Newspaper Page Text
BY JAS. N. ELLS & CO.
VOLUME IV.
She 'gHytW ganiwr,
DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE,,
Is published every Saturday, at Atlauta, Georgia, at the
subscription price of foub dollars per year.
JAMES N. ELLS A CO.,
Proprietors.
FAITH.
Ye who think the truth ye sow
Lost beneath the winter snow,
Doubt not, Time’s unerring law
Yet shall bring the genial thaw.
God in Nature ye can trust;
Is the God of Mind less just *
Real we not the mighty thought
Once by ancient sages taught*
Though it withered in the blight
Os the mediaeval night.
Now the harvest we behold ;
See I it bears a thousand fold.
Workers on the barren soil,
Yours may seem a thankless toil;
Sick at heart with hope deferred,
Ll'ten to the cheering word:
N .wfhe faithful sower grieves;
Boon he’ll bind his golde i sheaves.
If Great Wisdom have decreed
Man may labor, yet the seed
Never in this life shall grow,
Shall the sower cea-e to sow ?
The fairest fruit may yet be born
On the resurrection morn I
“CATCH TIMDS-Slfiiir
A HOME STORY.
T AM weary! Oh, so weary ! ”
The speaker’s head sank back into
the cushions of her easy-chair. She was
young and still pretty, although the lips
had lost their carnation tint and the cheek
its roundness. Iler hair, once fine, but
now faded and dry, was stretched back
from her temples, unrelieved by ripple or
bandeaux, and confined in a loose, untidy
looking knot at the back of the neck.—
Nor was her apparel better adapted to
heighten natural comeliness or atone for
the loss of personal charms. A cashmere
robe, neither clean nor new—worn because
it was comfortable, hid her figure in its
clumsy fidds; and a pair of worsted slip
pers, whose only recommendation must
have been this same comfortableness, since
they preserved on all sides a respectful
distance from the tiny feet, rested upon the
tiger-skin rug. The room betrayed none
of the negligence of its mistress. It was
tastefully furnished as a nursery-parlor, but
with evident reference to the wants, intel
lectual and physical, of children of a larger
growth. The window-bars were concealed
by azaleas and japonicus above whose ever
green blanches hung j^canary’s cage ; choice
pictures decked the walls; there were books
in costly I indings in cases and upon tables;
a cottage-pi ano, shut, stood against the
further side of the apartment, and the stand
at the lady’s side bore a small but beautiful
bouquet ot the most fragrant flowers win
ter can win from their allegiance to summer.
The blinds of one window were bowed;
those of the other closed, and in their shade
a child was sleeping in her crib. The pout
ing mouth and delicate skin weie the
mother’s, but the forehead, clear and broad,
and the wreath of chesnut curls must have
been the father’s gift. She slept soundly,
the very picture of happy innocence; one
hand, like a plump white shell, folded over
its pink lining, lay upon the outside of the
coverlet, the other indenting her cheek. —
Once she smiled in her slumbers, and at the
same instant the mother stirred uneasily,
and a fretful moan again moved the silent
air.
“ Weary ! weary ! ”
The dov>r opened unheard, and the ad
vance of the intruder was as noiseless.—
There were no creaking hinges or thin car
pets in that establishment. The rustle of
garments caught the sick woman’s ear just
as a smiling face, flushed with exercise in
the frosty wind, bent over to leave a kiss
upon hers.
“ Hatty Dale ! lam glad to see you ’ ”
was her greeting in a tone ot pleasure that
formed a strange prelude to the languor
with which she added, “ But you startled
my poor nerves terribly coming in so ab
ruptly.”
"As if I did not always enter in the same
way,” returned Miss Dale, pulling off her
furred gauntlets to warm her fingers at the
lire. " Nothing that is expected can be a
surprise, disagreeable or pleasant, and I
should like to inquire, Mrs. Temple, what
you have to do, at this hour of the day, but
w ait and wish for my coming ? ”
She crossed over to look at the babe.—
" 1 ill not kiss her just yet. Iler start at
the touch of the tip of my nose would be
more reasonable as well a* more genuine
than was her mother’s. And now, my dear
lady prisoner, how do you find yourself this
morning I ”
" Worse, if possible, than when you were
here yesterday, ill as 1 appeared then, and
this confinement is robbing me of my little
remaining strength. I weaken every hour."
