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BY H. C. HORN AD Y.
VOL. 111.
The Banner and Baptist
13 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING,
• AT ATLANTA, GA.
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LITE RAM DEPARTMENT.
Talent, Available and Unavailable.
We often hear the remark, “It is odd
he don’t get along, for he is quite intelli
gent.” Yet we have always found that the
persons spoken of, however talented they
m y be, have not the peculiar kind of abili
ty required for the business they pursue.
If lawyers, they are deficient of eloquence,
or application, or logical aCcumen ; if mer
chants, in energy, economy, or knowledge
of finance or trade; it farmers, in thrift;
if mechanics, in industry. Ihe world is
full of men engaged in occupations for which
they are unfitted. Nearly every person
has a special talent for someone thing.
Nobody has the ability to do everything
equally well. Hence, what may be called
available talent is altogether relative. A
planter who thinks more of politics than of
agriculture might make a very good politi
cian, but is certainly a worthless farmer,
and his talent is therefore unavailable. A
speculating doctor might do to sell town
lots, but is unfit to cure men’s ailments—is
out of place. More than halfthe mistaken
careers which we see about us, originate in
unavailable talents.
It is therefore important that ever) man,
at the outset of life, should engage in that
pursuit for which he is most competent.
Work, then, becomes a pleasure instead of
a task. If every member ofsociety were in
his right place, doing that thing for which
he was specially fitted, happiness would be
more general and the aggregate wealth of
the community vastly greater. For not
only would idleness be felt to be the curse
which it is, but fortunes, at least a compe
tence, would be nearly universal. Success
almost always attends him whose heart is
in his profession. Men work harder for
love of their pursuit than they do even for
money. This is abundantly proved by the
privations which travellers voluntarily en
counter, by the nights of studying which
men of science undertake, and by the her
culean labors which poets, historians, and
other literary men endure with no hope of
adequate pecuniary reward. The ordina
tion of Providence doubtless was that work,
at first mans task master, should become
eventually his mistress. The ideal of soci
etv, if ever the human race attains it, will
witness no such thing as unavailable talent;
for each man will be in bis right place.
It must not be supposed, however, that
*ll. at the outset of LUe, are capable of judg
ing what is lh@ pursuit most proper for
them. A large proportion of the unavrnd
A, BSUGKOHI AJI© &XS3Bm.&¥ HJSWSff’AJ'Kii.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 27, 1862.
able talent of the world has become so be.
cause of some boyish preference of a parti
cular profession. A lad reads) of strange
countries, of voyages of discovery, of ad
venturous explorers, and forthwith nothing
will satisfy him till he goes to sea,
and is ruined, perhaps, for life. It is not a
passing whim of this description which
ought to be allowed to determine the choice
of an ft vocation. The opinion of a parent,
who has seen the world, and who has stu
died the child’s character, should correct
the too hasty tendencies of an imaginative
youth. Thousands of men who are now
starving at the law, might have made ex
cellent farmers, mechanics or merchants,
and lived in comfort all their days, if their
fathers had not yielded to a boyish vanity,
which aspired to be a Patrick Henry, or a
Daniel Webster, without ability to sustain
their part. Men do not starve, in general,
because they are absolute fools, but because
they follow pursuits to which they are un
fitted. It is the unavoidable character of a
man’s talent which drags him under in the
wild torrent of life.
The Great Difficulty.
To combine business with religion, to
keep up a spirit of serious piety amidst the
stir and distraction of a busy and active
life—this is one of the difficult parts of a
Christian’s trials in this world. It is com
paratively easy to be religious in the church,
to collect our thoughts and compose our
feelings, and enter, with an appearance of
propriety and decorum, into the offices of
religious worship, amidst the quietude of
the Sabbath, and within the still and sacred
precincts of the house of prayer. But to
be religious in the world—to be pious and
holy and earnest minded in the counting
room, the manufactory, the market-place,
the field, the farm; fo carry out oftr gbod
and solemn thoughts and feelings into the
throng and thoroughfare of daily life—this
is the great, difficulty of your Christian call
ing. No man not lost to all moral influ.
ence can help feeling his worldly passions
calmed, and a degree of seriousness stealing
over his mind, when engaged in the per
formance of the more awful and sacred
rites of religion; but the atmosphere ofthe do
mestic circle, the exchange, the street, the
city’s throng, amidst coarse work and
cankering cares and toils, is a very different
atmosphere from that of a communion table.
