Newspaper Page Text
THE BAPTIST BANNER
A BSS&SiMOTS AIW ia'i'tuiAa/ M®WBS 1 A-';;-’’
BY JAS. N. ELLS & CO.
VOL. IV.
gaptist fanner,
DEVOTED to religion and literature,
Is published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at the
subscription price of three dollars per year.
JAMES N. ELLS * CO.,
Proprietors.
Jas. N. Ells. S. D. Niles. A. K. Seago
Steam Press of Franklin Printing House—J. J. Toon A Co.
MtsCELLAI i Y -
OOD BLESS YOU!
How sweetly fall those simple words
Upon the human heart,
When friends long bound by strongest ties,
Are doomed by fate to part.
You sadly press the hands of those
Who thus in love caress you,
And soul responsive beats to soul,
In breathing out “God bless you.”
“ God bless you ! ” Ah, long months ago,
I heard the mournful phrase,
When one, whom I in childhood loved,
Went from my dreamy gaze;
Now blinding tears fall thick and fast,
I mourn my long lost treasure,
While echoes of the heart bring back
The farewell prayer “ God bless you.”
The mother, sending forth her boy
To scenes untried and new,
Lisps not a studied, stately speech,
Nor murmurs out “Adieu.”
She sadly says between her sobs,
“ When e’er misfortunes press you,
Come to thy mother, boy—come back,”
Then sadly sighs “ God bless you.”
“ God bless you ” more of love expresses
Than volumes without number;
We then reveal our trust in Him
Whose eyelids never slumber.
Cask, in parting, no long speech,
Drawled out in studied measure,
I only ask the dear old word,
So sweet, so sad—“ God bless you.”
CONSTANCE DE VERB.
A TTTI’IC STORY.
AEEW summers ago, I quitted the busy
weariness of my city home for a quiet
time at the Virginia Springs, vowing to be
as retired as possible. Our party ensconced
themselves in one of those neat white cot
tages known as Baltimore Row', just a plea
sant walk from the Spring; and, as we
were but few in number, our cottage was
shared by a widow lady and her daughter,
with the latter of whom I formed an imme
diate intimacy, as she, like myself, remain
ed secluded from the gay throng, and had
visited the Springs for.rest, not dissipation.
Eva Gilmore was one of the loveliest
human beings that nature ever formed.—
She was about the middle height of woman,
lair to a fault, not with that dead whiteness
so fatiguing to the eye, but a transparent,
delicate hue, which showed how ruddy the
bright blood Mowed in her veins; her hair
so slightly tinged with auburn that you
thought it in
“ doubt ’twlxt dark or bright,”
was parted on a rather low forehead, and
bound closely to her classic head, in heavy
Grecian braids; while her gentle manners
and sweet low voice won everybody’s love.
Every evening Eva and 1 sat together in
the bright moonlight, on the green sward 1
in front of our cottage, and daily did we i
become more interested in each other, and i
more confidential. On one of those bright
evenings, as we sat gazing through the ball ;
room windows below us on the throngs of i
gailj dressed and merry girls, passing and i
repassing in the mazy dance, while now and
then we caught a few notes of the brilliant
music, or the sdver ring of a merry laugh,
Eva turned to me with a sigh, and said:
“It seems to me very strange, Clara
dear, that you never join the busy crowd
bek •w there—so busy, jet reaping nothing,!
or worse than nothing; you are naturally
so gay and cheerful that I fear it must be
very hum drum for you to sit here every
evening with me.”
“ Believe me, Eva, I enjoy it with all my
soul; Ido not care lor the society of the
uusv mpathizing many, and would much
rather spend all my time with one whom 1
find a congenial spirit, than with a hundred
of that heedless throng. But permit me
in turn to wonder at your question ; if it
were not for your sable I not
have co sit up here alone eve
nings—alone with my own heart?”
