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THE BAPTIST BANNER. BY DAYTON, ELLS & CO. VOLUME IV. ®lb DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE, Is published every Saturday, at Atlanta, Georgia, at the subscription price of five dollars per year. DAYTON, ELLS & CO., Proprietors. A. C. DAYTON. JAS. N. ELLS. 8. D. NILES. I■l , I ‘‘Going to Sing in Heaven,” A SKETCH. “ If I could have your faith, B , gladly I would —but I was born a sceptic. I cannot help my doubts more than I can the results they lead to. I cannot look upon God and a future as you do; with my temperament, and the peculiar bias of my m-ind, it is ut terly impossible.” » So said John H ,as he walked with a friend underadripping umbrella; for the night was stormy, and very dark, though the brilliancy of the shop lamps made a broad path of light along the wet sidewalk. John ll— was a sceptic of thirty years standing, and apparently hardened in his unbelief. Everybody had given him up as unconvertible. Reasoning ever so calmly and fairly made no impression on the rocky soil of his heart. Theologians disliked the sight of his massive face, and humble Chris tians sighed as he passed them. A man with such capacities, they said—with such gene rous impulses (for everybody knew how he was), with an intellect so enriched, andpowers of the keenest metal—and yet no God I—no hope of the future !—walking ’ with the lamp at his feet, unenlightened ! . Alas ! it was sad, very sad ! But one friend had never given him up. When spoken to about him—“l will talk with and pray for that man till I die,” he said, “and 1 will have faith that he may yet come out of darkness into the marvellous light. And oh, how wondeiful that light will seem to him—shut up so long !” And thus, whenever he met him, (John II was always ready for “a talk”) Mr. B——— pressed the truth home upon him. In answer, upon tjiat stormy night, he only said, “God can change a sceptic, John. He has more power over your heart than yon have, and I mean still to continue praying for you.” k “ Oh, I have no objections, none in the world —seeing is believing, you know. I’m ready for any modern miracle, but I tell you it would take nothing short of a miracle to convince me. However, let’s change the subject. I’m hungry, and it’s too far to go up town to supper this stormy night—espe cially as I shall shut up shop early. Whew! how the wind blows! Here’s a restaurant, let us stop here !” How wMrin and pleasant it looked in the long, brilliant dining saloon. Clusters of gas jets streamed their light over the rich Colors and glitter of pictures and gorgeous carpets, and the rows of marble tables re flected back the lights as well as the great mirrors. The two merchants had eaten, and were on the point of rising, when a strain of soft music came through an open door—a child’s sweet voice. “Upon my word, that is pretty,’’said John t H ; what a marvellous purity in those tones “ Out of here, you “little baggage,” cried hoarse voice, and one of the waiters point ed angrily to the door. “ Let her come in,” said John H , springing to his feet. “We don’t allow them in this place, sir *’ said the waiter, “but she can go in the read ing room.” “ Well, let her go somewhere, for 1 want \o hear her,” responded the gentleman. AU this time the two had seen the shadow of something hovering back and forth on the edge of the door ; now they followed a slight little figure wrapped in a patched cloak, patched hood, and leaving the marks of wet feet as she walked. Curious to see her face she was very small—John II lured ' her to the furthest part of the room, where then' were but few gentlemen, and then motioned her to sing. The little one looked timidly up. Her cheek was of olive dark 'ness. but a flush rested there; and out of the thinnest face, out of the arch of broad tern* pies, deepened by masses of the darkest hair, looked two eyes, whose softness and tender pleading would have touched the hardest K heart. “ That little thing is sick, I believe,’’ said, A • S'ASSWS' John H , compassionately. “What do you sing ?” he asked. “ I sing you Italian, or little English,” she replied. John II had been looking at her shoes. “ Why,” he exclaimed, and his lip quivered, “ her feet are wet to her ankles, absolutely, and her shoes are worn to tat ters.” By this time the child had begun to sing, pushing back her hood, and folding before her her little thin fingers. Her voice was wonderful; and simple and common as were both air and words, the power and pathos of the tones drew together several of the ha bitues of the reading-room. The song com menced thus— “ There’is a happy land, Far, far away.” Never could the voice, the manner of that child be forgotten. There almost seemed a halo round her head ; and when she finished her great speaking eyes turned toward John . H . “Child, where did you learn that song?” he asked. “Yn Sabbath-school, sir,” was