THE MITTEN SERIES
[Illustration: Tent where George went to Church.]
[Illustration: Willie's Portrait of Jeff. Davis.]
THE
ORPHAN'S HOME MITTENS;
AND
GEORGE'S ACCOUNT OF THE
BATTLE OF ROANOKE ISLAND.
BEING
THE SIXTH AND LAST BOOK OF THE SERIES.
BY
AUNT FANNY,
AUTHOR OF THE SIX NIGHTCAP BOOKS, ETC.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
443 & 445 BROADWAY.
LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN.
1863.
* * * * *
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
FANNY BARROW,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
* * * * *
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
TO MY DEAR LITTLE
LIZZIE WAINWRIGHT,
THE GRANDDAUGHTER OF
A FAITHFUL AND VALIANT SOLDIER OF CHRIST,
THE DAUGHTER OF
A LOYAL AND BRAVE NAVAL OFFICER,
AND THE NIECE OF
A FRIEND I RESPECT AND LOVE.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE ORPHAN'S HOME; in which is introduced "NEW
YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS" and "THE MINISTER'S STORY," 7
THE BATTLE OF ROANOKE ISLAND, 96
THE LAST OF THE MITTENS, 127
MISS SECESH, 134
* * * * *
THE ORPHAN'S HOME.
It was now the second week in January, 1862. One evening, Aunt Fanny
came to see the children. In an instant, she was surrounded, and
hugged, and squeezed, and kissed, till she was certain they had loved a
pound or two off her weight; but then they put it on again before she
left, by making her laugh so at their capers and talk, that she said
she thought she could feel the fat growing; so that made it all square
and comfortable.
"I read such a charming little poem in the 'Independent' some weeks
ago," said Aunt Fanny.
"Tell it to us! we want to hear it!" cried the children.
"How do you suppose I can remember seven long verses? I do recollect
one or two, but that is because I suspect the writer had you children
in his eye when he wrote them.
"Oh, Aunt Fanny!" said little Willie, in a reproachful tone, "we didn't
get into the poor man's eye. You ought to be ashamed to tell such a
story!"
Such shouts of laughter greeted this speech, that an old lady next
door, hearing them through the walls, and thinking they were cheers,
put on her spectacles, and hobbled to the window, expecting to see
a torchlight procession--but poor little Willie, after wondering a
moment, with his mouth wide open, what it all meant, rushed up to his
mother, and hiding his face in her lap, began to cry.
"Never mind, dear," she said, kissing him; "Aunt Fanny meant that the
man was _thinking_ about you when he wrote the poetry. Of course, she
knows my little Willie wouldn't poke through anybody's eye, to see what
he had behind it. Aunt Fanny made use of what is called a 'figure of
speech.' Don't cry any more."
Then all the children coaxed him, and kissed him, and made the kitten
Mary O'Reilly kiss him, at which he burst out laughing, and felt quite
happy again.
The crochet needles twinkled and twitched faster than ever, as Aunt
Fanny repeated these lines:
"Knit--knit--knit--
If you've patriot blood in your veins!
Knit--knit--knit--
For our boys on Southern plains.
Our boys on Southern hills,
Our boys on Southern vales,
By the woods and streams of Dixie's Land,
Are feeling the wintry gales.
"Knit--knit--knit--
The socks, and mittens, and gloves!
Knit--knit--knit--
Each one that her country loves!
The mittens with finger and thumb complete,
The gloves for the drummers their drums to beat,
And the nice warm socks for the shivering feet,
Knit--knit--knit!"
"Is that all you can remember? Oh, how good it is!" cried the children.
"Suppose I make a verse?" said the little mother.
"Oh, do! do! they all entreated.
"Well, here it is:
"And if you can't knit--crochèt![1]
The mittens with finger and thumb,
The old ones can finish a pair in a day,
And the children each make one.
For George, and his comrades brave,
Who have gone our country to save,
Will work heart and hand, till we make Dixie's land
Repent for her sins, and behave!"
The children thought this a capital verse, and Johnny came very near
exclaiming, "Bully for you." Very luckily, he recollected himself in
time, for his mother would have sent him to bed in "double quick," if
he had uttered this vulgar, slang expression.
[Footnote 1: Pronounced croshày.]
"I had a talk with my ten naughty boys today," said Aunt Fanny.
"Why, where in the world did you find so many together?" cried Harry.
Who ever heard of such a quantity of bad children in a bunch?
"I ought to have said," she answered, "that they were reported to me
some time ago, as being very bad; but I did not find them so dreadful
as I expected; besides which, my heart softened to them, and I made
excuses for them to myself, because they are all orphans."
"Then it must have been at the Orphan's Home," cried the children, for
they knew Aunt Fanny was one of the managers.
"Yes, it was there; and I believe I will write a little history of how
there came to be this Home for Orphans; and you can work it up in your
mittens."
"Oh, yes, do! how long will it take you? We'll write to George that
these mittens have listened, with their fingers and thumbs for ears, to
your "Orphan's Home" story. They will be the most interesting mittens
of all: more so, than those we got by our little play."
