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4 TH Y IT. Could I write, with ink unfading, One brief code for youths and men; Could I show its all-pervading Power in progress, I would pen,— Try it. Magic words these, born in heaven; Down by thoughtful angels hurled; Blighted, mau to doom is driven; Heeded, they give man the w< "Id- Try it. Luck is judgment wed to Labor; Pluck, the haudmaid of Success; Toil to Truth should be a neighbor; Honor brings her own redress;— Try it. Starry orbs yet call the student; Earth’s past age is still unread; Nations seek the wise, the prudent; Th tongs and armies must be led;— Try it. How did Watt to steain give motion? Locke, trace purposes of mind? How Columbus cross the ocean? How did Luther change mankind?— They tried it. Bow Did Homer write his epic? How did Scott compose his lays? f low did Mendelssohn, his music? How did Shakespeare write his plays?— They tried it. Thus it was, will be forever: If “To be” man has in view, Man must live with firm endeavor Well to think, then plan, then do; — 'try it. —T. C. Judkins, in the Current. BY THE WAVES. “And why we named her Muriel, is a mystery to me,” said good Mrs. Doyle, folding up her mending. “Mary Jane or Hannah Maria would have been jest as good and a sight more suitable; but I read novels when I was young, and I see that name somewhere, and it kinder £ leased me—so I must go and call her [Uriel,” And, indeed, Muriel Doyle was little like her sweet, ethereal name. A strong, lithe, healthy fisherman’s daughter, with brown eyes, brown hair, brown cheeks, brown hands; hands that could wield an oar or trim a sail as well as her father’s own. A veritable child of nature, wild and free as the place she loved so well; and yet, not ignorant and uncultured. Muriel Doyle was well versed in the lore of books, and nature had given to her the ease and grace of dignity that others get by culture. “My sea bird!” her father called her; and the name was like the wild, glad young thing. When they could not find her nb mt the house, they always sought her by the st% and they always found her, strolling idly down the beach, sitting among the rocks, and watching the waves with dreamy eyes, chasing the surges like u child. She was a child in guile less innocence and freedom from art; but in maturity of brain and heart she was a woman at seventeen. Half a mile from the cottage of the Doyles, a grand new hotel was being built; another season would see their quiet home turned into a seaside resort, and Muriel was not pleased at the thought of the coming chungAany wild rocks and lonely bench as they Werm... and she did not want tqSye th. to fashionable promeniwfes. .ftuklfcrialX , tthWi refaction could hot cha/w*' the as pect of affairs; she kiihw that the sash tonables were surely cofflfffgr* She was thinking, rather sorrowfully, and perhaps n little unamiably of that, as she wandered down the sands one day, thinking how she was soon to be from her favorite haunts, and a bright tin mo came into her eyes and cheuks, and she stamped her foot upon the sand and exclaimed aloud: “They shall not drive me away! I will not erile myself from the seu because they come!” And then she stopped smi th nly and caught her breath; for turn ing around a point of jagged rocks, Mu riel was Upou the vanguard of the in vaders. Two young men—one of them a com monplace, hlmdsomish young fellow—sat upon a stone, and held a portfolio upon his knee—a sketeher. The other stood leaning against a rock beside him, and lookiiuj dftwn indifferently upon the half-finish cd sketch on his companion's knee A tall, grave man. of twenty eeven, perhaps, with a magnificent head, Wrom which he had removed Jus hat; dark, half-curling short hair; eyes blue, „ v and-Virk and splendid; a fare that was in beauty, and a commanding, etatdy figure, half covered by a loose cloak flung over one shoulder; a very man, but grave to sadness; a M man who had suffe red, and not lightly. Muriel hesitated for a moment whether * .to gv back or to pass them; then a proud * hnpuUe Inkle her to go on. Both looked her