Fdrthi; Cliiliii'di’s Friciul.
‘The Cliildi'oii’s Tiieiitl.”
1 A FLKA rOK TJili-j ONES.
J>ut every ear atteinl,
Aiul liini that hear(-tli, semi
A dollar to “'Die Fru iid”.
Let ou’iiest j)raycr ascend
And each his influence lend,
Ills labors ne’er snsjteml—
''I'o lielp the “Children’s Friend.’'
Let zealous hearts cyjiteiid,
And willing hands'ex^leud,
And every eftbrt berln—
To aid 'I'he Oriihan’.s Fritnid”,
la-t all, though late, intend
i'ast failures to anunid,—
]f need, their jewels vend—
'J’otakv “Th«‘ Chi!dreii’.s Friend”.
Let each, now, eonipreheiul
lli.s duty to defend.
Anl jet hi.s a-tions twnd—
To h(' the Or{)hunH' friend.
Tims hh'ssing shall d(‘Se(‘ud,
yueces.s oiir hopes traii.-^eit^d.
And happy fates ])ovtond,
H'lie (.Irphans ami “The Friend’’.
May oaeh, in dying, wend
Wtiere Imppy .spirits hlend,
And bli.ss .shall never end!
Amen!
Mother’s Way
Oft within our little cottage,
An tho shadows gently fall,
While tho sunlight toindies softly
One sweet fa-e upon tho wall,
Do we gatlier elo.se together,
And in luislied and tender t'no
A»k ciich other’s full forgivenes.s
For tli(‘ wrong that eaeii luis d;no.
Should you wonder why this rustoin
At tlie ending of the day.
Kye and voice wouM (piickly answer—
“It was once our motbor’»j wa.y!”
If our homo be bright and cheery,
If it liohl H weleoine true,
Ojiening wi!o its don’ of gri'etiiig
To tlie many, not the few;
If we share our Fathi'r’s bounty
With the needy, day l>y iay,
^'J’is heean.'-'e our hearts remembar
'I'his was ever mother’s w.iv.
Sunetimes, when (u:r hand-i grow
w'rtry,
Or our ta^d^.■‘ setun very huig:
When our burd-ns look too lieavy,
And we dc‘em tlu right all wnmg,
Then we gain a ik'w, fre.sh courage,
As we rise to proudly say:
“Let u.s do our (luty bravely.
This was our dear motlier’s wav.”
Tlm» we kec)) her memory preci.m.s,
Whil(‘ we never -(‘:i.>;e to pray,
Tliat, at last, wlaui length’niiig shad
ows
JIake the evening )f oiir day,
'I’hev may find us waiting cahn’y
To g.i’home. our motli('r’s way!
A woiU) TO —Joacli mother
is a historian Site write.s not the htslorv
of empires or of nations on |).'iper. but she
■write.s her own hijtory' on tlie iiiiperish-
ntjlo mind of her child. 'I'hat tablet and
that history will remain indelible when
time shall be no niore. Tliat history each
mother will meet again, and read with
eternal joy or iinntterable woe in the far
ages of eternity This thought should
weigh on the mind of every mother, and
render her deeply circumspect and [tray
erful, and faithful in her solemu work of
training up her children for heaven and
immortality” Themindsof children are
very susceptible and easily impressed.—
A word, a look, a frown may engrave an
impression on tlie mind o'^a child which
no lapse of time can efface or wash out.
You ‘.vlk along the seashore when the
tide is out, and you form cliaractes or
write words or names in the smooth,
white sand which lies spread out so
OiC&r; and beautiful as your fancy may
dictate, bvit tlm running tide shall in a
few hours wash out and eff:ice forever all
that you liave written. Not so the lines
and characters of truth or error, wliich
your condjict ira|)riuts on the mind of
your child- There y’ou write imi)res-
eions for the eternal good or evil of
your child, which neither tlie floods nor
storms nor earth can wash out, nor
death's cold fiiiger can erase, nor the
slow moving ages of eternity obliterate.
