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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.