Orphans’ Friend.
■ffT
Price, $1 a year.)
OXFORD, N. C.,AUGUST 24,1883.
(V0L.IX.no 14.
THE OHILDSEK WE KEEP.
The children kept coming, one by
one
Till the boys were five and the
girls were three;
And the big, brown house was alive
with fun
From the basement floor to the
old roof tree;
Jjike garden flowers the little ones
grew,
Nurtured and trained \^i!b the
tenderest care;
Warmed in love’s sunshine, bathed
in the dew,
They bloomod into beauty, like
roses rare.
One of the boys grew weary one
day,
And, leaning his head on his
mother's breast,
He;8aid, ‘I am tired and cannot
play -
Let me sit awhile on your knee
and rest.’
She cradled him close in her load
embrace,
She hushed him to sleep with her
sweetest song,
And rapturous love still lighted her
face
When his spirit had joined the
heavenly t iroug.
Then the eldest girl, with her
thoughtful eyes.
Who stood ‘where the brook and
the river meet,’
Stole softly away into Paradise
Ere ‘the river had reached her
slender feet.
While the father’s eyes on the graves
are bent,
The mother looks upward beyond
the skies;
‘Our treasures’ she whispered ‘arc
only lent.
Our darlings were angels in
earth’s disguise.’
The years flew by, and tl.e children
began
With longing to think of the world
outside^
And as each in his turn became a
man.
The boys proudly went from the
father’s side.
The girls were women, so gentle
and fair,
That lovers were speedy to woo
and win;
And, with orange blossoms in braid-
• ed hair,
i'he old homo was left—new homes
to begin.
So, one by one, the children have
gone—
The boys were five and the girls
were three j
And the big, brown house isgloo oy
and lone,
With but the two old folks for its
company,
They talk to each other about the
past,
As they sit together at eventide,
And say, ‘all the children we keep
at last
Are the boys and girls who in
childhood died.’
Mrs. Frances Hodgson Bur
nett. the novelist, is reported
to have said that the three
things necessary for writing a
novel aro pen, ink, and paper j
the first to be used with brains
the second with imagination,
and the third with generosity.
Judging from many or most of
the novels of the day, brains are
a perfect superfluity, and the
pen m&y bo made to wag just as
well without them. Imagina
tion, too, is of small account:
pen, ink, and “paper with gener
osity” are all that aro roquiredi
Mr L. S. Wood, New Berne, N. C.
sav8 * “I nsed Brown’s Iron Bitters
knd found them au excellent tonic and
appetizer.’ ’
New York Observer,
LEAVES NOT THE LIES.
BY OEO, KLTNCIjE.
‘Grandpa what can you be
doing,’ inquired Gerald, com
ing toward grandpa, with a
face full of amused astonish
ment; ‘what can you be do
ing?’
‘I am making a gooseberry
bush for you,' replied grand
pa, composedly: ‘I noticed
you liked the ripe gooseber
ries, when you were at Pern-
perton Lodge, last week, and
I think you would like a bush
of your own.’
‘But, grandpa,’ began Ger
ald, looking very hard at
grandpa, and thinking very
hard in trying to decide if he
was joking, or had quite
gone crazy—‘grandpa, goose
berry bushes grow; they are
not made.’
‘It pleases me to make this
one. All the rest may come
as they please,’ replied grand
pa, pinning a leaf here and
there to a tall, dry brier,
wliich he had previously
planted firmly in a large pot.
‘How do you like your gooses
berry bush?’
Gerald did not wish to
hurt grandpa’s feelings, but
what could he say? He look
ed at the pretended bush, and
at grandpa’s face, and was
perplexed, for grandpa ap
peared heartily in earnest in
the work of trying to make
the bush.
‘It cannot have berries on
it,’ he replied evasively.
‘It cannot,pray tell me why?’
inquired grandpa, seeming to
be astonished as • he drew off
a little way to admire his
bush, and to glance at Gerald..
