Newspaper Page Text
BY DAYTON, ELLS & CO.
VOLUME IV.
* W gsqrtijrt gan»n,
DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE,
■ls published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at the
subscription price of five dollars per year.
DAYTON, ELLS & CO.,
Proprietors.
A. C. DAYTON. JAS. N. ELLS. S. D. NILES
Intrinsic Worth.
’Tis not the bird of brightest wing
* Doth loftiest soar or sweetest sing ;
For brilliant plumage who would mark
The pinions of the warbling 1 irk ?
’Tis not the gaily painted flower
That sweetest blooms in wood or bower;
The violet of humble mein
Breathes oat its fragrance all unseen.
’Tis not the sparkling fountain’s flow
That gladdens most the vale below ;
The silent dew, the gentle rain
Will more refresh the thirsty plain
’Tis not the cosily pearl or gem
That forms the loveliest diadem;
The ornaments that most adorn,
Are by the lowly spirit worn.
’Tis not the fairest form or face
That most reveals the spirit’s grace;
The nobler virtues of the mind
Lie deep within the soul enshrined.
’Tis not the man of shining parts
Wields strongest sway o er human hearts;
But he of sympathetic soul
The willing passions doth control.
’Tis not the bjnsting Pharisee
Who finds acceptance for his plea ■
The contrite heart alone will bring
' To heaven a pleasing offering.
«_ - | ———-
T SI E DE A COX’S SON.
VnRUE PIETY is lovely, whether it be
| seen throwing its mellow light, chas
tened by affliction, on the evening of life,
or, in the spring-time of youth, gilding with
i a heavenly lustre the present and future, j
’ It does not shrink from trials; but the I
• greater the straits into which it is brought, :
, ’the more precious it becomes. The fires |
mfty glow with seven fold heat, but they
affect not its vitality. It leads the soul t<>-
l wards heaven, and, itself imparting true]
I happiness, it desires to make all others
I happy too.
■ With what earnestness do truly pious
R pray for tho cmi voruioii
of a bel*>vedtli<»ugh wayward child, and
look for the answer, which in some cases
they begin to receive, though they discern ‘
it not. Thus Jacob prayed to the God ofj
his fathers that he would bless him, and ,
multiply his seed, till they should be as the j
stars in number, and give them the pr<>rn
'"“-ised land. But he did not recognize the i
~ answer in the removal of Joseph, and the
taking away of Benjamin, hi his depres
sion he hastily said, “ All these things are
against me yet the Lord was answering
his prayer. Ile had sent Joseph before
him into Egypt, to lay up a plentiful store
of gram to sustain his numerous family.—
Dark as these providences seemed, they
had a bright side. Very often the very
things concerning which we murmur are
the things God is giving us in answer to
prayer.
Deacon Wright was rich in faith, and an
inheritor of the promise. He had a large
family, most of whom in the morning of
their days gave evidence of piety, and were
received into the church. There was one
son, a young man about twenty years of
age, who occasioned him much trouble ; he
was a reckless young man, fond of gayety
and amusements. While his father and
mother, and the remainder of the family
were at worship, he was either reading a
novel, or wasting his time in frivolous con
versation with his thoughtless companions.
Deacon Wright talked with him, reason
ed with him, and prayed for him, but all
seemed in vain. At length, like the prod
igal, he left his father’s house. He shipped
as a common sailor aboard a tnanofwiu-,
bound on a cruise of three years. lie
thought by this course to commence the
world for himself, and escape the restraint
of a parent’s hand, but he soon discovered
the error into' which he had fallen. He
was ordered and driven about in the most
imperious and overbearing manner, and
felt how much he had lost. He had no,
mother near to soften his pillow, or pray
by the side of his bed. 1 L*^ii ust perform
his allotted task. Many a time, with his
limbs aching from exposure ami exhaustion,
he turned into his berth, not to sleep, but
to reflect on his past'dife; the remembrance
of his ingratitude to his parents, and the
* innumerable which he
. had been guilt) against God.
