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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.