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Tin: BAPTIST BANNER.
BY JAS. N. ELLS & CO.
VOL. IV.
She ggwytijst gantwi,
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.
JESUS CHRIST.
O, Jesus Christ! grow Thou in me,
And all things else recede,
My heart be daily nearer Thee,
From sin be daily freed.
Each day let Thy supporting might
My weakness still embrace,
My darkness vanish in Thy light,
Tby life my death efface.
In Tr.y bright beams, which on me fall,
Fade every evil thought;
That I am nothing, Thou art all,
I would he daily taught.
Come near—l cast myself away,
Before Thee silent weep;
Come with Thy pure, divinest way,
My spirit rule and keep.
More of Thy glory let me see,
Thou holy, wise and true!
I would Thy living image be,
In joy and sorrow too !
Fill me with gladness from above,
Hold me by strength divine;
Loid, let the glory of Thy love
Through my whole being shine!
Weak is the power of sloth and pride,
And vain desires are still,
While to Thy realm and Thee allied,
I haste to do Thy will.
Make this poor self grow less and less;
Be Thon my life and aim ;
Oh! make me daily, through Thy grace,
More worthy of Thy name.
Daily more filled with Thee, my heart
Daily from self more free ;
Thou, to whom prayer did strength impart,
Os my prayer hearer be.
Let faith jn Thee, and in Thy might,
My every motive move;
Be Thou my soul’s supreme delight,
Lord God of truth and love.
The Stranger and the Maiden.
BY MRS. CAROLINE L. IIKNTZ.
FPWAS a festal eve. The lamps sent
| down their trembling rays, reflected
by shining crystals and wreathing silver on
my riad forms of beauty and grace. The
music sent foit.h the merry gladdening
strains, and joyous feet kept time to the
joyous'melody. Evening shades deepened
into midnight gloom without, yet still the
gay notes were heard, and the unwearied
revelers continued their graceful evolutions.
Just as the clock struck twelve, a stran
ger entered the banqueting room ; and as
she passed slowly on unannounced, and un
accompanied by any guide and protector,
every eye was turned towards her.
“ Who can she be ? ” wispcred a young
girl to her partner, drawing close to his
side.
lie answered not, so intently was he ga
zing on the figure which now stood in the
centre of the hall, looking calmly and un
moveably on those around. Iler white
robes fell in long and eumberous folds to
her feet; her fair shining hair floated back
from her face like fleecy clouds, tinged by
the moonbeam’s radiance, and the still
depths of her azure eyes shone with a mys
'terious, unfathomable lustre.
“Why are ye gathered here?” asked she
of the young maiden, who shrunk back as
she glided near her with noiseless step. — !
“What mean these glad strains, and the I
flowers that decorate your brows?”
The low, thrilling melody of the st ran )
ger’s voice echoed to the remotest corners
of that spacious hall, and the minstrels
paused to listen.
“’Tis a festal eve,” answered the trem
bling maiden, “and we have met in joy
and mirth to commemorate the era.”
“ Whv is this night chosen as a scene of
festivits asked the sweet-voiced stranger.
“ It is Christmas eve,” replied the maid
en, “ the bright night of the Saviour, and
it is our custom to celebrate it with music
and dancing.”
“ It Was on e celebrated in ancient days,”
said the stranger, “with a splendor and
beauty that would shame the decorations
of these walls. W hdo the shepherds ot
Chaldea were watching their flocks b-neath
the starry glories ot midnight, they heard
strains of more than mortal melody gushing
around them —rolled above them the thrill
ing of invisible harps, all breathing one
sweet triumphant anthem, ‘Glory to God
in the highe-t; on earth, peace and good
will to men.’ While they listen in ado
ring wonder, one of (he stars of heaven gli
d'd from its throne and, travelling slowly
over the depths of ether, held its silver
lamp over the manger w here slept the babe
of Bethlehem. Then the wise men of the,
east carte with costly offerings, and laid
them down st the f< et of the infant liedeem
er. And w here are your gifls I’’ continued
she. turning her still, shining eyesTrom one
to the other of the throng; “what have
you brought this night to lay at your Sa
viour’s feet in commemoration of your
gratitude and love? Where is your gold.