light step Crossed the sands, and both bowed when she slightly wlancod at them. They were gentlemen. She inclined her head a little aa she The next moment she heard the young er of the t wo whisper “What a striking face! Wonder if •hr would let me sketch her!” “Hush! She will hear you," warned the other; and Muriel, turning, saw the half contemptuous curl of his lip. “1 have heard,” she said, quietly, com ing back. “You may sketch my face, if you choose.” “Maylt A thousand thanks.” “None at all, if you please,” returned Murid, composedly seating herself, and drawing her shawl about her. “lam curious to see a picture of in v self. Shall I take off my halt” It you will bo so g»x»d,” and Muriel lifted the broad hat from her sunny brown etuis, and quietly proceeded to sit for her protrait Ihe young man sketched busily away, making no effort to conceal his admira of Uis “subject;” an admiration to which Muriel was quite indifferent Meanwhile Ute second gentleman, who had not spoken stood silentlv studring the fact that Mb companion sketched. h was well worth studying; no ordi nary sane, though not wonderfully beau tihil. Th< bmwn eyes and graceful features, and wailing, red lips were pretty and attractive, but there was a certain power and attrsrtiun in Muriel*# face Which it did irot owe to its prettinesa, which would have beau Ihsra 0.111, had rise grown phis. It was an expression not easily trans ferred to paper, and the tall gentleman looked somewhat contemptuously upon the finished sketch, when it was handed to him for judgment; then he remarked: “The lady is a better judge,” and passed it to Muriel. She glanced at, shook her head and smiled, and returned it to the sketchcr. He color, d a little, as he asked: “Well, do you like it ? is it good?” “Tl a ill do; but I could mike a bet ter,” said Muriel briefly. “Do you sketch?” he asked, wonder ingly; and he did not think she saw or understood his glance at her dress, and from that to the cottage, which he guessed was her home. But she did',- a..d smiled slightly, as she answered: , “Sometimes.” “Will you —” he hesitated, then of fered her his portfolio, “will you show me a specimen?” “Y’our face?” queried Muriel, as she quietly received the materials. He assented, and bending over the paper, she shortly returned to him an outline sketch of his face; not a finished sketch at all, but so like that it was wonderful. He looked from the picture to her, then laughed and said: “Upon my word, I shall take care how I display iny amateur attempts again,lest I flourish them in the fsce of a genius!” Muriel smiled carelessly, and rising from her rocky se it, was about to go, when the silent gentleman spoke: “Pardon me, would you sketch me?” For answer, Muriel resumed her seat and took up her p ncil again. Now and then, as she worked, she glanced at the grave stranger, and her own face seemed to catch the shadow* from it, growing almost as grave as his. She gave more finish and completeness to this picture than she had bestowed upon the first. As she was about to hand it to the “original,” a sudden impulse caused her to withhold it, an arch smile took the place of her gravity, and bending low her head, till the curls fell over and con cealed her work, she added a few strokes about the mouth and on the brow; then, with a laugh dancing in her eyes, she placed it in his hand. It was his face, as real, as vivid almost as its reflection in a glass; but his face transfigured. The cloud of sadness was replaced by a smile: such a warm, trank, glowing smile as gladdens the heart to see it; “the real sunshine of feeling.” At first he looked at it in a puzzled way, as if wondering what she had done to his face, until his companion, looking over his shoulder, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and then burst out: “Owen, I b -lieve she has second sigV She has drawn you as you looked six years ago, in the college days. Old fel low, if you knew how smiles become you, you would not be so charry of them.” “Owen’s dark-blue eyes brightened for a moment with something akin to the smile that glorified