Orphans’ Friend.
Price, $1 a year.)
OXFORD, N. C., MAY 25, 1883.
(VOL. IX. NO. 1.
A HEiET SEEKIUa GOD.
0 give- me back a world of life ;
Something to love and trust,
'.omething to quench my inward
strife,
And lift me from the dust.
I can lotMve with natui*e dead,
VI id laws and causes blind,
Powerless on earth or overhead
To trace all-guiding Mind.
Better the instinct of the brute
That feels its God afar,
Than reason t > his praises mute,
Talking with every star.
Better in childhood’s thoughtless
trust
Than manhood’s daring scorn ;
The fear that creeps along the dust
'Than doubt in hearts forlorn
And knowledge, if it cost so dear,
I' such be reason’s day,
I’ll lose the pearl without a tear,
And grope my star-lit way.
And be toils of wisdom cursed
1 f.suoh the meed we earn;
If. -freezing. - pride and • doubt are
nursed.
And faith forbid to burn.
—JVow '‘•Tempted to Unbelief^
TOMlirS '‘DAY OFF.”
. BY^BSSSXE PESO.
‘Botheration!’ said Tommy
Trent, as ’ he slammed the
door very hard.
He was playing marbles
with Jim Coe in the front
yard, and his mother had call
ed him in to amuse the baby
a few minutes before school-
time.
‘I wish a feller coaid do as
he’s a minter,’ he continued,
giving a fling to his cap.
Mrs. Trent looked pained,
but made no reply. The ba
by sat on the floor, with his
big blue eyes fixed upon Tom-
my.
‘Who yer starin’ atf ejacu
lated that amiable young gen
tleman, contorting bis freckled
countenance until he resem
bled a Chinese idol.
‘Tommy,’ said Sister Sue,
who was writing her gram
mar exercise, ‘if you do not
keep your hands out of your
pockets, I shall sew them up.’’
‘The hands, or the pockets?’
queried the incorrigible Thom
as, . withdrawing one grimy
fist, in order to throw a wor
sted doll at the baby.
‘You’re a dirty, bad boyl’
retorted Sue.
‘You needn’t put on airs
and pretend to be so orful
good,’ answered Tommy.
‘Jim Coe and me, we seed you
an’ ’Rier Mills—’fhere! you
needn’t mnke ©yes at me,
neither. We seed you eatin’
choklit kallermels behind the
blackboard yesterday, when
you wuz copyiu’ sums.^
‘I wouldn’t be a tell-tale,’
said Sue, loftily.
.■‘Children!’ said Grandfa«
ther Trent sternly, lowering
The Morning Intelligencer and
pushing up his spectacles.
Mrs.' Trent dropped her
sewing, to pacify the child,
andthe school-bell began to
ring.
‘You needn’t wait for me,
Tommy Trent,’ said Sue,with
rather suspicious sweetness.
‘Whose a-goin^ to?’ replied
Tommy, catching up a dilap
idated ‘Creenleaf’ and a crack-
ed slate, and scrambling over
the back ot the sofa for his
cap, which, when last seen,
was flying rapidly in that di-
reetioA.
‘Thomas,’ said his mother,
when he emerged, with a very
red face, ‘what is the matter
with you?’
*I don’t see why I can’t ever
do as I druther,’ grumbled
Tommy, rattliug the door
knob. ‘1 never was havin’ en-
ny fun yet, but I had to quit,
aud run errands, or tend the
baby, or go to that mean old
school. I hate errands, and
the baby’s a bother, and .1
can’t bear school. Our new
teacher’s got one glass eye;
but he sees more with that
than most folks do outer two
good ones, and there ain’t no
chance to sling paper wads.
Then I. can’t never sit up
nights, and. I know there’s ap
ples i-nd nuts just the minute
you think I’m asleep; but I
wuzzent. I peeked through
the ’ stove-pipe hole. And
then in the mornin’
everybody hollers at, me to
get up. I hate to get up. I
wish I wuz big. Big folks
don’t have to,,mind.’ And
Tommy kicked up the corner
of the rug, by viray of varia
tion.
