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THE BAPTIST BANNER
BY DAYTON, ELLS & CO.
VOLUME V.
DEVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE,
1» 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. S. D. NILES
[Z*br The Baptist Banner.]
knit for the soldiers,
BY LULA DEAN.
Knit for the soldiers, to-day,
Autumn winds drearily sound,
Tossing, as if but in play,
Withered leaves over the ground—
Bringing a message for aZZ,
Whistling it ove» your door;
Turn not away from the call I
Listen, as never before!
Knit for the brave volunteer,
By the glow of the fire to-night—
Brother, son, husband, so <fcar,
Battling for freedom and right;
Weary feet now may be aching,
On the lone sentinel’s tramp —
Hasten each love token, making
A sunbeam of joy in the camp.
Knit for the soldier, who never
The love of a mother hath known,
Though but a stranger, endeavor
To claim every want as thine own !
Clothe the brave champion enduring
Ills, that the South..may 4 be free!
Lend every help in securing
Peace for the soldier and thee !
On the tall brow of the mountain,
Down in the valley below,
Where the soft gush of the fountain
Murmurs its song as of yore,
Loved ones their night-watch are keeping; ,
Toil for them while they remain, «■ •
’ Or, where their comrades arc sleeping, |
They, too, may rest from all pain.
Oxford. O«., November, 1803.
[//hr t/ie jßapfwf Banww-J <
ADA MAYFIELD. ;
BY A LADY. |
CHAPTER 11.
I EWIS, will you walk into the pador
IJ with us ?” said Ada, as they rose from
the table. lie had remained sitting there,
talking to her, whil‘d she superintended put
ting away the tea things ; the rest of the fa
mily had dispersed. “You have generally
absented yourself on Sabbath evenings, this
vacation ; but I think, if you will stay, per
haps you may be interested in our reading.
We redd by turns, sometimes one of us,
sometimes another, but always of uncle
Mark’s selection. Come this once, and
try us, and if you think us dull and prosy,
we will excuse yon early,” and she laid her
hand on his arm anti gently drew him for
ward. The older children had stopped in
the hall, and were searching the large map
of Palestine that hung almost directly under
the lamp, for several places mentioned in
their next lesson. Hattie and Philip had
followed uncle Mark into the parlor, and
mounted the sofa by his side. Hattie was
twisting his hair over her fingers, trying to
make it curl like sister Lito/s, and when
ever she succeeded in making a twist re
main, a merry laugh resounded through
parlor and hall. Philip stood at his uncle’s
knee, stroking his full, glossy whiskers, the
admiration of his boyish heart.
Before his brother’s death Mr. Mayfield
had never manifested much fondness for
children. Ho heartily welcomed them Io
his house, with their parents, every stim-
Incr —furnished them with many means of
amusement, and then left them to enjoy
them in their own way. He never petted
one. If they were hurt or sick, no one ex
cept the mother, could nurse them more
kindly ; but when they were well, he scarce
ly noticed their presence, except to see
that they were well provided with every
oomfort and moans of enjoyment his house
could afford. But now, he entered into all
their sports, listened to all their complaints,
interested himself in their studies, and fon
dled and played with them so much, that
thev lo«t their former awe of uncle Mark,
and hubg on bls neck, and tumbled over hia
lap as unceremoniously as they ever did
w ith their father. A few years before, the
slightest intrusion upon his private hours
irritated him; now 1 . he would sit on the
porch and read with perfect composure,
while the children were gambolling in the
yard within a few feet of him. The old
bachelor’s heart had thawed, revealing the
wealth of love that lay beneath a calm,
seemingly cold exterior. 1 hese were 1 bil
ip’s orphan children; and as his heart whis
pered the won! orphan, it seemed to expand
Sloots ahb ajgwss'JUPJßß
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1863.
with increased love for the bereaved ones.
“ While Philip and Sarah lived,” said he to
, one who expressed surprise at this change
in his conduct, “ I knew they would take all
necessary care of them without my troub
ling or fussing about them; but now, the
poor things have no one but me to look to
tbr every comfort and pleasure, and I con
sider nothing a trouble that I can do for
their good.”
His heart glowed with a fatherly love for
them all, and he made no difference in his
conduct toward any one. Indeed, so uni
form was his care of each, that they would
have disdained the charge of his having a
preference. Yet he had come to love Ada,
the oldest one, with an almost idolatrous
affection. She was nineteen at the death of
her parents, and had passed so suddenly
from the dependent, sunny-tempered girl
into the self-reliant woman, guiding and in
structing her young charge with such ma
ture judgment, that his admiration knew no
bounds. Then she managed his domestic
affairs so orderly, Mid presided at his table
with such quiet, gentle dignity, and with
al, was uniformly so cheerful, so atten
tive to the comfort of every member of the
household, that he believed, in his fondness,
her superior was not among the women of
the earth. “Ah !” said he to himself, “if I
could have found such a woman as Ada, 1
should not huve been the ‘crusty old bache
lor ;’ but then, I suppose Providence ordered
it so, that I might be ready to take charge
of these little ones.” Her comfort was ever
in his thoughts; and it was only necessary
for her to mention a wish to uncle Mark to
have it granted.
