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VOL. XVIII
The'tewpeßANCe banker
is THE
()roan of the Sons of Temperance
° and of the
State Convention of (leorgia:
PUBLISHED WEEKLY,
BY benjamin BBAMTLV.
■1,,,,-OBe Dollar a year.in advance.
Letters must be Post paid, to receive at
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s’ When UU & jI t’ Wtmn'hfgoU op. £
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ft_gr* Every friend, to
should take the Temperance Banner: v
X“lf Temperance men will not support X
Temperance l’less, who wiU i X
MilliAl, AMI UKI.IUKH S-
No. 4.
Yoine to Jesn*.
For anew heart—come.
“Ye must be born again,” said Christ
to Nicodemus. There must be a great
change in our thoughts and feelings
respecting God, before we are able to
serve him on earth and enjoy him in
heaven. Sin has estranged our minds
from God, so that we do not desire him
and love him. True religion is not
pleasant to us. This is being “carnal
ly minded, which is death.” To love
the things which sin makes distasteful
is a great change, like coming to life.
It is'called the new birth, or regenera
tion. “ Verily virily, 1 say unto thee,
Except a man he born again, he can
not see the kiugdon of God.” Uncon
verted sinner, how can you expeet to
enter heaven? You would not be happy
there. A swallow enjoys theair, and
a cow the meadows, but a fish would
soon languish there and die: there must
be adaptation. Music charms those
clone who have an ear for it; hooks are
no treat to those who dislike reading;
and society is only pleasant when it is
congenial. A clown would not feel
at ease at court, the ignorant cannot en
joy#be company of tho learned, the
profligate do not lave the society of the
virtuous; and just so the ungodly cannot
take pleasure in religion. Is not the
Sabbath to you a dull day, the Bible a
dry book, religious conversation un
pleasant, prayer a task, and the compa
ny of the pious irksome ? But heaven
is all Sabbath, all worship, all holiness— j
its inhabitants all righteous, and their j
talk and actions all have reference to
God. Heaven is hippy because it is
holy, and because God is there. But
if you do not love holiness and God, it
••would not be a happy place for you.
You would wander about a miserable,
solitary thing, damping the enjoyment
you could not share, and polluting the
temple in which you alone would be
unable to worship. Therefore, unless
born again, you never will enter. You
cannot, l know, change your own heart,
but the Spirit of God can. And Jesus
died to obtain for us the gift of the Spir
it. And this gift is freely bestowed
on all who sincerely apply to the Savi
our for it. O then earnestly pray for
the Spirit of God, that you may be born
3gain. Come to Jesus with the peti
tion of David, “Create in me a clean
heart, O God, and renew a right spirit
within me.” And for your encourage
ment, think of the gracious assurance,
of Christ, “If ye, being evil, know how
to give good gifts unto your children;,
much more shall your Father,
which is in heaven, give tiie Holy Spir
it to them that ask him ?”
Read John 3 : 1-21; Rom. 8 : 5-9;
Eph. 2. 1-0; Psalm 51 : 10-12; Luke,
11 :1-13.
For the privileges and joys of adoption
—came.
Persons of wealth sometimes take!
the. children of the poor, and train them
their, own : this is called adoption. I
And thus God describes his treatment
of those who come to Jesus. “Ye stiail j
be my sons and daughters, saith the *
Lord God Almighty.” “We have re
ceived the spirit of adoption, whereby
we cry, Abba, Father.” YVe are per
mitted, in prayer, to address God as
“our Father, which art in heaven.”
He loves these adopted children with
more than an earthly parent’s affection.
Ho leaches, watches over, comforts,
feeds, protects them. Sorrows are his
kind chastisements, intended lor their
benefit. “If ye endure chastening,
God dealeth with you as with sons: for
whom the Lord loveth, he ehasteneth.”
In all their trails lie consoles them.
‘Like as a father pitieth his children, so
the Lord pitieth them that ear him.”
“As one whom his mother cornforteth,
so will 1 comfort you.” Sickness, pov
prty, bereavment, all their troubles,.are
overruled lbr their advantage. “All
things work together for good to them
that love God.” “They shall not want
any good thing.” “No weapon formed
against them shall prosper.” In every
difficulty and danger their FatliGr is at
their side. “Fear not; for I have re
deemed thee. 1 have called thee by
thy name; thou art mine. When thou
passest through the waters, I will be
, with thee; and through the rivers, they
! shall not overflow tnee.” “I will never
j leave thee nor forsake thee.” They
may tell their Father all their wants.
