Newspaper Page Text
CHILDREN’S_OOLUN.
THE MISSIS® PEACH.
One morning Mrs. Lawson and her
little daughter, Grace, were sitting in their
pleasant dining-room, busy with their nee
dies a friend of Mrs. Lawson came in, and
brought her two beautiful peaches. They
were the finest she had seen that season,
and soon after the lady left, she pealed one
of them and divided it with her little girl.
“ How nice it is, mother —it is the sweet
est peach I ever tasted. Do try and keep
the other till father comes home. I think
he would like it so much.”
“We will try, Grace,” said her mother;
“but as we do not expect your father before
the middle of next week, I am afraid it will
sp’oil; besides, he is in such a fine region
for fruit, I expect he is enjoying peaches
like these every day.”
“ Let me keep it any way, mother, and
if it spoils I will show him the stone, and
let him know we remembered him.”
“ Well, here it is, Grace, on the side
board —take care of it,” said Mrs. Lawson,
taking up her key-basket and going out to
attend the duties of the day. She was ab
sent some time, and when she returned,
Grace was still busy with her hemming. —
After a while she glanced towards the side
board, and discovered the peach was not
there.
“ What have you done with the peach,
Grace 1 ”
“ Nothing, mother,” replied the child ; ‘ I
have not touched it.”
“ Where is it, then?” said her mother,
getting up and moving the papers; “I can’t
find it.”
“ Indeed, I can’t tell.”
“Have any of the servants been in here ?”
“ Not that I know of, mother; but I was
in the porch a little while—l will go and
see.”
Mrs. Lawson said she would inquire her
self. All of them denied having been in
the dining-room. Indeed, she felt almost
sure they had not been, for she had had
them engaged around her while she was
out.
“ Grace,” she said, “ I cannot understand
this; you surely can tell me something
about it. Are you sure you did not touch
the peach ? ”
“ Yes, mother, sure,” and Grace’s voice
trembled and her face crimsoned as she re
plied.
Mrs. Lawson was deeply grieved. Grace
was her only child, and she had endeavored
to instil good principles inte her heart, and
above all things had impressed upon her
the importance of truth. She had never
thought it possible her child would take
what did not belong to her; but now the
circumstances were so clearly against her,
she felt almost sure she had taken the peach
and now was denying her guilt, to escape
the punishment which she was conscious of
deserving. The very fact of her blushing
so deeply and showing so much emotion
when questioned, she thought, was sufficient
to prove it.
“ My daughter, do tell me the truth,”
she said imploringly : “ I can forgive you
if you do. Remember, no one has been in
here except you’’self. Who else could
have taken it ? ”
“ I did not, I did not,” replied the child,
bursting into tears, “ I did not take it.”
“ God hears you, my child,” said her
mother, solemnly.
Grace listened, but only sobbed more
violently, and denied more earnestly hav
ing touched the missing peach; and her
mother was almost as much distressed as
the child was herself.
“ My child,” she said at length, “I hoped
l should never have, to punish you with the
rod again; but if you will obstinately per
sist in telling a falsehood, I must whip you
as I did when you were a very little child.
Come with me now.” Grace followed her
mother into her own room and received
the most severe puitishment she had ever
endured.
“Tell me now, why did you take the
peach ? ”
“ I did not take it,” said the weeping
child.
“ Oh! yiy darling, don’t make me pun
ish you again,” said her mother, weeping
as she spoke.
Grace still denied htr guilt, and Mrs.
Lawson again punished her as severely as
before. She then prayed with her and beg
ged her for her mother’s sake to confess her
sin.
But the child unflinchingly asserted her
innocence, though time and again the pun
ishment was renewed. At length Mrs.
