THP; ORPHANS’ FRH]’nD^
IVodnusday, .July 13, IS76.
BOYS’ AND GIRLS’JePARTMEI^T
isr niEMouY OP my motiieu
BY DAISY.
Dear inothpr, you from ushavo goiio
To that bright homo abovo,
To slug around the Golden Throne,
Where all is peace ami love.
Each day, dear mother, as we go
Our worldly rounds of care,
We feel the anguish and the woe.
The silence of despair.
We turn and listen for your voice,
We pause to see your .smile.
Which always made our hearts rejoice,
And did the hours beguile.
We gather all our little band
Around our lonely hearth ;
We ask about the Spirit Land,
And long to flee from earth.
Yes, mother, we do often pray,
That angels soon will come,
Our tired hearts to hear away
To yon b:i^ht happy home,
To that home of bliss above.
This cold and hollow earth ;
Here envy poisons gentle love,
And hatred owns its'birth.
Oh, mother ! of the spirit now,
Return to earth again—
Come soothe this burning, aching brow.
This tired, eartli-worn brain.
Yonr child is lonely, and to-night
Sad tears are falling fast
Upon her heart—they dim her sight—
Yet she clings to the happy past.
To those bright and joyous, by-goiio hours.
When I an infant gay,
Knew not of thorns, but gathered flowers
To scatter in my play.
Oh, yes! sweet mother, flowers tlieii
Were scattered in my path—
I knew not of the world and men—
I knew not of their wrath.
I knew not of the bitter .scorn,
The malice and the art,
That meets me now b(>th night and morn
And stings my aching heart,
My troubled brain does often daiu;
As on the thorns I tred;
“ Cast them aside Ah I ’tis in vain;
ni wait till 1 am dead.
I’ll wait till God calls to His breast
Your tired, wet-ping child;
Ho then will give mo quiet rest
From struggles fierce and wild.
Oil! mother, will 1 never hear '
Sweet words of tenderness
From lips that were so very dear,
Your weary child to bless 1
I have not where to rest my head—
I have not where to weep—
Life, hope and joy will soon be fled,
And oh ! I long for sleep.
This cruel world can never give
A solace for our griefs—
A broken heart may sometimes live,
But ah I its life is brief.
Yet far beyond the bounds of death,
There is a Golden Gate;
Dear mother, for your tired child
Will you—will you wait?
Yes, mother, you’ll be standing there
To let us enter in—
Cleanly washed by faith and prayer--
Cleansed from all our sin.
LITTLE TOTTY’S PKAYEK.
BY EMMA GARRISON JONES.
Totty sat before the fire, her
bare brown ankles visible beneath
her scant print frock, her llaxen
curls in a tumble, her pretty face
wearing a very sober look.
‘Totty,’ called her mother’s
feeble voice from the bod, ‘isn’t
there any tea at all left in the
caddy f
‘Not a bit, niamsy,’ answered
Totty.
Mamsy was Totty’s pet name
for mamma, just as Totty was her
mother’s pet name for her little
girl. They were very fond of
each other, this poor sick widov/
and her little daughter.
‘And not a mite of baco.n, -1
suppose, or even a herring V con
tinued her mother.
‘No, mamsy,’ answered Totty ;
‘wo had the last bit of fish this
morning. ’I'here’s nothing but
tlio diy bread, now.’
rile child’s vu.ee was veri’sad.
and so was her mother’s,
replied.
as she
Well, my dear, it can't be help
ed ; you must toast a slice or two
of bread, and—and—well, wo can
have some water. Totty, maybe
we’ll manage to got a little souji
to-morrow.’
‘Poor mamsy,’ murmured Tot
ty. ‘I wish she had some soup
to-night; she’s so hungry.’
The tears rose in the litle girl’s
blue eyes, and began to trickle
down her round cheeks as she sat
on the hearth and watched the
blazing faggots. She was very
hungry, too, poor little Totty, and
tired besides. She had been
gathering pine-knots all the chill
November afternoon, and carry
ing them across the desolate moor
to lier mother’s poor cottage ; and
now she must go to bed so hun
gry, and poor mamsy needing
some soup so much.
She rose up from the hearth,
with a sobbing little sigh, and
climbing on a chair, took a bit
of loaf from the corner cupboard.
She cut three slices, two for her
sick mother and one for herself,
and sat them before the coals to
toast. This done, she took the
brown pitcher, and ran out into
the moonlight, and down to the
spring tor water.
A little below the spring, under
the sliadow of a giant elm tree,
her fatlier lay buried.
_ Little Totty paused, the brown
pitcher poised upon her curly
head, and looked across at his
grave. A year ago he was alive,
and mamsy was well and they
had plenty of everything. Poor
Totty’s little heart ached with
l)ain, as she stood there in the
chill, white moonlight, and look
ed at her father’s grave.
‘I wisli we were both dead,
mamsy and me, and lying down
there with papa,’ she sobbed.