The children wished George had ears a hundred miles long, so he could
hear all these wonderful and charming stories too; but as they did
not know of any cornfield where such long ears were to be found, they
had to take it out in wishing; and thinking what a hundred thousand
pities it was that the fairies had all gone to No Man's Land, or they
would have had a fine, long pair of ears for George's use, marching to
Washington, straight through Baltimore, without stopping to inquire
whether they might come.
Soon after, Aunt Fanny went home. She had been very busy the latter
part of the month of December, writing letters for the "Great Union
Fair," which had been held in the city. All her letters were to
children. I wonder if the children who got these letters, suspected who
wrote them. I wonder if the little one who got this "poetry letter,"
tried to find Aunt Fanny out.
"You precious little darling!
I'm very glad you've come;
How did you leave the baby,
And all the folks at home?
Just take a look around you,
At the pretty things you see;
Then run up to my table,
And give a kiss to me."
Aunt Fanny could not send the promised story until the last week in
January: but when it came, there was great rejoicing; and the children
settled themselves quicker than ever they did before, to hear the
interesting account of
THE ORPHAN'S HOME.
"And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name, receiveth
me."--MATTHEW xviii. 5.
DARLING CHILDREN:
As I sat here thinking how to begin my story of the "Orphan's Home,"
our Saviour's beautiful parable of "the grain of mustard seed" came
into my mind; and that you may see how well it applies to what I am
about to relate, I will copy it here.
"Another parable put he forth unto them, saying:
"The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man
took and sowed in his field:
"Which, indeed, is the least of all seeds; but when it is grown, it is
the greatest among herbs; and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the
air come and lodge in the branches thereof."
Just like a grain of mustard seed did this great charity begin.
More than ten years ago, a poor man lay in a miserable bed, dying. His
little children were weeping at his bedside, for their mother had gone
to heaven long before; and they did not know who to look to for food
and shelter, when they should be orphans.
"Oh, that I could take you with me, my poor little children!" moaned
the dying father.
Just then a lady entered the room. She had accidentally heard of the
man who had been ill so long, and she had come in to help him.
She spoke to him in a voice of so much kindness, that he started up,
crying, "Oh, madam! I want nothing for myself! but I would get on my
knees to you for my children. I cannot die peacefully, thinking of the
poverty and dreadful temptations to which they will be exposed. Left
alone, orphans and penniless, who is to teach them the way to heaven?"
"Take comfort, my poor friend," said the kind lady, "your children
shall not suffer want."
"But will they be taught to know and love their Saviour?" he asked,
looking at her with an expression of intense anxiety.
"Yes, I will see that they are religiously brought up."
"Promise me!" he said in a hoarse whisper, for the excitement had
exhausted him, and he lay panting for breath.
"I promise," answered the lady solemnly.
A thankful smile flitted over the
[Illustration: The Little Grain of Mustard Seed.] wasted features; and
looking up, he murmured, "Thank God, I die happy."
A comfortable room was hired, and the children were placed in the care
of a kind and pious woman. The little orphans soon became contented
and happy. You see them in the picture, playing on the floor. The good
woman went out to make some purchases, which the boy just coming in has
brought; a young girl is staying with the children until their kind
nurse returns.
This is the grain of mustard seed. But before long, more children
became inmates of this one room, and the Right Reverend Bishop
Wainwright and the other good people became interested in this truly
Christian work. They soon found that there was no home for destitute,
outcast children, when their natural parents were taken away, who
belonged to the Church by baptism. There were not enough Orphan
Asylums in this city; for numbers were brought to them, who could not
get into these other institutions, because they were full. It seemed as
if God himself had called upon them in behalf of these little ones. And
thus it was that this institution began.
Then the good Bishop Wainwright, who is now gone home to heaven, became
President; Rev. Dr. Hawks, Vice-President; and a number of excellent
clergymen and gentlemen were the managers, while as many ladies were
formed into a Ladies' Committee.
The grain of mustard seed had sprung up, and its leaves unfolding more
and more, made it necessary to find a larger space for it to grow. So a
three-story house in Hammond street was taken, and before long, twenty
happy children were living there.
Oh, how hard the ladies worked in those few first years! The money
came slowly in; but they never grew fainthearted. More and more poor
little orphans came to their door, begging for a home, and the living
care which their own mothers, dead and gone, could never more bestow.
The house was soon filled, and a more contented family of children
could nowhere be found. The kind matron loved them all, and worked with
the teacher night and day to make them good and happy.
The "Orphan's Home," as it was now called, continued for some years in
Hammond street. Then it was removed to two houses in West Thirty-ninth
street, and the ladies who had formed the committee now became the
officers, with the Right Reverend Bishop Potter and a number of
clergymen and gentlemen to advise them. Bishop Potter, you know, had
taken the place of the late excellent Bishop Wainwright; whom I
esteemed and respected more than I have words to express. I wish, my
darlings, you could have heard him read the parables of our Saviour; or
the glorious promises contained in the gospels. Their deep and blessed
meaning, coming from his lips, seemed so simple and clear, for he
read them with such admirable emphasis and point. I never listened to
his preaching or reading, without a thrill in my heart, and the tears
often dwelling in my eyes. It was at the request of his good and lovely
daughter, for whom I have a sincere and warm affection, and who was at
the time treasurer of the Orphan's Home, and one of its very best and
most generous friends, that I became a manager.