“In every thing make known your re
quest unto God.” His ear is ever open
to their cry, and his hand ever out
stretched to do them good. Asa fath
er, he provides for them an inheritance;
! but, unlike those of earth, it is “incor
! ruptible, undefiled, and fadeth not a
way.” Oh what happiness to be a-child
iof God; to feel “God is my Father!
He loves me, pities, pardons, keeps me.
lam safe from all evil. Wicked men
and wicked- spirits cannot harm me.
God is my refuge, ever near; and he
never slumbers, never is weary, never
forgets, and will never change. He
says, ‘1 have loved thee with an ever
lasting love.’ He will be always near
me while on my journey here, and at
I last will take me to dwell with him in
| his palace for ever.” What earthly
greatness can equal this ? Reader,
would you be a child ot God ? You
may, if you come to Jesus; for “us many
as received,” came to, “him, to them
i gave he power to become the sons of
j trod.”
See Psalm 91; John 1: 12, 13; Rom.
! 8: 14
| 5-12; 1 John, 3 : 1, 2.
That you may enter heaven — come.
As there is a place of punishment for
the wicked, so there is a heaven of glo
ry for all who come to Jesus. God,
in his great love cf sinners, sent his
| Son not only to deliver them from hell,-
| but to make them happy and glorious
i with him for ever. When a believer
| dies, though his body decays, his soul
I is at once with Jesus, which is ‘far bt t
iter.’ How delightful is tho description
the Bible gives of heaven. We
aie told that sickness, sorrow, and
doath never enter there; that cares,
fears, and anxieties are never felt
there, that poverty, privation, un
kindness, and disappointment are
never known there. The body that
will rise from the grave will be “incor
ruptible,” and will never experience
pain, weariness, or decay. Old-age
j will never enfeeble, for there will be
! perpetual youth; and death will never
| snatch away those we love, for death it
self will be destroyed. What is still
better, there will he no more sin, but
all hearts will be full of holy love to
j God, and to one another. Every one
’ will rejoice in the society and happiness
j of every one else, and God himself will
! dwell among them. All the good men
of former ages will be there—the mar
tyrs, and apostles, and prophets. There
100, we shall meet with angels & arch
angels; and more than all, we shall
behold Jesus in his glorified human
body—we shall see his face, and ever
be with the Lord. To show how glori
ous heaven is, it is compared to a city
with streets of gold, gales of pearl,
and walls of jasper and emerald; to a
paradise with a river clear as crystal,
and the tree of life with healing leaves;
to a place cf rest after labor; to a fath
er’s house, a happy home. “They
shall obtain joy and gladness, and sor- j
row and sighing shall flee away. Ev
erlasting joy shall he upon their heads
In his presence is fulness of joy, and at
his right hand are pleasures for ever
; more.” The best joys of earth are
1 soon gone. Riches fly, health decays,
friends depart, death is written on all
tilings. But tiie joys of heaven are!
for ever, and for ever. Reader, this
heaven may be thine. Jesus keeps the
door, but he has opened it wide for all
sinners to enter. If you will not come
to Jesus, you cannot enter heaven; for
he is the door, tho only door. But he
invites you to come. Yes, however
guilty and vile you are, heaven may,
and, certainly will be yours, if you
come to Jesus. “T© You is the
word of this salvation sent.” Oi
then, for heavenly bliss, come to Jesns.’
S-e John 1 i : 1-6; 1 Cor. 15, 2 Cor !
4: 17, 18; 5.1-4; Rev. 21; 22. j
PENFIELD, GA. APRIL 17, 1852.
Written far the Temperance Banner.
The Moderate Drinker,
OR THE MONSTER NURTURED
IN THE FAMILY CIRCLE.
By Charles EL C. Willingham.
Note. —ln this humble effort the
writer has endeavored, as iar as his abil
ities and little time for writing would
permit, to lay open to the mind of the
reader, the evil of “moderate drinking,”
and the possibility of reclaiming tho in
ebriate bv tiie exertions of a wife, who
has concentrated in her love, argument
and persuasion.
Chapter I.