He became pale and haggard. The dis
tress of his mind emaciated his body. He
had '’come to himself” upon the high seas.
Oh, how he longed to return to his dear
parents, and throw himself down
them to implore their forgiveness. nwR
could not be. His heavenly Father was
bringing him by a hard discipline to him
self. The gentler wooings of the Spirit
had been in vain. He gave a loose rein to
his uncurbed will, and very soon had placed
• himself where conscience could "reach him
with its terrible lash ; and the blows wen
repeat*'J with unpilyltig severity, while he
was writhing beneath every stroke.
He remembered the family altar, the
earnest pray ers of his j>arents, the Sabbath
School, the house of prayer, and the mit.is
ter; but he had slighted them all. He was
THE BAPTIST BANNER
stricken. At length he sought counsel from
the Lord. lie opened, for the first time,
the Bible his mother had given him when
he left home, and read, “Come unto me, all
ye that labor and are heavy laden, and 1
will give you rest;” and there, in the fore
castle of that ship, with his jovial and
wicked companions about him, he bent his
knees in prayer to God, and sought mercy.
Yes, he who had often scoffed at those who
were worshiping God in His temple, was
now kneeling in the forecastle of the ship,
crying for mercy, himself the butt of deri
sion and scorn. How true is the declara
tion, “With what measure ye mete, it shall
be measured to you again.” This was no
ordinary trial tor Richard Wright, but he
was in earnest —he felt <hat his soul must
be saved or lost.
But how bitter was the cup placed in the
hands of Deacon Wright and his wife to
drink ! They thought that was a dark hour
when Richard crossed their threshold for
the last time, and so to all human appear
ance it was; but God was answering their
praysrs, their oft-repeated prayers. Rich
ard must be humbled and awakened, and
he must lose his p irents’ kindness and care,
' that his conscience might be aroused, and
| his ingratitude and sin be brought home
I to his heart.
For some time Richard’s distress seemed
rather to increase than diminish, until one
j evening he was enabled to look away from
i his aggravated sins to the greatness of a
Saviour’s merit, and joy and peace filled his
soul through believing.
The first letter he had an opportunity of
sending home contained an account of his
conversion! And oh, what rejoicings it
occasioned.' The “dead was alive again,”
I the “ lost was found.”
Very patiently he waited till his time
| expired, and then he returned to gladden
his parents by his consistent Christian walk.
|“ We know that all things work together,
for good to them that love God, to them |
who are the called according to his pur-[
| pose.”
WE SHALL BE CHANGED.
They laid Christ’s body, * tyrn by the 1
crown of thorns, pierced by the nails and
(he spear, all bloody and cold, and dead, in
the tomb; but He was changed, and how
! glorious was He when He showed himself
j to Saul of Tarsus, and to John, His beloved
| disciple on the isle of Patmos ! They I
I laid Stephen’s body, all bruised and man- I
gled with stones, in the grave; but he wil[
■ be changed, and will come from that grave ■
in brightness and glory. They buried John
the Baptist, with his head cut oil’ by the
wicked; but he will come from that grave
w ith a crown of life on his head.
Some men went to China once, and be- i
cause they were forbidden to carry the silk j
worm out of the country, they hid some of
the little creatures’ eggs in the top of their
staves; and so out of those two dry staves
came all the silk worms and all the silk in
Europe since ! What a wonder ! A poor
rag-picker takes a short stick in his hand,
and goes into the dirty gutters of the streets s
of the city, and picks up little bits of rags
and paper. These he puts into his dirty
ban. But these are washed and made over,
and come out the pure white, sheet paper,!
beautiful enough to have a queen write on
it! Who<can doubt that God can take
these poor bodies, and of them raise up a t
new and better bo<!\ ? Out of the very i
darkness and hones of the grave, He can i
make something that will be brighter than
the sun forever !
