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Orphans’ Friend.
Price, $1 a year.)
OXFORD, N. C., JUNE 8, 1883.
(VOL. IX. NO. 3.
MY LITILE PLAYMATE.
I can see her now in her calico frock
And her old sunbonnet brown,
With her merry face and her gentle
eyes,
And her gold hair falling down;
Though ’tis many a year since she
used Lo wait
For me when the school was
through,
And Pd hasten to join at the end
of the lane
My little playmate, Sue.
There were other girls in the school,
perhaps,
Who were prettier far than shej
But there never was one with merrier
ways
Or one more kind to me.
If my play grew rough, I was
checked at once,
By a look from her eyes of blue.
For she governed me by the law of
love,
My little playmate, Sue.
She always stood at the head of
the class.
And how hard I used to try
To learn my lessons and get ad
vanced
In order to stand near by I
And however heavy my task might
be,
’Twas an easy thing to do;
For more than the teacher’s I held
the praise
Of my little playmate, Sue.
Together we’d wander through the
field.
Her little hand in mine ; ■
We’d watch the butterflies flit by
day
And at night the fireflies shine;
We were friends in work, we were
friends in play,
And how fast the moments flew!
For 1 was happiest by the side
Of my little playmate, Sue,
You ask bow it is I recall her so,
And remember her face so well.
After all the years that have come
and'gone?
But the reason’s not hard to tell.
For the little girl that I played
with then
Became, when she older grew,
The dear, true wife who is by my
side—
My little playmate, Sue.
THE WRECK ON THE GOOD
WIN SANDS.
It is a Saturday afternoon.
The scene of my story is a
large seaport on our coast that
shall be nameless. A number
of boys and lads, mostly of the
better class, are trooping into
a model atC'sized school room.
In they come till the room is
well filled, but our young
friends do notenter laughing,
playing, and joking in their
usual style; they seem quiet
and serious to-day, for they
are come together for a schooF
boys’ meeting near the close
of one of our large missions.
We sang some of our beau>
tiful hymns, and I had a
short, homely talk with them
about the happiness andwa?^-
liness of true Christianity,
when an elderly gentleman
seated on my right said,
“Mr. Banaster, may I tell the
lads a short story from my own
experience?^’
I gladly consented, for I
knew the gentleman to be an
earnest Christian merchant of
that town. The story wliich
followed from his lips thrilled
us all, and I can but think our
readers would like to hear it
too, so I will give it as nearly
as I can in the speaker’s own
words:
Years ago the firm to which
I belonged had its headquar
ters in London, and, engaged
in our employ as a sea
captain, was a young man of
great industry and persever
ance. He made many suc
cessful voyages to Western
seas, and always returned in
safety to bring back valuable
cargoes of foreign fruit and
other produce.
I found he was saving every
penny he could from his wa
ges, and the object of his
chief desire turned out to be
not only to command a ves
sel, but to own it as well. In
a few years he put together a
considerable sum, and, by
borrowing from a few friends,
he had at last enough to jus
tify him in ordering a splen
did fast schooner, to be built
especially for his own use.
Among the various ship
ping companies there is a sort
of friendly rivalry, to see
which can bring back the first
cargo of oianges or raisins,
and almost every year im
proved vessels are built, outs
sailing the old ones entirely.
Well, the new ship was to
combine every advantage a
ship should possess, and sail
faster than any craft then
afloat.
One day the captain came
into my office. He looked
happy, almost excited, as he
said, “I must be soon leaving
you now, my ship will be
ready after our next voyage.”
I congratulated him warmly,
wishing the young fellow evs
ery success in his new under
taking.
A year passed away, and
again I saw my friend. His
ship was finished, her crew
complete, and he begged
me to come with him to the
dooks and see her off.
I parted with him by the
vessel’s side with a shake of
the hand, and at once they
were towed down the Thames.
On board was the young cap
tain, his little son, and ten
sailors, making twelve in all,
“I shall be just 1b fi*Be
the first raisins,’’ shouted the
captain, and those were the
last words I heard from him.
They got out to sea in due
course, and so the new ship
started on her first—and, alas!
on her last voyage.
That very night a fearful
storm came on. As the ves
sel neared Deal, the wind in-
ci eased with such fury that
sail could no longer be car
ried, and so, instead of beat
ing up against the storm, the
sliip drifted to leeward, and
late at night stranded on the
Groodwin Sands.
The accident was seen by
the coast guard, and soon the
life boat was ready and
launched to rescue the crew.
Into the storm she went, dash
ing through the huge waves,
now white as snow with the
foam, now black as ink in the
darkness. At length the life
boat arrived, and with a glad
hurrah the crew ran her un
der the bowsprit of the wreck.
One sailor dropped into it,and
he was safe. Another and
another followed, till the cap**
tain and his son, and two of
the crew, were the only ones
left on board. After some
persuasion, the boy left his fa
ther and dropped into the
boat.
“Now, captain, come along,”
called the life-boat men.
“No,” was the answer, “I
shall stick to my ship.”
“Are you mad? No vessel
can live on the Goodwin
Sands.”
