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THE BAPTIST BAXXEIi.
fl BMOO'O 40 UO&AO WWO y
BY JAS. N. ELLS & CO.
VOL. IV.
@hr
DEVOTED TO RELJOION AND LITERATURE,
la published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at Die
subscription price of three dollars per year.
JAMES N. ELLS A CO.,
Proprietors.
Jas. N. Ells. S. D. Niles. A. K. Seago
Steam Press of Franklin Printing House—J. J. Toon i Co.
MISCELLANY.
SPEAK NO ILL.
Nay, speak no ill! a kindly word
Can never leave a sting behind,
And oh 1 to breathe each tale we’ve heard
Is far beneath a noble mind;
Full oft a better seed is sown
By choosing thus a kinder plan ;
For if but little good be known,
Still let us speak the best we can.
Give us the heart that fain would hide—
Would fain another’s fault efface;
How can it please e’en Luman pride
To prove humanity but base?
No ! let us reach a higher mood,
A noble sentiment of man;
Be earnest in the search of good,
And speak of all the best we can.
• THE COLPORTEUR.
-A. MTORA'.
** W way, stranger?’ said a rough
IV looking farmer to a man who was
carrying a well filled valise. The latter
was in the act of raising the latch of a gate,
which opened from the public road into a
narrow lane leading to a small country
house of no very inviting aspect.
The person thus addressed turned and
fixed a pair of mild, yet steady and pene
trating eyes upon the speaker.
‘ Which way, stranger?’ was repeated,
though in modified and more respectful
tones.
‘Who lives there?’ said the stranger,
pointing to the. house just in view from the
road.
‘ Dick .Jones,’ was answered.
‘ AV hat kind of a man is he?’ next in
quired the stranger.
‘ Rather a hard case. You’d better not
go there.’
‘ Why ? ’ •
‘ Aint, you the man that sells Bibles and
talks religion ? ’
‘ Suppose I am ? ’
‘ Take a friend’s advice, then, and ke.< p
away from Dick Jones. lie’ll insult you
may be, do worse.’
‘ 1 reckon not,’ replied the colporteur,
for such he was.
4 He will, as sure as fate. 1 have heard
him say, over and over again, that if one
of you Bible sellers dared to come inside
of his gate, he’d set his dogs on you. And
he’s just the man to keep his word. So
take a friend’s advice, and let him alone.—
No good will come of it?
4 Has he a wifi; and children?’ inquired
the colporteur.
' A wife and two little boys.’
‘ What kind of a woman is his wife?’
*<>, she’ll do well enough. But neigh
bors don’t go there much on account of her
husband, who is a very imp of Satan, if the
truth must be spoken.
‘ Like the blessed Master,’ was replied
to this, ‘ I come not to call the righteous,
but sinners to repentance. Os all things
in the world, the Bible is most needed at
Dick Jones’; and I am bound to place one
there.’
‘ very well. Follow your own bent,’
said the farmer, slightly annoyed at the
other’s pertinacity. ‘ V oil’ll remember
that 1 warned you, when his dogs are at
y< ur heels, or his horsewhip over your
shoulders. So good morning to you.’
‘Good morning,’ returned the stranger,
cheerfully, as he threw open the ill-hung
gate, and entered th * forbidden grounds of
Dick Jones.
Now. our brave friend, the colporteur,
was not a st rong, robust man, able to meet
and resist physical violence. In the use of
carnal weapons he had no skill. But he
had a confident spirit, a strong heart, and,,
above all, an unwavering confidence in the
protecting power of Him, in whose service:
lie was devoting his life.
Even on the grounds of Dick Jones the
birds sung sweetly, the cool breezes sport
cd amid the leafy branches, and the breaths
of a thousand Howers mingled their frag
rance in the air ; and, even as the colpor
teur trod these grounds, he felt an.d enjoy-j
ed the tranquil beauty and peace of nature.
