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BY D. B. FREEMAN.
“/ 00 A-FISH [NO."
A mountain brook, a shady nook,
A riople,
A rod and fly—‘'He’s very sly."
“Be careful 1"
A sudden dash‘ a little splash—
“Doa’t lose him !”
A turn, a bout, a splendid trout —
“Now ! land him !”
Three hungry men, a frying pan
Capacious;
A cripsy brown, no sujh in town —
Delicious!
— lndependent.
THE WATER MILL.
1 listen to the water-mill
All the live-long day—
How the clicking of the wheel
Wears the hours away ;
Languidly the autumn wind
Stirs the greenwood leaves ;
From the field the reapers sing,
Binding up the sheaves.
And a memory o’er my mind
Asa spell is cast;
The mill will never grind
With the water that is past.
Take the lesson to yourself,
Loving heart and true ;
Golden years are fleeting by,
Youth is pas9ng, too ;
Strive to make the most of life,
Lose no happy day—
Time will never bring you back
Chances swept away.
Leave no tender word unsaid,
Love while love shall last—
The mill will never grind
W ith the water that is past.
Work while yet the daylight shines,
Mao of thought and will.
Never does the streamlet glide
Useless by the mill ;
Wait not till to-morrow’s sun
Beams upon your way,
All that you can call your own
Lies in this—to-day.
Power, intellect and health
May not always last—
Tbe mill cannot grind
With water that is past.
BREAD UPON THE W ATER.
Behind Squire Rilton’s house was a
patch of cleared and well kept wood,
land, known to all the neighborhood as
“The Grove.” Whenever the Sunday
schools desired a picnic, the Squire was
waited upon, and as a matter of course
consented to its being used. At other
times any one had the privilege of walk
iDg there, and the children came in the
spring to gather wild flowers, or in the
autumn to gather nuts. Therefore the
boy who sat upon the rough wooden
beach fitted between two trees, with
his head upon his hands, was not tress
passing.
He was a tall, gaunt bov, with hs
sixteenth birthday close before him.—
His clothes were threadbare, but he
had a decent look. He was |ast the
age at which boys generally indulge in
tears, but he was crying. Indeed, he
had come to that place for the express
purpose of indulging his feelings un
observed. His hope of solitude proved
a vain one, however. Engrossed in his
grief, he had not heard the sound of
footsteps, when, looking up, he saw
standing before him a girl of fifteen,
Squire Hilton’s only daughter, born
when his days were on the verv verge
of winter—herself the very embodi
rnent of spring.
She was a happy creature who bad
never known care, who never thought
it possible that she could wish for any
thing she might not have. Knowing
herself rich and beautiful but without
pride or vanity, loving her father and
mother intensely, and with good will
for a world in which 6he as yet knew
not that there was any harm. A girl
who, in virtue of aristocratic position
in that New England village, was as
much under esponiage as any French
girl ever was. Yet with this advan
tage, she had no idea she was guarded
or that there was anything not to he
known by her, or any one she might
not know Therefore, knowing no rear
son why she should not address any
one, and knowing the boy by name, she
stood looking at him a moment, and
then said softly:
“Why, Edward Burr! what is the
matter f Oh, I know ; I heard of it;
your father is dead I am very sor..
ry.”
“It’s not very manly to cry, Miss
Hilton,” said the boy, standing up, and
composing his features as well as he
could; “but I could not help it; he
wa3 all I nad, and it was so sudden. I
didn’t mean any one should see me,
though.”
“Boys and tnen most have feelings as
well as girls and women,” said Phemie
Hilton. “I should break my heart if
dear papa should die ; and you haven’t
any mother, have you ?”
‘"I have nobody,” said the boy, “and
I hate the place. I couldn’t work here
now, since Ive seen father cut down by
that horrible machine. lam going to
the city, to New York, Miss ;
I’m going to walk there. Do vou know
how long it will take ?”
“How long !” cried Phemie; “why.
you could never walk there ; it takes
'Hys by the cars Dd boat; and why do
you go to New York ?”
I must, said the boy. I can make
my fortune there; father always said
so. J ’
“Yes, my father says New York is
the place to make money,” said Phe.
mie ; but you most have some money
to begin with. Have you any ?”
“Twenty-five cents,” said the boy.
“Then you’d starve to death where
you had no friends,” said the young
girl, with an air of great wisdom and
experience. But pappa knows every
thing. Gome home with me and ask
his advice ;-he’ll tell you what to do.—
If anybody can tell you what to do, it
is my pappa.”