In the month of December, 1831,
George William was married to Miss
Sabina Grey, a young and beautiful
girl of eighteen summers; and in a few
days after their marriage, the parents
of tiie happy couple gave them funds to
purchase a comfortable and beautiful
little home, and furnished it with the
necessary “goods and chattels” to set
them decently to housekeeping. The
reader must have some knowledge,
though imaginary, of their happpiness
nothing to disturb them in their peace
ful and delightful pleasures—their mar
riage was an agreeable one to all par
ties concerned ; and the silver cords of
their affection had never been disturb
ed by thejars of contention, anger nor
regret. George was noble, open and
free in his devotion to his wife—and she
in return, was frank and unalloyed in
her affections for him ; his desires were
hers—her wants was his care—-and
each thus combined and allianeed in
one and tiie same great object—to love
and serve each other—were truly hap
py and contented, and glided smoothly
on the soft bosom of the sea of matrimo
nial bliss.
Mr. YVilimm was a mechanic—one
that commanded the praise of every
one for his superior skill and talent;
and, also, for his almost unpreeedentd’
energy and application to business.—
Not only so, he was economical, and
endeavored to prepare in his youth for
age, the one thing needful —a compe
tency. Nor was he unrewarded. He
accumulated rapidly the returns of his
honest labor. Elis wife often remon
strated with him for laboring so hard
• and incessantly , and one day when lie
came in from his work greatly tired
and fatigudd, she enquired—
“Wity do you thus labor so hard, my
dear husband ? I fear you will bring
on some disease which will result ei
ther in your premature death, or con
sign you to a helpless condition or life;
and now 1 pray you not labor so hard.”
“Sabina, it is for the love I cherish
for you that I am so eager for gain—
. something that 1 cannot obtain without
industry and perseverance. It is my
desire that you shall live an easier life.
I can never be happy as long as you
are forced to perform so much hard
ship and drudgery. I cannot, I will
not suffer it always !”
“Dear husband, do you esteem me
superior to yourself, that I am too good
to work? Are we not one ? 0, God
forbid that you should thus toil your
self to deatlt for my ease, and to make
me happy. Am I not happy and con
tented to work as you do, and live as
you live.”
“My dear wife, in this I mean to ex
press my intention that we both shall )
relax from such incessant labors, and to!
be able to enjoy each other’s society
with ease and comfort. While 1 have
been engaged in accumulation, you
have not been remiss in your duty in
encouraging and taking care of my j
gains, and it is thus we labor together,
and it will be thus we will enjoy it to- i
gether.”
Yes, these were the confiding words 1
of George William and his wife; and*
truly did they prosper during tiie first;
seven years of their marriage; and in
which lime they had given to them four
interesting little brats. Nor did they
spare any pains or care in behalf of
their children, and impressing upon
their young and tender minds, lessons
oflove for each other and reverence for
their parents. The oldest was a boy, j
named for the father; the second u
girl, named for the mother; the third)
was a boy, named for each of the grand-1
fathets, John Thomas; and the fourth
and lust one was a girl, named for each
of the grandmothers, Mary Jane. A
more interesting family was never
known—a happier one never existed.
When the husband and father returned
from his daily avocation his wife smiled
his welcome, and his little children
would “fly and meet him, and with
lips and hearts they blest him.”
Reader, “if you be a father, fulfil a !
father’s duty, and teach your children !
to shun the unholy cup with the same j
fervency of soul as you would warn
them from a death of shame—a life of! !
shame is worse.”
Chapter 11.
“O', Mr. William is this you? O, :
surely, this is not my husband! If it |l
is, am I to suffer shame thus from one to
whom I have entrusted myself—my I
young and confiding heart ? Is this he 1 •
whom 1 have cherished in my heart ash
one of tlt purest wipdels of human be- j
ins that ever existed upon the eartli ?
O, my God, support mo in my afflictions,!
and deliver me from mine enemy—!
King Alcohol. Thus much for my first
and truest love!”
Thus exclaimed the amiable Mrs.
