Newspaper Page Text
LOST ALICE.
[concluded from first page.
I sat in the study alone, one morning, in
the February following, looking over some
deeds that had been long neglected, when I
heard Alice singing in the balcony outside
the window. It was the first time I had
heard her sing since Fred’s death, and I
laid down my pen to listen. But hearing
her coming through the hall, I took it up
again, and affected to be very busy.
It was a warm, bright, beautiful day, and
she seemed to bring a burst of sunlight
and happiness with her as she opened the
door. Iler own face, too, was radiant, and
she looked like the Alice of the old farm
house, as she came on tiptoe and bent over
my chair.
“ Well, what is it ? ” 1 asked, looking up.
She laid a pretty little boquet of violets,'
tied with blue ribbons, before me.
“ I have been to the conservatory, and
have brought you the first flowers of the
season, Francis. And something else, which,
perhaps, you may not like so well.”
She bent over me as she spoke, and lean
ing her hand lightly on my shoulder, kissed
me twice. She had been chary of her ca
resses for some time; and when she did
this of her own accord, 1 wheeled round in
my chair, and looked up at her.
“You seem very happy to-day, Alice.”
“It is somebody’s birthday,” she said,
stationing herself upon my knee, and look
ing into my eyes. “ And I wish somebody
very many happy returns : ” —her voice
faltered a little—“and if there has been
any wrong feeling, Francis, fly the last six
months, we Will bury it to-day, now and
forever.”
She clung to me in silence, and hid her
face upon my breast. I was moved in spite
of myself, and kissed the brown hair that
was scattered over my shoulder, and said J
was quite willing to forget everything (as
if I had anything to forget) ! At which she
looked up with a.bright smile, and I dare
say thought me very magnanjpious.
“And we will make a new beginning
from this day, Francis.”
“If you will, my child.”
She caressed me again, after a queer lit
tle fashion of her own, which always made
me smile, and which consisted of a series
of kisses bestowed systematically on differ
ent parts of my face—four, I believe, being
allotted to my forehead, two to each cheek,
two to the chin, four to my lips, and four
to my eyes. She went through this cere
mony with a pains taking care, and then
looked me in the face. All her love and
tenderness seemed to come up before me
in that moment, and efface the past and its
unhappiness. I held her closely tb my heart,
and her arms were around my neck.
Wil] any one believe it? My wife had
scarcely left me five moments before the
fancy came to me that I had shown too
plainly the power she had over me. For
months 1 had been schooling myself into
coldness and indifference, and at her very
first warm kiss or smile, 1 was completely
routed. She had vexed, and thwarted, and
annoyed me much during th*e months: it
would not do to pardon her so fully and
entirely before she had even asked my for
giveness. I took a sudden resolution, and,
when she came back into the room, was
buried in my papers once more. Poor
child! she had had one half-hour’s sunshine
at last.
“One moment,” she said, taking the pen
out of my hanp, and holding something up
over my head. “I have a birthday gift for
you. Do you want it?”
“If you give it to me, certainly.”
“ Then ask me for it.”
1 said nothing, but took up my pen again.
Iler countenance fell a little.
“ Would you like it?” she said, timidly.
“There was a saint in old times,” I said,
quietly, going on with ibv papers, “a name
sake of mine, by the way—Saint Francis
of Sales—who was accustomed to say, that
one should never ask or refuse anything.”
“ Well ! But I'm not talking to Saint
Francis; lam talking to you. Will you
have my little gift? Say yes—-just to please
me—just to make my happy day still hap
pier.”
“ Don’t be a child, Alice.”
“ It is childish, I know ; but indulge me
this once. It is such a little thing, and it
will make me very happy.”
“ 1 shall not refuse whatever you choose
to give me. Only don’t delay me long, for
1 want to go on with these papers.”
The next moment she threw the toy (a
pretty little bronze inkstand, made like a
Cupid, with his quiver full of pens) at my
feet, and turned away, grieved and angry.
1 stooped to pick up the figure—it was bro
ken in two.
“Oh, you can condescend to lift it from
the ground ! ” she said, sarcastically.
" I pon my word, Alice, you are the most
unreasonable of beings. However the lit
tle god of love can be easily mended.’'
“ 1 es.”
She placed the fragments one upon the
other, and looked at me.
