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BY H. 0. HORN AD Y. VOL. Hl.* LSie ISasasaei* and Baptist is praussiKD;every Saturday morning, AT.ATLANTA, GA. Babicn,.tio;i price—ThrebiDallara per year, in advance 11. C. Hobhadt, Proprietor. FERMiSOV SUBSCRIPTION!. W ; pki.y, (fifty Nos.,) per annum, invariablj in AwVVNCR. - - - Money due the Office, may he sent by mail a „or risk—always mail it in presence of a friend {other than the P. 31,) or procure a friend to niaJ itforyou—never register. v.,u, j mncipus should write only on one side r ■ a:lx leaf, and number the pages, 1,2, o, Ac. The Editor will he responsible only for his vo articles. Those wishing papers changed, should give ;he Post-Office they wish changed from, as well tv-. the one to be changed to. Those forwarding names of subscribers or re ap trances, should always write the name of Post Or "ice, County, and State, in full. ■ cl. letters containing remittances, or articles ;>r 1 he Paper, should be directed to the Banner A, Baptist, Atlanta, Georgia, and not to the Edi tors by name advertising schedule. 1 Mo. I Mb. S ~Mo. Iff :,to. 9 Mo. 12 Mo. * JSfi 5 OOj* 700$800 mOO sl4 00 > .Tha .“>OO 7501000 hi 00 18 00 02 00 ; -‘.vs 700 10 00! 1300 1000 2400 SO OP Iv, Vi 900 12 00 13 00 20 00 30 00 30 00 r, so’bi 11 00 14 00 17 Ouj 24 00j 84 00 43 00 <1 so’ua : 13 50 10 00! 10 00: 2d 00; 88 00; 46 00 ’ : 14 00 17 50j 21 00 S3 001 42 00; 50 00 , 15 00 19 00 22 00 35 00 45 00; 54 00 •i J*m : 16 00 20 00, 23 001 38 00 48 00 ; 51 00 A Suoakb, is the space occupied by ten lines tf Vlinion type. i fs'w Squ are, one insertion, $1.50; and SI.OO for each subsequent insertion. UOFKBSIONAL and Business Cards, not ex -;• ''i.th'.g aye lines, $5 per annum; each addi tion-! 1 fine $1 00. Special Notices, ritieen vents per line, for tun first, insertion; ten cents per line for each ,;suho pient insertion. ,SCHOOL A dveutisements. —Oui charges for <>ol advertisements will be the same as for utiif-rA when not paid in advance. When paid hi advanceSvewill deduct Twbnty-fite cents i* niK Doi.iiAi#lrom our regular charges. C ash for Advertisements considered due, and collectable, at one half the tkne. contracted for insertion, except yearly advertisements, due and payi hie q imrterly. **% mcn.r.* """A 1 "selected articles. S&cspoct OKI 'Tli:.re, give him all the path. Triad Mo ,vly and reverently in his presence.— II >{ j imt rude laughter; check that idle s (J o you nob upon his temples the snow’s of many winters 1 See you not the sail lieu eve, the bowed form, the thin hand upon whose surface the blue veins stand out like cords ? Gone are the beauty and the strength of manhood ; and in that faded tve but little light is left, save that <,f l.ve and kindness. That voice has lost i: ; music, save the soft under*toneof kindly flection. Sit down, young friend, and hear that ■uorv of the olden time; and if hi looking backwards into the mists of the past, he sometimes forgets—-sometimes confounds il iirs and incidents, or tells the same old j talc for the twentieth time, think over what; a vac field his memory wanders —ovorj whit a checkered web of events. Thought! t ikes her beaten track, down into the depth: .-i yea;'?. Oil, the joys and sorrows, the : lop.-s a.-.d disappointments, the anxieties' and wrongs and sufferings he rouses from| t!n ir dreamy beds, as lie fights life’s ‘battle oh r again.' * Standing upon 4ho boundary j !i e> between life and the untried future, his ; I'e r would fain turn backward into the paths j of the past. One moment he longs for ,-cv. —l’m next come back the mocking mem ~ ics of departed joys. The thornsi have dropped silently nwey amidst the! )c . .of the roses he gathered in childhood ; ,and youth—-their beamy and fragrance j ..lone tv main. Ob, you in whose bounding veins young j lingers, and vou in the full beauty t ‘ V A >r .4 mauhuod, respect the aged!! l/.si.-n to the wisdom which is the voice o( rienc;-. Cheer him with kindly words; *uoirolo him with your strong arm, and j e ad him a? he descends the western hill of !Uc, the shadows deepening In night—the fchi’o hairs upon his temple already drift \xlr ii the cool breeze which up from the valley of death. Honor the aged, that he may leave you his hi.‘ . ‘mg on the threshhold of the un-. known lur'd. Honor him, and God will r.'.i-e np for you friends to remove the thorns hom the last league of your own Ms journey, for the sake of the weary one of the long ag *, whose bowed form never str nr and and with a'weight of cure or grief which you might have carried while you a a’’ cd carelessly along, intent upon your •wit e isn and pleasure. 41 *mvr tlu> aged, f*r U*> >iko who was ! before the world was—wh s> life is pv’n everlasting to everlasting. Honor Inm Unit sVeMy wotkeih M tu uo wUMwtoiH „' OUni will er?