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STOKY OF A MARTYR.
DR. TALMAGE DISCOURSES ON THE
STONING OF STEPHEN.
Fire Pictarw Dfcplayed-Stephen Gaeinr
Into Heaven, Stephen Looking at Christ,
Stephen Stoned, Stephen In Hie Dying
Prayer and Stephen Asleep.
ICopyrlght, 1898, at -^ e j rican PreßS Ass °-
WASHWGTON, March 13.—The discourse
of Dr. Talmage which we send out is a
vivid story of martyrdom and a rapturous
view of the world to come; text, Acts
vii, 66-60, “Behold I see the heavens open
ed, ” etc.
Stephen had been preaching a rousing
sermon, and the people could not stand it.
They resolved to do as men sometimes
would like to do in this day, if they dared,
with some plain preacher of righteousness
—kill him. The only way to silence this
man was to knock the breath out of him.
So they rushod Stephen out of the gates of
the city, and with curse and whoop and
bellow they brought him to the cliff, as
was tho custom when they wanted to take
away life by stoning. Having brought
him to the edge of the cliff, they pushed ■
him off. After he had fallen they came
and looked down, and, seeing that he was
not yet dead, they began to drop stones
upon him, stone after stone. Amid this
horrible rain of missiles Stephen clambers,
up on his knees and folds his bands, while
the blood drips from his temples to his
cheeks, from his checks to his garments,
from his garments to the ground, and
then, looking up, he makes two prayers—
one for himself and one for his murderers.
“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!” That
was for himself. “Lord, lay not this sin
to their charge!” That was for his assail
ants. Then, from pain and loss of blood,
he swooned away and fell asleep.
I want to show you today five pictures—
Stephen gazing into heaven, Stephen look
ing at Christ, Stephen stoned, Stephen in
his dying prayer and Stephen asleep.
Stephen’s Glimpse of Heaven.
First look at Stephen gazing into heav
en. Before you take a leap you want to
know where you are going to land. Be
fore you climb a ladder you want to know
to what point the ladder reaches. And it
was right that Stephen, within a few mo
ments of heaven, should be gazing into it.
Wo would all do well to be found in tho
same posture. There is enough in heaven
to keep us gazing. A man of large wealth
may have statuary in the hall, and paint
ings in the sitting room, and works of art
in all parts of the house, but he has the
chief pictures in tho art gallery, and there
hour after hour you walk with catalogue
and glass and ever increasing admiration.
Well, heaven is tho gallery where God has
gathered tho chief treasures of his realm.
Tho whole universe is his palace. In this
lower room where we stop there are many
adornments—tessellated floor of amethyst,
and on the winding cloud stairs arc stretch
ed out canvases on which commingle azure
and purple and eaffron and gold. But
heaven is the gallery in which the Chief
glories are gathered. There are the bright
est robes. There are the richest crowns.
There are the highest exhilarations. John
says of it, " The kings of the oarth shall
bring their honor and glory into it.” And
I see tho procession forming, and in the.
line come all empires, and the stars spring
up into an arch for the hosts to march un
der. The hosts keep step to the sound of
earthquake and the pitch of avalanche
from the mountains, and the flag they
bear is the flame of a consuming world,
and all heaven turns out with harps and
trumpets and myriad voiced acclamation
of angelio dominion to welcome them in,
and so the kings of the earth bring their
honor and glory into it. Do you wonder
thatgood peopleoften stand, like Stephen,
looking into heaven? We have many
friends there.
There is not a man in this house today
so isolated in life but there is some one in
heaven with whom he once shook hands.
As a man gets older the number of his
celestial acquaintances very rapidly multi- ,
plies. We have slot had one glimpse of
them since the night we kissed them good
by, and they went away, but still we stand
gazing at heaven. As when some of our
friends go across the sea we stand on the
dock or on the steam tug and watch them,
and after awhile the hulk of the vessel dis
appears, and then there is only a patch of
sail on the sky, and soon that is gone, and
they are all out of sight, and yet wo stand
looking in the same direction, so when our
friends go away from us into tho future
world wo keep looking down through the
Narrows and gazing and gazing as though
we expected that they would come out and
stand on some cloud and give us one
glimpse of their blissful and transfigured
faces.
