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Till. BAPTIST BANNER.
BY JAS. N. ELLS & CO.
VOL. IV.
■ ■
DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE,
Is published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at 5
subscription price of four dollars per year.
JAMniS N. ELLS & CO.,
Proprietors.
‘ GOLDEN _M_EMORIES~
O, there are golden memories
Around my heart to night,
And soft angelic voices
That inake 4 each moment bright;
And cherished forms come to me
Up the dim aisles of yore,
And lov ng hands extended
. As they were wont before.
Bright eyesjn mine are gazing
With many a-love-told beam,
And precious thoughts are casting
O’er life some sunny gleam;
Ah 1 these are golden moments,
And treasured up by me— .
By far, by far the dearest
In time’s tumultuous sea.
But where are the cherish’d jewels
That graced each childish hour,
And threw o’er life strange beauty,
Like some sweet fragrant flower ?
Ah 1 that’s the saddest question,
My heart, to answer thee—
For time hath dealt not lightly
With those so dear to me.
Yon heaven hath garnered treasures
Within her storehouse wide;
And though earth now looks dreary,
‘ There’s light at eventide.’
Then hush, faint heart, these sighings,
And daily strive that thou
May’st one day bask in glory,
And deck thy Saviour’s brow. E.
JL PRETTY STORY.
THE sun is always shining irt the sky of
our lives, aud his bright beams coming
down to gladden the earth. But into how
few hearts do they find their way ? The
earth upon which our minds dwell, like the
material earth, has its dense forests, its i
diep valleys, its dark cavesand caverns, i
into which the synlight rarely, ifever comes.
It would seem as if many loved these gloomy
shades, and hid themselves, of choice, away
from the bright and beautiful sunshine.—
They carry shadows in their hearts and
shadows on their faces. When they come i
into your presence it. seems as it the air
was suddenly darkened by a passing cloud.
Mr. Hickman was one of those men who
walk, for the most part, in dark valleys, or
ait in dreary caverns. Hardly, ifever, on
returning home did he bring light into his
dwelling. If there was merry laughter
among the children on his entrance, their
voices were hushed ; if love’s light beamed
from the countenance of his wife as she
eported with her little ones, it faded away,
giving p ace to n sober, thoughtful, halt
troubled look. He always came home
bringing a shadow with him, and sat, for
the most part, in the shadow, through all
the cheerless evenings.
Why was this! Was there a great
trouble in the heart of Mr. Hickman I . H-d
he passed through some depressing misfor
tune? No. It was as well with him as
■with most people—better than with a very
large number. His business was prosper
ous and every year he added many thous
ands “f dollars to his rapidly accumulating
fortune. But he was not a man possessing
an orderly adjusted mind—was easily dis
turbed by trifles, and annoyed by incidents
that should not have affected him any more
than the buzzing of a fly. But the real
cause lay deeper and more hidden, ground
ed in an inordinate selfishness, that robbed
him of the pleasure which might have at
tended success, through envy of others’ good
fortune. He was j< alous of his compeers
in business, and always experienced a disa
greeable sensation when he heard them
spoken of as successful. No wonder that
sunlight could not find its way into his
heart. Envy and ill-will, burn in what
heart they may, always send up a black
smoke that obscures the heavens. The sun
is there, shining as brightly as ever, but his
ravs cannot penetrate the cloud of passion.
No dav passed in which something did not
occur to disturb or cloud the mind of Mr.
Hickman; and so, evening after evening,
he came home, bringing with him shadow
instead of sunlight. Oh, what a desecration
of home was this !—home, w here the heart’s
sunlight should ever dwell, aud a heart
warmth pervade all the sweet atmosphere.
Nothing of external go-'d was denied by
Mr. Hukman to his family. They had all
of happiness that money could buy. Yet
how far Com happiness were his wife and
children 1 They were drooping tor the sun
shine of smiles, and pleasant words, aad
jovuus laughter. But these came uot truss
Mr. Hickman. Ue sat among them grins
and gloomy, for the most part, like some
sombre heithen divinity—half dreaded, half
Pr jSr. Hickman was not so stolid but he
saw iu this the existence of • wresf He
A SmtSSSOOT jLSD S’AMXiX' SBWSS’AS'ffia.
loved his wife and children, desired their
good, and was ready to make almost any
sacrifice for them that he knew how to make.
