The Orphan's Home Mittens and George's Account of the Battle of Roanoke Island

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."

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?"

"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.

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.

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?"

Joel's conscience and memory, now pretty wide awake, began to murmur accusations on this point too. He had always scorned to tell an open, deliberate lie, and he knew he could say Yes to a question on that point. But he felt that "the whole and exact truth" was a little different, and he feared his father's memory would be better than his, so he stammered out, "I haven't told a lie this year past; you know I couldn't, father."

"But that is not all your resolution demands. Don't you ever go beyond the truth or stop short of it, in school or in play?"

"I'm afraid I do, sir," faltered Joel, deeply humbled to be called upon for this confession.

"Do you sometimes hide what you ought to confess, or tell a story so as to conceal your share of the blame and throw it on some one else? Can you remember any such cases?

"Yes, sir, I think of some things," said he, knowing well that his father was thinking of particular cases, fresh also to his own memory. Conscience and memory were becoming most uncomfortable monitors.

Here Mr. Goodwill stirred the fire till its bright blaze fell on all objects, bringing them clearly out of the twilight, and then went on, though Joel said he thought they had better not read any more. "Fourth, I am resolved not to be absent from school or late once this year, if I am well."