While you long to join their companion
ship, and the years and the days go with
such tedibrn that they break your heart,
and the viper of pain and sorrow and be
reavement keeps gnawing at your vitals,
you stand still, like Stephen, gazing into
heaven. You wonder if they have changed
sinoe you saw them last. You wonder if
they would recognize your face now, so
changed has it been with trouble. You
wonder if amid the myriad delights they
have they care as much for you as they
used to when they gave you a helping hand
and put their shoulder under your bur
dens. You wonder if they look any older,
and sometimes in the evening tide, when
the house is all quiet, you wonder if you
should call them by their first name if
they would not answer, and perhaps some
times you do make tlje experiment, and
when no one but God and yourself are
there you distinctly call their names and
listen and sit gazing into heaven.
Stephen Looks Upon Christ.
Pass on now and see Stephen looking
upon Christ. My text says he saw the Son
of Man at the right hand of God. Just
how Christ looked in this world, just how
ho looks in heaven, we cannot say. A
writer in the time of Christ says, describ
ing tho Saviour’s personal appearance,
that he had blue eyes and light complexion
and a very graceful structure, but I sup
pose it was all guesswork. The painters
of the different ages have tried to imagine
the features of Christ and put them upon
canvas, but we will have to wait until
with our own eyes we see him and with
our own ears we can hear him. And yet
there is away of seeing and hearing him
now. I have to tell you that unless you
see and hear Christ on earth you will nev
er see and hear him in heaven. Look I
There he is. Behold the Lamb of God.
Can you not see him? Then pray to God to
take the scales off your eyes. Look that
way—try to look that way. His voice
comes down to you this day—comes down
to the blindest, to the deafest soul, saying,
“Look untowne, all ye ends of the earth,
and be ye saved, for I am God, and there
is none else.*’ Proclamation of universal
emancipation for all slaves! Proclamation
of universal amnesty for all rebels! Bel
shazzar gathered the Babylonish noblee to
bis table, George 1 entertained the lords
of England at a banquet, Napoleon 111
1 welcomed the czar of Russia and tho sul
tan of Turkey to his feast, the emperor of
; Germany was glad to have our minister,
George Bancroft, sit down with him at his
table, but tell me, ye who know most of
the world’s history, what other king ever
, asked the abandoned and tho forlorn and
the wretched and the outcast to come and
’ sit beside him?
! Ob, wonderful invitation!. You cab take
it today and stand at the head of the dark
est alley in any city, and say: “Come!
Clothes for your rags, salve for your sores,
’ a throne for your eternal reigning.” A
Christ that talks like that and acts like
that and pardons like that—do you won
der that Stephen stood looking at him? I
hope to spend eternity doing tbe same
thing. I must see him; I must look upon
that face once clouded with my sin, but
now radiant with my pardon. I want to
touch that hand that knocked off my shac
kles. I want to hear that voice which pro
nounced my deliverance. Behold him,
little children, for if you livo to threescore
years and ten you will see none so fair.
Behold him, ye aged ones, for he only can
shine through the dimness of your failing
eyesight. Behold him, earth. Behold
him, heaven. What a moment when all
tho nations of the saved shall gather
around Christ! All faces that way. All
thrones that way, gazing on Jesus.
His worth if all the nations knew
Sure the whole earth would love him too.
Stephen’s Martyrdom.
I pass on now and look at Stephon
stoned. Tho world has always wanted to
get rid of good men. Their very life is an
assault upon wickedness. Out with Ste
phen through the gates of the city. Down
with him over the precipices. Let every
man come up and drop a stone upon his
head. But these mon did not so much kill
Stophen as they killed themselves. Every
stone rebounded upon them. While these'
murderers were transfixed by the scorn of
all good men Stephen lives in the admira
tion Os all Christendom. Stephen stoned,
bnt Stephen alive. So all good men must
be pelted. All who will live godly in
Christ JeSus must suffer persecution. It
is no eulogy of a man to say that every
body likes him. Show me any one who is
doing all his duty to state or church, and
I will show you mon who utterly abhor
him.
If all men speak well of you, it is be
cause you are either a laggard or a dolt.
If a steamer makes rapid progress through
the waves,, the water will boil and foam
all around it. Brave soldiers of Jesus
Christ will hear tho carbines click. When
I see a man with voice and money and in
fluence all on the right side and some car
icature him and some sneer at him and
some denounce him and men who pretend
to bo actuated by right motives conspire
to cripple him, to cast him out, to destroy
him, I say, “Stephen stoned!”
