About The Newnan herald. (Newnan, Ga.) 1865-1887 | View Entire Issue (June 16, 1885)
The Newnan Herald. VURLISHED ETEKV TUE8DAT. A. B. CATES, Editor and Unhlisher. tkrss or scssrumox: THE NEWNAN HERALD. T>n<* one year, in advance ... Jf not paid in advance, the term* are 12.00 a year. A Club of «ix allowed an extra copy. Kifty-two nuinl»eracomplete the volume. WOOTTEN k CATES, Proprietors. -WISDOM, JUSTICE AND MODERATION.- TEKHS:-$l.aO per per year in Adranee. volume xx. XEWXAX, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, JUNE 16, 1SS5. NUMBER 35. The Newnan Herald. PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY. BATES OF ADTUTI8I One inch one year, $10; a column one year, $100; less time than three months, $1-00 per inch for first insertion, and 30 cents additional for each subsequent in sertion. Notices in local column, ten cents per line for each insertion. Liberal arrange ments will be made with those advertis ing by the quarter or year. All'transient adverfisements must be paid for when handed in. Announcing candidates, Ac., $3.00 strictly in advance. Address all communications to A. B. CATES, Newnan, Oh. 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
