Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

lb. t. blome & CO., PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS. ! AUGUSTA, GA., APRIL 4, 1868. PUBLISHERS’ DEPARTMENT. TER M S : One Copy, one year, invariably in advance... .*3 f>o “ “ six months, “ “ ... 150 Single Copies 10 cts. To Clubs.—To any person sending ns a Club of 15, one copy, one year, will be given. To Clubs of 20, or more, Thk Baxnf.h will be furnished at the rate* o 1 ! f2 50 per annum. tfH ■ In all cases the names must be furnished at the tame time, and the cash must accompany each order. tit ■ Dealers will be supplied on liberal terms. tin' All Communications, intended for publication, must be directed to the Editor, Rev. A. J. Ryan ; and i.ll Business Communications to the Publishers, L. T. Blome k Cos., Augusta, Ga. ti<‘ ' A few Advertisements will be received, and in serted on liberal terms. Agents for The Banner of the South : General Traveling Agents.— Cant. M. ,T. O’CONNOR and Lieut. W. A. WRIGHT. Charleston, S. C,—EDW. LEE. Savannah, Ga.—E. M. CONNER. I Macon, Ga.— C. J. CAREY. Atlanta, Ga.—E. G. L. MOBLEY, i Columbus, Ga.—JOEL T. SCOTT, i General Agent for Florida.—J. EVANS FROST, Jack sonville, “ Mercury” office. ; tiff- The paper can also be obtained from news and periodical dealers everywhere. titi' Specimen copies will be sent to any address, on application. Southern Express Company.— We are indebted to this useful and valued associ a - tion for favors received. To be Continued.— -The editorial on “Southern Women and Children,” will be continued by Father Ryan in our next number. Southern Home Journal.—We are pleased to welcome this Southern journal to our list of exchanges. It is neatly printed, well filled with interesting read | ing, and is published weekly, at Balti more, by J. G. Slater, at $3.00 per annum in advance. The Catholic Mirror.— The Mirror is a leading journal of our Church, and is published weekly at Baltimore’by Messrs. M. J Kelly and Jno. B. Piet. It is the official organ of the Most Rev. Archbishop of Baltimore and Rt. Rev. Bishops of Richmond and Wheeling, Ya. A capital paper, and ably edited. -—- The Leader.— We invite the attention of our readers to the Prospectus of the ; Leader, in another column. The Leader j is to take the place of Southern Society , now published at Baltimore, and will, no doubt, be as ably edited and as neatly printed. It will be published weekly at $3.00 per annum. -» + St. Patrick’s Day.— The anniversary of Ireland’s Patron Saint was duly cele brated in all the principal cities and towns of the Union, and even in some of the smaller ones. Our space will not permit us to collate all there celebrations : but we may say here that from all accounts these celebrations passed off in a satisfac tory and agreeable way. “ The Confederate Dead”—By Miss Carrif. Bell Sinclair. —We have re ceived from Mr. E. H. Pughe, of the A ationcd Republican, of this city, a copy ot Miss Sinclair's beautiful and touching poetical tribute to the Confederate Dead, It is handsomely gotten up, is suitable lor framing, and should find a place in every Southern household. < __ Personal. —We have had the plea sure, during the past week, of visits from Jas. E. Frost, Esq., Editor of the Jack* sonville (Fla.) Mercury , and M. J. Di vine, Esq., of the Savannah Advertiser. Both of these gentlemen are from Au gusta, and publish capital papers. We !( commend both journals to the patronage ’ of the public. THE UNSPOKEN WARNING. I am no believer in the supernatural. I never saw any ghosts, never heard any noises ; none, at least, that could not be accounted for on natural principles. I never saw lights round the bed, or heard knocks on the head-board which proved to be “ forerunnei sos sicknessor death ;” I never had even dreams “ come to pass and to spirits, in the common acceptation of the term, since the days of the Fox girls, my very presence has been always a damper. lam not one of the sort who are always on the lookout for signs and wonders; and if want of faith in spiritual ism or supernaturalism is a sin, I ought ; to have been the last one to look for so marked a you may name it what you please, I call it divine interposition, as the one I am about to relate, all the witnesses in which—and they are not a few—are still living. One bitter cold day' in winter a merry party of us, nestled down under furry robes, went to meet an appointment with a friend living a few miles distant, with whom we were to spend the afternoon, and in the evening to attend a concert to be held near by. The sleighing was de lightful, the air keen and inspiriting, the host and hostess genial as the crackling lircs in the grates, and the invited guests, of whom there were many besides our selves, in that peculiar trim, which only oldtime friends, long parted, can enjoy. Restraint was thrown aside; we cracked jokes; we chatted like magpies, and not a little of the coming concert, which pro mised a rare treat to our unsophisticated ears. Ail went merry as a marriage bell, and merrier than some, till just" before tea, when 1 was seized with a sudden and unaccountable desire to go home, accom panied by a dread or fear of something, 1 knew not what, which made the return appear, not a matter of choice, but a thing imperative. I tried to reason it away, to revive anticipations of the concert ; I though of the disappointment