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About The Baptist banner. (Atlanta, Ga.) 186?-1??? | View Entire Issue (June 6, 1863)
•Jh i;XT 11-1 BANNER BY JAS. N. ELLS & CO. VOL. IV. ©lie garmw, DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE, Is published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at the subscription price of foub dollars per year. JAMES N. ELLS & CO., Proprietors. —-ji THE TRUEST VOICE. BT FRANCIS BROWN. Voice'if the Morning I sweetly wild As the tame'ess ton< s of a for st child; Breaking from rocks on the mountain steep, Waking the wilds ot the woodland deep; Calling the sun to it* upward way, And man to the hopes of another day. Voice of the Twilight! sad and low, Sighing where valley fount Ans flow— Breathing deep by the ruined to -vers, Lingering late with the folding flower-, Stilling the throb of the oc< an’s bieast, And hushing the weary world to r«st. Voice of the Midnight! deeply lone, Filling the soul wim their solemn tone, Culling up thoughts like the troubled waves, Waking t' e echoes of ancient graves, T> lliug of hidden things that ho Far in the pa.-t eternity. Voices of Eirth ! ye have many tones ; Where forests wave, or the <>e an moans, There is no silence—for deep and strong Rolls on the tide ot eternal song, Turn’ Nature’s realms; but Its holiest part Is heard in the depths of the human heart. Voice of the Absent I ringing still ; Thro’ the spirit's shade like a hidden rill; Perchance but a lonely stream of tears, Yi t sweet witli the breath of our brighter years; ■ For ever thy wandering wave flows on Thro’ the withered roses of summer gone. Voice of the Dead 1 that returns at times Like a bird from the f.r untrained dimes ; Though '< nt in the win ry hours of lite, And h- nrd in the puu-o of the tempest’s strife, Yet breathing still ot those brighter skies That shine wnu e our land of promise lies! Thou vpcak’st hi the love of long ago, To hearts who have la d their treasures low ; Oh! the wblspeis of living love may change, And Its plea-ant voice* grow coldly strange • But the grave is true to our early trust, Fur the golden harp-strings can not rust. NELLIE - HALL.’ BY M. T. M. < Tj \R down the? avenues of the Past my "Wy thoughts have wandered, and the , sweet chimes of Memory’s bells are sounding in my ears. Now they ring out a merry peal of joy ; presently it changes to one ot sadness; again, they toil the km 11 of some departed friend. Andas 1 listen to them, the stern Present is for gotten, anl 1 almost fancy myself a child once mote, knowing neither care nor sor row. while friends, now scattered, “ B »mo nt the bridal, Borno at the tomb,” are around me again, with the light hearts and happy faces of childhood. There are many who are very lovely among them, many whose memory is very dear; but none fairer, none dearer than Nellie Hall; and now, reader, 1 will turn away from the rest to tell you her story. Nelbe was the only daughter of the wid ow Hall, whose pretty cott igo stood near my father’s residence. She was a lovely child: light brown curls strayed over her white shoulders; brown, bird-like eyes peeped, half timidly, from under the long, silken lashes ; there was a faint tinge of red on her cheeks, and a winning smile ever ho'ered around her coral lips. Her dispo sition v. as ns sweet as her face, and made her an universal favorite. Far back as 1 can remember, we were playmates and loved each other as sisters. L'ogeth r wo attended the village school, and there often b< ut over the same book. There was a quiet, manly boy in the school, who was always very attentive to Nellie —always ready to carry her book* and assist her in crossing the brook; and the smile and softly spoken “ Thank you,") with which she rewarded him, often made I his dark eyes brighten. Sometimes hei would be looking at her instead of his book, but if she chanced to detect him, he' would bow his heal until the clustering locks of wavy brown hair concealed hi'! blushing face. Nellie said to me one even ing, confidentially, ”1 like Harry Burton belter than any other boy in Mr. C ’s' school.’’ “ Harry likes you, too,” I replied, and the delicate llush on her cheek deep ened. Several uneventful years passed; then! we yielded our places in the little school room to others. Nellie and 1 went to a distant seminary. Harry Burton had gone to college some time before. We were spending our second vacation at home. Nellie was seventeen now, and a* beautiful as her childhood had promised One quiet evening, as we sat alone under the great maple that shaded the door of the old * hovl h* use, Nellie hid her face on my shoulder and w hispered : »• Hattie, he loves me. I guessed wh<>m she meant, but asked, •’Who, Nellie?" I bent my head to catch her answer. for she just br-eatheJ the name, “ llarrv Burton.’’ 1 lifud her head an] kissed her blushing cheek, as I said t “ D.* ling, I am »o glad.’’ Then Nelho told me that, the evening previous, she and Harry had walked there,, and under the maple where we then sat he a iassa.waow ahb s’asoax hbwstas’bb. told her he had loved her ever since the day he first met her on the green a w ard before the door, and asked if she would promise to be his wife; Nellie’s head sank lower, and the silken lashes swept her cheeks, as she said she had promised. And w hen they told Mr*. Hall their story, she had blessed them, with tears in her eyes.— It was decided they should be married in two years. Those two years passed swiftly and hap pily away. The spring of ’6l ha I come. Our State had seceded, and Harry was in the ai my, but early in the summer he would return to claim his bride. And so, one fair morning, in the latter part of June, a small party of friends as sembled in Mrs. Hall’s parlor, and Harry and Nellie stood among them and uttered the marriage vows. Thrice lovely Nellie looked in her snowy bridal robes, with blushes on her cheek and a look of shy ten derness in her brown eyes. A week of unalloyed happiness followed, and then Harry returned to his regiment. Nellie bore the parting bravely—so brave ly that Harry was firmly convinced that a braver and more patriotic wife could not be found within the borders of the State, and more than ever determined to be a good and brave soldier. Candor compels me to state, Nellie’s Spartan fortitude forsook her the moment h» was out of sight; but. when the first burst of grief was over, she resolved to act well the part of a soldier’s w : fe, and was soon, apparently, quite cheerful again. Three weeks »fter this, the first battle of Manassas occurred, and there, while his regiment was making a brilliant charge, Harry Burton fi 11. “Tell Nellie 1 fell at my post,” he said faintly, and, amid the tumult of battle, his young life went out. Very gently we tried to break the sad news to Nellie; but her anxious heart un derstood ns too quickly, and she sank, fainting, into our arms, murmuring. “ Oh I my brave, noble Hany, would that I might , have died for you.” His remains were brought home and bu-1 . ried among the graves of his fathers, and I, Nellie came back from his grave, that July evening, a broken-hearted widow. ; Two weeks she lingered with us, fading away calmly and peacefully, as a beautiful day fades from earth. How kind and gen tle she was to all around her, sometimes eveiFsmiling as she thanked us for some . attempt to make her comfortable; but it . was evident she longed for the hour when she would me ‘t her husband’s spirit in that ■ land where “ partings are no more.” At length it came; with many loving words she bade us farewell; then, with a peaceful smile g>n her lip, fixing her eyes on the light that shone from the -City be yond, she crossed the dark river. With many tears we arrayed her again in her bridal robes, twined white flowers among her brown curls, and laid her beside her husbanJ. They rest peacefully. Their memory lives like a sweet, never-dying perfume. ; [Fb/* T/t« Bdpti t Banner.] To Absent Jennie. by k. marshall fitz How brightly shines ths suu-ht eve Amid the forest grove, As it to dispel the storm of war With smiling* from above ; The sky serene with tranquil glow With borrowed robe* so blv.e Pure h* the angel s garb, so light. That’s worn with friendship true I look aloft and view the sky, I see a tbin whjte cloud It ride* m triumph through the air With speed so grand and proud ; It travels to the southward Hu, As if to leave the place Where vandal feet have press’d the soil With unbecoming grace. The sky is bright, my heart is sad— The zephyrs speak m vain With murmurs low and dulcet sweet; But yet my heart's in pain. They seem fresh from the village oaks Did they not linger there. And sing, amid the classic boughs, To Jennie, kind and fair 1 Caine on. thou gentle zephyrs, come— In quick succession, come, And whisper to me thy gentle notes Os Jennie and my home No medium notes 1 hear • From thy silvery tongues. I So depart ihv wooing zephyrs With wailing* through thy lungs Though absent from thee, dearest one, 1 see thee in try dreams. And seem to view thy lovely face. Lovely as the sun-lit beiina; Thv footsteps light I fain would hear While lying iu my tent Upon a couch of straw and leaves, The only bedding sent. I go to other fields of strife To b-ttla for the just. And hope to share the victor's gam, And gam the day we must. Il 1 mu*l dir iipw the field. Oh! let me die aright. And win a golden crown above, With gems so fair and bright. Jennie. I leave thee, dearest otie- How sad it is to part; Affect ion’s kiss will uol atdhie For the sadness of my heart. Don’t you miss me. dear. Jennie, Where once I loved to dwell? I know you du. my angel love, But I must say, Fartwril. I Convalescent Camp, Atlanta, Ga. ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 6, 1863. HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE. THE SLIGHTED SCHOLAR. CASES like the one I am about to relate are much tap frequent in our country, and they are such, too, as should be guard ed against by all who have an interest in education. The incident was brought to tny mind by hearing a complaint made by the parent of a poor boy, 'ho had been neglected by the teacher of the village— neglected simply because he was poor and comparatively friendless ! Many years ago, when I was but a small boy, 1 attended school in the town of M Among the scholars there was a boy named George Henry. His father was a poor, drinking man, and the unfortunate boy had to suffer in consequence. George came to school habited in ragged garments —but they were the best he had ; he was rough and uncouth in his manners, for he had been brought up in that manner: he was very ignorant, for he had nevei ha.! opportunity for education. Season after season, poor George Henry occupied the same seat, away from the oth ers—and there he thumbed his tattered primer. The ragged condition of his garb gave a homely cast to his whole appear ance, and what intelligence there might have been in his countenance by the ‘ outer cov ering’ of the boy. He seldom played with the other children, fur they seemed to shun him ; and when he did, for »• while, join with them in their sports, he was so rough that he was soon shoved off out of the way. The teacher passed the poor boy coldly by in the streets, while other boys in better garbs were kindly noticed. In the school, young Henry was equally coldly treated.) The teacher neglected him, and called him ' an ‘idle blockhead’ because he did not! learn. The boy received no incentive to! study, and consequently he was most of his) time idle, and idleness begat a disposition I to while away the time in mischief. For: this he was whipped, and the more he was) whipped the more Idle and careless he be-1 came. He knew that he was neglected by I the teacher simply breame poor- and ragged, and with a sort of sullen indif ference, sharpened at times by feelings of bitterness, he plodded on in his dark, thank less way. Thus matters went on fur several years. Most of the scholars who were of George Henry’s age had passed on to higher branches of study, while he, poor fellow, still spelled out short words of one and two syllables, and still kept his distant seat in the corner. His father had sunk lower in the pit of inebriation, and the unfortunate boy "as more wretched than ever. The look of clownish indifference which had marked his countenance, was giving way to a shade of unhappy thought and feeling, and it was evident that the great turn-point of his life vas at hand. He stood now up on the step of life from which the fate of after years must take it* cast. At this time a man by the name of Kelly took charge of the school. He was an old teacher, a careful observer of human na ture, and really a good man. Long years ) of guardianship over wild youths had given ’ him a bluff, authoritative way, and in his discipline he was strict and unwavering.— 1 The first day he passed in the teacher’s ■desk of our school was mostly devoted to ■ the movements of the scholars, and study i ing the dispositions with which he had tof j deal. Upon George Henry his eye rested with a ke«i, searching glance. But he evi-j Jeutly made little of him during the first' day, buton the second he did more, it was on the afternoon of the second day that ! Mr. Kelly observed young Henry engaged i in impaling flies upon the point of a large pin. He went to the boy’s seat, and after j reprimanding him for his idleness, he took up the dirty, tattered primer from his desk.) “ Have you never learned more than is I in this book ? ’ asked the teacher. No, sir, drawled George. “ How long have you attended school ?” “ I don t know, sir. It’s ever since I can remember.” “Then you must be an idle, reckless boy, said the teacher with much severity. D > you realize how many years you hav** | thrown away? Do you know how much i you have lost? A hat sort of a man do ; you think of making in th’s way ? One of i these days you will be too old to go tu school, and then, while your companions are seeking some honorable employment, you will be good for nothing. Have you any parents ? ” “ \ es, sir, ’ answered the boy, in a hoarse, subdued tone. “ And do they wish you to be an ignorant, worthless man ?” The boy hung down his head, and was ‘ silent; but Mr. Kelly saw two great tears • roll down his cheeks. In an instant the teacher saw that he had something besides an idle, stubborn mind to deal with in the ragged scholar before him. He laid hi* hand upon the boy's head, an 1, in a kind j tone, he said : “ I wish you to stop after school i* dis missed. Du uut be afraid, for I wish to assist you if I can.” George looked up wonderingly into the master’s face, for there was something in ' the tones us the voice which fell upon his ' ear that sounded strangely to him; and he thought, too, as he looked around, that the rest of the scholars regarded him with kind er countenances than usual. A dim thought broke in upon his mind, that, from some cause, he was going to be happier than be fore. After school was dismissed, George Hen ry remained in his seat till the teacher call ed him to the desk. “Now,” said Mr. Kelly, “I wish to know how it is that you have never learned any more. You look bright, and you look a* though you might make a smart man.