VOL VIII.
OXFORD, N. C., JANUARY 10, 1883.
NO. 33.
The Orphans’ Friend.
WEDNESDAY, JANUAKY - - 10, 1883.
Published every Wednesday at one
t'i ollarper annurUy invariably in advance
IS IT WORTH WHILE ?
BY JOAQUIN MILLER.
Is it worth while that we jostle a broth-
Bearing Ids load on the rough road
of life ?
Is it worth while that we jeer at each
other,
In blackness of heart, that we war to
the knife ?
God pity us all in our pitiful strife.
God pity us all, as we jostle each other,
God pardon us all for the triumphs
we feel ^
When a fellow goes down ’neath his
load on the heather,
Pierced to the heart: Yords are keen
er than steel,
And mightier far for woe than for
weal.
Were it not well, in this brief little jour
ney. .
On over the isthmus, down into the
• tide,
We give him a fish, instead of a serpent,
Efc folding the hands to be and abide
iPorever, and aye in dust at his side?
Look at the rosea saluting each other;
Look at the herds all at peace on the
plain,
Man, and man only, makes war on his
brother;
And laughs in his heart at his peril
and pain;
S.hamed by the beasts that go down
on the plain.
Is it worth while that we battle to hum
ble
Some poor fellow down into the dust?
God pity us all! Time too soon will
tumble
All of us together,'like leaves in a
gust,
Humbled, indeed, down into the
dust.
HELP THE POOR—EXTRACTS
FROM A NEW YEARS
SERMON.
BY THE EEV. J. W. ^.EWIS.
Text: Parable of the Rich Man and
Lazarus.
The hard season is upon us-
the season of want and suffering.
Many poor people throng our
cities, towns and villages, and
are not missing even in the rural
districts.
It is dmitted by all that cold
and hunger mean suffering, but
it is only too keenly felt by this
vast company of penniless folk.
For weeks past they have shud**
dered at the outlook, and their
busy brains have turned this way
and that, and all their thoughts
have been committees of ways
and means.
Winter has fairly opened his
door, and they stand on the
threshold, silent and sad, con
templnting the possibilities of
the near future'**‘Want, disease,
suffering, death.
Side by side with these, in the
same community, are the inde»
pendent classes of every grade,
from the man of comfortable
competency to the millionaire.
‘The rich and the poor meet to
gether.’ The Lord so disposes.
They cross each other’s path, at
every turn. The mansions of
the very rich and the cozy homes
of the welLto-do rise everywhere
in juxtaposition to the shanties of
poverty.
You pass the widow in the
street muffled with rags and stag**
gering before the wind, and the
tattered shoes of her .children
shuffle on the sidewalk as they
hurry by your gate. ‘The poor
ye have always with you.’ They
creep into chin ch at night and
take back seats to avoid being
seen, but somehow, you know
not why, you see them. They
meet jmu at the marketplaces,
and jostle against you in the
crowded thoroughfares. Now
and then they knock timidly at
your back door and reach out
their pale, thin hands to your
heart and ycur purse. A merci
tul providence has thrown them
in your midst—a Lazarus is laid
at your gate.
Look within your dwelling;
blazing fires, bright rooms, warm
clothing, soft beds, ample food,
pure air, and good cheer from
garret to cellar, and from parlor
to kifcben. Do not these suggest
‘a certain rich man clothed with
purple and fine linen, and faring
sumptuously every day?’ Look
without.—the gloomy panorama
shifts rapidly with ever'var3’ing
intensity of woe. It is all told in
parabolic terms—‘a certain beg
gar, named Lazarus,’ helpless,
sore, suffering, dying.
Two things the world has yet
to learn in their fullest scope
God’s purpose in the rich, God’s
purpose in the poor, and duly
apprehended in themselves their
significance as correlatives will
also appear.
They are lessons that He in
the depths ol the deep things of
God. ‘Ye know^the grace of our
Lord Jesus Christ, that though
he was r ch, yet for your sake he
became poor, that ye through
his poverty might be rich.’ Thus
Paul commends the grace of giv
ing to the poor as the v*ery core
of the redemption method—the
essence of Christ's blood. Ir is
according to the divine plan
therefore that the lich become
less rich by so much as the gifts
of charity depreciate their afflux
ence, in order that the poor may
be less poor, and both together
be saved body and soul alive.
THE CHILDREN AT UOjIE-
THE SAUCER PIE.
To my mind it is not a fortu
itous fact that thanksgiving is at
hand so early in the season,
when the snow loads the gates,
And the wintry wind whistles along the
wild moor,
And the cottager shuts on the beggar his
door.
Nor is it accidental that the
celebration of Christ’s natal day
is had in the midst of the winter.