it would be to those who came with me to give it up, and running over in my mind the condi tion in which things were left at home, I could find no ground for alarm. For many years a part of the house had been rented to a trusty family ; our children were often rocked in the same cradle, and half the time ate at the same tableq locks and bolts were things unused, and in deed as in words ive were neigh bors. In their care had been left a boy of ten years, the only one of the family remaining at home, who knew that when he returned from school he was expected to bring in wood and kindlings for the morning fire, take supper alone, or with little Clara , as he chose, and other wise pass the time as he pleased, only that he must not go into the street to play or on the pond to skate. He had been left many times in this way, and had never given occasion for the slightest un easiness; still, as this nameless fear grew upon me, it took the form of a conviction that danger of some sort threatened this beloved child. I was rising to go and ask Mr. A to take me home, when someone said, “ You are very pale. Are you ill ?” “ No,” 1 answered, and dropping back in the chair, told them how strangely 1 had been exercised for the last few minutes, adding, “ I reallv must go home.” There was a perfect chorus of voices against it, and for a little time I was si lenced, though not convinced. Someone laid the matter before Mr. A , who replied, “Nonsense! Eddie is a good boy to mind, will do nothing in our ab sence that he would not do if we were there, and is enjoying himself well at this moment, I will warrant.” This answer was brought to me in t i umph, and I resolved to do as they said, “ not think about it.” But at tea my trembling hand almost refused to carry food to my lips, and 1 found it utterly im possible to swallow a mouthful. A death like chill crept over me, and I knew that every eye was on me as I left the room. Mr. A arose, saying in a changed voice and without ceremony, “ Make haste—bring the horse round ; we must go right away, I never saw in such a state before ; there is something in it.” He followed me to the parlor, but before he could speak I was pleading as for dear life that not a moment be lost in starting for home. “I know,” said I, “it is not all imagination, and whether it is or not, I shall certainly die if this dreadful incubus is not removed shortly.” All was now confusion ; the tea-table deserted, the meal scarce tasted ; and rny friends alarmed as much at my looks as at my words, were anxious to hurry me off as they had before been to detain me. To me those terrible moments seemed hours, yet I am assured that not more than half an hour elapsed from the time niy fears first found expression before we were on the road toward home. A horse somewhat noted for lleetness was before us, and with only two in the cutter—the rest staid to the concert, and made Mr. A promise that if nothing had happened we would return—went over the road at a rapid pace. I knew from the frequent repetition of a peculiar signal that the beast was being urged to his best, yet I grew sick with impatience at my restraint. 1 wanted to fly. All this while my fears had taken no definite shape. I only knew that the child was in danger, and felt impelled to hurry to the rescue. Only once was the silence broken in that three mile journey, and that was when, on reaching an eminence from which the house was in full view, I said, “Thank God ! the house isn’t on fire.” “ That was my own thought,” said Mr. A , but there was no slacking of speed. On nearing home a cheerful light was glimmering from Mrs. E ’s window’, before the vehicle had fairly stopped we were clear of it, and, opening the door, said in the same breath*, “Where’s Eddie ?” “ Eddie ?” Why he was here a little while ago,” answered Mrs. E , pleas antly, striving to dissipate the alarm she saw written on our countenances. “He ate supper with the children, and played awhile at marbles ; then spoke of Libby Rose having anew picture book and that he wanted to see it. You’ll find him over there.” With swift steps Mr. A crossed the street to the place mentioned, but re turned with, “ lie lias not been there ” Eddie was remarkably fond of skating, and my next thought was that he hsd been tempted to disobedience. I said calmly, u We will go to the pond.” I was per fectly collected ; I could have worked all night without fatigue with the nerves in that state of tension ; but Mr. A— said, “No, you must go in and lie down. Eddie is safe enough, somewheic about the village. I’ll go and find him. But there was nothing in the tone as in the words to reassure me. As he spoke he crossed the hall to our own room, and turned the knob. The door was locked. What could that mean ? Eddie was either on the inside or had taken the key away with him Mr. A ran round to a window with a broken spring, which could be opened from the outside. It went up with a clang, but a dense volume of smoke drove him back. After an instant another attempt was made, and this time, on a lounge directly under the window, he stumbled on the in sensible form of little Eddie, smothered in smoke! Limp and''apparently lifeless, he was borne into the fresh, cold air, and after some rough handling, was restored to consciousness. From that hour I think I have known how Abraham felt when he lifted Isaac from the altar unharmed, in