There was no shrinking in his heart. He'
was in no terror of the lions that crouched'
on his p ith. Soon he stood st the opendoor
of a h«>use, around which was no air of
comfort, nor a single vestige of taste.
• Who’s there? what’s wanted?’ was the
repulsive salutation of a woman, who bur
ricdly drew an old handkerchief across her
brown neck and half-exposed bosom, on
seeing a stranger.
• May God's pea?e on this house’’
said the colporteur, in a low, reverent
voice, as he stood, one foot on the ground,
and the other across the threshold.
A change passed instantly over the wo
man’s face. Its whole expression softened.
But she did not invite the stranger to enter.
‘Go go? she said, in a hurried voice.-
‘Go away quickly ! My husband will be
here directly, and he ’
She paused, leaving the sentence unfin
ished, as if reluctant to speak what was in
her mind.
‘ Why should I go away quickly ? ’ asked
the stranger, as he stepped into the room,
taking off his hat respectfully, and seating
himself in a chair. ‘ 1 wish to see and
speak with your husband. Mr. Jones, I
believe, is his name?’
‘Yes, sir, his name is Jones. But he
don’t want to see you.’
‘ Don’t want to see me ? How do you
know ? Who am 1? ’
i ‘ I don’t know- your name, sir,’ answered
the woman, timidly ; ‘ but I know who you
are. You go around selling good books,
and talking religion to the people.’
‘True enough, Mrs. Jones,’ said the col
porteur, seriously, yet with a pleasant
smile on his face as he spoke. ‘And 1
have come to have a little talk with your
husband, and see if 1 can’t get him to buy
some of iny good books. Have you a
Bible ? ’
• No, sir. My husband says he hates the
Bible. When we were first married, I had
an old Testament, but he never could bear
to see me reading it. Somehow, it got
lost; I always thought he carried it away,
or threw it into the fire. He won’t talk to
you, sir. He won't have your books.—
He’s a very bad tempered man sometimes,
and I’m afraid he’ll do you harm. O,sir, I
wish you would go away.’
But instead of showing any alarm or
anxiety at Mrs. Jones’ account of her hus
band, the stranger commenced opening his
valise, from which he soon produced a
plainly bound copy of the Bible.
‘How long since you were married?’
asked the colporteur, as he opened the Bi
ble, and commenced turning over the leaves.
‘ Twelve years come next May, sir,’ was
answered.
‘ How long is it since you lost the Tes
tament ? ’
‘ Most eleven years.’
‘ Do you go to church ? ’
‘To church!’ The woman looked sur
prised at the question. ‘ Dear sakes, no !
I havn’t been inside of a church since 1 was
married.’
‘ Wouldn't you like to go?’
‘ What’d be the use? 1 wouldn’t say
i “ church ” to Dick for the world.’
‘Then you havn’t read the Bible your
self, nor heard anybody else read it, since
you lost the Testament.? ’
‘ No, sir.’
‘ \ou shall have that blessed privilege
i once again in your life,’ said the stranger,
raising the book towards his eyes, and ma
king preparation to read.
‘ Indeed, sir, I’m afraid. I’m looking for
my husband every minute,’ interposed the
woman. ‘ He’s always said he’d kick the
first Bible seller out of his house that dared
to cross his door; and he’ll do it. He’s
very wicked and passionate, sometimes. —
Do, sir, please go away. If 1 had any
money, I’d take the Bible and hide it from
him ; but I havn’t. Please don’t stay any
longer. Don’t begin to read. If he comes
in and finds you reading, he’ll be mad
enough to kill you.’ •
But, for all this, the colporteur sat un
moved. As the woman ceased speaking, 1
• he commenced reading to her the beautiful
chapter from our Lord’s sermon on the 1
mount, beginning with—‘Take heed that
| ye do not. your alms before men to be seen
of them; otherwise you have no reward of ’
your Father, which is in heaven.’ As he
proceeded in a low, distinct, reverential
voice, the woman’s agitation gradually sub
sided, and she leaned forward, listening
more and more intently, until all thoughts
i and feelings were absorbed in the. holy
i words that were filling her ears. When
the colporteur finished the chapter, he raised
his eyes to the face of the woman, and saw
that it was wet with tears. At that instant
a form darkened the door. It was the form
of Dick Jones.
