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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.