“ No, Clara, no; no matter how bright
my outward apparel, 1 never will mingle
again in the world, for my heart wears an
everlasting mourning, in which it would
be mockery for me to appear there. You
smile at one so young giving expression to
such feelings. It is true lam young, and
but three short winters have I been in soci
ety, but the mournful fate of a dear friend
who made her debut at the same time with
my self, and whose premature end I have
alway s thought w as occasioned by toe much
devotion to the world, has caused me to
'■him it; her death I have never
been of balls without a feeling
of pity dear to me, who are trav-
elling that bright, alluring, but surely de
structive road. I believe in social inter-j
course when it does not interfere with so-'
cial duties. It is to a life-long devotion to;
the world that 1 object. For what woman'
can perform her daily duties properly and I
faithful!} , whdte days are spent in thoughts'
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, FEBRUARY 7, 1863.
how she shall appear this Right, at this fete,
and whose nights are taken up with listen
ing to the empty speeches of foolish fops,
i However, I think the story of my friend
will impress the moral I wish to express
more deeply on your mind than any disser
tation on the subject from me; so, if you
have the desire to hear it, and the patience
to listen, 1 will relate it to you.”
Delighted at the idea of hearing a real,
true romantic story, and in which the per
son acting one part was there, and then re
lating it to me, I gladly seated myself on a
stool at Eva’s feet, in my most attentive
attitude, and listdhqd to the silver tones of
her sweet voice as she thus begun:
“ In our beautiful little city of R ,
our next door neighbors were a widow lady,
her two daughters, and son. Os this small
family only one of the daughters was
grown up, the younger not being more
than five years old, and the son a handsome
boy of seventeen.
“ Mrs. de Vere, since her husband’s death,
was never seen but by her most intimate
friends. Ilow'ever, though so secluded her
self, she always encouraged a love of socie
ty in Constance, and her drawing rooms ,
were always thrown open and thronged
with guests, for her beloved child. They ,
were not wealthy, although, quite rich
enough to live in rather a luxurious style,
and Constance was always well dressed, ,
and had the muwt competent masters in any
accomplishment she fancied ; while she hard
ly ever had a whim that was not immedi-
ately gratified at any cost. Constance de
Vere, although not beautiful, was very
handsome. Her complexion was pale to
such a degree that it was called sallow ; her
hair, soft, silken and wavy, partook of the
jetty hue of the raven’s wing; but what
rendered her so striking was the singular
color of her eyes, which were of a grayish
blue, and made a rich contrast with her
hair, while the.glance out of them w-as so
searching that they seemed to read your in
most thoughts, and made you feel rather
uncomfortably when thej rested on you.—
But the greatest attraction of all was her
brilliant mind. She had received the edu
cation of a man, and was always spoken of
as the most cultivated and talented woman
in R . On her entrance into society,
she was ov< rwhohned with attentions, and
everywhere 1 went I heard of the brilliant
Miss de Vere. Constance was very, very
gay ; she flirted and coquetted madly, and,
intoxicated with her success in gaining ad
miration, she thirsted for notoriety. Often
did her friends warn her to stop in her
heedless career, or she would lose the con
fidence and esteem of all her friends, but
she would only laugh merrily and say :
“‘ Why, dear me, I don’t mean to flirt;
only I am so soft-hearted I can’t help it;
and when persons profess love to me, I can
not help, for my kind heart, butdo the same
for thetn; and as soon as they are absent I
regret it, and feel deeply how wrong I have
acted. However, if Ido injure others oc
casionally, 1 shall not suffer myself, for,
thank heaven, I am invulnerable to the
darts of love,’ and on she went in her reck
less career.
“There came about this time to R ,
to study law, a youth of singularly pre
possessing appearance. Tall and command
ing, with that deep-set. gray eye that al
ways shows there is a mind within, he had
a quick, nervous look, and you never could
catch his eye, or, if you did, it was hastily
cast down as if in fear you should read his
thoughts. But Robert Sherman had sent
his reputation tor talent before him. A,
high graduate of a large Southern I niver j
site, and considered one of the best lin
guists of his age, he had not been long in !
before his society was courted by
everv one, and all spoke with admiration
of the young student. But he was very
retired, and was never seen out at any of
the parlies, so that he had been in R
for nearly three months, and Constance and
himself had never met. But rumor had
reached her of his great talents, and she re
solved that meet him she would, and try if
her fascination could not induce him to turn
from dusty law-books for a season.