Passing from the one to the other has often
seemed as if the sudden transition from a
tropical to a polar climate—from balmy
warmth and sunshine to murky mist and
freezing cold. And it appears as difficult
to maintain the strength and steadfastness
of religious principle and feeling when we
go forth from the church into the world, a9
it would be to preserve an exotic alive in
the open air in the winter, or to keep the
lamp that burns steadily within doors from
being blown out, if you take it abroad un
sheltered from the wind.
Death and Immortality.
Death is the great antagonist of life, and
the cold thought of the tomb is the skeleton
of all feasts. We do not w ant to go
through the dark valley, although its pass
age may lead to paradise ; ani with Charles
Lamb, we do not want to lie down in the
muddy grave, even with princes for our
bed-fellows. But the fiat of nature is inex.
orable. There is no appeal or relief from
the great law which dooms us to dust.
We flourish and fade as the leaves of the
forest, and the flower that blooms and with
ers in a day has not a fairer hold upon life
than the mightiest monarch who ever shook
the earth with his footsteps. Generations
appear and vanish as the grass, and the
countless multitude that throngs the world
to-day will to-morrow disappear as the foot
steps on the shore.
In the beautiful drama of lon, the instinct
of immortality, so eloquently uttered
by the death-devoted Greek, finds a
deep response in every thoughtful soul.
When about to yield his young existence
as a sacrifice to fate, his beloved Clemanthe
asked if they shall meet again, to which he
replies : ** I have asked that dreadful
| question of the hills that look eternal-—of
the clear streams that flow forever—-of the
stars, among whose fields of azure my
■ raised spirit hath walked in glory. All
were dumb. But while 1 gaze upon that
j living face, I feel that there is something in 1
“his banner over” us is “love.”
flhr ~.V V : - *•. r. .• % . -.- j ,S .. ..
the love that mantles through its beauty
that cannot wholly perish* We shall meet
again, Clemanthe.”
Charity.
When you meet with one suspected
Of some secret deed of shame,
And for this by all rejected
Asa thing of evil fame;
Guard thine every look and action,
Speak no wordjof heartle?s blame, •
For the slanderer’s vile detraction
Yet may soil thy goodly name.
When you meet with one pursuing
Ways the lost have entered in,
Working out his own undoing,
With his recklessness and sin;
Think, if placed in his condition,
Would a kind word be in vain ?
Or a look of cold suspicion
Win thee back to truth again ?
There are spots that bear no flowers,
Not because the soil is bad,
But the summer’s genial showers
Never make their bosoms glad;
Better have_an act that’s kindly,
Treated sometimes with disdain,
Than by judging others blindly,
Doom the innocent to pain.
MR. HIRAM GORMLEI.
A STORY FOR SPECULATORS.
OLD Hiram Gormley was an individual
whom Fortune had not forgotten in the
distribution of the good things of this life.
He had a fine fortune, a magnificent dwel
ling, and a plump, good-temp6red wife. —
Moreover, he had a great reputation for
sanctity and uprightness, and was a deacon
of the church to which he belonged. A
very good man and a thorough Christian
old Hiram considered himself; for he.had
family prayers every morning, ‘went to
church every Sunday, and allowed the
cook to give all uneatable scraps of bread
which remained in the lardei To any beggar
who applied for them. A judicious parent
he believed himself to be, and a just one ;
for when his only daughter had married
against his will, he had cast her off forever,
and refused to see her when she stood
■weak and trembling at his door, to tell him
that her husband lay on the verge of death
and that starvation stared them in the face.
“As she has sowed so she must reap,”
he muttered, as he saw her turn away,
hiding her grieved face in her shabby bon
net. “ She had her own choice and must
abide by it.” And so saying, he went
back to his account books and banished his
daughter from his mind.
Old Hiram Gormley was, as 1 have said,
very wealthy, but he yet clung to trade
with the utmost pertinacity. Money-get
ting was his life, and he was never so hap
py as while making a bargain. Amongst
other things he ‘ speculated 5 in flour, and
had made more, perhaps, in that line of
business than in any other, flow old Hi
ram and his brothers in the trade chuckled
as the poor man’s loaf decreased and the
store in their coffers augmented, it is best
known to themselves.