— Why is it that I find you so ignorant?” “ Because nobody ever helps me, sir,” replied the boy. “ Nobody cares fur me, fur I am poor.” By degrees this kind-hearted teacher got the poor boy’s whole history, and, with generous tears bedewing his eyes, he said : “You have been very wrongly treated, George—very wrongly ; but there is yet time for redemption. If I will try to teach you, will you try to learn ? ” “Yes—O, yes,” quickly uttered the boy in earnest tones. “Yes—l should love to learn. I don’t want to be a bad boy,” he thrillingly added, while his countenance I glowed with unwonted animation. Mr. Kelly promised to purchase books for the boy as fast as he could learn to need them, and when George Henry left the school-room, his face was wet with tears. — We scholars who had remained in the, en try, saw him come out, and our hearts were warmed towards him. We spoke kindly to him, and walked with him to his house, but his own heart was too full for utter ance. On the next day George Henry com ■ menced studying in good earnest, ahd the teacher helped him faithfully. Never did I see a change so radical and sudden as that j which took place in the habits of the poor i boy. As soon as the teacher treated him with kindness and respect, the scholars-fi»l --i lowed the example, and the result was, that | we found in the unfortunate youth tin* ot I the most noble-hearted, generous, accom i modating and. truthful .ph},vwutflff—il'--Lhe.. world. Time passed on, and the boy’s mind ex panded with the approach of budding man hood. He learned rapidly and easily, and he fairly outstripped many of those who had long years the start of him in the in tellectual race. He grew eloquent as he jfrew older, and with his calm, kind elo quence, he saved his father from the -lough of intemperance, and raised him up to be once more a man. Long years have passed since those school-boy days. George Henry has be come a man ot’ middle-age, and in all th< country there is not a man more beloved and respected than he is. And all is the result of one teacher’s having done his du ty. You who are school teachers, remem ber the responsibility that devolves upon you. In this country of free schools, there should be no distinction between classes.— zlll are alike entitled to your care and coun sel, and the more weak the child, the more earnest should be your endeavors to lift him up and aid him. The Israelites. No nation of people have ever, in the history of the world, had to contend with so much opposition, or been the subject of I the same amount of contumely and oppres i sion ; and we rnaj add, that no people have ! been more misunderstood, or more grossl v i misrepresented —than the Jews. The pre Judices which Were arcused against them if I the early ages of Christianity, continued to : increase uniil in every nation of Earop* 'they were placed under legal and social dis qualifications, calculated to break down the spirits and destroy the energy of any class 'of people. We can almost venture the as section that no other race of people in the world Could ever have survived theoppres sions and persecutions of which the Jew* are the victims, for so many centuries. — Notwithstanding the disabilities under which they were placed, by their energy, i their enterprise, and their indomitable will, they continued to increase in wealth and general prosperity, until now they have be come the Commercial and Financial I rin- > ces of Europe; and in those Nations, where their political disabilities have been reniov- > ed, we find them occupying most promi i nent positions as Legislators and States-, , men. Only a year or two has elapsed i since, even in free England, was their polit ; ical equalitv recogn zed. and we see already ■ the once despised descendant of Abraham ■ occupying a prominei.t pos ti>*n in the Im , perial Parliament; we find them among the most influential members ot the Cabinet ot . ; France, in which country, only a short time ; time since, they were the subjects of most j oppressive exactions. , Even in our own land, where no laws j have ever been passed placing upon them, - the brand of inferiority, there has always! 