That, indeed,’ she said, ‘would be a
triumph, to have the young student, who
has hitherto resisted all advances, bend to
my will.’
“ lu the meantime Robert Sherman had
not been deaf, and everywhere he heard of 1
Constance, though always coupled with the,
warning, ‘dangerous woman, Sherman—
break your heart directly if she can.’—
‘ Then, Herbert, I will know’ Miss de Vere.
■ Bye-the-bye, there is a card on my table
for a reception at her house to-night; call
and take me with you.’
I “• Hurrah, Bob ! won already by a mere
i description, and actually going to her par
-1 ty. Well, it will give me pleasure to see
i the fair Constance annihilate you, you are
► such a conceited fellow, —so, tor the pres-
ent, au reroir ; 1 will call for you at nine.’ !
“ ‘ Yes,’ soliloquized Sherman, alone in
hie office, ‘1 will become acquainted with
this Miss de Vere, this flirt, professed co
quette —this woman, proud of crushing the
hearts ts men; noble, confiding hearts,
wasted on frivolity. She is talented ; men
' say 1 am, too; and 1 will spare no effort to
( win her, and avenge my sex—win her heart
and crush it remorselessly ; God only grant
HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE.
she may not win me. And now, proud
Constance, tremble I ’
“That night they met; Constance was
more brilliant than ever, and proud that
her reception had been the first at which
the young stranger had mad** his appear
ance. As Herbert Falconer presented him
to her, she bent with the most exquisite
grace, saying, ‘ Mr. Sherman, as this is your
first appearance in our little circle, permit
me to take you round and show you the li
ons.’ And she put her hand through his
arm to commence her voluntary task.
“‘Ha!’ thought he, ‘how she throws
herself into the snare; ’ but it appeared
that Sherman did not commence by making
himself as agreeable as was in his power,
for Constance’s brow , became quite dark
before she had half completed the tour of
the room, and Sherman soon bowed him
self oft’ to speak to some octogenarian dame.
“ Constance looked almost cross as she
turned to the handsome Edgar Vancourt
land, who was generally to be found some
where near her, and said, ‘Talented, pshaw!
that Mr Sherman is the greatest bore 1
ever met; I shall not trouble myself much
about him again.’
“ ‘ Take care, Miss Constance, Sherman
does not make you regret that speech, if
he ever hears it; for I knew him at the
University, and in disposition we. always
classed him under the head revengeful.’
“ ‘ Oh ! I do not fear him,’ was her laugh
ing reply, as she turned to greet some new
ly arrived guest.
“ Robert Sherman had at the same time
expressed his opinion quite as freely as
Constance had hers. He did not observe
that while he was speaking she had ap
proached, and as she was in the act of step
ping forward to put some ordinary question
to him, she was transfixed by the following
words :
No, Tracy, do not fear for me ; 1 can
not be taken in by any woman, much less
a common flirt like Miss deVere; why, I
would rather sell my soul to the devil at
once, than yield my heart to the mercy of
such a woman. 1 came to R to study
law, not women, so I shall not full a victim
to the purest and most lovely, much less
to this unprincipled coquette,’ ‘ but I mean
to humble her yet,’ muttered he to himself.
“The tears of angry pride rushed to the
eyes of Constance as she heard these words,
and she muttered to herself, ‘7 will humble
him yet.’
“Thus did these two vow destruction to
each other. Not many weeks elapsed be
fore Sherman and Constance became des
perate friends ; one was never seen w ithout
the other. On dit said how fortunate that
two so worthy of other should have
become so suddenly devoted, and the w'orld
waited the result. But 1 trembled, for me
thought there is something strange going
on there that Ido not understand. 1 trust
ed Constance did not mean to prove treach
erous, and thought I would speak to heron
the subject. ‘Tell me, Constance,’ said I,
‘why do you notice this boy so particular
ly ? if you do not mean anything, it is very
wrong.’