Wilham to her husband one night about
eleven o’clock, as he returned from om*
of his nightly revels. It seems that
Wilham had always kept ardent spirits
in his house ever since he was married
—“for, said he, “taking a morning
dram or asocial glass, I cannot con
ceive miy harm in it;” and really, in
those Says the habit was universally
toleraligii i't every family. But, alas! )
for Wilham—lira was nurturing an up
petite—a monstei —that was some day
to crush him and blight Lis fondest
hopes. O, what a pity a man should
be so simple, and thoughtless of his own
interest, as to “put a bottle to his mouth
to steal away his brains”—to convert
his family circle into a scene of mis
ery and woe. Thus did the noble
hearted Wilham, whose
warp'd to wrong;
Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long;
Each l'eefing pure—as falls the dropping
dew,
Within the grot—like that had harden’d too;
Lessclear, perchance, its earthly trials pass’d,
But sunk, and chill’d, and petrified at last.”
He had now been married just elev
en years, and the evil of moderate drink
ing had just commenced its ruinous
work—like too many of our wor
thy citizens, before he was conscious of
the evil. Yes, often had he told his wife
that he would never be a toper, and
that the idea of such a thing was too re
volting, too repulsive, and utterly pre
posterous and presuming. He could
not, lie would continue, imagine how a
person, elevated as he is by the law of
nature, could have so little self-respept
as to make such a beast of himself as
some did- He could drink moderately
all his life and never make such a dog
of himself as that.
But to the thread of our story. On
the previously mentioned night, Mr.
Wilham, as 1 before said, had just re
turned from one of his nightly revels;
and though he was frequently absent of
evenings, his vvife had not yet sus
pected, or even thought, that he visited
piacessofbad resort —but knowing he
was closely confined during the day at
his work, and that he had but little time
to attend to his small matters, was com
pelled, sometimes, to look after them af
ter he had finished his day’s work, ans-;
wered forthe cause of his absence; for!
he made her believe that his long ab-1
sence was altogether unavoidable and ;
entirely necessary to his interest's, —and j
he alway made it a point when he drank
excessively, not to go home until he
thought his wife had retired; and thus
he concealed his baseness from her.
On this night Mrs. Wilham resolved
not to treat her husband so ungenerous,
as she considered it, as she had always
done, but that she would sit up until he
returned. The clock told ten and he
had not yet arrived; and when it struck
eleven, a few moments passed and she
heard the footsteps of a person, and im
mediately the outer door was unbolted;
and to her grief and mortification, she
beheld her husband as he stumbled up
j on the threshold and fell as helpless as,
;an infant—for he wss beastly drunk.
He lay prostrated for, perhaps, half an
hour, in which time he had become so
ber enough to understand the words of!
his wife; und he felt a pang of rebuke
i which thrilled his heart like a shock of
electricity. Siie assisted him in get-)
i ting to bed, where he expired in the I
j arms of Morphews to dream of devils)
and frightful spirits.
Chapter 111.
The morrow came, and Mr. William !
arose considerably troubled in his mind,
as Mrs. Wilham observed a great
change in bis demeanor—from bis usu
al cheerfulness to sadness—lie ate his
breakfast and scarcely uttored a word to)
any of his familypbut Mrs. William think 1
ing that it was nothing more than he:
was ashamed of the occurrence which
look place the previous night, and just
passed oil'—seeing that he was troubled
about it as she thought, as if nothing
at all unusual had transpired, until he ro
turned at dinner—when they met in the
parlor and the following conversation
ensued:—
“Wife 1 have the extreme mortifica
tion of making known to you that 1 am
not only a drunkard, but also a gamb
ler ! By these hellish machines, I|
have plunged myself into ruin, ancl I
brought you and our children to shame:
and poverty. Last r.ight wasonedis-,
astrous to me; while the seducer—(rum,!
O that eursed fluid!) was freely circu-*-
lated, and conceited smiles greeted me) i
all around and my heart big with en- I
thusiasm, and my bruin excited by the : I
vile deceiver; my purse strings grew-’
slack, and soon I lost all the money I
had. The contest became excited, and 1 1
I had no money, and being determined! i
to triumph, 1 staked my property at all
value of five thousand dc’llar;. The ?
game was favorable to me the first twoi;
jor three deals, and 1 was. sure of sue-1
cess, when the tide of fortune betrayed :
i me. Ono card told me a ruined man— j
i myself a beggar, and my family with- )
out home ; and to-day, even now, I 1
shall he compelled to yield every thing
1 have to the hands of the officer—to bo l
sacrificed for the liquidation of my op-1
ponent’s claim, And now, dear wife, i
I cannot scarcely utter tiie name for my ‘
conscience tells mu I have wronged |
you, just only forgive me—but, 0, how j
can l ask forgiveness?—l will not! li
cannot! O! let me die l am not fit
to live—to relieve my burdened heart
of its weight. Give, O give me brandy;
J it alone can alleviate the woful suffor
ing of my smitten conscience... Ilene
1 am a brankrupt in. fortune, a bank
rupt in honor, and worst of all, forfeit
ing the claims of sympathy from my
wife and children !