These children n<»w reading, so young
and so fair, must be < hanged. They must
be changed by time, as it makes them older;
by sickness, as it withers them, as the worm
withers the flower; by death, which will
turn them into corpses; and by Christ'
when He comes to waken all the dead !
0 child, if you love that Saviour; ifyou
please Him by shunning what He forbids,
and doing what lie commands ; if you live
t<> please and honor Him, you shall be
changed, and b< conn- like the blessed Sa
' viour forever—hoi). glorious, immortal, J
! andblessed forever.
• ♦ ♦
The I.uxi'ry of Doing Good. — Dr.
Johnson, who carried a cripple on his back
• along Cheapside, has found a rival. The
Countess of Ellesmere was in Worsely the
other day, when she saw an old woman,
named Margaret Berry, who had been to
the coalpit for a full of coals,
a hundred weight.) and was then resting
with her load. The noble Countess, who
(we quote the Liverpool Albion) is <>ne of
thuße. truly nobii'women who delight in the
xtiry of doing good,” stepped up
. tot|je poor w.unau.wnd, accosting her with
fcllie words,‘‘You seem rather fatigued—l
will give you a lift” forthwith took up the
barrow and wheeled it a distance of at least
a hundred and fift) yards. •
Dear children, when you feel that you
are sinners, come to Christ for freedom ;
when you are sorrowful, come to him for
joy; when in trouble, come to him for
peace; when weak, for strength; when in
darkness, when ignorant, for
knowledge; in a word, come to Christ for
everything vou need. Pta is your All in
‘all. ' - 1
A BMOOOT A® S’AMX&I - OWS&Ott
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1863.
HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE.
“FOREVER GONE!”
How full of sad and yet inspiring mean
in<», are those little words—“ Forever gone!”
If°fully appreciated, they appeal more elo
quently to the heart than a«iy elaborate es
fort of the tongue or pen. They are writ
ten in countless places in the great volume
of nature, and are spoken by ten thousand
tongues which are never still. “Forever
gone,” says the drooping petal of the faded
flower, as the eye seeks in vain for that
beauty which once enchanted the heart.
“ Forever gone,” is heard in the lingering
sound of the fading music—in the solemn
dirge of the funeral bell—in the busy pul
sations of the living heart —in the spirit
voice of the. zephyr as it steals away.—
“ Forever gone,” is softly, yet solemnly, ut
tered by every fleeting moment that parses,
and is caught up and repeated by each joy
and privilege which that moment wafts on
its angel wings. The last lingering sun
beams write on the brow of heaven, and the I
rippling streamlet murmurs it for its song.
It is chanted by the countless voice harps
which render vocal the dim but hallowed
aisles of memory, and it mingles in the
lonely requiem of departed hopes and pleas
ures.
In maturer years, memory often recalls
to the mind the peaceful scenes and holy
joys of childhood, when innocence marked
every word and deed, and hope and the
heart had never learned to fear. She paints
the cherry smile that. plats upon the face,
.and the lively antic pations which rejoiced
the hopeful bosom. She tells how the
heart ran out in confidence and low towards
all the world, and how it loved ihe sweet
flowers without dreaming that they conceal
ed a thorn ; and as she speaks, a soft enchant
ment steals upon the soul, which makes us
almost feel that we are living those blithe
some, happy hours ovw again ; but painful
consciousness startles us with the truth—
I thy sunny childhood is “Forever gone.”
We look back o’er the changes of a few
i short years, and behold the pleasures of our
early friendships —hear the gay, sweet song>
we then sang,and the words which fell from
jguilele s lips. We remember many a bright
'reminiscence of our conimunings, how we
'toiled together or played together, how we
. told each, our petty hopes and fears, and
j talked of the better days when we should be
older and larger. We feast on these recol
i lections till fancy places us again under the
ioldoaks, upon the hill or by the quiet
I brook in the meadow, with those same
| young friends around us, and we dream
I soothing dreams of our boy hood’s day s ;
but soon, ah ! soon, there comes a voice
from the lips of truth, that says, Those
friends of thy boyhood are. “ Forever gone.”