them in the picture; then he sighed and his face grew sad again. “You are a strange girl,” he said, look ing curiously at Muriel. “Do you know what I would give to feel again as you have made me look?” “You are rich, I suppose,” answered Muriel, simply: “and you would give your whole fortune—at least, I would, in your place.” swept across lie cried, passion- back and addressing Muri- ; her tui th * picture: and then, as|ieh«i was turning rtvWFfre fresr tatingly asSed her name. ■‘Muriel Doyle,” she quietly repltod* “And mine is Egbert Owen,” he s«t!d. “Will you remember my name and me?” Sht- bowed, smiled, and walked lightly away, never glancing back, though she knew they watched her till the rocks hid her from their sight. “What a handsome man he was,” she soliloquized, walking up the beach toward her home. “But how sail and grave, and how sorrowfully he spoke. I wonder what his trouble, is perhaps he is in love and she won’t have nim. She must he a perfect idiot!” Muriel did rememlier Egbert Owen. That was her first adventure, and he was its hero (for she scarcely thought of the others); but she never thought to meet him again. The winter passed away and the sum mer came again, and witn it came the crowd of visitors to the new hotel. Muriel’s quiet haunts were made to ring with gayety, and since their seclusion was gone their ehiefest charm was lost for her. Yet still she sometimes sought them, at times when she was not likely to meet the fashionables. On one of these occasions she was sitting among the rocks when two women eaiue and sat down, nearer her, but out of sight, and talked. Muriel scarcely heard them, until one mentioned a familiar name; then she listened intently. “Yes,” one of them had remarked. * she was married yesterday so the banker from Chicago. “I expected it long ago.” sagely ob served lady number two. “By the way, did you ever hear of the affairs between her and Egbert Owen?” “No, indeed; what about it?” “She was engaged to him,” said the other. ‘ ‘lt was some years ago, before he went to California. He just about wor shiped her. they say, and she pretended to be very devoted to him; it is likely she wanted his money. Well, one day, she got hold of that trumped-up story about insanity in his family, and she broke off the engagement all in a flash. “The poor fellow was half crazy, but she would not listen to que word from him. She treated him shamefully,called him an imposter, and accused him of de ceiving her, and sent him away, half maddened. My cousin, Dr. Thorne, says if there bad been a particle of in sanity in his veins, it would have shown iteelf then. But that is all a story. The only instance of insanity in the family was a sort of cousin by marriage; but that was enough to make a rumor, of course.” “An that explains Egbert Owen’s mel ancnoly ways, I suppose?” queried the other. “Yes; he has never been the same man since. He went off to California, and only came back last year. He is so changed, poor fellow. Was that the lunch bell? Dear me! we shall be late!” and the two hastened up to the hotel. And Muriel went home, and thought more than ever of Egbert Owen. The summer and the early autumn waned, and the guests, one" •by one. went home from the great hotel by the sea, till only two or three were left; and Muriel took to walking on the sands and chasing the surges again. She -was standing on the beach, one glor ious autumn day, watching the sea-gulls at their play, when a step came to her side. “Muriel Doyle!” She turned quickly, knowing the voice. It was Egbert Owen. A smile, that she was quick to see, came into his face, and he said, gently: “You have remembered me, then?” “I have remembered you, Mr. Owen.” “Am I changed?” he asked. “Yes,” she replied slowly, looking into his face, and smiling into eyes that would smile back now. “Yes, you are happier.” t “I am happier, Muriel Doyle,” he re sponded. Then he talked a little, of the sea-view and the birds, and went away. But he came again the next day, and the next, and Muriel learned that he was staying up at the lonely hotel. Every day, now,he