Newspaper Page Text
BY DAYTON, ELLS & CO.
VOLUME IV.
devoted to religion and literature.
Is published every Saturday >t Georgia, at the
subscription price of rouß dollars>i»er year.
DAYTON, ELLS & CO.,
Proprietors.
“ Through a crack in the shutters darted a
solitary sunbeam, falling directly across he
bibe’s coverlet. The little one had probably
awakened by It, and was «™>«£r >*'«*£
delighted with the bright intruder. Bo h hands
were outs retched to grasp the goldeni pencil
that broke into fragments in thcdl “P l . ed
‘“Catch the sunshine, was all that Hatty
said, as she kissed both mother and child.
[Baptist Banner, July 18.
Through a tiny crevice darting,
Glanced the sunshine’s golden ray,
Talling, like a flash of glory,
Where the baby, sleeping, lay.
Soon the brightness so unwonted
Opened wide those laughing eyes,
Gazing on the ‘ bright intruder ’
With a look of gay surprise.
See, the pearly ‘ dimpled lingers ’
Strive to catch the airy toy ;
While the rosy lips are parting,
Giuing sounds of baby joy.
O ! the roguish, laughing sunshine,
How it breaks and ripples o’er ;
Almost grasped, yet ever darting
Farther than it was before.
How the little angel baby
Sports with summer’s rosy light,
Wildly crowing, ever gleesome,
‘ Noyer thinking of the night.
Let us seek to ‘ catch the sunshine ’;
In the effort we may find
Joy itself in many a measure,
With sweet smiling peace of mind.
Take with childlike faith and trusting
Every blessing freely given ;
Treasure up the heart's fair sunshine,
Feeling ’tis a gift of heaven.
“CATCH mjUMll'Er
A HOME STORY
[concluded.]
The nurse entered for her charge ; and
Mrs. Temple had- leisure and solitude in
which to ponder upon this last sentence. —
There was a time when life was steeped in
glorious sunlight, such radiance as her soul
> drank in as its food and delight. She re
membered the proud satisfaction of the lover
—then of the husband, in her beauty en
hanced by the vivacity of youth and happi
ness ; in the quick intellect, now, alas, so
perverted ! A petted child at home, she
brought to her new estate little knowledge
of the trials incident to it. Perplexed, ha
rassed, discouraged, it was no marvel that
her spirit soon succumbed, and that she
was willing to believe the flesh still more
weak. She confessed to herself, this morn
ing, what she had often been dienly con.
scious of before, that there-had been times
in the past when reformation would have
been easy—when, stimulated by the wifely
love which still burned in her bosom, she
felt almost persuaded to defy, disease, and,
more formidable still, doctors; but habit
and indolence mastered resolution. •“ Now”
a nd with a hopeless sigh, she held up her
wasted hands, tremulous as those of palsied
age—“ what can I do? ”
The wedding-ring hung loosely upcn its
finger. She groaned with the pang that
came with the suggested omen. Was the
bond it typified, although purer and strong
er than gold, slipping from the hearts it
united, or growing weaker and thinner from
constant abrasion? “Dark! darker than
ever ! ” she murmured. “ Nothing ia left
for me but the night of the grave.”
With the languid pace that had taken the
place of her once elastic gait, she tottered,
rather than walked, to the window, and
opened the blinds. The warm flood poured
over the plants, and enlivened the bird,
whose trill of ecstasy proved his instant ap
precation of the favor. Struck by the rich
coloring of a newly opened azalea, Mrs
Temple bent forward to examine it more
nearly, when her eye fell upon two pale
yelhftv leaves, breaking through the mtftild
on the side of the pot nearest the window.