Lawson was obliegd to yield, for she felt
she had punished her as much as was pru
dent, and was afrat i to contend longer with
her, so exhausted did whe seem ; but she
gave up. feeling sure that the child was
guilty, and grieving deeply over the obsti
nacy which prevent'd the confession other
sin. Both mother and child were sad and
gloomy for many days. Towards the end
mAMMmm Astm saspsiss.
of the summer, Grace was seized with a vi
olent disease, and in unutterable anxiety
her fond parents hung over her bed, and
the thought of the stolen peach, and the
falsehood to conceal it, more than once
came like a dark cloud over Mrs. Lawson’s
heart; for it was the only instance of the
kind in the whole life-time of her child which
she had to recall. In a tew days little
Grace died, and what she had once spoken
must remain forever unchanged. The day
after her death, in making preparations for
the funeral, they removed the side-board in
the dining-room, and the missing peach, all
vithered and decayed, dropped down on
the floor. It had rolled behind it when
Mrs. Lawson closed the door, and was not
found until then. And Grace, dear child,
had patiently endured that severe punish
ment, rather than tell a lie by confessing
what she really had not done. The depth
of Mrs. Lawson’s sorrow need not be dwelt
on, nor is the “ Children’s Column” the
right place for me to direct Christian moth
ers to the lesson which this true story may
teach to them ; but, dear children, remem
ber, it is as sinful to confess a sin you have
not committed, to escape punishment, as it
is to deny one for the same purpose.
THE SOLDIERS’ COLUMN.
The Different Drum-heats, and
What they Mean.
The Reveille is the signal for the men to
rise, and the sentinel to leave off* challeng
ing.
The Troop is to sound or beat at —o’clock
in the morning, for the purpose of assem
bling the men for duty and inspection at
guard mounting.
The Retreat is to sound or beat at sunset,
for the purpose of warning the officers and
men for duty, and for reading the orders of
the day.
The Tattoo is to beat at o t cloek in the
evening, after which no soldier is to be out
of his tent or quarters, unless by special
leave.
Peas-upon-a-Trencher, the signal for
breakfast, is to sound or beat at o’clock
in the morning.
Roast Beef, the signal for dinner, is to
sound or beat at o’clock ;at other times
it is the signal to draw provisions.
The Surgeon s Call is to sound or beat
at o’clock, when the sick, able to go out,
will be conducted to the hospital by the first
sergeants of companies, who will hand to
the surgeon a report of ali the sick in the
company other than in hospital. The pa
tients who cannot attend at the dispensary
will be immediately after visited by the
surgeon.
The General is to beat only when the
whole army is to march, and is the signal
to strike tents and prepare for the march.
The Assembly is the signal to form by
company.
To the Color is the signal to form by
battalion.
The March is for the whole to move.
The Long Roll is the signal for getting
under arms, in case of alarm or the sudden
approach of the enemy.
The Parley is to desire a conference with
the enemy.
The Secret of Dying Gladly.
Believers, behold here the secret of dy
ing! “These all died in faith,” —Heb. x :
13. Bad men die reluctantly,; life is ex
torted from them as if by main force. The
believer dies willingly: his will is sweetly
submitted to his Father’s will: he makes
it a religious act to die. Just as Jesus him
self commended his human soul to his Fa
ther, saying, “ Father, into thy hands 1
commend my spirit,”—Luke xxii: 46; so
His believing disciple commends his soul to
Jesus, and through Him to the Father.—
Here, I repeat, Is the secret how to die hap
pily. To those who know not that secret,
it is a fearful thing to die. It is a serious
matter for any. But to the worldly-mind
ed and ungodly, if not past feeling, to die
must be as*one of the heathen philosophers
(Aristotle) confessed it, “of all formi
dable things the most formidable.”—
Only mention a neighbor’s death in
a gay circle: lo! you have thrown
a gloom ouer the whole assembly ; all are
evidently sorry that the topic was intro
duced. The ancient Roman would not men
tion death in plain words, if they could
avoid it, but only by circumlocution and
implication. The heathen, at this day, in
like manner, “shun all conversation on
death, as most repugnant to their feelings.’
I quote the words of an eve-witr.ess: “they
account it the height of cruelty to speak of
the probability of a sick friend’s death
even to his relatives.” Even serious Chris
tians are often in bondage through fear of
death. It is such a venture; a mistake may
be so fatal ; to go before God is so awful;
judgment will bring to light such secrets :
that many think, “ How can I die?” Yet
you all must. Be persuaded, give your
soul to Jesus now ; do it again from day to
day; and then when your dying day is
come, again approach the Saviour and say,
“ Lord, I hear thee calling for my spirit; I
see the angels sent to fetch me home to
thee; in the hand of death I recognize thy
hand of love; thou askest for my soul —
take it, for it is thine. Do with it what
thou wilt, I have given it to thee to be
washed in thy blood, and sanctified by thy
Spirit; I am sure thou wilt do it no harm.”