“Do not, my husband, allow the tide
ot misfortune to sweep over arid bury
{ your senses in its depths. Be calm
and patient, and just remember there I
are many families in our own condi
tion; and just make me one promise, i
and l will forgve you all.”
“Any promise that human is capable I
of performing, will I be sworn to exe-;
cute; or 1 will perform any penance’
you may be disposed to inflict, if by it,
1 cun obtain your forgiveness. O, toll
me, dearest, what it may be.”
“Mr. William, you must know that
1 would not demand any promise of you j
that you could not easily perform ; nor i
would I inflict any penance more than ‘
what would tend to your own good and
the welfare of your helpless and inno
ceut family. It is useless for me to at
tempt a rehearsal of the evils that is at
tendant upon the vile practices of gamb
ling,'and drinking ardent spirits; you
are already aware of the folly—for it
has already made sad havoc of you and
yours. These are growing and mon
strous evils, and wild seducers. The
former enchants its votaries, and offers
its seductive vices as the results of the
satiation of their hellish appetites f>r
strong drink ; the latter offers their
chance of fortune and wealth with a
j polluted character, and presents the
key which will it seems immediately
unlock to your possession untold treas
ures; and ere you grasp it, it is
snatched away from you poorer than
ever —a worthless beggar] 0, my hus
band, have you not been alreadj crush
ed by these cursed machines ; and your
only chance to make amends is to com
mence a thorough reformation of your
! character. And for your good, and the
I well being of your innocent and inof
{ fensive children, I sincerely beg of you,
; as your sincerest friend and truly devo
| ted wife, to join the Sons ofTemper
anoe and refrain from going where ar.
dent spirits is kept, and I am quite sure j
you will not visit the gambler’s room, j
The object of this association is to ab-j
stain from all intoxicating liquors, either!
wine or cider ; and the fees for joining j
tho order is two dollars, and then five
cents afterwards for weekly assess
ments. It is a mutual aid association,
tor the benefit of the inebriate and the
community ut large. Now, my dear
George, will you invest two dollars—
such a small pittance —to restore your
wounded character, and establish your
self in the station of society which you
formerly occupied, and once more be a
man — even George Wilham ? Will
you deny me this one boon, or will you
.grant it ?”
Mr. Wilham had listened attentively
P to these long and unbroken sentences
! of his wife; and her appeal sank deep
| ill his heart. The memory of happier
| days and better fortunes, as she uttered
1 ) these lust sentences, flushed across his
| clouded mind with an irresistible force, j
j and with a vivid and keen sensation of!
j the wounded condition of his family,!
! accompanied every word she breathed, j
And when lie thought of the possibility!
that he might Vet be a man, bis grid
was considerably subsided, und lie be
) came resigned to his fate and restored
!to his better senses. The storin was
: now relaxing into calm resignation, and j
though tho frightful element subsided)
)by degrees, its dying wail departed I
mournfully, and left a sad and melan-1
cboly silence behind.
Chapter IV.
The morning was dark and gloomy, I
and the snow fell in large flakes in I
thick array, and the ground was frozen
! over with ice, and George Wilham and
1 bis ruined family was exposed to the
bitterness of the intense cold and noj
j where to shelter themselves from its!
severity. Wilham looked upon his in- 1
nocent and helpless family shivering|
with cold —his once fresh and blooming 1
wife, the very element of his existence j
—brought thus to shame and to scan- i
dal by his own misconduct, and no one
to share the blame save himself, was
too much for him to bear, und he in- \
voluntarily exclaimed aloud—
“l cannot, l will not, behold und feel!
the pangs of remorse that this sight of;
misery and woe inflicts. I will make
myself insensible to this horrowing;
scene, and bury it in the depths of for- 1
getfulness. O, give me brandy—lj 1
| would rather take arsenic than experi
ence what 1 now feel. O! my God, I
i ca >i never reclaim my honor—my lost
| honor—which 1 have fbi felted to satiate
1 the cravings of ail ungodly appetite. I
urn a wretch undone, and unfit to live.