obedience to the command of an angel of the Lord. True, I had been subjected to no such trial of strength and faith ; my Father knew I would have shrunk utterly before it ; yet, if it was not a similar messenger that whispered to me in the midst of that gay part}’ an hour previous, I have no wish to be convinced of it, and were the book placed in my hands which I knew had power by its subtle reasonings to rob me of this sweet belief, I would never open it. Eddie said on returning from school he made a good fire, and, as the wood was snowy, thought he would put it in the oven to dry—something he had never done before. Then on leaving Mrs. E ’s room, he went in for an apple before going to see Libby Rose’s picture book, and it seemed so nice and warm he thought he would lie down awhile. He could give no explanation as to who prompted him to turn the key—it was the first and last time ; but this could have made no difference in the result, for no one would have discovered the smoke in time to save his life. The wood in the oven was burned to ashes, but as the dock’s were closed, there was no danger of falling embers setting the house on fire ; and had we staid to the concert every thing would have been as when we left, except that little Eddie’s voice would never more have made music for our ears. Every one said that with a delay of five or even three minutes, we should have been too late. Many years have passed since then, yet now, when the lamp of Faith burns dim, and God and His promises seem a great way off, I have only to go back to this—the first, the last, the only mani festation of thisnatuie—to feel that, “ as a father careth for his children, so careth He for us.” “Deliver us from evil for Thine is the power” is no mere formality, but words pregnant with meaning. *«•** Slander. —A man who will stab at another's reputation by insinuation and iuuendo is far worse than a thief. Goods you may replace, but character, once lost, is all but redeemable, and, as a great writer has said, a word is enough to ruin a man. QUEEN SEMIRAMIS AND HER WARS. The city, and temple of Babylon was first begun by Nimrod, “the mighty hunter before the Lord,” of which"" the Bible, speaks. But various other persons contributed to its grandeur, the most cele brated of which was a woman named Semiram is, the wife of Ninus, King of Assyria, who, when her husband died, became the sole ruler of the empire. She was a very ambitious woman, and did not care so long as she could make herself great; and so she determined to conquer as much of the then known world as she could. She was also a very courageous woman ; and, one night, word having been brought to her of a tumult having taken place in the city, she immediately mounted on horseback in her undress, and did not return till she had restored all the refrac tory to obedience. You see it is of no use tar people to be ambitious unless they are very courageous, and ready to hazard their lives at all times. Soon after this she set off with a pow erful army, and conquered a great part ot Ethiopia, Here she visited the temple of Jupiter Ammon and inquired of the oracle how long she had to live. You see, although she wished to subdue so much, she knew death would subdue her, and she could not have been very happy, without, indeed, she had the hope of a future life and a good conscience, which few great conrjuerors have. Her greatest and last expeditions was against India; and tor the conquest of this country she raised an immense army from every part ot her empire, and ap pointed Bactria for the rendezvous. When the King of India had notice of her approach he immediately dispatched some ambassadors to inquire what right she had to molest him, who was living peacefully in his own dominions, and who had never troubled himself about her. She is said to have replied that when she came over to him lie would know what right she had—meaning that she would make her might her right, as all unprin cipled people do. The principal reliance of Scmiramis was upon the great numbers of her army, and the chief thing she feared were the elephants of the Indian king, which, of course, were at that time very formidable in battle. To make herself equal to this point, and to inspire the Indians with terror, she ordered a large number of camels to be disguised as elephants, in hopes of deceiving her enemy, and at a distance they looked very 'well. She had now to pass the river Indus. A number of boats were prepared, and a part of the army entered them. On the other side of the river the Indians pre pared to oppose her, and entered their boats. Thus a tierce conflict began on the water between the two parties.