1 remember standing on, a still, bright
'day, in the old churchyard, with a bosom
i oppressed with grief. There was anew
made grave waiting to receive its precious
trust. A solemn gloom had settled upon
every brow. Tears flowed from eyes that
seldom weep ; and ever and anon the shrill
cry of heart-bleeding anguish fell harshly
upon my soul. A coffin was placed beside
the grave, the lid romoved—and a calm,
smiling sacs uncovered for the last time.—
A cluster of flowers rested upon her bosom
—an emblem of her beauty and her early j
fall. Friends took a lingering, tearful, fare
well look ; some kissed the cold, yet smi
ling lip; and the lid was closed. Then the
I coffin was placed in the bosom of the grave,
j Many a sweet evergreen followed it, that
whispered to an ear that could not hear, i
We will still lemember thee.”
Soon a fresh mound was raised : the bu
rial was finished. Then he whose loss was
greatest, the cheerless, broken-hearted one,
turned away with an air of deepest sorrow,
and cried in those affecting tones that the
sorrowing alone can utter, “ Farewell! fare
well !”
1 went away ; but not to forget. All that
1 had seen or heard, was full of eloquence
to me. The tears —the cries—the coffin—
the flowers—the grave —the evergreen ; and
most —that piercing “farewell,'’ all spoke
plainly and mightily to my soul, those
■strange words, “ Forever gone.”
These little words are always teaching
us good lessons. 1 hey bid us to improve
the present, for that, too, like the past, will
soon be gone. Ere long, and we shall seek
the hopes, the pleasures, the privileges, the
coinmunings. the friendships, that now re
joice us. and cruel changes will tell us “ thev
are forever gone !’’ Let the duties ofto-dav
ibe done to-day, for each moment has its
own duties which cannot be crowded into
another; and a moment once gone, is “ For ,
ever gone.”
Let the young be taught that childhood
and youth are fleeting—that they are tne
buds which determine the blossoms of riper
years K and that, once gone—all theiroppor
tuni ies and hopesand privileges are “ f or
ever gone.”
Let every heart be taught the sad truth,
that its friends are fast “passing awa\
Those now with us will soon, like tbotje *we
have loved and lost in by gone be
numbered with the “ Forever gone.” If we
would hlwss them, let us bless them now
while they are with us. It we would 'hed
the light of j<>y o’er features veiled in sor
row’s shades; if we would heal a bleeding
heart, cheer a drooping soul, and plant the
iflowers of peace in a bosom where the,
thot ns of anguish grow; if we would dry
the burning tear, hush the sorrowful sigh,
and, in fine, do good to those around us, let
us do it now ; else they, too, will soon be,
though not too far for the heart to love, yet
too far for the hand to bless them.
Let us not, then, speak to them in words
that we would not love to remember, were
they gone. Let us give them smiles instead
of frowns; joy instead of grief; for when
friends are gone, it will be painful to have
the unkind words we spoke to them, sound
ing in harsh echoes in our hearts, and the
spectres of the cruel injuries we did them,
haunting our vision.
Another lesson of these little words is,
that we should not link our hopes of happi
ness to the things of time—
For everything around, above,
Is taught by God to softly speak—
“ Fast going—gone —forever gone,”
’Tis tints with all the golden links
By which congenial hearts are joined ;
’Tis thus with virtue, merit, worth,
All precious excellence —all good.
Let us work while we may serve God
“ in the beauty of holiness ;” and then when
our pilgrimage is ended, the consciousness
of the smiles of an approving Father shall
sink epon the soul in that dark hour like a
breath from heaven ; and the good angels
shall point us to the tears and toils, the
.sighs and strife, the frowns and fears, the
dangers and dread, the prayers and pains
of earth, and then shout in a tongue that
shall awaken heaven in the soul—“ Forever
g _______
“NO GOD TO GO TO.”