A BSM®S©WS AKS V&MS&T HSWSiPAS’Kia.
your frankincense and myrrh ? Where the
gems from the heart’s treasury, that ye are
ready to sacrifice on the altar of your
Lord ? ”
The young maiden whom she had first
addressed cast one fearful, earnest glance
on her gay companions; then unbinding
the roses from her brow, the jewels from
her neck, and drawing from her fingers each
golden ring—“ Where is the altar,” she
cried, “that I may place my offering there?”
“Come with me,” said the stranger,
“and I will lead you where you can find
more precious gifts than these—gifts that
will retain their beauty when the garlands
shall wither, and the diamond and fine gold
shall become dim.”
The maiden took hold of the stranger’s
hand, and passed through the hall which
she had so lately entered in vanity and
mirth. He* companions pressed around
her and impeded her way. “ Oh, stay w'ith
us!” they exclaimed, “and follow not the
steps of the stranger: your eyes are dim,
your cheeks are pale, shadows are gather
ing over your face She may lead you into
the chambers of death.”
“ Hinder me not,” cried the fair maiden.
“ 1 may not slight the voice that summons
me—‘Through the valley of the shadow of
death I will fear no evil.’”
A celestial smile beamed on the face of
the stranger as they disappeared from the
festal hall. Through the long sweeping
shadows of the midnight they glided on,
till they came to a wretched hovel through
whose shattered casements the night gust
was moaning, making most melancholy
music. By the dim light of a taper they
beheld a pale mother cradling her wasted
infant in her arms, looking down with hol
low eyes on the fearful ravages of famine
and disease—then raising them in agony to
heaven, imploring the w idow’s and orphan’s
God to have mercy on her.
“ Lay down your golden offerings here,”
said the stranger, “ and your Saviour will
accept the gift. Have we not read that
whosoever presenteth a cup of cold water
to one of the least of His disciples in His
name, giveth it unto Hirn ?”
The maiden wept as she laid her offering
in the widow’s emaciated hand. Again the
beauteous stranger smiled.
“The tear of pity,” said she, “is the
brightest gem thou has brought.”
She led her forth into darkness once
more, and held such sweet and heavenly
discourse that the heart of the maiden melt
ed within her bosom. They eaine to a dwell
ing whence strains of solemn music issued,
and as the light streamed from the arching
windows, it was reflected with ghostly lus
tie on the marble tomb-stones without.
“They breathe forth a requiem for the
dead,” said the stranger, and she entered
the gate through willows that wept over
the path. The music ceased, and the low, |
deep voice of prayer ascended through the |
silence of the night. The maiden knelt on '
the threshold, for she felt that she was not I
worthy to enter the temple. She hardly I
dated to lift her trembling eye- to heaven ;
but bending her forehead to the dust, and j
clasping her hands to her breast, she ex
claimed, “God be mercifid to me a sinner.”
“Thy Saviour will accept the offering,”
uttered the stranger in her ear; “the pray
er of a broken and contrite spirit is an in
cense more acceptable to Him than all the!
odors of the east.
“ You shall see me again,” said the stran
ger, when she led the young maiden to her
I home by the light of the dawning day ; i
I “ you shall see me again, and we will walk j
! together once more—-but not among scenes!
of sorrow and death, for they shall have!
lied away. Neither will we walk through’
i the shades of midnight, for there will be no!
i light there. There will be no moon nor
i stars to illuminate the place, ‘ for the glory
i of God shall lighten it, and the Lamb be the
I light thereof.’ Farewell—l may not dwell
with vou. but ye shall come and abide with
I me, if you continue to walk ii» the path
I where I have guided your steps. ’
Never more were the steps ot that young
i maiden seen in the halls of mirth ,or the
I paths of sin. She went out among the
children of sorrow and relieved the pangs
of want. She hung over the death-bed ot
I the patient, and breathed words ot hope
into the dull ear of despair. Men looked
upon her, as she passed in her youthful
beauty, as an angel visitant, and they bless
ied her in her wanderings. Her once coni-,
i panions turned aside, shrinking from com
munion with one whose eyes now spoke a
i holier language than that of earth. They
i felt that she was no longer one of them,
and speaking of her a little while, she was
! i forgotten by them in the revelries of pleas
-1 ure. At length she was no longer seen by
those who watched for her daily ministra
tion. Her place was vacant in the temple
iof God. The music of her Voice was no
longer heard in prayer and praise. On a
■ low ly couch, in her own darkened room.