| % w dc and children cannot own me
j as I am /”
As William, unmindful of his promt
’ 1° Ins wife, uttered the last sentence,
• ho wheeled und made his way to tho
; nearest doggery. He thrust his hand
I into his pocuet and drew out the last
done ho had and called for a half pint’
of brandy. And when ho hud quailed
this otl, his thirsting appetite was yet
unsatisfied--which being excited to a
raging element, he was induced to beg
| for more, and which was procured for
j him by a congenial spirit who was not
j yet entirely destitute of means. By
| ibis time he had almost became insensi
ble, and every muscle unmanned.—
! What a spectacle was this to behold— l
j impoverished wife and children ex
| posed to tho bitterest severity of a cold’
j December’s blast.
j G ! mortal man—made of tho saino
i material as your fellow-man—how dare
| you iu the sight of heaven and justice,
! in \ lew of appearing before the
I judgment Aar of the Final Judge of all
the world—how dare you, for the sake
ot one dime, bring innocence to shame
und beggary, and consign a soul to per
; flition ! und recline quietly upon youp
j bed at night with an easy conscienoe.
; We do not wish to impute a dishonest in
; tention to all retailers, for it is certain
ly truo that there are many generous
and noble hearted men engaged in this
traffic—those who have never, cooly
and dispassionately, reflected upon tins
subject—while a majority of them re--
tuil for gain, come wliat will, weal’
or woe.
Mrs. William was now alone to pro
vide for herself and children, with no
other means than whut she could pro
cure by the aid of her needle and the
charitable donations of tier benevolent
neighbors. She succeeded in procuiing
a small house in which to lodge her lit
tle suffering family—while her friends
supplied her with a bed and such furni
ture as she was compiled to have. With
these very important charities bestowed
on her, she thought, und resolved, that
she could support herself and little one*
by her own perseverance and industry,
and would abandon her husband forev
er ! 1 his latter resolution she could
not put into execution—“for,” said she,
“1 know my dear husband is not entire--
lv destitute of the finer feelings of na
ture. 1 know he has, naturally, a soft
and impressive heart, and 1 believe i
may yet reclaim him.” O, my God!
assist inc in my sorrow mid tribulations;
and liiuy I, by thy will and aid, bo able
jto accomplish this undertaking—the
j reformation of my self-perjured hus
! band, and save him from eternal ruin
| and perdition !
I Alter charging her eldest son with
I the care of her younger children, she
set out with tears, to seek her besotted
husband. She, however, did not go far
before she came across him, just recov
ering from his drunkenness, and consid
orally restored to reason and conscious
ness, when she appealed to bis con
science and his duty to his family in
the following words:—
“George William, iiave you lost all
sense of feeling for your own helpless
and innocent children—your own flesh
and blood ? Can you abandon tiioin to
shame und beggary for the satiation
merely of an ungodly and loathsome up
petite ? I say, can you do it ? 1 ask
j nothing in my own name, but in that of
) your poor babes, arid yourself. O!
! George William, pause and reflect.”
VVilliarn threw liiinself’prostrated be
| fore his wife’s feet und begged for par
don ; and assured her that he would
j nevter again sip the intoxicating bowl,,
and that lie would yet become a Son of
Temperance.
Chapter V.
Four years have elapsed, and tho old
j homestead of the William’s family is
| again in their psssession. The (ire
burns brilliantly upon the hearth; and
j a gleam of joy and happiness pervades
j every countenance, whose bright eflul
jgeuce sheds its gentle rays around and”
j pesents to the eye a mirror of true bap.
I (hoess and contented minds. The futh
er sits with the Sacred Volume upon
liis knees, reading aloud to his family—
for it ua the .hour of retiring to rest.—
They mingle their happy voices in one
single strain, as it were, of harmony in
praise to their Maker for his goodness
and love iu shielding them from hunger,
misery arid woe; and then on their bend
ed knees they fall in humble supplica
tion, while the father asks in their
name, a continuance of divine proto®
tion.
Augusta, Ga., March 24, 1852.
Nothing was so much dreaded in our
old schools-hoy duys us to be punished
by sitting between two girls. Ah ! the
force of education. In after years we
learned to submit to such things with
out shedding a tear.
NO. 16.