>e Uw wretch that movhm Hoary Uaira, with ttgkh4 agt 'K,. n •: as faculty, bat as a produc tion of tao mind, is a sudden association of Intakes in an unusual and manner, so as to produce pWasarre, ami tending u> excite mirth. a amb gjaam&M'x ATLANTA, GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 13, 1862. Sliakspearc s a Man. It is a nobler thing to know that such a man as Shakspcare was created than to be familiar with the slidv of whole libraries of dustv tomes. The advent of a son! so richly gifted, of a nature so intensely ideal and so richly passionate, is an era in the history of man. No poet ever reached a height so lofty, described so grandly, spec ulate and so daringly, or felt so deeply ; and none over seemed so little conscious of an effect. His grandest thoughts flow so nat urally, that it is easy to see that they are familiar and accustomed to his mind, and his gaiety and mirth are equally character istic of himself. Ilamlet and Mercutio, Macbeth and Romeo, Prospero and Bene dict, are all Shakspeare in his different moods j and the wit, the idealist, soldier, and sage, each and ail bear the impress of having originated from the same mind. — There is probably less known of Shakspeare personally than of any man of mark in English history. He lived in an age of heroes, and he was a foremost man among them. His contemporaries bowed before ills master spirit, and the most colossal minds of all Europe have acknowledged his sovereignty. And yet we have a better knowledge of men who died a thousand years ago, before printing perpetuated tra dition, when chroniclers were few, than of this wondrous man. There is not, we have reason to think, a single letter of his wri ting preserved, and scarcely a contempora- Iry anecdote. There are portraits, not one of which can be proved to be authentic; a bust which seems genuine, but can not. be warranted. This man, the real spiritual king of Eng land, is in his individuality as much a myth as Homer. But this we do know : a man there lived whose intellectual and moral nature was a microcosm which embraced the ideal of humanity, and that he left be hind a hundred representatives of his own mind, none like each other, but all like, himself, of whom every passing speculation J or reasoning is best illustrated, and in whom every emotion finds its nfiitlest and ; •most genuine utterance. Duelling. If is a startling but undeniable truth, that! duelling, as a practice under our govern-1 merit, has effected.a practical subversion of i the litw of the land. Nay, the absolute ; overthrow and destruction of the criminal code would bo less offensive to our sense of justice than the partial and unjust ad- j (ninistratioTi of the law as it now exists.— I It is a disgraceful fact, a reproach to our! country, that our criminal law, while it pro- i teases to know no man, is, in its practical i administration, made for but one class of our citizens, an I the se the weak, the igno- \ rant, the defenceless. There exists in our country a privileged class: sol distant men j of honor; who have established for them-1 selves ‘a higher law.’ They put their foot upon the criminal code and trample it in the dust. They may and they do commit murder with impunity. This may sound like plain language, but wo have sot out to tell plain truths, and do not intend to be balked in the work. And when we assert that there is a privileged class in the com- ! inanity who commit murder with impunity, we have we ghed our words; we speak ad visedly, and challenge contradiction. And what renders the tiling revolting to every honest and right-thinking man, is the fact that while such a class of men in our midst are absolutely irresponsible to the law for; their crimes, we are guilty of the injustice and meanness of continuing to enforce the law against those who have not the daring or the power to resist. The first human j lesson ever taught us was to despise the leveller, to scorn the man who Would array 1 one class of society against another, and it is one we shall never forget. We have, then, no objection to a privileged class.— j Whenever the country is ripe for it, we: will submit without a murmur to an aria-' kooraey, built upon virtue and intelligence. But we do protest, and shall with our dying ; breath protest, against an aristocracy of j | crime-—<n aristocracy in whose ensigns ar ! moral the antes typifies ihe hand of Cain. ■lfthe majesty of the law is so degraded that it must bend its supple knee before this brotherhood of blood, if public opinion is so besotted, the public mind so degraded that the administration of law has degen erated into the essence .i cruelty and in justice, then let us have a general jail delivery—let the jail birds go free—let us proclaim a y*ar of jubilee for the murder ! ers, and see if the very excess of crime will not work out its own remedy. Bul let us : hear no more of hanging Jack Cade ia his , rugs, while the law meanly quails under the frown of an aristocracy of crime. A Pcs is a sudden association *>i words it! an unnatural manner, and in