‘Because, grandpa, it has
no life.*
Grandpa folded his arms
across his breast; he gave a
little push up the glasses
astride of his nose; he looked
so inquiringly at Gerald, that
Gerald felt obliged to add:
‘Dead bushes do not bear ber
ries.’
‘How do you know it is
dead? You say hard things
of a fresh, green bush. See
the leaves. Why boy, your
grandpa knows that a dead
bush does not bear berries,
but look, don’t you think he
has given it life?’
“It willjnot stay fresh and
green, grandpa; you only put
on its leaves; you did not put
any life in it,’ said Gerald,
gravely, more and more per
plexed by grandpa’s uncom
fortable notion about the bush.
‘Will not the green leaves
bring it life?’ said grandpa;
‘what IS the life of the bush if
such beautiful green leaves
are not its life?’
‘Grandpa dear, you are on'
ly hoaxing me : I believe you
know it is the sap. The sap
makes the leaves grow, and
8how.s that the bush is alive,
but the leaves do not make
tho sap.’
Grandpa laid down the leaf
and pin : he did no more to
ward making a bush; he drew
Gerald close to him, and laid
his hand upon his head, and
gave a long pleased look in
his (ace, as he asked: ‘And
you think all those beautiful
fresh leaves do not give life to
this busli?’
‘No, grandpa; tliey never
can.’
‘And suppose they had
grown on the bush, what
then?’
‘Oh, then we would know
th^it the bush was alive.’
‘Why? if the leaves are not
the life of the bush bow would
you know any better about it
if it had leaves of its own?’
Gerald considered.
“I think, grandpa, that the
leaves only show that the
bush'is alive; they do not
make it alive.’
‘Can a bush without leaves
be alive?’
‘Yes, sir; if I cnt*off all the
leaves of my bushes in the
garden they would still be
alive.’
‘Can a bush grow without
sap?’
‘No, sir; the sap makes it
grow’
‘But if the bush has sap- -
that is life—how about the
leaves?’
‘It will put out leaves, of
course, grandpa, if it has life.’
‘Now Gerald,' said grand
pa. very earnestly, this world
may be compared to a gar
den : every boy and girl, and
man and woman in it may be
called one of God’s plants :
what is the difference between
God’s living plants and the
dead ones?^
‘What a fnnny notion,
grnndpa; I do not believe I
know what you mean.’
‘What is the difference be
tween a real Christian and a
make-believe Christian?’
‘Real Christians are good,
and the make-believes only
seem to be good: is that it,
grandpa?’ • '
‘That is right so far as it
goes, but the difference be-'
tween God’s living plants and*
the dead ones is that the liv
ing ones grow and bear leaves
and fruit, while the dead ones
have the leaves pinned on.’
‘Grandpa! what a funny,
funny notion.’
‘The leaves and fruit of
God’s plants, not really living
plants of God, have leaves
ai d fruit of a certain kind,but
they are dead leaves. Can
you tell me why?’
Gerald thought a minute.
The lesson he had been taught
flashed upon his mind with a
new light.
‘Grandpa,’ he said, ‘do you
mean that living plants must
have God’s Spirit, and that
works without God’s Spirit
are dead?’
Grandpa smiled. ‘You are
right, boy; even dead plants
often have leaves and fruit
which do not grow from the
living power of God’s Holy
Spirit, which comes from out
side influences, and are like
good, green leaves pinned ups
on a dry, dead stem. The
leaves and fruit, you see, are
not the life; the Spirit of God
in the heart is the real life,
just as tlie say) in the plant is
its life.’
‘Grandpa,why did you ever
try to make a gooseberry
bush?’ inquired Gerald, look
ing at the result of grandpa’s
effort.
T tried to make it, boy, be
cause I wanted you to remem
ber for the rest of your life
that leaves are not the life—
that works never made a
Christian—but that good
works, the leaves of God’s
pliints, must grow by the in
fluence of his Holy Spirit, or
they are like dead leaves pin
nedon; for good works are
not the life, tuoy are only the
consequence of life. What
kind of a plant do you wish
to be—a plant with a few
leaves pinned on, or a living
plant,sending out groen leaves
and sweet fruit, because God’s
Spirit has made you a living
plant?'’