Even as he sat moodily in his room, con
scious that his presence rested like night
mare on the spirits of his wife and children,
he would say to himself: “ Thisi is not
right. I should bring home pleasan?words
and cheerful smiles.” Yet almost as he
said this would his thought go back to some
inc'dent of the day, which mere selfishness
gave pr*weir to disturb his feelings, and he
would go off again into a brooding state of
mind, out of w hich he had not resolution
enough to lift himself. Often it happened
that his children sought, in the outgushing
gladness of their hearts, to break the spell
that was on him, but almost alwavs he had
repulsed them—sometimes coldly, some
times fretfully, and sometimes in sudden
anger —so that, at last, they rarely came
near or spoke to him, as he sat through his
silent evenings.
“ Wrong, all wrong,” Mr. Hickman often
said to himself, as the shadow fell darker
on his home. But a knowledge of the evil
did not bring a knowledge of the cure, or,
rather, that self-conquest which must pre
cede a cure. He must let thesunshine into
his own heart ere he could pour forth its
rays upon other hearts. He must come
our. of the dense forests and gloomy vales
and dusky caverns, into the clear sunshine.
But how was he to come out? —who was to
lead him forth?
One day as Mr. Hickman sat in his
counting-room, conversing with a gentle
man, a lad came in from the store to ask
him some questions about business. Mr.
Hickman replied in a curt way, and the lad
went out.
“ What is that boy’s name?” asked the
gentleman.
“ Frank Edwards,” was replied.
“ 1 thought so. He’s a fine boy. How
long has he been with you?”
“ About three months.”
“ Does he give satisfaction ?”
“ Yes.”
“ I’m pleaded to hear it. His mother lives
in our neighborhood, and my wife has taken
considerable interest in her. She is very :
poor, and in feeble health. She maintains 1
herself by sewing, but that kind of exhaust
ing toil is wasting her life rapidly. Frank ’
is her only child, and the only one to whom 1
she can look for any help. lam glad you *
like him.”
Nothing nwe was said on the subject
but it did not pass from the mind of Mr. !
Hickman. Me had taken the lad a *few
month* before on trial, and it was under- 1
stood that if he gave satisfaction he was to
be put on wages after six months. ’
‘‘The boy is faithful, intelligent and act- 1
ive,” said Mr. Hickman, speaking to him- |
self. “Ifitis so with his mother, he must !
be put on wages now.” . '
“ Frank is an unusually bright boy,” said i
Mr. Hickman. “He has an aptness foi '
business, is prompt and faithful. 1 can at- 1
ford to make his salary liberal. I’ll pay
him six dollars now, mid if he goes on im
proving as fast as he has done so far, it will
not be lonsj before I can make it better for
him.”
Mr. Hickman arose, and, going to the
counting room door, called the lad, who
came in immediately.
“How do you like our business, Frank?”
asked Mr. Hickman, in a kind way.
“Very well, sir,” replied he promptly.
“Andyou would like to remain?”
“Yes sir, if 1 give satisfaction.”
“You have done very well so far,” re
plied Mr. Hickman; “so well, that 1 have
concluded to put you on wages now, instead
of waiting until six months of trial have
expired.”
The boy started, and aqqick flush of sur-1
prise and pleasure went over his face.
“I did not expect it, sir,” he said, grate b
fully. “ You are Very good.”
“ Your mother is pvt well, 1 hear,” said
Mr. Hickman.
Frank’s eyes glistened as he answered—
“ No. sir; she’s been sick fora good while ;
and lam so glad to be put on wages, for
now 1 can help her.”
“ Will you give all your wages to your
mother? ”
“Oh yes, indeed, sir—every cent, if it
was ten dollars a week.” i
This conclusion in the mind of Mr. Hick
man was attended with a sense of pleasure.
His heart had opened just a little, and two'
or three sunbeams, with their light and
warmth, had gone down into it.
“ What shall 1 pay him for his services ?”
said Mr. Hickman to himself, still dwelling
od the subject. “There are plenty of lads
to be obtained at acouple of dollars a week,
fur the first one or two years; or even for
, nothing, in consideration ofthe opportunity
for learning a good business in a good
house. But Frank's case is peculiar, and
must be considered by itself. There is a
I question of humanity involved. His mo-1
-| ther is poor and sick, and she has no hope
I but him. Let me see: shall I make it
i i threedullais a week? That will help them
i' Ooasiderably. But, dear me ! three dollars
‘ will hardly pay for Frank’s eating. I must
I do Something better than that. Say four
dollars.”
s Mr. Hickman dropped his head a little
» and sat turning the matter over in his
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 1863.
HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE.
r | mind. He had once been a poor boy, with
a mother in feeble health; and he remem
. bered how hard it was to get along—how
- many privations and hardships his mother
- had to endure; and yet their income was
, nearly double the amount he thought of
; giving Foank. Mr. Hickman had always
i loved his mother, and this memory of her
i softened his feelings still more toward the
poor widow for whom an appeal had come
to him so unexpectedly.
“J see you’re a good boy, Frank,” said
’ Mr. Hickman, his hegrt stiji softening, “and
your wages shall be six dollars.”
The boy struck his hands together with
sudden joy, exclaiming,
“ Oh, mother will be so glad —so glad ! ”
As he went back into the store, Mr. H.
sat quietly in his chair, feeling hbppierthan
he had been fur a long time. When the
sun went down, and Frank came in to shut
the windows of the counting-room, Mr. H.
handed him a sealed envelope, saying:
“ Take this to your mother. It contains
ihirty-six dollars, as your wages, at three
dollars a wtfek for twelve weeks, the time
you have been in my store. Tell your
mother that you have been a good, industri
ous boy, anebhave earned the money.”
Frank took the little package ; his feel
ings were so much overcome by this addi
tional good fortune that he could not speak
his thanks. But his eyes told u hat was in
his heart, and Mr. Hickman understood it.
There are many ways to catch sunbeams,
if we could only set traps for them. Nay,
there is no occasion to go’o that trouble.—
The air is full of sunbeams, and we have
only to open the doors and windows of our
hearts, and they will enter In countless mul
titudes. But the doors and windows of
most people’s hearts are shut and barred as
the heart of Mr. Hickman. How are they
to be opened ? Just as the doors and win
dows of his heart were opened—by kind
ness to others.
When Mr. Hickman took his way home
ward, his step was lighter and his feelings
more buoyant - than they had been for a long ,
time. Though conscious of this, and of the
sense of pleasure that was new to him, his ,
thought did not. go direcJy to the cause.— (
Not that he had.forgotten Frank and
.sick mother, or the pale face that looked in
to his when he told the ’ >y of his generous
decision in his favor; all this was present to ;
him, though he had not yet connected the |
kind act and pleasant feelings in his con- ,
sciousness as cause and effect.
There was no sound of pattering feet on 1
the stairs as Mr. Hickman came in. Time i
was when his first step in the passage awoke |
the echoes with laughing voices and the
rain of eager footfalls. But that time had .
passed long ago. The father came home |
so often in a cold, repellant mood, that his ;
children had ceased to be glad at his return, (
and no longer bounded to meet him. Sit- |
ting on the stairs were a little boy and girl i
ofthe ages of five and six years. As he ad
vanced along the passage they neither stirred ;
nor spoke, nor smiled, though their eyes .
were fixed upon his face. Mr. Hickman
stood still when he came to where they w ere
sitting, and looked at them with a new feel ,
ing of tenderness in his heart. He held out (
a hand to each, and each laid a hand in his, i
but with an air of doubt as to whether this (
condescension on the part of their father ,
were to be accepted as a token of love. A i
moment he stood holding their hands, then
stooping he threw an arm around each and i
lifted them to his breast. ,
“ Hasn’t Edie a kiss for p%pa ? ” said Mr. ;
H : ckman, with so much warmth in his voice 1
that the little girl now understood that all (
was earnest.
“Yes, a hundred kisses!” answered she.
flinging her arms around her father’s neck,
and kissing him over and over again in
childish fondness.
At the head of the first landing opened
! the sitting room. Into this Mr. Hickman
Jeanie with the two children in his arms, both
lof them hugging and kissing him in a wild <
happy way.
“Bless me! what’s the meaning of all ;
this?” exclaimed Mrs. Hickman, rising and
coming forward, her face aglow with sudden
pleasure at a sight a"»d sounds so new, yet
all welcome to her heart.
i “ These little rogues are hugging and
■ kissing the very breath away from me,”
said Mr. Hickman, laughing and struggling
with the children.
“ He a>k me for one kiss,” cried Edie,
“and I’m going to give him a hundred.”
Mr. Hickman sat down with a child on
each knee, and Mrs. Hickman came and
stood by him, with a hand resting on his
shoulder. *
“Oh,you must kiss him, too,” said Edre, i
looking up at her mother.
Mrs. Hickman did not wait for a second!
invitation. The old pleasant face of her
jhusband was again before her, and h<r heart,
was leaping with the old loving impulses.
She bent down and laid a warm kiss on his I
lips, which he felt as a sweet glow through'
all his being.
This was a« evening Inng to be remem
bered in the household of Mr. Hickman.—
He had ‘caught a sunbeam’ and brought it
with him,-and a light and warmth were all
around them. All were happy, and Mr.