unusual and striking relations, partaking of the nature of both wit and humor, so as to produce surprise, joined with pleasure or pain, and tending to excite mirth or anger. A child beginning to read, is delighted with a tv \ spaper, because he reads the names of things which are familiar, and ; will make progress accordingly. “his banner over” us is “love." From the Southern Field find Fireside. “ In Mcmoriam ” i A tribute to the memory of Charles L j Hammond, a member of the Brooks Artiflciy, j •who fell a martyr to the cause of Southern in j dependence, in the battle near Richmond, fought ■ on the 30th June, 1863. He was struck by a cannon ball, and lived ! only two hours afterwards. A few moments j before his death, lie spoke tenderly of mother, j home, and loved ones; but said he had lost liis ] file in a holy cause, and felt willing to die, be ! lieving, as he did, that the grave was only the ; entrance gate to a blissful her- i—r. j I have learned since his death that it was ins | wish—should he fall in battle—that. I, liis old I schoolmate and early friend, should comraemo j rate it in verse. Hence this humble offering to i the memory of one so young, so lamented. Annie R. Blount. ! ’Tis the roll-call of honor , that list of the dead ; Which you read with a quivering frame, j A heart wild with terror —a tremulous lip, Lest you find there the one cherish’d name, j Oh! eagerly, anxiously, down the long list Your eyes travel fast —with hushed breath You read of the many brave sons of the South Who have sank in the slumber of death. i It is there! —no, Ibank God, 'lwasyonr vision deceived! And you smile a smile sadder than tears, Thinking how the tried heart is oft needlessly grieved By the horrors we paint with our fears. Brief moment of respite! oh, cherish it well ’Tis the last that thou ever shall know ; Turn over the leaf: there's Ms name! ves, hi* mm: Oh ! mother, God pity thy woe! You are stunned by the blow, and you read in a trance Of the charge by our gallant troops made, i How they pre -sed on ’mid canister, grape-shot and shell —- i Ou, on! “Forward still!”—undismayed; j How they silenced the battery, routed the foe, ; While their brave comrades on every side j Fell wounded and bleeding, cried “Never give up,” Blessed the cause that they fought tor - and. died ! You hear in a dream the. l aid shd*t from die street 01 our victory so gloriously won; The proud banners wave and the drfims loudly beat — But mother, oh! ickere is your son ? In the first flush of triumph who thinks of him now T Who thinks.of your pale slaughtered boy Who fell with the sabre lie bore dyed in blood, 1 And felt thus to perish were joy ? | But was there no thought of the home he had ( left While his life blood gushed forth like a stream, As he dragged him away to the sheltering wood And sank in delirium’s wild dream ? Yes; a prayer passed his lips, ashy white though' they were, For not even lever could craze That poor brain so much as to drive from his thoughts Mother, home, and bis boyhood's bright days Swift-footed they came, those fond thoughts of the past, Fast, fast, ebbed his life-blood away; Still 1 here lingered a prayer on those beautiful; lips For the mot in r who taught him t* pray . And a blessing for her, the voting maiden be loved— Alas ! he would see her no more! One shiver convulsive—his pulses grew still And the dream’of the soldier was o’er! Swift hurried the burial -no time for regrets, The foe may be'sMll’lurking near; So they part the fair locksjfrom his gun- dabbled brow, Sliding back the sad sigh and the tear, And with reverent hands his fust stiffening limbs They decently, kindly compose, Then lay him to rest near the spotJwloTe he till In a soldier’s unbroken repose. Sleep ou, oh !young hero! for sweet is thejsleep Of the brave ones who thus perish well; Southern legends and songs a hundred years hence Of his death and his valor shall tell. For though long is the roll call of honor,yet ne’er Shall one name written there be forgot, But their praise e’er he sung by the old anil tht young, By the inmates of pahuv and cot. Fare well then, oh! playmate, and friend of tuy youth; ; A young life full of prondse and worth Was buried with the*-. Th> u wert winning a name 'Mid the lofty aad honored of earth. By no obstacle daunted, self poised and self made j With honor and truth for thy shield, Thou didst shine all the brighter, a glorious young star, Through the mist and she darkness revealed. —~ ♦ • Young ladies who are aecu'f* un and u> read good newspapers are always observed to more amiable dispositions, invari ably make good wives and always select good husbands. Swearing. j Of all the nauseous, complicated Jennies | That both infest and stigmatise theltimes, j There’s none that can with impious'oaths oom i Pare, ; Where vice and folly have unequal share. It is not our purpose to write a homily jon this subject: but simply to rail atten jtion, in a few plain remarks, to a wide spread and pernicious evil. Sweating, like ! drinking, is confined to no one class or con iditionof society. The young and the old, persons of both sexes—the rich and the poor, the learned and the ignorant, the bond and the free, are more or less guilty of the practice. Should the eye of a profane swearer light upon these lines, we ask him to pause a moment, and seriously ponder 'the following consideration. Profane swearing is forbidden by God. — Sw r ear not at all.” This command is pos itive; as much so as any precept of the Decalogue ; and for the violation of which you are as responsible as you would be for theft—for He who said “Thou shalt not steal,” has also said “.Swear not at all.”