“So 1 should think. Why don’t you go
out ? ”
“ Hatty! what are you saying) Go out
in this weather ?”
“This weather!” said Hatty, stoutly.—
"A\hat if the thermometer does stand at
rerot The air is as dry and pure as ever I
breathed in the tropics, and tenfold more
bracing. Are your lungs diseased !”
Mercy! no, I hope not!” shuddering.
I low thoughtless in you to put such a
into my head ! 1 »hall not have a |
moment’s |>eace of mind until I have an I
au-eultativn. Candidly tell me, do you •
deuetany symptoms of—’’
“Consumption, do you mean)” asked
the other, coolly bringing out the word her
nervous friend failed to articulate. "About
as many as I detect in myself or in little
Blanche there, lou may r<»t assured that
I would JusuntJy commucicau any auapi-
THE BAPTIST BANNER
cions of that kind to you, for, should they
prove well-founded, 1 should feel that I had
done you a signal service instead of injury.
My opinion, Mary, has always been that,
when you discover what your disease is,
you will cure it yourself.”
It was hard to be angry, however cutting
her language in its hidden meaning may
have been, with that kind good-humored
face before one’s eyes. Yet Mrs. Temple
colored in vexation or embarrassment as
she answered : "Thai is scarcely fair, Hat
ty. You are well aware that Dr. Pilson,
whose skill nobody questions, after a care
ful investigation of my case, is completely
at fault as to the seat of the complaiut.—
How can I presume to judge for inyself? ”
“Just what I said ! ” replied Hatty, steal
ing a roguish glance at the kindling face.—
“ 1 do not dispute Dr. Pilson’s skill when he
can make out a ‘case,’ nor his ability, when
he fails here, to make out a bill that, in
length and clearness of details, must com
pensate himself and the patient’s friends for
the trifling disappointment in the first
instance.”
“ One fact you will admit,” said the oth
er ; “my enforced extravagance in that re
spect, if extravagance you choose to call it,
is the only expensive folly in which I in
dulge. My silks and furs and laces for the
year do not draw heavily upon my hus
band’s pocket ”
" Better that they should. 1 venture to
affirm that he had rather settle a milliner’s
bill for a hundred dollars than balance that
‘ little account ’ of your courtly physician
by half that sum. I have heard house own
ers say that a continual outlay for repairs
was very disheartening when the tenement
operated upon seemed none the better for
the labor and money expended. The best
thing to be done then is to pull down en
tirely or throw the property into market.”
“ Which means, I suppose, that Horace
ought to tire of me and wish me in my
grave. 1 shall be there soon enough, Hat
ty ; never fear.”
“ Soon enough, 1 allow, dear Mary,” re
joined Miss Dale, changing her bantering
tone to one of earnest tenderness. "Many
years hence will be too soon for your de
voted husband and true friends to consign
you to the tomb. It is to avert the terrible
woe that would attend upon your untimely
thflt T would J'ou to
mode of existence. You have much to live
for, Mary ; every thing that makes life de
sirable and beautiful; yeti have often heard
you declare it. to be a burden.”
"It is!” sobbed the weak dyspeptic. —
“You, who have never suffered a day’s ill
ness, can philosophize and preach about the
necessity of altering my habits, my ‘ mode
of existence,’ and so on. I own Ido not
live like a well person, for the obvious rea
son that I am not well, an argument to which,
as Dr. Pilson says, some exceedingly sensi
ble, healthy people are strangely obtuse. —
You ascribe your freedom from sickness and
pain to your cheerfulness, and active exer
cise in the open air. You sleep soundly ;
you think it is in consequence of your con
tented frameof mind, and because you have
not done injustice to your digestive organs.
Yuu see me sitting day after day in my
easy-chair in this close, warm room, averse
to undertaking even the trifling journey of
a single flight of stairs ; capricious in appe
tite and spirits; and you cry, ‘ No wonder
she is sick ! ’ You confound cause and ef
fect, Hatty.”
"Well argued, Dr. Pilson!” laughed
Hatty. "If my eyes had been shut, I could
have fancied you tfie worthy Galen himself.
There now, Mary, don’t get angry. It is to
his interest to make you believe yourself
sick ; it is to mine to convince you that you
might be well if you would ‘make an effort,’
as Mr. Dombey’s sister says—what was
her name ? ”
“ I do not know, I am sure,” a little fret
fully. “ I have never read the book.”