. that young maiden was reclining. Her
I ’hin face was pallid and her eyes dim. and
■ i her mother was weeping over her pillow',
I w ho'® sweet breath stole lovingly over her
t ided cheek ; and as the curtains of the
windows waved in the light breeze,* the
m oonbeams glided in and kissed her wan
brow. "I he mother heard no step, but she
J felt the air part near the couch ; and, look-
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MARCH 28, 1863.
HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE.
ing up, she saw a figure standing, in white
flowing robes, standing by her daughter’s
side, with a face of such unearthly sweet
ness that she trembled as she gazed upon
her.
“ Maiden,” said she, “ I have come once
more. I told thee we should meet again,
and this is the appointed hour. Does thy
spirit welcome my coming?”
“ Aly soul has thirsted for thee,” answer
ed the sweet voice of the maiden, “ even as
the blossom thirsts for the morning dew;
but I may not follow thee now', for my fee
ble feet bear me no longer over the thres
hold of homo.”
“Thy feet shall be as the young roe on
the mountain,” answered #the white-robed
stranger —“‘Thou shall mount on the wing
of the eagle.’ ”
Then bending over the couch and breath
ing on the cheek of the maiden, its pale hue
changed to the whiteness of marble, and
the hand which her mother held turned as
cold as an icicle. At the same moment the
fold of the stranger’s robe floated from her
shoulders, and wings of resembled azure,
softening into gold fluttered on the gaze.—
Divine perfumes filled the atmosphere, and
a low sweet melody, like the silver mur
muring of the distant waters, echoed thro’
the chamber. Awe struck and bewildered,
the mother turned from the breathless form
of her child to the celestial figure of the
stranger, when she saw it gradually fading
from her sight; and encircled in its arms
there seemed another being of shadowy
brightness, with outspread wingsand fleecy
robe, and soft glorious eyes fixed steadfast
ly on her till they melted away. The
mother bowed herself in adoration and sub
mission, for she knew she had looked on
one of those angel messengers who are sent
to minister to those who shall be heirs of
salvation. She bad seen, too, a vision ot
her daughter’s ascending spirit, and she
mourned not over the dust that had been
left behind.
EXTORTION.—-No. 1.
PRELIMINARY.
1. Extortion is a great crime, and a
crime of a mean cast; to say, therefore,
that it is universal, is to stultify one’s views
and to stimulate extortion itself. No great
crime is universal, or even general, in a high
Christian civilization; and to say that it is.
is to give a refuge to the actual extortioner,
who cares for nothing better than to take
shelter with the mass of the community
under a sweeping and indiscriminate de
nunciation. No great moral apostacy, such
as great crime attends, is the work of a
night, nor even of that hot-bed process that
men imagine this war occasions. Men
I grow mean slowly. And as the Bible men
tions extortion as one of the atrocious de
pravities of man, we are to look for it
! among a few. Our doctrine, therefore, is,
! that extortion, as it is now running riot in
the land, is the work of a few very sordid
characters, along with a still smaller num
ber of respectable Christian people, who
have been misled by false reasoning, under
; the new' circumstances of their situation.
2. That extortion does exist in bitter in
stances in our land is the sense of the vast
mass of our people. And though the sense
'of the vast mass of the people is not infal
! Hide, yet it is with very rare exceptions.—
The Bible teaches us that we are to eat no '
, meat if it make our brother to offend. And I
if in the smallest matters we are to bow '
even to the prejudices of a single unfortu-'
Date brother, how serious ought it to mike
a man feel, though he stands high in the
church, if the great mass of his whole solid
community is loud in their denunciations
against him.