the simple answer. “ And you don’t suppose there is a happy land ?” he continued, heedless of the many eyes upon him. “I know there is ; I’m going to.sing there,” she said so quietly, so decidedly, that the men looked at each other. “ Going to sing there ?” “ Yes, sir. My mother said so. She used to sing to me until she got sick. Then she said she wasn’t going to sing any more on earth, but up in heaven.” “ Well—and what then?” “ And then she died, ..sir,” said the child, the larg tears brimming up and over upon the dark cheek, now ominously flushed scar let. John H wassilent for a few moment?. Presently he said : “ Well, if she died, my girl, you may live, jou know.” *‘O no, sir! no, sir (very quickly)—l’d rather go there and be with mother. Some times I have a dreadful pain here in my side, and cough, as she did. There won’t beany pain up there, sir; it’s a beautiful world.” “ How do you know ?” faltered on the lips of the sceptic. “ My mother told me so.” Words how impressive! manner how childlike, and yet how wise ! John II had had a praying mother. His chest la bored for a moment —the sobs that strug gled for utterance could be heard, even in their deeps—and still those large, soft, lus trous eyes, like magnets, impelled his glance toward them. “Child, you must have a pair of shoes.” John II ’s voice was husky. Simultaneously many hands were thrust into pockets, purses pulled out, and the astonished’child held in her little outstretch ed palm more money than she ever seen be fore. “ Her father is a poor, consumptive organ grinder,” said one. “ I suppose he’s too sick to be out to-night.” Along the sloppy street went the child, under the protection of John II , but not with shoes that drank the water at every step. Warmth and comfort were hers now. Down in the deep, den-like lanes of the city walked the man, a little, cold child-hand in his. At an open, broken door they stopped ; up broken, creaking stairs they climbed. At last another doorway opened, and a wheez ing voice called out of the dim arch, “ Car. letta?” “ O father! father! see what I have brought you! look at me ! look at me!’’ and down went the hoarded silver, and venting her excessive joy, the child fell, crying and laughing together, into the old man’s arms. “Was he man ?” A face dark and hollow, all overgrown with hair, black as night, and uncombed; a i pair ot wild eyes ; a body bent nearly dou | ble ; hands like claws. Did he give you all this money, Carlet-' > ta!” ’ ■ The\ all d>d, father ; now you shall have ■ soup and oranges.” I hank you, sir—l m sick, you see—all gone, sir—had to send the poor child out, or: we’d starve. God bless you, sir. I wish I was well enough to play you a tuneand he i ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1863. HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE. looked wistfully towards the corner where stood the old organ, baize-covered—the baize in tatters. 4 “ It’s no matter,” said John H , with difficulty. “I’ll come and see you some other time,” and he groped his way down stairs. One month after that the two merchants met again, as if by agreement, and walked slowly down town. Threading innumera ble lanes and passages, they came to the gloomy building where lived Carletta’s fa ther. No—not lived there, for as they paused a moment, out came three men bearing a pine coffin. In the coffin, the top nailed down so that no monrner might open, provided there had been any such, slept the old organ grinder. “ It was very sudden, sir,” said a worn au who recognized his benefactor. “ Yesterday the little girl took sick, and it seemed he dropped right away. He died at six last night, sir.” The two men went silently upstairs. The room was empty of everything save a bed, a chair, and a nurse, provided by John H . The child lay there, not white, but pale as marble, with a strange polish on her brow. Oh, how those dark eyes on the instant be came eloquent, as John II sat on the side of the bed ! “ Well, my*little one, so you are no bet ter?” “Oh, no, sir! Father is gone up there, and I’m going.” “Up there!” John 11 »- turned un- consciously toward his friend. “ I wish I could sing for you,” i»he said, and her little hands flew together. “ Do you wish to sing “ Oh, so much ! but it hurts me. It won’t hurt me up there, will it ?” Where was the child looking, there seem ed such wonder in her eyes? “ Did you ever hear of Jesus ?” asked John II *s friend. . “ Oh, yes!’’ “ Do you know who he was ?” “ Good Jesus,” murmured the child, with a rare smile. “ B , this breaks me down,” said John II , and he placed his handkerchief to his eyes. “ Don’t cry ; don’t cry ; I can’t cry, I’m so glad !” said the child exultingly ; and she looked up as if Heaven’s light were already dawning upon her. “ What are you glad for, my dear ?” asked John H ’s friend. “ To get away from here,” she said, de liberately. “ I used to be so cold in the long winters, for we did’nt have fire some times ; but mother used to hug me close, aud sing about Heaven. But I did have to go out,because they were sick people,looked cross at me, and told me I was in the way ; but some were kind to me. Mother told me never to mind, when I came home crying, and kissed me, and said if I was his, the Sa viour would love me, and one of these days would give me a better home ; and so I gave myself to Him, for I wanted a better home. And oh ! I shall sing there, and be so happy. Christ sent a little angel in my dream — mother told me He would, and that angels would carry me up there. Oh. I iee.l so sleepy !” With a sigh she closed her eyes. “H , are faithand hope nothing?” asked Mr. B , pointing to the little faae taking on such strange beauty, as death I breathed icily over it. “ Don’t speak to me, B ; to be as that little child I would give all I am worth,” j was the broken response. “ And to be like her you need give noth-. ing—only your stubborn will, your scepti-; cal doubts, and the heart that will never know r#>st till it finds it at the feet of Christ, j O, mv friend, resolve by the side of this lit- * tie child, who is soon to be ‘singing in Hea ven,’ that yon will be a follower of my Sa viour. Let reason bow here, before simple trusting faith.” There was no answer. Quietly they sat there in the deepening shadows. The hospital doctor came in, stood off a I little wav and shook his head. It needed no close inspection to see what was going on. • Presently the hands moved, the arms were raised, the eyes opened —yet glazed and dim though they were,-they turned still 1 1 ! upward. U “See! see!” she cried. “Oh, there is mother, and there are the angels! and they are all singing—all singing 1” Her voice faltered, and her arms fell, but the celestial brightness lingered yet on her face. Feebly she turned to those who had ministered to her, and feebly smiled —it was a mute return of thanks for all their kindness. “There is no doubting the soul-triumph there,” whispered Mr. B . “ It is wonderful,” replied John II > looking on with both awe and tenderness. “Is she gone?” He sprang from his chair as if he would detain her, but the chest and forehead were marble now,thebyes had lost the fire of life; she must have died as she lay looking at them. “ She was always a sweet little thing,” said the nurse, softly. John II stood as if spell-bound.— Theje was a touch on his arm ; he started and turned. “John,” said his friend, with an impres sive look, “shall we pray?” For a minute there was no answer^-then came tears; the whole frame of the man shook as he said—it was almost a cry — “ Yes, pray ! pray !’’ And from the side of the dead child went up agonizing pleadings to the throne of God. That prayer was answered —the miracle is wrought—t®fte lion is a lamb—the doubter a believer—the sceptic a Christian. Careless reader, may a little child lead you ? “thesolmers 7 column? Barry, the Soldier; or “ Try C’hrist.” One day a conversation arose in a ward of the hospital at Scutari on the subject of religion. A convalescent had crawled with his crutch to the bedside of his comrade, anxious to know how it fared with one who stood shoulder to shoulder with him in more than one affray. “ Well, Barry, how are you to-day ?” in quired the visitor in a cheerful tone. “ I cannot say‘All’s well,’ indeed, Stan ton, either outwardly or inwardly ; but you are the man I was wishing to see.” “ And what can I do for you, my dear fellow ?” “ Well, the chaplain was here yesterday, and I told him that I was miserable. 1 told him that i had tried pleasure, drink, everything, and that now my wretched mind was harder to bear than my wounds. What do you think he said ? In the most solemn and earnest manner he said, ‘Try Christ.’ All night long these words have beeu in my eras, ‘Try Christ.’ But what can they mean?” “ A glorious meaning they have, Barry. The Son of God is willing to save you, if you are willing to believe on Him and be saved. Be in earnest; He will save you from sin and hell. Trust in him and he will not let you perish. Ask him to forgive your sins. Come to Him and jou shall not be cast out.” “ But, Stanton, are you certain all this is true ? You know the life 1 led—too bad almost to be lorgiven.” “ As true as God himself,” answered the pious soldier reverently ; and taking a Bi ble, he read the words, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” “Be lieve on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.” “Come unto me, all ye that labov and are heavy laden, and 1 will give you rest.” This good news was eagerly listened to by Barry, and the words came as cool as water to his thirsty soul. He was induced i to seek with earnestness and perseverance' an interest in that salvation which Christ' purchased by the shedding of his own pre cious blood, and which he so freely bestows on all those who believe on him. And