been mare quiet, but
strangely anxious not to let me out
of his sight.
Ail through the week I had not
been once out of the house. Of this
he seemed to take full care of keep
ing me near him by every pretense
he could think of.
The ship had sailed only one
week when my uncle died sudden
ly, and then, on the same day of the
lonely funeral, came the reading of
the old miser’s will.
I came down with my wedding-
ring exposed for the first time. It
was noticed at once. Mr. Baines
looked aghast at me. The doctor
who attended my poor uncle looked
horrified, as well he might, knowing
:hat it meant disinheritance if 1
married.
Old Betty’s eyes had a wicked
gleam in them as she said: “Per
haps you didn’t know, you and
William Mapleson, that you’d lose
anything if you married ?”
“We didn’t care to think of it,” 1
said, “I should have sailed with
him had not my duty kept me with
your master.”
“At that moment I could not say
“my uncle,” old Betty looked
malicious.
“And so,” she said, “you have
gone and lost a fortune—lost a fort
une to get married?”
I cannot describe the insolent
sneer with which she hissed out the
words.
“I made his will the 27th of this
month, my dear lady, decreeing it
so. When were you married?”
“On the 26th, Mr. Baines.”
The old gentleman stared at me,
then rapidly read the short will.
I was to be disinherited of more
than half a million of money if I
married after that date—so it was
worded.
I was married the day before.
Hum.
Keep your own secrets; don’t
blow projects and plans into any
ear. If you must’unburden to your
friend, do it to the dog—for wagish
as he is. ne is mum.
Never tell your wife anything,
for if it is bad news, she is sure to
cry and make you feel worse—be
sides you may wish it kept secret,
andall wives are not‘-mum.”
No, we repeat it—when you feel
anything like a kind word or an
intimation of what you are doing
come up in your throat, choke it
downwind remember “mum.”
‘There may keep council, it is true.
But then you should get rid of two.’
Wanted.
A clerk whose salary is, by his
own conlession, as large as he de
serves to have.
A book-keeper who doesn’t un
derstand his business better than
his employer.
An editor who never wondered
at the stupidity of the public, in not
patronizing his sheet.
A gentleman in moustaches who
never fancied himself looking like
an officer in the French service.
A minister who never sought pop
ularity; never preached to fill his
house and always pointed ont the
wrongs his audience were most
likely to commit
What He Was Dead Sure Of.
Yesterday afternoon a Third av-
| enue car was rolling along with
fourteen passengers holding down
the h-»rd seats, when a woman sud-
denly called out that her pocket
had been picked. The only person
that did not seem stunned by the
announcement was a lathy Individ
ual with abliud eye and legs which
shoved clear across the aisle and
under the opposite seat. He rose
up like clockwork, pulled the door
shut and said:
“I’ve been right here before, and
there’s only one way to do this bus
iness. Every man must empty his
pockets. Here’s a wallet with noth'
ing in it, a comb, three buttons, a
knife and a bottle of cough inedi
cine. The finger of suspicion p’ints
at all of us. Anybody who refuses
to shell out will be looked upon as
the guilty party. Now then.”
Two or three men began hauling
knives and keys out of their pock
ets, but just then the tall man dis
covered the lost portmonnaie
the floor.
“Suspicion has ceased to p’int,” lie
saidas he held it up and opened the
door. “Ladies and gentlemen, let
me congratulate you on your hones
ty, and also warn you against trust
ing to appeaiances. I was d«-ad
sure that the fat man over there
was the pickpocket, but you
how—”
“Sir you are a villain!” roared the
passenger.
“Yes, I thought he had it in his
boot leg, but his looks—”
“And I’ll knock your head off, sir
Some one h >ld this dozen of eggs
for me!”
“But his looks belie him. He
might take chickens, but he would
never—Ah! I get off here; good-by
all: nice weather for picnics.”
A Rood Judge of Cigars.
I overheard a good joke on
Englishman a day or two ago in a
Broadway cigar store where I hap
pened to drop in to buy a Henry
Clay.
“What wretched cigars you keep
in New York,” observed the foreign
er to the salesm in. “I can’t buy :
decent cigar in the city, you know
and even then the aroma isn’t equal
to a sixpenny one that I usually get
in London, don’t you know.”
“Try this,” said the salesman,
handing out a light colored eigar.