How careful, then, should each mother
be of herself in the Ircatmetit of her
child. How prayerful, how serious and
how earnest to write the trutli of God
on his mind—those truths which shall
be his guide and teacher when Jmr
voice sliuU be silent in death and her
lips no longer move in prayer in his be
half, in commending her dear child tj
licr covenant God !—Southern Home.
lb;
• way itb tin* Iriaks of 'ho
future will uyt fail to he
I’m not sure that Mr. Ijcrgli is
needed to go into families, and
prevent criieity to children. JSiire-
iy the CTuehy exists.
The tratlition is, tliat ste])-
mothers are the only ogres in tlie
famil}'. This is a curious mistake.
These, often from the had name
whicli })reeedes tliem, are the
most zealons to he just to the
children yvlio have come under
their charge. lint it is of jiarents,
more especially, of whom 1 non'
complain.
Fathers and mothers are often
most cruel to their oti’sjiring; and
tho tortures are as varied astliose
to the inquisition. Tho mind of
a child is acentely sensitive. Mh’
iiear much of ‘‘careless, hap]iy
children.” Who hears of the
sharji suffering a child ma}' feel ?
Yet, if we rellect a moment, we
will remeaiher hy our own exper
ience that they suffer as keenly
as the enjoy. Don’t we remem
ber slipping into the creek, and
tlien spreading our wet stockings
on the., hank in the sun to dry,
whilj wo sat beside tliein in utter
wretfliedness because of the re-
jiroof we would get n'lien m'o
readied liome ! Do we not re-
meniher when the privileged
nurse slapped us across the ears
till they rang and burned, and
called us a contemptuous name,
and we went down into the cel
lar, and sat upon a potato bin as
sliff’ and tearless as a stone, and
wi.shod we could kill licr f Do
we not rememlierthe hour we had
to amuse the bab}' seemed a \ ear;
and the nursery >vas a iirison ;
and no (*oin-ict ever chafed inoix-
under liis diains ? Tlien, when
^ve were released, to liave the
freedom of the lields ! How Avihl-
ly we liew, with the sense of liii-
erty and complete hapjnness.
but sotm, even as tlic wing of a
biid droops, wo tired, and sal
down upon a stone, and .wonder
ed if there 'was not somdhhiy more.
Liberty did not satisfy our wants.
Do we not romember the task
thouglitlessly given beyond the
capa -ity of a child, and tlio dread
ful sense of hopele.ssness that
(.‘amc ovdY us on attempting to do
it ? And then w'o remember go
ing lionie from schoolwitha friend,
without jiermission, to. spend tlie
night. And, -wliile all the house
hold were aslee}), we lay in the
darkness with eyes wide ojicn,
suffering because a wayward will
liad disobeyed a sensitive con
science. Ah, truly, children are
only men and women in epitome!
Their sensations are just as varied
ainl keen as oiirs—far keener,
because they liave not yet be
come callous. Wo look to God
to ‘•temper iho wind to the shorn
lamb.” Why are not jicople equ
ally tender of the lambs under
their own care ?
Tlioro is much domestic despo
tism. Tlie worst dos])ots, of
of course, are ■’/.'oalv, seliish, un-
discijiliiied characters. Some, ;il-
so, are desjiots through mistaken
notions; others tlirough ignor
ance. Many want their children
to bow servilely, and without
question, to tlieir every mandate,
be it ever so wliimsical. An}' (Op
position shows will; so that will
must be l)n)k(m. TIka' strive to
break the will, and succeed onlv
in breaking the temper, and al
most lireaking the heart!
Some asqire to have their eliil-
dren good and quiet, like mum
mies, and make them prisonons.
Others Avish their olfspring to be
“smart.” ^kliey C'rowd, and c-rowd,
and evou'd them until knowle^v
has not a zest, it is onlv so many
ehqis to be ])iled in tlie store
house. Thev can not assimilate
Avlien laboring to stuff, so the}’
wearily ciMwd.
