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THE BAPTIST BANNER. BY DAYTON. ELLS 4 CO. VOLUME V. Sh? -Baptist gawwi', l >EVOTED TO RELIGION AND LITERATURE, >, I üblulicd every Saturday, at Atlanta, Gcogia. at the subscription price of five dollars per year. PAYTON,"ELLS"& CO., Proprietors. A. (’. DAYTON. JAS. N. ELLS. S. D. NILES USES On the death of 41 Little Cliffie,” son of Wm. M. and S. E- Stockton, aged fifteen months and fourteen ’days. » Is it a dream, A dark, sad dream, from which we soon may wake'? This bitter pain in which the wounded heart Writhes in its agony —is it a dream ? The still, hushed heart-the pure, white marble brow— Those lips on'which a taint smile lingers still; The tiny hands with pale Howers loosely clasped— The coffin’dJorm, the grave, the silent home Where childhood e’en forgets its mirthfulness j Are these but visions of a levered brain ? The quick pang in the hearts where he was shrined Tells us our woe is real, for he. is dead! We miss his fond entwining arms—we long To clasp him to our hearts forevermore. We list his broken accents still to catch, Though he had learned to lisp few WQrdsofourt. /fw murtnn rings were memories of Heaven, lammed from the angels, and not quiet forgot, Killing our souls with sadness, vague and sweet f His bright, dark eyes, soft with the light of love, E’en when the death-film veiled their tender glance, Seeking with willfulness his mother’s face! All these we miss ami think ot every hour. On his white brow pale lily buds we laid, Their perfumed snow less'pure than’its fair gleam, li’or he was fair ami pure as angel’s dream. Oh, darling onej thy mother’s heart must yearn Kor thee for aye—her waking dreams must be Os dimpled baity hands clasped close in hers ; 1 »f lingers straying o’er her aching heart ; '.lust long with all a mother's deathless love To fold thee there once more to still the pain. How can thy lather bear the sad return ? Eor he is now afar from home. Oh ! he Will miss' thy laugh - thine arms— Thy balmy mouth uplifted lor his kiss, (rod pity them and us, itml all sad hearts Who long with love undying for their dead. Thank God ! we know thy little baby hands Have thrust aside the dark, mysterious veil , That shuts us out from lieav'ii—and thou art gone To regions far beyond our mortal ken. Now, with no earth-stain on thy radiant wings, Thou lov’st us still, while nestled in His arms Who called then “ home”—“Our Clitlie” rests foi ever; Rests, with the loved borne from our household band, All sate forever on the “ shining shore.' Ami though dark grief-clouds shadow still our hearts, Faith points beyond, and shows them glory-tinged. N’lM PORTE. Oglethorpe. Aug. 17, 1863. - - -- [f br The .Baptist Banner.] ADA MAYFIELD. BY A LADY. CHAPTER V. was suddenly awaked during the . night by some one throwing open a blind in her room. She raised her head, but seeing only Lucy standing before the window, she lay down again without speak ing. “Sister,” said Lucy, “see how beautiful the moon shines’ I never saw it so bright and dear before,; everything looks so soft and velvety in its light. I can even seethe pool in the pasture, and it looks like a sheet of silver; and the sky—oh, how beautiful ’ You never saw anything like, it, sister.” "Oh I ves, I've seen it. often. It is full ni'.H'ii, vou know, and clear weather,” re plied Ada, sleepily ; for she was too near the land of dreams to notice atty thing. Lucy gazed a while longer, in perfect rapture; then, going back to bed, she threw her arms atotmd her sister, laid her head upon her bosom, and exclaimed — “ Oil I sister, excuse, me for disturbing \on; bit. I am so happy, I want'to tell you about it. I can't describe it; but every, thing l< oks so bright and beautiful, find I fed so light and happy. Look at Hattie, | down iltc.e, how sweetly she sleeps, with the moonshine glimmering •*! her pillowj! I Doesn't she look like an angel !” Ada was as wide awake in one second alter the commencement of this rapturous sec. noonday. She clasped her arms ti -Lth around Lucy, as a signal for her to -o on* and listened, as the happy girl told i r of the great change that had taken place a her heart; how that she was first se riously convicted of sin, several years be- I, v j icI ‘ impressions would some times wear oft, and there would be iuter \ Is perhaps, of months, that she would led tomparaliwlv easy, but the impressions never entirely left her. There was always on her mind a dread ot the future - feeling a s&tzems ah® atosaax wmxmu that the was a sinner, condemned in the sight of God, marred all her pleasures. Oc casionally the conviction would return with such force, she believed if it_had con tinued long without abatement, she could not have lived under it. At such times, she would try to pray, her heart would swell with pain ; but the way seemed dark as night to her. She had determined to speak to her sister or uncle about it; but the words would not come.. Once, she had gone into rhe front porch, where unde Mark was sitting, reading, oti purpose to unbur den her heait to him'; but, as she approached, hejooked up from his paper, j and her heart failed her. She offered him a flower, and came away. “On last Wednesday night,” continued she, “du ring uncle’s prayer, I felt that I would be willing to give up every thing in the w’orld to feel just as ha expressed himself. Gradually, it seemed as if a burden was being lifted from my heart. 