“ No; but Horace told me he meant to
read it aloud to you, since your eyes would
not permit you to enjoy its contents for
yourself.”
"He offered to do so"—with a sigh ;
" but L was too nervous to bear the rustling
of leaves near me, especially in the evening,
which is the only time be can spend at
home. Aou think me very foolish, no
doubt ; but I cannot help it.”
“I do not say that you are ‘foolish ’; but
I regret, as you must also, that this extreme
susceptibility to light and noise deprives
your husband ot what would otherwise af
ford him great pleasure. He cannot read !
to himself, either, unless he withdraws to ;
another room, which he will not do, I kno*
while his presence gives you any comfort.”
“ He never complains,” said Mrs. Tem
ple in a voice that had a touch of offended
pride.
"And jou are longing to add: ■ When
he does, it will be time for yu to interfere
in our domestic arrangements,”’ finished
Hatty. " You cannot quarrel with me. I
Mary ; so give up the attempt. Aon Van
not forget the depth and sincerity of mv
love for you, and that, in my estimation.
Horace has not his peer on this continent." t
| The right chord was struck. The spark
I in the eve was dimmed by dew, and the lip
; trembled while it smiled.
Hatty went on: “Whatever may be
your trials—and I know they are not tew —
you have the blessing of one of the noblest,
fondest husbands that ever was given to
woman. You were his pride, his glory,
while vour health lasted ; now ” —her eyes
ran around the chamber—" you are no less
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JULY 18, 1863.
his idol, although the sick-room is your
temple.”
lhe wife s tears flowed afresh, but in a
more abundant and healthful stream.
It is true all true; and I, poor wretch !
can offer him no return for his goodness. I
wish, sometimes, that I were out of his v ay,
that he had a companion more worthy,
more congenial.. You may well say that
my trials are not light. Only four days
ago I suffered extreme mortification—worse
than that, agony of spirit—because I felt
that I was depreciating in his eyes. Oh, if
his love should wear out under these con
stant tests, this incessant demand for his
patient forbearance 1 ”
" I hope there is no need of such a fear,”
safd Hattie, soothingly. " But what is this
new trouble ? ”
“You may recollect Eleanor Stewart,
whom it was said Horace addressed before
he knew me—a dashing belle, who spent a
winter here with her sister, Mrs. Manners ?”
“ I do, perfectly.”
" Whether his admiration was, in truth
mingled with love, I cannot tell,” pursued
Mrs. Temple; "but certain it is that he
has always remembered her as the finest
specimen of a certain type of beauty he
ever saw. She had not seen him since his
marriage until one day last week, when he
met her on the street. He came home
fairly raving about her. I wish you could
have heard him. Three years, he said, had
wrought no visible change in her, unless,
indeed, they had added to her attractions.
Her style peculiar—in its way, inimi-
table. She had accosted him with the most
engaging friendliness, congratulated him
upon his happiness as a husband and father,
and expressed a desire to become acquaint
ed with me. He represented the state of
my health which debarred me from visiting
my most intimate friends ; whereupon, with
what he called a ‘graceful disregard of eti
quette,’—with what ‘I considered bold im
pertinence—she begged to be allowed to
pay her respects to m)e in person, at as early
a day as might be convenient to me. She
‘could not think of standing upon ceremony
with the wife of ai>old and esteemed friend.’
By the time thajahe got thus far, I was half
mad with a nervy its headache, for he talked
faster and loud -t than usual, and was in
such a merry bustle that I positively feared
Hlh head I to treat hit.-i
first to lay aside tIX? poker, inasmuch as the
fire did not need stiV ing, and he only used
it to beat time uponjthe grate to the chant
of Miss Eleanor’s then to : top
chirping to the to throw the cover
over the cage, for Micky, in reply, vias pi
ping his shrillest nry.es; then please hot to
finger my flowers/ and, finally, to sit down,
and tell me, in \as few words as possible,
what his commands were.”
"Oh, Mary !” jittered Miss Dale, invol
untarily.
"Yes, I teas ; but if you had the
least conception of what nerves are, you
would sympathize with me. Well, he qui
eted down, and asked my pardon for his
thoughtlessness. ‘ I have no commands
whatever, Mary,’ said he, ‘but it would
please me to see Miss Stewart in my house,
if the thought is not too repugnant to you ;
and I believe that her society would do you
good—she is so lively and entertaining.’—
Think of that, Hatty, when Dr. Pilson has
said, over and over, that excitement is the
very worst thing in the world for me in
my present condition ! and my favorite de
testation is one of your so calleai ‘ lively ’
women.”