came to meet her on the shore and she walked with him up and down the long, even stretch of sand; and the hour when they met came to be brightest of the long, bright twenty-four to Muriel. She loved Egbert Owen; she did not seek to believe otherwise. “Muriel,” he said to her one day, when they sat together by the sea; “Muriel, I am going away next week.” ‘ ‘Going away I” Her cheeks grew pale, and her hand grasped tightly the bit of stick she was twirling. “Yes; will you go with me, Muriel ?” The color came back to her cheek, and she looked into his eyes with a shy, soft light in the brown depths of her own, but she did not speak. “Listen, Muriel, while I tell you my story,” he said. And he held her little brown hand in his while he told her the story that she had heard before. The story of his un happy love for a woman who had been so false to him, and made his life so sad. “She is married now, ”he added. “I presume she will be happy with her hus band ; I hope she will. I have ceased to care for her. ” Muriel did not tell him then that she had heard the story before. “Yes,” answered Muriel. Mrs. Doyle, who will not go to live in the city, but likes to visit her daughter there, insists that the reason she knows Muriel’s husband is a little conceited about his handsome face, is because the only picture in his own room is a pencil sketch of himself. • “And the frame cost S3OO, if you’ll believe me!” she told Mr. Doyle. Davy Crockett in Congress. Davy Crockett was the roughest dia mond that ever sparkled in the House of Representatives. Reared in the cabin of his father, a revolutionary soldier, who was a pioneer settler in Tennessee, he be came noted as a marksman, a bear : hunter and an Indian fighter. In due time he was sent to the legislature, and in 1827 he”came to Congress. Wearing a home-pun suit, witlv a, madg, from the skin of a parser he had ine attention, and ; the absurd were UM4 ujf his Hetvi negoadst&rierf, but i' -parr <>t t&.ranx ecM» ■ ever, wt ,( aine arrayed against' ( » on an Indian bill, and xviien the President sent a friend to him to tell him that he must support the bill if he desire ? re election he replied, “I believe the measure is unjust and wicked, and I shall tight it, let the consequences be what they may. I am willing to go with General Jackson in everything I be lieve right and honest, but beyond this I wont go for any man in creation. I would sooner be honest and politically blanked than hypocritically immortal ized.” The Whigs took him up, and he visited Philadelphia, New York and Bos ton, receiving marked attention and many presents in each city. When he re turned to Tennessee and went into the canvass he found that President Jackson was too much for him, and he was beaten by about 300 votes. He went to Texas, where he fought gallantly, and was killed when the Alamo was taken and its garrison was slaughtered. His son. John W., served as a whig in Congress from 1837 to 1841. He then removed to New Orleans, where he edited a paper for a while, and then returned to Ten nessee, where he died in 1852. Several lives of Crockett were published, written by others. Os the many sayings credited to him the most popular one was, “Be sure you’re right; then go ahead.”—Bon ton Budget. Origin of Social Games. The city of Salem. Mass., is celebrated for her witches, and their persecutors, and her East Indian commerce in the past; and for the Indian museum and “oldest church” at the pn sent day, and to these we may arid the honor of pub lishing the first modern social games that achieved any considerable popularity in this country. In 1843 Miss Annie W. Abbott, of Beverly, a clergyman's daughter, offered for publication to Mr. 8. B. Ives, of Salem, a new game of cards which she called “Dr. Busby.” Although the price asked was very low, there was no recognized demand for such merchan dise and the manuscript was declined, hut later Mr. Ives decided to undertake its publication, which proved an immense and unexpected success. This game will l>e remembered by many of the parents of the present day as among the earliest ever learned and posaUriy played at first on the sly, fearful of a reprimand should the report reach headquarters that they were “playing cards."