Whon I see a man in some great moral
or religious reform battling against grog
shops, exposing wickedness in high places,
by active means trying to purify the
church and better the world's estate, and
I find that some of the newspapers anathe
matize him and men—even good men—
.oppose him and denounce him because,
though he does good, he does not do it in
their way, I say, "Stephen stoned!” The
world, with infinite spite, took after John
Frederick Oberlin and Paul and Stephen
of the text, but you notice, my friends,
that while they assaulted him they did not
. succeed really in killing him. You may
assault a good man, but you cannot kill
him.
On the day of his death Stephen spoke
before a few people in tho sanhedrin.
Now he addresses all Christendom. Paul
the apostle stood on Mars hill addressing
a handful of philosophers who knew not
so much about science as a modern school
girl. Today ho talks to all the millions of
Christendom about the wonders of justifi
cation and the glories of resurrection.
John Wesley was howled down by the mob
to whom he preached, and they threw
bricks at him, and they denounced him,
and they jostled him, and they spat upon
him, and yet today, in all lands, ho is ad
mitted to bo the great father of Metho
dism. Booth’s bullet vacated the presiden
tial chair, but from that spot of coagulated
blood on the floor in the box of Ford’s
theater there sprang up the new life of a
nation. Stephen stoned, but Stephen
alive!
Stephen’s Dying Prayer.
Pass cn now and see Stephen in his dying
prayer. His first thought was not how
the stonos hurt his head, nor what would
become of his body. His first thought
was about his spirit. “Lord Jesus, re
ceive my spirit!” The murderer standing
on the trapdoor, the black cap being drawn
over his head before the execution, may
grimace about the future, but you and I
have no shame in confessing some anxiety
about where we are going to come out.
You are not all body. There is within
you a soul. I see it gleam from your eyes
and I see it irradiating your countenance.
Sometimes I am abashed before an audi
ence not because I come under their phys
ical eyesight, but because I realize tho
truth that I stand before so many immor
tal spirits. The probability is that your
body will at last find a sepulcher in some
of the cemeteries that surrotmd your town
or city. There is no doubt but that your
obsequies will be decent and respectful,
and you will be able to pillow your head
under the maple, or the Norway spruce,
or the cypress, or tho blossoming fir, but
this spirit about which Stephen prayed—
what direction will that take? What guide
will escort it? What gate will open to re
ceive it? What cloud will be cleft for its
pathway? After it has got beyond the
light of our sun, will there be torches
lighted for it the rest of the way? Will
the soul have to travel through long des
erts before it reaches the good land? It
we should lose our pathway, will there be
a castle at whose gate we may ask the way
to the city? Oh, this mysterious spirit
within us! It has two wings, but it is in
a cage now. It is locked fast to keep it,
but let the door of this cage open tho least,
and that soul is off. Eagle’s wing could
not catch K. Tbe lightnings are not swift
enough to take up with it. When the soul
leaves the body, it takes 50 worlds at a
bound. And have I no anxiety about it?
Have you no anxiety about it?
I do not care what you do with my body
when my soul is gone or whether you be
lieve in cremation or inhumation. I shall
sleep just as well in a wrapping of sack
cloth as in satin lined with eagle’s down.
Yut my soul—before this day passes I will
Bnd out where it will land. Thank God ’
for the intimation of my text, that when
we die Jesus takes us. That answers all
questions for me. What though there were
massive bars between hero and tho city of
light, Jesus could remove them. What
though there were great Saharas of dark
ness, Jesus could illume them. What
though I get weary on the way, Christ
could lift me on his omnipotent shoulder.
What though there were chasms to cross,
his hand could transport me. Then let
Stephen’s prayer be my dying litany,
“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” It may
be in that hour we will be too fepbie to
say a iong prayer It may lie in tint hour
wo will not be able to say the “Lord’s
Prnyer, ” for it has seven petitions. Per
haps we may be too feeble even to say tho
infant prayer our mothers taught us,
which John Quincy Adams, 70 years of
ago, said every night when be put his head
upon his pillow:
Now I lay inc down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
We may bo too feeble to employ either
of these familiar forms, but thia prayer of
Stephen is so short, is so concise, is so
sarnest, is so comprehensive, we surely
will be able to say that, "Lorti Jesus, re
ceive my spirit” Oh, if that prayer is
answered, how sweet it will bo to die!