A touch wuvld have crushed them; and
their form was yet too indefinite to.declare
their parentage. They might have derived
their being from the superb plant towering
above them, or been the plebeian peoduct
THE BAPTIST BANNER.
of some waif seed, dropped, as sometimes
happens in human parterres, tn aristocratic
earth. Yet each feeble fibre lent all its
might to expand its covering towards the
light. Need we repeat the lesson taught
by the twin leaflets to her who gazed upon
them ? She had been resigned to a living
burial, sinking beneath the mould and dust
self-indulgence was heaping upon every fa
culty of usefulness; or if, at intervals,
spasmodic quickenings, longings for the sun
beams, stirred within her breast, the difficul
ty of the first step paralyzed them anew.—
Oh, hers is not the only immortal nature
that burrows, and grovels, and languishes
out —we cannot say a vegetable existence,
for the thousand forms of strength and
loveliness, to-day feeding upon air and sun
shine, bowing and blooming their thanks to
Him who has sent both, forbid the calum
nious comparison—but a life that has no
parallel in nature, unless we trace a flatter
ed resemblance in the silly sloth, clinging
to his tree so long as there remains bark
sufficient for his daily sustenance, and wail
ing out his weak cry at every step towards
a new home.
It was long since Mary Temple had
thought deeply upon any subject except her
own bodily ailments and imaginary griev
ances ; but the touched heart now aided the
brain. * There, before her frail teacher, she
knelt, the sunshine resting, like a blessing,
upon her bowed head, and thanked God
fervently for the loves of earth, the hopes
of heaven, to’which her eyes had been so
wilfully blinded, and entreated strength to
quit her prison cell. She was really wearied
by the unwonted ’excitement of the fore
noon, and obliged to lie upon the lounge
until within an hour of dinner-time ; but
her husband was surprised to see her open
the door as he bounded up stairs —a fleet,
soft tread, acquired by months of practice —
still more astonished and pleased at the
cheerful voice in which she saluted him, and
the change in her accustomed dishabille.—
The dingy worsted wrapper was superseded
by one of dark, rich silk, whose pink facings
relieved the sallowness of the wearer—a
robe hitherto reserved for the very rare
occasions deemed important enough to jus
tify the trouble of dressing.
“ Are you expecting company, Mary ? ”
She was listening for the question, yet
it caused a sharp twinge of self-reproach. —
“ Only my husband,” was her gentle reply.
Tie noticed the emotion she strove to
conceal, and kissed the quivering mouth,
his own eyes full ofvjfnder feeling. Even
> in his refusal of her timid petition to be
i allowed to dine with him, there was sach
i affectionate kindness that she could not feel
■ disappointed. “We must be careful, and
, not get well too fast,” he said; and both
‘ hearts gave a sudden throb at the words.
“Get well?” She repeated them over
and over after he had gone, not with the de
spairing moan in which it was her wont to
utter them, but in a trust that was almost
confidence. She had set her face steadfast,
ly towards the light, and the shadows were
cast backwards out of her sight.
Brother merchants who passed Horace
, Temple on his way down street, that after
noon, wondered what successful speculation
had given such a rise to his spirits; and his
clerks compared notes on the same subject,
some of them more than hinting at an extra
i glass of champagne, which they knew, per
haps belter tha.i he, •• maketh glad the heart
■ of man.”
Several days elapsed before Hatty Dale’s
. next visit. She heard a man's voice as she
opened the door of her friend’s sitting-room,
but, relying upon the servant’s assurance
that his mistress was not engaged, she en
tered. Her impulse was to retreat as she
beheld the portly figure of Dr. Pilson ; but
Mrs. Temple called her forward. “The
doetor and I are only having a friendly chat,
my dear,” she said.
, “To which we are more than happy to
admit Miss Dale,” subjoined the bland phy
i sician. “ For myself, I regard your coming
as particularly opportune. I have such
i faith in your sound judgment, that I rely
i upon you to assist me in enlightening our
I patient here as to the fallacy of a theory she
has adopted lately. What think you, Miss
Dale, of this gentlest of natures stubbornly
resisting the advice of her medical man, and
scouting at the science of medicine itself! ”
Mn. Temple smiled brightly; but the:
answering glerfm Upon Hatty’s face was very i
A AB® KffiWSffASSSa.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JULY 25, 1863.
HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE.
faint. “Perhaps the ‘ patient * considers
that ‘patience has had its perfect work,’ ” she
replied, with an attempt at playfulness.
“Let me answer you from the same book,”
said the doctor, readily : “ ‘Be not weary in
well doing.’ ”
“ I have had very little experience in well
doing for eighteen months, doctor,” Mrs.
Temple interposed. “ I hope to tell you a
different story before long.”
“I wish you mayfiad your system a suc
cessful one, madam. Would that I could
say I hope ao! You will hardly believe me ’’
—turning to Hatty—“when l inform you
that yesterday noon I met her and Mr.
Temple riding out in a sleigh, actually a
sleigh! This fragile creature who, a fort
night since, could not leave her chamber,
this tender flower, this mimosa, this—”
“ Dormouse! ” suggested the quondam
invalid, “ who, having been most thorough
ly awakened by that same sleigh-ride, is very
much disposed to repeat the experiment
frequently while the snow lasts.”
Dr. Pilson arose, dignified, yet polite.—
“ As you judge best, madam,” he said grave
ly. “My remonstrance was mefct in kind
ness. I have performed my duty., If, at
any time, you should need my poor skill, I
beg you to let me know. I have always
served you to the best of rny ability.—
Heaven forbid that 1 should ever cease
to do this! ” And with this pious ejacula
tion, he bowed himself out.
“Now, Mary, what does all this mean?”
asked “Have you really disobey
ed his directions, and to the extent that he
says ? ”
“My study, since your hst visit, has been
to obey nature and conscience,” was the re
joinder. “It is hard work, Hatty—far more
arduous than I conceived of when I began it;
but, thus far, the ‘grace has come with the
burden.’ ”
“And ever will,” said her visitor,feelingly.'
“ I pray that it may, for I am deploiaUly 1
weak. Twenty times a day lam tempted
to abandon the attempt at reform. I seem
never before to have understood the mean
ing of the word ‘ inertia.’ Body and mind
are alike averse to the new regimen, for 1
no longer feed the one with professional
dietetics, or the other with morbid musings,
nor suffer both to drone for hours and days
together. My progress is painfully slow.’’
“Few great works are accomplished in
a day,” was Hatty’s encouragement; “and
, you have been sick. Do not'fly into the
opposite extreme of imagining all your
i maladies unreal because they have been ag
. gravated by fancies and drugs. lam truly
i glad to leave you thus, Mary, for I believe
I you will persevere.”
| “ Leave me ? ” repeated Mrs. Temple,
i in some alarm at her voice and manner.—
“Are you going away ? ”
. *“On a long journey, to .”
“To pay a visit ? ”
> “Yes. I have relatives there, and may
t remain with them until spring,” said Hatty,
stooping to lift Blanche from the floor. Her
look was so sad that Mrs. Temple forbore
| to make further inquiry, without suspecting
> that her melancholy arose from any deeper
feeling than natural regret at leaving home
i and friends for an absence which might be
( prolonged indefinitely. “Still,” she thought,
, after she had gone, “ her present home is
i not a paradise that she should grieve to
. leave it. I have often wondered if her cold,
L worldly aunt could supply the wants of an
(orphan’s heart, and such a heart as hers.”
i Hatty wrote with tolerable regularity du
» ring the winter, but such short, unsatisfac
, lory letters that her correspondent was
> disposed to think her careless of their friend
- ship or forgetful that the return epistles
• were penned with difficulty, sometimes with
absolute pain. The most sunny day has
Hits douds, and there were still hours of de-1
, pression, days of irritab lity, imperfectly
controlled, that shaded Horace’s hopeful
• 'face and wet the wife’s pillow with tears of
• penitence. The demon Dyspepsia had been
; too assiduously courted, too tenderly nur
sed to be exorcised by a single effort. The
twin-teachers had exchanged their -ickly
hue tor a dark green, then relapsed slowly
into sere second infancy and died meekly
jin the shadow of the thrifty offshoots, their
ascendants; snow and thaw were gone, fine
idays were frequent, when exotics and Ca
nary' revelled in air as well as sunshine,
1 before our heroine could safely take upon
i herself the duties of a housekeeper, an^ 1
venture occasionally into society. More
than one card had passed between Miss
Stewart and herself, for, by a succession of
mischances, neither had ever found the other
at home.