— Good Houeekeep ts>9 - - - A Fortune for a Patent. The JfecAmuW /t. says that Ben jtunin Lauth, Sr., the inventor of the process of making nail plate out of old steel rails, has sold the right of his pat ent to five Eastern firms. Mr. L&uth claims that by his process at least $lO per ton can be saved on the manufactured prod uct, as compared with the present meth ods of proauction. Mr. Lauth will re ceive $l5O per day for one year and S3OO per day for the remaining sixteen years of the life of the patent. A CATTLE RANCH. LIFE OF THE COWBOYS WHO GUARD THE HERDS. The Process of Rounding Vp the Cattle —A Night Stampede . of Cattle During a Blizzard. Theodore Roosevelt, who has a cattle ranch near Medora, on the Northern Pa cific railroad says: “The cowboy is not sympathetic, I am sorry to say. If a man cannot ride a horse, he gets little comfort when thrown to the ground. The cowboy divides hu manity into two classes, the sheep and the goats, those who can ride bucking horses and those who can’t. He doesn’t care much for the goats. At the round-ups and during hard periods of work the cow t boy is generous, full of good-fellowship, and brimming over with courage. “The great round-ups usually occur in the spring. All the cattle in a certain section are gathered together, separated and branded. This is where the hardest work comes in for the cowboys. My round-up extends along the Little Mis souri river for about 150_miIes and is about twenty-five miles wide. Each ranch owner has a wagon and relays of horses for his cowboys. In prosecuting the ar duous work some sixty or a hundred cow boys are in the great drive and each has seven or eight horses. The’wagons with the loose horses move down the river some six or seven miles and establish a camp •there for the day and night. Then these •hundred or so cowboys stretch across the cattle region and drive toward the camp. The line usually converges to a given point, driving all the cattle into the se cured section. The bunch of cattle gath ered are then watched or held together during the night by a few cowboys. The rest go to bed after eating dried pork and beans. The bed to which they retire is very primitive in construction and is frequently the bare ground. About 3 o’clock in the morning the voice of the cook can be heard: ‘Time for breakfast, boys; turn out.’ Then there is bustle until the mount is made for the day’s drive. Sometimes one cowboy will use four or five horses in one day. He not only has to gallop nearly all the time, but frequently put his horse at full speed. “What they all dread is the blizzard at night, which frequently causes the cattle to stampede. I remember the last round-up. We had all turned in for a good night’s rest. About midnight the alarm was sounded for us all to turn out and mount. The fierce blizzard was sweeping down upon us; rain, hail and wind. There were about 2,000 head of cattle in the bunch. It was a wierd sight, The boys, with waterproofs on and hats drawn down, were seated like specters a few feet apart, just in front of ' the herd, with their backs to it. The dark bunch of cattle were as close as they could get to each other, their long horns striking together like castanets and their tails pointed to the wind. The bunch was fan-shaped. “In front the cowboys spread out far enough to overlay either flank of the bunch. When the cattle would get too restless the cowboys would turn their i hordes and try to drive them into the ’ n fnry. There wa a mad bleat f n the terror ’ Ths cowboys whooped 5 madeWwdfspers're effort to I'’”'!’ die h together, . It was like rushing gainst the dashing waves to keep them rah wbk eiWt and nos trils distended, they broke through the cordon and rushed on in every direction with the fury of the wind and the storm. Each man was for himself then. With spur and whip, over rough ground, in the darkness, lit up by great sheets of lightning, we dashed after, each cowboy selecting a bunch and following it until day. The bunch I followed carried me seven or eight miles from the camp. When I drove it back the next day I had to saddle a horse and start again. I was thirty-six hours in the saddle. Just that experience convinced me that the cow boy’s life was not a path strewn with roses. It might be supposed that many accidents take place in stampedes and cutting our cattle from bunches. I only remember one that was fatal. The cows and calves have to be cut out every even ing from the main bunch and put in a corral, where the calves are branded. Cutting out is hard work. A cowboy rides in the herd and slowly drives the cow out. When he gets her separated, then he dashes at her and drives her away as rapidly as possible. Frequently the cow suddenly turns and rushes back. If the cowboy is on a trained horse, it turns, too, without guiding, and heads off the cow. One of the cowboys was cutting out a wild cow riding at full speed. Cow, rider and horse went against a steer, rolled over, and, well, the neck of the cowboy was broken. I rode up and looked at him, as did the other cowboys. ‘He was a good'un;’ ‘Never flunkered;’ ‘Dead shot;’ ‘Dead honest,’and ‘Sorry he is gone,’ were tha eulogies passed by the cowboys. They see a good deal of this thing, and of course cannot give much time to bewailing the many fatal ties that occur. When cows and calves are put in the corals the branding be gins.” Two Generous Wall Street Men. ; While Mr. Cammack stopped at the Windsoi he was regularly shaved by a certain barber there, who was as atten tive as an Oriental slave. When the bar ber had a chance to buy a shop and start in business on his own account Mr. Cam mack let him have $2,500. This was generous, but it is not surprising in a man who, it is well-known, once lent Jay Gould $2,000,000 without as much as a scrap of paper as security. The barber story about Mr, Cammack recalls one about James R. Keene. One day, when in the zenith of his financial power, be hurriedly hailed a rickety look ing coupe, more intent on getting up town quick than going in style. The man was shrewd and attentive, and pleased the speculator. Mr. Keene became a steady Patron, and one day dumbfounded the cabman by presenting him with a hand some new coupe and a fine, strong horse. —Pf Cc.felphia P>>au. One of Uncle Sam’s mail bags at Grass Valley, Cal., was destroyed by the gnaw ing of some rata, which had a strong scent sch wedding cake. The Pride of the Family. “The Great Convemebs” is the title of a book by Dr. Mathews. It does beat all how even the beat men will jibe and jeer at the women. ~ ° (y c tY ” ■ Hi POWDER Absolutely Pure. This powder never varies. A marvel of pur ■ fy. strength and wholesomeness. More eeon ! oinical than the ordinary kinds, and can nor be sold in competition with the multitude | of low test, short weight slum or phosphate ! powders. Sold only in cans. Royal Baking i Powder Co., 10G Wall St.. N. Y. Iwipofeney* Organic VScakursi* t'oaorvlMMU Syphilitic rik I rfrrcurial Affections. s'ientifle t'eaimen*; sure and sur* remedies. Dcfonnidoff Treated. -Cail or write for list u to be answered by those de.’iring treat!) icnf by man i (PerHOßs saffering from Rupture should wend their adiJre-?»$ and learn .something to their .ndvantnee. It is not a trim . * Addresser. C. L. LaRARGE, Pros’! and PtfsielAn in f ?«»“♦ Central Med. A Burg. Institute, 023 I. wnst At., Hi. ? ’ i iuccesscrto 7)r. Butts’ Dispensary itutablUhed * BEANS /-VURE Biliousness: Sick Headache inFourhours. V?) One dose relieves Neuralgia. They cure and prevent Chills Fever, Sour Stomach Bad Breath. Clear the Skin, Tone the Nerves, and give Life Vigor to the system. Dose s ONE BEAN. Try them once and you will never be without them. Price, 25 cents per bottle. Sold by Druggists and Medicine Dealers generally. Sent on receipt of price in stamps, postpaid, to any address, J. F. SMITH & CO., Manufacturers and Sole Props., ST. LOUIS. MO. E. This Wash Board is made of o>>; soi.ib SUEIT OF HEAVY i r-IUU - GATED Zt.M, which produces i a double-faced board of the | best