"I had better take my leave, then,” said
her visitor, rising.
A hasty motion of Mrs. Temple’s arm
stopped her. " You are too bad ! ” she said,
half crying, half laughing. “As if I could
mean you, my best, almost my only friend !
Sit down, and hear me through. The con
clusion of the matter —for I was too weak
and weary to dispute —was, that Miss Stew
art might call the following morning, if
agreeable t > her ladyship, and that Mr.
Temple should be at home to receive her,
for 1 could not sustain so much brilliancy
alone. I was miserable all the forenoon,
for my pauado was too sweet, and soured as
soon as I had swallowed it; and I shall al
ways be sure that that blundering house
keeper of mine mixed green with my black
tea, although --he has been told twentv times i
that it is rank poison to me. Blanche, too, j
according to her father’s directions, must be ’
dressed in her prettiest frock ; and when :
the maid brought her to me to see that all i
was right, I found that the stun.J creature ’
I had looped up her sleeves with • lue rib- i
bons, instead of letting her wear the set of
coral and gold I had ordered expressly for
her. By the time this was corrected, 1
was, as you may suppose,completely worn j
out, and made up my mind that 1 could not
see company at all that day. If Miss Slew
art called, Horace must meet her in the
parlor, and explain matters. Just as I had
I formed this determination, and resolved,
i moreover, to send tor the doctor if 1 d i
j not get better very soon, Horace came run
-1 ning up stairs. 1 felt really s wry at the
sight of his great disappointment; yet 1
■ could not but think him somewhat incon
: siderate when he tried to prevail upon me
to alter my plan. ‘lt I would only let her
| eotne up fur a few minutes.’ he urged, he
‘would notask more than this.’ He bad
seen her down town but an hour previous,
and informed her that 1 was in my usi
health. Now. this was perfectly preposter
ous, for, in addition to the fatigue of talking
with a stranger, there was the trying pro
ceas of dressing. For once, he was obst
HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE.
■ nate in refusing to see the propriety of my
reasoning; and I was worried to the very
. brink of an hysterical attack,•when the con
versation was cut short in a truly dramatic
manner by John’s announcement —‘ Miss
Stewart’’ and-, to my unutterable horror,
the lady herself was at his heels. What 1
said or did, I hardly knew then, or can re
call now. I have a confused recollection of
the touch of her dainty glove, of her flutter
ing silk flounces and waving white plumes,
and that my old wrapper looked shamefully
nup-ftu by contrast wbh her magnificence. —
This was my first overwhelming impression;
the hot blood began to retire from
my brain and cheeks, I saw more clearly a
tall, finely formed woman, dressed in the
height of the mode, filling, overflowing with
shining silken waves, a chair just opposite
to me —a mocking sneer in her eyes that
belied lhe polite accents her lips were form
ing. 1 could not complain of any want of
attention, for she addressed all her obser
vations to me, in spite of Horace’s attempts
to divert her notice. In speech, she ignored
my disordered dress and deportment; but
each flash of those eyes told me that noth 5 ng
of all this escaped them, and that, at heart,
she triumphed mercilessly in my discom
fiture. Blanche 4vas, a‘love,’ an ‘angel,’and
the very ‘miniature of her mother’; the
chamber was a ‘ fairy nook, a bower of
pleasure, the home of the graces; and it
was easy to divine whose taste had been at
work here.' She crushed me with flowers,
flung and piled them upon me—musk-roses
and other sickening sweets—until I was suf"
focated into silence. Then, and not until
then, when she- saw that I was ready to
faint under the l*»ad of flattery, more intol
erable than abuse, did she leave me alone.
Horace attended her to the frontdoor, and,
returning to the room, rang for the servant
who had showed the visitor up. The man
excused himself by stating that Miss Stew
art had told him we were expecting her,
which he supposed to be the truth from
something my n aid had said in his hearing
Horace dismissal him, and stood for a min
ute looking at ire, oh, Hatty, with such an
expression ! a n ’xtureof shame and sorrow
I shall never forget; then quitted me with
out a word. lle>was absent until tea-time.