The retort that we, who speak so, are
pandering to the excitements of the people,'
can only be made effective by oversetting!
la superior probability. The probability is,
that the people are right: and tdl a strong ■
over-weighing probability can be attained, 1
it is a serious thing for a lieliever to have
I coming up from the hill sides and hamlets
iof his country, to an extent perhaps of
w hich he does not dream, muttered curses
upon the professor of religion for taking!
advantage of the absence of his own sex Ht
the camp, to extort upon the helpless the
gains of some enormous operation.
j Good men ought to be scared from such
business bv the very stain on it. as respects
the future. When the war ends, men will
come home to desolation and debt, and the
intensity us other feelings being relaxed/
the energies that have gone into this desper
ate struggle w ill flow back into their inter
ests. They are not going to think lighter
of what their families have suffered than
those families have done themselves. So>
I that, in addition to this serious idea, God '
will not prosper that portion of our wealth
comes this other—that when” we attempt to
enjoy it, we shall find ourselves surrounded
by neighbors who have a contempt for our
success, and will follow us to the very grave
with ill-disguised feelings of resentment and
o o
reprobation.
3. This prima facie evidence that is to
be found in the feelings of the people, must
be added to by almost all the forms of this
same sort of proof.
It is prima facie wrong to grow rich by
this war. This is the simple way in which
many plain men have settled their convic
tions.
It is prima facie wrong to take advantage
of generous volunteering or forced conscrip
tion, to levy upon families that are left be
hind exorbitant rates for the necessaries of
life.
ft is prima facie wrong to follow old
habits of business in the new and affecting
relations in which we stand in this war.
And if any one asks what these relations
are, it will add much to this prima facie
impression to detail them All males,
with a hardshio scarcely ever known in the
history of raising armies, are forced to go
out to defend this Southern country, unless
it he two very peculiar classes of exception,
—one, the infirm, who are unable to stand
up for their families, and are obliged to
throw upon others the task of their defence;
the other, the useful, or those who, being
of middle age, are supposed to have much
committed to their care, or, being public
men, can not be spared in their particular
occupations. In either case, they are left
at home out of necessity, and of course look
to others for their help, in so high a service
as the defence of all they hold dear. Now,
tn use this chance which they have from
their very infirmities, or from their imag
ined usefulness, to do what, of course, can
be done to make their labor, which is spared
at home, command the price of almost all
the labor that used to be engaged ; to make
the men, who are hazarding their lives for
them, receive, as their remuneration, pov,
erty and debt, so as to make the soldier
poor, and the man left at home to be use
ful, exorbitantly and almost bewilderingly
rich and prosperous; and thus to make the
war, which, to the vast mass of the people,
has been a horrible struggle, and, to many
an earnest and honorable citizen, one of
sacrifice and half destruction of his living,
means of immense wealth to a few sordid
citizens; to make the noble and the eleva
ted hereafter, and to let the soldier come
home to work out his debts to them, and
perhaps on these newly' earned estates—is
altogether so sharp a violence to every in
stinct, that we do not wonder that the men
writhe under it as they speak of it in their
camps.
It is an instance in which all that is noble
is suffered and achieved by a large class in
the history of a comm unity ; creating there
by an heroic age. the most so, perhaps, of
any for many centuries, and in which the
i very heroes who achieved it for us are to
!be rewarded by actual distress, by the
' spectacle of the fact that it is the laggards
1 that are to found families in this revolution;
I bv seeing their own danger, the greatest
! perhaps that brave men ever have incurred,
rewarded by sinking in the r fortunes, and
by raising out of the poor pittance of their
; wages the revenues of men whom they have
sheltered in the work of preying upon their
1 wives and children.
! If such things are right, plain men can’t,
see it. And whatever philosophy may say,
I the people will thunder their anathemas, in j
! the history of the South, upon the few that!
were thus engaged. They will not be nice
about the particular plan, whether it was
by so-called speculation, or by the market-,
price; if men were defended by others’)
risk, and enriched by little labor; if they)
I bui’t fortunes during the war out of the
! suffering and grinding siege and famine of
this Southern Confederacy, no matter how
they escaped the camp, whether they were
fi.rty, or because they were crippled, or’
because they might help feed the country ;
if they did it at ten prices for their labor,
and, when the main body of their country
men were marched into the field, managed j
it that the non-combatants should grow
rich, and the blood -tained remnant of our
deliverers should come home poor to work
ipon their estates —the people will mutter
' their curses, and will mark to the end of,
time these horrible instances of meanness
and oppression.
4. It is therefore important that religious
people should clear themselves from this
imputation.