A few weeks ago, while far from home, I
went up to the “ house of the Lord” to wor
ship with His people. When the hour came
f r I entered a slip in
which several ladies were seated, hoping to
garner some good from that day’s exer
cises.
Just before the time for closing came, one
member of the class, whose heart seemed
i All aglow with love for J.-sus, and a desire
■ f«r the salvation of precious souls, request
ed of the class that they should remember
in prayer a dear friend who was deeply
j afflicted, and who, as she expressedit,
“ seemed to have no God to go to.”
' “No God to go to!”—how the words lin
gered in my heart; 1 could not shake them
ofl.
“No God to go to!” How dreadful the
condition ; and yet there are so many
among the list of chosen on whose heart
the name of the God who made them and
loves them with pitting tenderness is
not engraven. Thousands and thousands
i all over our world coldly turn from His
proffered mercy, and live on, without “a
I God to go to.”
When never a cloud lowers upon your
pathway, and all your hopes bud and bloom
1 and come to ripened maturity with never a
blight on their beauty, can you receive all,
and never desire “ a God to go to,” in the
spirit of the Psalmist, who cried, “ Because
thou hast been my help, therefore in the
shadow of thy wings wiM I rejoice?”
Have you never a “Bless the Lord, 0
my soul, and forget not all his benefits,” to
j utter ?
Alas, when the raindrops of grief.shall
fall heavy upon your heart, and the waves
of some crushing agony come surging over
your spirit, in that hour of utter desolation,
how will you feel the need of “a God to go
to.”
If you have no hope in Him who died
on Calvary, seek Him now, that through
life and in death, in sunshine or cloud, in
joy or sorrow, your everlasting trust may
be in Him who is ready to receive all who
come unto Him.
ECHOES OF THE VALLEY OF LIFE.
Hear the story of the child that went'
forth into the mountain ravine. Whilst the
chil<l wandered there he cried aloud to
break the loneliness, and heard a voice
which called to him in the same tone. He I
called again, and, as he thought, tbe voice ,
again mocked him. Flushed with anger,
he rushed to find—no one. He then called
out to him in anger, and with all abusive
epithets, all of which w’ere faithfully re
turned to him. Choking with rage, the
' child ran to his mother and complained that
a boy in the woods had insulted him with
many vile words. But the moth- r took
her child by the hand and said : * My child,
those names are but the echoes of thine own
voice. Send forth sunshine fr >m thy spirit,
and th u shall never have a clouded day.
Carry about a vindictive spirit, and even in
, the flowers shall lurk curses. Thou shalt
receive even what thou givest, arid that
alone.’ Always, said the speaker, is tha‘ l
child in the mountain passes, and every rmn
and every woman is that child.
< ♦ ♦
A New Story.
We expect to have ready in time for the
beginning of our next volume, a beautiful,
thrilling, and instructive denomit ational
St< rv, which will possess, for our \oung
frit rds. all the charms < f ihe rru st attract
ive narrative, while it will embody a large
amount of Bible truth in regard to the or
| dinances of the church of Christ.
THE CHILDREFS COLUMN.!
• THE BLIND BOY.
The other day, I went to see a little blind
boy. The scarlet fever settled in his eyes
and for many months he has not seen at all.
He used to be a sprightly litile fellow, up
on the run every where. “ Well, my dear
boy,” I said, “this is hard for yuu, is it
not?” He did not answer for a minute,
then he said, “ I don’t know as I ought to
say hard', God knows best,;” but his. lip
quivered, and a little tear stole down his
cheek.
“ Yes, my child, you have a kind heavenly
L ? ather, who loves you and feels for you
more even than your mother does.” “ 1
know it, sir,” said the little boy. “ and it
comforts me.” “ I wish Jesus w 7 as here to
cure Frank,” said his little sister ; “Jesus
cured a good many blind men when he was
on the earth, and I am most sure he would
cure Frank.” “ Well,” said I, “he will
open Frank’s eyes to see what a good Sa
viour he is. He will show him that a
blinded heart is worse than a blind eye,
and he will wash his heart in his own blood
and cure it, and make him see and enjoy
beautiful heavenly things, so that we may
sit here and be a thousand times happier
than many children who are running about.”