• .Mrs. Trent had been gazing
thoughtfully out into the gar
den. When Tommy ended
his remarks, there was afaint-
ly perceptible smile about her
mouth, as she replied:
‘Grown people do not aK
ways please themselves^: my
son; but I am sorry that my
little boy has such a . hard
life. All overworked people
should occasionally haye a.
day off, so I have decided that
from supper-time to-morrow
night you shall dt> nothing,
but ‘have fun.’ You shall sit
up as late as the rest of the'
family, lie abed in the. morn
ing, and stay home -from-
lachool. If you like,-you may
throw paper wads atthe chick-
ens.’ , :
Tommy looked puzzled.
‘Do you really mean it?’ he
said.
‘Certainly I do,’ she replied.
Grandpa’s eyes were twink-
iling behind bis paper.
‘Howjolly!’ exclaimed T^m-
my. ‘Ho13 on, Snapper!’ he
cried'in tile*'next breath'*, as'he
saw oft© ot the = sohoobboys
passing tthe house.
There was a rush, a slam,
,and he had gone. '■ -
‘What shall I do with him?’
said poor Mrs, Trent, turning
tearful eyes toward GfatidfeS
ther.
‘I think Car’.lino,’ said the
!old sentleman, as -he-(Slowl^
poliflied his glasses- - oU'-'-biS
silk handkerchief-^‘L think
you’ve fixed him t^iis time.
‘I hope-so,’ siglabdthe wea-
iry mother.
‘Now,’ said Tommy, that
night,, at the tea-table, after
he had finished his fifth bis'
cuit and drank a third glass
of milk—‘now I’m goin’ to
■have fun^ .
Nobody, appeared to pay
the slightest attention to his
remark. Papa Trent was dis
cussing politics with Gra.nd-
father. Mamm?.’ Trent was
listening patiently tO' an .old
lady who had ’dropped in’ to
tea. Sue sat tw irling her nap
kin^ring in the absent-minded
manner which she sometimes
adopted when she wished to
impress her brother with an
idealof his uttej” insignificance;
but Tommy was not easily
impresed. As' the family ad
journed to the" sitting-room,
he went and stood by a win
dow, The old lady gathered
up her knitting and departed.
Tommy repeated his remark;
but with the same result as
before.
Sue had her history for half
an hour’s study. Tommy felt
almost overpowered by liis
new independence. What to
do with it he didn’t know.
How he wished Sue would ask
him if h© had done his multi
plication sums, that he might
wither her with a word; but
no. Sue was rocking back
ward and forward, tying her
apron -strings into hard knots,
and muttering: ‘America was
discovered in .fourteen-hun-.
dred and nine-two—fourteen*
and nine-ty*two, and two—
and ninety-two.’
Tommy felt that each m r-
menthe stood there idle he
was losing dignity. Sudd only
a bright thought struck him.
He would go down to the
village. Perhaps Sue would
say he’d better not go, and
ho! the joy of walking away
from under her very eve.s.
It was raining fast as he
slipped into the hall, took his
hat and umbrella, and return
ed to the sitting-room.
‘I think,’ he said, faintly.
Nobody looked at him. He,
gathered courage. ‘I think I
will go down to the village.’
Unconsciously he imitated
his father so perfectly that the
family nearly spoiled the ef
fect by a burst of laughter;
but Grandfather did not j'aise
his eves from the ‘Life of Wil
liam Pitt;’ Mamma lost not a
note in the lullaby she was
bumming to the baby; Sue
•continued to discover America
:in 1492; and Papa simply re
plied, .‘Very well, my son.’
The truth of the matter was
that Tommy was a great
coward and terribly afraid of
:the ‘dark,^ and there was not
:the least danger of his carry
ing his throat into (jxecution.
jThe thought of opposition was
jail that had braced him to
makejthe venturesome decis'-
iqri- How he wished that um**
brella back in the rack. He
stood a moment or two, quak
ing inwardly. Sue began to
look sarcastic. She evidently
thoug^,t he .was afraid. The
idea w^s madness. He would
go into the hall, anyway. So
he went, leayipg the sitting-
room door open a few inches.
He heard Sue say :
‘Papa, mayn’t Tommy shut
the dfior? I feel a draught,.’
‘Close the door, ThomasI’
said tfapa.