Many terture tlio little ones by
wounding their pride, i’hey tell
their faults to otliers to riiamc
them out of tliem. An outraged
feeling possesses the child, ami he
thinks he will never again attempt
to do rigiit. Says tlie mother,
“Oh, Aunt Sue, a'ou don’t know
what a bad boy he is ; some day
will be taken to an asA’ium as a
lunadc, be gets in such a raging
passion.” The nicther sighed,
riie t-hild I(}oked abased, lie said
nod a woi;(f?|^)ut b}'-and-by, when
Aunt Sue, whom he loved, was
aloue, he c^’opt up to her and put
hisj^,.|^ui!is about her neck, and
wept, and said:
“Oh, Aunt Sue, she don’t knoAV
hOw I try'U) lielp it. I'he «;ther
day-i'(tra}T(l to God to help me
keep my temper, and Ho did un
til to-day,—i guess Ho forgot
about to-day. Hon’t } 0U
think you ccvuld go to the drug
gist’s and get me some medicine
to keep off the madP'’
A child is insubordinate, and
the parent Avould rob it of its tO}'s,
its treasures,'^nd so, of its indi
viduality,) as ti punishment ''J’he
boy ({uestions. lier right. “Yon
and youi’ to}'s are mine until you
are lwent}'-une,” said the mother.
Tho child was silenced. He
thought, “lioSv long to wait for
iibeit}'; until twent}’-oiie !” Sud
denly a thoi-ight struck him :
“But if }'ou have a right to me,
wli}' haven’t I a right to you
So siUiie persons take tlie self-dc-
seii-re6i)ect from
pemlence
their chiiclren.
I have seen people walch villi
most sedulous atleiitiou, tlie tem
peraments, liabits and wants of
the ])lants in their windows, while
they treated their cliildren either
a.s puppets to amuse them, or as
objects of s])asmodic caresses, or
as victims of Their despotism.
There are those who treat their
animals Avith the tenderost care,
Avhile others treated theirs Avltli
systematie cruelt}'. lia])]>ibr,
most jiarents are instlneiiveiv
what they simuhl he. Unlia])])!-
ly, others are selfishh', igm.u-ant-
1}' cruel to their oifspibig. it is
Old}' for the latter class J suggest
the sujiervision of a Mr. Bergh.
'Tliere is a steadfast, patient Ioa’c
tliat can look beyond a personal
ambition—bcA'ond a love of ruling
beycAiid the cliild act to tho eliild
m(.)tive; beyond eA'eii the clilld
motive to the physi(;al, mental
and moral coiistitiidon wliich those
parents luiAm entailed ujion tlie
child. Truly, it takes wisdom to
lie a true })arout; a Avisdom from
on liigh.—Rural Kew Yorker.
WBsjit we Eat
It is nlarming to tliink of the bavcic a
man makes of provisions during a long
life:
According to a French statislicaii,
taking tho mean of many accounts, a
man lifty years of age lias slept 6.000
days, worked days, walked 8- 0
days, ainusod himself 4,000 days, wa.'i
eating 1,500 days, was sick 500 days,
etc. lie ate 17,000 pounds of bread,
10,000 pounds of meat. 4,000 pounds of
vegetables, eggs and fish, and drank 7,-
000 gallons of liquid, namely: Water,
coOee, tea, beer, wine, etc., altogether.
This would make a respectable lake of
-100 scpuire feet stu-raeo. ar.d tin-ee icet.
deep, on wliich a sm.ill steamboat could
navigate. And all this solid and liquid
material pas^^ing t rough a human be
ing in fifty years ! Verih'. there is after
all some truth in the story of tho ogre
wiio drank a lake dry, to catcii the fu-
gitive.s that were sailing over it. Any
man can do the same.—only give him
time —Youth's Companion.
—An oH hr.cliclm- i
•ailf.iad, wl.u Liu. fui’ud
romicctrais.
a tiMVt'bcr uj’.cn ';;r .’
L> Hilda- nil ll.i; pnqH’i
YiT jnihlish below a list of the
couutie.s iiOAV re})resentcd iu tlie
AsA'ium at Oxford :
Alamance, Aiisou, Ihoaufort,
Bertie, Bhuleii, Brunswick, Bun
combe, Cabarrus, Oamdeu, (.hirte-
ret, C’asAvell, OataAvba, (’hatham,
(Jravmi, (himberlaiid, DuA’ie, Dup
lin, Kdgocomhe, Forsythe, Frauk-
bu, (bistoii, Granville, Greene,
Guilford, Harnett, Haywood, Ire
dell, Jackson, Lenoir, Martin,
Mecklenlnirg, iCloore, Nash,
Noi’thampton, Orange, .Perquim
ans, lioAvan, uichmond, .Robeson,
Stokes, Union, Wake, Warren,
Wilson.