This world is clever enough to us. Per
haps it has treated us a great deal better
than we deserve to be treated, but if on
the dying pillow there should break tbe
light of that better world we shall have no
more regret about leaving a small, dark,
damp house for one large, beautiful and
capacious. That dying minister in Phila
delphia some years ago beautifully depict
ed it when in the last moment ho threw
up his hands and cried out, “I move into
the light!”
S>tephen Asleep.
Pass on now, and I will show you one
more picture, and that is Stephen asleep.
With a pathos and simplicity peculiar to
the Scriptures the text says of Stephen,
“He fell asleep.” “Oh,” you say, “what
a place that was to sleep! A hard rock
under him, stonos falling down upon
him, tbe blood streaming, the mob howl
ing. What a place it was to sleep!” And
yet my text takes that symbol of slumber
to describe his departure, so sweet was it,
so contented was it, so peaceful was it.
Stephen had lived a very laborious life.
His chief work had been to care for tbe
poor. How many’loaves of bread bo dis
tributed, how many bare feet he had san
daled, how many cots of sickness and dis
tress he blessed with ministries of kind
ness and love I do not know, but from the
way ho lived and the way he preached and
the way he died I know he was a laborious
Christian. But that is all over now. He
has pressed the cup to the last fainting
lip. He has taken the last insult from his
enemies. The last stone to whose crush
ing weight he is susceptible has been hurl
ed. Stephen is dead! Tho disciples coma
They take him up. They wash away the
blood from tho wounds. They straighten
out tho bruised limbs. They brush back
the tangled hair from tbe brow, and then
they pass around to look upon the calm
countenance of him who had lived for the
poor and died for the truth. Stephen
asleep!
I have seen tho sea driven with the hur
ricane until tbe tangled foam caught in
tho rigging, and wave rising above wave
seemed as if about to storm the heavens,
and then I have seen the tempest drop and
the waves crouch and everything become
smooth and burnished as though a camp
ing place for the glories of heaven. So I
• have seen a man whoso life has been toss
ed and driven coming down at last to an
infinite calm, in which there was the hush
of heaven’s lullaby.
Stephen asleep I I saw such a one. He
fought all his days against poverty and
against abuse. They traduced bls name.
They rattled at the doorknob while he was
dying with duns for debts he could not
pay, yet the peace of God brooded over his
pillow, and while the world faded heaven
dawned, and tho deepening twilight of
earth’s night was* only the openihg twi
light of heaVen’s morn. Not neigh; not
a tear; not a struggle. Hush! Stephen
asleep!
I have not the faculty to tell the weather.
I can never tell by the setting sun whether
there will be a drought or not. I cannot
tell by the blowing of the wind whether it
will be fair weather or foul on the mor
row, but 1 can prophesy, and I will proph
esy, what weather it will be when you,
the Christian, come to die. You may
have it very rough now. It may be this
week one annoyance, the next another an
noyance. It may be this y throne bereave
ment, tbe next another bereavement. Be
fore this year has passed you may have to
beg for bread or ask for a scuttle of coal or
a pair of shoes, but at the last Christ will
come in, and darkness will go out, and,
though there may bo no hand to close your
eyes and no breast on which to rest yoiir
dying bead and no candle to lift the night,
the odors of God's hanging garden will
regale your soul, and at your bedside will
halt the chariots of the King. No more
rents to pay, no more agony because flour
has gone up, no more struggle with “the
world, the flesh and tho devil,” but peace
—long, deep, everlasting peace. Stephen
asleep I
Asleep in Jesus! Blessed sleep,
From which none ever wake to weep!
A calm and undisturbed repose,
Uninjured by the last of foes.
Asleep in Jesus! Far from thee
Thy kindred and their graves may be,
But there is still a blessed sleep
From which none ever wake to weep.
You have seen enough for one morning.
No one can successfully examine more
than five pictures in a day. Therefore we
stop, having seen this cluster of divine
Raphaels—Stephen gazing into heaven,
Stephen looking at Christ, Stephen stoned,
Stophen in his dying prayer, Stephen
asleep.
A New Word Coined.