‘ Hal’ he exclaimed in a harsh voice.—
j ‘ What's this ? \\ ho are you ? ’
i Comprehending, now, the scene before
him, Jones began swearing awfully, at the
! same time ordering the stranger to leave
his house, threatening to kick him from the
door if he didn’t move instantly. The
tearful wife stepped between her husband !
and the object of his wrath ; but he swept
her aside roughly, and with curses.
‘ Go, before 1 fling you into the road!’!
! And the strong man. every iron muscle I
tense with anger, stood towering above the!
•stranger’s slender form, like an eagle above
' its helpless prey.
How calm and fearless the stranger sat,
his mild, deep, almost spiritual eyes fixed
. on those of his mad assailant.
‘ Bless the Lord, (J my soul, and forget ■
.not all his benefits.’
Low, vet thrilling, was the voice in;
• which these words found almost spontane-'
ous utterance. He had taken no forethought
as to what he should say. Hither he had !
• come at the prompting of duty, and now,'
, when a raging lion was in his path, he
shrunk not back in terror, but, resting in a 1
div ine j>ower. moved steadily onward.
lear out from here, 1 sax !’ The voice
. of Dick Jones was angry still; yet some !
thing of its evil purpose was gone.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, JANUARY 31, 1863.
HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE.
‘ The Lord is my light and my salvation:
whom shall I fear ? The Lord is my strength
and my life : of whom shall I be afraid ? ’
Neither loud nor in self-confidence was
this spoken ; else would it not have fallen
on the ears of that evil-minded man w ith
so strange a power.
‘ Why have you come here to trouble
me ? Go, now —go, before Ido you harm,’
said Dick Jones, greatly subdued in man
ner, and sinking into his chair as he spoke.
The colporteur, moved less by thought
than impulse, opened the Bible which had
been closed on the entrance of Jones, and
commenced reading. AH was still, now,
save the low, eloquent voice of the stran
ger, as he read from the holy book. His
wife, who had stood half paralyzed with
terror in a distant part of the room, whither
an impatient arm had flung her, seeing the
wonderful change that was passing, stole
quietly to his side, and bending her head,
even as his was bent, listened with an al
most charmed attention to the Word of
Life, as read by the man of God, who had i
penetrated the dense moral wilderness, in
which they had so long dwelt.
‘ Let us pray.’
How strange these words sounded ! They
seemed spoken as from the heavens above
them, and by a voice they could not disre
gard.
Brief, yet earnest, and in fitting language,
was the prayer, then tearfully made, and
responded to with tears. When the‘amen’
was said, and the pious colporteur arose
from his knees, what a change had taken
place! The raging lion had become a lamb!
The strong, wicked contemner of the good,
was gentle and teachable as a little child.
Unce more the colporteur read from the
Holy Book, while the man and his wife lis
tened with bent heads, and earnest, thought
ful faces.
‘Shall I leave you this Bible?’ said he,
rising at length, and making a motion toj
retire.
‘lf you will sell it to us,’ .said Dick
Jones.
‘ It is yours on any terms you please.—
The price is low. 1 have other good books ;
but this is the best of all, for it is God’s
own Book,in whuh He speaks to Hiserring,;
unhappy children, saying to them, “Come,
unto me all ye that labor and are heavy
laden, and I will give you rest.” Read this
first, my friends; read it in the morning,
as soon as you rise, and in the evening be
fore you retire. Read it together, and, if
you feel an impulse to pray, kneel down,!
and silently, if you can not speak aloud,
say over the words of that beautiful prayer
the Saviour taught his disciples —the prayer !
your mothers taught you when you were!
innocent children—“ Our Father, who artl
in heaven.” In a few weeks 1 will pass,
this way again. Shall 1 call to see you?’ j
‘O, yes; do call,’ said Jones, his voicej
trembling; though it was plain he strug I
gled hard with the flood of new emotions'
that was sweeping over him.