Then all at once she called to
mind her father’s last words.
Come here, Totty,’ he said, as
he lay on bis death-bed. -Papa
i.-i going to leave his little girl,
now ; but she must be good, and
God will be her Father. Re
member that, Totty, God will be
your Fatlier, and whatever you
ask of Him He will give to you,
just as I would.”
Those were her father’s last
words. She whispiered them
oyer, standing there in sight of
his grave.
‘I wonder if I ask God to send
mamsy some soup to-night, if He
would f she thought then.
Presently she took the pitcher
from her head and kneeled down
on the frost grass.
Oh, Heaven!’ she prayed, look
ing up with trusting eyes at the
shining stars ; ‘when papa died
ho said you would be my father.
Will you please send poor mamsy
some soup to-night, she is so sick
and hungry V
_ Then she jumped up, took her
pitcher, ran home.
‘ i otty, the bread’s toasted
brown, isn’t it, clear?’ asked her
mother.
‘Yes,^ mamsy, but we’ll wait
just'a little while, please.’
Mamsy wondered why, but she
said nothing, and Totty sat down
oefore tiio lilazing faggots and
waited for Heaven to answer her
prayer. Five minutes went by,
then tho little girl got up, and
tiptoeing across the floor unclosed
the door, and peeped out to see
if anything was coming, never
doubting in her sweet chilcl’s faith,
bomething dark lay on the step,
and over it crouched Muff, Totty’s
big yellow cat.
‘dll. Muff, what is it?’ cried
Totty.
Then she gaie a joyful little
scream.
‘Mamsy, darling, it’s a pheas
ant—a big, fat pheasant. 1 asked
Heaven, just now, to send v'ou
some soup ; and oh, mamsy, only
see ! It has sent this by Muff,
and now Til put on the kettle and
have you a bawl of soup this very
night; won’t I, darling mamsy I’
And while her mother wept soft
ly, and Muff purred before the
fire, little Totty dressed her
pheasant and prepared her savory
dish, her innocent heart full of
loving gratitude to Heaven for
answering her prayer.
AEECK’S SAFEGUASiO.
A TEUE STOEY.
Aleck Forbush w'as having a
grand game one day last summer
at romps with the waves, as with
a merry ripple they rolled up the
gravelly beach. Jolly fun, he
thought it; and yet, when there
came a call from the little cot-
.tage, it -was a bright face he took
up to the door.
Tlere Alock, run quick to the
‘corner,’ and buy me two lemons,’
said his mother, rolling six bright
pennies in a bit of paper, and
putting them in his hand.
Away went the nimble feet to
the little store.
‘Two lemons if you please sir.’
And the pleasant-faced man
behind the counter picked out
two of the nicest he could find;
for Aleck was a favorite in the
village.
‘Three cents apiece, and two
for five cents,’ said the store
keeper.
bo Aleck had a bright new
penny left, and his mother did
not expect it. Here was a temp
tation—the penny in his hand,
that his mother would never in
quire for, and right there in the
show-case, such delicious candy !
The temptation grew stronger.”
‘I guess if mother knew, she
wouldn’t care,’ he said to himself;
‘and then she never need know.’
So ho began to unfold the pa
per in which he liad again wrap
ped the penny. Something gave
him a little start, and the next
minute he walked quickly out of
the store towards his mother’s
‘I don't dbubf you will have
many more temptations to wrong
doing, Aleck; but I think you
had bettei- keep these words in
your memorv. Have them en
graved on your heart. Then
they will be always with you.
The bit of paper would soon
wear out and be lost.’—Young
Bcajier.
“SOMEBOBE MUST BE JIV.”
Here is a little story which tells
better than a dictionary can the
meaning of the word “disinteres
tedness.”
The late Archdeacon Hare was
once, when tutor of Trinity Col
lege, Cambi'idge, giving a lecture,
when a cry of ‘Fire’ was raised
Away rushed his pupils, and
forming themselves into a line
between tho building, which was
close at hand, and tho river, passed
buckets from oire to another
The tutor quickl;y following;
found tlieni thus engaged ; at tho
end of the line one youth was
standing up to his waist in the
river; ho was delicate and he
looked con.sumptlve.
‘What!’ cried Mr. Hare, ‘you
in the water, Sterling ? you so
liable to take cold !’
‘Somebody must be in it,” the
youth answered ; ‘why not I, as
well as another V
The spirit of this answer is
that of all great and generous do
ing. Cowardness and coldness,
say, ‘Oh, somebody will do it,’
and the speaker sits still; he is
not the one to do what needs do
ing. Rut nobility of characte’,
looking at necessary things, says,
‘Somebody must do it; why not
I ?’ And the deed is done—Cliat-
terhox.
cottage.
‘Mamma,’ he said, as he enter
ed, almost out of bveath, ‘1 am
glad you put the pennies in that
piece of tract.’
