Newspaper Page Text
shedding of blood.
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without it there is no remission,
ACCORDING TO SCRIPTURE. 1|
j-fce Rev. Dr. TalmaKe Preachen M> Xto
,ne »t m 4 Convincing Sormon From •
Well Known Text— Pang For Pong, Blood
gor Blood and Life For Life.
fcopyrf« ht - 1898 > Xt£>n < j rlCan PrMB A “°’
Washington, April 10.—The radical
theory of Chriztianity la set forth by Dr.
Talmage in this discourse, and remarkable
Instances of self sacrifice are brought out
for illustration. The text Is Hebrews lx,
22, “Without shedding of blood is no re
mission.’'
John G. Whittier, the last of the great
school of American poets that made the
last quarter of this century brilliant, asked
me in the White mountains one morning
after prayers, In which I had given out
Cowper’s famous hymn about “the foun
tain filled with blood,” “Do you really
believe there is a literal application of the
blood of Christ to the soul ?’’ My negative
reply then is my negative reply now. The
Bible statement agrees with all physicians
and all physiologists and all scientists in
saying that the blood is the life, and in
the Christian religion it means simply
that Christ’s life was given for our life.
Hence all this talk of men who say the
Bible story of blood is disgusting, and
that they don’t want what they call a
“slaughter house religion,” only shows
their incapacity or unwillingness to look
through the figure of speech toward the
thing signified. The blood that on the
darkest Friday the world ever saw oozed
hr trickled or poured from the brotv, and
the side, and the hands, and the feet of the
Illustrious sufferer back of Jerusalem in
a few hours coagulated and dried up and
forever disappeared, and if man had de
pended on the application of the literal
blood of Christ there would not have been
a soul Saved for the last 18 centuries.
* The Red Word.
In order to understand this red word of
my text we only have to exercise as much
common sense in religion as we do in
everything else. Fang for pang, hunger
for hunger, fatigue for fatigue, tear for
tear, blood for blood, life for life, we see
every day Illustrated. The act of substitu
tion is no novelty, although I hear men
talk as though the idea of Christ’s suffer
ing substituted for our suffering were
something abnormal, something distress
ingly odd, something wildly eccentric, a
solitary episode in the world’s history,
when I could take you out into this city
and before sundown point you to 1500 oases
of substitution and voluntary suffering of
one in behalf of another.
At 9 o’clock tomorrow afternoon go
among the places of. business or toll. It,
will be no difficult thing for you to find
men who by their looks show you that
they are overworked. They are premature
ly old. They are hastening rapidly toward
their decease. They have gone through
crises in business that shattered their
nervous system and pulled on the brain.
They have a shortness of breath and a pain
in the back of the bead and at night an
insomnia that alarms them. Why are they
drudging at business early and late? For
fun? No. {t would be difficult to extract
any amusement out of that exhaustion.
Because they are avaricious? In many
eases no. Because their own personal ex
penses are lavish f No. A few hundred dol
lars would meet all their wants. The sim
ple fact is the man is enduring all that fa
tigue and exasperation and wear and tear
to keep his home prosperous. There is an
invisible line reaching from that store,
from that bank, from that shop, from that
scaffolding, to a quiet scene a few blocks,
a few miles away, and there is the secret
of that business endurance. He is simply
the champion of a homestead, for which
he wins bread and wardrobe and education
and prosperity, and in such battle 10,000
mon fall. Os ten business men whom I
bury nine die of overwork sor z others.
Some sudden disease finds them with no
power of resistance, and they are gone.
Life for life! Blood for blood! Substitu
tion!
A Dim Light In the House.
At 1 o’clock tomorrow morning, the hour
when slumber is most uninterrupted and
profound, walk amid the dwelling houses
of the city. Here and there yon will find
a dim light, because it is the household
custom to keep a subdued light burning,
but most of the houses from base to top are
as dark as though uninhabited. A merci
ful God has sent forth the archangel of
sleep, and he puts his wings over the city.
But yonder is a clear light burning, and
outside on a window casement a glass or
pitcher containing food for a sick child.