Philadelphia has invented a word that is
not without its merits as a convenient sub
stitute for phrases more or less long and
complicated. In that city, so Tbe North
American reveals, “a person who has been
a jolly good fellow and who has reformed”
is called a "gink.” No light on tbe
word’s etymology is given, and there is
not even a hint as towhat practical utility
it can be to tbe Philadelphians. But the
first of these points is unimportant, and as
to the second any outside criticism would,
of course, be resented by our sensitive
neighbors.
It were best to take for granted, there
fore, the fact that certain residents of tbe
Quaker City, at some period or other iu
their lives, have been jolly good fellows.
Obviously they deserve to be styled
“ginks,” and we hasten to add, as Tbe
North American does, that “the word is
expressive of contempt or admiration, ac
cording to the company you are In.” This
is most interesting, both absolutely and be
cause it throws new light on the inhabit
ants of that little understood community.
The editors and orators of Philadelphia
have hitherto almost ignored the wealth of
ethnological material that lies around
them, but of late they, too, have “reform
ad,” to the great edification of the general
public.—New York Times.
Stone Soles on Shoes.
An inventor has hit upon a method of
putting stone soles on boots and shoes. He
mixes a waterproof glue with a suitable
quantity of clean quartz sand and spreads
it over tho leather sole used as a founda
tion. These quartz soles are said to be
very flexible and practically indestructible
and to give the foot a firm bold even on
tbe most slippery surface.
HUMAN BRAINS.
< • $ •
How Science Views the Difference Between
Men and Wesson.
The,weightier brain would seem also
to indicate, a priori, tho greater intel
lectual power, and thia, too, i» borne
out by undoubted facta Women, it has
often been said, have yet to produce
their Newton, their Dante, their Aris
totle, their Pascal, their Goethe. The
assertion is very feebly met by the con
tent ion that women's education has
been for centuries neglected.
It was not education which enabled
Pascal as a child to see his way through
problems which not one man in 1,000 can
understand after prolonged mental drill
It was not education which gave the
race its great meh poets. “They lisped
in numbers for the numbers came.”
Bnt where are their feminine equals?
Wo will, however, take an art in which
women have enjoyed far more training
than men—the art of music. There are
Some excellent women pianists and vio
linists, bnt where are the female Bachs,
Beethovens, Mozarts and Wagners? Na
ture only can explain tho absence of
great women composers ns of the femi
nine compeers of Titian and Raphael,
the technique of whose art seems pecul
iarly fitted to women.
Nature tells us that she cannot form
tho matrix out of which commanding
intellectual geniuses of the female sex
would proceed. Why this is so we may
partly guess, but cannot wholly know.
We see that nature has divided the
world into sexes for her own purposes,
and that to each sex peculiar functions
are assigned. We see that the physio
logical functions of woman necessitate
a different anatomy from that of man,
aiid we infer that these functions and
this structure preclude, speaking gener
ally, the kind of effort which we call
supreme genius, as also that kind of
effort which we call sustained executive
power. While women are not so far
differentiated from men that theyscan
not enter with pleasure into men's
works, and, often in a great measure,
share in their production, it remains a
fact that it is man’s particular organi
zation which is alone capable either of
the highest manifestations of Menius or
the most sustained exhibition cl energy.
Whether it will always be so we do not
know, for we cannot peer into the fu
ture. It is sufficient that, it not only is
so now, but that it always has been so,
and that science does give us some good
grounds for believing that the fact is
deeply rooted in the very structure of*
sex.—London Spectator.
THE HEALTHY PALATE.
It Does Not Crave Condiments, but the
Food Must Possess Flavor.
While a perfectly sound and healthy
palate does not crave for condiments,
even prefers to do without them, yot
the majority of digestions require to be
humored and kept in order, and their
peculiarities must be studied. Dr. Brun
ton says:
"Savory food causes the digestive
juices to be freely secreted. Well cooked
and palatable food is therefore more di
gestible than the unpalatable. If food
lacks savor, a desire naturally arises to
supply it by condiments, not always
well selected or wholesome. ”
As commerce brought them within
reach of the people condiments, in sim
ple or complicated forms, came greatly
into favor, and foreign spices were add
ed to the wild herbal growths of the
fields and hedgqs. In our early history
the “spicery” was a special department
of the court and had its proper officers.
