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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.