The food is set in the fresh air. This is
the sixth night that mother has sat up
with that sufferer. She has to the last
point obeyed the physician’s prescription,
not giving a drop too much or too little or
a moment too soon or too late. She is
very anxious, for she has buried three
children with the same disease, and she
prays and weeps, each prayer and sob end
ing with a kiss of the pale cheek. By dint
of kindness she gets the little one through
the ordeal. After it is all over the mother
is taken down. Brain or nervous fever
sets in, and one day she leaves the conval
escent child with a mother's blessing and
goes up to join the three departed ones in
the kingdom of heaven. Life for life!
Substitution I The fact is that there are
an uncounted number of mothers who aft
er they have navigated a large family of
children through all the diseases of Infancy
and got them fairly started up the flower
ing slope of boyhood and girlhood have
only strength enough left to die. They
fade away. Some call it consumption,
some call it nervous prostration, some call
it intermittent or malarial indisposition,
but I call it martyrdom of the domestic
circle. Life for life! Blood for blood! Sub
stitution!
Or perhaps a mother lingers long enough
to see a son get on the wrong road, and
his former kindness becomes rough reply
when she expresses anxiety about him.
But she goes right on, looking carefully
after his apparel, remembering his every
birthday with some memento, and when
he is brought home worn outwlth dissipa
tion nurses him till he gets well and starts
him again and hopesand expects and prays
and counsels and suffers until her strength
gives out and she fails. She is going, and
attendants, bending over her pillow, ask
her if she has any message to leave, and
she makes great effort to say something,
but out of three or four minutes of indis
tinct utterance they can catch but three
words, “My poor boy I” The simple fact
Is she died for him. Life for Ilse I Substi
tution!
Blood For Blood.
About 88 years ago there went forth
from epi northern and southern homes
hundreds of thousands of men to do bat
tle. AU the poetry of war isoon vanished and
left them nothing but the terrible prose.
Thev waded knee deep in mud. They slept
ID show banka. They marched till their
cut feet tracked the earth. They were
swindled out of their honest rations and
lived on meat not fit for a dog. They had
jaws fractured and eyes extinguished and
limbs shot away. Thousands of them cried
I for water as they layon the field the night
after the battle and got it not. They were
homesick and received no message from
their loved ones They died in barns, in
bushes, in ditches, the buzzards of the
summer heat the only attendants on their
obsequies. No one but the infinite God,
who knows everything, knows the ten'
thousandth part of the length and breadth
and depth and height of anguish of the
northern and southern battlefields. Why
did these fathers leave their children and
go to the front, and why did these young
men, postponing the marriage day, start
out into the probabilities of never coming
back? For a principle they died. Life for
life! Blood for blood I Substitution!
But we need not go so far. What is that
monument in the oenieteryf it is to the
doctors who fell in the southern epidemics.
Why go? Were there not enough sick to be
attended in these northern latitudes? Ob,
yes; but the doctor puts a few medical
books In his valise, and some vials of med
icine, and leaves his patients here in the
hands of other physicians and takes the
rail train. Before he gets to the infected
regions be passes crowded rail trains, reg
ular and extra, taking the flying and af
frighted populations. He arrives in a city
over which a great honor is brooding. He
goes from couch to couch, feeling the
pulse and studying symptoms and pre
scribing day after day, night after night,
juntil a fellow physician says: “Doctor,
you had better go home and rest You
look miserable. ” But he cannot rest while
so many are suffering. On and on, until
some morning finds him in a delirium, in
which he talks of home and then rises
and says be must go and look after those
patients. He is told to lie down, but he
fights his attendants until he falls back
and is weaker and weaker and dies for
people with whom he bad no ynship and
far away from his own, family and is has
tily, put away in a stranger’s tomb, and
only the fifth part of a newspaperline tells
us of bis sacrifice—bis name just men
tioned among flvo. Yet he baa touched the
farthest height of sublimity in that three
weeks of humanitarian service. He goes
straight as an arrow to the bosom of him
whosaid, “I was sick, and yevisited me.”
Life for life! Blood for blood I Substitu
tion)
A Story of Seward.