Hickman the happiest of them all, for he
i had the sweet consciousness in his heart of
having made another and humbler home
very happy also.
REASONS FOR SLEEPING IN CHURCH.
There are certain persons w ho take offence
at the very honorable practice of sleeping
in the house of God : Ido not well under
stand the reasons for which they condemn
it, for I am always sure to get to sleep as
soon as I hear my minister, or anybody
• else, arguing against a custom so long es
tablished, and so invariably sanctioned by
all sensible folks, from Noan’s hearers down
to the present wise generation ; yet, through
you I wish to record rwy solemn protest
against all reasons that have ever been
urged, and show the world that many solid
advantages result from sleeping in church.
1. No'one can presume to question that
the body, fatigued by the labors of the
w r eek, will be much mere refreshed by
sleeping on a board, in a sitting posture,
than by the same amount of sleep on a bed.
It is a:well known fact, that feathers ener
vate the System, when the oak or hickory
strengthen and enliven it. Besides, one
can’t sleep at home, on the Sabbath day,
with a good conscience; for we are com
manded “not to forsake the assembling of
ourselves together as the manner of some
is” —but there is no command, I believe,,
against sleeping in the house of God—so
that there, sleeping and a good conscience
may be enjoyed together. It must of course
be the most refreshing sleep in the world,
and the best preparative for the duties of
the week.
2. The example is admirable. Children
and youth are very apt to be restless —
sometimes fractious, even; but when they
see their parents asleep, as they rarely do
during the week, and as they commonly do
on the Sabbath, they will soon learn how
lovely is a quiet spirit—and how becoming
it is to be still in so sacred a place. Some
times they may hear a little snoring—or
the cry, ‘ Umph !’ when we are waking up
—but this is only an occasional interruption
of the general stillness, and by no means
destroys the happy influence of the ex
ample.
3. Jt is calculated to animate the preacher
—this may seem a little odd, but it is a fact,
and “ facts are stubborn things.” It was
but the other day that good Mr. Dronish
got all on fire after two-thirds of his hear
ers went to sleep, and one would have
thought the heave.is and ea "th were coming
together while he “ hit them off” so roundly,
for not attending to his eloquence.
4. And this reminds me of another ad
vantage 1 had well nigh forgot: cannot
fail to improve pulpit oratory in general.
Now yuu know, Sir, that we have but few
orators to preach to us. and 1 shrewdly sus
pect that 1 have hit upon the true reason of
it. Most preachers manage to keep a con
siderable portion of their audience awake,
and this encourages them to continue their
stupid way of preaching; whereas, if they
would allow them to sleep, they would uot
be afraid of them, for if they blundered
and boggled, nobody would know it; of
Course they would be as much possessed as
the sophomore trying his oratorial pow
ers before au assembly of cabbage stumps,
or a Demosthenes himself talking tv the
noisy waves of the sea. If my last com
parison don’t seem apropos, I only beg you
to remember that extremes meet, and of
course it will follow, that a sleepy audience
and a noisy audience are equally favorable
tests of an orator’s powers, and have an
equal influence in promoting his improve
ment,
5. Some preachers arc heterodox in sen
timent; and if all their hearers are asleep
while they preach, their errors will do no
hurt. No matter what a man says, if no
person hears him. An orthodox preacher
makes his hearers mad, more or less, if
they are awake, for he so harrows up their i
consciences, that ten to one if they d<<n’t'
take an oath that they will never hear him ,
again; but if they are asleep, they avoid
the dreadful <gn of anger, while he may
keep his place, and do his Duty, and Jtave
the reputation of an excellent man. a fine
preacher.
6. What we don’t hear w'e shall not have
to render an account for at the day of judg
ment. The more ignorant we are, the few
er stripes we shall receive. If we had heard
no more than the heathen, O! how happy
we might have been in the day.of account!
but since it has been our misfortune to be
born in a Christian land, we must make the
best of it.
7. Some rigid notions about the decency
i of sleeping, and yawning, and nodding and
I starting in the h<>rse<if God, can oijv be
done away by a steady adherence to the
■good <ild custom, and an invincible obstina
cy to all innovations. It will be much to
the honor of our sleeping ancestors, a< d
1 much to the credit of our churches, to resist
| such notions “ri«/ormu ’ —for assure! v as
| they prevail, they will send away all sleep
ers from churah—which might, perhaps,
leave half the seats eiapty.