Dr. Pilson had called three times in the af
ternoon, and m\ husband found me sick in
bod, ayusToh has been made by eMfjßo*’
of us to the terrible scene of the morning ;
and he is, if possible, kinder than ever be
fore ; but his su.Tering must have been sur
passed only by*mine. To live to be adis-* 8
grace to him, a source ot incessant anxiety,
every thing except what his wife should be!
—is not this grief greater than I can bear ? ”
" Heavier than you should bear,” said
j >
Hatty, significantly. "Did it ever occur
to you that you are exceedingly inconsistent
both in language and action ? ”
"No. How?”
"You would die, you asseit, rather than
lose your husband’s love; yet, when you
are acquainted with the means of avoiding
this catastrophe, j ou will not exert yourself
to use them, through fear of bringing on one
of your celebrated nervous headaches, which,
however painful, will not, I am convinced,
whatever Dr. Pilson may say to the con
trary, endanger your life Positively,” she
continued, "ifany modern Ccelebs were to
consult me as to the necessary qualifications
for a wife, 1 should advise him, above all
things else, to seek one who never complain
ed of this most fashionable malady. 1 have
no consolation for you, Mary. You know
your danger, which I also acknowledge; and
you have a woman’s heart. I must go now.
Forgive me if 1 have appeared harsh, un.
sympathizing.”
The tear sprinkled handkerchief was again
pressed the invalid’s face. "1 am for
saken ! comfortless ! ” was now her cry.
Miss Dale laid her hau l upon her arm,
and pointed to Blanche's crib. Through a
crack in the shutters darted a solitary sun
beam, falling directly across the babe’s cov
erlet. The little one had probably been
awakened by it, and was evidently highly
delighted with the bright intruder. Both
eager hands were outstretched to grasp the
golden pened tlut broke into fragments in
the dimpled fingers.
" Catch the sunshine,” was all Hatty -aid, j
as she kissed mother and child.
[CONCLLQED NEXT WEEK. 1
To die Public.
I
j From and after the 29th Apr 1, 1863, in
the sale of ‘ l he Confederate Monitor,’ and
i ail other works published by me, twenty
five cents, on each copy sold, shall be do
nated to establish and support a Soldiers’
i Orphans' Ma! ■ and Female School, said
I School to be established in Atlanta or its
i vicinity.
The editor <>f the Atlanta (Ga.) Baptist
j Banner, is appointed to receive any and all
i contributions made to th* l object and pur
* pose above stated.
I propose to be one of twenty who may
donate SSO each into the hands of the par
. ty above mentioned, as the stalling point j
: tor the establishment of the institution '•
| above des ribed, and hope that this huin- |
. ble offering will be cheerfully responded!
to < ven by more, and many mure, than the
nineteen who are called upon in this article
to lay the foundation of an institution which
must eventually elevate to posts of honor
and responsibility, "at •some future day in
this infant Confederacy,’’ many of our now
humble and destitute orphans of soldiers
who have freely given their lives in defence
of liberty and their homes and hearths, so
sacred and dear to man.
I herewith deposit SSO, together with!
> 105, as the .amount of proceeds of the per i
cent, set apart in the sal** of my publica
tions since the 29 h April, 1563.
Respectfully, die.,
Atlanta, May 23, 1I»3. H. W. R. JACKSON.
[For The Baptist Banner.}
ilow I Came to be a Baptht.
BY AUNT EDITH.
It was in the winter of-1854, while pass
ing through a season of peculiar trial and
affliction, that it pleased God in thepleifi
•tude of His wondrous love to call me from
sin and darkness into the light and liberty
of the kingdom of Christ. The memory of
that blessed night—the hour, the moment
when, in all the joy of pardoned sin, my
ransomed soul bowed before the throne of
the Most High, securely and lovingly rest
ing upon the rock Christ Jesus—is so indeli
bly impressed upon mind that were 1
to live thousands of years it could never by
any possible chance be effaced therefrom.
Previous to that important event of my life,
owing to the circumstances that surrounded
me, I had not for more than four months
entered the house of God, nor seen and
talked with a minister or any child of God.
The work was truly’ of God, His word and
Spirit being the only means used. My re-
training from childhood, no doubt,
had its influence. Often after my conver
sion did I long to hear the Word preached ;
and as the hart panteth after the water
brooks, so panted my soul after Christian
converse. I wanted to unbosom myself to
some child of God. But both privileges
were denied me. We lived too remote
from any church to think of attending thro’
the winter ; and if I met with any Christians,
they were such as 1 could not confide in—
their love had grown cold ; the new-born
gushing light of my soul, that was continu
ally venting itself forth, even to flowers,
birds and trees, was to them something
strange and inexplicable. My Bible was
my only companion.