“I always try to satisfy my custom
ers when.I can.”
The Cockney lit, passed it under
his nose and said: “No, it isn’t good
It’s too fresh, don’t you know.”
“Throw it away, then. Here’s an
other; what do you think of that?”
“Ah! this is something like a ci
gar. Why, the aroma is simply de
lightful. What do you charge for
these ?”
“Well, our usual price is six for a
quarter, but if you want to pay
more I shan’t object.”—New York
Sunday Star.
A Bit of Textual Criticism.
The revision of the Old Testa
ment, has revived the hopes of some
people who expect to have things
smoothed for them all through this
life. It was this interesting fact
that induced Shuttle to attend
cjiurch yesterday.
“How did you like the sermon ?”
inquired a friend as he passed out
of the vestibule.
“Never was so disgusted in my
life. Why, the man took ‘thou shalt
not steal’ for his text.”
“That’s a good text.”
“It’s the same old text. I thought
the new version would read, ‘Thou
shalt not compromise for twenty-
five cents on the dollar.’”—Hart
ford Post.
Gentle Exercise.
GENERAL NEWS.
A Young lady of the Die-a-way
school, consulted her physician last
week, for the hiccups, and was told
by the learned disciple of Esculapius
to take gentle exercise every morn
ing before breakfast:
“Why la I do!” whimpered the
lady.
“Is it possible—may I ask in what
the exercise consists, Miss ?
“Oh yes, doctor. I take gentle ex
ercise every morning by cleaning
my teeth.”
“The doctor left nothing but her
presence.”
Twere Better Far Unsaid.
Miss De Vere—“Don’t you sing,
Mr. Lisle ?”
Mr. Lisle (of the Harvard Glee
Club)—“Oh yes, but we are not
alone. That ugly old duffer in the
corner has been watching ns the last
half hour.”
Miss De Vere—“Oh, never mind
him, he’s only my father.”
Mr. Lisle tries to explain.
If it were not intended that wo
men should drive their husbands,
why are they put through the bri
dal ceremony ?
Ladies witli handsome ankles
dont mind going ont in muddy
weather—in fact they like it. Queer
isn’t it.
The slave population of Brazil is
stlimited at-1,177,022, of whom 62:
274 are males and .>i3,748 fern i
The ex-Khedive Ismail Pasha,wh<
.as invited fo abdicate in 1879, liar-
been try ing to get back to his old
place,and is very much disappoint* d
.t the determination of Ea 'land
as officially announced, 1 “to continue
to support the present Khediv
Mohamed Tewfik.” Bat while the
son is thus supported by’ England
all the same the Egyptian revenue
rung by the severest taxation from
the poor peasants, will continue t<
support the old man at the rate of
$200,000 a year for himself and hi
harem.
Tne public hiring out of children
to the lowest bidder still obtains in
the Swiss Canton of Berne. A
heart-rending case ol this kind is
reported from Biel, where the pub
lic crier, despite the tears and en
treaties of the widowed mother,
“placed” her four young children of
ten, eight, six, and two years for 28
31 40 and 70 francs respectively' for
the remainder of the year, thus sep
arating the whole family for fear of
the wretched woman becoming
burden on the town.
Popular expectation has been
whetted a good deal for the book
of essays by Miss Cleveland, which
will be published in a few d iys.lt is
said that large orders for it have
already been received, and
tensive sale is looked for. Judging
from the extracts which have oeen
given to the public in advance, the
book ought to prove y readable
indeed for o i ■ of .r-< kind. Miss.
Cleveland’s p.*:i appears to lie both
rigorous and lively, and she evi
lently has the courage of her opin-
ons. Her style is crisp and fresh
ind she expresses herself in a way
that no one is likely to misunder-
tand.
Prof Langley', who knows more
about the sun than most people
know about the earth, says the sun
is really blue; that it is the atmos.
phere of the earth which temper?
ts heat and color to a white light,
md that the blue sky is the real
ight of the sun, unaffected by the
earth’s atmosphere. He has learn
ed this by that wonderful instru
nent the spectroscope. He says our
nisconceptions of the white light
if of the sun is the same mistake
the fish at- the bottom of the ocean
would make in imagining that the
sun’s light i3 a pale green. We
live atthj bitt-om of a sea of air
and by looking up through it get a
wrong notion of the true color of
the sun.Then by the same token the
moon and stars must be blue also.