“‘ Eva,’ said Constance, while she looked
through me with her great monstrous blue
eyes, ‘ you love me, and I w ill tell you the
truth. At first, I began in revenge about a 1
little speech I overheard, resolving to hum
ble him, and now I am interested in spite
of myself. 1 find he has a fine and highly
cultivated mind, and 1 wish him to respect
me; my only fear is that he is trifling with
me.’
“ I was astonished to hear such w'ords
I from the lips of Constance de Vere, and I
I felt she was at last conquered ; so I resolv
led to watch, for 1 feared that cold, caleula-
I ting eye of Robert Sherman did not belie
him, and I was anxious for the fate of mv
friend. However, things proceeded in the|
same way, Sherman still devoted and noth-.
ing more; and I knew by the uneasy,'
thoughtful look out of Constance’s large ’
eyes, which seemed to have become quieter*
than usual, that she also knew herself con-1
quered. The proud, intellectual Constance
de Vere, who had half of R——- at her feet,
writhed at the knowledge that she felt her
self in her heart won by the boy she at
first liked, then hated and despised, and atl
last loved; and what made the thought!
(Stillmore bitter, was the knowledge that l
she loved, and yet had no reason to think
‘ that she had a return of feeling from him.
I I knew it was agony to a sensitive disposi- j
tion like hers, and 1 watched her as she
tried all the art of woman to win him.—
He kept her in a perfect state of frenzy, al- ■
ways devoted in the same earnest way, and
yet never speaking — insinuating love, and l
i then laughing at the idea of any one believ- i
1 ing in the little g<>d. At last he proffered
■ her friendship; she knew he had given her
“ all he had for her—what more could she
expect?—and accepted him as a friend. —
s Nothing she eould do ever gained her more
than cold friendship; the society she once
was so fu*d of had become distasteful to
her, while this horrible doubt remained on
her mind, when suddenly a new thought
struck her. * And now I will find out if he
loves me or not,’ thought she ; ‘ I will en
courage Van Courtland, and if he cares for
me more than a friend, he will be jealous.'
And Constance tried that dangerous game,
'so wrong and cruel. Van Courtland’s at-
I tentions were received with an eagerness
that re awoke the flickering flame in his
i breast—poor tool; but the boy, having
- given up the chivalric idea of revenging his
sex, had become honest where he loved, for
he did love Constance (notwithstanding his
violent scorn at the idea of his being taken
in), and in his honesty was more than a
match for the worldly and politic woman :
had he used her own weapons, he never
would have defeated her; but, taking the
opposite course, he accomplished his pur
pose. After viewing for some time the
game Constance was playing, he startled
her one day by the question, ‘ Miss Con
stance, do you intend marrying Mr. Van
Courtland?’ while his searching gray eyes
fastened themselves inquiringly on her face.
Constance felt she must be true, and that
he commanded the truth, so she answered
frankly, ‘No, Mr. Sherman, I do not.’—
‘ Then, Miss Constance, cease encouraging
him, for God’s sake; cease your life of a
flirt, that life-long lie. Do you think an
honest man would trust you, when he sees
you remorselessly trampling the hearts of his
fellow-men under foot? I speak asa friend.’
Ilad any one else dared to say so much to
Constance, UP had never been done again ;
she would ’have crushed him at once. But
Sherman knew his power, and knew that
he alone could soften the fire of that eye,
and venture to rebuke that proud spirit.
Will you promise me, Constance, my
dear friend, to be true from to-day, ever
more, with God’s help?’
“ ‘ I will.’
“He was satisfied. ‘And I will make I
her a true woman in spite of herself,’ tho’t
he, as he left her door; ‘ there is much
sterling worth and nobility of soul in her
yet, and I shall bend all the energy of man
to make her the woman she ought to be.— i
She calls me boy, ha! she feels me man ; 1
and I love her too, and I will mould her to |
my idea, and my soul she shall be.’