Two months after my conversion 1 had
the privilege of hearing a sermon, and none
but those who have in like manner hunger
ed after the bread of life can imagine what
a feast that sermon was to my soul. Its
subject, “growth in grace,” was exactly
suited to my case ; and had the preacher, a
Methodist divine, been intimately acquaint
ed with me, he could not have selected a
better subject to supply the spiritual wants
of my soul. But I must hasten on to my
subject.
Just about the time of which I am spealc
nig, <1.3, i returned to
my native home and to the ISSfeorn of n?y
friends. They had previously by letter
been made acquainted with the joyful
change in my heart and life, ami ns a natural
consequence expected me immediately to
attach myself to the church—the Methodist,
of course, as with them I had been born and
brought up, punctually attending the Sab
bath school from my infancy ; and in fact I
had no thought of doing otherwise at the
time. My conscience was quick; I was
anxious to do my duty ; and with the light
then before me, I went forth in the discharge
of it. My mother and seven sisters were
members of the Methodist denomination.—
So long had I remained aloof after the others
had joined, they had almost given me over
to hardness of heart; now there was much
rejoicing at my corning in. One only of
the family, a brother, was a Baptist, and
none of us were pleased with the fact. As
for in;, self, I must confess I cherished a sort
of prejudice against that sect, the Baptists,
and of course had no particular thought of
joining them.
Well, the week of my arrival at home
brought around “Love-Feast,” and as is
the custom, the door of the church was to
be opened. I was reminded by my friends
that this was a fitting opportunity, and ac
cordingly made up my mind to discharge
my duty. The night came; I went, and
when the invitation was given, walked for
ward and gave my hand to the minister,
one whom I had known and reverenced from
childhood. 1 was still basking in the sun
light of my Master’s presence; my soul
was filled to overflowing, and I longed to
tell him what the Lord had done for me.—
But no question, save the one, a little while
after, of “ What class w ill you be put up
on ? ” was a->ked ; and after several more
had been received in like manner, and the
congregation informed that the ordinance of
“b: ptisrn ’’ wouid be administered on the
coming Sabbath, we were dismissed.
1 had frequently in my life, dui ing my
thoughtless girlhood, while talking toothers
upon the subject of Baptism, admitted that
'immersion was right; but just now 1 seemed
to have no thought upon the subject, was
entirely passive in the hands of others, my
great and ruling desire being to do my Sa
viour’s will. Strange to say, 1 had never
been “christened” in my infancy—so it
was -plainly my duty to be baptized. 1
never thought of inquiring whether sprink
ling was the act requited of me, but, be
lieving it to be right, I submitted to the
ordinance on Sabbath, and partook of the
Lord s Supper. This was my first and last
participation with the Methodists. I re- !
mained in my native place about three |
weeks after joining the church, and during |
that time had as many opportunities of at
tending class-meeting, but somehow never
felt it binding upon me to do so, and for
this delinquency my soul suffered no dimi
nution of its peace. In fact Jesus was con
tinually with me, and 1 enjoyed most freely .
at that period the humble hope that my •
soul was growing in grace and the know
ledge of my Saviour.
Just before leaving home I called to see
a dear old friend and teacher of mine, who
is a sterling Baptist, and in the course of I I
conversation I told him, in a timid manner, | :
of the change in my life. I could not talk
Baptist language then —the phrase “ pro
fessed a hope ” was altogether unknown to
me—l hardly knew’how to express myselfi
unless I talked like the Methodist and said
“got religion,” or “ embraced religion.”—
But even at that stage of my new life in
Christ, I shrunk from saying plainly that 1
was possessed of the pearl of great price-’—
it seemed too great a blessing for such a
sinner as I. I told my friend I had joined
the church. He then, in his kind, fatherly
way, commenced talking to me about the
various so-called churches, and what consti
tuted the difference; told me what a Gospel
church was, and what the duty of a true
believer was. J, as a matter of Course, tried
in a feeble way to defend my church ; but
I felt the force of his argumeifß, and when
I bade him good bye and bent my steps
homeward, it was with a mind wholly up
set and in confusion. What it lam wrong?
thought I, and have not really obeyed my
Saviour? The Baptists profess to be gov
erned by the word of God as w’ell as we do;
there surely are some true. Christians among
them ; and why this difference between us ?