You would have thought that two large houses would have been room
enough; but our grain of mustard seed was now a great tree, in the
branches of which many more little orphan birds must have a warm
nest, and be lodged and fed; and, above all, taught the Way of Life.
But there was no room. The ladies who composed the Board of Managers
put their wise heads together, and concluded to ask all good Christian
people to help them. How could they turn away from the cry of these
little desolate ones, when the Good Shepherd and His servants in the
work, these kind ladies, were ready with heart and hand to watch over
and protect a larger flock of these His poor little lambs?
But there was no room!
The appeal was made, and with grateful joy they saw the money flowing
into the trustees' hands in loving streams. Soon enough was collected
to warrant the commencing of the building, in whose wide halls and
great airy rooms hundreds of motherless and fatherless children could
live, and move, and play.
On the 2d of October, 1860, the corner-stone was laid. For fear you
might not know exactly what laying a corner-stone means, I will tell
you as well as I can.
When a large building is to be put up, the foundation is dug, and a
very large square stone is placed in one of the corners, which stone
has a small hollow in the top of it.
When this much has been done, everybody interested is invited to the
place, and religious services are performed in the open air, the people
standing reverently around.
Then the Declaration of Independence, the daily newspapers, the
coins that are in circulation for money, the previous history of the
institution, if it has any, and everything else that may seem proper
or interesting to the occasion, is placed in the hole. The most
distinguished person present takes a trowel and some mortar and closes
it up. On this the wall of the building is laid.
If, in after years, it should be pulled down, it would be very
interesting to take out and look over the things that have been buried
so long in the corner-stone.
I was not present when our corner-stone was laid, and I never saw the
ceremony; but I believe I have given you the right idea about it.
While the new Home was building, the children were well and happy in
Thirty-ninth street.
We had some little ones, whose histories were very sad. There was
George Floyd, whose father was mate of a vessel which must have been
wrecked and lost at sea, for she went out from New York, and was never
more heard from.
And there was little Dickey, who had a cruel stepmother. She ordered
him to make a fire in the stove; his clothes caught the flame, and
he was dreadfully burned. The bad stepmother did nothing to heal the
wounds, and he was found in this state, suffering terrible pain, and
brought to the Home, and tenderly nursed till he got well.
And little Mary Canard, who took care of her dying mother, though she
was only six years old, whose father was killed on Captain Peak's
vessel. And one dear little boy we lost. He was twelve years old, and
very good and intelligent. He had that dreadful and almost always
fatal illness, membranous croup:--a kind of false skin very thick and
tough grows in the throat, so that it becomes impossible to breathe or
swallow. The poor little fellow seemed to realize that he was going to
die. He told his belief to his kind nurses, and said, "Oh, how I wish I
had been confirmed! how I wish I had promised God that I would try to
lead a good life and keep His commandments."
At his request Bishop Southgate, who has always been very kind to the
children, was sent for. He read and prayed with him; then laying his
hands softly on the dying boy's head, implored a blessing for him.
A joyful light beamed from the little fellow's eyes; his whole
countenance became irradiated with happiness, and in accents of
grateful delight he exclaimed, "Oh, the bishop has blessed me!" In
a few hours afterward his Saviour called him, and his gentle spirit
passed away from earth, to love and serve God forever in heaven.
All the rest of our children kept in excellent health, and most of them
were good and obedient. The ladies worked very hard, and, with God's
blessing, all things went on well.
It was in the winter of this year, 1860, that I became a manager;
and, you may be sure, I soon coaxed the ladies who had been in the
institution longest, to tell me what I have already written.
In the latter part of April, 1861, the grand move took place; and on
the night of the 22d, the orphans slept in two splendid great rooms
called dormitories. Nice little iron bedsteads had been provided, with
comfortable mattresses, sheets, blankets, and white dimity spreads; and
they looked so cosy and comfortable I should have liked to have slept
there myself. The boys have the dormitory nearest Lexington avenue, and
the girls the other. Opening out of each is a nice large washroom, with
dear little bath tubs, wash basins, &c., just as comfortable as it can
possibly be. On the same floor are the matron's and teacher's rooms,
and some very large closets, where all the children's clothes are kept.
Of course, as soon as we got a little bit settled, we determined to
have a reception, and give all the friends we invited a first-rate
time. We knew they would like it all the better if they could help us
along when they made us this visit: so we got up a beautiful little
fair and refreshment table.
Oh, how kind everybody was! If I dared I would tell you the names of
all the ladies, who made all manner of pretty things, and sent in
oysters, ice cream, cakes, and almost everything good to eat that was
ever heard of; but these lovely Christian people prefer to do good in
secret. If I were to have their names printed they might pinch my ears,
and I should not like that. But I will tell you this much. I went and
only just asked Rev. Dr. Dyer, of the Evangelical Knowledge Society, to
give the orphan's fair some books, and he said "Yes" so quickly that
I was astonished, and began to believe that there were some people in
the world who were really _glad_ to be asked to do a kindness for
others. Then I went to the Episcopal Sunday School Union, and just
asked for books there, and they, too, said "Yes," right away; and then
I went to your friends the Messrs. Appleton, and they, too, said "Yes,"
immediately; and that night three great packages of books came up for
the Orphan's Home. Did you ever hear of any thing kinder?