“Months rolled by; still Constance
learned no more than he was her friend,
• until the idea became torture to her, and
again she tried to make him jealous, but
took care to encourage a crowd, for she
knew, were her encouragements individual
ized, she would lose him forever. She suc
ceeded ; never did she appear but a crowd
was around her, to re-echo her witticisms j
but Tn this Sherman was
never to be found. Once, only once, did
he approach, and then it was to whisper,
‘Take care, I am jealous.’ Constance’s
heart bounded, for she thought, ‘ now' he is
in my power;’ but she replied with,
* Pshaw, Mr. Sherman, don’t speak of jeal
ousy, that is too childish ; ’ and then turned
with her most bewitching smiles to greet
two or three would-be dandies just advanc
ing. Sherman remained a few moments to
hear her w asting all her good sense on these
syllabubs of society, with a stern expres
sion in his eye, and a curl on his lip; feel
ing it was no place for him, he said to Con
s'an e, ‘ Thank you, Miss de Vere, for think
ing me childish, and with the hope that the
brilliancy of your present companions may
fully compensate for any deficiency of mine,
I must bid you good evening.’
“ ‘ Is he lost,’ thought Constance, ‘ or can ,
I retrieve myself?’ and the agony of the .
■ thought that in her heedlessness she hud ,
lost him, made her feel suddenly faint. She
was roused by the voice of Yau Courtland
offering her wine; she seizeffthe glass, a.id
drank the contents at a draught. Com
plaining that the heat of the room had in
disposed her, she ordered her carriage and
rode home, sick at heart, for she felt that
she had not been ti ue.
“ What were the thoughts of Sherman at i
this timet After speaking to Constance/
he had left the room and entered a little
balcony overhanging the street. Leaning;
against one of the pillars, his pale lipsquiv I
ering with suppressed passion, he muttered:
‘ Oh ’ God, what have I done ? that my heart
should be tortured with love for this wo.
i man, this coquette, this vacillating, entranc
! ing, d'*ar and hateful woman ; sooner would
I die thin love her. Yet I do; but 1 will |
conquer it —I will tear It out of my heart,
even if, cancer like, it has grasped the chords
of vitality. Has not my poverty, curse it,;
I forbidden me the love of woman ? and yet
I 1 dare to think on her, the admired of many,'
i who have a greater right to love her. She
promised me truth, deceived me, and in
spite of all 1 love her; and if she loves me
I have sometimes thought it—if she does
I but I will find out; let me see how 1
| shall go about it. I shall try her weapon
j—jealousy; I will be devoted no more, and
i then, if she loves me, she were less than
j woman if she does not show it. 1 wonder
> if she thought I did not see her game to
find me out; ah ! I was not so blind, and
Constance, I will try your game, and if you
love me, 1 will humble thy proud spirit,
and, may be, crush thy heart, even loving
! thee as much as I do.’
“ He kept his vow, and Constance daily
endured the torture of seeing him, once so
devoted to her, the constant attendant of
another. She exerted all the powers of her
' intellect to draw him once more to her
side: then she was true —he saw it, knew
his power, and smiled at her efforts, but
never ran the risk of approach. “ She is
I mine now. I know Constance too well to
i think that, loving truly once, she can ever
TERMS — Three Dollars a-year.
i change,’were Sherman’s thoughts. ‘I now
i being safe at any time I choose to advance,
' I will please myself, and torture her.’
! “ Paler grew the cheek of Constance, and
sadder her deep blue eye. People said she
1 was less brilliant than formerly, and that
the world had frozen her bright little spirit
into the chillness of an iceberg. Men thought
that brave would be the one who could now
attempt to create one warm feeling in the
bosom of her who had been once chided
for too much warmth.
“ The world wondering kept aloof, afraid
of her withering sarcasms. If any dared
approach, they repented and were surprised
at the charming, gentle-mannered Miss de
Vtre being so suddenly changed. Some
asked if she was ill; but one knew all, and
that one was satisfied to his heart’s content.