“It can be mended, but the accident
must leave its trace like all others. Oh.
b raneisj! " she added, throwing herself dow n I
by my chair, and lifting my hand to het
lips. “\\hy do you try me so? Do you
really love me?’’
“ Alice," 1 said, impatiently, “do get up
Y ou tire me.”
She rose and turned very pale
“ I will go then. But first answer my
question. Do you love me. Francis? ’’
I felt anger and obstinacy in mv heart—
nothing else. Was she threatening me ■’
4 ‘ Did you love me when you married
me, Francis?"
“ I did. But M
4 ‘ But you do not love me now ’ ”
“Since you will have it," I said.
“ Go on .*"
“I do not love you—not as you mean."
There was a dead silence in the room as
the lying words left my lips, and she grew
so white, and gave me such of an- 1
«S K ®AS’ S« 8 B A St SS JR.
guish, that I repented of my cruelty and
forgot my anger.
“ I did not mean that, Alice,” I cried, —
“You look ill and pale. Believe me, I was
only jesting.”
“I can bear it, Francis. There is noth
ing on this earth that can not be borne —in
one way or other.”
She turned and left the room, quietly
and sadly. The sunshine faded just then,
and only a white, pale light came through
the window. Iso connected it with her sor
row, that to this day I can never see the
golden radiance come and go across my
path without the same sharp, knife-like
pang that I felt then, as the door closed be
hind her.
CHAPTER IV.
Alice became weaker and grew really
ill. A tour on the continent was strongly
recommended by the doctors as the likeli
est means of restoration. It was impossi
ble for me to go ; but some friends of ours,
one Mr. and Mrs. Warrener, with a young
daughter, were going to Italy for six months,
and it was arranged that Alice should ac,
company them.
They remained abroad nine months in
stead of six. People wondered and joked
about my wife’s deserting me; but 1 only
laughed, and said I should soon go after her
if,she remained away much longer; and
they thought we were still a model couple.
But had they seen me sitting in my office,
at night, over Alice’s letters from abroad,
they would have known what a gulf had
opened between us two. I read those let
ters over and over again, with aching throbs
going through and through my heart, at
every word. They were full of incident
and interest, and people called them beau
tiful, who had not seen the mixture of wo
manly passion and childlike playfulness in
her character that I had seen, and which I
was to see no more.
At last she returned. I came home tired
enough one evening, to find a letter lying
on my table, informing me that she would
cross to Dover on the morrow. I went
down to Dover to meet her. Our estrange
ment had worn deep into my heart. She
had loved me once; she should love me
again !
I was worn, haggard. 1 took a bath and
made a careful toilet after my hurried jour
ney. As I was taking my last look in the
glass, the hotel-waiter came to tell me they
had arrived.
I followed him, more nervous than I had
ever been before in my life. Warrener
grasped my hands as I opened the door,
and Mrs. Warrener—bless her kind heart!
—burst out crying.
“Oh, my dear Frank ! I am so glad to
see you. And we have brought you your
Alice home, so well.”
Next moment she entered, a little King
Charles’ spaniel frisking about her feet. I
had her in my arms at once, but it was not
until she kissed me that I knew’ how cold
and pale she was.
“ Alice, are you ill?” I asked, holding
her away from me, and looking into her
face.
Her eyes met mine, but their old light
was quite gone.
“ Not in the least ill, Frank,” she said
quietly. “But you must remember I have
not seen you for nine months, and you
startled me a little.”
My household fairy had fled, and I could
only mourn that 1 should never look upon
her sweet, young face again. It was anoth
er Alice, this. I had slain my own Alice,
and nothing could reanimate her.
I was like one in a dream all through the
day; and, w hen we cam i home, 1 could not
wake. I had made many changes in the
house, and all for her. 1 took her through
the rooms on the day after our return, and ;
showed her the improvements. She was
pleased with the furniture; she admired
the pictures and the conservatory, and
seemed delighted with the little gem of a
boudmr which I had pleased myself by de
signing expressly for her. She thanked
me, too. No longer ago than a year she
would have danced through the rooms, ut
tering a thousand pretty lit’leexclamations
of wonder and delight, and I should have j
been smothered with kisses, and called “a
dear old bear,” or some such fit name, at
the end ; all of which would have been very I
silly, but also very delightful.
