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BY HORN AD Y & ELLS.
VOL. 111.
IgotiMt and yuptiat.
DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE,
Is published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at the
subscription price of three dollars per year.
IIORNADY & ELLS,
Editors and Proprietors.
n. 0. Hornady.] [.Tames N. Elis.
[Original.]
Wight.—A Poem.
BV HATTIK.
The dusky-hooded Night
Has come. Her garments damp with ft-agrant
dew,
And all her star, y lamps hung in the blue
Of heaven, so dimly bright,
I watched her as she sped,
Rounding the hills, and stepping on the clouds,
That lay like islands, clad in purple shrouds,
With hoods of cloudy red.
With breezy breath she came,
And misty feet. She softly touch’d the flowers,
And quick as magic, thro’ the woodland bowers
I saw their beauty wane.
I marked them fade away!
Until the moon came up, with pensive face;
And then, with yellow-lustre in her vase,
Sprinkled the dim array.
Mildly, with dimpled tread,
She lit the billows with a transient light,
And weighed her anchor, in the waters bright,
With silver wave-worn thread.
She looked with pitying eye
Upon the silent slumbers of the dead,
And gilt with sober light each quiet bed
Where buried loved ones lie.
And on the battle-plain,
With ghostly smile, the dead she looked on. now,
And with a belt of glory ’girt each brow
Of earth’s belcaguredjslain.
She gazed upon the field
All slippery with the purest Southern blood,
And on the brooklet, babbling its red llood ;
Then, angry, hid her shield
Behind the muffled clouds ;
While scudding shadows wallow’d o’er the scene,
And from the snowy tents the lantern’s gleam
Shot fitful lightnings ’round.
The city’s spires were bright,
And pointed cloudward, to the better shore,
Where blood stained bauners shall be seen no
more—
‘ There , shall be no more night.’
The forests, dim and high,
Thrust out their burnish'd arms in wild array;
With one more smile she.softly sailed away
Behind the sloping sky,
And all was dark again,
I felt the breathing of the hoarse night air;
It kiss’d my brow, ami damp’d tuy tangl’d hair;
My heart was wild with pain.
Aberdeen , Mm.
Passages in tlie JLifo of an
Old Oeorgia Preacher.
number n.
The older Christians with whom I be
came associated mostly took a deep inter
est in my welfare ami usefulness. Some
gave me the cold shoulder, and seemed to
be jealous of me. I think now they doubt
ed my sincerity. They evidently had but
little idea of the longingMesirc for the sal
vation of souls which was consuming me.
My zeal was inflamed by every indication
enjoyed that my efforts were not in vain.
For years 1 walked ten miles a day that I
might have the advantages of an academi
cal education, which was about all 1 ever
obtained. It was a great trial of my frith,
when my opportunities for improvement
were suddenly cut off by the death of my
father—my mother having died the previ
ous year. Yet even this event, 1 trust, was
sanctified to my good. A considerable
amount of worldly ambition had become
mixed up with my views in regard to the
Gospel ministry. Not but what my chief
aim and desire was the glory of God and
the salvation of souls; but my friends had
told me 1 was promising, gifted, and talent
ed, and I had begun to hope that some day
1 might be “ a great preacher! ” The
death of my father, and the consequent stop
put to my educational progress, was the
death blow to this unholy ambition, and 1
was brought to see that 1 must be willing
-to be anything or nothing, for Christ’s sake
About this time 1 was sorely tempted by
an offer to study Law in the office of a dis
tinguished judge. But this temptation wa>
soon overcome by the “passion for souls *
which the Divine Spirit had excited within
me. Four years were spent in winding up
my father’s small estate, and in acting the
part of ti protector to my three orphan li
ters. These cares devolved upon me ati
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 1, 1862.
the age of eighteen, and diverted my at
tention somewhat from the “ great work ”
to which 1 felt God had called me. Even
during those years of trouble and sorrow,
every opportunity for speaking in the name
of the Lord was improved. While attend
ing an Association in a neighborhood where
the people were strangers to me, in com
pany with an elderly brother and another
near my age, 1 went to spend a night with
a gentleman and lady, neither of whom was
pious. The elderly brother proposed that
we engage in religious exercises with the
family and guests. He assigned the closing
of the'meeting to me, and it pleased God
to sanctify what was said to the salvation
of both the gentleman and his wife. They
were deeply aftected then, and soon after
professed hope in Christ. Such circum
stances had the effect of strengthening my
faith and inflaming my zeal, and had much
to do in bringing me to the resolution from
which I have never swerved, that my whole
life and my best powers should be devoted to
the Gospel ministry. Through grace, the
purpose of my soul became fixed, that if
the Lord would honor me by “putting me
into this ministry,’” nothing should divert
me from it. And now that my course is
nearly finished, I can say in truth, “ What
things were gain to me, I counted loss for
Christ.” I am convinced that no man
ought to put his hand to this work with a
divided heart. Unless men can submit to
poverty, or any other inconvenience, for
Christ’s sake, they ought never to enter the
ministry. If they do, no matter what are
their talents, they will do but little good.