Does a thought here arise, “ and what
shall become of my poor body?” Why,
even if like Stephen’s, it were battered and
bruised with stones murderously hurled;
even though it were burning at a stake, or
tortured on a rack—you need not mind ;
look but that the soul is safe; and then,
whatever may become of the body, Jesus
will take care of thy dust and ashes. The
remains of His faithful servants are to Him
the most precious parts of the material
earth. They form a pledge of His final
coming. For if your souls are truly His,
He will hereafter raise up your bodies glo
rious, incorruptible,immortal, like unto His
own.
THE LADIES’ COLUMN.
How Girls are Raised.
The following is from the pen of a young
lady, graduate of a Female College in Mis
sissippi. Read and reflect upon it, ladies,
young and old; it contains suggestions
which, if properly heeded, will prevent
much grief and many tears :
“It is astonishing that, at this advanced
age, when we see everything has a tenden
cy to reformation, there are such sad mis
takes in the way girls are raised now-a-days.
“The time was when girls toiled like old
women, wore dresses spun and woven by
their own hands, assisted in household af
fairs, rising at day in the morning, retiring
. early at night; but now, if they can arrange
their toilet by nine o’clock, and appear with
eyes wide open at the breakfast table, they
look for someone to speak an encouraging
word relative to their industry.
“They think it nothing out of the way
to take a nap in the afternoon to refresh
their bodies, so ‘wearied by an hour’s prac
tice on the piano, or humming a little air
from the opera, accompanied by the guitar.
They will cover their hands with a little
hide —called, by the fastidious, kids or
gauntlets —smother themselves in long ear
ed bonnets, daub white lead on their faces,
in order to elicit sympathy from some, and,
jon the other hand, serve as a bait for com
ptrmmts from tlivae who think colorless
faces beautiful.
“ One will exclaim : ‘ Her face is of ala
baster whiteness ;’ another, equally as shal
low, exclaims, ‘Her face is like Parian mar
ble ; ’ and she, so elated at her success in
plastering on these shameful cosmetics
lengthens her hook and line, empties her
papa’s lard keg to make a favorite pomatum
for the hair.
“They will indulge in late hours, flatter
ing Mr. Dick So-and-so, or Tom ; they tell
her she is pretty, smart and good, and she,
so delighted that she could sit until day
break without the shutters to the windows
of her soul having any disposition to close,
goes to school, perhaps, the next day, and
cannot say any lessons—thinks entertain
ing beaux better business than studying.
“The girls now adays are very extrava
gant ; to be anybody you must dress—
dress. No matter how much, load on the
finery, put rings on your fingers, and bells
on your toes, if it is only the fashion.—
Nothing is beautiful now, unless it is inlaid
with pearl and overlaid with gold.
“ Away with such folly, girls; think less
of the cart wheels on your fingers; lay
aside your superabundance of ribbon and
lace gear; go to hard work ; learn your
book's, and have more Anglo Saxon com
mon sense to boast of.”
Swkbt Temper. -Gen. Jackson once said
to a young lady, in w hose welfare he felt a
deep interest;
“ I cannot forbear pointing out to you,
my dear child, the great advantages that
will result from a temperate conduct and
sweetness of manner to all people, on all
occasions. Never forget that you are a
gentlewoman, and all your words and ac
tions should make you gentle. 1 never
heard your mother—your dear, good moth-|
er—say a harsh or hasty thing to any per-1
son in my life. Endeavor to imitate her. j
1 am quick and hasty in my temper, but it !
is a misfortune which, not having been suf
ficiently restrained in my youth, has caused'
me inexpressible pain. It has given mej
more trouble to subdue, this impetuosity
than anything I evei undertook.”
What a Wife Should Be. —Says an old
author: “ A good wife should be like three
things, which three things she should not be
like. First, she should be like a snail, al
ways keep within her house; but she should j
not be like a snail, to carry all she has up
on her back. Secondly, she should be like
an echo, speak when she is spoken to; shej
should not be like an echo, always have the
last word. Thirdly, she should be like a
town clock, always keep time and regulari
ty; but she should not be like a town-clock,
to speak so loud that all the town may hear
her. ________________
HOUSEKEEPERS’ COLUMN.
