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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.