1 have felt more cheerful since then, than I have for years before. 1 have felt—oh ! sister, 1 can hardly express it —but I felt as if 1 was getting farther from sin and Satan, every day, and as if something very good was going to come to me shortly, and I longed tor it all the while. To-night, 1 was thinking over my Bible lesson for next Sa bbath, when one of the references occurred to me— ‘ Behold thou art made whole; sin no more’—audit seemed as if something whispered to my heart that it was in tended for me. 1 got right up, sister, fori couldn’t be still, and I thought you were asleep.” For more than an hour the happy girls talked ; then fell asleep, from which Ada awoke earlier than usual on the next morn ing. Hastily making her toilet, she went to the parlor, where she knew she would find her uncle at this hour, selecting a chapter and hymn ’or worship. She communicated the joyful tidings that one of their little band had found peace in believing. Lewis, seated outside, at one of the windows, heard the news and witnessed their rejoicing, while his heart swelled with grief to think that he was debarred a like joy. The even of those whom he loved, gave him pain instead of pleasure. Not that he was Selfish or envious, for he would not have diminished their happiness jure iota, but he could not bear to wit ness if. So he arose and returned to his room, where he remained till summoned to prayers and to breakfast. The morning of the all-important exam ination day dawned as, clear as the most sanguine, of the boys would have it. . The sun shone bright, and as the day advanced, would have been excessively hot, had it not been for a pretty stiff breeze, an especial favor on that day. If it was the teacher’s intention to collect a large crowd, he could not have selected a more auspicious day than this, the Fourih of July. Two such celebrations comirg together, made it an excuse for ail classes to congregate; so the house and grove were literally filled. The ample dinner provided by the patrons, and spread under the shade of the large trees, and the occasional displays of oratory with which the usual school exercises were va ried, kept the more restless portion of the crowd in tolerable order, while the real in terest felt by the relatives of the pupils, kept their attention chained through the long summer's day. ai d the exhibition at night possessed nttrav; i’*ns for all, old and young. | “Ada, daughter,” said Mr. Mayfield, ■touching her arm, as one from the stage I announced the hour for dinner, “ here is an (old acquaintance.” j Turning suddenly, a gleam of pleasure, j followed immediately by one of pain, darted over her features, as she offered her hand to Mr. Harris, of city. The glow of q,pleasure that brightened her eyes was but i momentary ; but, transient as it was. the /keen eyes of the young man observed it. I and he scarcely left her side during the day. - No <.nc who saw Ada that afternoon and evening, calm, dignified, self-possessed in - her manners and conversation, could have . farmed any conception of the wild tumult . which this meeting caused in the inmost re ’s cess ofher heart. A few months after the » death of her parents, she bad resolutely, in , violence to her own feelings, refused Mr. j! Harris’ offer of marriage. Her father had, ATLANTA, GA., CHRISTMAS DAY, 1863. HIS BANNER OVER LS IS LOVE. in his lifetime, favored this suit, and all the affection ofher heart plead for him ; butshe considered the responsibility left on her by her dying mother too sacred to be set aside by any selfish consideration, and no matter how great the sacrifice, she resolved to make it, rather'than betray tbe trust. Though her refusal was positive, precluding all hope, yet Mr. Harris, with the keen perception of a lover,-saw that it cost her a pang. In the bitterness of his disappointment, he imputed a wrong mo tive to her, and left in anger. This was their first meeting since, and Ada hoped she had schooled her heart into foigetfulness; ° I and now she wondered to herself whv he “ > i came to disturb her peace ? He told her he | had come on a visit to a cousin- of his who ■ had moved into the neighborhood the pre vious year; but, in reality, he had heard that she had refused two or three advanta geous offers, andj the hope that it was for his sake had created an it repressible desire in his heart to see her again, and ascertain, if possible, the true state of her feelings to-1 ward him. The sparkle of her eye, at the moment of their ’ meeting, revealed it to him, and he was not to be replusecf by the respectful, distant air she assumed. The next day but one was Saturday, and the regular church meeting at Shady Grove. Lewis went with the fa:;. ly, p.i'tly in hope of soothing his feelings, and partly, because his uncle had told him that Lucy intended applying to the church for adiuisdou. On the opening of the door of the church, she came forward, and in a trembling voice, and eager desire depicted on her counte nance, related in substance the same account she had given to her uncle and Ada. The vote to receive her as a'candidate for bap tism was unanimous. While the members were giving her the right hand of fellowship the expression ofher fac<* changed to one of almost ecstatic joy. Lewis thought, as he looked on, that he. had never seen his favor ite sister looked so radiantly beautiful. He I wondered why itv/a;. How could she be so happy when she. must know he was in dis tress?