News from The Standard and Express

 
The Standard and Express
Cartersville, Georgia
October 17, 1872, page 2
 
Transcribed by:  
 

PREMIUM LIST OF THE CARTERSVILLE FAIR, 1872

Domestic Manufactures.

Best 6 yards cloth, jeans, Mrs. A. L. Lewis, $3.
Best quilt, Mrs. W. O. Bowler, $2.
Best quilt, Mrs. Riley Milam, $3.
Best suit clothes Mrs. S. H. Patillo, $5.
Best Coverlet, Mrs. F. Kennedy, $5.
Best dimity counterpane, Mrs. J. C. Sproull, $5.
Best roll carpeting, Mrs. N. Gilreath, $3.
Best hearth rug, Mrs. E. B. Pressley, $3.

Household &c.

Best gallon blackberry wine, Mrs. T. J. Lyon, $3.
Best gallon of vinegar, Mrs. J. W. Harris, $2.
Best gallon grape wine, Mrs. J. W. Harris, $4.
Best tomato catsup, Mrs. J. T. Owen, diploma.
Best half bushel dried pears, Mrs. F. Davis, $2.
Best half dozen green pears, Mrs. F. Davis, $2.
Best pickles, 15 kinds, Mrs. Nannie Gilreath, $3.
Best box soap, Mrs. Ronald Johnston, $3.
Best 5 lbs butter, Mrs. W. H. Gilbert, $3.
Best boiled ham, Mrs. W. H. Gilbert, $3.
Best loaf bread, Mrs. J. T. Owen, $2.
Best gallon sorghum, Mrs. T. A. Rogers, $3.
Best display canned fruits, Mrs. Peacock, $5.
Best biscuits, Miss Virginia Brandon, $2.
Best soft soap, Mrs. W’ L. Rowland, $2.
[List continues on for another full column of livestock and produce awards.]

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Exemption of Personalty Under the Homestead Act.

James McGinnis, J. A. Pugh.

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FARM AND ORE BANK FOR SALE.

A farm of 400 acres of good land, near Tennessee road, 8 miles north of Cartersville.  On the place is a bank of the richest IRON ORE in the State.  Place is well watered and well improved.  A splendid grain and cotton farm.  If not sold privately, will be sold before the Court House door, in the city of Cartersville, on the first Tuesday in December next, to the highest bidder.  For further information call on me, on the premises.
EDWARD BURFORD.

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Our cemetery still remains neglected, by our city fathers, while its precincts is being almost daily swelled by additional tenants from our ranks.  The tread of the beasts of the forest as they roam over the sacred domain, still mar and disfigure the silent abodes of departed loved ones.  Those friends and relatives in whose association we once delighted and with whom we took sweet council when they were in life, are now forgotten and uncared for by those to whom is confided the protection and keeping of their prison cells, while the wild flower of the wilderness strives, in vain, to adorn, with their rosy hues, and perfume, with their fragrant zephyrs, the drear and somber tomb where their precious dust is deposited.  No hand of affection plants the descriptive weeping willow or the emblematical evergreen over their graves, for fear that, like the inmates, they will fall a victim to the ravages of the fell destroyer.  How long, oh!  How long, city fathers, must we endure the ghastly sight of a neglected grave-yard?  Humanity reiterates the inquiry—how long?

 

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