Years after, when the Government of the United States accepted a statue of General Stephen D. Lee, to be placed upon the battle ground of Vicksburg—­now a national park—­it was the late General Frederick Dent Grant, son of the capturer of the city, who journeyed thither to unveil the memorial to his father’s former foe.  And by a peculiarly gracious and fitting set of circumstances it came about that when, in April last, the ninety-fifth anniversary of the birth of U.S.  Grant was celebrated in his native city, Galena, Illinois, it was Blewett Lee, only son of the general taken by Grant at Vicksburg, who journeyed to Galena and there in a memorial address, returned the earlier compliment paid to the memory of his own father by Grant’s son.

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Columbus may perhaps appreciate the charm of its old homes, but there is evidence to show that it did not appreciate certain other weatherworn structures of great beauty.  I have seen photographs of an old Baptist Church with a fine (and not at all Baptist-looking) portico and fluted columns, which was torn down to make room for the present stupidly commonplace Baptist church:  and I have seen pictures of the beautiful old town hall which was recently supplanted by an ignorantly ordinary town building of yellow pressed brick.  The destruction of these two early buildings represents an irreparable loss to Columbus, and it is to be hoped that the town will some day be sufficiently enlightened to know that this is true and to regret that it did not restore and enlarge them instead of tearing them down.

Until a decade or two ago Columbus had, so far as I can learn, but four streets possessing names:  Main Street, Market Street, College Street, and Catfish Alley, all other streets being known as “the street that Mrs. Billups, or Mrs. Sykes, or Mrs. Humphries, or Mrs. Some-one-else lives on.”

Market and Main are business streets—­at least they are so where they cross—­and, like the other streets, are wide.  They are lined with brick buildings few if any of them more than three stories in height, and it was in one of these buildings, on Main Street, that we found the Bell Cafe—­advertised as “the most exclusive cafe in the State.”

Being in search of breakfast rather than exclusiveness, we did not sit at one of the tables, but at the long lunch counter, where we were quickly served.

After breakfast we felt strong enough to look at picture post cards, and to that end visited first “Cheap Joe’s” and then the shop of Mr. Divilbis, where newspapers, magazines, sporting goods, cameras, and all such things, are sold.  Having viewed post cards picturing such scenes as “Main Street looking north,” “The 1st Baptist Church,” and “Steamer America, Tombigbee River,” we were about to depart, when our attention was drawn to a telephonic conversation which had started between Mr. Divilbis’s clerk and a customer who was thinking of going in for the game of lawn tennis.  The half of the conversation which was audible to us proved entertaining, and we dallied, eavesdropping.