“I shall stick to my ship,
because' I can trust my ship,”
he replied. “She is new; her
plates are firm; she will weath'*
er the storm and float at high
water, and you will have to
bring my crew back to me in
the morning.’’
Again and yet again they
urged him to quit the doomed
vessel, but it was of no use ;
still he stood in the driving
spray, looking down on the
life-boat, and the two sailors
determined to share his fate.
At last, with heavy hearts,
they had to leave them there,
and in a short time the other
sailors and the boy were safe
ly landed and taken good care
of by kind and loving hands.
The morning dawned. Anx'*
ious eyes were turned to the
sands, but the strongest glass
failed to show any trace of
the vessel. She was gone\ A
party of men walking on the
shore found a corpse lying on
the sand. It was the young
captain's body. He had trus"
ted his ship and lost his life.
He had plenty of faith, but it
was a craft unable to stand
the furious storm.
Boys, are you safe in the
life boat yet? Like the new
ship, you may get on all right
in the fair weather of life, but
perhaps a storm is nearer
than you think. There are
rocks and sandsbanks all
around you; they will destroy
both body and soul if you get
wrecked on them.
When the merchant finish
ed his story we were all spell
bound. It was fold so earn
estly, and made so deep an
impression, that I scarcely
dared to break the stillness
which followed. We shall
never forget fhe story of the
young captain and his new
ship.
Earnestly I would ask our
young readers, “Are you safe
in Christ Jesus, safe from the
storms of life—yes, and the
storm of deathV' When the
ship “Arctic” went down on
the coast of Newfoundland
the boats would not hold the
passengers, and only a few
were saved; but tha&k God
there is room in the life-boat
Christ Jesus for all of you)
“yet there is room.” But if
you neglect and reject the one
Life-boat, your little craft
must sink in the dark waves
of eternity.
TENTATIVE PRAYERS.
What are tentative prayers?
Perhaps they ought not to be
called prayers, They have
the form of prayers. In re
ality they are experimental
exercises in regard to spiritu
al matters. In regard to many
material things men try ex
periment. A man sinks a
well in the hope that he may
strike a vein of water. A man
desires a favor of another.
Possibly his request may be
granted’ He will try the ex
periment. In the same spirit
men offer prayer as they sup
pose. They need certain,
things: They know that it is
proper to ask God for them.
They have God’s promise
that they shall receive if they
ask not amiss. Instead of
striving for a proper state of
mind, and then asking with
the expectation of receiving,
they ask thinking it possible
that they may receive. Their
utterances are spiritual exper
iments rather than prayers.
The experiments are never
successful. God answers
prayer; but he does not favor
experiments. His promise is,
‘ask, and you shall receive’
It is not ‘ask, and you may
possibly receive.’ We are to
ask with the expectation--
the belief that we shall re
ceive, provided our petition
is in according with the will
of God. When our prayer is
offered aright, it is answered
whether we receive the thing
asked for or not. If we receive
it, we have our answer. If
we do not receive it, we have
our answer; for the Gethsem-
ane formula is a part of every
true prayer—not my will hut
thine be done.
A great many of our so-
called prayers are useless,and
worse than useless—sinful.
We sometimes ask for im
proper things; we sometimes
ask for proper things from
improper motives; we some
times ask for proper things
when we have no real desire
to have them. When we ask
for the right thing in the right
way, God’s word is pledged
that we shall receive it.
The art of prayer is the most
important of all arts. More
depends upon its right exer
cise, than upon the exercise
of any other art. Few study
this as it should be studied,
and consequently few be
come skillful and mighty in
prayer.
SELF-EELIANCE.
THE COUNTERFEIT aUARTER.
Four boys were standing un
der a tree, looking at a bad quar
ter which the father of one of the
boys had. taken the day before.
“Father thinia it. came from
the apple-man: he bought apples
yesterday, but be cannot be
sure, for be had several others in
his poket-book. It is good for
nothing any way so he gave it
to me to play with ”
“You wouldn’t catch my fath
er losing money that way. He
would £^ove it off on some one.
You could spend that in several
ways if you like. Give it to me
Freddy, and I will go down to
Aleck and get a hat-full of chest
nuts for it. You might as well,
it is of no use to you. If Alebk
finds it out after he gets it, he
will pass it oil somebody, so
there’ll not be any harm done
any way
“What of the next one who
gets it?’’ said Freddy.”
“Oh he must pass it off as we
do,” laughed Phil!; come let us
try any way.”
“Not I, Phill,” said the other
stoutly: “my father says it is
itealing to pass counterfeit mon
ey when you know it, and a very
high crime. I don’t mean to be
gin that business, even in a
small way. Come to think of it
guess the best thing I can do
with it is to pitch it into the
mill-pond. I might lose it, and
somebody find and pass it. Get
some pebbles, boys and let's see
which can pitch the farthest.”
The old counterfeit was bur
ied in the deep mill pond where
it was never hkely to tempt any_
one to dishonesty, or to make
any one suffer loss by its means.
OhH^a World.