Pq the contrary, I have often seen men of
but moderate abilities arrive at great emi
nence and influence, who felt that they had
but one thing to do—to preach Christ.
Before 1 was fairly grown, T experienced
another sore trial in the failure of my
health —had all the premonitory symptoms
of consumption, which was a hereditary
disease. 1 became dangerously ill when
far from home and kindred, and do not
know what would have become of me had
nut “ a good Samaritan ” (in the person of
an, old brother, almost an entire stranger)
taken me to his house, by whom and his
wife I was treated as if 1 had been their
own son. They gave me a home for two
years, were instrumental in restoring me to
health, and were all to me that my own pa
rents could have been. During this period
l was married and ordained ; and 1 am per
suaded that those who relinquish all things
earthly for Christ’s sake, will never lack
kindred, nor friends, nor homes.
It was my happiness, in those early
years, to be associated with some of the
ablest men in our denomination in this
State, now passed away. Among others I
may mention Jesse Travis, Joshua S. Cal
laway, V. R. Thornton, B. M Sanders and
Jesse Mercer. Travis was a natural ora
tor, and for his opportunities, one of the
most effective preachers 1 have ever known.
Callaway was a man of clear and discrimi
nating mind, of persuasive eloquence, and
greatly beloved by those who knew him
well. Thornton was the most profound
thinker the deepest, theologian, 1 have ever
known, and, withal, a most cordial, com
panionable person. Sanders was impetu
ous, rash, and to strangers seemed to be
imperious in his disposition ; but a more
sincere, honest, earnest Christian never
lived. Mercer was simple, meek, child
like in ail his ways—-a sort of Moses to
our Israel in Georgia. Yet, w hen occasion
required, i*o one was more firm, inflexible,
and stern than he. Some affect to believe
that Gospel ministers are no better than
other men. Having associated with them
from my youth up, 1 here record my testi
mony to their unselfishness, their purity,
their charity, and their fidelity to the Mas
ter whom they serve.
Harrison.
I'ruejoy is a serene and sober emotion
and they are miserably out that take laugh’
i*l for rejoicing. The seat of it is within
;ukl there is no cheerfulness like the resolu
tions of a brave miud, that has fortune under
its feet.
Time, which gnaws and diminishes all
things else, augments and increase!h bene
fits; because a noble jetton of liberality,
done to a man of reasmi, doth grow eontin
ualiy by his generously thinking of it and
remain be ring it.
“HIS BANNER OVER” US IS “LOVE.”
Telegraphic Dispatches.
Office of the Mootii: at one end of the line.
Office of the Stomach : at the other end of it.
DISPATCH.
Inquiry —Mouth to Stomach. “Areyou
ready for breakfast ? ”
Stomach. “Yes. What are you going
to send ?”
Mouth. “You will see. Prepare!”—
The table-bell rings, Body hurries—drops
into a chair. Mouth opens, and down goes
as quickly as possible a cup of Coffee at a
temperature of 145 degrees of Fahrenheit.
It burns the whole .Esophageal track as it
passes it, and when it gets into the Stom
ach, burns it, and the Stomach contracts,
and shrivels, and cringes, and finally screech
es—and the
Mouth says: “Halloo! What is the
matter ? ”
Stomach “Matter! Enough I should
think. Do you not know that 1 cannot en
dure Slush at 140 to 160 degrees of heat?”
Mouth. “O, never mind ! Here comes
some Beef Steak with hot fried potatoes,
hot rolls and poor butter, some salad with
vinegar, some Buckwheat Cakes and molas
ses. These will heal it.”
Stomach. “ Stop ! What earthly use is
there in sending these down here all at a
time ? They make a hodge-podge.”
Mouth. “ Here comes some more Cof
fee ! ”
Stomach. “ Hold on! Wait! Give
me some water!"
Mouth. “Water! Water when you can
get Coffee ? You must be crazy —water
has no nourishment in it. One wants wa
ter only when one is dry.”
Stomach. “1 am thirsty. Give me some
water ! ”
Mouth. “Cannot do it. They havn’t
any water up here—it they have, it is hot,
and f doubt if they have any of that. Per
sons do not like water, and you, O Stom
ach, are eccentric; so stop complaining and
get ready to take some more food— ‘ take
the good the gods provide you,’ and be con
tent. Are you ready ?—I am in a hurry.