“But I haven’t any business to both-,
er him about myself,” said the bov. I
don’t think he'll like it. He’ll think
me forward.”
“I’ll tell him I made you come. Y’ou
needn’t he afraid of papa; he’s as
kind as kind can be. Come, now.”
Much against his will, Edward Burr
followed Miss Hilton through the
woods and across the lawn that encir
cled the Squire’s mansion. More against
his wi’l he entered the broad hall and
the study door.
“If the Squire kicks me out, I de
serve it,” he said. And with his hat
in his hand he stood gaziug in great
confusion at the white headed old gen
tleman, who, to his simple mind, repre
sented the weal.h and arstooracy of the
land. A king could not have awed his
humblest subject more, though Edward
knew nothing of kings and would have
declared, if questioned, that every man
was equal.
The Squire looked up ; his wife laid
down the embroidery at which she was
at work. The unwilling visitor feared
that he was expected to say something,
and had no idea what words to utter
which would fitly convey his compret.
hension of the improprie y of his in
trusion on a strange household. But
Phemie saved him further anxitty.
“Papa,” she said, “this is poor Mr.
Burr s son, arid he is going to New
York to seek his fortune, without any
money but twenty-five cents; and I
made him come to you to get cdvice. I
didn’t think he could manage. What
do you think ?”
“After I have talked with the young
man awhile. I’ll know better,” said the
Squire.
The end of the talk was that the
Squire said to Edward Burr ;
“I think you're a b y with a will, and
where there’s a will there’s a way. I’ll
give you a start. Take this note to Mr.
B —, No.—Street, and he will give you
employment. I’ll give you a ticket to
New York and fit you out so that you
w<.n’t starve for a week, after that, go
ahead; you've got it ail in your
hands, after asking God to bless
you.”
“Oh, papa, you are so kind !” said
Ph emie, as she watched the boy out of
sight.
Now who knows what may come of
that ? The bread cest upon the wa
ters without a thought that it might
return after many days.
*****
Ten years had elapsed, and Phemie
Hilton sat in ashabby loom in New York
City, wondering where sha could find
bread the next day. The old Squire
had been dead two years, and before he
died he had been tempted into a specu
lation that had rained him, and his wife
and daughter had come to the city to
earn their bread. There the mother’s
health had broken down, and Phemie
was forced to leave her position in a
school to nurse her. Private pupils
had fallen off, and the last dollar was
spent. And now Phemie turned the
paper she had borrowed in her hand,
and among the long columns of ad
vertisements saw one for necktie mak
ers.
“Perhaps I could get work at that
to do at home,” she said. “I will try.
I am able to do anything with my nee"
die.”
An hour after the poor young lady
found herself climbing the stairs of a
large building in the business portion
of New York, in search of the estab
lishment to which the advertisement di
rected her.
“YYe don’t give work out,” was the
reply to her question, “and we want ex
perienced hands.”
She was turning away with the little
hope in her bieast chilled, when a
gentleman who had been standing at
some distance advanced and addressed
her:
“I must be mistaken,” he said.—
“This is not Miss Hilton, of ?”
“It is,” she said, looking in vain for
a familiar feature in the bearded face
bef re her. “But you have the advan
tage of me.”
“Naturally. You are not likely to
remember Edwin Burr, whom your
father helped so kindly years ago. But
for your encouragement, however, and
bis liberal aid, my life would uol have
been what it now is, 1 can never, nev
er forgpt either of you.”
“You have prospered then ? I am
gla i. And this is your place ? Per
haps, then, you will not refuse to giye
me work to do a* home, now that we
are so poor.” And then came the sto
ry-
Once more Phemie saw the tears
stand in Edward’s eyes as she told it,
and the promise that work should be
given was accompanied by a request to
call. Edward was a gentleman at heart,
and Phemie never guessed that other
necktie makers would have opened their
eye3 in amazement at the enormous
price she received for unskillful per
formance.
And over her work the girl often sat
smiling now ; and the mother grew well
again ; and one browa bearded face was
often seei in their parlor, and it was al
ways welcome ; and ere many months
went by, that happened which every in
telligent young lady reader has expect*
ed from the first. Phemie married Ed
ward Burr, and in their elegant home
the good old Squire’s widow spent her
last days in happine ß ß and comfort.