“I can’t help wishing he could see,” said
Lizzie. “ I dare say,” said I, “ but I h«>pe
yon don’t make Frank discontented.”—
“Frank isn't discontented,” said Lizzie,
earnestly ; “he loves God! And love sets
everything right, and mikes its own
sunshine; doesit not, Fiauk?” “ I don’t
feel cross now,” said the blind boy, met kl \;
“when I’m-alone,! pray, and sing my Sab
bath-school hymns, and sing, and sing, and
God’s in the room, and it feels light, and—
and—l forget I’m blind at al i!” and a sweet
light stole over his pale features as he spoke;
it was heavenly light, I was sure. I went
to pity and comfort him, but I found God
had gone before me. The great God who
has a thousand worlds to take care of, did
not overlook him, but with his heart oflove
came and turned his mourning into joy, his
darkness into light, and made him in his
misfortunes, as happy as a child o«*ti be.—
Oh ! God can do more and better for us
than we can ask or think.
THE YOUNG PRINCE.
Many, many years ago there lived in
England a very wicked prince, a king’s son
named Henry. He was in the habit of
spending the time, for the most part, in
taverns and other vile places, and mingling
with companions who, although they were
far below himself in rank, were not only
tolerated by him, but their society was
preferred to that of the many learned men
of his father’s court.
On one occasion he entered into a plan
with some of his boon companions to sur
prise a party of travellers who w'ere expec
ted in London that night, and to rob them
of their money. They succeeded in their
design, and were all seated round a table
in a tavern, carousing, and “ making night
hidious” with their revelry, when suddenly
a posse of police pounced upon them, and
hurried them ofl’ to a neighboring magis
trate.
The good judge read them a long lec
ture on their wicked course, and then sent
all the prince’s companions to prison. lie
was about to free Henry, when that young
man, thinking he was insulted by the sen
tance his comrades had received, and using
many harsh words, dealt the judge a blow
on the face. The magistrate was indignant
at this wanton insult, and angrily repri-
I rnanding him, sent him to prison with his
companions.
The king, his father, instead of being an
gry, as we snould have expected, at his
'officer for what might have appeared to him
to be an untimely act, made this world
renowned remark : “Happy is the king who
has a son willing to obey, and a judge wil
ling to enforce the laws.” It may be proper
to add, that Prince 11-nry, when he grew 7
to man’s estate and reiged in his father’s
stead, dropped all connection with his for
mer companions, and became one of the
most renowned sovereigns of England.
“ Be just and fear not,” is a motto well
illustrated by the foregoing anecdote, but
alas, too often disregarded. Every child
should be taught it, so that when he grows
tin to be a man, he will foltow its precept.
The onecdote should encourage all boysand
tfirls to fly their evil companions in time;
the avenger is always at hand, and never
swerves from his imperative duty.
Children, a man who has lived iq the
world m>»re than threescore and ten years,';
and who knows, by long experience, what!
it is to need kindness, and how refreshing
sometimes kindness and truth are—such a
man handed us, the other day, the following
stanza, which seems to him more golden
now, as a rule of life, than it did when he
was a little boy. Up took the trouble, on
a very cold day, to bring it to us for your
use:
DO XS TOC WOULD BE DONE BY.
" Be you to o’hers kind and true,
A» you’d have oth-r be to you;
And neither do no’ 7 -ay to them,’
That which you would not take again.” i
TERMS—Five Dollars a-year.
LEVI M. CHURCHILL. ’ J. R. W. JOHNSTON’
CHURCHILL & JOHNSTON,
DRY GOODS,
AND
General Commission Merchants,
233 BROAD STREET,
AUGUSTA, GEORGIA,
Will give prompt and personal attention to alt Consign
ments they may be favored with.
CONSIGNMENTS solicited.