‘Why f’ she a.sked, taking the
lemons from his hands.
‘Because, if I hadn’t seen those
words on it, ‘thou God seest me,’
I should have been a thief.’
Th en he told her the story of his
temptation, and how fast he -had
run away from it, the moment he
saw those words.
‘1 am glad, too,’ said his moth
er, when ho had finislied ; ‘and
glad boy heeded the words.
1 should have felt sadly enough
if he had come home a”thief and
a liar.’
‘I didn’t think of telling a lie,
mamma,’ and Aleck looked up
surprised.
’But you didn’t mean to tell
the truth. You meant to act and
talk just the same as if tho lemons
cost the entire six cents, vrhich
wasn’t true. You -would, at least
have acted a lie, which is quite
a,s bad as tolling one with your
lips. There is one thing you
will find almost true, that wrong
things seldom go alone.’
Aleck looked very sober, and
was silent for a few minutes.
Then he said :
‘Mamma, I think I’ll keep this
piece of tract. Maybe I shall be
tempted to do some wrong thino-
again, and this might keep me
from it.’
MRS. STfiAOLEY’S SCHOOL.
The Fall Session of 187f) will open on the
fii'st M. n lay in Aui^ust. Fur pvr ieulars. ap
] ly lor ci.CuLir.
M. A. STRALLEY,
Oxfor A .V. C.
Orphans’ iJ'rieud.
ALIVE AND LIVELY WEEKLY!
ORGAN OF THE ORPHAN WORR:
EKTEaTAMIMG AND IN-
STSUCTIVE TO THE YOUNG,
A ZEALOL S FRIEND AND ADVOCATE
©F E®fJCATI©]Y.
PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY.
SOeSGRiPTlON m POSTAGE
OSEY GKE »OEE,Ua A -rEAU
OFFICE IN THE ORPEAIf
BUILDING, AT OXFORD.
AI>VLKTiSLTTLENTS.
Ten cents a line for one insertion. Five
cents a line each week for more than one ami
h‘ss than twelve insertions. One column,
three months, sixty dollars. Half column,
oiree months, forty dollars, quarter column,
throe months, twenty dollars.
Present circulation, fourteen hundred and
forty papers each week.
Address
OaPIIANS’ FRIEND,
OXFORD, N. C.
T. B. LYoN, JR. K. DALLY. E. H.LYON
{iM-te of '^Dalhy
LYON, DALBY & CO.,
IIOAV-CII3EBHEJV AIJE
'JTEB.
ADMIT-
Very often tlie Superintendent
hunts up poor and promising or
phans and informs them of the
advantages offered at the Orphan
Houses, and induces them to re
turn with him. Generally it is
best that he should see them be
fore they start. When this is im
practicable, a formal application
should bo made by some friend.
Here is one in proper form :
Edenton, N. C., )
June 2d, 1876. j
This is to certify that Susan N.
Bradshatv is an orphan, wifhoid es
tate, sound in hodij and mind, and
ten years of age. Her father died in
1873 ; her mother in 1867. I 'be-
ing her Aunt, hereby make applica
tion for her admission into the Asy
lum at Oxford. I also relinquish
and cottvey to the officers of the Asy
lum the management and control of
the said, orphan for four years, in
order that she may he trained and
educated according to the regulations
prescribed by the Grand'Lodge of
North ■Carolina. Alartha Scott.
Alpproved hg
John Thompson, W. M.
of Unanimity Lodge, No. 7.
The application should be sent
to the Superintendent and he will
either go for the children, or pro
vide for their transportation. In
no case should a community take
up a collection to send a man
with the children, nor send the
children before the Superintend
ent lias been consulted.
MA.NiIEACTDREIlS
OF
THE
“AROM
DURHAM "■
PUFF,”
KING
T©KAC€-«.
Diirliam, N. C.
Orders solicited—Ajt^cuts wanted—Tobacco
guaranteed.
March 17th—n-2m.
H. A. 1S.EAMS & CO.,
MANUFACTDREKS OP
EEAMS’ BUailAM BOOT AND
SHOE POLISH.
Warranted to excel all others, or money
Hefunded.
The only Blacking that will polish on oiled
surface. .It is guaranteed to preserve leather
and make it pliant, requiring less quantity and
time to ifDiduco aperfe.ct gloss than any other,
the brush to be applied immediately after put
ting on the Blacking. A perfect gloss from
this will not soil even white clothes. We
guarantee it as represented, and as for pat
ronage, strictly on its merits.
H. A. REAMS &. CO., Manufacturers,
Durham, N. 0.
This Blacking is recommended in the high
est terms, after trial, bv Geo. F. Brown, J*
Howard Warner, New York; the Pre.sideul
and Professors of Wake Forest College; and
a largo number of gentlemen in and around
Durham, whoso certificates have been fur
nished tho Maniifecturers.
Orders soliciced and promptly filled.
March Ord, 1S75. y.tf