I believe I must tell you of _some_ of the rest. There was one of our
managers, a lovely young lady with beautiful brown eyes, who seemed to
feel as if she never could do enough. I don't know what she did _not_
give; for so many presents came in her name that there seemed to be no
end to them. She even furnished the little recitation room entirely,
and bought quite an apothecary shop of medicines, so that the children
might have plenty when they were ill.
Then the young ladies of the "Helping Hand of St. Mark's Church"
sent us a number of beautiful things. One of our managers, who had a
fine conservatory, sent in a quantity of flowers, which we made into
bouquets, and put into baskets, and sold for a good deal of money. We
had a present of a flagstaff from Mr. Niblo, of Niblo's Garden, and one
of the lady managers gave us the flag, and on the reception day it was
waving over the Home. It would fill several pages to tell all the nice
things that came--so I will hasten on.
We had a three days' reception in one of the great rooms, the 14th,
15th, and 16th of May. They were opened on the first day with religious
services, and were all delightful. We had the carpenters to come and
build tiers of seats at the lower end of the room, one above the other,
reaching nearly to the ceiling; and each day the orphans marched in two
and two, and were placed in the seats, to see all that was going on.
Sometimes they would sing hymns for us, and other times they sang "Jim
Crack Corn" and "Dixie," and other funny songs.
One day a kind lady gave them each a ten cent piece, and they came down
in a great hurry to spend them immediately. We managed to have a good
many things to cost only ten cents that were marked much higher, so
that the dear little things should have just what they fancied.
Then a gentleman gave them each a chance, which he paid for, in a
great cake; and I wish you could have heard the clapping of hands, and
hurrahing, when a boy they all liked won it. Of course he gave them all
a piece, and they enjoyed it tremendously. I really was afraid some of
them would be ill, they had so much cake and candy.
The great fun of all to the children was to eat philopenas with the
ladies. I do believe I eat about twenty-five. Of course I never meant
to catch them; but I pretended to be very much astonished when they
caught me, and when I went home to my dinner I got a basket, and put in
it twenty-five great rosy-cheeked apples to pay for my philopenas. I
thought these were much better for them than so much candy; and when I
handed them out, the children looked highly delighted.
When the fair was over, we were surprised to find how much money we had
taken, and very grateful too. Some of our pretty things were left, and
we put these carefully by for our winter fair; and after a little while
we settled down quite comfortably in the new Home.
The summer passed quietly away; everything seemed to go on happily,
although we had very hard work to collect money enough to keep us
out of debt. You see the terrible war was now raging, and all the
charitable institutions were suffering, because everybody was anxious
to do all they could for the soldiers.
We took three children belonging to volunteers who had no one to leave
them with, and we had one poor little fellow from Fort Sumter. He was
born in the fort, and soon after abandoned by his mother, who became a
very wicked woman. Then his father--who was a good soldier--was sent
to Florida to help fight against the Indians, and was killed: and poor
little Richard was left alone in the world, with no one to take care
of him but an old woman, who washed the soldiers' clothes and worked
in the fort. After the wicked and dreadful attack on the handful of
half-starved soldiers, who were so heroically guarding their country's
flag and honor, but who were forced to surrender, the brave Major
Doubleday, hearing of our Home, sent the poor little fellow on to
us, and we were very glad to give him shelter, and make him as happy as
we could.
[Illustration: Bombardment of Fort Sumter.]
Here is a picture of that sad scene. The cannonading is still going on,
while they are carrying away from the ramparts two wounded men. You see
in the picture, they are feeling the heart of one of them, hoping that
it still beats. Do you see the brave fellow who is planting the flag? I
must tell you about him. He is a Mr. Hart. When Mrs. Anderson wanted to
go on to Charleston to see her husband, whose health was very delicate,
Mr. Hart escorted her. He stayed in the fort, and was there during the
fight. When our glorious flag was shot down, Mr. Hart seized it, nailed
it to a pole, bounded up on the ramparts, and planted it again, amidst
the cheers of the men. I think it was a splendid thing to have done!
General Anderson has that stained, torn, but priceless flag now; and
he says he is only waiting to plant it once more with his own hands
over Fort Sumter. He has one dear little boy, who is named Robert after
him. I think Robbie, as they call him, ought to be a proud boy; for his
father will leave him what is far above untold gold--a spotless and
honorable name.
One dear little boy died at this time, who had formerly lived in the
Home. He had been a long time ill with an incurable spine disease, and
it had been thought better to remove him to St. Luke's Hospital, that
noble charity, where delicate, refined ladies go to live as nurses.
Here he had the tenderest care; but nothing could save his life; and
shortly before he died, he sent to us begging us to let him see some of
his little companions, to bid them good-by, and to entreat them to be
good, so that they might meet him again in heaven. It was a peaceful,
happy death.
Toward November, we began to think of our winter fair, and make
preparations, for we concluded to have it about Thanksgiving day. After
the fair, we intended to have a festival for the children, on our
anniversary evening, which would be on the 26th of December.
