Orphans’ Friend.
Price, $1 a year.)
OXFORD, N. C., JUNE 1, 1883.
(VOL. IX. NO. 2.
Selected for the Orphans’ F^i^■nd.
HON. ALEXAKI^ER H. STEPHENS, of
MARCH 6th 1883.
Refl|ctmg youth oh ! pause and h.iar
Tbe;8equeri^g.of my humble pray’r:
A n|tion mouruB its honor’d dead.
A Ujing a silent head,
NoTtlies forever, ’neatli the sod,
Earljli’s purest ectype of he: God.
From ihe New York Observer.
DOING THINGS THOROUGHLY.
A statesman who adorn’d bis State,
Besoj^t her ^r^deqr soo i or late,
pure, devoid of self,
He^spurn’d position for its pelf,
He towePd upjy^rd o^i honor;s name.
The noblest pinnacle of fame,
To youtl? he youth’s best
By Qpun^ei, mipn, he sought their
His age lost nqt, its wonted fire,
To see youth prosper his desire,
He u^rUPd power, directed fate,
Grand'gnomon on his dial State.
But the sad f^ of mortals his.
He- seed, he reaps the bliss
A life that virtue pays to death
Is nev«rfejt4^. wifh' ifs breath,
liut on the heart, he carv’d his
name,
T’will live beyond, it lives the same,
An^jftSigo^^ypt.iiubqrp -ffiH rise,
To
AN ANGE^:^|^P.PUSB.
How( sweet it were, if without fee-
Or the dreadful beauteous
An ang'^ Oflme to us and we could
bear
To see him issue from the silent
At evening in oij^. ropw, and b^d
His' ditdne eyes, and brings us
from his bowers
News ofidear^ ^rieudg, and child-
;^Pi,.wh.9,have nev.er
Been dead indeed,—as
forever.
Alafl.Uwie think not that we dailj^
we shall
About oiir hearths,—angels, that
are. to be,
0|-^^be if they will, and we pre
pMe
Their souls and ours to meet in
haj^\ air.;
a friend,
‘ soft heart sings
In unison witii ours, breeding its
future wiag,8.
—^Leigh S'wat,
a wife whose
DSINKIN 'UUBLIN.
of
The Recorder of Dublin
said recently: ‘I have been for
a whole week trying cases
such as no Christian judge
ought to have to tr>—oases of
outrage and violence. I mark
ed the evidence in every sin'
gle case, and every one o
them began in the public
bouse. It is the drink system
and drink alone, that leads to
all thiapnibs,,and misery, and
soriQjr. Yesterday I went
thmn^ a mllp.and three qur
ter^iM miserable, wretched
stj'Lte, manifesting on every
sidJ^tite penury and wretch
edness of the unfortunate peo
ple who lived in them. The
anlB„ bright spots were the
public-houses, whioh,l’rilliant
fy lighted up, reflected and
coqU^sted with the surroun
ding misery. I hate this mag-
nificenqe. I look upon it with
horror. I know it but too well.
As each case of crime and vi“
VencB comes before me, the
semq ^^retched story is told
the is as neces*^
gary a part of every case as
the police or myself.’
Laura caaie into the disor
dered sitting-room, put a
sweeping-cap on her head and
began listlessly drawing a
broom over the dirty carpet
In a few moments a goodly
pile of dirt was swept out the
door, when she took a duster
and looked around, quite puz
zled where to begin.
I wish I'd never been to
Aunt Sarah's,’ slie said, drop
ping down on the lounge with
more discontented look than
before.
‘It’s all very well for her to
talk aliout keeping things in
order, but her children seem
different from our.s. • Just look
here.’
It was rather discouraging.
On one chair lay some crusts
of bread and molasses; on an
other a torn picture book and
some paints over which the
jlass of water used with them
aad been spilt. On the table
mother^s over-ffiled work-
basket was running over, some
spools of thread tangled
among broken toys. The ash
es from the grate were widely
scattered, and every corner
seemed to have its separate
litter.