She Knew the Beast.
M. Quad relates this :
“You see this hoss, don’t you ?”
called out a woman about forty Years
of age, as she drove up to a Grand
River avenue blacksmith shop yester
day.
The smith came out and replied that
his sight was good.
“I want a shoe on that hind foot
light to once,” she continued, and she
jumped down and had the horse almost
out of the old wagon before the smith
reached the curb stone. She led the
beast into the shop, sat down on the
work bench, and prepared to take a
smoke, and as the blacksmith took down
a shoe, she observed ;
“No fooling now, I want the shoe to
stick to that foot a whole year. You
can’t, impose on me cause I'm a wo
man.”
After the hoof had been prepared,
the horse suddenly became restive, dan
cing around, bothering the sheer so
that he could not proceed.
“You don’t seem to have bad anv ex
perieuce with bosses,” remarked the
wo.uan, as she arose up and laid down
her pipe. “I know this beast from
Dan’l to Bersheba, and you just get
back a little.”
The smith retreated a few feet and
the woman caught the horse by the
bits, gave him a two hundred pound
kick io the ribs and yelled :
“Whoa 1 Charles Henry, git around
there ; stand over and take that—and
this—and some more ! now come up
and top the mark !”
Charles Henry kicked the anvil
block as she kicked his ribes, but she
kicked the hardest, and when the horse
shoer stuck his head into the shop, tbe
horse was half over a bench but as quiet
as a lamb.
“Now purceed,” said the woman, as
she picked up her pipe. “When a
hoss goes to fooling around me and ach
ing for a row, he’s laying up soriWribr
his gray hair.”
igns ol a Prosperous Farmer.
When you see a barn larger than his
house, it shows ihat he will have large
profits and small afflictions.
When you see him drive his work in
stead of his work driving him, it shows
that he will never be driven from good
resolutions, and that he will certainly
work his way to prosperity.
When you always see in his wood
house a sufficiency for three months or
more, it shows that he will be a more
than ninety days’ wonder, in farming
operations, and that be is not sleep
ing in his house after a drunken frol
ic.
When he has a house separate from
the main building, purposely for ashes,
and an iron or tin ve.-sel to transport
them, it shows that he never built his
dwelling to be a funeral pile lor his
family, aud perhaps himself.
When his sled is housed in summer,
and his implements covered both in
winter and summer it plainly shows
that he will have a good house over
his head in tbe summer of early life,
and winter of old age.
When cattle are properly shielded
ana fed in winter, it evidences that he
is acting according to Scripture, which
says that “a merciful man is merciful
to his beasts.”
When he is seen subscribing for a
newspaper and paying in advance, it
shows that he is speaking like a book
respecting the latest improvements iD
agriculture, and that he never gets
his walking papers to the land of pov
erty.
♦ ■-
Some Improvement.
An old toper, whom nothing on earth
could part from his glass, yesterday met
a red ribbon man of his acquaintance on
the walk and said :
“Now, Tom, you don’t drink any
more.”
“No, sir.’^
“All your money is used up in the
family, eh ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, Tom, be honest now tell
me if you feel any improvement—tell
me if you don't feel sneakish.”
“I tluok I have improved * slowly
repiicu the reformer “A month ago
I e aid take all such siaug and not>ay
a wu>d. Now l teel so much like
knocking you down that 1 know I’ve
improved fifty per cent”
The toper didn’t care about further
argument. —Free Press.
—*
The higher aim of every intelligent
tiller of the soil should be in the im
provement of the productiveness of his
land until it reaches the point where
maximum crops are produced at the
least expense. The most judicious im
provements—those which finally pay the
largest rrofits—require several years to
bring in their full returns. It is a mat
ter of great importance that the farm
ing population should not only be set
tled, but that they should feel settled,
and plau all their operations upon the
farm as if they expected to spend their
days upon it.
►
Many a man has ruined his eyesight
by sitting iu a bar-room looking for
work.
CALHOUN, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 16. 1877.
Joseph’s Brother.
They didn’t call him Tom, or Jack,
or Harry, but always spoke of him as
“Joseph’s brother.” Aad it was just
as singular that they didn’t say “Joe,”
instead sf “Joseph,” of or to the
man.