Thanksgiving ! Christmas ! What
thoughts of gratefulness I W|iat
impuls(>8 of charity bestir in the
bosom !
It is indeed more blessed to
give than to receive; and, more^
over, it is dangerous not to give.
Tn hell be lifted up his eyes, he's
ing in torments.’
That man may last, but never lives.
Who much receives, hut nothing gives;
Whom none can love, whom none can
thank;
Creation’s blot, creation’s blank.
What is said in the foregoing
remarks does not hint at the in
timation of some: ‘We have elee^
mosynary institutions, send them
thither.’ Yes, to the poor-house,
for instance, that miserable ex-
cusefor penuriousness. I shud
der to think of it. Too often, in
truth, a poov’-hovse, and not a
house (home) for the poor.
Characteristics of a rich man :
The elegance of his carriage and
the loftiuess of his gate.
‘Well, what do you think of
our little girl, Eben?'
Mrs. Ruthford asked this ques
tion just as -they v'ere through
dinner, and Jennie had been ex
cused from the tsble. They had
brought her .to their pleasant
country home a month before, on
probation, with a view to keep
ing her as their own.
Eben laid down his knife and
fork, pushed back his plate, and
looking through the open door
to catch a glimpse of pink-ging
ham flitting around the corner,
answered slowly—
‘I like her right well; think, if
you’re suited, we’d best keep her,
She is bright 'and willing and
truthful.’
‘And a quiet little thing,’ put
in his wife.
‘Yes; don’t know but I’d as
lief she wouldn’t be so quiet,
though. I’ll tell you, Sarah, I’m
sort o’ longing for a child’s laugh
rippling out at anything or noth
ing. I’d like to see her dancing
about, and singing to herself,
chatting like a magpie, and all
tiiat sort o’ thing. I’ve tried to
please her. I’ve told her stories,
and taken her round on the farm
with me, and let her ride on Char
lie’s back to the brook; and she
likes it all, in a quiet sort of way
But she don’t seem downright
happy and merry, as it’s a child’s
right to be.’
Oh, well, I guess she’s con
tent enough, plenty to eat and
wear, and kindly treated. I’d
rather she’d be quiet than like
Mrs. Dorr’s little Nelly over the
way, climbing trees and riding
fences, and singing and shouting
from morning till night.’
Meantime, Jenny was sitting
on a rock by the brook, laving
her bare, white feet, and sa}-’ing
to herself,--
Now, if I thought she’d care
anything about them, I’d get her
some of those great blue flowers
-^‘they’re beauties,’looking at the
clusters of the iris. I’d as lief
wade in as not. But I suppose
sheM say’ Yes, yes, child, very
pretty, don’t clutter the floor with
them,’ and keep on tying up her
curtains or ’ranging her closets.
Mamma always liked them so
much. Oh, Mamma!’ And the
little figure lay prone on the
glass, trembling and sobbing.
‘Mamma! O mamma’ I want you!
She’s kind to me, but there’s no
body like mamma.’
‘Poor child! Poor child!’
It was Eben’s voice, but ten
der and gentle. His strong arms
lifted the quivering form, and
laid her head on his shoulder.
‘There, there! dear, don’t cry.
Want to go to mill with me? You
shall have the reins yourself, and
drive, if you like.’
A few words from Eben that
night set Sarah to thinking; and
the new thoughts that came to
her were strengthened next day
in a neighbor’s lutchen. She had
run in’ on an errand, and found
Aunt Martha,’ as she was called
in neighborhood parlance, mak
ing pies, She stood b}’- her mol-
dingsboard, with sleeves rolled
up, and wide gingham apron on,
the picture of a hearty, healthy,
blithe old lady. Half a dozen
pies, with rich golden centres,
stood by her side. Half a dozen
apple-pies were already brown
ing in the oven. She had a little
crust left. . She rolled it out,
spread it in a couple of saucers,
filled the centres round and
plump with the jui^, sliced ap
ples, and daintily trimmed tlie
edges.
‘Do you make saucer-pies,
auntie?’ Asked Mrs. Ruthford, in
some surprise.
‘Yes. every baking. Why not?’
said aunty.
‘Woll, when the children are
not at home to eat them, it seems
hardly worth while. It is easier
to put all in one large pie, and
tastes just the same you know.’
•Oh, yes; but some child is so
apt to happen along on an errand
or something. A saucer-pie is a
great thing to a child. I’ve made
them about every fortnight for
fifteen years, and always found
use for them. It more than pays
Jor the work to see the little folks
so pleased. ‘You know, dear,’
the old lady added gently, ‘the
time th; t trifles gives great pleas
ure is so short, ‘it passes b\’ be
fore we are aware. Sou etiines
I think it is onl}-' childhood that
is content with daily bread.’