It was at such a season that Mr. Hiram
Gormley sat before his parlor fire, basking
in its blaze and sinking gently into an
after dinner nap. His portly form filled
the huge velvet chair, and his own portrait 1
j looked down from its gQdad frame upon
its drowsy original with a dignity entirely
of the artist’s own invention. Mrs. G. had
gone out to dine, and the carriage was to
be sent for her at an appointed hour, so
that the old man and his portrait were alone
together in the comfortable room.
They were alone at least for many min
utes. But as the silver-toned time-piece
rung out the hour of seven, the outer door
was opened and a small man, clad in a
faded green velvet coat, entered the room j
with the soft tread of a stealthy cat. He
was a queer looking individual, so wither
ed and so wrinkled that he might have re
sembled some old goblin, and his white
hair stood out strangely enough upon!
either side of his brown forehead. Upon
his meagre lower limbs he wore great mud
stained boots, a world too wide for him, j
and in his hand he carried a cap of the same!
color and material as his coat. He looked
first at old Hiram, then at his portrait, then
back again to the original, and finally step
I ped forward and touched him on the
shoulder.
Hiram Gormley awoke with a start, and
| springing to his feet, regarded him with j
1 astonishment.
“ Who are yo'u, and what dp you want
here 1 ” he asked in a manner sufficiently
imperative.
“ Who I am is a matter of no import
ance,” replied the stranger; “ but lam
here on business. I believe you are buying
up flour ? ”
“I am,” replied old Hiram, becoming
interested and gracious in a moment.—
Take a seat, sir, and let me understand
your business.”
He pointed to a chair, and the visitor
seated himself immediately, crossing his
muddy boots, andTolding his elfin arms up
on his bosom, as he bent down his head
and peered from under his drooping black
brows straight into Hiram Gormley’s eyes.
“ We have flour to sell,” he said.
“We?” said Hiram, interrogatively.
“land my or, more politely
speaking, my partner and I,” responded the
little man.
“ Oh,” said Hiram. “ May I ask the
name of the firm ? ”
“ I’d rather not mention names until I
am sure that we shall come to terms,” re
plied the little man.- “ But let me tell you,
Mr. Gormley, that such a chance was never
offered to one man before. If you accept
it, bread will run up this’ year to such a
price that a loaf of the better sort will be
worth its weight in gold, and rich men will
give great sums for what they esteem as
nothing. How many barrels do you think
we have on hand, my partner ahd I? ”
“ How many ? ” asked old Hiram, trem
bling with eagerness.
The little man bent forward and whis
pered something in his ear .which made
him start to his feet once more.
“So many ?” he cried. “ Why the very
speculators themselves will be at my feet.
I shall be the richest man in the whole
world! i’ll buy it all i- -all, fill. When
can I see it ? —when can I sign the contract?
Be quick—tell rne where all the store is
hidden ! ”
“In our oflice,” said the little man.
“ Where ? ”
“Hush!” whispered the little man.—
“ There is an underground passage, and a
cellar or vault, capable of containing ten
times what, it holds. As for the time, you
may come with me to-night, if you like—
all hours are the same to my partner and
me.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth
ere Hiram Gormley had hurried on his
overcoat, dashed his broad-brimmed hat
over his eyes, and seized his gold-headed
cane with a nervous grasp of his right hand.
“ Lead the way,” he said, “ lead the way—
I’d follow you if we were going to the
moon.”
The stranger only grinned and passed
out of the door before him.
At the gate stood a small vehicle, black
as ink, and capable of containing only two
persons. A small elf-like pony was fasten
ed to its shafts, and a little black boy held
the reins. Hiram glanced doubtfully at
the shabby turn-out, but, in compliance
to a nod from his fellow’-traveller, stepped
in and took his seat beside him. If the
shaggy pony was small and unpromising to
look at, he was nevertheless as fleet of foot
as any race horse, arid the dingy vehicle
spun along at a rate which made old Hiram
i cling to the sides with both hands and shut
I his eyes that he might not grow giddy.—
I Upon passing from the town, it turned into
the broad country road, and paused at the
I margin of a little piece of woodland
“ Your oflice seems to be in a very
! strange locality,” muttered old Hiram, sus
: piciously.
“ Not at all,” replied the little man in
green ; “ only we are going by the under
ground way, so as not to attract attention.”