Up here Time is Money. 1 have to fur
nish you with material out of whish strength
is to be gotten for the Body’s use to-day,
and I have ten minutes allowed mo for this
purpose. Now the after part, is your look
out, not mine. Take notice! Are you
ready ? Here comes apple-pie, fried chick
en, tripe, Tomato catsup, boiled ham, min
ute pudding, corn bread and cucumbers,
P epper, Salt, gravy, mince pie, another cup
of Coffee—so look out! ”
Stomach. “Look out! O, murder!—
What am Ito do? Do! 1 must grind away
at it like a horse in a bark-mill, till I am
worn out. Under such a condition of things
as this, I shall break down in a fourth part
of the time, which I might
the mouth—and for that matter the heart j
too will be still, aud l shall be at peace.”
Lennon from the Leaven.
Wo men sometime?, n what we presume
to be humanity, compare ourselves with
leaves; but we have as yet no right to do
so. The leaves may well scorn thecompar
ison. We who live for ourselves, and nei
ther know how to use nor keep the work
of past time, may humbly learn, as from
the ant, foresight ; from the leaf, reverence.
The power of every great people, as of ev
ery living tree, depends on its not Discing,
but confirming and concluding the labors of
its ancestors. Looking back to the history
of nations, we may date the beginning of
their decline from the moment when they
* i
cease to be reverent in heart and accumu
lative in hand and brain ; from the moment
when the redundant fruit of age hid in
them the hollowness of heart whence the
simplicities of custom and sinews of tradi
tion had withered away. Had men but
guarded the righteous laws and protected
the precious works of their fathers with
half the industry we have given to change
and ravage, they would not now have been
seeking vainly in millennial visions and
mechanical servitudes the accomplishment
of the premise made to them so long ago :
“ As the days of a tree are the days of my
people, and mine ileet so long enjoy the
works of their hands: we shall not labor
; in vain nor bring forth to trouble, for they
are the seed of the blessed of the Lord,
and their offspring with them.”
This lesson we have to take from the
leafs life; one more we may receive from
its death, if ever iu autumn a pensiveness*
falls upon us as the leaves drift by in their
fading, may we not wisely look up to their
mighty monuments? Behold how fair, how
far prolonged in arch and aisle, the avenue
of the valleys, the fringes of the hills ! So
stately, so eternal! the joy of man, the
comfort of all living creatures, the glory of
the earth, they are but monuments of those
poor leaves that flit faintly past us to die.
Let them not pass without our understand
ing their last counsel and example; that
we also, careless of monument by the
grave, may build it in the world-monument
by which men may be taught to remember,
not where we died, but where we lived.
[Ruskin , s Modern Painters, Vol. V.
Oar §ons and Daughters.
“ Why is it,” inquired a person one day,
“ that so many young men make shipwreck
of their hopes, when their sisters become
useful, virtuous and respected ? There is
Mr. , all his boys are profligates, while
his daughters are patterns of propriety and
goodness.” This remark touches an im
portant subject. Let us reply to the inter
rogative. The answer is not very difficult.
It is a clear clase.
Sons are early brought into contact with
the world. In their youth they form com
panionships in the streets, and engage in
pursuits which bring them into intimate re
lationship with wicked men. They meet
temptations of society everywhere. All
the vices of men appear from time to time,
and all the coarser pleasures of life, to lure
and destroy them. To these they yield
and go to ruin.
It is not so with daughters. They are
within doors at home most of the time. A
different class of employment occupies their
time and thoughts, and they live under a
mother’s watchful eye from year to year.
Among the large number of girls who are
cast houseless ii to the streets of our popu
lous cities, a few only come out of the se
vere ordeal as gold tried in the fire. It is
doubtful if there would be more sons than
daughters ruined, if both were equally ex
posed to the temptations of the world.
Here, then, is the difference. The watch
ful care and blessed influence of home saves
the girls, while :nany boys are destroyed.
The fact should deeply impress our hearts
with two truths: First, there is great pow
er in the allurements of the world. How
many bright, intelligent, beloved young
men are ruined every year by these appeals
to their social nature! Second, the re
straints and influence of home are indispen.
sable to preserve the characters of the
young unsullied. Home—home—there is
nothing like it, if it be a home of the right
stamp, to make sons and daughters what
they ought to be—happy home!
Remedies for Every Day Maladies.
For a Jit of Idleness. —Count the ticking
of a clock ; do this for one hour, and you
will be very glad to pull off your coat the
next and work like a hero.
For a Jit of Extravagance of Folly. —Go
to the workhouse and speak with the in
mates of a jail, and you will be convinced :
Who makes If s bed of briar and thorn,
Must be content, to lie forlorn.