One of the most pleasant things
related of the late Prof. Agassiz is
that Avlieii he Avas offered largo
sums of money to deliver a- series
of public h'cturcs he replied: “I
have not time to make money.”
It Avas nobly said. I’ho man of
science had a higher A'oeation
than the l)usines.s of making
inonev; a loftier aim than the ac
cumulation of Avealth. The pur
suit of AA'oalth as a means may be
ennobling : as an end it is far
otlierAvise. John Ruskin said, in
reference to art, “ Avheii a man
thinks more of his fee than he
does of his woFk it is a sure sign
that he is uufft for his Avork.”
All honor to the scientist Avho res
olutely adheres to his work and
reduses to bo bought off from it.
In a similar spirit and for high
er reasons S])urgeon refuses to
come to America cm a h-cturitig
o Ibrsmade b}' ihe Boston Ia'ccuu.
B ireau and saj s:
“It is not possible for me to
]i £LVQ my work exccqit for a short
interval to jcst. I ha- e no oik-
iO occu]iy my pulj-it, ])reaidc oA’cr
my cl urcli, look afierthe college,
govern the orphar.ago, snperln-
iend the colporteur.s, edit tlie
magazine, etc. I must keep in}-
iiand on tlio oar till 1 die. 1 see
no hope of A’isiting America, mueb
as 1 wouM like to greet tbe
brethren there. 0mi] easeition i^
not an Item (.>f consideration.”—
UiUkal iieeorder.
Foiitissios-s lt> Scrvitjils.
From Si-rihiicr's Monthly.
Is tliere not, or at least ought tiierc
not to be, a code of etiquette for the
kitchen as well as for tiie parlor; for
conduct towards iDferior’s as well as
equals ?
We make our plea for jioliteness in
the kitchen on the following grounds :
1. No lady can afl'erd, for her own
sake, to bo otlierwise than gentle,
thoughtful and courteous in tiic admin
istration of hou.schold matters, if she
reserves her best manners for tho par
lor, where so small a portion of tlie av
erage American housekocpei’s time i.s
spent, it is likely that they will not al
ways be easily put on. The habitual
deportment leaves marks njion the coun
tenance and the manner which no sud
den effect can produce,
2- For tbe sake of family comfort we
mu.st have comfort in the kitchen.
AVilling and unwilling service are read
ily distinguishable 113- ever}’ member ol
the household. We can all' of us re
member how the atmosphere of a diu
tier pa^-ty has been su-ddeu!y chilled b}’ a
few’ words ol uuneces.sary blame to a ser
vant. To mortify a person is not usu
ally to re!orm him On the other hand,
how delightful to a guest are those
homes where the relation of inastevs and
servants are friendly ; where sliort com
ings on the part of the latter are deli-
catedy excused in pulilic, and judioious-
1}’ investigated iu private
B. For tile sake of 3’our servants them
selves, we must pa}’, them due polite
ne.ss. lliiiuanity, says Laoon, is sooner
won by courtesy than by real benefits,
if one v.’.uuld make thorongli and effi
cient servants out of raw material, it
must be done by jinticnce and b-r.g snf-
fering Hid vou ever find that scolding
made aii order more intelligible, or
causcil anything but brotvcn dishe.s and
ill cooked dinners 'j'hcn try gentle-
ness a little w’lile: if t!n,t will not
HC'-’Omplish nnythi.ig, send away your
soi v.unt, and try another. You can in)t
afford t--> iorse your temper; Hiulajicr.'^ou
on whom cousisleut ki-.dness is thrown
away, can render you no iutelligcut or
permanent .-.ervice.
We init it to tlic common sense ofotir
readers, wiietlicr self-preservation,
comfort and duty, do not nil re(pii;e of
us a little more attention to kitciieii
etiquette!'