quality and j durability. The flutiog is very ; deep, holding ; wore water, and consequently I i <»ny e howd in the market. j The 1 rawe Is j ! made of hard i 1 wood, and held I ; together with an | | iron bolt run- | I ?nbf s h X g l h o 2 I tlie lower edge j | ol th: v.inc.thue S b ?n di n g the S whole together > gatautiaiwanner, ; ™ and producing® waeh board which for economy,evceUenee and dur ability is unquestio.iaoly the t in the world. We find so many dealers that object to our board ■ on acconnt of its DIBABILTTY. saying "It will last too long, wo can never sell a customer but one.” We take this means to advise comsumers to XNBIB'T upon having the NORTH STAR WASH BOARD. THE BEST IS THE CHEAPEST. UnnWurM by PFANSCHMIDT, DODGE & CO., 248 & 250 West Polk St , Chicago, 111. | DURKEE'S o esiccate q S=-- V CELERY u iff I POSSESSING THE COMPLETE FLAVOR OF THE _PLANT S GAUNTLET BRAND SPICES - SAfAD DRESSING g; PLAVORIS'G t“ EXTRACTS i BAKING POWDER challenge sau Ge - ® MEATS. FISH&. gagfe. GENUINE INDIA ®E-' CURRYPOWDER I Prosjecus lor “Star.” BLOW YOUR WHISTLE! HERE WE COME! THEWEEKLY STU, A paper devoted to the interest of Dou glasville and Doughg County managed by those who understand i heir business. It is our aim to make the Star one of the best papers in the State—-in fact, a paper for the people. Ho* is your time to Subscribe! Itrms, 90 cents Cash pet annum; on credit, 51.15, Ok, we will send you the Star -me year and the Household Beacon, a Democatic Journal, eight pages, foi SI.OO. cash. Advertisers cannot find a better medium than the Star to let the pe:«. pie know what they htve for .sale oi what they are going to get to roll Como up, fellow citizens, and Uelj us in this enterprise and we guarantee to give you value received for youi money. Address all communications, &c., b THE M STAB, DOUGLASVILLE, CA .•-S” i ||TTEIS! r . his inedtoine, combining Iron with p.m, . ■ etable tonics, quickly and completely tires Dyspepsia, Indigestion, Weakness, ! tnpiire Blood, Malaria,Chills and Fevers, ~ml Neuralgia. It is an unfailing remedy for Diseases of the Kidneys and Elver. it is invaluable for Diseases peculiar to Women, and al! who load sedentary lives. II <loes not injure the teeth, cause headache,or ■since constipation— other Iron medicines do. It enriches and purifies the blood, stimulates ■(■> appetite, aids the assimilation of food, re •v.-s Heartburn and Belching, and strength *.!;e muscles and nerves. >r I utermittent Fevers, lassitude, Lack of rgx &c., it has no equal. The genuine has above trade mark and - ..'<l red lines on wrapper. Take no other. , .... ■ :•<:(» tV < IIKXIEAL <O_ KALTIMORK, MU. LITTLE GIANT BTDRAtrUC COTTON PRESS. AWARDED Grand Gold Medal BEING First Premium on Cotton Presses, AT THE NEW ORLEANS POSITION. We have been malting these presses for several year*, and for ease of working, perfection of machinery and sntiwfaetion to the ••er, they are without a rival. We make them with boxes from 8 to 12 feet deep With the deep box but little tramping is needed. We make a bale of from 500 to 650 lbs. weight. Our presses work by hand or steam power, as may be desired. Prices vary according to eixe and kind of Press desired. Onr LITTLE CUNT HYDRAI LIC PRESS la THE BEST Cotton Press made. Write fvr a Circular, Manufactured by J. W. GA RD WELL A CO., ATTESTS WANTED. Richmond, Va, <~»TVT sso PHILADELPHIA SINGEH . n—jT- Including Tucker, r. nr»x of * Hemtm-r«», and 'er.and tmmd mitt.! osiw pieces. Warreattd 3 year* ■SjWIa jHrt heii-c before you puv one cent. Ao ofA*r WK<r.« yttarhine- tnetnuidef i’ ! ‘ VnUeti Mate* dhiren *. »«•*■-• IT (M'W' r - The? All “«wne. durable, itrei Urn'- - . 'TrniMibie tine a* •’be? jaaie«charge two t4O te S-. 0 Purehase from ujj and jwj ’reg-. M £- IMILH WHl’4ta!b The loudest and piercingly « bri 11 ’ whistle msv s **. Can te Lrnrd from one *’*• • A «’• » Of a ■!>>-< Sih ’ * r " tan- -er-1 re W . S ’ CWTritire. tne < : si. ab * ma e r. a tvsn N farwe- tbcoui feavs i • i I'*, b. tna.il. r or rents in stßsr-.p.;. Order now. Cwt, ttemHltt, «U. ALL-MAW Jk . •’•.L ADEt.PHI.t. i’LNV. -