In the legal profession I see the same
principle of self sacrifice. In 184 C William
Freeman, a pauperized and idiotic negro,
was at. Auburn, N. Y„ on trial for mur
der. He. bad slain the entire Van Nest
family. The foaming wrath of the com
munity could be kept off him only by
armed constables. Who would Volunteer
to be his counsel? No attorney wanted to
sacrifice his popularity by such an un
grateful task. All were silent save one, a
young lawyer with feeble voice, that could
hardly be heard outside the bar, pale and
thin and awkward. It was William H.
Seward,, who saw that the prisoner was
idiotic and irresponsible and ought to be
put in an asylum rather than put to death,
the heroic counsel uttering these beautiful
words:
“I speak now in the hearing of a people
who have prejudged prisoner and con
demned me for pleading in bis behalf. He
is a convict, a pauper, a negro, without
intellect, sense or emotion. My child with
an affectionate smile disarms my careworn
face of its frown whenever I cross my
threshold. The beggar in the street obliges
me to give because he says, ’God bless
you !* as I pass. My dog caresses me with
fondness if I will but smile on him. My
horse recognizes me when I fill his manger.
What reward, what gratitude, what sym
pathy and affection can I expect here?
There the prisoner sits. Look at him.
Look at the assemblage around you. Lis
ten to their ill suppressed censures and ex
cited fears, and tell me where among my
neighbors or my fellow men, where even
in his heart I can expect to find a senti
ment, a thought, not to say of reward or
of acknowledgment, or even of recogni
tion. Gentlemen, you may think of this
evidence what you please, bring in what
verdict you oan, but I asseverate before
heaven and you that, to the best of my
knowledge and belief, the prisoner at the
bar does not at this moment know why it
is that my shadow falls on you instead of
his own.”
Buskin.
, The gi llows got its victim, but the post
mortem examinatfon of the poor creature
showed to all the surgeons and to all the
World that the public were wrong and
William H. Seward was right ana that
hard, stony step of obloquy in the Auburn
courtroom was the first step of the stairs
of fame up which he went to the top, or to
within one step of the top, that last denied
him through the treachery of American
politics. Nothing sublimer was ever seen
in an American courtroom than William
H. Seward, without reward, standing be
tween the furious populace and the loath
some imbecile. Substitution I
In the realm of the fine arts there was
as remarkable an instance. A brilliant
but hypercrltioised painter, Joseph William
Turner, was met by a volley of abuse from
all the art galleries of Europe. His paint
ings, which have since won the applause
of all civilized nations, “The Fifth Plague
of Egypt,” “Fishermen on a Lee Shore In
Squally Weather,” “Calais Pier,” “The
Sun Rising Through Mist” and “Dido
Building Carthage,” were then targets for
critics to shoot at. Ip defense of this out
rageously abused man a young author of
34 years, just one year out of college, came
forth with his pen and wrote the ablest
and most famous essay on art that the
world ever saw or ever will see—John
Ruskin’s “Modern Painters.’* For 17
years this author fought the battles of the
maltreated artist, and after in poverty
and broken heartedness the painter bad
died and the public tried to undo their
cruelties toward him by giving him a big
funeral and burial in St. Paul’s cathedral
his old time friend took out of a tin box
19,000 pieces of paper containing drawings
by the old painter and through many
weary and uncompensated months assort
ed and arranged them for public observa
tion. People say John Ruskin in his old
days is cross, misanthropic and morbid.
Whatever he may do that he ought not to
do and whatever be may say that he ought
not to say between now and his death he
will leave this world insolvent as*far as it
has any capacity to pay this author’s pen
for its chivalric and Christian defense of a
poor painter’s pencil. John Buskin for
William Turner! Blood for blood! Substi
tution!
An Exaltinr Principle.
What an exalting principle this which
leads one to suffer for another! Nothing
so kindles enthusiasm or awakens elo
quence, or chimes poetic canto, or moves
nations. The principle is the dominant
one in our religion—Chrito the martyr,
Christ the celestial hero, Christ the de
fender, Christ the substitute. No new
principle, for it was old as human nature,
but now on a grander, wider, higher.
1 deeper and more world resounding scale.