The two had a wagon in the band,
dragging itself toward tie Black Hills,
day by day and mile by mile. They
messed by themselves, scarcely spoke'
except to each other, and their lives
and their actions were a sort of mys
tery to the rest, who were a joliy set,
drinking, carousing, fighting, playing
cards, and wishing for a brush with the
Indians. Some said that Joseph was a
fugitive from justice, and that' he
wouldn’t fraternite with them for fear
of betraying himself when interroga
ted. Others thought he felt too proud
to mix with such society, and between
the two theories he had nearly all the
men thinking ill of him before the
wagon train was four days’ travel from
Cheyenne.
“He keeps his brother hidden away
in the wagon as if a little sunshine
would kill the boy,” growled one of a
dozen gold hunters sitting around their
camp fire in the twilight.
• 1 Perhaps he thinks Onr language isn’t
high toned enough—blast his eyes!”
exclaimed another.
“Ain't we all t)o‘and fo the same
place—all sharing the same dangers—
one as good as another ?” demanded
a broad shouldered fellow from An*
tonio.
“Yes ! yes !” they shouted.
“Then don’t it look low down mean
for this ’ere man Joseph to edge away
from us as if we were pizen ? If he's
so mighty refined and high toned, why
didn’t he come out here ia a bal
loon ?”
There was a laugh from the circle,
and the Texan went twi.
“I don’t purtend to be an angel, but
I know manfiefs as well as the next. I
believe that man Joseph is reg'lar
starch, ready to wiit right down as soor
as l pint my finger at him, and I’m
going over to his wagon to pull his
uose!
“That’s the game, Jack ! Go in. old
fellow ! 'Hah for the man from Tex
as !” yelled the gold hunters as they
sprang to their feet.
“Gome right along and see the‘fun,”
court hue a The Texan, as Tie led the. .way
towards Joseph's f
The yehitfe ftouiedTonm in the circle,
and at a small fire a few feet from the
hiod wheels sat Joseph and his brother,
eating their frurdh supper v As the
crowd came near, the boy sprang up
and climbed into the covered wagon,
whi4e Joseph slowly rose up &rfd looked
at them aniiously and inquiringly.
“See here, Mister Joseph, whar’s
your other name !” began the Texan, as
he halted before the loDe man, -, we hev
conic to the conclusion hat you aud that
booby brother o’ yours don’t like our
style? Are we kerect ?”
“I have nothing against any of you,”
quietly responded Joseph “The jour
ney thus far has been very pleasant and
agreeable to us.”
“But you hang off—you don’t speak
to us ?” persisted Jack.
“I am sorry if I have incurred any
man’s ill will. t feel friendly to sard
you all.”
“Oh, you do, eh ?” sneered the Tex
an, feeling that he was losing ground
“Well, it’s my opinion that you are a
sneak I”
Joseph’s face turned white, and the
men saw a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
He seemed about to speak or make some
movement when a soft voice from the
wagon called out :
“Joseph ! Joseph !”
A softer light came into the man’s
face. The Texan noticed it. and, slap
ping Joseph’s face, he blurted out :
“If ye ain’t a coward ye’ll resent
that, sure !”
A boyish figure sprang from the wag
on and stood beside the lone man A
small hand was laid on his shoulder, aad
a voice whispered in his ear :
“Bear the insult for my sake ?”
There was a lull minute iu which no
one moved. Joseph’s face lot ked ghast"
ly white in the gloom, aud they could
see him tremble.
“He’s a cowaid, just as I thought 1”
said the Texan, as he turned away. The
others followed him, some feeling
ashamed and others surprised or grati
fied, and by and by the word had reach
ed every wagon that Joseph and Jo_
seph’s brother were cowards
Next morning, when the wagon train
was ready to mave. the captaiu passed
near Joseph’s wagon on purpose to say :
“If there are any eowaids in this
train they needo t travel with us any
further.”
It was a cruel thrust. Joseph was
harnessing his horses, and the brother
was stowing away the cooking uuten
sils. The strange rnau’s lace grew
white agaiD, and his hand went down
for his revolver, but iust then a voice
called o 't :
“Don’t mind it, Joseph ; we’il go on
alone.”
The train moved off without them,
some of the gold hunters taunting and
joking, and others fearful that the two
would be butchered by the Indians be
fore the day was over. When the
white-topped wagons were so far away
that they seemed no larger than bis
hand, Juseph moved along oq the trail,
his face stern and dark, and so busy was
bis thoughts that he did not hear the
consoling words :
“Never minti, Joseph ; we are trying
to do right.”
