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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.