After all I may be wrong. I may be stand*
ing upon slippery ground.—And thus med
itating in my mind I reached home, having
made the firm resolve that by the help of
God I would search Tor myself and earnest
ly beseech the Holy Spirit, if I was wrong,
to place me right. With this desire upper
most in my soul I hastened to my room,
and alone on my knees, with my Bible be
fore me, most fervently besought my Father
in heaven to look upon my troubled mind
and graciously lead me aright. If in the
right path, I prayed to be established in it;
if not, most earnestly did I plead to be taught
to follow the* footsteps of my Master.—
And right here, though I did not know it at
the time, was my first step taken towards
being a Baptist. When a Christian thus
unsettled honestly places the matter before
God and desires to be led by His Spirit in
the right way, no matter where it should
lead him, then the turning point is given ;
and if he continues his search for the right
path and acts up to his convictions, he is
just as sure to take the path to the watery
grave, and become a Baptist, as the sun is
to send regularly his life-giving beams over
our earth. There iswro stand still point
ho turning .back —onward, onward, is the.
.watchword. f
My resolution taken, and the help of God
implored, with a strong faith I commenced
the work of searching after truth. No one
but God knew of my design. I would not,
on no account, have acquainted any one
with my intentions; not that I had any idea
at the time of becoming a Baptist—on the
contrary I thought my search, under God,
would more firmly fix me where I was—
but I disliked for any one to know that I
was unsettled in mind. I wanted to get
through the work and become satisfied be-
fore making it known ; consequently, when
in the course of time I was made willing to
become a Baptist, and avowed my intention
of doing* so, my friends thought it matter
for much surprise that 1 should so suddenly
wish to change my relations, not knowing
that it had cost me months of prayers and
tears and stragglings. But I anticipate.
My Bible now became my constant com
panion, and after reading the New Testa
ment carefully, my opinions, as I before
intimated, being on the side of immersion,
I was very soon convinced that alone was
baptism and what the Saviour commanded.
I had not, then, been baptized.
About this time, in the providence of
God, I was making my home for a season
with my brother, the Baptist before allu.
ded to. There was at the same time as an
inmate of his family an old father in Israel,
a Baptist of the deepest dye. I did not re
joice at these facts, however, at the time.—
I would much have preferred their being
Methodists, for somehow I had imbibed the
idea that Baptists did not enjoy religion
much, and consequently I could not un
bosom myself to them as I could to Meth
odists—a very mistaken notion, and one I
soon found out. At that period (and would
to God I could say the same of myself as
heartily now I ) 1 took no pleasure in any
conversation that had not Jesus for its
theme ; all light and foolish subjects I stren
uously avoided, and preferred being alone
to spending my precious time in a trifling
manner. Our next-door neighbor was a
Methodist preacher with his family. In
company with them I several times attended
their meetings at night, but upon no occa
sion could I draw him or any of his family
into experimental talk upon religion. 1
always left their company disappointed. —
Although enjoying the highest peace with
God, having daily sweet communion with
Him through Christ, and realizing the pre
cious value of Divine grace, yet, so far as
connection with God’s people was concern
ed, my soul at this time was in a state of
unrest. I was continually longing for some
haven. Lovp, the cord that binds brethren
in Christ together, and which I have since
found to be so strong among Baptists, was
totally wanting in the few Methodist friends
I associated with. 1 was of their faith and
order, and, situated in a Baptist family—
isolated and cut off, as it were, from them
—ought to have provoked their sympathy
and male them more desirousof taking care
of one of the flock thus situated. But for- I
tunately for me (unfortunately I thought at '
the time), they seemed to be void of love. ;
My soul was longing for Christian confi- '
dence and companionship, and thrown off
from them-, I naturally sought it from other I
TERMS — Four Dollars a-year.
sources. I knew what the peculiar doctrines
of the Baptist church were; and having, as
I said before, become perfectly satisfied on
the subject of Biptism, I had at this time
under reflection that of Election.
My brother and his Baptist friend knew
nothing of theinternal workings of my mind.