The fair was a very nice one. It lasted three days; and everybody that
came was so kind! and seemed to feel such a tender interest in our
little orphans, that I wanted to make a speech, and tell them they
were all darlings, old and young. This time, as before, we made more
money than we expected; and when the fair was over, some lovely lady,
who would not tell her name, sent us a present of enough beautiful
brown cloth to make each of our girls a warm cloak; and to render our
happiness complete at this time, our treasurer got a letter, telling
her and us, that more than seven hundred dollars were coming to us from
the "State Fund."
I'll just tell you what we lady managers did when we heard that. We
gave three cheers! and two or three (I was one) danced round the room,
laughing and shouting like crazy school-girls. Don't you think I was a
frisky old soul?
The children were remarkably good about this time. They knew very well,
that Christmas brought presents to them, in that kind Home; they knew
they would have everything but a mother's or father's warm loving kiss
on that blessed holiday. But, oh, my darlings! it seems to me that a
mother's kiss was worth all the rest; and that we could not give them.
Cherish and love your parents, for they are the dearest earthly friends
you can have.
Well, our children--as we managers always call them--had a fine
Christmas dinner. Bless their little hearts! they got lots of roast
turkey and pumpkin pie that day, as well as the best of us. The evening
of the next day was to be the festival.
The kind ladies from Trinity Chapel had sent us a tall tree, upon
which we meant to hang our presents. The important thing was, to have
the presents for all; and to make sure of this, I, for one, wrote an
appeal, and mustering up my courage, marched down town with it the week
before to some of the newspaper offices, which is not very pleasant
to do, for you have to mount to the very top story; and it is pretty
inky in every direction--all except in the good editors' hearts, which
were full of loving kindness, warm and glowing. I made a speech to each
of these gentlemen, and was very polite, and told them all about the
orphans. You can see for yourself what dear old darlings they were! for
every one of them put this notice in their papers for me, and all I had
to pay were two words, which were "Thank you."
Here is the notice: "Will all the mothers please to remember in these
holiday times, the Orphan's Home in Forty-ninth street, near Lexington
Avenue? The poor little inmates of this institution depend solely on
those who love children to make Christmas a day of rejoicing to them,
and thus presents of skates, balls, common jack-knives, kites, tops,
marbles, and books, for boys; and dolls, tea sets, cheap work-boxes,
jumping ropes, books, etc., for girls--would be eagerly and gratefully
received, and each mother who feels nightly the 'little tight clasp'
of her sweet little Kate or dear little Harry, will surely remember
with loving pity the desolate orphans, in whose hearts, at such times
of rejoicing, notwithstanding the kindest treatment, the sorrowful cry
must arise, 'I have no mother--my mother is dead!' And so we beseech
you, mothers, remember these orphans."
Early in the morning, after Christmas Day, the managers went to the
Home to make preparations for the evening. We worked like bees, to get
the great room ready. At the lower end were arranged the benches, which
went up, one above the other, nearly to the ceiling, as I told you. On
these the little orphans were to sit.
Exactly opposite, at the other end, we fastened the tremendous
Christmas Tree, that was sent us from Trinity Chapel. Then the
presents began to pour in! Dolls, drums, balls, tops, books, and all
sorts of pretty things; and we mounted step ladders, and tied them
to the branches of our tree. I should think there were hundreds of
cornucopias--so many kind people had sent candy, and a great many bags
of blue and pink tarleton filled with candy. Ah! then I found out that
there were plenty of good mothers and loving hearts in the city of New
York.
When we had covered the tree in every direction, we stopped, and stared
at each other; and then I said, "Dear me! what shall we do with all
that is left!"
"I think we shall have to spread them out on a large table," said our
kind and lovely first directress, who had been with the orphans from
the very beginning, when the charity was only the little grain of
mustard seed; and who loved them like her own children.
Just at that moment, the matron came in and said that the congregation
of the Bishop Wainwright Memorial Church in Hammond street, had sent us
a large tree and some lanterns.
You may believe that we were perfectly delighted with this news; and
the tree was soon hauled in. Then we had to move our tree so as to make
a place for the new one; on which it was decided to fasten with the
others a number of most beautiful little lanterns, with fine artistic
designs painted on them, that had been brought in by the kind, good
daughter of our excellent Bishop. She was one of the managers, and
took the most unwearied interest in the children. She and some of her
friends had made these lanterns.
So the pretty things were carefully fastened to the branches of the
new tree, with tapers inside ready for lighting, and the rest of our
presents were soon flourishing up there too, making such a grand show,
that I thought the children, when they saw it all, would certainly go
crazy with delight.
It was now quite late in the afternoon, and we were pretty tired; and
after taking one last look around, to see if everything had been done,
the doors were locked, and we went to our homes to dinner.
When I got back, the children were all ready, dressed as neat as new
pins, and sitting on the grand, wide flight of stairs in the hall.
Their eyes were sparkling, and they had hard work to sit still, knowing
that there was something wonderful for them, locked up in the great
room.
Some of the company we had invited, had come; and very soon after,
there was quite a crowd of ladies and gentlemen, and their children,
standing wherever there was room, and looking with affectionate
interest at our orphans.
A small platform had been put in the middle of the hall, on which were
placed a desk and chair. This was for the Bishop; but as he could not
come, the Rev. Dr. Hobart was made chairman.