The entrance of the elder brother, and
sister, followed by those from the hall,
quieted the noisy sport of the younger ones;
for, when all had assembled, reading and
general conversation commenced. This was
confined to religious subjects, Mr. Mayfield
being very Puritanical in his. notions of ob
serving the Sabbath ; he neither engaged in,
nor encouraged a conversation on worldly
topics; he scarcely had a worldly thought
during the day. They were obliged to eat,
and ride to church ; the stock had to be fed ;
—three things which he said he regretted,
because they involved some labor and care;
and the children were indulged in a little
play now and then. He and Ada were
careful that they learned their Sabbath
school lessons well; encouraged them in
reading the Bible and religious literature by
making it interesting to them ; and then, if
they wished to play, watched over their
sports, and checked them only when ex
ceeding proper bounds. “We will try not
to make religious duty irksome to them,
dear,” said he to Ada, in one of their coun
cils, “ by tiring them with it, nor force the
Bible upon them till it becomes distasteful
to them, but lead them on by degrees, and
let them have a little sport occasionally, to
relax their minds. They will come to love
it after a while, and leave off amusement of
their own accord. God will bless our efforts,
never fear.” And lie had blessed them;
for none but the younger ones manifested
any desire for amusement on the Sabbath,
and they contented themselves with gam
bolling around their sister or uncle.
For the same reason they had refrained
from giving Lewis one word of reproof for
his Sabbath breaking, after he came home
for vacation. Instead of a lecture, the old
gentleman would offer him papers, or speak
to him in commendation of some religious
work; or in their daily walksand rides over
the plantation, he would call his attention
to some striking illustration of a certain
passage of Scripture, adding, “did you ever
think of that, iny boy ? Now, if you will
get your Bible to-night, and look in
you wjll see this described pretty nearly .
This is one reason why 1 love the country. 1
I see so many evidences of God’s wisdom and
goodness, and so many beautiful illustra
i lions of Scripture truths.” Ada would ask
him kindly to get ready in time to go to
j the Sabbath school, and assist in the sing
’ ing. And a few times, when she found him
1 asleep on the lounge on Sabbath afternoons,
with apolitical paper in his hand, she slipped
Jit away, and put a religious sheet in its
i stead. Thus he had been gradually awa
kened to the subject. He thought about it;
and wandered why thip difference in man
| kind—why should some love the Bible, and
others see no beauty in it I This perplexed
' him; hence the question he put to his unde
I this afternoon.
HIS BANNER OVER US IS LOVE.
As they entered the room Mr. Mayfield
• looked up and smiled pleasantly to see his
s nephew, who had hitherto avoided the par
lor on Sabbath evenings till the prayer bell
was. rung. Seating Hattie and Philip on
1 each side of him on the sofa, he remarked—
“ There are .so many young ones here,
Lewis, that I scarcely read any at night
myself; the children take it by turns. —
Will you engage with us this evening? We
will be glad to have you read some for
us.”
“ Certainly, nncle. If you will make a
selection, I will cheerfully read for you.”
“ Well, here is a book which I have just
obtained, ‘Christian Paradoxies,’ which Ada
and I have commenced to read jointly. She
read the first chapter for me last Sabbath
evening, and we will be obliged to you to
read the second chapter for us. 1 think,
from the subject, ‘ The Sinner Alive, yet
Dead,’ perhaps it will be interesting to
you.*£
Lewis took a seat near the lamp, and
reaa the first paragraph or two, in a dis
tinct, but lifeless tone ; but soon his feel
ings were aroused, his attention was en
gaged, and the earnestness of his manner
corresponded with the depth of his emotion.
And when he camo to the last personal ap
peal made to each individual sinner, the tre
mor in his voice showed that his conscience
was awake.
“Thank you, Lewis,” said Mr. Mayfield,
as he sat gazing on the last page in silent
abstraction. “ That book promises to be a
regular feast. I don’t know that 1 shall be
able to keep my hands off it, Ada, till our
regular Sabbath readings. Surely the sin
ner is dead while he liveth—spiritually
dead, my boy, while he liveth^.physically.
This is indeed a paradox which the natural
man cannot comprehend. Now, we must
have something the little ones can under
stand, or they will be getting to sleep.”