We enjoyed frequent conversations on
spiritual things, during which my mind be
came gradually opened to the fact that Bap
tists knew something of a change of heart
as well as others; and it was by drawing
them out at these times, to speak upon their
favorite doctrines, that I gained a good deal
of knowledge which otherwise I would not
have received. I frequently attenled their
meetings, and particularly at their prayer
meetings enjipyed much of the presence of
God. I hath related my Christian experi
ence to my brother and his friend, and, as
is usual with Baptists, they kept quiet and
aloof, neither of them having any intention,
by word or deed, of “proselyting” me, as
it is called, and neither, 1 am persuaded,
having the least idea that I was verging to
wards the Baptists. In fact it was not as
yet apparent to myself. I had never whis
pered even to my own heart that I must
leave the Methodists—that was something
in the distance. At length, seeing my im
portunity and desire to gain instruction,
God put it into the heart of this good old
brother .to be a little more communicative
He became convinced I was really a seeker
after truth, not merely a gainsayer ; a. d so
interested did each and all become, that
night after night was spent in discussions
upon what seemed to me to be such terrible
doctrines. I could not, at first, see how it
was just in God to choose me to eternal
life, and overlook one who might be so
much more deserving; but by degrees more
light beamed in upon my mind, I became
humbled at the foot of the Cross, willing to
acknowledge that God “was a Sovereign —
and the truth of the precious doctrine of
His eternal, electing love dawned upon my
mind with so much force and beauty that
it was impossible longer to resist; 1 be
came a willing convert to it, and up to this
day 1 thank God that such a precious truth
is found within the lids of the Bible. That
victory won over prejudice, it became as
apparent as surflight "to my mind, that if
God c>Uvse from eternity Hi's people to
salvatjyn, He certainly would never differ
one to be lost. 3he figure under
which this was plainly illustrated to my
soul, as sitting alone I thought upon the
subject, was: “If the precious blood of
Christ is upon the door-posts of my soul,
the destroying angel must pass me by.—
How can one who has been pardoned by
Him who never changes be left to languish
in hell?” I found that to believe one doc
trine, I must receive also the other—for the
last was based upon the first. Thus was
truth slowly but surely gaining ground, and
more light at every step beaming in upon
me.
The last point to be settled, now, was
“close communion,” and to this 1 had more
objections than all the others, thinking it
the most unreasonable. I felt it was not
right to be so exclusive, and I was harder
to be convinced upon this point than any
other. As I wrote to a sister at this time,
whom it pleased God to be carrying through
the same work, though a little harder, she
» having been a Methodist some twenty years,
, yet neither of us knew of the struggles
5 going on in the mind of the other, she was
. my first confidant, and I said to her in my
letter: “1 am now closely investigating the
f reasons for‘close communion,’ and when,
i dnder God, 1 am convinced of their Scrip
tural validity, union with the Baptist church
i is inevitable.” Not to be too lengthy, I
was most powerfully convinced that the
. Lord’s Supper is only for believers, and they
. regularly baptized ones. I saw, in a word,
r it was close baptism, instead of close com
munion ; and thus vanished, like mists be
fore the sun, all my scruples.
I now reluctantly, but honestly and can
didly, admitted to myself that it was my
duty to unite with the Baptists; in fact, I
saw no other course to pursue; remain
where I was I could not —there wag no fel
lowship between us. But this conclusion
was not reached without great pain; in fact,
now came the greatest trials of my experi
ence. In my search after truth, I had to
battle with my understanding, my pre
judices, and in acknowledging each point as
proved right, there was no sacrifice of feel
ing. Now came the battle, and you may
rest assured that the Adversary of Souls
left untried no arts nor arguments in the
endeavor to shake me. I felt it was a great
undertaking to sever myself from the peo
ple among whom I had been born and raised,
and that it was proof of great presumption
in me to take such a step, thereby saying
to those old Christians, “you are wrong and
lam right.” Th<re were many among the
Methodi-t clergy that I had known and
reverenced from my childhood. Bishop
Pierce, J. E. E vans, Dr. Means, and oth
ers, whose names had become household
words—how could I leave them ? and, worst
of all, how could I leave my mother? she
who had lived to a good old age in the
Methodist Church, and was fast wending her
way to the tomb! The struggle was long
and deep; days and weeks, with many
prayers and tears, did I wrestle before God»
entreating strength, and often, in the bitter
ness of my soul, exclaiming, “If it be pos
sible let this cup pass from me; yet not
my will but thine be done.” Somt times I
wondered if it would not do to be immers-
I ed in the Methodist denomination, and re-
NUMBER 35.