Poor Tommy obeyed. How
gloomy the hall vi^as! What
was that tall, dark thing in the
corner? Ugh! Tommy began
to tremble. Hark'! he thought
he heard Sue la.ugh. That
was enough. He hurried to
the front door, opianed it.step-
ped out, shutting it with all
bis might, and stood alone on
the wet, dark ve> andah, with
the wind rattling the leafless
vines and the elms tapping
the roof with their long, bony
fingers. He thought how
pleasant it was Inside, and
how nice it had been to sit
beside his father, with his
slate and book No, he would
not cry, not for a hundred
agates. Somebody came up
the path. It was Maria Mills,
who bad agreed to spend the
night with Sue.
‘Why, Tommy Trent,’ she
said, ‘w}?at aie you doing?’
‘Wanted to see if’twasgoin’
to clear off,’ said Tommy.
He went in with Maria,
and Sue asked him what he
saw ‘down to the village.’
She hadn’t forgotten the ‘kal-
lerrael’ story.
Perhaps it was his hearty
supper or his subsequent ad
venture; but somehow Tom
my was very sleepy and the
clock had only just struck
eight. Mr. Trent brought out
the backgammon board, for a
game with his wife. Sue and
Maria were playing duets and
the Grandfathei nodded over
his book. Tommy thought he
would make pictures on his
slate; but, after delineating a
few horses and dogs, which
looked like the sole survivors
of a prolone.ed seige, the pur
suit lost its charms. Why
should his eyelids draw to
gether? He sat up very
straight and winked fast. He
even pinched himself..
‘Having fun, Tommy?’ said
Sue, whirling around on the
piano-stool; but Tommy was
fast asleep. •
Next morning he woke.and
saw the sunshine falling across
the floor and- heard a .faint
clatter of dishes. There was
a pleasant, savory odor of
breakfast in the room; but
Tommy dozed, and woke,and
dozed again, until he felt quite
ready to encounter this weary
world once more. The house
was very still as he went
down-stairs. The dining-room
was deserted. There was
nothing on the table but some
wqrk Mrs. Trent had been
cutting out. The clock struck
‘ten.’ Tommy was tremen-1
dously hungry. He could |
have eaten mackerel, which
he particularly detested.
Bridget was in the kitchen,
paring vegetables for dinner.
T want my breakfast!’ snapN
ped Tommy.
‘Hear the biyl’ exclaimed
Bridget. ‘Then why were yez
not here to ate it with the
rist?' Yer mars goneridin’ wid
the babby.’
Tommy wandered into the
pantry, and was obliged to
content himself with bread
and butter and a baked apple.
He started out to find a boy
to have a game of marbles;
but there seemed to be a sud
den dearth of l*oy8 in the vil
lage. How the time dragged.
He ventured down to the post-
office, and somebody asked
him if he were ‘playing hook
ey.’ He saw his Sunday-
school teacher coming, and,
turning a corner, to avoid her,
met the carriage containing
his father and mother and the
baby.
*6h ! Papa, take me in!’ he
cried.
His father stopped the
horse.
‘What lazy boy is this?'
said Mr. Trent. '‘AU respecta
ble boys are in school ’ Then
they drove on.
Tommy went towards home.
School was just out,
‘Hello, Trent!’ cried several
voices. ‘You missed it this
morning.’ Snapper got a lick-
in.’ He hollered awful.’
‘Had a good time?’said Sue,
at the dinner table. ‘Played
marbles with Bridget or the
cat?’
Tommv crtuld bear no more.
‘You shut up!’ he said.
‘Thomas, leave the room!’
commanded his father.
Poor Tommy! He hadn’t
finished his .roast beef and
there was a delicious meringue
pudding in the near future.
Weren’t you rather hard on
the child?’ said Mamma.
'No, my dear; he was get
ting quite unbearable.’
Tommy longed to go to
school; but he was too proud.
He spent most of the. after
noon on the side steps, th«
pangs of his solitude being
somewhat soothed by an im
mense dish of pudding which
Sue had purloined, in a sud
den moment of penitence.
About four o’clock he dis-
appe^:red. When the supper-
bell rang, he took his place at
the table, with a pair of very
red eyes.
As Mrs. Trent, turned over
her plate, she found a tear-
stained, blotted, and diriy
piece of paper, which read
thus:
my Deer ma i think this Iz
plaide Out. I druther do az you
druther i aint Had no Fun please
Forgive me aud i will be a Better
boy i wuz goin To ask you to do
Suthin to su but i Changed niy
mind for Sue iz A brik.