he did not seek in vain; for, by the teaching of the Holy Spirit, he found, to the peace and joy < of his soul, that “Christ is able to save to the uttermost all that God by him.” He never repented of having acted upon the kind advice of the faithful chaplain. Many have been ruined by their friends ; many have escaped ruin by the want of for tune. To obtain it, the great have become little, and the little have become great. TERMS —Five Dollars a-year. 5 [For The Baptist Banner.] i Camp of 31st Ala. Regt., Demopolis, Ala., | October 21st, 1863. j Brother Ells: A gracious work of re vival of ‘\pure and undefiled religion,” I j hope, has been going on in our brigade for several weeks past, whereof the hearts of God’s people are, even in, the army, glad. Sinners have been convicted and converted unto God through the Lord Je sus Christ. Those who had backslidden and were following the Lord at a great distance have been reclaimed, and now boldly take up the cross of duty; and every humble child of God who has participated in this meeting, feel that they have been blessed with a precious season of refreshing from the presence of the Lord, and the glory of His power displayed in our midst. The meeting has been conducted mainly by the Chaplains of the brigade, though we have been blessed with very effective aid from resident ministers. We have five Chap lains in this (Gen. E. W. Pettus’) brigade, all of whom have assisted in the glorious work. Os this number three are Baptists, one a Cumberland Presbyterian, and the other a Methodist. They are all earnest, working preachers, and such can dogood in field of labor, and none others can. Os the fruits of the labors of God’s peo ple I am at liberty to state that, up to last Sabbath, seventy-two souls had professed conversion 'iind united with the different denominations. Thirty-one of this number joined the Baptists, and the balance were distributed among the several Presbyterian orders and the Methodists. The work still goes bravely on. From forty to sixty enquiring friends nightly pre sent themselves for prayer, and it seems from present indications that God will con tinue to bless our Yellow-soldiers with the joys of salvation, so long as we make use of the means He is affording to us. O, I pray God that the influence now set in motion may spread itself until every sinner in our brigade is happily converted to God! Great numbers of our friends attend our meetings who are yet out of the ark of safe ty, their hard and flinty hearts“ heaping up wrath against the day of.wrath,” with no desire at present to find the Lord precious to their souls. O, that some word dropped in season may fall upon their ears with such force as to arrest them in their heedless and unwise career • Otherwise the wail of the Jews will be repeated by them when they are eternally beyond the reach of mer cy,—“ The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.” 1 will inform you of our success, brother Ells, as the meeting goes on, and may I not express the conviction that that the Bap tists in the “ Empire State” will not be in different to the spiritual welfare of the tried veterans who so nobly withstood the hosts of the enemy for so long a*time within the walls of Vicksburg ? Pray for us, then, brethren, for while we pray the Christian lives. THOMAS B. ESPY. Chaplain 31st Ala. Regt. Religion in ths Federal Army.—We have often been curious to know something about this matter. A late number of the “American Messenger,” (organ of the American Tract Society,) taken from some Yankee prisoners, gives us the following statements : From the ar my of the Potomac a tract agent writes: “The great sin of the army, that which overtops and overshadows every thing else, is profane swearing. Curses stream from the lips of thousands from their first waking breath, until sleep again returns to drown their muttered imprecations. Can we hope for victories while such an incense of curses is continually ascending to the throne of Him whose name we cannot take in vain ? , “At ?>lemphis,” writes another, “there is la dearth of reading matter in the hospitals. About 3,000 patients lie here, of whom sev ienty or eighty are daily passing into eter nity. But two, of the eleven hospitals, are provided with chaplains, while the others are almost wholly neglected. I was told in different hospitals of impenitent men who had died there, earnestly begging for some one to pray for them, and no one could be :found Mho would do it.” The same writer visits Corinth, Helena, and the headquaters near Vicksburg, and writes: “The first thing which strikes one is the scarcity of chaplains, some confidently asserting that not one third of the regiments here are suplied, and others say not one half. I heard of but one chaplain present in a division of twelve regiments, in many in stances you will find but one in a brigade of four or five regiments. NUMBER 49.