Curiotrs Niaujo
Persons take queer notion.s some
times A collection of singular nnine.i
lias, we believe, never until hitelv been
made. A gentleman who iia. applied
liimseli to tlii.s branch of .scnence sends
If s list to “Notes and (.^-leries." If it
iia I been publislied some years ago it
might liave saved Dickens and Halzac
some trouble. Dickeu.s, ns is well
known, wa.s veiy peculiar about the
names of liis char.icters, and was a
montli often in suiting himself Tlic
Celicity of many of them well rejiavs the
pains taken His w’orks are a perfect
cabinet of nomenclature Balzac w’as
equally if not more scriij)uIou». It i.s
said tlniL he wandered about the streets
reading tbe signboards to find names to
suit bis characters. The writer on
“Notes and Queries" ha.s cerlaiulv got
ten together u comical eollsciton. Hi,-ro
are Mr. Allehiu and Mr. .Appleyard;
•Mr. By the sea. and ^r. By the way—
probably a forgetful-,-gentleman—with
.dcssrs. Baby, Bareloot, Biil.Ier, Bell-
uangcr. Christina.-;, C.’ainoinile, Cut'iush,
a florist; Gobbledii-k. who should iio a
>;ioemaker; Death, . Deadiimn, Dr.iw-
water. Drinkwa-er, lueniiior.-; of tlie tem-
lierance soclet-.-. and Oru’kall, wiro be-
liev -« in An. c uon ; Fves. Kntwator.
G In: Gray G *'se Goto , Ghost,
ilansoiiiebody, ■ iiezekii^.i ilolh-wbread.
-Alacl-Cfcrel. Oysters. I'lnud/ ainl I’igeon,
.a.-ui Lhe.se are only a siiiattenng --N C.
i-‘re.sb\ terl.n
Coll'ct?
Do you drink coffeo!* Then you may
warit to know how it grows. A’oi; .see
■ )u!y coffee-seed in the store, and. likely
nave never Ihoiight much aiiout it.iike Mio
''ll}' girl, who thought cucumbers gr'.-w in
•Alices. ju.-.t as she .saw ihum on the larm-
vr s table.
*• Coffee comes from S' U h America
.ind the West Iiniie.s It grows upon 1 >w,
liu.'-hy tn-es These would grow tall
ItKe a pcacii-tree, but are clipped at the
top to malce the fruit liardy. Like the
orange-tree, tliey have blossoms and ripe
fruit on at the same time. The hlossom.s
.ire white : the berrie.s are green, roil and
: urple, according to their .age. 'A'e get
only the seed of the berry. Its enUide i.s
much like the cherry,—sweet ar.d good.
The leaves are a bright fresh green, and
the tree is l.-vely.” —The Children’.^
Friend, ilichmond
Gen Perkins .rn I Turn Mar.shall were
once canvassing the .State of KciUucivV.
in a hotly contested election. I’erkin.s,
among ether mean.'^ foi catching iho
flats, was in the habit of tlut
his father was a co.>per by tr.-.dc, in an
obscure part of the .•''i.ate. He (Perkin*;)
WAS one of the people. He didut belong
to the '‘.-.id-gloved aristocrA'‘y." lii.-t
great faiang was ids fonduvss for o'-l
Monongaiiula whiskey, ainl th nK*re he
drank tiic prouder he was of being the sou
of a cooper Of this fact he had been
making the most, when Alar.sliall in re
plying to IjD speech, widle K/okiug at iiiiu
with great contempt, said ••Fellow cu-
izens, his father may have been a very
good, cooper —I don’t deny that — but*I
do say. gentlemen, that he put a mighty
poor head in that whi.skey-bacrel.”
Mi-U’m .-vxn 'I’ri'M.—“ I am conic (or niy
■i'Ud.'rcllu,’’ said tlic lender of it on a rainy day
to a friend. “Ckin’t lulp that,” .^aid tini
iioiTower, “don’t you see that 1 am g'diig out
with it"’ ‘Well, yes,’rei'lied the lender, aaton-
Hh‘d at such outrasi'eons iinpiideiic‘; “ye.-*,
hut—hat—w!iat am 1 to do?” “Do!” said tho
otiier, as he opmicd the iniihrella and walked
off, “do as 1 did—borrow one.”
—.Ardent spirits drowue'l more jieople than all
the water.s in t!u' world.
’ —?.IanY ]'-ersons feel ati irrccouciliahle enmity
I towards those whom they have injured.
ismassM
miir"