‘‘p. S. i like the baby kinder
p. 8. i Hed jest az le^f go on
erants ef you want Eniiy rayzons,
,“P. 8. i doant Want to stay
Away from Schule Enny moar. a
tellar got licked today and i Did-
ent see Him.
“P. S. Wuz thair Enny moar uv
that Pudin left this Noon.
your Lovin sun
“tomas e Trent.”
MUSIC.
‘Where singing is not the
devil enters,’ is an old Ger
man proverb,and there is much
truth in it We hear persons
often say: ‘I have no voice
for ringing—riio talent what^
ever for music.’ Did they ev
er try to develop the little
they have by moderate cul
ture? ‘My lungs are too weak,’
says another, ‘I dare not
strain them.’ Do they never
scold or exclaim loudly un
der any species of excitement?
Every human being has
some music in himself wheth
er volqed or not, and by a
proper training, and whole«
some exercise of the dominant
faculty,who can tell what
wondrous melody might be
extracted to entrance the lis
tening ear?
In our schools of education
the divine gift of song is al'
most entirely neglected, and
its culture at best deemed a
secondary tnought of little'
value.
The homes of Germany are
all musical, for there vocal
and instrumental music be
long to an essential depart
ment of the schools for men
tal discipline, aud this har
monizing influence lias had
much to do with the temper
ance reform, which, ;aince the
introduction of music in the
schools, has been steadily on
the increase, and will eventu
ally expel King Alcohol and
his cohorts from the land.
Would that every home in
our country boasted a piano,
or that some inventive gen
ius would produce some in
strument of equal power and
compass on a cheaper scale, so
that it would be within the
. reach of the masses, who now
complain that their narrow
means will not justify the ex
pense* Surely the world
would rank such a man among
her ommon benefactors.
Let the demand for outside
pleasure be diminished by
furnishing means of enjoyment
at home. Have a piano,organ,
violin, fiuto, or some musical
instrument, whose softening
and refining influence will be
felt and confessed as a domes
tic blessing, whose benign ef
fects benefit an entire house
hold.
What sight could be more
beautiful and inspiring than
to see a family grou])—father,
mother, children, all—blend
ing their voices in one
of Weber’s or Mozart’s fine
compositions, or in some sim
ple native melody, better
known and loved.
The mother takes her seat
at the piano, and conducts the
accompauiment, the father
gives the fine, rich bass, aud
the little ones furnish the alto
aud soprano with line effect.
Surely no practice or relaxa
tion is better calculated to
make the young love their
homes and seek it for pure
rational enjoyment and profit.
If you have no piano, extract
the sting of care or sorrow
from a heavy heart with a
song. When trials crowd
\’Our path, sing them down; it
is ti’ue philosophy to do so.
The angels sing in Heaven,
aud the little robins just be
fore letiring sing a tribute of
gratetulpraise toGod. They
dream of music, and some
times at the midnight hour
startle themselves by some
sponta eous outburst of me
lodious joy and praise.—BaU
timorean.
A PREACHING RAILROAD,
Col. Bennett H. Young, of the
Louisville, New Albany & Chi
cago Railroad, has taken a new
departure in railroading. He or-
ders that as far as possible no
work shall be done, or trains be
run on that road on Sunday. The
only passenger train that will be
run on that day is that carrying
mails, and efforts will be made
to discontinue it. • In cases of
perishable goods of live stock,
freight trains will run when nec
essary only. The order further
says :
“You will in future run no
excursion trains of any kind, for
any purpose, on the Sabbath.
This order applies to campmeet
ing trains. If Christian people
cannot find other places for wor
ship; this company will not vio
late'the divine and civil law,and
deny its employees the essential
rest of the Sabbath to carry them
to'camp-meeting grounds. lam
also informed that a nurabermf
the company’s employees have
conscientious scruples against
any work on the Sabbath, There
are likely others who do not feel
so strongly on this subject Un
der no ordinary circumstances
must any employee who objects
on the ground of his religious
convictions be ordered or requir
ed to do any service on the Sab
bath. If any diffi'culties arDe in
the execution of this regulation
you will please report tiiemto
me for consideration and you
will also notify the employees of
their rights on conscientious
grounds to be fully protected in
•the observance of the day of
rest.*”