I think I bore it for a month; but one'
morning, as I sat at my solitary breakfast
—for Alice took that meal in her room now I
—the bitter sense of w rong and unhappi-j
ness and desertion came over me so strong
ly that I went up to her room.
“ Are you busy ? ” I asked, as she laid I
down her pen and looked around.
“ Not too busy to talk to you,” she said.
“ Alice, how long are we to live this
lite ? She changed color.
i “ What life, Frank ? ”
‘•The one we are living now. It is not
the happy, loving lite we used to live. You
are not mine as entirely and lovingly as
you once weie.”
“ 1 know it.” And she sighed and look
ed drearily at me.
| “\V hy can not the old days come back
again ■ It 1 made a terrible mistake, can
! you never forgive it? I thought it was
foolish for us to love each other as we did
• —at least, to show it as we did—but I have
found now that love is earth's onlv true
w isdom.”
She smiled sadly.
"Give me back that love, Alice, which I
, would not have. Oh, give me back the lost
sunshine."
-< 1 rose from my seat and stood beside
her. but she drew back and shook her head.
I " Frank, don't ask me for that.”
" I shall know how to value it now. Alice.”
lhat may be ; but I have it not to give
you, my poor Frank.”
1 clasped her to my heart. The passion
in that heart might almost have brought
back life to the dead; but she did not i
move. She was like a statue in mv arms, j
and only looked at me and sighed.* ;
‘ “ 100 late, too late, Frank ’ ” j
“ Will you never forgive me?”
“Forgive? Do you think I have one
unkind thought or feeling towards you,
Frank ? Ah, no ! But lam chilled through
and through. My love is dead and buried.
Stand away from its grave, and let us meet
the world as best we may.”
I leaned my head upon my hands, and
my tears fell, and I was not ashamed of
them. But they seemed to rouse her into
a kind of frenzy.
“ You ? ” she exclaimed suddenly. “You,
who a year ago sow’ed the seed which has
borne this fruit, can you weep over your
> husbandry now? Don’t, Frank! Take
what I can give you —take my earnest
friendship—and God grant we may never
part, here or in heaven.”
“Ah ! in heaven—if we ever get there—
you will love me again.”
She quoted those sad words which poor
St. Pierre uttered on his dying bed :
“ Que ferait une ame isolee dans le ciel meme ? ” *
1 and laid her hand gently on mine.
> “ Heaven know’s, dear Alice, that as I
> loved you when we first met, I loved you
on that unhappy day, and love you still!”
“I am glad to hear it,” she said hurried-
I ly. “ Heaven only knows what days and
' nights w’ere mine at first. For my life had
" wrapped up in yours, Frank, and it was ter
-1 rible to separate them. 1 thought at first
• that I could not live. I suppose every one
, thinks so when a heavy blow falls. But
, strength was given, and, by-and-by, peace.
I We seem like two grey shadows, Frank, in
■ a silent world, and we must only wait God’s
3 time ; and hope that, on the other side of
t the grave at least, this great mistake may
t be set right. Believe me, I am happy in
- being with you, Frank—happy in thinking
- that the same roof shelters us, and that we
1 shall not part till one of us two dies.”
t I opened my arms, and, of her own ac
cord, she came to my heart once more; her
1 arms were around my neck, and her head
! upon my shoulder, and her lips meeting
I mine. Not as they used to do, yet tender
" ly and kindly.
And thus that chapter of our life is ended.
! We have never touched upon the subject
! since; but 1 have waited calmly for years,
and the same quiet light shines always in
the eyes of Alice—the same deep, sad tones
thrills my heart when I hear her speaking
or singing. An angel could scarcely be
gentler or kinder th in she who was once so
impetuous and full of fire. She was unrea
sonable, and exacting, and ardent, and im
perious in those days, I know, and my slow-
> er nature was always on the strain to keep
pace with hers; but, what a bright, joyous,
happy creature she was !
' It would have been different but for me.
[O, you w’ho read this little tale, remem
ber in time that a kind word and a loving
look cost little, although they do such great
work ; and that there is no wrong so deep
ias wrong done to a loving heart.l
I * ° 1
* What would an isolated soul do, even in heaven itself?
I THE SOLDIERS’COLUMN.
For The Baptist Banner.
In memory of Captain J. F. IF., Company C, 21 st
. Regiment Georgia Volunteers, who fell at the
battle of Manassas, August 28, 1862.