‘Who sweeps a room well,
does Grod’s service.’ Some
thing like this Laura had
heard said while at aunt’s
house-
I don’t believe Grod has
much to do with such a room
as this,’ she said fretfully to
herself. ‘And it don’t make
much diff’erence how it’s
swept. I’m sure. Bui her eye
noted rather uneasily the un
touched corners, and the dusty
patch under the ' table which
her lazy broom had not reach
ed. Aunt Sarah’s cheery
watchword: ‘Thorough, my
dears, thorough,’ seemed to
sound in her, ears as she re
membered how she had come
home with a firm determina
tion to institute a better order
of things.
‘I’ll try it, anyway.’ She
dusted and carried out every
movable article of furniture,
apiang to her broom again,
and this time wielded it with
an energy which left little
chance of peace to the seldom
distui’hed dust And into the
fire went many a fragment of
broken playthings that would
surely never be missed. Aunt
Sarah believed in a judicious
keeping down of worthless
trash.
The dirt being gathered
tltis time in i a dust pan and
sent after the trash, Laura
straightened and. dusted the
pictures, then the curtains.
Books not needed were car
ried away, the others piled
neatly in order. Newspapers
were sorted, and those not to
be saved taken to the kitchen
for kindling. A basket was
found for the toys, and the
rubber shoes and a slate which
had laid under the lounge
were put away in the closet.
There was not time for a
thorough cleaning of finger
marked windows, but a quick
rub with some soft paper
brightened them amazingly.
Then she washed up the oil
cloth before the grate, and
when the furniture was back
in place sat down with the
work-basket, glad of a rest.
hopeless snarl I ever saw, but
I’ll try what ‘thorough’ will
do here.’ A number of pieces
for chance mending were
rolled into a handle,the thread
untangled as far as it could
be, wound and fastened.
Needles were placed in the
needle-hook, and buttons in a
box by themselves. A jump
ing-jack a'*d a tin horse on
wheels were rescued from a
woful entanglement in a skein
of darning yarn, which was
wound up and laid with the
stockings, mated ready for
mending. Almost everything
went back into the basket
which had been there before,
but it was not half full.
Lastly Laura went to the
parlor and brought out a gay
colored tidy for the large
chair and worsted mat for a
vase, which she hastily filled
with flowers. I’m not going
to keep all the pretty things
out of sight,’she said, ‘and I’m
going to have a cretonne cov
er for the old lounge. It wont
cost much and will lighten up
the room.’
Even baby gave a crow of
delight as he came into the
room on mother’s arm Then
scrambled down and laughed
aloud as he crept toward his
tin horse, which had been
lost for a week. And mother
looked around the room with
a brighter smile than Laura
had seen on her face for many
a day.
‘Oh, my daughter—have
your little hands done all this?
Why, I didn’t know the old
carpel could look so fresh—
and what a cheery-looking,
pleasant room it is after all.
What a precious comfort you
are, my darling.’
Laura looked around the
tidy room with great satisfac
tion.
‘I’ve been over every inch
of it, mother. How pleasant
it is to feel that you’ve done a
thing thoroughly.’
Try it girls. Try what
satisfaction there, is in bring
ing order and sweetness out of
confusion. Try what a joy
there is in lightening moth
er’s cares and in making dear
faces brighter because the
dear home is brighter. And
be sure that the Master who
has said, ‘Whatsoever thy
hands findeth to do, do it with
thy might,’ will tenderly bless
even a smaller service, con
scientiously and heartily per
formed, than, that of a ‘room
well swept.’ S. D.
AEAII or CAMOGASC.
Where the glacier current
of the river Inn pours down
from the Alps into the green
V: Ileys of the Tyrol lies the
town of Camogasc. In olden
times a castle stood on the
mountain side, and its owner,
Count Cardoval, was the ter
ror of the entire district. The
homes of the valley, now so
peaceful, were then
filled with fear because of his
frequent invasions. ,
One day, as he
through the village, he saw
the daughter of Adam of Cam
ogasc, whose beauty was iiO'
ted throughout the valley.