This is a heroic age. It is an age of
great examples. It will be looked to in
more ordinary periods of the church for the
highest moral teachings. If a newspaper,
for example, is silent about so serious a
crime as the Bible represents this one to
be; or if it receives into its pages, whether
of its own doctrine or not, yet uncontra
dicted, anything which seems to extenuate
the enormities of which we speak —then it is
serious misfortune to the church. Her
sermons can not go on record as her teach
ing, nor her real sentiments, hi any w'ay so
completely perhaps, as through these pub
lic organs of the body. And, therefore,
there can be no doubt that a wholesome
Christian sentiment will in the end express
itself, and through these very newspapers,
and Hiat on the part of their editors; for
we are entirely persuaded that the great
mass of the Christian church is holding it
self aloof from these sordid measures, and
are ready, like an elder of whom we have
recently heard, to fix a principle in respect
to their estate, that it is not to be increased
by any of these cruel opportunities during
the war. Alamby.
-
Pleusatit Words.
What sound is there so grateful to the
ear as the music of pleasant words? We
list to it as we would to the ripple of the
waves, to the murmuring of the wind, or
the song of the birds. It steals over our
souls with a soothing influence, and awakens
responsive echoes in our breast. Pleasant
words I—they are more precious than dia
monds, they are sweeter than the minstrel’s
lyre, or the zEolian harp, swept by the
breath of evening! What power, what
magic they possess! What wonders they
perform ! They dry the tears of child
hood ; they revive the spirits of the droop
ing invalid ; they bring a smile to the lips
oitolhe way vorn and weary, and a light to
the eye of the aged. Pleasant words are
“an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, health
to the bones.” Then let us scatter them
lavishly wherever we go. We can dis
pense them bountifully and not be impov
erished, for our supply is exhaustless. We
need not fear that they will be despise'd, for
every living thing by which we are sur
rounded can appreciate pleasant words.—
They confer happiness even upon animals,
and oflimes they are the most precious
gifts which we could bestow upon our friends
and fellow-creatures. Perhaps they rn.iy
sometimes be the only treasure we possess;
and if so, let us remember that the poor
mendicant at our gate is not insensible of
their power. Pleasant words ! there is
healing in them ; they are a balm to the
• wounded heart; they are water upon an
ger’s flame; they are the delight of chil-
! dren ; they encourage youth ; they soothe
old age; they scatter Messings innumera
ble around, and fill our breasts with unal
loyed happiness. Then let us strve for
■ pleasant words. Let them ever be upon
•our lips, and we shall find our reward upon
earth and in heaven.
Falling by Little and Little.
A text worthy of daily remembrance
is “ He that contemneth small things shall
fall by little and little.” Could not many
an unsuccessful person look back and see
! that it has been the neglecting of small
I things that has caused the want of success.
! Unwise words, thoughtlessly spoken, and
forgotten by a wife, may be working the
ruin of her husband and family. “So-and
so is in sad trouble,” was said the other 1
dav ; and the reply was, “-Yes, but it was
the foolish gossipping of his wife that,
brought it on.” She had forgotten the im
portance of those small things called words,
| and had wrought irreparable mischief. The
same with unwise, or not strictly correct
actions; their importance may be for a
j time slurred over, because they are not very
palpably wrong; yet the continuance in
them may some day prove them to be the ,
! littles and littles that have worked ruin.)
“ ’Twas only T>ne penny,” or “ It was only
sixpence,” or “ Only one doUar,” are apol
j ngies very frequently made, for the pur !
i chase of unneeded or useless articles. W hen
a housekeeper finds herself using this ex
pression, let her stay to consider whether
she is in danger of falling into the habit of
■ contemning small things; and let her re
member that it is the habit which must
bring a fall. Let her remember that “ ’Tts !
only ” leads to poverty, and want of care i
often does us more damage than the want
of know ledge.
No man can obtain the favor of God by
words and imperfect resolutions, by lazy
actions and a remiss piety ; but by severe
counsels and sober actions, by watchfulness
and prudence, by doing excellent things
with holy intentions and vigorous prosecu
j tions. I
TERMS— Three Dollars a-year.
Llcgance of Manners.