A book was produced from their Sabbath
school collection, from which Ned read a
chapter, followed by Lucy with a periodical,
and Charles with an article from the ‘chib
dren’s column’ of a popular weekly—va
ried by questions and answers, according to
the interest of each. All were encouraged
to ask questions when a passage occurred
which they could not understand, and each
one to give his own explanation of it, uncle
Mark deciding which, if any, was right.—
Lewis silently observed it all. lie felt, for
the first time in his life, that he was dead—
dead to holiness—that his spiritual eye was
blind to the beauty of religion—his ear
deaf to the sweet songs of Zion—his heart
cold and hardened against the gentle woo
ings of a Saviour’s love. He saw his un
cle and sister animated in the service of
God, with every faculty devoted to the in
terests of Hie kingdom—every perception
keenly alive to the charms of Holy Writ—
while his heart remained dead to every
thing of the kind—dead in trespasses and
in sin. He understood it now, for he felt
it with all its force. His conscience stung
like an adder as it presented to his memory
the countless sins he had committed through
life. He felt that he would be willing to
give up every prospect of future fame or
prosperity for the blessed faith of his sister.
He resolved that he would try to love God
and the Bible—that he would read it dili
gently, and try to discover its loveliness—
that he would try to awaken his dormant
feelings—try to arouse himself ‘from this
torpid state, and be no longer like a dead
body, but a living man. One portion of
the chapter which he had read had escaped
his attention—viz : that he had no power
within himself to arise from the death of
sin; so loth is the natural man to acknowl
edge his inability—so prone k> indulge in
exalted opinions of his own strength. He
was not the only one in the room whose
heart was deeply interested. Lucy had for
some time felt seriously impressed with a
sense of guilt; but she eaid nothing to any
one, and the impression had become some
what faint. But the conversation between
her uncle and brother this afternoon had
awakened a train of thought which sfoe
could not lay aside. She did not betray the
emotion of her heart, but determined, si
lently, to search the Scriptures, and avail
herself of her uncle’s instructions without
directly approaching him on the subject.
“ Hattie’s eyes are getting dim. Ring
the bell, Charles; we will have prayer, and
let the little ones retire.”
1 The servants assembled in the hall at the
b sound of the bell—not merely one or two,
- but nearly the whole plantation hands and
I all; for they had received sufficient instruc
i tion from their master and at church to
- make the services interesting jx> them—.
, even to those who were not professors of
; religion; and respect for “ Master” kept
. them still; besides they were allowed to
j participate in the singing, which every one
of the race loves. Mr. Mayfield had, in
some of his lonely evenings, collected them
, in the dining-room, and taught them several
hymns. He said it had a good effect upon
, them—rather refined their natures and
made them susceptible to good impressions;
“and if they are a little rfoisy about it,” said
he to Ada, “we can put up with it when
there’s no one but the family present, for
the sake of affording them such a pure grati- :
fication.”
Ada read the chapter for her uncle to
night, as she had not otherwise participated
in the reading. Lewis joined them in sing
ing, as usual, but it was a spiritless exer
cise, so far as he was The
thought that though living, yet
dead, was ever present to hia mind, and cast
an impenetrable gloom over all. Hia un
cle’s prayer, instead of tranquilizing him,
added to the gnawings of his conscience, as
he thought how many such prayers had
been offered up for him, and how often he
had turned a deaf ear to all the overtures
of mercy, and slighted all the means of
grace.
Services being over, Ada conducted the
children to their room, preceded by Maria,
with a light. Mr. Mayfield conversed for
a while witff Lewis and Lucy, upon the ser
mon they had heard that morning, calling
their attention to some striking points in it,
and explaining a remark or two which had
particularly Lucy’s attention, and
which she did not comprehend. This was
his manner of leading them to pay espe
cial attention to every sermon they heard ;
so they could ussally tell, not only the
text, but the subject of the discourse, its
general bearing, its application, &c.
[to bb contixuhd.] ♦
[ Jbr The Baptist Banner J
Eight Weeks in Camp.
BY W. N. CHAUDOIN.
No. I.
Disagreeable Traveling— Wilmington—Pe
tersburg Hospital —Dr. ' Griffin —Elders
Keene and Hume—Baptist Meeting House
—Richmond —Deacon Elder
Shaver—Gordoneville, Ac.
1 propose to writes history of visit
to the army, and incidents connected there
with —some grave, some gay, some things
personal, some general, some facts, some
observations —all to be grouped under the
caption or title of “ Eight Weeks in
Camp.”
Now, of course,'my first week would in
clude my trip, or the travel from my home
to the Army of Northern Virginia. Not
many items of interest to myself or anyone
else can I get out of .a trip so disagreeable.
But yiat a lady, in pursuit of a wounded
son, was put in my charge, which gave me
admittance into the ladies’ car, I know not
that I could have’survived the trip. Selfish
as ! soon got to be—l’m sure nothing
makes one more so than traveling now —I,
nevertheless, was crowded out of the ladies
car, ever and anon. Ah! eh! oh my ! it was
horrible!