Count Cardoval knew no re
spect for youth or beauty.
Others she could refuse; his
power she could not. So he
I called his men at-arms and
men at-arms
I do think it’s the most ^ ordered them to bring her to * castle steps,
the castle that very night.
The villagers had learned
long ago that to show any de*
sire to avoid the troopers was
to excite their suspicion and
invite an attack. So,when the
band came down the moun
tain and entered the village,
Adam hammered away at his
forge and his daughter tried to
act'indiff’erently assfaejtrimmed
the rose-vines over the cottage
door, In blunt woi'ds the
leader made known their er
rand, and the poor gii'^ dash
ed through the house and fel*
at her father’s feet. No words
were needed to tell the story.
The hammer slipped silently
to the ground as he leaned,
trembling, against the forge.
Then, springing to her feot—
no longer weak—she stood
erect, firm, proud, and Dying
bare her pure bosom, in tbe
violence of her despair, cried:
“Slay me. my father, that
I may die in innocence at
your feet.’’
Inspired by her noble spirit,
Adam grew calm, and quietly
kissing her with the reassur**
ing manner of an every-day
transaction, said: ^
‘Be still, my ' child—God
will deliver us. Lot us^use
prudence, and seek delay.’
So saying, he led her into
the house and greeted the
trooper pleasantly.
‘This message troubles my
daughter, good captain. It
will be far fitter to dress her
in a suitable manner for such
a visit. Leave the matter till
the morrow and I will myse i
lead her to the count as the
best tribute I can offer bim to
secure his good will.'’
‘Well,’ replied the trooper,
willing to avoid the worry of
a forcible abduction, ‘we will
tell Count Cardoval that yon
have promised to bring your
daughter to the castle in the
morning on pain of the burn
ing of your house and shop if
you fail.’ And as he turned
away he added, ‘Look that
you do it or I will perform
my part. ’
When they had gone, Adam
ran to his neighbors and
friends, and telling them what
had happened, cried with in
dignant rage:
Are we, my townsmen
nothing but the cattle of this
lord?’
Beauty has always exer
cised a sway which few other
influences can equal* It was
not the wrong alone, nor
Adam’s earnest appeal, which
roused tbe men of Camogasc
to enthusiasm. Many of them
would have dared death
dozen times for Adam’s daugh
ter, and every one ot them
felt that her beauty was one
of the proudest possessions of
the valley. To a man they
swore to end their wrongs or
perish in the attempt.
In the early morning Adam
the Camogascer led his daugh
ter up to the castle, dressed
as a bride, and attended by
number of those who had
sworn themselves together.
Some went as groomsmen,
and others in female attire
personated bridesmaids. The
rest hid themselves in ambush
among the rocks below the
castle and waited, under arms
for the result. Count Cardo-
val, blinded by his desires,
sprang gleefully down the
aud would have
girl
embraced tbe innocent
under her father’s eyes.
Adam bowed low, and feel
ing for the hilt of his sword,
said:
‘I bring her to you myself.
I have nothing better on earth
to offer to you- -except this,’
he cried, suddenly springing
forwaid and thrusting his
sword through his heart.
Calling loudly upon his
comrades to follow him, he
burst into the castle, surpris
ed the men-at-arms, and dis
played signals of freedom
from the towers. The reserve
force which lay concealed
came up, and the castle was
soon inflames.
Then,over their newly-found
freedom, out of their hearts
strongly stirred up by
their sudden success, over the
valley now rid of its greatest
terror, rang out tbe great
shout of deliverance.—
ted World.
SOUND SENSE.
The Philadelphia Times
gives expression to some em-
Longfellow, for example, yet
neither of them by their de
cease arousing anything like
the hearty world wide sorrow
and grief, reminds us again
very forcibly how even the
world unconsciously recog
nizes a pure character as an
absolutely essential element
of true greatness in any des
partment of life. Neither
Dore nor Wagner have drawn
a tear from the world; the
death of neither has touched
tbe heart of mankind. Yet
each of them was as eminent
in his art as was Longfellow
in that of poetry. Why is it?