BY LULA DEAN.
He has fallen ' bravely fallen,
Nobly battling for the right,
On the gory field. Manassas—
Clothed his name with honors bright ;
Added to the nation’s history
One more page of brilliant worth—
Left behind him deeds of glory;
Blessed the land that gave him birth.
lie has fallen! where the battle
Raged the fiercest, there he stood,
Cheering on his men, and dauntless
Waiting for.the coming flood;
On it swept—but ere our shouts
Os victory sounded o’er the plain,
Death had claimed him! at his post
There he lay among the slain.
He has fallen! bring the laurels
Wreathed and waiting for his brow—
Though in death the hero sleepeth,
They are blooming for him now ;
Hang them on Fame's gilded altars.
Carve his name beneath them all—
A world may gaze and know how glorious
For our country ’tis to fall.
; Still thy anguish, widowed mother,
Weep not for thy valiant son,
| For we hope that noble spirit
Victory over death hath won;
Sisters, brothers, cease thy sorrow,
Though his coming steps ye miss;
Strive to meet him where no tear drops
Dim* the brightness of our bliss.
< Oxford. Ga., 1863.
[Fbr The Baptist Banner.]
VICE IN "THE CAMP.
Allow one, fellow-soldiers—whose expe
rience on the march, around the camp-fires,
entitles to respectful consideration what he
may say—tospeakof someof the vices which
have become, alas ! too popular in our regi-
: ments.
i It is doubtless true that evil communi
’ cations corrupt good morals, and that the
tendency of associating large numbers of
men together, where they are free from the
refining influences of home and friends, is
evil and continually evil. But where there
is enough of the man about a soldier, these !
baneful associations may be shunned as the •
breath of the deadly L’pas tree, and such
evil results will not follow. There is al
great deal of wickedness in all the camps 11
have visited; abandoned men curse and;
swear, roll the most shocking vulgarities as
sweet morsels from their tongues, engage I
in card-play ing, etc. But where is the ruFe. I
fellow-soldiers, that requires us to imitate
their coarse profanity, their shocking vul->
garisms, or low gaming I “ Wherefore by
their fruits ye shall know them.” Compa-;
ny not with such men; the poison of their
haunts is more fatal than that of the most!
venomous reptile.
A soldier in the camps, who was a church-[
member at home, is heard cursing and
swearing, indulging in low slang phrase and i
jest—is seen intoxicated or playing cards;
and it is said of him. “ Look at the corrupt
ing tendency of the camp ! ” Is this a right-;
I eous decision ? Believe it not. Seed sown
in a dry ground, though it be ever so fer
tile, will not sprout and send forth the ten
der plant peeping above the ground ; but
when the genial showers descend, moisten
ing the earth, the tiny sprig will come forth
and point heavenward. The fear of expul
sion from the church, and consequent dis
grace in the community —the prayers, en
treaties and tears of a loved mother, sister
or w ife—may for a time keep in check the
evil passions of the human heart; but when
these silken ties are severed for tbe soldier’s
life, the man gives loose reins to his pas
sions, his true character is developed, and
he appears in all his sad deformity. It is
not because the camp generates vice; it is
because he is free from home restrictions,
and his innate wickedness leads him to wan
der along the paths of folly. Seeing his
evil works, those who knew him at home
will say he is a deceiver and hypocrite, and
it will be a just decision.
A man in camp, who was regarded an
honest man at home, though not a member
of the Christian church, is proven guilty of
a petty theft. His comrades say he was as
honest as Paul at home. O, the change in
him ! Now, there is really no change in
the man at all. He who is base enough to
steal in the army will steal at home. Prob
ably he has filched at home, and was not
detected. In the camp, there are more in
ducements to the commission of these petty
crimes; though, if a man yields, it only
proves that at home he was honest because
it was the best policy, while he was really a
dishonest man. The} were not detected at
home for the reason that there was no oc
casion for the developement of their inhe
rent propensity. In camp they rob their
fellow-soldiers with perfect impunity. And
a man who can do this is sufficiently low in
the scale of degradation to steal the last cent
from the pocket of his comrade on the bat
tle field or elsewhere. The camp is a’good
ordeal to try the metal of which men are
made. It will speedily separate the dross
from the silver. This is one good result
that springs from the war. Men are known,
for we see them as they are. That is a
highly erroneous opinion which supposes
that all “ the royal vices of the age ” origi
nate in our armies.