This is a pretty blue outlook for
mankind.
The papers have not lately had
much to say about Gen. Grant’s con
dition, but he remains a very sick
man, nevertheless. That he really’
has a cancer and not a mere throat
malady that might be cured, is es
tablished beyond a doubt. That the
cancer will cause his death is al
most equally certain. It makes
teady progress, and each exami
nation by the doctors shows some
new development. It has been
announced within a few days that
Gen. Grant will soon be taken ou t
of the city for the summer, but this
is not by any means as.sured. He
may fail so much at an moment
that his removal would simply
precipitate his death. The decision
that he must not go out riding any
mo re,shows how precarious his con
dition really' is. The completion
of his memoirs lias, however, madr
him a good deal easier in mind, and
though he is very weak and cer
tainly very ill, he does not worry
as much as he did some weeks ago.
It is very doubtful if he will live
to see the memoirs published, even
if they should be published within
a few months. The advance orders
for them are said to be very-
large.
It might not be amiss for the De
mocracy of thi.s country to ponder
the opinions thus tersely expressed
by the Washington Post: “Thi
majority by which the Democratic
party ascended into power is not
so overpoweringly large nor per
manently assured that we can af
ford to trifle with the victory. The
new era has dawned, but will il
reach the high noon of ourexpecta-
tions? This remains to be seen.
The Republican party is by no
means dead yet, and we have first
to convince the people that they
have profited substantially and
largely by the defeat of that
party before we can have any defi
nite guarantee of a extended lease
of power. Hence the necessity, not
of parceling out the spoils in hot
an i reckless haste, but of laying
broad and deep the foundations of
the civil service as a power of
strength to the government under
Democratic rule, and not begrudg
ing the time it may require to do
it. This is the burden Mr Cleve
land has taken upon his shoulders,
not as a work for this year or next
year, or his whole official term, but
for all the time and for the glory of
the Democratic party.
Arnall Bros <fc Go.
Is the place to find the prettiest and largest- line of
DRY GOODS, FANCY GOODS,
NOTIONS, HOSIERY,
Clothing, Hats and Shoes*
ALSO A COMPLETE STOCK OF
Family Groceries.
THKV ALSO SUPPLY FARMERS AND GINNERS WITH
BAGGING AND TIES.
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 our 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 <fc CO.
\re receiving daily additions to their stock ol GENERAL MER
CHANDISE, which is varied and too numerous to itemize. Full
line of Ladies, Gents and Children’s
Something extra in hand-made, and every' pair guaranteed.
DRESS GOODS,
Lawns, Organdies, Nuns Veiling, Cashmere, Berlin Cord, Checks,
Nainsook, Swiss and Mull Muslin, a complete assortment of Cotton-
ides, Checks, Bleached and Brown Shirting and Sheeting.
READY MADE CLOTHING AND HATS,
naking a specialty of them, and they must go. We invite one and
ill to come to see us. Thanking you for past patronage we solicit a
ontinuance of the same. W. B. ORR ft CO.
THOMPSON: BROS.
Bedroom, Parlor and Dining Room Fnmitnre.
Big Stock and Low Prices.
PARLOR AND CHURCH ORGANS.
WOOD and METALLIC BURIAL CASES
Orders attended to at any hour day or night.^0
’ eplf> - ,y THOMPSON BROS., Newnan, Ga.
$1
PREMIUM
O O
BUGGIES
JAMES A. PARKS.
r wish to call public Mention to the fact that I am still in the Buggy
Business, and h iv.• ;i Treater variety instock than ever before. I also
jffera premium valued at ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS to be distrib
uted with every t n !> iggies, to be divided by the purchasers, as agreed
upon by themselves, when the tenth buggy hap been sold. J. A. Parks.
GRIFFIN
McNamara & Roberts,
g. McNamara.
N. ROBERTS.
-DEALERS IN-
Wofk,
IN FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC MARBLES AND GRANITES,
AND IRON RAILINGS
constantly oil hand or made to order. Tablets, Monuments,dec. Special designs and
eatini.iie- furnished on application for Marble or Granite work of any description
Lock box 242, Griffin Ga.
F. BREWSTER, Agent, Newman, Qa. mm