That night, when the wagon train of
the gold hunters went into camp, they
could not see the lone wagon, though
many of the men, ashamed of their
conduct, looked long and earnestly for
it. They had seen Indians afar off, and
they knew that the red devils would
Dounce down upon the single team as
soon as they sighted it.
Darkness cauie, and midnight came,
anJ the sentinels heard nothing but
the stamping of the horses and the
howls of tbe cayotes. At two o’clock
the reports of rifles and the fierce yolls
of indians floated up through the little
va! f ey, and the camp was aroused in a
moment.
“The devils have jumped in cn Jo*
seph and his brother!” whispered one
of the men as he stood on a knoll and
bent his head to listen.
‘ Good ’nuff! Cowards have no bus
iness out here 1” growled the Texan.
The first speaker wheeled, struck the
ruffian a sledge hammer blow in the
face, and then running for the hors s,
cried out :
“Come on ! come on ! A dozen of us
can be spared for the rescue !”
Sixteen men swept down the valley
like the wind The*firins: and the yelL
ing continued, proving that the man
who bad been called acowjrd was mak
ing a heroic fight. In ten minutes they
came upon the lone camp, made light
as day by the burning wagon. Fifty
feet from tbe bonfire, and hemmed in
by a circle of dancing, leaping, howl
ing savages was Joseph’s brother, stand -
mg over Joseph's dead body.
The gold hunters beard *he pop !
pop ! oop ! of the boy’s revolver as
they into view, and the next mo- I
ment they were charging down upon
the demons, using r.fle and revolver
with terrible effect. In two minutes
not a live Indian was insight. Joseph’s
brother stood over the body, an empty
revolver ia his hand. The men cheer
ed wildly as they looked around, but
the boy looked up into their faces with
out a sign or exultation, surprise or
gladness.
There were three dead Indians be
- the wagon, killed where the fight
commenced, and the corpses iu frout of
Joseph’s brother numbered more than
the victims of the sixteen men.
“Is Joseph badly hurt ?” asked one
of the men, as he halted his horse be
side the boy.
“He is dead !” whispered the white
faced defender. .
r “He isUGod forgive me for the part
*! took last night !”
“You called him a coward !” cried
Joseph’s brother, “and you are to blame
fur this ! Was he a coward ? Look
there! and there! and there! We
drove them back from the wagon
drove them clear out here ! Joseph is
dead. You are his murderers.
Every tnan was near enough to hear
his voice and to note his action as he
pieked up the ride of an Indian and
sent a bullet through his own head.—
With exclamations of grief and alarm
trembling on their lips, tbe men sprang
from their saddled The boy" War dead
—dead as Joseph—and both corpses
were bleeding from a dozen wounds.
“We’ll carry ’em up to the train, and
have a burial in the morning, said one
of the men. and the bodies were taken
up behind two of the horsemen. They
did have a burial, and men looked into
the grave with tears in their eyes, for
they had discovered that Josephs
brother was a woman. Yes, a woman,
with whitest throat and soft hands. It
might have been Joseph’s wife, or sis
ter, or sweethaart. No one could tell
that; but they could tell bow they had
wronged him, and they said, as they
stood around tbe grave *.
“We hope the Lord won’t lay it up
• f 01}
agin us
Do ’t Lose a Minute. Keep
busy. The man who has nothing to do
is the most miserable of beings If you
have no regular work, do chores as far*
mers do when it rains too hard to work
in the field. In occupation we forget
our troubles, and get a respite from sor
row. The man whose mind and hands
ate busy finds no time to weep and wail
If work is slack, spend the time in
reading. No man ever knew too much.
The hardest students in the world are
the old men who know the most. If
you lack books, there are tree or very
cheap libraries, at least in cities at your
command. The man who does not ac*
quire some item of useful information,
between day-break and bed-time, must
mournfully say, with the Roman Em*
peror, ‘ I have lost a day"
Biographies are delitesome reading.
We k uni pare all the virtewsof the per
sen’s karacter with our own, and all
his failing with our nabor. —Josh Bil
lings.
A young lady says that “if a cart
wheel has nine fe’lows attached to it.
it’s a pity that a girl like her can’t have
one !"
The purest tnetai is produced from
the hottest furnace, and the bright™
est thunderbolt from the darkest
storm.
FOR CASH.