‘I’ll make a saucer-pie for Jen
ny next time 1 bake,’ said Mrs.
Ruthford to herself, as she went
home. ‘Strange I never thought
of it before. I’ll—let me see—
I’ll dress her dolly new for her.
It's qude shabby. And I’ll keep
her with me more, and tell her
stories at bedtime. Maybe it is
just the little things mothers do
that she wants to chirk her up.’
The next morning Mrs. Ruth
ford concluded it was time to
have some pies, and she went to
work with a will. When the ba-
king was done, a dainty saucer-
pie sugared on top, and plump
with ripe, sweet beiries, stood on
the dresser. ‘Here^’s something
for you, dear,’ she said, as Jenny
came in with quiet footfall, and
she placed the little pie in the
child’s hands. Jenny’s face flush
ed, her eyes brightened up, and
then to Sarah’s surprise, grew
dim with tears, and ihe sensitive
mouth quivered; but only for a
moment.
‘Thank you, thank you!’ she
said eagerly.
‘It’^ just like the little pies
mamma used to make for me.’
Ah that’s it,’ thought Sarah.
‘Eben’s right to be sure, she
want’s ‘mothering.’ And she
drew the little girl to her side and
kissed her. The dimpled arms
were around her neck in an in
stant, and the kiss returned, and
through the day Jennie seemed
to feel happier and more at home.
Bedtime came, and Jenny,
nestling to the white pillow look
ed up with wondering eyes as
Mrs. Ruthford sat down on the
side of the bed, and taking the
little hands in hers, said kindly,
‘Shall I tell you a story, dear?’
She listened with eager inter**
est to the story of the Higliland
shepherd’s child,lost in the moun-
taiu mist, ynd guarded and fed
b3r his faithful dog. And when
Mrs. Ruthford bent down and
kissed her, the white arms again
wound impulsively around her
neck, and Jenny said, for the
first time, ‘Good night, nianima!’
Sarah was startled, tiie new
name seemed so sweet.
‘I see now,’ she thought.
‘Eben is right. It is mother love
and care tlie child needs and shall
have.’
_ Mrs. Ruthford kept her resolu
tion. She did not, could not, at
once feel the intense de/ntion of
a mother. But she was no lon
ger content with feeding and
clothing her charge. She tried to
satisfy the hungering and thirst^
ing for affection which she had
learned to meet and recognize.
She sought Jenny’s h.ippiness,
and in due time she had her re-
ward. Love in her own heart,
grateful love in her child’s,
strengthened dao by day. Jen
ny grew grrdually happier, till
her laugh and song rang out as
merrily as Eben wished. And
her presence seemed like sunlight
in their home. And when a year
had prsse I, neither of the worthy
couple would any more have
thought of parting'vvith her than
if she had been theirs by birth.
They knew no difference in the
home tie.
‘It all dates back,’ said Sarah
to her husband, as they sat talk
ing one evening after Jenny
went to bed, ‘all this happiness
dates back to the saucer-pie. Jen
ny seemed from that time to be
lieve I loved her.’
The cure for the evils of tliis
life can not be found in outward
surroundings. These help, to
some extent. But evil finds its
birth in the soul’s choice.s. To
meet this want, Christianity is
radical. The Word of God reach
es to the purposes of men’s hearts,
and thus seeks to control out
ward acts. Formalism makes the
outside of the platter clean. The
Gospel makes the heart clean. It
purifies the fountain from whence
life issues. Outward influences
may restrain in some degree, but
no life can 'oe made pure from
without. The body may be sur
rounded by pure air, and yet be
filled with disease. But let
healthful lungs bring the pure
air in contact with the blood
which flows to the heart, and
disease is driven out. Christ
cas.ts the devils out. The Spirit
in the heart keeps them out, and
so the life remains pure. Seek
this inward purity. This only is'
purity. All else is delusion or
deceit. This within, all else is
harmless. Temptation ma) rage,
but it must stay outside. It is
dangerous only when it is per
mitted to rest within.
The reason given by the col
ored man for not going too near
the heels of a famous roan tnul^
was so satisfaclory that we can
afford to adopt it as an excuse for
not doing a great many other
things. 'De reason,’he said,‘why
I nebber ’proach dat roan mule
from de rear is dat I’m too fond
of my family,’—®:.
T.J.&W.D. HORNER’S
Classical, Mathematical and Coni'>
mercial School,
HENDERSON, N. C.
The Spring Session opens the 2il Mon
day in January next. The teachers are
tried and experienced, the terms are reas
onable, and the accommodations are first-
class. The discipline is good and the
course of instruction thorough.
For circulars giving particulars, addiess
the Principals, Henderson, N, 0.
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