The shepherd boy as a champion for Israel
with a sling toppled the giant of Philis
tine braggadocio in the dust, but bore is
another David who, for all the armies of
churches militant and triumphant, hurls
1 the Goliath of perdition into defeat, the
crash of bls brazen annor like an explosion
at Hell Gate. Abraham had at God’s oom
' mand agreed to sacrifice his son Isaac, and
the same God just in time had provided a
. ram of the thicket as a substitute, but
there is another Isaac bound to the altar,
and no hand arrests the sharp edges of
laceration and death, and the universe
shivers and quakes and recoils and groans
at the horror.
All good men have for centuries been
trying to tell whom this substitute was
like, and every comparison, inspired and
uninspired, evangelistic, prophetic, apos
tolic and human, falls short, for Christ
was the Great Unlike. Adam a type of
Christ, because he came directly from God;
Noah a type of Christ, because he delivered
hie own family from deluge; Melchisedec
a type of Christ, because he had no prede
cessor or successor; Joseph a type of Christ,
because he was cast out by bis brethren;
Moses a type of Christ, because he was a
deliverer from bondage; Joshua a type of
Christ, because he was a conqueror; Bam
soh a type of Christ, because of his strength
to slay the lions and carry off the iron
gates of impossibility; Solomon a type of
Christ in the affluence of his dominion;
Jonah a type of Christ, because of the
stormy sea in which he threw himself for
the rescue of others, but put together
Adam-4nd Nosh and Melchisedec and Jo
seph and Moses and Joshua and Samson
and Solomon and Jonah, and they would
not make a fragment of a Christ, a quar
ter of a Christ, the half of a Christ or the
millionth part of a Christ.
From the Top of Glory.
He forsook a throne and sat down on his
own footstool. He came from the top of
glory to the bottom of humiliation and
changed a circumference seraphic for a
circumference diabolic. Once waited on by
angels, now hissed at by brigands. From
afar and high up he came down, past me
teors, swifter than they; by starry thrones,
himself more lustrous, past larger worlds
to smaller worlds, down stairs of firma
ments and from cloud to cloud and through
treetops and into the camel’s stall, to
thrust his shoulder under our burdens and
take the lances of pain through his vitals,
and wrapped himself in all the agonies
which we deserve for our misdoings and
stood on the splitting decks of a founder
ing vessel amid the drenching surf of the
sea and passed midnights on the moun
tains amid wild beasts of prey and stood
at the point where all earthly and infernal
hostilities charged on him at once with
their keen sabers—our substitute!
When did attorney ever endure so much
for a pauper client or physician for the pa
tient in the lazaretto or mother for the
child In membranous croup as Christ for
us and Christ for you and Christ for me?
Shall any man or woman or child in this
audience who has ever suffered for another
find it hard to understand this Christly
suffering for us? Shall those whose sym
pathies have been wrung in behalf of the
unfortunate have no appreciation of that
one moment which was lifted out of all
the ages of eternity as most conspicuous,
when Christ gathered up all the sins of
those to be redeemed under his one arm
and all their sorrows under h’s other arm
and said: “I will atone so» these under
my right arm and will heal all those under
my left arm. Strike me with all thy glit
tering shafts, oh, eternal justice! Roll
over me with all thy surges, ye oceans of
sorrow.” And the thunderbolts struck
him from above, and the seas of trouble
rolled up from beneath, hurricane after
hurricane and cyclone after cyclone, and
then and there in presence of heaven and
earth and hell, yqp, all worlds witnessing,
the price, the bitter price, the transcendent
price, the awful price, the glorious price,
the infinite price, the eternal price, was
paid that sets us free.
The Religion of Blood.
That is what Paul means, that is what
I mean, that is what all those who have
ever bad their heart changed mean by
“blood." I glory in this religion of blood I
I am thrilled as I see the suggestive color
in sacramental cup, whether it be of bur
nished silver set on cloth immaculately
white or rough hewn from wood set on
table in log but meeting house of the wil
derness. Now lam thrilled as I see the
altars of ancient sacrifice crimson with
the blood of the slain lamb, and Leviticus
is to me not so much the Old Testament
as the New. Now I see why the destroy
ing angel passing over Egypt in the night
spared all those houses that had blood
sprinkled on their doorposts. Now I
know what Isaiah means When he speaks
of “one in red apparel coming with dyed
garments from Bozrah,” and whom the
Apocalypse means when it describee a
heavenly chieftain whose “vesture was
dipped in blood,” and what' John the
apostle means when he speaks of the
“precious blood that cleanseth from all
sin,” and what the old, wornout, decrepit
missionary Paul means when, in my text,
he cries, “Without shedding of blood is no
remission. ” By that blood you and I will
be saved —or never saved at all. In all the
ages of the world God has not once par
doned a single sin except through the Sav
iour’s expiation, and he never will. Glory
be to God that the hill back of Jerusalem
was the battlefield on which Christ achiev
ed our liberty!
