Ziphen Central

Seeking Wisdom and Sublimity

My Visitor

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

There was a tap at my door, and, upon opening it, I found a visitor. At first I thought it was a demure little maiden, not quite five years old, with whom I am well acquainted; but when I saw the company air and the gayly-flowered clothes bag pinned around her, I knew she must be a stranger, so I seriously invited her in.

“What is your name?” I asked, after we had said “Good morning” and remarked upon the coldness of the same.

“My name is ‘Miss Happy Land,’” she answered; and, looking into the guileless face, the trusting, innocent eyes, I believed her.

A few judicious questions loosened Miss Happy Land’s tongue, and she told me the following remarkable story:

“I have a baby,” she said, airily, patting a bang which fell too low on her forehead—“a very beautiful baby, two years old. It can walk, but it can’t talk—can’t say a word—just hollers and bawls all day long. It can cut paper dolls; it sits on the floor and cuts paper dolls all day long. Its name is ‘Cobanjo.’”

When asked who was caring for Cobanjo in her absence, she said she had a good negro woman to look after her, that the woman was real careful and was quite a help to her, and was named “Camangy.” The baby’s papa, she said, was dead—had died only the day before with neuralgia or something. She had a good doctor with him, she told me, and the doctor’s name was “Ninkumgoo.” She didn’t know he was going to die, and he didn’t, either—he just died. (keep reading)

Posted on 28 March 2015 by Mashkioya
Filed under: Ailenroc's Book

A B C

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

“Where is Charles?” said Mrs. Butler, as they gathered around the breakfast table. “He is generally prompt at mealtime, if no other.”

“I think he was reading,” Mr. Butler answered. “Lou., go and call him; perhaps he did not hear the bell;” but as Lou. arose from her seat the clatter of boyish boots was heard, and in a moment Charles was in his place beside her.

“I got interested,” he said, in a frank, offhand manner, “in a little story—or incident, rather—about Napoleon.”

“And what did Napoleon do in this instance?” said his father.

“He got in a passion and counted a hundred before speaking.”

“Pooh! That was a great thing to do,” said Mr. Butler; and he went on helping the twins, Essie and Earnest, who sat, in all the dignity of high chairs and bib aprons, opposite Charles and Lou.

“If that’s all it takes to make a Napoleon, I could be one myself,” Lou. said, as she stirred her tea. (keep reading)

Posted on 21 March 2013 by Mashkioya
Filed under: Ailenroc's Book

The Consolation

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

Mother, art grieving for the little form
Stern death has snatched from thine embrace away,
Which thou with sorrow-stricken heart hath laid
In dreamless sleep beneath the churchyard clay?
Grieve not, fond mother, for that tiny bark
Shall ne’er by stormy winds on seas be driven,
Life’s storms are not to weather; but, the ocean crossed,
’Tis safely anchored in the port of heaven.

Mother, art listening for the prattling tongue,
Whose music charmed thee all the day long,
Till, hushed in slumbers of the night, she smiled
As though she hearkened to an angel’s song?
By faith look upward; thou canst almost hear,
Floating through pearly gates, that silvery voice
Joined with bright angels in a song of praise;
Then weep no longer, mother, but rejoice.

Mother, art sighing for the little feet
Whose pattering followed thee from morn till night?
How oft thy heart has trembled, lest thou should
Not guide them in the paths of peace aright!
Then sigh no longer, for those little feet
Shall never walk in sin or wickedness;
But, saved forever, they are sporting now
On the green fields of everlasting peace.

Ah, what is life? ’Tis a struggle, toil, and strife;
Blissful the peace of heaven when all is past.
In joy and love and thankfulness the soul
Finds rest and its lost treasures there at last.
Then grieve not, for thy babe has gone before,
Saved from all sorrow, sin, and earthly pain.
Rejoice that on that bright and shining shore
You there may clasp her to your heart again.

Posted on 2 August 2012 by Mashkioya
Filed under: Ailenroc's Book,poetry

Spare Beds

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

That is a curious subject, you will all think, and I think so myself; but I’ve got a little tale to unfold about spare beds in general, and one spare bed in particular, and I had just as well get at it.

Last fall Jasper (that’s my husband) and I went over to Luke Singleton’s to spend the day, and, as a bit rain came on in the evening, we had to stay all night.

I was anxious to get back home; but Jasper said not to trouble, for his mother was with the children and everything would go right; so I tried to enjoy myself, and succeeded very well.

Sarah Singleton in one of the best housekeepers that I know. She does more work than half the other women put together, and she laid herself out for a good supper, and got it.

When bedtime came around, she lit a candle and led me out of her room into her spare room, which is in the front part of the house, and comes nearer being a parlor than any other in the neighborhood; for it has a nice carpet on the floor, two rocking-chairs, a big bureau, and a beautiful bed. The white counter-pane was tucked in so nicely, and the big pillows had such pretty shams on them, that I said: “Sarah, I don’t want to muss up that pretty bed. Put us in one of the back rooms.”

“I shall not,” she said, laughing as hard as she could. “This is my company room, and I intend for my company to use it; we don’t.” (keep reading)

Posted on 12 July 2012 by Mashkioya
Filed under: Ailenroc's Book

To the Savior

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

Note from the blogger: I set this poem to music several years ago, but am still fiddling with the harmony. I’ll probably share it here on Ziphen Central once it’s done.

When earth smiles in gladness, in fullness, and beauty,
And hope steers our vessels across the blue sea,
We are prone to forget that we owe our first duty
To thee, our Savior, to thee.

When friends are around us, our hearts throb with pleasure;
We make the air vocal with laughter and glee,
Forgetting above we should lay up our treasure
With thee, our Savior, with thee.

But—O!—when clouds rise and loud rolls the deep thunder,
And our vessels are shattered on treacherous sea,
Then we turn, with our sad hearts all riven asunder,
To thee, our Savior, to thee,

Because thy dear face has been oft wet with weeping;
Because thou hast said, “Come, ye weary, to me;”
Because we are watched, whether walking or sleeping,
By thee, our Savior, by thee.

Thou knowest our trials, our every affliction;
Thine ear can be reached by the lowliest plea,
And our sad hearts are soothed by a sweet benediction
From thee, our Savior, from thee.

Posted on 5 July 2012 by Mashkioya
Filed under: Ailenroc's Book,Christianity,poetry

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