1 existed a popular prejudice against them. : which was almost equal in its moral effects • to positive enactments ; yet we find that > thev have risen superior to the unfavorable circumstances surroundiun them, and many ? have attained enviable reputations in the i learned professions, while two occupied s seats in that (once) most august assembly, e the Senate ut the United States. TERMS — Four Dollars a-year. If, under such oppressions and persecu tions they have been enabled-to accomplish so much, to what a proud posiiion may they not attain when the prejudices, engendered in the dark ages of the past, shall be entire ly di*sipated. The Christian should dis card those uncharitable feelings which have been nurtured so long against the race from whom sprung the great Author of their re ligious system, and whom He loved so well. Never, by word or deed, did He everc »un< sei their persecution. In none of the wri tings of His immediate disciples and follow ers can be found a warrant for the course w hich has been pursued towards them.— We are glad to perceive, by the latest ad vices from Europe, that the Emperor of Russia has determined to abolish all the laws in his vast Empire, which have op pressed the Israelites for so many centu ries. Switzerland has also moved in the matter, and in all probability the restric tions in that country will be removed.— she spirit of the age demands that justice should be done a nation, which has, right in the heart of Christendom, been, for so many years, a continual subject for unchristian persecution. I Worldly Ainuseiiients- -Itn-mmaiiiy. Amusements have always remarkably prevailed in limes distinguished for immo rality. Isaiah and Arnos were cotemporary pro phets. They both lived in the years im mediately preceding the captivity of the Tribes under Shalmanezer. That captivity was the punishment of exceeding great wickedness. Irreligion and vice overran so ciety to an extent absolutely amazing. And both of these prophets draw' the darkest portraits of the moral condition of the peo ple in their day. Be it borne in mind,also, that both make special and pointed refer ence to the prevalence of amusements on every hand. There were feasts; and wine and strong drink abounded. Men invented t<> themselves instruments of music; and the harp and the viol, the tabret and the pipe, were in their feasts. The sense of na- TiimaTca I aunties was lost in these rejoicings with revelry; and the work of the Lord sank into disregard. Let this coincidence be noted. Excess of immorality and mul titude of amusements took their rise and held their sway at one and the same time. Look now on another and a later scene. Come down to the Reign of Terror in Paris. Then literati taught that there was no such thing as moral obligation. Then shameless courtezans were crowned w ith flowers, and honored with all the show of devoutest worshipping, as goddesses of reason. Then “whatever was most ob scene in vice and most dreadful in ferocity” —lewdness, purjury, murder, silicide, swept over the city— a storm of ten years contin uance. Now, during this time, theatres in creased-in Paris from six to twenty-five in number. Sometimes a hundred balls were held of a Sunday, and dancing became a mania. Levity, merriment, diversion, were the order of the day. Why was this? Why was the reign us crime and the reign of terror also the reign of amusement ? Why? A kindred state of things meets us in England, while Charles 11. saton the throne. But we will not dwell on other instances. The fact is before you. Times distin guished fur immorality have been times when amusements have remarkably pre vailed. How will you exp'ain it? \\ hat ties bind them together? Do they in any measure spring from the same root? Do the same influences foster them ar.d help them on their growth? Why should they come together, continue together, /xm ato y together? No answer can be returned to these questionings which will not serve, in the thoughtful bosom, as a dissuasive from worldly amusements. Faith h the fitood of C hrist. Are we living Abel’s life of faith ? Is the Llood ol the sacrifice that which speaks to us the “ Letter things,” so that each mis giving of our troubled hearts forthwith passes off, when it appears, like mist before the rising sun ? Is the sight of that blood all we need to call us back to peace, when sin or doubt has come between us and God? Is the knowledge us its infinite valueenough to give us at all times the complete assu rance that there is no sin of ours, how ever great, which it cannot at once wash away, Iso that “ being once purged we have no mor* conscience of siu” ? (H*** 3 - Does one look at that blood reassure our hearts when the cloud of guilt spreads daik ly over us ? And does that one look com loit us unspeakably more than the whole sum of our evidences, the whole register of I our graces? Dues it so entirely satisfy us, as that while on the one hand it makes us no lunger afraid to look into the depths ot our guilt, so on the other, it frees us from ’every wish to know ourselves or tube ! known of God, as anything but the “chief lof sinners”? Does’ the security which that blood is des gned to give us, of accept ance with God, appear to us so certain and so strung, that, with nothing else to recom mend u» <>r answer for us but the blood alone, we can go to God as trustfully ai d simply as Adam did, ere sin had broken his confidence and cast him out from the pres ; ence of the Lord i NO. 29.