We defy competition, and from this
date we sell goods for c.\sn only wth*
■ut descriulinatioQ. A large, well iasv
torted and uperi<>r stock of goods al
ways op hand. Bring your greenbacks
nd give us a call.
Foster & Harlan.
July 18,1876.
Domestic Sewing Machine
omestic Paper Fashions
omestic Underbraider
omestic Machine Find’gs
OMESTIC MONTHLY.
THE
Light-Running:
DOMESTIC
SEWING MACHINE.
IS HIS *
BEST.
Greatest Rang* of Work.
Best (jttality of Work.
Lightest to Run.
Always in Order.
“Domestic” Sewing Machine Cos.,
NEW YORK and CHICAGO.
The “Domestic’ Underbraider and Sewing
Machine, the only perfect Br* : ding
Machine known, costs but $5 more
than the Family Machine.
The “Domestic” Paper Fashions are unex
celled for elegance and perfection of
fit. Serd fixe cents for an illu trated
catalogue-
The “Domestic Monthly,*’ a Fashion and
Literary Jounal. Illu-trated. Ac"
knonledged authority, $1.50 a year
and a Premium Specimen Copy, 15
eents. Agents wanted. Moat liberal
terms. Address,
“DOMETIC” SEWING MACHINE Cos.,
NEW YORK and CHICAGO.
Good Reading.
ALL KNOW IT ! ALL LIKE IT 1
THE DETROIT
FREE PRESS
Still Brighter and Better for
1877.
FULL OF WIT —HUMOR —PATHOS
SKETCH -- GOSSIP FASHION
INCIDENT—NEWS-' -HOME AND
FOREIGN LETTERS,
Y on ici/l enjoy it better than any other
newspaper.
“How He was Tempted.”
A thrilling rv, written for the
free Press, by “ Eitey Hay ” (Funny
Andrews),the noted Southern wri
ter, will be a feature of 1877.
Weekly, r postlfree, $2.00 perj wraour#
In making up your list, start with the
Detroit Free Press.
The Postmester ib agent for it
rrmarr ■acjBBMWMMMi
If you wish to grow Vegetables for sale
read
Gardening: for Profit!
If you wish to become a Commercial
Florist, read
Practical Floriculture !
If you wish to garden for h jme use only,
read
Gardening for Pleasure !
All by PETER HENDERSON.
Combined CATALOGUE
OF
EVERYTHING
FOR THE
GARDEN.
Numbering 175 pages, with 1 colored
piate, sent
Free;!
to ail customers of past years, or lo
those who purchased any of the above
books : to others cm receipt of 25 cents.
Plain plant or seed Catalogues with
out plate, free to all applicants.
PETER HENDERSON & CO.,
smen, Market Gardeners & Florists
35 Corllaudt St., New i*o r k.
JOli VlilXTl.Mt,
yyTE are costantly adding new material
OUR JOB DEPARTMENT
and increasing our facilities for tb cxecu
tion of Job Printing of all kinds. We art
now prepared to print, in neat style on slor
notice,
CARDS, LEGAL BLANKS,
CIRCULARS, BLANK NOTES
BILLHEADS. BLANK RECEIPTS,
LETTER HEADS, ENVELOPES,
TICKETS, LABELS.
POSTERS. PAMPHLET &c., So.
We guarantee satisfaction. Don’t sen**
your orders away to have them filled, wher
you have an establishment at home that will
execute work neatly, and at
TEDINGLYLOW PRICES
VOL. VII.*--NO 41
ESTABLISHED 1865.
GILMORE Ac CO;,
Attorneys at Law*
Successors to Chipman, Hostwr & C.r
629. F. ST., WASHINGTON, KG.
American and Foreign l atenfs.
Pften's procured in all rot airies. No
fees in advance. No charge unless the
patent is granted. No fees for making pre
liminary examinations. No additional lees'
for obtaining and conducting a rehearing.
Special attention given to Intcrfercncg
cases before the Patent Office, Extensions
before Congress, Infringement suits in dif
ferent States, and all litigation appertain
ing to inventions or patents Send stamp
of sixty page?.
United States Courts and Depart
_ ments,
Claims prosesuted in the Supreme Jourl
of the United States, Court of Claims,
Court of Commissioners of Alabama Claim?,.
Southern Claim? Commission, and all class
es of war claims before the Executive De
partments. x
Arrears of Pay and
Officers, soldiers, and sailors of the late
war or their heirs, are in many cases en
titled to money from the Government, of
whieh they have no knowledge. Write full
history ®f seriee, and state amount of pay
and bounty reeeited. Enclose stamp, and
a full reply, after examination, will be
given you Lee.