“ Have you any engagement this evening,
love ? ’ she inquired of her husband one
morning, as, in neat wrapper and most be
coming cap, she sat behind the coffee-urn.
“ None; lam quite at your service,” re
plied he with alacrity, for he was not yet
quite used to the delight of possessing a
wife who could have evening engagements,
“ Then,” blushing a little at her own
memories, “if you have no objections, 1
will invite your friend, Miss Stewart, to
take tea with us.”
Horace was speechless for a moment in
absolute amazement; then, pushing back
his chair, walked around to his wife’s place
and kissed her as though they had not been
married full two years and a half. She
could have cried heartily as she hid her face
upon the dear shoulder, but she battled
bravely with the happy shower and con
quered. A gloriously happy woman she
was all that day, for struggles, weariness,
self-denial were amply rewarded by the
words he had said in her ear, “ My nolfie
-wife; God bless you!”
Miss Stewart returned a gracious accept
ance to Mrs. Temple’s note of invitation,
although not generally partial to quiet tea
drinkings.
“ But,” she said to her sister, “if this
visit proves as rich a farce as the first I
made at that house, 1 shall not suffer for
lack of entertainment. Oh, dear!” she
laughed, arranging the picturesque net of
crimson and gold in the hair she knew to
be one of her chief beauties, while her
black eyes flashed back from the mirror
their scornful light, “ the remembrance of!
that scene will be fresh in my mind twenty
(years hence. If 1 were-dying, the picture
I would excite a smile. My unheralded en
trance was a coup d' etat. I owed Horace •
Temple a grudge, as you do not need to be
told; but from that hour, I have almost
forgiven him. 1 could not have desired a
more complete revenge. I suppose we shall
sup upon weak tea and Graham bread in
that second-story nursery ; and that Mad
ame will sport her recherche dressing-gown
—1 verily believe she has worn it by day
and by night for the last year; and that her
hair has not been thoroughly combed in the
same time. And this is the wife of the fas
tidious man who, as he once informed me
—impertinently enough—had in his early
youth formed a standard of womanly ex
cellence which he had never seen approach
ed since, yet was determined not to marry
J until he did. Sic transit yloria mundi re-
I solves? ”
Mr. Temple stood ready to welcome the
belle at the outer door, and had a most cor
dial greeting. Then a lady came from th#
parlor, and the imperturbable woman oi
( fashion was nearly surprised into an excla
■ mation as she spoke the usual phrases of
. reception due from hostess to guest. A
slender figure, with just enough fragility to
. make it almost ethereal in its grace, attired
. with exquisite neatness and taste ; a face
, classically oval, every feature of delicate
beauty and illumined by a smile of heart
( sunshine—these made up the apparition
, that utterly confounded her. Mrs. Temple
saw, and it must be confessed enjoyed, the
effect of her appearance. This conscious
ness of an advantage gaiued at the outset
reassured her to meet the would-be haughty
condescension with which Miss Stewart re
covered herself. Two or three gentlemen
and as many ladies followed her arrival, •
“just such people as it was an object to ■
cultivate,” she said internally, and to this •
species of agriculture she accordingly ad-,
(dressed her best energit> But, as is often
(the case, the force brought into action se
'ed so egregiously disproportionate to
I work to be done, that the attempt was ri-•
diculous. She was over -dressed, too talk-j
ative, too prononce, as she would have said
of another ; in modern American too “loud” ,
and “fast” fi’r the refined.group, particu j
larly beside the gentle, lovely lady of the
mansion, *hose sweet tones, ever ready to
fill up the pauses in the conversation, were
like flute solos h<? ird in the rests of clarion I
music. Miss Stewart was a failure, and as
this was discovered to be irretrievable, she
became ill-natured, what in a plain
* would have been rude and snappish The I
most pleasant time of the evening to her was
when her carriage was announced. Mr.