Gerald whispered his an
swer in grandpa’s ear, and
grandpa smoothed back his
hair and smiled, and taking
his hand walked out to the
bright sunshine and fresh air,
leaving the dead bush, with
its false leaves, while he en
joyed the beauty and fra“
grance of the living plants
holdi 'g up such sweet, con
tented faces in the living gar
den toward the brightness
overhead.
‘As quick as lightning’ is a
phrase well chosen to illus
trate an inconceivable) rapidi
ty,but of those who use the ex
pression probably very few
appreciate its full meaning,
for Sir Charles Wheatstone
has shown that a flash of
lightning lasts less than a
millionth part of a second.
This is vastly more rapid than
our perception of the flash,
and at least one-tenth of a sec
ond must elapse—according to
Professor Swan—before our
sluggish sight can take in the
full effect of the light. On
account of the slowness of
our. perception, we never see
the light at its real intensity.
Professor Tait has suggested
that the full brilliancy must
be'in some degree comparable
with the sun, as Wheatstone’s
and Swan’s data prove that
the apparent brightness of the
landscape as lit up by a light
ning flash is less than one-
hundred thousandth part of
what it would be were the
lightning permanent. The ap
parent brightness, it should
be mentioned, was shown by
Swan to diminish in about the
ratio borne by the length of
time the flash lasts to the
time required for us to pre-
ceive it.
CLOVER AS A EERTILISSE.
A stick of wood burned on the
surface mostly passes off in gas,
leaving only the ashes; but the
same stick, if burnt in a coal-pit
excluded from the air, forms a
mass of carbon of nearly or quite
its original size. Now, all decay
of vegetable matter is a slow
combustion, and when this is
done under the soil not only are
the gases retained in the soil,
but more carbon is formed, and
th’s carbon has the power to ap
propriate the yaluable gases al -
ways present in the atmosphere.
The great value of clover as a
fertilizer is due, first to the car
bon furnished by the decay of
the plant, and second to the fine
mechanical effect on the soil,
which renders it porous, so that
the atmosphere penetrates it and
deposits plant-food. It is clear
that better fertilizing effect.^ will
result from the ploughing down
of the crop to decay in the soil.
Oi’diuarily more can be made out
of the tops than they aro worth
for manure, and, if rightly man
age!, the roots will supulythe
needed fertility.-—
Farmer.
RESULTS OE AN ACCIDENT.
As with many valuable dis
coveries, the process of rolling
cold iron owes its discovery to
an accident, which is thus re
lated: “A foundryman, a
workman at the rolls, neglec
ted to take his tongs from a
bar of heated iron in time, and
they were carried through the
rolls. Much to his surprise,
the tongs, instead of being
broken in passing through the
rolls, were reduced to tho
same guage as the heated b ir
and shone like steel. The
workman called the attention
of the superintendent to what
he thought was merely a ‘fun
ny’ circumstance; but the su
perintendent jumped at the
conclusion that if it were pos
sible to roll iron cold once, it
could be done again. He
commenced to experiment,
and had not gone far before
he discovered that cold rolled
iron was in every respect the
equal of steel for shafting
purposes, and in some res
peels it is superior, as it is
more easily turned to any de
sired size than steel Other
discoveries followed this, and
the process for rolling cold
iron was patented. The
man who allowed his tongs to
go through the rolls, was suit-
abl}’ rewarded, and the per
sons who followed up and
placed his discovery on the
market, have made millions.”
WATCHINU ONE’S SELF.
‘When I was a boy,’ said
an old man, ‘we had a school
master who had an odd way
of catching the idle boys. One
day he called out to us, ‘Boys,
I must have closer attention
to your books. The first one
that sees another idle I want
you to inform me and I will
attend to the case.’