Let us, fellow-soldiers, heed these things,
for everything hereafter depends on the re
putation we have in the army. If, when
this war is ended, our names are cast out
as evil by those we were associated with in
camp, a long life at home, spent in the ob
servance of all the rules of honor, will not
succeed in wiping out the foul stain that at
taches to us. Hearken to the injunction ofj
the Apostle : “ Be not overcome of evil, but
overcome evil with good.”
Thos. B. Espy,
Chaplain 31st Alabama.
Vicksburg, Miss., Jan. 24, 1863.
Gen. W. B. Bate, of Tenn., is assigned to
duty at Chattanooga. Gen. B. 11. Helm
has been ordered to report to Lieut. Gen.
Hardee, for the command of the celebrated
Kentucky Brigade, lately commanded by
Gen. Marcus J. Wright, of Memphis.
The Knoxville Register states that the
proceedings of the General Court Martial
in the case of S. T. Harris, have been ap
proved by Brig. Gen. Heth, and are pub
lished. The sentence is death, and Frida},
the 13th inst., had been fixed as the day on
which he was to be executed in that vicinity.
‘ The Baptist Banner ’ is published
at $3 a year ; soldiers can have it at $2,50.
The Baptist Banner.
FOR 1863.
The proprietors of The Baptist Banner
would inform the reading public, especially i
heads of families, that, as an excellent
HOME PAPER,
THE BANNER shall be surpassed by none.
It will be published every Saturday morning !
in Atlanta, at the rate of three dollars a year—
subscriptions taken for any length of time.
The LADIES, the CHILDREN, and the
SOLDIERS IN OUR ARMY, will receive ,
special attention; and each number, in addi
tion to a carefully prepared synopsis of reli
gious and secular NEWS, will contain a good (
STORY—together with entertaining Miscella
nies, Sketches, etc.
It will be, emphatically, a FAMILY paper.
The editor’s motto is, ‘ Make Home Happy.'
Those desirous of subscribing will please en
close the amount of their subscription, with the
name and post-office, and address
JAMES N. ELLS & CO.,
'• Atlanta, Ga. t
CARDS.
Ainos*. Elgon & Co.,
WHOLESALE GROCERS,
AND
COMMISSION MER CHA NTS,
For the sale of Produce, Merchandise, Real
Estate, Negroes, & c.,
Corner of Whitehall and Mitchell Streets,
ATLANTA, GA.
B. B. A MOSS. D. LIGON. B. H. LEFKE
Robert E. Crawley & Bro.,
COMMISSION MERCHANT S,
(Franklin Building.)
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
October 1, 1862.
I -
J. B. Tippin,
Wholesale and Retail Dealer in Foreign and
Domestic
DRY GOODS,
Block, on Whitehall Street,
ATLANTA, GA.
Brach A: Root,
IMPORTERS and DEALERS IN
dry goods,
(Whitehall Street,)
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
Oct 11 3m
AUGUSTA HOTEL,
William Wheelock, Proprietor,
BROAD STREET, AUGUSTA, GA.
"southern States hotel,
AUGUSTA, GA.
By Thomas A Little.
UNCLE TOM BAKER,
1 We have bought the entire interest of the
ormer proprietor in the Southern States Hotel,
and intend to keep a first class house.
W. M. Thomas. Isaac Little.
GLOBE HOTEL>
BROAD STREET, AUGUSTA, GA.
Mu I larky & Gannon, Proprietors.
AUSTIN MULLARKY. JOHN M. GANNON.
Hamilton, Markley & Joyner,
DEALERS IM'
DRUGS, MEDICINES, DYE-STUFFS,
PAINTS, OILS, ETC.,
Concert Hall building, opposite Georgia R.-R. Bank,
ATLANTA, GA. 025_
A. C. Vail,
—SIGN OP MILLEDGEVILLE CLOTHING STORE—
Empire House, Whitehall street,
ATLANTA, Ga.,
Has a large assortment of READY-MADE CLOTHING
and a large variety of Fancy Articles generally. Oc 25
S. ». Niles,
Fire and. Fife Insurance
AGENT,
[Corner of Whitehall and Alabama streets,]
ATLANTA, GA. Oct 18
Hughes, Hagan &. Co.,
Manufacturers of and Dealers in all kinds of
ENVELOPES,
ATLANTA, GA.,
Ug?" Manufactory on Peach Tree Street.