Temple escorted her home. He wa? in
high spirits, “ could afford to be,” she un»
willingly allowed to herself. Her adieux
were less elaborate than formerly, and it is
to be doubted whether there was much sin
cerity in her reciprocation of his hope that
they “ should see a great deal of her now
that Mrs. Temple’s health enabled her to
partake more freely of the company of her
friends.”
His wife was sitting in a thoughtful mood
by the fire in her room, awaiting his return.
“ Bravely done, darling ! ” he said merri
ly. “I have been right proud of my house
hold fairy to-night.”
“ Almost as well satisfied as if you had
married your first love?” was her arch
query, but there was anxiety in the eyes so
fondly raised to his.
“ Better satisfied than if any other woman
in the world were my wife.” She could not
mistake his truthful emphasis. “ A million
times more pleased than if the queenly
Eleanor occupied your place.”
Thank you !”—drawing his brow down
to her lips—“ thank you ! oh, so heartily!
Yet, dear Horace, there was a time when
she made you sadly ashamed of me.”
“ Not a word ! Nothing you ever did
caused me one tithe of the mortification I
should feel, this evening, were I her husband.
Slie is a gay humming-bird, brilliant, but
spiteful, and fit only for summer weathej.
Let her pass, Mary. Her gyrations cause
but little commotion in our quiet home-nest.
A dear and lovely one it is to me.”
He did not say “ You made it so,” but
she felt that this was his meaning.
“ Darling ! ” —she started from her rev
erie at the word and the pressure of his arm,
i and withdrew her gaze from the fantastic
pictures she was tracing in the coals—“you
mentioned my ‘ first love,’ a while ago.—
Have you any idea who she was?”
“ I referred to Miss Stewart.”
“So I supposed. But I never loved her,
never gave her the least intimation of any
intention on my part to address her, altho’
I have heard that she numbers me among
her slain.”
“ I am glad to hear that,” interrupted his
listener —“ very glad.”
“ But I had a ‘first love,’ notwithstanding,”
pursued he. “ Don’t look grieved, and ac
cuse me of a want of frankness towards you,
whom you and Heaven are fny witnesses I
love as well as ever man did a wife. I
never thought it expedient to tell you the
story until now. Years before the never-to
be-forgotten visit to your native place, which
made me acquainted with its fairest orna
ment, I loved Hatty Dale.”
“ Hatty Dale! ”
“ 1 loved her, and told her ao. 1 was
then twenty-two, and an ardent suitor.—
She, a girl of eighteen, with one of the
warmest hearts that ever throbbed or ached,
and, as I truly believe, preferring me to all
the rest of the world, rejected me decidedly,
repeatedly.”
| “ But why ? ”
Mary flushed with indignation, never
considering that this rejection had been the
: foundation of her wedded bliss.
“ For a long time she would assign no
reason for a course which, 1 could see, was
fraught with anguish to her as well as to
i me. At last, in an overflow of emotion, a
wild, sweeping flood of sorrow, that left
bare the inmost recesses of her soul, she
revealed all, a secret which I have kept sa
credly until this hour ; nor would I disclose
it now, even to you, without her expressed
desire as my warrant for doing so. I had
! a letter from her, this afternoon. Its con
tents 1 purposely withheld till your com
pany had gone. Hatty’s mother, whom
' she was called to to nurse, is dead.”
“ Her mother ? I thought both
parents while an infant.”
“Sos vysthe world, which also reports
. her to be an only child, adopted by her
father’s sister. She was taken, at an early
age, by her present guardian; but she i»
the youngest of three living children. The
others, a brother and sister, much older
than heiself, are in the insane asylum at
fifteen years of her life.”
Mrs. Temple turned very pale, and burst
into tears; Horace was scarcely leas agitated.
1“ This terrible story the noble creature
imparted to me as the sole cause of her de-
TERMS — Four Dollars a-year.