We had prayers, and the children sang a beautiful hymn. Then the annual
report was read, telling the company what a pleasant time we all had
enjoyed in our new Institution; how well and happy the children had
been, and how grateful we were to God, and the kind friends, who had
given such a beautiful and comfortable home to these desolate orphans.
After the report, the trustees and managers were elected for the next
year; and then Dr. Weston, one of the assistant ministers of Trinity
Parish, and the chaplain of our famous Seventh Regiment, made a capital
address, which pleased the children very much, for it was very short as
well as very good. After him came Dr. Dyer, who always looks as grave
and dignified as possible; but who loves children dearly, and knows
perfectly well how to tell them entertaining stories, and make them
laugh, while he keeps on his grave face the whole time. He also made an
excellent address.
It was not intended, this time, to be amusing, for he spoke to the
children of the freezing night outside, in which many a poor little
beggar might be shivering, without food or shelter, while they were in
this Home, which the warm love of the ladies, through the blessing of
God, had obtained for them: but that this was not all--the greatest of
their blessings was, that there they were taught to know and love their
Saviour, who had died for them, and him, and all the people upon earth.
Then he turned to the company present, and said it was their sacred
duty to take care of helpless orphan children, and he hoped they would
each make a resolution that night to _support one orphan child the
coming year_.
I told his wife that he was a perfect darling for saying this; but
I did not dare to say so to him. I only hope the good people made a
determination to adopt his suggestions. Then the children, and all
of us, sang the Doxology, and _then_ the grand time came. The large
sliding doors of the great room were pushed back, and the children,
coming down from the stairs, were marshalled two by two, while the
company looked on.
Of course the children were to go in first. It would never have done
for _us_ to have had the first look. Certainly not; so I said, "They
are the officers to night; we must march behind."
Many a little hand grasped mine, as I stood by to let them pass, and
many a bright eye was raised to mine, with a whispered "Aunt Fanny"
from their smiling lips. After they were in, we marched after, in all
sorts of crooked ways; and I really don't know which sparkled most,
the splendid trees or the children's eyes. Yes--I think upon the whole,
the eyes were the brighter; and such a quantity of delighted "Oh's" and
"Only look's," I never heard before.
Oh me! it was _such_ a crowd! I ought to know, for they made me one
of the waiters, to carry the presents from the trees to the children;
and I got squeezed flat twenty times. And then the noise! the shouts
of delight and laughter, as little eager hands were stretched out to
receive the gifts! It was worth at least a dollar apiece to see so much
happiness; and I really think that everybody who comes to the next
festival, might as well put a dollar in the little box near the front
door.
Everybody in the Home got presents, and the greatest quantity of
candies; and everything went off successfully. The children were
to have holiday from school, that is, more play than usual between
Christmas and New Year; and I am sure they had a happy time with their
new toys.
Some weeks before this, I had been put on the school committee. This
is composed of three of the managers, who are specially appointed to
visit the school, every day if they like, see what is wanted in the way
of books, &c., hear the report of the teacher about the conduct of the
children, and give plenty of advice.
The very first thing I did when I became a school committee woman,
was to march right into the school room, and nod and smile at as many
children as I possibly could; saying to myself, "Poor little kittens,
how I love them." I suppose I might as well have said it out aloud, for
the children seem to read it in my face somehow; and they bobbed their
heads at me, and grinned all round their mouths.
Then I went up and shook hands very politely with the teacher. She
looked pretty grim; but I put on a tremendous smile, and asked if I
might speak to the children.
She said, "Certainly;" and then I went among them.
"What's your name?" I said to a pleasant-looking boy.
"Jacob," he said.
"What are you learning, Jacob?"
"Catechism, ma'am; and it's so hard I can't understand a word of it;
besides which, the lesson is so dreadful long! I've got to learn two
whole pages."
"Well, my dear boy," I said, "I will tell you a secret. When I was a
little girl, I had to learn Catechism too; and, like you, I did not
understand it at all; but I _had_ to learn it _perfectly_; and _now_
that I have grown up, I _do_ understand it. So you must have courage,
and learn the words, and try to comprehend all you can, and when you
are older, you will remember it, and it will be a great comfort to you."
Then I explained some of the hard words, such as "justification" and
"sanctification," and left him looking happier.
But I took very good care to make a good use of the "advice" part of
my duty. I told the teacher that the lesson was a great deal too long;
that two questions were quite enough to learn at a time. She did not
like it much, but when I _put my foot down_, the thing has to be done;
and I found, on my next visit, that short lessons were the order of the
day.
You would have been amused if you could have seen the children whisper
and laugh at each other, because I went down with them to dinner one
day; they had meat and potatoes cut up in small tin pans, and when
they had all marched in, and folded their little hands, and asked
a blessing, I went up to one, and said, "Please let me taste your
dinner?" She gave me the spoon, and I took a bit of meat.
"Why, that is capital!" I exclaimed; "I think I must have some more!"
and I asked another girl for a taste.
So the children eat their dinner, thinking it better than usual, since
"Aunt Fanny," as I told them to call me, liked it. If I had been
willing, they would all have given me so much dinner that I should not
have known where to put it; for you must know they had plenty and to
spare.
One day, the teacher said to me: "There are ten boys, madam, who
behave so badly, I do not know what to do with them. They answer me
impudently; they will not learn any lessons; and one of them struck me
this very morning."