Sometimes it requires seven men to give
one reason, but you see that I can render
seven reasons for sleeping in church. 1 1
could add more if it were necessary —in- •
TERMS— Four Dollars a-year.
f deed 1 will add one that can be liable to
5 no objection from any quarter; it is this:
God commaryjs us to rest on the Sabbath;
to rest means to sleep. Such plain and fair
syllogism, if carefully treasured up* cannot
fail to prove a perpetual quis us to every
troubled conscience, and an impenetrable
shield against all those fiery darts which are
’ designed to disturb the quiet slumbers of
my friends, and of your humffle servant,
1 Somnus.
DEATH IN TIIE_HOUSEHOLD.
Hath the dread visitor made one call—
i or already more than one—at your dwell
ing? He come yet again. Sorrowful
thought! How the heart recoils from it!
Is there no relief from the dark foreboding
of that certain and awful fact? Yes, there
is—thanks to Him who “hath brought life
and immortality to light!” Look toa home,
a meeting, a glorb us, beatific re-union of
yourself and your loved ones, in the “man
sions prepared ”on high. Strive to get
yourself and yours—children, domestics
and all—prepared, in the use of means and
through grace divine, for a residence there.
Were any of us as assund of case, wealth,
long life, social enjoyment, in connection
with removal to some other and more fa
vored portion of our country, would we
look to the change with dread? Why then
. shrink and tremble and weep at the thought
of a home in heaven—an estate in the para
dise laud—a palace in the city of golden
streets and pearly gates—a life in that clime
where we shall breathe the very air of ex
tatic existence—a seat in the society of all
the purest, the loveliest, the most loviugof
the universe?
“ There is no death ; what seems so is transition—
This life of mental breath,
Is but a suburb of the lile elysian,
Whose portals we call death.”
But has the dark shadow of bereavement
not crossed your threshold ? You have
come, perhaps, to feel as if you and yours
were immortal. The more tenible the hour
that shall break the illusion. Prepare—
prepare thyself for death’s coming ! Lock
to your own soul, and to the souls of those
whom God hath given you. Do you in
struct them in their duties to Him who
made them ? Do you point them to Him
who died for them? Do* you show them
the, way to heaven, walking therein before
them ? Do jou pray for ana whh them?
D<> they see and feel it to be your chief,
your ever present concern, that they should
follow Jesus, serve God, do good in their
generation, and finally inherit life eternal?
Happy—thrice happpv the family bound
together in the bonds of faith and hopeaud
love to Christ—all looking forward, upward
—their faces all radiant with the glory
beaming down from the illumined spires
and turrets of the city celestial, to which
■hey are all travelling in each other’s com
pany ; while they ofc times refresh them
selves together, on the way, by pouring out
their hearts in prayer, and in sweet songs
of the laud whither they are going!
Reader, is yours such a household ? Then
the messenger, when he comes, will be one
of God’s brightes , loveliest seraphs ! Death
will only gather yuu and your luved ones
together on “the shining shore,” to be more
lovely, loving and happy than ever you
could be in the sweetest of earthly homes.
A Guilty Conscience.—The guilty soul
cannot keep its own secret. It is false to
itself, or, rather, it feels an irresistible im
pulse to be true to itself. It labors under
its guilty possession, and knows not what
to do with it. The human heart was nut
made for the residence of such an inhabitant.
It finds itself preyed upon by a torment
which it does not acknowledge to Gud or
man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can
ask no sympathy or assistance, either from
heaven or earth. The secret which the
murderer possesses, soon comes to possess
him; and, like the evil spirit of which we
read, it overcomes him, ana leads him
whithersoever it will. He feels it beating
at his heart, rising to his throat and demand
ing disclosure. He thinks the whole world
sees it in his face, and almost hears its work
ings in the very silence of his thoughts. It
has become his master. It betrays his dis
cretion— it breaks down his courage—it
conquers his prudence. VV hen suspicions
from without begin to embarrass him, aud
the net of circumstances to entangle him
the fatal secret struggles with still greater
violence to burst forth. It must be con
fessed ; it will be confessed. There is no
refuge from confession but suicide, and
suicide is confession.— Webster.
A i‘ atiier s Prayer.—The following is
a touching incident :
■ A pious young man told a c ergyman
that he had once disobeyed his father, on
which the good man retired and shut the
door. Curiosity led him to look through
the key hole, and he saw his father on his
knees at prayer. The boy listened, and
heard his father praying tor him. This
struck him to the heait; he went away and .
i prayed for himself; his prayer and the
pray er of the parent were heard; the young
, man sought mercy through the Lamb of
God, w ho taketh away the sin of the world,
• and became a Christian indeed.
NO. 32.