Now would he approach.
“One bright night in June, Constance
and I were spending the evening with a
friend at her country farm, a short distance
from the city, where we met several gentle
men—as Mrs. Tracy was quite a favorite,
and was gratified at her friends coming out
to see her garden, which was considered the
finest in the southern country, nature and
art having both contributed largely towards
its beauty. ‘These walks, Miss deVere,
are celebrated for their flirtations,’ said the
old lady, ‘ the arbors being so overgrown
with shrubbery as to be hardly distinguish
able, and a very romantic place for lovers
to pass an hour or so. You being a very
attractive young lady, I do not think I could
trust you to any one but my young friend
Rob’tSherman, who, from his devotion to law
can’t raise his eyes even to you. 1 only warn
you not to be surprised if you hear your
self addressed as “gentlemen of the jury.”
And now, Mr. Sherman, show Miss de Vere
your favorite bower, although it has been
desecrated more than once by your dusty
! law books.’
j “Constance de Vere found herself once
more alone with Robert Sherman, and pa
ler grew her cheek as she felt that now the
crisis must come, and I learned, that night,
from her own lips, the painful result of that
interview. I will try and relate to you as
nearly in her own words as possible ; when
she sought me, it was with a burning fever
in her veins and a madness in her eye.
‘-“.Would von hear all Eva Gilmore,
listen! He tola me that vriQ ’
yes, he acknowledged that, thank God—my
love was not at least unreturned ; he said
he loved me, madly, truly ; he told me so
under the trees in the soft moonlight, and
asked me if I believed, and would not love
him ; and then did he hear the confession of
my long-pent-up love. Greedily did he
seem to drink in each expression, and I was
happy and joyful; but darling Eva, not
long. After I had finished speaking, I felt
that his searching glance was on me. 1
thought, what now! Alas! I was only to
know too soon. He took my burning
hands in his, which were cold as the grave,
and pressed his ice-cold lips on my brow
repeatedly. Oh, how cold they were,
(and she visibly shuddered) ; then he said
in a hollow tone :
““‘Yes, Constance, my beloved Con
stance, truly and sincerely do I love you,
and ever will love you; but Constance, I
can not, will not ask your hand. Some de
mon has prompted me to win your heart;
but I can sin no deeper. God only knows
the dye is deep enough already. My cir
cumstances in life will not permit me to
marry; I would not wed you to poverty ;
for in the future, did I marry you, I only
see ruin. I rejoice that you love me, and
yet sorrow, Constance, that you must for
get me. 1 command it, and when you mar
ry some one else, and feel the charm of a
happy household, think of me as a living
body, but dead soul.”
“‘Eva, I felt. crushed, broken-hearted,
insulted. 1 started from his encircling arm,
while 1 felt the flush of angry pride rush to
my brow, arffi said :
“‘“Do you bid me forget you, Robert
. Sherman, after having worked yourself in
; and around my heart? Do you bid me
forget you, after driving every friend from
your side? Do you bid me forget you ?
Bid the sun stand still, bid men cease to
I die, bid God cease being merciful; then on
ly bid me forget you ! No, it is impossi
, ble, it can not be, I must remember, even
iifitis to hate. And do you insult me by
I the supposition that I could marry some
one else, w hen you have just heard my con
fession of love to you, which has burned
my heart to the cure, and which you had
never known, had you prefaced your love
by your final speech, ft was not honest in
you —but you have heard it, and it is not
to be retracted ; for, with a woman of my
disposition, to love once, is to love forever.
1 Do you suppose for a moment that I would
■ give an honest man, who would give me his
' all, the remains of a heart broken by you?
No! people think me false and a flirt, but
in that respect I will be true. Your pover
ty was no objection to me. I have always
lived on a moderate income, and expected
to do the same, or I had never encouraged
you ; had I known your timid heart, I had
never loved you. 1 think you have acted
towards me as a villain, and only w ish
had words bitter enough for your black
heart.”
“ Constance ceased, and we were silent,
NO. 12.