‘ May God’s peace rest upon this house!’
The stranger stood with lifted hands and
head bent reverently for a moment. Then,
turning away, he passed from the door, and
in a few moments was out of sight.
A month later the colporteur came again
that way. How different was his reception
at the house of Dick Jones ! The moment
the eyes of the latter rested upon him, it
seemed as if a sunbeam fell suddenly on
his rugged features.
‘ All is well, I see? The colporteur
spoke cheerfully, and with a radiant smile.
‘ A Bible in the house is a blessing to its
inmates.
‘ It has been a blessing to us,’ said the
happy wife, her eyes full of tears. ‘ <), j
sir, we can never be done reading the good i
book. It seems, sometimes, as if the words
were just written for us. And the chil
dren ask me, many times a day, if I wont 1
read to them about Joseph and his breth
ren, the three Hebrew children, or Daniel'
in the den of lions. Often, when they have!
been so ill natured and quarrelsome that 1
could do nothing with them, have I stopped
my work, and sat down among them with
the Bible, and began to read one of its
beautiful stories. O, it acted like a charm ! j
All anger would die instantly ; and when I
closed the bonk, and they went to their play
again, I would not hear an ugly word among
• them, maybe for hours. And Richard,
too, she glanced towards her husband,
who smiled, and she went on. ‘ And Rich
ard, too, —-I havn’t heard him swear an oath
I since you were here; and he isn’t angrx
| with things that can’t be he]j>ed, near as of
ten as he used to be. <), yes, indeed, sir;
it is true. A Bible in the house is a bless
ing to its inmates.’
* It that were the only fruit of my labor?
said the colporteur, as he walked slowly
; and thoughtfully away from the house of'
I Dick Jones, an hour later, ‘it would be!
; worth all the toil and and sacrifice 1 have!
I given the work. But this is not the only ■
good ground into which the seed I am scat
i tering broadcast, as it were, has fallen.—
I God’s rain, and dew, and sunshine, are upon
it, and it must spring up, and grow, and ri
t pen to the harvest. Let. me not grow faint
or weary?
And with a stronger heart and a more
earnest purpose, he went on his way.
‘ How do you like the Story ?
: [-For the B&pttut Banner.}
' FORGETFULNESS OF GOD.
J RT AUNT EDITH.
1 “ Come, Lucy, lay aside that work and
1 rest yourself: you look pale and wearied.
Call up the children, and take a walk, my
‘ dear; their lively prattle and the fresh
smell of the woods will do you good?’
“ Yes, Aunt, I shall put it up now direct-
• ly, just as soon as I finish stitching this col-
• lar in Willie’s coat.”
j “ But, my dear, you are not compelled
to have that garment this evening; why
1 not lay it aside till to-morrow, or, if the
child needs it, let me put in that collar,
1 while you rise from that chair and take a
little exercise ? ”
‘* Thank you, Aunt, I’m not weary. Wil
lie does not stand in need of the coat; but
I laid off to finish his suit this evening, as
to-morrow is Thursday, and I must try and
get Baby’s dress through by Saturday, so
that next week I can assist Miss May, who
I is coining to put in my quilts.”
“ And what then, Lucy ? ”
“ Why, then I am going to make Henry’s
suit, and lastly, my dresses.”
/Ah ! my child,” said Aunt Esther, as
she drew a long sigh, “I ain afraid you are
too much like Martha, cumbered about
many things, and 1 am sorry to see your
mind so engrossed with planning and fixing
for the future. You forget the injunction,
‘ Boast not thyself of to-morrow’, for thou
knowest not what a day may bring forth? ”
“No, Aunt, 1 have not; but if 1 don’t
make an effort to get through with my sew
ing, I know not who will. You would not
have me careless about the future, would
yon, and neglect the interests of my house
hold?”