“Ah’” said old Hiram. “Well, this
does seem to be an underground passage,
sure enough,”—for they were turning now
into a sort of cave, only one faint ray of
light in the far distance saving them from
being wrapped in utter darkness. “ 1 shall
be glad when I am safe home again,” he
added to himself. “ How do 1 know where
the fellow i9 taking me ? ”
But even as he spoke the distant light
grew larger, and the carriage paused at an
iron-bound door with a grating in the top,,
through which fell a red glare, like that of
a flame from the chimney of a pottery on a
dark night.
“ This is our office,’" said the little man
TERMS —Three Hollars a-year.
in green ; and old Hiram followed h*m as
he leaped from the crazy vehicle, which sud
denly vanished in a most mysterious man
ner. A rap at the door summoned a dark
visaged man, who admitted them without
parley, and old Hiram Gormley stood in a
veritable counting-house, the most spacious
which had ever met his eyes. He glanced
down the rows of diligent cleiks, all dress
ed in Mack, and all engaged in making en
tries in immense iron-bound volumes; at
the huge fire, which he could see reflected
on the roof through a wide grating in the
distance, and which rendered any thing in
the way of lamps .and candles unnecessary;
and then turned towards a tall, dark man,
who strode towards him from the very cen
tre of the glowing light. He was clad in
black, and his hair was bound together in
an old-fashioned cue. There was a sort of
supple, snake-like ease in his movements,
and his feet were singularly shaped, and
covered with shoes that suggested either
the gout or bunions.
“ Mr, Gormley,” said the little man in
green, “Mr. Gormley, partner. He has
come to inspect our stock of flour; he’d
like to buy it in.”
“ He would like.to buy it in, would he ?”
said the new comer. “You are very wel
come, Mr. Gormley; I have no doubt we
shall come to terms. Gentlemen, this is
Mr. Hiram Gormley, with whose name you
are so well acquainted, and whom you have
expected so long.”
As he spoke, the long rows of black-clad
clerks arose with one accord, and bowing,
turned upon him their hollow, blood-shot
eyes, filled with the light which must have
been reflected from the fire beyond, it was
so red and horrible.
Old Hiram Gormley shaddered involun
tarily, and addressing himself to his two
he said, ** Can I see this flour
of which you have been speaking? ”
“ Certainly, sir,” replied the taller of the
two, as he flung open a narrow door to his
right and beckoned Hiram to approach,
“ Light up, boys, light up ! ”
And at the words a myriad of torches
flared down a seemingly interminable vista
—and Hiram looked down upon myriads
and myriads of barrels, stretching away
until they faded away into mere specks in
the distance.
“ Full of flour, from the very first brand
down to the. poorest; not another barrel
left in the market. You can have the up
per hand of the whole of them, Hiram
Gormley, when you can starve ten millions,
if you like. Do you close the bargain, or
shall we send for someone else ? ”
“ Hush. I agree. Tell me your terms,”
gasped Hiram, nervously.
“ They are very easy,” said the tall man
in black. “ Sit down, if you please. Here
is pen, ink and paper, and the document.”
Hiram seized the pen, and conned it rap
idly, growing white and cold as he read on
—at last he flung it from him, and scream
ed. “My soul! Promise to give you my
soul! In the name of the fiend, who are
you ?”
“ Your humble servant,” said the black
clad creature bowing; and Hiram Gormley
saw a cloven foot peeping from the queer
hoot, and distinguished the perfume of
brimstone.
“ Let me go,” he said, “ let ine go.”
“ Softly ! Why do you care so much for
what you have already mortgaged 1 You
are half mine already, do you know thatl”
“It is false,” said old Hiram. “ I cheat
man, I belong to the church ; and subscribed
fifty dollars to the missionaries a year
a g f >"
The dark being grinned contemptuous
ly—“ Bring me Mr. Gormley’s box,” he
said.
And he who conveyed old Iliram to the
spot where he now stood, sat upon the ta
ble a box like that in which the lawyers
keep the papers of clieuts, labeled “Hiram
Gormley, Esq.”—From the depths of this
box he drew a pile of parchment, and read
from thence : “ A mortgage on the soul of
Hiram Gormley, given on the day when he
turned his daughter from the door. An
other when he seized old widow Potter’s
furniture for rent. Another, when he took
advantage of a flaw in the papers to evade
the payment of a just debt of his own.
Myriads when he first began business and
told fifty lies a day, and gave false weight
and measure; and one tremendous rnort
NO. 45.