Good Butter.— Good butter is always in
demand. We believe no portion of Amer
ica can produce better butter than the
mountains and hill country of North Caro
lina. Will not our people in that region
turn their attention to it ? We copy from
the Spirit of the Age the following excel
lent suggestion :
“We offer the following directions how
to put up butter—that will keep, and sell
for the best price: Butter when taken from j
the churn should not be washed in water,
nor a drop of water touch it, nor the hand
—recollect that; instead of the hand, use a
small paddle; put in a clean vessel, and
with a wooden paddle work out the butter
milk thoroughly, salt sufficiently, and put
in a vessel which shall be air-tight. When
enough is made at one time to fill a pack
age, fill it to the top, so full there will be
no space between the head and butter. —
‘The firkin’ in common use is only fit to
spoil butter, not preserve it. The vessel
for packing should be made of post or white
oak (red oak is acid) in barrel shape, hav
ing small bulge, with a tightly fitting head
at each end, that will exclude air and water
when closed. The packages may be made
to hold 25, 50 or 100 pounds, or any con
venient quantity But always bear in mind,
that air and water will spoil butter.”
The Virtues of Borax. —The washer
women of Holland and Belgium, so pro
verbially clean, and who get up their linen
so beautifully white, use refined borax as
washing powder, instead of soda, in the
proportion of a large handful of borax
powder to about ten gallons of water; they
save in soap nearly half. All the large
washing establishments adopt the same
mode. For laces, cambrics, &c., an extra
quantity of the powder is used, and for
crinolines (required to be made stiff) a
strong solution is necessary. Borax being
a neutral salt, does not in the slightest de
gree injure the texture of the linen ; its ef
fect is to soften the hardest water, and,
therefore, it should be kept on every toilet
table. To the taste it is rather sweet, is
used for cleaning the hair, is an excellent
dentrifice, and in hot countries is used in
combination with tartaric acid and bicar
bonate of soda, as a cooling beverage. —
Good tea cannot be made with hard water;
all water may be made soft by adding a
teaspoonful of borax powder to an ordinary
sized kettle of water, in which it should
boil. The saving in the quantity of tea
used will be at least one-fifth.
Imitation of Worcester Sauce. —-Take
one gallon ripe tomatoes, wash and simmer
them in three quarts of water, boil it half
down, and strain this through a sieve.—
When all is drained, add two tablespoons
ful of ginger, two of mace, two of whole
black pepper, two of salt, one of cloves,
one of cayenne; let them simmer in juice
until reduced to one quart, pour in half a
pint of best vinegar, then pour the whole
through a hair sieve, bottle in half pint
bottles, cork down tightly, seal and keep in
a cool place.
Roast Fowl. —Turkeys, geese, ducks,
and fowl of all kind?, must be in a moder
ate heat until they are warmed through. —
To prepare these: pick out all the pin
feathers, singe the hairs off", cut the neck
close, leaving the skin a little beyond the
bone; cut off the legs at the first joint, and
remove the oil-bag; take out the inwards,
that is, the heart, giz/srd and liver, and
throw them into cold water with the neck;
then wash the bird inside and out, wipe
it dry and stand it up to drain in a dish
while preparing the stuffing.
Turkey stuffing may be made of pound
ed cracker and sausage meat, or slices of
bread spread with butter on both sides,
soaked in a little milk, seasoned with sweet
herbs, pepper and salt, a teaspoonful of
sifted sweet herbs, half do. of pepper and
salt; mix together with one beaten egg.
Recipe for making Good Hard Soap.
I—Pour1 —Pour 12 quarts of soft boiling water up
on 5 lbs. of unslaked lime. Then dissolve
5 lbs. of washing soda in 12 quarts of boil
ling water. Mix the above together, and
let the mixture remain together from 12 to
!24 hours, for the purpose of chemical ac
tion. Now pour off* all the clear liquid—
being careful not to disturb the sediments.
Add t<* the above lbs. of clarified grease,
and from 3to 4 ounces of rosin. Boil this
compound together one hour, pour off to
cool; cut up in bars for use, and you are
in possession of a superior chemical soap
costing about cents per pound.