— | If, therefore, you have any regard for your ; Maker, desist from the practice of profane 1 swearing. It is a useless 'practice. We have heard | men attempt to justify the use of strong ! drink on the grounds of its utility: they jtell us it warms them in winter, and cools them in summer—and they are firmly per jsuaded that all this is so ! But whoever ; heard a just or even a sensible plea /or an oath? Who will pretend to say that the! use of profane language is profitable in any j way ? The swearer himself knows that it! is not. It makes him neither wiser, nor : richer, nor more respectable. It increases in no degree'his influence; and it is very ! 1 far from]recommending’ him to the favora-1 ble notice and regards of the good and up- ; right. Besides all this, il is a well known ! fact that but little confidence is placed in j the statements of a man who bucks what! hesa\sbya hard oath. His veracity is most commonly suspected by men of strict integrity ; and if believed at all, it is be cause what'hejstates is knownOo be true, independently of his testimony. In short, not one single advantage can be shown to] result from the practice. Why, then, per sist in*it ? It is no mark of a gentleman to swear. We do not say that he who swears is no gentleman—we leave others to determine this. But we do say that profane swearing is no mark of good breeding—ofgentleman-' ly character. What are the facts of the case ? Why, the most worthless and vile, the refuse of mankind, and the drunkard, j swear as well as the bestjdressed and best j educated ‘gentleman.’ It requires no par ticular smartness, no special intellectual endowment to acquire proficiency in this art. The of mankind swear with as much tact and skill as the j most refined. To say the least, then, the ! common swearer cannon this accountably no claim to being a gentleman ; the practice i adds nothing to his respectability. The most weighty consideration against 1 sh earing is, (rod will not hold yon guiltless, j One of the ten commandments is specially | directed against this practice : “ Thou shalt j not take the’namelof the Lord thv God in j vain.” No man so frequently and so wan tonly takes j lie name of God in vain as the I profane swearer. He never uses it but \ with profane lips; he never uses it but in j invoking imprecations either on liis own; head or on others. Eor such wanton, im j pious use of His name—a Name before! w hich all„hol v intelligerices“prostrate them ! selves—God has solemnly declared "1 j will not hold him guiltless that taketb my i name in vain.” Let the swearer seriously j think of it, and letAiim'abandotTa practice which is’not only wholly unprofitable, but J which, if not repented of, must finally ex- j pose him to the malediction of his oflended Maker. The Providential Bullet. — When Uli \er < Yomwell entered upon the command of the Parliament’s army against Charles I, i he ordered that every soldier should carry j a Bible in his pocket. Among the rest] there was a wild, w icked young fellow, w ho i ran away from his apprenticeship in Lon-; don for the sake of plunder and dissipation, j Being one day ordered out on a skirmishing ! expedition, cr to attH k some fortress, he returned t> his quarters in the evening ‘ without hurt. When he was going to bed, pulling his Bible out of his pocket he ob served a bullet-hole in it, the depth of which he traced till he found the bullet had stop- \ ped at Ecclesiastes xi, 0: “Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heari cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk thou in the ways of thy heart and it the sight of thine eyes, btit t kaowqthou that jfor all these things God will bring thee into I judgment.” The words were sent home : upon his heart by the Divine Spirit, so that : he became a sincere believer-in the Lord Jeus Christ. He lived in London man} years after the civil war was over. - * - The liar is the greatest fbol; but the next greatest fool is he w ho tells ail he knows. — A prudent silence is the highest practical ! wisdom. Silence has made more fortunes than the most gifted eloquence. TEKM S Three Dollars a-year. Saturday T^i^iu. “ ’Tis Saturday night ” says the man who depends for his daily