"Oh dear, dear! how very sorry I am to hear this," I answered; "will
you give me their names?"
She took a pencil out of her pocket, and wrote on a bit of paper these
names; and headed them with these dreadful words: "All intolerably
insolent."[2]
David C----e, Theodore S----a,
Joseph S----d, Edward R----d,
George R----s, George B----h,
Joseph H----l, Jacob J----s,
James P----y, Benny L----e.
"Oh dear!" I repeated, quite miserable to hear such a bad account, for
some of these boys I had believed to be excellent children. "I will
come in the school room, Miss H----, as soon as you are settled, and
speak to them."
[Footnote 2: Do not be in a hurry to believe this, as I think you will
find it something of a mistake.]
Nearly all the managers were sewing in one of the parlors; I went in
and said, "I am going to frighten ten bad boys out of their wits."
The ladies all burst out laughing. "The idea of _your_ frightening a
child," they said. "Won't you let us come in and see the fun?"
"You had better take your pocket handkerchiefs out if you do, for you
will be more likely to cry than laugh; but I won't let you come at all.
It is too serious a matter."
They laughed at me again, and pretended to believe that I meant to
give the children a stick of candy apiece; but I walked into the great
school room, looking very serious, and I felt very serious too, when I
saw one of the boys standing in the corner for punishment. Going up to
the teacher's desk, I said, "Miss H----, don't you think it would be a
good plan to take all the _good_ children to Central Park some day?"
[Illustration: "I saw one of the Boys standing in the corner for
punishment."]
"Yes, madam; but I am afraid there will not be many to go."
I looked out of the corner of my eye, and saw that the poor little
orphans were gazing eagerly at me; and rapping on the desk, so as to
command perfect silence, I began, in a very grave tone, this speech:
"My dear children, there is one thing I want you to believe, before I
say another word, and that is, that _I love you_."
I stopped and looked round. Oh, what glances of affection came from
those orphans' eyes! and one little bit of a boy, who had been made to
sit on the floor close by the teacher's desk, because the boy next him
had tickled him and made him laugh out loud at prayers--this little
fellow put up his hand and smoothed my dress. I took his little fat
fingers in mine, and went on:
"Yes, I love you dearly. I don't expect you to be perfect children,
because no one is always good; but I want you to think, how kind
your Father in Heaven has been to you, to place you here; instead
of allowing you to wander about the streets, learning to lie and
steal, and use wicked words. The least you can do, is to try--mind,
I say '_try_'--to be good and obedient. You all know that many of
the greatest men in this country were poor boys, with not half the
advantages you have here. There is nothing to prevent any one of you
boys from some day becoming the President of the United States; there
is nothing to prevent you all becoming what is far higher--that is,
Christian gentlemen. But for the present, what do you think, both
boys and girls, about behaving so well as to deserve an excursion to
Central Park?"
A tremendous cheer followed this question, and then I went on: "Well,
if you are good for two weeks, you shall go. In the mean time, I wish
to see ten of you boys (I won't tell their names before the rest) next
Friday in the little recitation room. I shall have something particular
to say to them, and I do hope they will be such very good boys from
this time to then, that what I shall say will be very pleasant; and now
three cheers for Central Park."
The children made a tremendous noise; for that was what they liked to
do: and I went out laughing and nodding at them.
Then I got a sheet of paper, and wrote in great letters, quite an inch
long, "Central Park for Good Children;" and carrying it into the school
room, I pasted it in a conspicuous place, so that all disposed to be
naughty might be constantly reminded of this delightful reward for good
conduct; and then I said, "Good-by, girls and boys;" and they shouted
back, "Good-by, Aunt Fanny," and I left them.
The next Friday, I went again to the Orphan's Home; I had prayed for my
ten naughty boys every night, and I made up my mind to be very gentle
and kind to them. I took a copy of the "Independent Newspaper" with me,
in which was an excellent story; the very thing to read to them. It was
called "New-Year's Resolutions," and was signed "I. G. O." I wish I
knew the author, so that I could thank her for writing it.[3]
Well, the ladies laughed at me again, and begged to peep in at the
door to see me frighten my naughty boys; but I would not let them. I
went into the pleasant little recitation room, and found them all there.
[Footnote 3: I obtained permission of one of the editors of the
"Independent," to insert this admirable story. Without that permission,
it would have been omitted. It was written by Miss Isabella Graham
Oakley, Cincinnati, Ohio. I thank her heartily.]
They did not look the least alarmed, but quite pleased; so I said, "Old
fellows, come and shake hands with me; then you will feel that I am a
friend, and I am sure you will attend to what I say."
"Yes, indeed we will," they all exclaimed; and they very nearly
squeezed my hand off.
"Now," said I, "let me hear what you have to complain of, and what has
tempted you to be so disobedient and disrespectful to your teacher."
Thereupon they all commenced talking at once, and made themselves out
to be the most abused boys in the world. "Such long lessons! Couldn't
go out and play in the wet snow! were sent to bed for nothing at all!"
&c., &c.
