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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 tentiotL^ S Banner Almanack, tor | iTimrnfWii: 1 “ | iltwrli i §— -5 7j ,!ls; if .3 i.lLs ,S!? K; W J* ill 15 is 19 20 21 22 i 31 21 <5 1 “8 S'*- I Mgtift f\ eo 15 117 IS 2O -1 .53 .Vjlo, 25 ■*’ 27 2S Q I 3 aa24*> *■ 2(1 ss] ai 2 hi g mksb “ls|s s N! b ii 29 30 31 I I f'i:.- l! 2<7 sKii'iilw 1 \ 5 W WjW'SVi&M * it •* ! “>.. 4 M r- t-Ht l.- -; i Sov- -1 2 s Sfi \ j >, |liilii 12 IT Hj 1| 515 It! 1? is loN A I § MirrfW 8-*$ t djUs— t S!IS!S|S lllglSl Ii- .rr man i* in dnnsr of becoming a drunkard wlio la in X isesra- j!|ES;F rt ’ I * \\rhuho is wet. / 4.-?. llciore incai.. ox s’ When UU & jI t’ Wtmn'hfgoU op. £ |!?: Kmdi 8 r* ,t •< U aU.uo. _ ? 29. On any Q 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.