Books of etiquette are cold, miserable
humbugs. No man can be a gentleman
unless he possesses the instincts of a gentle
man ; and of the most important of these is
a warm, generous and cordial heart. The
kind promptings of a noble heart can only
give elegance to one’s manners. The cold,
formal and studied efforts of men and wo
men to make themselves pleasant and agree
able, when they do not feel it, is a stiff,
heartless condescension, apparently, and can
never ipipress one favorably towards those
who practice such arts.
There are only a few whose manners are
naturally elegant. There are only a very
few whose suavity of manners comes from
the heart, and draw's one irresistibly to
them. We have seen but a few' persons in
whom there was not, at times, something
repulsive, even when they are naturally
endowed with the gifts of a good heart and
a generous and noble nature.
There is a refinement of feeling and sen
timent which induces elegance of manners
which no books of etiquette can ever im
part. The natural instincts of refinement
are just as necessary to make a man elegant
in his manners as a brave and courageous
heart is a necessary essential qualification
of a good soldier; and it requires a true
and generous heart to make a man either
a gentleman or a soldier. So, the first and
most important study in acquiring elegance
of manners is, to educate the heart to kindly
feelings towards our fellow men. These
feelings will ever impart an elegance of
manners to the stiffest nature, when books
of etiquette can never make an impression.
There are some natures which can never
be otherwise than offensive and rude in
some way. Education, society, and all the
advantages to which they may have access,
will never impart even the common blan
dishments of the cold and calculating to the
amenities of ordinary intercourse.
A Sleeping Christian. “The devil,”
says Luther, “ held a great anniversary, at
which his emissaries were convened to re
port the results of their several missions.”
“ 1 let loose the wild beasts of the desert,”
said one, “on a caravan of Christians, and
their bones are now bleaching on the sand.”
“ What of that,” said the devil, “their souls
were all saved.” “ 1 drove the East wind.”
said another, * against a ship freighted w ith
Christians, and they were all drowned.”
“ What of that,” said the devil, “ their souls
were all saved.” “ For ten years I tried
to get a single Christian asleep,” said a
third, “and 1 succeeded and left him so.”
“ Then the devil shouted,” continues Lu
ther, “ and the night stars of hell sang for
joy-” ’
A Useful Life, or None. -An emi
nent divine, suffering under chronic disease,
consulted three physicians, who declared,
on being questioned by the sick man, that
. his disease would be followed by death in
a shorter or longer time, according to the
manner in which he lived ; but they unan
imously advised him to give up his office,
because in his situation, mental agitation
would be fatal to him.' “If I give myself
to repose,” inquired the divine, “ how long,
|gentlemen, will you guaranty my life?’
“Six years,” answered the doctors. “And
if I continue in office?'’ “Three years at
1 most.” “Your servant, gentlemen,” he re
-1 plied; “ I should pt efer living two or three
years in doing some good, to living six in
! idleness.”
1 If and its' Progeny.—ls every man was
honest, we need not lock our doors. If
everybody would just mind his own busi
ness, there would be a great deal more
business done. If we would only talk less
of other people, other people would sec
fewer nurnb-skulls. If you charge your
servants with lying, they will soon become
liars, if they are not so already. If stu
dents would read less and think more, there
would be a larger number of great men in
every community. If girls now-a days did
not become women at thirteen,
have better wives.
Abraham Lincoln seems to be in doubt
about his personal identity ; for a news
paper correspondent tells the following:
Someone sent President Lincoln a batch
of newspaper criticisms upon him and his
conduct of the war, last week. In speaking
about it to a friend, Mr. Lincoln said :
“ Having an hour to spare on Sunday, I
read this batch of editorials, and when I
was through reading, I asked myself, ‘Abra
ham Lincoln, are you a man or a dog ?’ ”
The writer does not state what conclusion
I Mr. Lincoln arrived at, but leaves us to
suppose that he regards it an open question-
Man is like a snow ball : leave him ly
ing in idleness against the sunny fence <>f
prosperity, and all the good that’s in him
melts like butter; but kick hi*n around,
and he gathers strength from every revolu
tion, until he grows into a vast avalanche.
To succeed you must keep moving.
——-♦ ♦ ♦ -
There’s nothing agrees worse than a
proud mind and a beggar’s purse.
NO. 19.