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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.