All the time they were talking they were playing off monkey tricks
upon each other. One boy would call another suddenly, with his sharp
finger-nail close to his cheek. Of course, when the other turned, his
cheek would come bump against the finger. Another boy, who had his hair
cut very short, was favored with experiments on it by the others: each
one trying to see how much he could pinch up in a thumb and finger; and
once, when I got up to open the window a little, a boy on the end of
the long bench tipped it, and upset all the rest on the floor.
I could not help laughing; but at last I said, "Now, boys, it's
_my_ turn to speak, so be quiet." Then I told them of poor children
wandering in the streets that very day, without shoes or stockings,
dirty, starving, taught to lie and steal, and sure, if they grew up,
to do worse and worse, till they ended their days in prison, or were
perhaps hung for murder. "My dear boys," I continued, "use your reason,
and see how much better you are off. You are clothed, fed, and above
all, taught how to lead pure lives. You know all about your Saviour,
who died for you and me. We take care of you, because we love you. I
love you all dearly, and you don't know what a happy and proud woman I
shall be if I live a few years longer, and hear of you boys as good,
perhaps great men. There is nothing to prevent it. I am sure you would
rather be good than bad. I am quite certain, when you have been bad,
that your conscience makes you miserable. Is it not so?"
The tears were trembling in some of the boys' eyes; and one or two
answered in a loud voice, "Yes, ma'am."
"Well, I will read you this beautiful story. It will instruct you in
your duty much better than I can."
They all brightened up wonderfully at the prospect of a story, and
listened to it in breathless attention. Here it is.
NEW-YEARS RESOLUTIONS.
It was New Year's evening, and the parlors, not yet lighted, were warm
and quiet, when Joel Goodwill walked listlessly in and sat down in an
easy chair before the grate.
"Now is a first-rate chance to think what I will do this year," said
he to himself. He thought he was alone; but he had been there only a
few minutes when some one spoke to him from the back parlor. It was his
father.
"Why, father, you there?" said Joel. "I thought there was no one here."
"Come here, my son," said his father. Joel obeyed, and found his father
sitting before the fire in the other room; he sat down on his knee.
"I have just been reviewing my past year, and laying some plans for
this New Year; have you had any such thoughts, Joel?" asked his father.
"Yes, sir," replied Joel, soberly.
"You have been making good resolutions then for the future, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir; I'm going to turn over a new leaf, and do first-rate in
school this year, and home too."
"Have you looked over your past year pretty closely?"
"Not so very much."
"Have you come up to the purpose of the good resolutions you made last
New Year's?"
"No, sir, I expect not; I can't remember very well all I've done, or
what they were."
"Seems to me you drew up a copy of resolves then, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Suppose you go and get them, and and let us look them over."
Joel said he didn't believe he could find them; he hadn't seen them for
ever so long. However, he went up to his little room, and fortunately
alighted upon them quite readily, in a little drawer where he kept his
certificates of merit, and some other choice things.
On his way down stairs he tried to remember what there was written on
the paper; but he could not recall a line. He only recollected that he
was sitting at his father's secretary drawing up his "resolutions,"
last New Year's day, when he came suddenly behind him with a beautiful
new leather satchel for him, and that he took up the paper and talked a
little about it. When he reached the parlor he handed the paper to his
father, remarking, "We can't see to read by the fire."
"I think we shall make it out," replied he, turning it up so that all
the fire-light might reflect from it. It was written in a large, clear
hand, Joel's handsomest, and was quite legible there.
"Let us see now what you meant to do last New Year."
Joel, with some secret misgivings about the proceeding, took his seat
again on his father's knee, who commenced:
"_January 1, 1861._--Resolutions for my conduct during the coming year:
'First--I shall read in the Bible and pray faithfully every day. Dr.
S. told the children last Sunday that any child who persevered in this
for one year would certainly become a Christian, and I am resolved to
become a Christian.'"
Here his father paused. Joel was looking very gravely into the fire.
"Well, Joel, has that resolution been kept?"
"No, sir, not long."
"How long was it kept?"
"I don't know. I kept it pretty good for a while, I know; maybe till I
went away to uncle's in March."
"What caused you to give it up?"
"I don't know, sir. I expect because Ben and Charley and the rest
didn't care anything for their Bibles; so I gave up reading."
"Then you have not proved what Dr. S. said, have you?"
"No, sir."
"And you are no nearer being a Christian than you were last New Year's?"
"No, sir," replied Joel, feeling uncomfortable and mortified by these
searching questions. His father proceeded:
"'Second: I am resolved to remember the Golden Rule in all my conduct
toward my brothers and sisters.' Well, how has that fared?"
"I've kept that, part of the time, I'm sure; not always, I suppose."
"Then you don't remember having broken it?"
"No--yes, sir; I broke it to-day when I teased Ellie."
"Is that the only time you remember?"
"I broke it last Saturday when I went off with Harry's sled."
"And yesterday when you ran off and left Benny crying alone on the
sidewalk, and Christmas day when you chose the best book, and--"
"Pray, don't go on, father, don't tell me any more," interrupted poor
Joel, reddening more and more as his father recalled the things he had
quite forgotten. "I know I can't keep that rule; I don't believe any
boy keeps it."
"You know that you _have_ not kept it; not that you _can_ not keep it.
Well, let us go on: 'Third, I am resolved to tell the whole and exact
truth always.' How about this?"