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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.