In the fourteenth century spices were
both costly and rare, most of them com
ing from the Levant. Chaucer mentions
many by name—canella, macys, clowes
(cloves), grains of paradise, nutmegs; ,
caraway and spikenard. The anciejrts,
especially tho Greeks and Romans in
the luxurious period of their history,
used condiments very freely.
An old English historian, referring
to the earlier Roman court, says, "The
best magistrates of Rome allowed but
the ninth day for the city and publick
business, the rest for the country and
the sallet garden. ” From this it would
seem as though the education of taste
was accounted of some consequence in
those day a—Exchange.
“Professor..”
The misuse of the title "professor,”
when it is applied indiscriminately to
musicians in general, finds an amusing
example in the following story, credited
to Bandmaster Sousa and printed iu
The Musical Age .*
Some years ago Sousa was leading a
band at a small country festival The
advent of the band had been awaited
with intense interest by the audience,
and when they arrived the bandsmen
were quickly surrounded by a surging
crowd which hemmed them in so that
it was difficult for them to keep on
playing.
Sousa appealed to one of the commit
tee to keep the crowd away and said
that unless his men had more room they
could not play. The committeeman
shook his hand warmly, and, turning to
the asembled multitude, bawled out:
"Gentlemen, step back and give the
purfesser’spurfessers a chance to play I”
O
Aggravation Below Staira.
Mrs. Greene—Really, I think that
girls in domestic service have a pretty
comfortable time of it
One of Them—But we have our
trials, mum. Just as like as not, when
we have got a bonnet or a gown that is
particularly becoming, first thing we
know our mistress comes out with
something exactly like it —Boston
Transcript
French billiard tables have six legs
instead of four, as in America. There
are no strings for marking; score is
kept by chalking the figures on a slate
set in the side of the table or on a me
chanical reckoner inserted in the Mme
place. _
Nearly £500,000 worth of artificial
flowers are sold in London yearly.
AN OPEN LETTER
To MOTHERS. I
WE ARE ASSERTING IN THE COURTS OUR RIGHT TO THE
EXCLUSIVE USE OF THE WORD "CASTORIA,” AND
“PITCHER’S CASTORIA,” as our trade mark.
Z, DR. SAMUEL PITCHER, qf Hyannis, Massachusetts,
was the originator qf “PITCHER'S CASTORIA," the same
that has borne and does now s/f/s s'"* on
bear the facsimile signature qf wrapper, |||
This is the original - PITCHER’S CASTORIA,’’ which has been
used in the homes of the Mothers of America for over thirty
gears. LOOK CAREFULLY at the wrapper and see that it is
you 00
and has the signature of wrap-
per. No one has authority from me to use my name ex
cept The Centaur Company of which Chas. H. Fletcher is
President. /> „
March 8,1897.
Do Not Be Deceived.
Do not endanger the life of your child by accepting
a cheap substitute which some druggist may offer yo” .
(because he makes a few more pennies on it), the in
gredients of which even he docs not know.
“The Kind You Have Always Bought”
BEARS THE FAC-SIMILE SIGNATURE OF
x J Jr
fJ* J a J
J Jew
Insist on Having
The Kind That Never Failed You.'
vmi (unwa aaaiMMiv. TV waaaav WHMt. aew taaa .mW.
■ ~ 1 -—■ s -
—GET YOUH —
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An attractive POST Bit cl &&y sixe can be Issued on short notice
Our prices lor work oi all kinds will compare favorably with those obtained Ton
any office in the state. When you want job printing of*sny dttciirticn give ns
call Satisfaction guaranteed.
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ALL WORK DONE
With Neatness and Dispatch.
Out of town orders will receive
prompt attention.
J. P. & S H. Sawtell.
lliiL ifkobsT mimo.
Schedule in Effect Jan. 9, 1898.
'fe.’i sraa?.! 5a, 1 . |u u fei/.
IflVtn tMpnhrilOamLr Atlanta „ ...Ar IBR US»a
BltS ills ISS
;SS ■ Itßg
•Daily, texoept Bunday.
' Train for Mewnan and Qsmnton waveeGrtfla at »5S an, and Iyt pw daily exwpt
Sunday. Beturnln<, arrives in Gri«n • M p m and 12 40 p m daily except Bunday. For
further infonnatlon apply to
K, R. HINTON. TraMo Manager, Savannah. Ga.
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