There is nothing more like
ly to result in the succesful
career of a young man than
confident self-reliance. It is
astonishing how much more a
youth will accomplish whore-
lies upon himself, than one
who depends upon others for
assistance. Having first as
certained the direction, in and
the means by, which his ob
ject is to be reached, let him
put his whole energies to
work, and, withunflaggingiu-
dustry, press forward. The
young man who spends his
evenings on the corners, or in
the companionship of those
who are wanting in laudable
ambition, rarely ever wins a
position of honor, or achieves
a reoutation above that en
joyed by the common masses.
In a country like ours,
where the avenues to ho nor
and wealth are open alike to
all, there is no reasonable ex
case that can be offered for a
man’s failure to achieve one
or the other, or both. Ill-
health, or extraordinary misv
fortune, may keep him down,
but these are the exceptions
that establish the rule- Few-
men know of how much they
are capable until they have
first thoroughly tested their
abilities. The amount of la
bor, literary or mechanical,
which a person in vigorous
health can perform, is almost
without limit, if a systematic
method is adopted, and the
proper spirit incited to the ef
fort. An hour of each even
ing spent with some good au
thor, or the study of some
branch of useful science, will
in the course of a few years,
give to a young' man who
thus devotes the small por
tion ol his time an amount of
information (literary or scien
tifie) which cannot tail to fit
him for positions to which
he could never properly as
pire without this attention to
study.
“OUR BAIRN THAT’S DEEIN.”
COLBRAINE, N. C.
June Ist 1883.
Mr. Editor;—^There was a
Sunday School Picnic at the
Coleraine Baptist Church yester
day, in which the old, as well as
the young, enjoyed themselves
hugely. Rev. Jos. Leary and
J. H. Etheridge made addresses
that were eloquent, instructive
and entertaining. The teachers,
and prominently among them,
Miss Bettie R. Henry and Mrs.
Watford, are deserving of the
highest praise. Mrs. Watford
led the children in singing ap
propriate songs while the organ
pealed forth its sweetest tones.
And Mies Henry had a table
spread exclusively for the chil
dren—and it was a feast of the
mind and full banquet of the
heart to see them enjoy them
selves. All the tables were load
ed with the delicacies of the sea
son, and everybody seemed to be
in the best of spirits. The young
gentlemen who assisted in “get
ting it up” cannot be forgotten,
especially Messra. Beasley,White
and Leary. We are sure the ro
sy, enchanting smiles the many
pretty girls amply paid them for
their labor. Altogether it was an
enjoyable affair and we trust will
be more frequent, as they do
much good in a community.
L.
The late Dr. James Hamilton
had a capital illustration of how
general prayers and “oblique
sermons” fail to satisfy the aoul
in the emergencies of life. A
Scotchman who had but one
prayer was asked by his wife to
pray by the bedside of their
dying child. The good man
struck out on the old track, and
soon came to the usual petition
for the Jews. As he went on
with the time-honored quota
tion, “Lord, turn again the cap
tivity of ZioQ,” his wife broke
in, saying: “Eh! mon, you’re aye
drawQ out for the Jews; but it’s
our bairn that'’8 deein*” Then
olaSj-ing her hands, she cried;
“Lord, help us, or give us back
our darling if it be Thy holy will;
and if he is to be taken, oh, take
him to Thyself.” That woman
knew how to pray, which was
more than her husband did.
And in her prayer she honestly
poured out her heart's needs be
fore God.
An “oblique sermon” is not a
prayer. An audible meditation
or a doctrinal dissertation is not a
prayer. Telling the Lord a hun
dred things he knows better than
we do is not prayer. If persona
who lead in prayer had as vivid
a conception of what they want,
and as earnest a desire to get it,
as this poor woman, would there
be as many complaints about
long prayers as we hear?
HOW TO BE ACCEPTABLE.
If we could only impress
U[)on all mankind the fact
that a sacred duty which de
volves upon each individual
to keep himself or herself
pure, sweet, and acceptable
to those about them at all
times, we should feel that we
had accomplished a work of
priceless value. Of course we
cannot do this, nor can we
expect to influence any large
proportion of the people, in
the direction of thatcleanli-
ness which so nearly approx
imates godliness- But we do
stimulate a select few to
greater consideration for the
tastes and feelings of others,
and in this we have a sweet
and lasting reward. Thousands
of our young readers will by-
and-by reflect that to our teach
ings they owe something of
their good manners, not a little
of their good morals, and very
much of their good habits, and
they will, some day, thank us
for our earnestness in their be
half. So we remember that when
we preach tempera nee,and clean
liness, and a life of thoughtful
purity, we are teaching our read
ers an ail-important lesson, and
one which canuot be too early
learned. There is a great deal
of selfishness in the world, and
this trait is manifested in noth
ing more than in personal habit.
It is asserted that 5,000
young men and women break
down every year through
the excessive strain imposed
on them in London shops,
where it is said the average
hours of labor of two-thirds
of the shop assistants are
from twelve to fifteen hours
daily.
Man should trust in God as it
God did all, and labor bimselt as
if man did all.—
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