“ Not so, my dear child; far from it.—
The industry and willingness you exhibit in
replenishing and keeping in order your hus-
I band and children’s wardrobes, are highly
commendable; but I fear, Lucy, that in
your anxiety to clothe the body, you forget
the wants of the sous. You not only pro
vide what is necessary for the outward man,
j but you labor and toil to have a surplus.
One thing is not completed before your
mind is placed upon another, thus giving
I yourself no time for bodily rest or mental
enjoyment. Rest assured, my dear niece,
this constant application to your needle—
this uncalled-for anxiety about the wants of
the body, thus tying your mind down to a
I daily routine of business and care without
'any relaxation, is doing yourself and your
j character great injury, if indeed it has not
j already done the same.”
“ Why, Aunt, you take quite a serious
' view of the case, and you moreover puzzle
'me considerably. I can understand how
my own self can be injured, for I know close
! confinement will, in a measure, undermine
|my health, and as Henry says, ‘ take the
roses from my cheeks? but how in the
world my character can be hurt by being
too industrious, is quite a mystery.”
“Not at all, my dear. I mean your
Christian character, of course; and if you
will suffer me to speak plainly, I can soon
convince you that it is an easy matter to
injure that, and thereby bring reproach
upon that cause which should be nearest and
dearest to every Christian’s heart. Shall I
speak out ? ”
“ Yes, Aunt, of course : for 1 know what
ever you say is meant for my good.”
“ Well, my dear, it is now six weeks since
N entered your pleasant home a welcome
visitor, and in one more week I bid you all
adieu. During my sojourn with you I have
mingled in all your affairs, have sat around
your fireside with your little ones, and tried
Ito share your burdens and your cares. I
have noticed with pleasure the zeal and en
i ergy you display in performing your house ;
I hold duties, and as an industrious wife and
mother, can find no fault with you. But,
my dear, as a Christian —a child of God, I
fear your character will be found wanting,
and my heart has been sadly pained while,
jhere I’ve been, to see what little time you
devote to your God and the interests of
: your su’d. How, niy child, can the immor
tai soul thrive and grow, and maintain its,
I spiritual vitality, unless it draws daily 1
i nourishment from the fountain and source
iof ail its joys ? And what are the means:
, through which it is togain its nourishment?
tVhy, reading the word of God, meditation,
and prayer. And yet, my dear Lucy, you
suffer the whole week to pass by without
once taking your Bible, or retiring alone i
through the day to ask Heavenly aid and
guidance. Henry goes off to his business
and leaves you sewing : he comes and finds
' you in the same position. \ou are too
much engaged sometimes even to c inverse, i
and he resorts to a newspaper to fill up the i
.lime until dinner is announced. The little,
'ones are sent off*with the nurse because you
are too busy to Is* teased with their noise : '
j their warm hearts are chilled, and their
i young affections run to waste for want ofi
proper nu tri men t*and guidance. h>u are
laboring to adorn their bodies, but the
heart is left uneducated—the soul uncared
for. Henry knows you profess to be a j
Christian, and he knows also what are some j
of the duties of a Christian. Will you give
him credit for less discernment than others?
Or can ycu be surprised if, after closely ,
watching your daily life, he finds you want-
TERMS — Three Dollars a-year.
ing in the fruit which it is your privilege
and duty to show to those around ? Your
distance from Christ, and neglect of the
means of grace, which are the immediate
consequences of your constant and unneces
sary application to worldly affairs, causes
you to be spiritually cold and barren. You
are seldom in a devotional frame of mind,
and consequently can never, with any de
gree of consistency, approach your husband
upon that subject which he thinks should
be uppermost in your mind, and which is
of such vital importance to him. Oh! Lu
cy, this is what I mean when I say your
Christian character is injured. Your light,
is hid under a bushel. You have ceased
to glorify your Father in heaven, and unless
by God’s grace, you endeavor to turn your
mind from the world and place it upon
things above, you will prove a stumbling
block in the way of your s husband.”