For a fit of Ambition. —Go into a church
yard and read the gravestones; they will
tell you the end of ambition. The grave
will soon be your bed-chamber, the earth
your pillow, corruption jour father, and
the worm your sister.
For a Jit of Despondency. —Look on the
good things which God has given you in
this world, and to those He has promised
to His followers in the next. He who goes
into his garden to find cobwebs and spiders,
no doubt w’ll find them ; while he w T ho is
looking for a flower, may return into his
house with one blooming in his bosom.
For all tits of Doubt , Perplexity and
Pear. —Whether they respect the body or
the mind —whether they are a load to the
shoulders or the heart—the following is a
radical cure w hich may be relied on, for 1
had it from the Great Physician: “Cast
thy burden on the Lord and He will sus
tain thee.”
For a Repining Fit. —Look about for the
halt and the blind, and visit the bed-ridden,
and the afflicted and deranged; and they
w ill make you ashamed of complaining of
your lighter afflictions.
The celebrated Robert Hall was once
asked what he thought of a sermon that had
created a great sensation. “ Very fine, sir,”
**e replied, “ but a man can’t eat flowers,”
TERMS —Three Dollars a-year.
LGod shall Wipe Away all 1 cars from their Eyes.’
rev. vn: 17; xxi: 4.
The mother’s kiss consoles the babe
That weeps in helpless grief,
And for the troubles of the child
Brings smiles of sweet relief;
Yet still those quicklv banished tears
Are like the April rain:
Beneath the polished lids they swell,
And hack they come again.
The friend beside his sorrowing friend,
With sympathy sincere,
Divides the pang, returns the sigh,
And stays the bitter tear;
Yet o’er the fountain of the heart
That soothing spell is vain—
Anew affliction stirs its depths.
And forth they gush again.
Though love and friendship’s hallowed force
May quell the tides of woe,
Each passing hour retains the power
To bid their waters flow;
But they who take a blessed flight
Above these realms of pain,
Whose tears the hand of God hath dried,
Shall never weep again.
Home Affections.
The has aflections that never die.
The rough rubs of the world can not oblit
erate them. They are the memories of
home —early home. There is a magic
sound. Theie is the old tree, under which
the light-hearted boy swung many a day ;
yonder is the river in which he learned to
swim; there is the house in which he knew
a parent’s protection —nay, there is the
room in which he romped with brother and
sister, long since, alas! laid in the yard in
which he must soon be gathered, overshad
owed by yon old church, whither, with a
joyous troop like himself, he had often fol
lowed his parents to worship with, and hear
the good old man who ministered at the al
tar. Why, even the very school-house, as
sociated in youthful days with thoughts of
tasks, now comes to bring pleasant remem
brances of many occasions that call forth
some generous exhibitions of noble traits
of human nature. There is where he learn
ed to feel some of his first emotions. —
There, perchance, he first met the being,
who, by her love and tenderness in life, has
made a home for himself happier than that
which his childhood had known. There are
certain feelings of humanity—and those,
too, among the best —that can find no ap
propriate place for their exercise only at
one’s fireside. There is a privacy of that
of which it were a species of desecration to
violate. He who seeks wantonly to violate
it is neither more nor less than a villain ;
and hence there exists no surer sign of the
debasement of morals in a community than
the disposition to tolerate in any mode the
man who invades the sanctity of private
life. In the turmoil of the world, let there
be at least one spot where the poor man
may find affection and confidence.
Prayer.
Every ambitious attempt to break thro’
the humbling conditions on which man may
hold communion with God, must fail of
success; since the Supreme has fixed the
scene of worship and converse, not in the
skies, but on earth. The Scripture models
of devotion, far from encouraging vague
and inarticulate contemplations, consist of
such utterances of desire, or hope, or love,
as seem to suppose the existence of correl
ative feelings, and of every human sympa
thy in Him to whom they are addressed.—
And though reason and Seriptuie assure us
that He neither needs to be informed of our
wants, nor waits to be moved by our sup
plications, yet will He be approached with
the eloquence of importunate desire, and
He demands not only a sincere feeling of
indigence and dependance, but an undissem
bled zeal and diligence in seeking the de
sired boons by persevering request. He is
to be supplicated with arguments as one
who needs to be swayed and moved, to be
wrought upon and influenced ; nor is any
alternative offered to those who would pre
sent themselves at the throne of heavenly
grace, or any exception made in favor of
superior spirits, whose more elevated no
tions of the divine perfections may render
this accommodated style distasteful. As
the Hearer of prayer stoops to listen, so
also must the suppliant stoop from the
heights ol philosophical or meditative ab
stractions, and either come in genuine sim
plicity of petition, as a son to a father, or
be utterly excluded from the friendship of
his Maker.
NO. 50.