He that has never known adversity, is j
but half acquainted with others, or with i
himself. <
Linn,
I walked the fields at morning prime,
The grass was ripe for mowing ;
The skylark safig his matin chime,
And all the #orld was glowing.
I wandered forth at noon —alas !
On earth’s maternal bosom
The scythe had left the withering grass,
And stretched the faded blossom.
Once more, at eve abroad I strayed
Through lonely hay-fields, musing,
While every breeze that round me played
The perfume was diffusing.
And so the ‘ actions of the just,’
When memory has enshrined them,
Breathe upward from decay and dust,
And leave sweet scent behind them.
“Comsider me Smith.”
There is a very good story in the papers
of the day of a joke(?) which was played
by the Rev. Dr. Caldwell, formerly Presi
dent of the University of North Carolina:
The Doctor was a small man, and lean,
but as hard and angular as the most irreg
ular of pine knots, He looked as if he
might be tough, but he did not seem strong.
Nevertheless, he was, among the knowing
ones, reputed to be as agile as a cat, llhd,
in addition, was by no means deficient in
knowledge of the “noble science of self
defense;” besides, he was as cool as a cu
cumber.
Well, in the freshman class, of a certain
year, was a burly mountaineer of eighteen
or nineteen. This genius conceived a great
contempt for the doctor’s physical dimen
sions, and his soul was horrified that one so
deficient in muscle should be so potential
in his rule.
Poor Jones—that’s what we’ll call him
—had no idea of moral force. At any rate
he was not inclined to knock under and be
controlled despotically by a man that he
imagined he could tie and whip. He at
length determined to give the gentleman a
genteel thrashing some night in the college
campus, pretending to mistake him for
some fellow student.
Shortly after, on a dark and rainy night,
Jones met the Doctor crossing the campus.
Walking up to him abruptly, he said :
“ Hello, Smith! You rascal ! Is that
you ? ” And with that he struck the Doc
tor a blow on the side of the face that had
nearly felled him.
The Doctor said nothing, but squared
himself, and at it they went. Jones’youth,
weight and muscle made him an “ugly cus
tomer ;” but after a round or two the Doc
tor’s science began to tell, and in a short
time he had knocked his beefy antagonist
down, and was astraddle on his chest, with
one hand on his throat, and the other deal
ing vigorous cuffs on the side of his head.
“ Ah, stop ! I beg your pardon, Doctor !
Doctor Caldwell, a mistake ! For heaven’s
sake, Doctor,” groaned Jones, who thought
he was about to be eaten up, “ I really
thought it was Smith! ”
The Doctor replied with a word and a
blow alternate, “ It makes no difference for
all present purposes; consider me Smith!”
And it is said that the Doctor gave Jones
such a pounding, then and there, as proba
bly prevented his making another mistake
as to personal identity—at least on the col
lege campus.
Why Should any Ulan Su eur ?
I can conceive no reason why he should;
ten thousand reasons why he should not.
1. It is mean. A man of high moral
standing would almost as soon steal a sheep
as swear.
2. It is vulgar ; altogether too mean for
a decent man.
3. It is cowardly ; implying a fear either
of not being believed or obeyed.
4. It is ungentlemanly. A gentleman, ac
cording to Webster, is a genteel man—well
bred and refined. Such a one will no-more
swear, than go into the streets to throw
mud with a clodhopper.
5. It is indecent; offensive to delicacy,
and extremely unfit for human ears.
G. It is foolish. “Want of decency is
want of sense.” [Pope.
7. It is abusive. To the mind which con
ceives the oath, to the tongue which utters
it, and to the person at whom it is aimed.
8. It is venomous; showing a man’s
heart to be a nest of vipers, and every time
he swears one of them sticks out his head.
9. It is contemptible; forfeiting the re
| spect of all the wise and good.
10. It is wicked ; violating the divine
law, and provoking the displeasure of Him
who will not hold him guiltless who takes
His name in vain.
Truk Trust. —One evening, after a wea
ry march through the desert, Mahommed
was camping with his followers, and over
heard one of them saying, “ I will loose my
camel and commit it to God,” —on which
Mahommed took it up. “ Friend, tie thy
camel and commit it to God.” That is do
whatever is thine to do, and then leave the
issue with God.