It was a most exciting day I spent on
the battlefield of Waterloo. Starting out
with the morning train from Brussels,
Belgium, we arrived in about an hour on
that famous spot. A son of one who was
in the battle, and who had heard from his
father a thousand times the whole scene
recited, accompanied us over the field.
There stood the old Hougomont chateau,
the walls dented and scratched and broken
and shattered by grapeshot and cannon
ball. There is the well in which 800 dying
and dead were pitched. There is the chapel
with the head of the infant Christ shot off.
There are the gates at which for many
hours English and French armies wrestled.
Yonder were the 160 guns of the English
and the 360 guns of the French. Tender
the Hanoverian hussars fled for the Woods.
The Fete of Centuries.
Yonder was the ravine of Ohaln, where
the French cavalry, not knowing there
was a hollow in the ground, relied over
and down, troop after troop, tumbling
into one awful mass of suffering, hoof of
kicking hones against brow and breast of
captains and colonels and private soldiers,
the human and the beastly groan kept up
Until the day after all was shoveled under
because of the malodor arising in that het
month of June.
“There,” said our guide, “the highland
regiments lay down on their faces waiting
for the moment to spring upon the foe. In
that orchard 3,500 men were cut to pieces.
Here stood Wellington with white lips,
and up that knoll rode Marshal Ney on
his sixth horse, five having been shot un
der him. Here the ranks of the French
broke, and Marshal Ney, with his boot
slashed of a sword, and his hat off and hit
face covered with powder and blood, tried
to rally his troops as he cried,’Crane and
see how a marshal of French dies on the
battlefield. ’ From yonder direction Grou
chy was expected for the French re-enforoe
ment, but Be came not. Around those
woods Blucher was looked for to re-en
force the English, and just in time be
came up. Yonder is the field where Napo
leon stood, his arms through the reins of
the horse’s bridle, dazed and Insane, try
ing to go back.” Scene of a battle that
went on from 96 minutes to 13 o’clock on
the 18th of June until 4 o’clock, when the
English seemed defeated, and their oom
manaer cried outr “ Boys, you can’t think
of giving way? Remember old England!”
And the tides turned, and at 8 o'clock in
the evening the man of destiny, who was
called by his troops Old Two Hundred
Thousand, turned away with broken
heart, and the fate of centuries was decid
ed.
The Uea aad.the Lamb.
No wonder a great mound has been
reared there, hundreds of feet high—a
mound at the expense of millions of dol
lars and many years in rising, and on the
top is the great Belgian Hon of bronze,
and a grand old Hon it is. But our great
Waterloo was in Palestine. There came a
day when allnell rode up, led by Apollyon,
and the captain of our salvation confront
ed them alone. The rider on the white
horse of the Apocalypse going out against
the black horse cavalry of death, and the
battalions of the demoniac and the myr
midons of darkness. From 19 o’clock at
noon to 8 o’clock in the afternoon the
greatest battle of the universe went on.
Eternal destinies were being decided. All
the arrows of bell pierced our Chieftain,
and the battleaxes struck him, until brow
and cheek and shoulder and hand arid foot
were incarnadined with oozing life, but he
fought on until he gave a final stroke with
sword from Jehovah’s buckler, and the
commander in chief of bell and all bls
forces fell back in everlasting ruin, and
the victory is ours. And on the mound
that celebrates the triumph we plant this
day two figures, not in bronze or iron or
sculptured marble, but two figures of liv
ing light, the Lion of Judah’s tribe and
the Lamb that was slain.
Don't Tobacco Spit and Smoke Year Lift Away. •
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Sterling Remedy Co.. Chicago or New York.
ANNOUNCEMENTS.