“Oh ! Aunt, you make me to tremble.
God knows the salvation of my husband’s
soul is the dearest wish of my heart, and if
I have heen thoughtlessly acting in such a
manner as to cause him lightly to esteem
the religion of Jesus, or deter him from
seeking an interest in His blood, 1 am
heartily sorry, and will do any thing in my
power to wipe out the sin. I know you
speak the truth, if it is plain, and my con
science often reproves me, and I wonder
sometimes what Henry thinks of me and
my profession. It has not always been so,
Aunt. When first 1 professed a hope in
Christ, I could not bear that one day should
pass without my having read the word of
God and retiring for devotion at least three
times. But I was single then, and encum
bered with no household cares; now I con
sole myself with the reflection that my du
ties are too numerous to allow the time.
What must I do, Aunt? What can I do
that I may live as close to God as 1 did
then? for I was much happier then than
now.”
“ I know it, my child—for the only true
happiness for the Christian is in bearing the
cross and walking in the path of duty, how
ever painful it may be. Ifyou search your
heart closely, you will find that your first
departure from duty was neglecting secret
prayer. Your body will not thrive without
proper nourishment, neither can your soul
grow and make progress in the divine life
without the aid of this life-giving means of
grace. It is a familiar but truthful remark,
that we should never make our religion
bend to anything, but every thing bend to
that. You have allowed your wordly af
fairs to take the precedence in your affec
tions: the consequence is, your heart is at
a guilty distance from God, and you cannot
enjoy His presence. You have left your
first love, Lucy, and you must repent and
turn again to your heavenly Father, ifyou
would enjoy that peace which flows like a
river, and honor, in the sight of men,*your
high and holy profession. If the daily
maintenance of yourself and little ones de
pended upon your daily exertions, and, like
thousands of God’s creatures, you had to
sew early and late for food and clothing,
your case would be different. But, Lucy,
it is you are in easy circumstances,
and can well afford to take an hour at least,
each day, for retirement from the world
and sweet communion with your God.—
When that period comes around, let every
thing drop and endeavor, for a little season,
to place your mind upon something far
more valuable than earth and earthly in
terests. No matter if something does go
wrong while you are thus engaged ; com
munion with Christ will give you grace to
bear whatever tends to irritate, and you
will find your soul a gainer in the end.
“You are not the only delinquent in God’s
cause, Lucy; there are numbers 1 might
1 name who are living at the same guilty
! distance from God. Good wives, mothers,
and sisters they are, but their household
and personal affairs —what they shall ac
) cornplish during the week, the month or
the year, occupies so their thoughts,
that time is never found to open the door
loftheir hearts and let in the Master tosup.
| The consequence is, a low state of spiritu
alitv. Meet them at the church or around
i the fireside, and t he name of Jesus is never
mentioned. How can they converse of
Him who is seldom or never in their
' thoughts? Ah ! my soul grieves to see so
i many of the professed disciples of Jesus
! living so far beneath their privileges; and
net until the work ofGod is revived in each
individual heart, and the light of each Chris
tian burns brightly around the fireside and
in the social circle, can we see the cause of
God prospering and sinners being brought
into the fold.
“ But yonder comes Henry and the little
ones. May God enable you to profit by
my poor remarks, my dear niece, and draw
you once more to his footstool.”
“ Thank you, my dear Aunt. I feel that
I shall always have reason to bless God for
! your visit to me and mine. Your advice
shall not be in vain, for I am resolved, with
Divine assistance, from this time forth, to
take up my cross find live nearer to my
| Saviour.”
In all our choices this principle should
| overrule us: That what is best for our
souls is best for us.
NO. 11.