— Semiramis, however, had the advantage, and after sinking a thousand of their boats, put them to flight. She also took one hundred thousand prisoners. Encouraged by this success, she march ed the whole of her army quite into the heart of the country, leaving sixty thousand men behind to guard a bridge of boats she had built across the river that she might get back agaiu should she be forced to run away It is easy to get yourself into difficulty, but not so easy to get out of it. Recollect this, rny young friends— always secure your retreat. The Indian king, however, was quite as cunning as Queen Semiramie; he wished to draw her into the heart of his kingdom, and, no doubt, suffered himself to be beaten. He lied ; she followed with the elephants in tier train. When the king thought she had gone far enough for his purpose, he turned his army lound and faced her, and a second engagement ensued, more bloody than the first. Then it was that the queen had to dis cover the difference between a real ele phant and a counterfeit, for the sham ele phat could not stand the shock of the real ones. These routed her army, tossing the soldiers about with their high trunks, goring them with their tusks, and tramp ing them to death by hundreds beneath their feet. The queen, finding the day against her, was nearly made with rage, and rushed into the fight as if she did not care whether she lived or died. The king ad vanced towards her and wounded her in two places, and would either have slain or taken her prisoner, but the switness ot her horse saved her. She, with all her army that had not been stain or taken prisoners, immediate ly rushed towards the bridge, to repass the river ; but, through the confusion and disorder, many ol her soldiers perished. When she arid a great part of her army got safely over, she destroyed the bridge, and left a great number to be slain by the Indians. She did not care for them, al though they devoted themselves to her srrviee. The Indian king would not pursue her any farther; he thought he might not get back again to his own dominions. It would have been quite right had he fol lowed her up to the very gates of Baby lon, which she reached in a very sad con dition, quite crest-fallen and covered with confusion. Babylon was no longer a place of en joyment for her, and her wicked design of doing evil to a peaceable person met with its reward. During her absence her own son was plotting against her, and after her return she was obliged to abdicate her throne and withdraw herself to the temple, where she lived several years, dying at the age of sixty-two years. After her death divine honors were paid her—l cannot tell for what. lam sure she had not learned to “do to others as she would that they should do unto her.” GEMS OF PROSE AND POETRY. He is not poor who hath little, but he that desireth much. lie is rich enough who wants nothing. To things which you bear with impa tience you should accustom yourself, and by habit you will bear them well. the barefooted boy. Blessings cn thee, little man. Barefoot boy •with cheeks of tan. With thy turned up pantaloons. And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace ; From my heart I give thee joy— I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art—the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride ; Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye— Outward sushine, inward joy— Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! A man’s character is frequently treated like a grate—blackened all over first, to come the brighter afterward. Read not books alone, but men, and among them chiefly thyself; if thou find anything questionable there, use the com mentary of a severe friend.— Enchiridion . HAPPY WOMEN. Impatient women, as you wait In cheerful homes to-night to hear Tlu* Round of steps, that soon or late. Shall come as music to your ear, Forget yourselves a little while, And think in pity ot the pair. Os women who will never smile To hear a coming step again. With babes that in their cradle sleep, Or ding to you lu perfect trust ; Think of the mothers left to weep Their babies lying in the dust. And when the step you wait for cornea, And all your world is full of light, O! women, safe in happy homes, Pray for all lonesome souls to-night! [ Fhcebc Cary. The true felicity of life is to be free from perturbations, to understand our duties toward heaven agd man, to enjoy the present without any anxious de pendence upon the future ; not to amuse ourselves with either hopes or fears, but to rest satisfied with what we have. THE HOUSEHOLD LAMP. When suns decline and crickets sing, And wandering mists from seaward roam. When nights no heavenly beacons bring, Then brightest shines the shir of home! When the brown brooks, with music low, Watch Summers die and Autumns come, When stately golden rods must bow, What cheer is in that light of homo! When Winter strips the shuddering trees. And chills the wavelet’s wanton foam. When in the world’s cold grasj> we freeze. How blest is then that star of home ! [Atlantic Monthly for March. Prayer.— A writer very correctly re marks, God looks not at the oratory of your prayers, how elegant they may be ; nor at the geometry of your prayers, how long they may be ; nor at the arithmetic of your prayers, how many they may be ; nor at the logic of your prayers, how methodical they may be ; but the sincerity of them he looks at. Too much reservedness or affectation in our manners toward others (and this applies equally to others of the opposite sex), is equally reprehensible with too much confidential intimacy, or becoming openuess. The great point, in securing a happy and useful social life, is to care fully and fully develop those functions of our being which give symmetry, beauty, and b'iss to the whole of our immortal existence. •-♦* A famous judge came late to court one day in a busy season, whereat his clerk, in great surprise, inquired of him the reason. “A child was born,” said his honor, “and I’m the happy sire.” “An infant Judge?” “Oh, no,” said he, “as yet lie’s but a crier.” 5