bread upon his daily labor, “an 1 glad am I that Saturday night lias come. 1 have been toiling hard during jail the week, and my weary limbs need I rest. To morrow they will have that rest; |so that on Monday, with bodily strength i recruited, and with spirits refreshed, 1 shall jgo forth again to my work. I shall also have washed from me for twenty-four hours i fhe sweat and.dust which, in thv labor du ] ring the week, have been contracted ; shall : have been clothed in garrnen's whole and !clean; shall have enjoyed the society of i my good wife and children, and shall have I been furnished an opportunity of reading land hearing what will improve my mind and heart. I have read and read again j Burns’ ‘ Cotter’s Saturday Night,’ and, like j that humble cottager in Scotland, poor as j myself, I am glad when ’(isSaturday night.” “’Tis Saturday night,” says the man of the world—the pleasure-lover, the pleasure seeker—“ and to-morrow comes another of those tedious days ! To me Sunday is longer than any three days put to-gether.— There is nothing going on with which 1 have j any particular concern; no stir, no parties, no diversions of any kind. 1 once heard a * Take a Sabbath and extend it on forever, and it would give a pretty, good idea of Heaven.’ If so, Heaven has !no charms for me, thaj’s certain. Unless : my present views and feelings are changed, ! I Shall never go there.” fc> “ ’Tis Saturday night,” says the Christian, “ and joyfully do I anticipate the morrow— ‘ Day of all the week the best, Kniblem of eternal rest? With such a treacherous heart as 1 have, and encompassed by such noxious influences as those with which 1 am surrounded, badly I off indeed should I be without the Sabbath. Truly was it ‘made for man,’and as a frail, tempted, depraved creature I need it. 1 need L to break the force of a vain world upon'-Ay own mind ; 1 need it as a relief from business and cares; I need it for the study of divine things, and for self-examina don; 1 need It for public and private de votion. How attractive the sanctuary — j the assembly within it, and its services!— ! Flow inspiring the songs of Zion ! How interesting, elevating, and comforting the sermons of my dear pastor ! How pleas ant to meditate upon an ascended, glorified Saviour, and a finished redemption ! Yes, I love to see Saturday night, because then I know that the blessed Sabbath is nigh at hand. Effect nil Prayer. I was struck by a remark which 1 read some years ago, to the effect that wc make prayers too much as soldiers fire their mus kets on a field of battle, each man deliver mg liis ball according to certain iules, and not troubling himself about its effect; — whereas, our prayers ought rather to n semble the aim of an American liflernan, who is confident in all ordinary eases of hitting his mark ; because there can he no such thing as itu Ifectftal prayer of the tight sort. Prayers are not as bullets, whereof one hits and a hundred miss, but it is writ ten, ‘ Whatsoever ye shall ask the Lather in my name, he shall give it you.’ And if we consider seriatim the details of the patlern set before us in the Lord’s Prayer, we find that the several petitions are all arrows which can not miss the mark ; they are not liable to the contingencies of more private requests, doubtful as to the answer given them, but there arc no doubts as to the expediency that the Father’s name should be hallowed, that His kingdom should come, and His will be done—there fore it -cents to me that these things must be the staple commodity of all our prayers, and, that He who knows our condition knew that we should best consult ogr ow n private and personal interests bv seeking first the glory of liis name. And the reason why the Lord’s prayer is repeated so many mil lions of times with no effect is, that the matter of the petition is commonly the very Inst thing desired by those who utter it.— It can not he learned bqj from the Lord himself. Sllkc.—T he nnwiaest of all economies is time saved from necessary sleep, for it be gets a nervous irritability which masters the body and destroys the mind. When a person becomes sleepless, the intellect is in danger. A restored lunatic of superior mental endowments,said : “ The first symp tom <-i insanity, in my own case, was a want > of sleep; and from the time I began to sleep soundly, mv recovery was sure.” Let this be a warning to all who arc ac quiring an education. Every young person at school should have eight hours for sleep out of the twenty-four; for as the brain is highly stimulated at the time, in the prose cution of study, it will break down, just as •toy other part of the frame, unless it have time for recuperation. Better a thousand times to give another year t> the com ple tion of specified studies lhan, f>v eurtniiin/ sleep, to endeavor togetfilroiigh that much soonpr, at the risk of madness, I Our own happiness ia best promoted by seeking the welfare of others. NO. 43.