John Ficken,
MANUFACTURER OF AND DEALER IN ALL KINDS OF
SEGARS AND TOBACCO,
Snuff, Pipes, Meerschaums, Segar-Cases, Etc.
WHITEHALL ST., ATLANTA, GA.
Oct. 18 3m
D. Mayer. J. Jacobe. J. Kapp.
D. Mayer, Jacobe & Co.,
AUCTION and COMMISSION
MERCHANTS,
For the sale of Merchandise, Real Estate, Stocks,
Bonds and Negroes,
Whitehall Street, ATLANTA, Ga.
Oct. 18. 3m
A. C. Wyly & Co.,
WHOLESALE GROCERS,
AND
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
Corner of Walton and Peach-tree sts.,
ATLANTA, GA. O 25
~JL, T. Porter,
WHOLESALE GROCER,
AND
COMMISSION MERCHANT
Marietta St.,
ATLANTA, GEORGIA. 025
Thomas F. Lowe A Co.,
General Commission Merchants,
(exclusively,)
OF’ For the sale of PRODUCE, and all kinds
of MERCHANDISE; Negroes,
Real Es’ate, &e., &c.,
(In Daniels’ Block, Peach-tree st., and Winship’s
corner, ditto,)
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
Thomas F. Lowe. Jjsse Lowe, of Lawrenceville.
John C. White. w. Powers.
White & Powers,
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL
GROCERS,
DEALERS in
PRODUCE, and FAMILY SUPPLIES,
Marietta Street, Atlanta, Ga.
Oct. 18 8m
Brown, Firming A Co.,
FOREIGN and domestic
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
(Masonic Hall Building) Decatur St.,
ATLANTA, GA.
Advances made on Sugar, Molasses, Wool and
other Produce. Special attention given to the
Texas anu Georgia trade. Oct. 11 3m
James McPherson A. Co.
HAVE opened next door North of BEACH
& ROOT’S Store on Whitehall Street, a
new and select Stock of
BOOKS and STATIONERY,
Together with an endless variety of fancy arti
cles, such as,
ENGRA VINGS, GOLD PENS AND PEN
CILS, WINDOW SHADE SAND GILT
CORNICES, PICTURE FRAMES',
WALL PAPER, FIRE SCREENS,
RICH CHINA AND PARIAN
VASES, PARIAN FIG
URES, <fcc., <fr.
Foreign Books imported to order.
Teachers and Merchants supplied at Charles
ton prices, freight only added.
Frames made to order.
Remember the New Book Store of
JAS. McPHERSON A Co.
H. P. HILL & CO.’S
CONFEDERATE STATES
RAIE-ROAD GUIDE,
Containing the Time-Tables, Fares, Connec-
I tions and distances on all the Railroads of the
Confederate States; also, the connecting lines
of Railroads, Steamboats and Stages—and will
be accompanied by a complete Guide to the
principal Hotels; with a large variety of valua
ble information, collected, compiled and ar
ranged by J. C. BWAYZE.
Published by H. P. Hill & Co., Griffin, Ga.,
and for sale by all Booksells in the confederacy.
To Advertisers.
Business men who desire a first class adver
tising medium, for the whole Confederacy, will
find such an one in the
“ Confederate States Railroad Guide.”
Advertisements will be received at f 39 per
page, or fractional parts thereof at the same
rales. Address all orders for advertisements, or
the Book, to H. P. HILL A CO., Griffin, Ga. .
[JT Liberal commission to the Trade.
Shue’ s and Wood Choppers ’
U’g wf»h to purchase 2(0 bales of SHL’CKS or Fodder,
V F In lot* of not le*i than thirty bales, delivered at any
railroad dep»t between Atlanta sr d Knoxville; and we
ui.h to hire ttirty WOOD-CHOPPERS end TEAMSTERS,
either ’bite or black, all lor Saltville, Va, Address—-
stating prices, etc, A K. Skigo. Atlanta, or
3* AGO. KENNEDY, PALMERSTON A CO..
February 14, IstS. SaltvlUe, Va.