‘Ab,’ thought I to myself,
‘there is Joe Simmons tnat I
don’t like. I’ll watch him,
and if I see him look off his
book, I’ll tell’ It was^not long
before I saw Joe look off his
book, and immediately I in
formed the master,
‘Indeed,’ said he, ‘how did
you know he was idle?’
‘I saw him,’ said I.
‘You did? and were your
eyes on your book' when you
saw him?’
‘I was caught, and never
watched for idle boys again?’
If we are sufficiently watch
ful over our own conduct, we
shall have no time to find
fault with the conduct of otli
ers.
THE FIRST STRAW BONNET.
The first industry of the
United States owes its origin
to Miss Betsy Metcalf, who,
in 1798, made the first straw
bonnet ever manufactured in
this country. Witliin twelve
years thereafter the Stat&of
Massachusetts alone produced
half a million dollars’ worth
of straw goods. That State
now produces six million hats
and bonnets annually; a great
deal of straw is also manufac
tured in other States- The
Rhode Island Society for the
Encouragement of Domestic
InduvStry possesses sxfac sim-
He of Miss Metcalf’s original
bonnet. It was woven of
seven strAws.~-North Amer^
lean lieview.
' Once upon a time a bela
ted traveler applied for shelter
at a farm'house in rather a
wild part of New England,
and after being taken care of
for the night, was invited to
join the* family at morning*
prayers.
The host prayed with due
fervor for the stranger within
his gates, and also that his
own sons might be like two
hemispheres.
The guest, failing to com
prehend his exact meaning,
ventured to ask it later on.
The good farmer looked a bit
puzzled, said he didn’t exacily
know, and after a moment’s
hesitation said, “But I guess
it’s a pretty good word, aint
it?’’—Harpers Bazar.
godIounS^
A brother and sister were
playing in the dining -room,
when their mother set a bas
ket ot cakes on the tea-table
and went out.
‘How nice they look!’ said
the boy, reaching to take one.
His sister earnestly object
ted, and even drew back his
hand, repeating that it was
against their mother’s direc
tion.
‘She did not count them,’
said he.
‘But perhaps God did,’ an
swered the sister.
‘You are right,’ he replied;
‘God does count, for the Bible
says that ‘the very hairs of
your head are all numbered.’
A NEIGHBORLY CORRESPON- ,
DENOE.
“Mr. Thompson presents his
compliments to Mr. Simpson,
and begs to request that he will
keep his piggs from trespassing
on his grounds.’'' “Mr. Simpson
presents hi; compliments to Mr.
Thompson, and begs to request
that in future he will not spell
pigs with two gees.’’ “Mr.
Thompson’s repects to Mr. Simp-
s: n, and will feel osdiged if he
adds the letter ‘e’ to the last
word in the note just received,
so as to represent Mr. Simpson
and lady.” “Mr. Simpson returns
Mr. Thompson’s note unopened
—the impertinence it contains
being only equalled by its vul
garity.”
“I have sometimes had occa
sion to say.” wrote Franklin to
an English friend in 1783, “that
it is prodigious the quantity of
good that may be done by one
man if he will make a business of
iV’ No better illufetration of
this saying was ever seen than
the career of Franklin himself,
who in his long life, from 1706,
to 1790, devoted himseff tophi-
lanthrophy as other men do to
the acquirement of money or the
pursuits of ambition.
Like most garments, every-
thiug in life has a right and a
wrong side. You can take
any joy, and by turning it
around, find troubles on the
other side; or, you take the
greatest trouble, and by turn
ing it around, fiudjoys on the
other side. The gloomiest
mountain never casts a shadow
on both sides at once.
A groat many peoplo feel themsolvcs
grailuallj failing. They don’t know
’just what is the matter but they suller
from a combination of cudiscribable
aches and pains, which eacii month
seem to grow worse. The only sure
remedy that is known that will coun
teract this feeling and re=tore perfect
licaltii is Brown’s lion Bitters. By rap
id assimilation it purilies the blood,
drives out disease, gives health ami
strength to every portion readied by
the circulatory system, renews wasted
tissues and restores robust health am’
strength.l