The scenery, even no, at Wilmington, is
rather pleasant when approached from the
southwest—the river first, with its smooth
surface and'numerous vessels, and the
city, witlvthe handsome church spires be
yond.
The next thing of interest was the meet
ing of troops, which I did from Wilmington
to Richmond —Longstreet’s corps—more
soldiers than I bad ever seen —and so spir
ited and »o healthy. Delay, on account of
troops passing, resulted in missing connec’ ■
tion at Petersburg, which second delay;
might (and should, no doubt,) have given i
me an opportunity for a good rest, espa-;
cially of “rest in sleep,” for I msch needed:
“tired nature’s sweet raatorerbut, con- 1
scious as I was, that “if he sleep he shall doi
well,” I “shook off dull slumber,” and ac
companied Mrs. Denison, of Twiggs coun-l
TERMS—Five Dollars a-tear.
—■
1 V, to the Hospital, and
saw the anxious mother ushered ’(all unex
pectedly to him) into the presence of her
wounded boy. Something new to me, this
sad and joyful meeting. Could soliloquize
on it at some length.
Hene I was met by Dr. Griffin,’of Geor
gia, acting as surgeon of one ward, and a
relative—nephew,! think, of sister Mallary,
deceased. Glad I visited the hospital, for
the exceedingly neat appearance of every
thing did very much modify my views of
hospitals. At Petersburg I met Elders
Keene and Hume, the latter a refugee.—
Heard brother K., the pastor in charge,
preach a funeual sermon, with which I was
pleased, and prouxeed him a man of more
than usual mental calibre—so mueh so, I
have no fear of his being injured by my re
mark, if he sees it. An inside view of the
beautiful church edifice in which Elder
Keene holds forth, is well worth stopping a
day for. But, wonderful to tell I there was
no organ in the church. I went to the
place where it might have been, but it was
not there. There were seats, though, for a
choir, several hymn books, and note books
by the dozen. My curiosity led me to look
at the hymn books—and some, how they
would open at some inscriptions on the fly
leaves —and oh ! if I were to tell some
things I saw I But, no; I won’t tell on the
girls this time.
At Richmond! Yes, here I am, for the
first time, in the capital of the Confederacy.
xAnd the very first news I get is from a nice
Carolina gentleman, the
Soldiers’ Home, from South Carolina, all
about robberies and thefts committed that
day on the “ Home,” in broad daylight.—
But I won’t detain my readers with a min
ute account of how I went, in company with
Deacon Sanford, of Forsyth, Ga., to a
boarding house ; how he had a box of pro
visions broken open ; how a captain had his
money and new hat stolen, all where I was;
and how easy my watch and pocket-book
could have been taken, and were not; nor
how whisky-headed clerks In the provost
marshal’s office strutted around us as if all
the South belonged to them, told some
great lies, and would not give us passports;
nor how 1 managed, through a friend, to
get one, and left for Gordonsville, glad that
1 got away with anything. If my teeth
were plugged, I would surely take the plug
ging out before I slept at a private boarding
house. But, as brother Shaver, the Herald
man, said, I speak of new Richmond, not old
Richmond.
By the way, brother Dayton, I believe in
catching sunshine while you can, and I found
some in Richmond. I’ll tell you where it
was- some in Starke’s book store, where
brother Dickinson’s depository is, and
some in the Herald office. Brother Shaver
manages to keep his face beaming with
smiles and sunshine, despite all the annoy
ances of the editorial chair, high prices of
paper, provisions, &c. I felt it good to be
with him.
The Herald man says The Banner man is
the prince ot editors. Now, may be I ought
not to have told that. Well, if there is any
trouble in consequence of it, it will only be
a good lesson to these old men and editors,
and teach them to mind how they talk be
fore us boys. Besides, “Be it known to all
men by these presents,” that I can’t keep
anything from brother Dayton, for he is my
confidant and adviser, yes, my more than a
“God-fnther.”
Well, my limit is about out, and I am
not yet quite in camp. But I am at Gor
donsville, and after a good night’s rest in
the care, by the kindness of brother Con
ductor Brooks, I am waiting anxiously for
eight o’clock to arrive, when 1 will start for
Orange Court House. “Toot, toot!” and
we are off for the camp, but how I succeed
ed in getting there, or what I saw, must be
deferred for another number, till another
time.
CAIV WE LIFEt
It has cost all the income of the paper to
pay its expenses ; it is likely to cost still
more. We must, therefore, have a larger
| income. Our subscription list should be
1 doubled ; and if the price of paper and labor
'continues to advance, we must, however
I reluctantly, either reduce the paper to a
half sheet or increase the prica. W« ex
pect to be sble to weather the storm. We
«do not think the Consietent Baptists of this
and other States will let us fall for want of
{activesympathy or needful assistance.
NUMBER 3.