>•' ' ■ r ■■■ - 1 1
termined resistance to my proposals. If it
effectually extinguished all hope and indeed
desire to make her mine, it also increased
my respect, and did not diminish my regard
for her. We learned the calmer love of
brother and sister, a sentiment which has
made me a better man, and, I trust, has
brightened her lonely path a little. When
I made you my bride, dear one, I bore with
me her blessing and prayers. Let her sub
sequent conduct testify to her nobility of
heart, her purity of motive.”
“ She has been a blessed sister to me,”
said Mary, tearfully. “ All that lam this
night, all that brings you happiness, under
God I owe to her. My poor Hatty!—
What a life hers has been ! ”
“ Hear what she writes,” continued Ho
race : “ ‘lf you think she can bear it, I wish
you to tell Mary everything. That I have
never spoken to her of the fearful cloud
which has hung over my head for so long
has not been because I doubted her discre
tion or friendship, but I dreaded the effect
of the communication upon her nerves and
spirits. She is stronger now, and perhaps
able to hear and sympathize with the dis
tress of one who loves her so truly. But
even through this thick darkness pierces
one ray of sunshine. *lt is the thought that
in the grave where I have laid my mother
—beloved, although I never knew the full
meaning of that sweetest of names in that
rest are ended the wanderings, the woes of
her troubled spirit; that, restored to the
serene loveliness of her youth, in the pres
ence of her Father and o irs, she now sees
light. And oh, I rejoice to know that, upon
earth, in the deeply sunken vale through
which He has decreed my way shall lie,
there is no gloom His smile cannot dispel,
except when the shadows in which we are
enveloped are created by ourselves. May
His love keep us from such ! ’ ”
[JVr 77ie Baptist Banner.}
Tbe Suffering Cherokees.
Brother Bits:
Enclosed you will find five dollars as a
contribution to brother Compere’s Indian
fund. We are not now Georgians, but have®!
been; and while the request for aid for the
“Red Man of the Forest” is open, we feel
assured that those out of your State will
not be denied the pleasure of contributing
for the relief of those whose lands we pos
sess. The writer has long felt that if there
is one race of people, more than another,
who has a right to our charity and benevo
lence, it is the race of people which has
been forcibly dispossessed of their lands for
our benefit. The Indians have been driven
from country to country, only nominally
paid for their lands, butchered for daring to
defend their homes—the homes and graves
of their fathers —many tribes extinguished,
hemmed in on all sides by different people,
giving up all that made them a peculiar peo
ple, and destined soon to lose their distinc
tion as a race. And now, forgetting all
their wrongs from us, they have boldly
taken their stand with us, to repel the com
mon foe; and, in so doing, have lost all but
the hope that we will not forget them m
the hour of their last extremity. They have
given all to make us rich—shall we show
the perfection of ingratitude to them by
slighting the imploring hand now sinking in
the ocean of a miserable extinction? Never,
no, never I “ Whoso stoppeth his ears at
the cry of the poor, he also shall cry him
self but shall not be heard.” If we pass
by unheeded this cry ut the poor, may we
not fear lest God injustice verify this threat
in the great calamity now hanging over us?
God will be just, as well as merciful. Let
Christians hear and obey the voice of God.
Fraternally, W. M. H.
Cmntonville, Ala.
at the prayer meeting.
“How is it that jou are always at the
prayer-meeting, let it blow hot or blow
cold ? ” asked one young man of another.
“ Because I go upon the principle, that if
it is right to have a prater meeting, it is
the duty of the churcn to aitend. if it is
right for one to stay away for small causes,
it is right for all, and the meeting will be
likely to fall through. If it is the duty of
one to go, it is just as much the duty of an
other ; and therefore I seldom see any good
reason to break through this general prin
ciple, and stay away.”
“Butdo you always fvel Ike it?”
“I am sorry if Ido .not; but as feeliags
are variable, I dare not trust them. I take
counsel of my church o< ligations, rather
than feeling. If I don’t feel like going, I
shall not probably feel more like it by stay
ing away- There is alwa>» a blessing to be
found at the prayer-meeting.”
NUMBER 36.