For County Surveyor,
I hereby announce myself a candidate
lor County Surveyor, of Spalding county,
subject to the democratic primary of June
23rd. A. B. KELL.
For County Commissioner,
Editor Call : Please announce that I
am a candidate for re-election for County
Commissioner, subject to the action of the
democratic primary, and will be glad to
have the support oi all the voters.
J. A. J. TIDWELL.
At the solicitation of many voters I
hereby announce myself a candidate for
County Commissioner, subject to the dem
ocratic primary. If elected, I pledge my
self to an honest, business-like administra
tion of county affairs in the direction of
lower taxes. R. F. STRICKLAND.
1 hereby announce myself a candidate
for County Commissioner, subject to the
democratic primary to be held June 23,
next. If elected, I pledge myself to eco
nomical and business methods in conduct
ing the afftirs oi the county.
W. J. FUTRAL.
I hereby announce myself a candidate
for County Commissioner of Spalding
county, subject to the Democratic primary
of June 23d, W. W. CHAMPION.
To the Voters of Spalding County: I
hereby announce myself a candidate for
re-election to the officeofCountyCommis
sioner of Spalding county, subject to the
democratic primary to be held on Jnne 23,
1898. My record in the past is my pledge
for future faithfulness.
' D. L. PATRICK.
For Representative-
To the Voters of Spalding County: I
am a candidate for Representative to the
legislature, subject to the primary ot the
democratic party, and will appreciate your
support. • J. P. HAMMOND.
Editor Call: Please announce my
name as a candidate for Representative
from Spalding county, subject to the action
ot the democratic party. I shall be pleased
to receive the support of all the
if elected will endeavor to represent the
interests of the whole county.
J. B. Bkll;
For Tax Collector.
I respectfully announce to the citizens
of Spalding county that I am a candidate
for re-election to the office of Tax Collec
tor of this county, subject to the choice of
the democratic primary, and shall be
grateful for all votes given me.
T. R. NUTT.
a For County Treasurer.
To the Voters of Spalding County: I
announce myself a candidate for re-elec
tion for the office of County Treasurer,
subject to democratic primary, and if elect
ed promise to be as faithful in the per
formance of my duties in the future as I
have been in the past.
J. C. BROOKS.
For Tax Btosiver.
I respectfully announce myself as a can
didate for re-election to the office of Tax
Receiver of Spalding county .subject to the
action of primary, if one is held.
8. M. M’COWELL.
For Sheriff.
I respectfully inform my friends—the
people of Spalding county—that I am a
candidate for the office of Sheriff, subject
to the verdict of a primary, if one is held
Your support will be thankfully received
and duly appieciated.
MJ. PATRICK.
I am a candidate for the democratic
nomination for Sheriff, and earnestly ask
the support of all my friends and the pub
lic. If nominated and elected, it shall be
my endeavor to fulfill the duties of the of
fice as faithfully as in the past
M. F. MORRIS,
> -
AN OPEN LETTER
To MOTHERS.
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, 0/ Hyannis, Massachusetts,
908 the originator of “PITCHER’S CASTORIA,” the same
that has borne and does now on
bear the facsimile signature of wrapper.
This is the original * PITCHER’S CASTORIA,” which has been
used in the homes of the Mothers of America for over thirty
yean. LOOK CAREFULLY at the wrapper M see that it is
the kind you have always bought 0/1
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 y<>”
(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 CF
Insist on Having -
The Kind That Never Failed You.
<MS •«HT«un W mukrat •rScrr. ««w tMI ->tt
* •
—GET YOUH —
JOB PRINTING
v DONE A.T
The Morning Call Office
We have just supplied our Job Office with a onjHti hr< o i ’
kinds and can get up, on short notice, anything wanted in the way <m
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> MORTGAGES,
Ai JASDB,
DODGERS, ETC., K
We my toe brat iue of FMVEL n FES va : thistrada.
A. FOBTia a m. M te taut«
Our prices for work oi all kinds will compare fevorably with those obtained n
any office in the state. When you want job printing of* any descripticn
call Satisfaction guaranteed.
ALL WORK DONE
*With Neatness and Dispatch.
I
Out of town orders will receiv
■ '
prompt attention *
J. P. & S B. SawtelL