Simply because neither of the
two bad an unstained, pure,
noble character. Real great
ness cannot be divorced from
goodness. It is God’s verdict,
and the world has learned to
say Amen to it—Exchange.
GOSSIP.
inently wise sentiments in re
gard to popular education;
‘There is very much talk
about the higher education/
it says, ‘but it is the lower ed
ucation that is really impor
tant to most of us. and there
is no more gratifying evi
dence of progress than the
gradually developed recogni
tion, among those who have
charge of our public educa
tional system, of the essen
tial importance of the prima
ry schools. The work of the
primary schools is the founda
tion and the main structure
of all public education. Many
children never go beyond this
and in every case it is the
first bending of the twig that
determines the inclination of
the tree. We have been giv
ing attention in Philadelphia
to high schools, which are
for the few; the primary and
secondary schools, which are
for the many, have been left
too much to chance and to
the ignorant blundering of
imperfectly educated teachers.
It is at the bottom, therefore,
not at the top, that our pub
lic school system needs re
forming.”
There is as much truth
eked in these sentences as
any essay on the same sub
ject we have ever read, and
if the Legislature of North
Carolina will only act on the
theory embraced in the last
sentence quoted, viz. that it is
at the bottom, not at the top,
that our public school system
needs reformation, there will
be no just grounds for adverse
criticism so far as they are
concerned. And the part of
the bottom where the refor
mation should begin is the
teachers. If they are incom
petent,education is necessarily
out of the question, and com
petent teachers cannot he prO'
cured for incompetent salaries.
A cheap schoolmaster is n
very dear luxury. ‘Poor pay
poor teach,’ and poor teach is
educational paralysis and
death. Jour. Ohs.
There is absolute'ly no re
deeming feature in gossip.
Even if true, we do not de
sire to know disagreeable
facts about any of our neigh- ■
hors. Nothing is more de--
moralizing to a man than to
Iojo faith in his fellows. The
man of faith and honor is not
apt to be suspicious of otheis,
and does not willingly be«
lieve evil. The lover of scan
dal aud the believer in it are
alike deficient in honor and
morality, and are the bane of
well organized society. If all
gossip could be quietly killed
some morning, tbe next gen
eration of men and worneo
would be happier. A case of
hydrophobia now and then
starts the cry of ‘Muzzle the
dogs,’ ‘Death on the high
ways,’ etc. There is death
and misrey in the highways
and by-ways and in the homes
from the poisoned tongues of
the gossip. Let the voice go
up: ‘Muzzle the gossips.’
Teach the children that goss
siping is dishonorable, and
that faith in the honor and
virtue of mankind will build
up society and add to thejsum
of human happiness.
ANECDOTE OP GRATTAN.
THE VALUE OP CHARACTER.
The recent death of two ar
tists, each eminent in his
sphere, fully as eminent and
universally known as our
Sir Jonah Barrington, in his
Personal Sketches of his own
Times, relates the following :
“Mr. Egan, on^ of the rough
est looking persons possible, be
ing at one time a supporter of
the government made virulent
philippics, in the Irish house of
commotjB, against the French
revolution. His figure was coarse
and bloated, and his dress not
over elegant withal; in fact, he
had by no means the look of a
member of parliament. One eve
ning this man fell foul of a
speech of Grattan’s, and among
, other absurdities said in his par
oxysm, that the right honorable
gentleman’s speech had a ten •
dency to introduce the guillotine
into the very body of the house;
indeed, he almost thought he
could already perceive it before
him. Grattan good-humoredly
replied, that the honorable gen
tleman must have a vastly sharp
er sight than he had. He cer
tainly could see no such thing;
‘but though,’ added Grattan,
looking with his glass toward
Egan, ‘1 may not see the guillo
tine, yet methiaks lean perceive
the executioner.^'