FACTORY GOODS always on hand, and sold
at the lowest market rates. Sept. 26 ly
C. B. Day. C. V. Walker. J. P. K. Walker.
DAY, WALKER, & CO.,
AUCTION AND GENERAL ’
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
(Corner Broad and Jackson sts.)
AUGUSTA, GA.
Will give prompt and personal attention to all
CONSIGNMENTS
that they may be favored with.
REFERENCES: Bones, Brown & Co., Doughty,
Beall & Co., Augusta; Goodw’in & Robbins, Selma,
Ala. ; Geo. W. Williams & Co., A. S Johnston,
Charleston; Baker, Lawler & Co., Mobile, Ala. ;
Hack & Johnston, Richmond Factory, Ga. *
Sept. 26, 1863. i y
JOHN FICKESI.
MANUFACTURER OF AND DEALER IN ALL KINDS OF
SEG-ARS,
, TOBACCO, SNUFF, PIPES, MEERSCHAUMS,
SEGAR-CASES, ETC.,
' In the new granite building, Whitehall st;
Atluuta, Ga.
CITY IUCtToN
—A N D—
COMMISSION HOUSE.
— :o:
SHACKELFORD, SAINT &Co.
FI <VE removed from their old stand into the
Inlet igencer building, where they are prepared to
receive all kinds ot Goods a..d Merchandize on con
signment.
Special attention given to the sal? of LANDS,
NE G R OES <fcc.
AUCTION HALES EVERT DA Y AND NIGHT.
S J. t?H\CKELFORD,
J. C. SAINI’,
M. A. SHACKELFORD.
Sept. 26—3 m.
FouTtTelr n
.“ENVELOPE”
I
TTJLCTOIR.Y,
• (Over Loive, Fambrough <£• Co.'s store,)
PEACH-TREE ST.,
1
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
i
Hughes & green,
(successors to Hughes, Hagan & Co.)
i always keep a large stock of ENVELOPES
r and PAPER on hand. July 25,1863.
?
t NOTICE. Having this day disposed ot
■ my entire interest in the “ Southern Envelope
Factory” to my former partners, Messrs. D. W.
Hughes and John D. Green, I take pleasure
in recommending them as gentlemen worthy of
the confidence and patronage of the public.
The Factory will be continued at tbe old
t stand, by my successors, -Messrs. HUGHES &
jj GREEN, who will settle all the business of the
old firm. JOHN T. HAGAN.
’ Atlanta, Ga, July 23, 1863. jy2s ly
' McDaniel & Rippey,
GENERAL COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
wholesale and retail,
■ (Thompson's Building, on Decatur Street,)
1 ATLANTA, GA.
ods bought, sold, and shipped, on commssion
alsall business promptly (aiililiilly attended to.
Robert C. Crawley,
COMMISSION MERCHANT,
(Franklin Building,)
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
October 1, 1862.
I*eai*c & Davi*,
WHOLESALE AND li ET * I DEALERS IN
PRODUCE and PROVISIONS,
AND
COMMISSION MERCHANTS
(Winship’s iron-front store, Peach-Tree st.)
ATLANTA, GA.
P. P. Pease ] [ L . B. Davis
Any business entrusted to us will receive prompt
attention and returns early made We ask out
friends to give us a call when in our city. Any Pro
duce consigned to us will receive every advantage
our market can give. Also we can make purchases
to the very best advantage, as we are aiways pos
. ted in reference to the market prices.
February 15, 1862.
Brown, Fl mlng & Co.,
FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
(Masonic Hall Building) Decatur St,
ATLANTA. GA.
Advances madeon Sugar, Molasses, Wool and
other Produce. Special attention given to the
Texas and Georgia trade. Oct. 11 9m
El. L. Williams.
(Successor to Am<>--, Ligon Ar C 0..)
GENERAL COMMISSION MERCHANT, **
Corner of Whitehall and Mitchell streets,
ATLANTA, GA.
NUMBER 45.