Pensions.
All officers, soldiers, and sailors wound
ed ruptured, or injured in the late
however slightly, can obtain ape
many now receiving pensions are a
to an increase. Send stamp and in
tion will be furnished free.
United States General Land Office
Contested land cases, private land claims,
ining pre-emption and homestead cates,
rosecuted before the General Land Office
nd Department of the Interior.
Old Bounty Land WartrantA
The last report of- the Commissioner of
the General Land Office shows 2,807,500
of Bounty Land Warrants outstanding.—
These were issued under act of 1855 ani
prior acts. W T e pay cash for them. Send
by registered letter, Where assignments
are imperfect we give instructions" to per
fect them.
Each department of our business is con
ducted in a separate bureau, under the
charge of experienced lawyers and clerks.
By reason of error oi fraud many attor
neys are suspended from practice before
the Pension and other offices each year.—
Claimants whose attorneys have been thus
suspended will be gratuitously furnished
with full information and jropei papers on
application to us.
As we charge uo fees unless successful,
stamps for return postage should be, sent
us. '
Liberal arrangements made with attor
neys m all branches of business.
Address GILMORE & CO.,
P. O. Box 44, Washington, I). C.
Washington, D. C., November 24, 1876.
I take pleasure in expressing my entire
confidence in the responsibiliy and fidelity
of the Law, Patent and Collection House of
Gilmore <& Go., of this city.
GEORGE 11. B. WHITE.
{Cashier vf the Aat to, a l Metropolitan Bank V
da<o-if.
Institute !
f IF YOU wotthl enjoy th
Fllk I l\ T fl ; most delightful luxury ; if
IS 1 1 ■iV II ou wou ld be speedily,cheap
ly, pleasantly and' perma
nently cured of all Inflam
matory, Nervous, Constitu
tional and Blood Disorders
if you have Rheumatism l
Scrofula, Dyspepsia,
cliitis, Catarrh, Diarrhoea,
Dysentery, Piles, Neuralgia,
Paralysis, Disease of the
Kidneys, Genitals or Skin,
Chill and Fever, or other
Malarial Affections; if you
would be purified from all
Poisons,whether from Drugs
or Disease; if you would
miTDtf. 1 ha * e Health and
|l|\ l Sll* Long Life go tothe Hygien
:ic Institute,and Use Nature’*
Great Remedie.th* Turkish
'Bath, the “ Wa'er-cure Pro
cesses, ’ the “Movement
.cure,” Electricity and othrr
(Hygienic agents. Success
is wonderful—curing all eu
jrable cases. If not able to
go and take board, send fuK
account of yonr case, and
get directions for treatineut
at home. Terms reasona
ble. Location, corner Loyd
wk ■mn a an * streets, opposite
RATH I i Passenger Depot, Atlanta.
ill II . Sta j\*ack Wilsok,
Physicinn-in-Char£
ORIGINAL
Goodyear s flubber Goods.
1 aleaittzed Rubber ta every Conceit ft''
lie Form , Adapted [p Universal Use.
ANY ARTICLE v>NDER FOUR POUND
WEIGHT CAN BE SENT BY .MAIL.
WIND AND WATER PROOF
garments a specialty. Our Cloth surface
oat combines two garments m one. For
stormy weather, it is a Perfect Water Proofs
and in dry weather, a
NEAT and TIDY OVERCOAT
By a peculiar process, the rubber is put
between the two cloth surfaces, which pre
vents smeiling or sticking, even in the hottest
climates. They are made in three colors—
Blue, Black and Brown.
Are Light, Portable, Strong
and Durable.
We are now offering them afthe extreme
ly low price of $lO each. Sent post-paid to
any address upon receipt ef price.
When ordering, state size around ehest,
over \est.
Reliable parties desiring to seecnr poods
can. send for our Trade Journal, givin? de
scription of our leading articles.
Be sure and get the Original Good
year’s Steam Vulcanized fabrics.
for Illustrated arice™list ef our
Celebrated Pocket Gymmeium.
Address carefnilv.*
GOODYEAR’S RUBBER CURLER CO.,
697 Broadway
P. 0. Box 5156. New York City.
Job Printing neatly av.d cheaply
executed at this office.