—he whose heart would.bleed at every pore if.she were in trouble. Ah !he did not know that this very distress of his gave his uncle and sister the greatest joy they had ever felt on his account. They believed it was the work of the Spirit, and earnestly did they pray that he might be led to see the exceeding sinfulness of sin, and that he might be speedily enabled to lay hold of the promises of God, and trust in a crueified and risen Saviour. Early on Sabbath mor ning a large congregation assembled on the banks of a creek, the appointed place for baptism. Though it was midsummer, the dense shade of the yet untouched line ol forest that bordered on the creek made it cool and pleasant near the water’s edge.—- Lewis followed his sister as far as he could, till the water rippled over his boots ; there he stood gazing at her, perfectly uncon scious of all around. As she was raised from the water, she gave one look to the crowded banks, a lovely smile played over her features, and a murmur of admiration broke from the lips of many of the old bro-' thers and sisters. Lewis took one step lor-. ward into the water, when his uncle caught; his arm, and restored him to something like consciousness. As she advanced, he reached : forward as far as possible, caught her: hands, drew her ashore, and all wet as she was, clasped her m his arms, and wept aloud. here was now his pride? He knew that Mr. Harris and several of his acquaintances from the city were there, for he had spoken to them be fore the commencement of the services, and twelve, aye, three, months ago, he would have sneered at any such exhibition of feeling on the part of another. But,now,what did he car- ? Ihe strong w ill us pride was broken down ; the fountains of his heart were bro ken up. lie took Luej* -n his arms and carried her to the tent, closely followed b* the. sisters who had volunteered their > vices. lie sat down on a log to a—ait iv . re appearance, but his uncle reruinded hh.i j that it was necessary to go home and get some dry clothing before going to church.' Mr. Harris kindly volunteeied to accompa ny him, and they rode into ’lie ehurckyard just as services commenced. ■ ihe sermon on tds occasion 6iv<- • d A i mind of all thoughts of obtaining sal v ; . ot , as the reward of his good works, bat lG . .deas were still confused. He felt that h•' > could do nothing to merit heaven.; but he was like one perfectly bewildered, not knowing what step to take next. His staff had b.een taken away, and its place was un supplied ; all was onfasion to his mind. — He saw, in the di in distance, the crucified Saviour, but could not realize that He died tor him. He thought of all the Christians whom he had ever known intimately, but there seemed some palliating circumstances in their cases ; none, he believed, had I een so wicked as himself. He felt that he had been too evil to apply any of the promises of God to his case. And now, there seemed ito be an impassable barrier between him i and Lucy. He loved Ada devoted! v. She i was to him all that an elder sister could be; but with his love for her was mingled a re spect which forbade all fondling or boyish caress. Hattie was a little, cherished pet, the plaything of his leisure hours, but Lucy was the beloved, gentle companion of his life. She was the sharer of all his plea sures, the. confidant of all his boyish love- I scrapes. She entered into all his feelings; her caresses soothed him when troubled, and her merry laugh,' whenever he was pleased, gave evidence ofher sympathy.— Many were the times she had gone fishing and .s.juirreFhunting with him, while on the firm. Many long gallops had they taken before sunrise and after sunset —Lucy fol lowing wherever he would lead, through bushes, up and down hill, making her horse leap ditches, fallen trees, or even a low Q*nce, it it stood in her way. Now, she seemed as far above him as the heavens are abov? the earth, an I his keen distress on this ac count blinded his mental vision to the truth as it is in Jesus. lie saw himself abased, but could not recognize the hand stretched out to raise him. His unde, who had been narrowly watching him for the past two weeks, saw that his pr'de was completely humbled—that he was willing to accept sal vation upon God’s own terms, and this he ! thought an appropriate time to approach him on the subject of being made alive in Christ, which he had once promised to ex plain to him. An opportunity was not long wanting; for, shortly after dinner, Lewis walked into Ada’s room, where all were assembled at their usual Sabbath af ternoon’s occupation. lie sat down, and without speaking a word, listened, as the children plied “uncle” am! “sister” with questions about their lessons, or w'hat they were reading. “ Uncle,” said he after a pause, “you re member our conversation two weeks ago, do you not?” “ I do, indeed.” “ Then, you tried to make me understand how a man could be dead, yet alive. I couldjtot understand it then, but I do, now ; for I have fell it. I have fully experienced what it is to be dead in trespasses and in sin. At first it was a cold, b 'numbed, dis tressed feeling. I have done ail 1 could to obtain peace, but find none. To day I am more miserable than ever; for 1 feel that all I ever can do will avail nothing, and I do ; not know where to turn. You promised to I tell me something about being made alive ■in Christ. If.it suits your pleasure I would like to hear something on the subject this ! afternoon. I know lam dead, but how shall i I ever live Again ? j “The death of Christ, my sor, prepared the way for the^redemption of the sinner. The law demands the death of the sinner. The decree has been made, ‘The soul that sinneth it shall die.’ But Christ has become a substitute for the sinner by offering him self a sacrift -e to die in his stead. Our in iquities were laid upon Him ; lie bore cur sins when He died on the cross, so that all who believe on Him shall’ not perish, but have eternal life. It is /imply by believing on Curist, accepting Him as our Saviour, ami Him only, that we become spirilti dly alive. L t me ask you one question, Lewis: When a man is physically dead can Im do anything t<> revive himself . again ?” “Oh i.o, sir I N<> on - would think of such an absurdity.” . I “ j heli, wlmn he i- s; iritually dead, how ; •.-.mh. levive himseil ? It is lo more ab-1 -> jrd to suppose he can do it in one case “ Now 1- • ■ tiie point us your first ques. t. tint. ; but 1 "Cpr ose i.o one ever ■ thou;' t of such a tning- “ Why, my son, you have just said you TERMS—Five Dollars a-year. : felt you were dead in sin, and acknowledg , ed you were doing all you could to restore yourself to life. Except a man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of God, but he has no power within himself to pro duce this second birth. You know, when a grain of corn is put into the ground it dies ; bat th« influence of heat and moisture, if in a favorable position for germination, will cause it to spring up and bring ' forth fruit. This is the work of God in the physical creation. It is not in thepporerw r er of man, with all his wisdom, to cause even a grain of corn to germinate. And it is God alone who can restore to life the spiritually dead. All the good works a man can do in the course of the longest life have not sufficient merit in them to buy the ‘peace that passeth all understanding.’ It is the free gift of God. "He sends His Spirit into the really con trite heart, gives him joy for sadness, makes him feel that his heavy burden of sorrow which was weighing him down to the earth has been removed, that the Judge of quick and dead has been reconciled to him, and vouchsafed the pardon of his sins.” “ But how is this done, uncle ? Ido not understand how the Spirit can enter a man’s heart and change it.” “1 can only give you the same answer that Christ did to Nicodemus when he asked a similar question—‘The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but cans’t not tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth ; so is every' one that is born of the Spirit.’—John iii: B. The Spirit quickeneth, we feel the effects, but we know nothing of the process. That is God’s' work, and it is not for use to in quire how lie does it. It is not always the same; in some the change is gradual, in others quick as tjje, twinkling of an eye.— Whenever the mourner is willing to resign himself entirely into the hands of God, trust in Him alone for salvation, irrespective of his own works, believe in Christ with all his heart, he will find peace and joy.” “ Bui how does a man know’ that his sins have been pardoned, or that he has been born again ?” “I must answer you again in the lan guage of Scripture— ‘ The Spirit beareth w itness with our spirit that we are bjrn of God.’—Rom. viii: 16. Again — 4 We know that we have passed from death unto life, because wc love the brethren.’—l John iii: 14. This is a test that no one can mistake. A man who is born of God will Jove the brethren—will prefer their society to that of all others—will love to assemble with them to worship God —and love the exer cises of religion. Thingsfor which he had no relish before w ill now be his greatest delight, and he will loathe,or at least lose all taste for, unhallowed pleasures, however much he may have enjoyed them formely ; or, in the expressive, language of Scripture, ‘old things have passed away, all things have become new.’ When- he becomes a new creature in Christ Jesus, his tastes, hopes, and aspirations will all be changed. To serve God acceptably will be his chief de sire. The humblest congregation, met to gether for His worship, will possess more attractions for him than the most brilliant assembly of pleasure seekers.” [to be continued.] “ First class in natural philosophy stand up. John Tompkins, what is attraction ?” •‘ Dun’no sir.” Urchin from bottom of class—“ Phase sir, 1 know.” “ Well, what is it ?” “ It’s the look that a blue-eyed gal gives to her lover.” “Right, sir. Now, tell me what inertia is?” “Inertia, sir, is a desire to remain wh -re you are —a feeling that a piece of calico ex periences when leaning against a canary colored velvet vest.” “ R ght again—spoken like a young phil osoph»-r. Take the head of the class—go to the foot, John Tompkins—l’ll never make a philosopher out ot you. Next in philosophy, stand up.” A father winding up his watch, said to his little girl: •‘ L»-t me wind up your nose?” *• No,” said the child, “ 1 don’t want my n-.se wound up, for I don’t want it to run all day.” < Aii Irishman who is just comm- .<•- ing the study of Italian, wants to know h >w it is if they Lave no W in that language, that them chaps spell wagon ? NUMBER 6.