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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, DECEMBER 1, 1882.
" The world, dear child, !■ as we take it, and
Lite, be sure, Is what we make It."
THANKSGIVING HYMN.
O Lord of love and light I
Creator Infinite!
Benignant God I
We come before thy Ihrono
Thy sovereign might to own,
Thy love to laud.
Without thy help In vain
Toe farmer sows the grain,
Or guides the plow;
Through thee his work Is done,
The crowns of victory won
That decks his brow I
The harvest's rich Increase,
Wealth, honor, power, and peace,
Come from thy hand,
No end thy love doth know,
Thy blessings overflow
The smiling land.
All-wise, benignant Friend I
Wliat man can comprehend
Tby wisdom's ways?
Incline to us thine ear.
And condescend to bear
Our feeble praise;
Our grateful thanks receive—
Tis all that we can give,
Ruler divine I
We are thy pensioners—
The boundless universe.
Father! Is tlilne.
Almighty God! In thee
Our stronghold sure shall be,
Forevermore;
In trust thy hand we take—
Bless us for Jesus' sake
In soul and store!
Charles W. IIiiinku.
THE TUFTED DOVE.
This dove is remarkable on many accounts.
It has a very slender body, short bill very
much bent at the tip, long sharp wings, long
wedge-shaped tail, and a sharp tuft on
top of the head, on account of which it
is regarded the archetype of the class
Ocyphapi. The feathers of the back
part of the head are black, and those of
the upper sides light olive brown. The
larger wings (for they are made up of
three divisions.) are of a greenish bronze
with white border, the smaller ones
being brown.
The graceful form of this dove, to
gether with other characteristics, makes
it one of the most beautiful found in
Australia. It may often be seen in the
dales of Wellington and in the neigh
borhood.
The second kind of this group is the
bronze-wing dove, which is(considered
the representative of the class known
as the Schiller dove. The bronze-wing
dove is brown on the upper side, dark
brown on the back of the head, wine
colored and gray on the lower side, the
forehead, a band near the eye and on
the throat are yellowish white, the
other sides of the throat are gray, some
of the wing feathers are of a brassy
copper and green pointed, and the mid
dle tail leathers are brown, the rest be
ing gray. The eye is dark and red-
brown, the bill very dark gray and the
foot red. The female dove has not the
light head border, its color is grayer
and the points are smaller. Its length is a
little less than 13 inches, that of the wings
and tail respectively S!4 and 5 inches. This
dove belongs to the birds of New Holland,
which were found by the first naturalists.
It seems to live over the whole world, but in
certain parts only is a bird of passage. It
prefers dryness and pine barrens, where it
stays mostly at nights; in the morning as
soon as the sun rises it flies out to the water.
The meat of this dove is eaten by all classes
in New Holland.
finger’s, and beside him walked, or rather
trotted, bis son Tom, who closely resembled
his parent, and was a boy of wonderful abil
ities in the vaulting and double somersault
line.
There was frost in the air, and father and
son trudged homeward with rapid steps,
never pausing till they reached the outskirts
of the city, and there they were at last at the
gate of a low, whitewashed paling before
the smallest one-story house you ever saw.
There were two gate-posts, of course, and
upon each one was perched a little Jollyfin-
ger. The small, shivering, blue-eyed young
ster who called out so cherrily, "Happy
Thanksgi vin’, papa 1 ” was Johnny Jollyfin-
ger, and the one on the opposite post was
little, flaxen-haired Top.
“Yes, sure enough, Thankgiving's come
around again,” replied Father Jolly finger.
“How’s mother and the baby ? ’’
“Mother is first-rate, and baby is under
the lounge, ” promptly replied Top.
‘That’s good news. And now down with
you, you young rogues. Don’t you know
better than to sit shivering up there, when
you might be toasting your toes before a
comfortable fire 7” answered the senior Jol-
lytinger, giving a helping hand to each rosy-
cheeked lud.
They were down from their elevated seats
in a twinkling, uud scampering off to the
house, shouting, at every step:
“Futhcr and Tom’s come, mother 1 Hur
rah for Thanksgivin’ 1 ”
Mrs. Jollyfinger, a small woman of the
dumpling order, was patiently dividing her
atttdntion, at the moment Top and Johnny
tumbled into the kitchen, between the sup
per and a blue-eyed baby, who had succeed
ed in reaching a red ball that had rolled
quite out of sight under the lounge, and was
slowly making her way to the stove for a
work bard for the simple comforts we pos-
“That’s just what I was telling Tom as we
came along,” rejoined Mr. Jollyfinger, heart
ily, “and yet there are people who never
can be made to see their.blessings or to be
thankful for any thing.”
"Well, that maybe so,” said Top, some
what unsympathetically,, “but I'd like to
know what old Daddy Bllvins has got to be
thankful for; and when Johnny and I went
there last week with that pie he was a-pray-
in’, ’cause we looked through the window
and seen him, and waited outside till be got
done."
"Yes, that’s so,” earnestly endorsed John
ny ; “and he says the Lord raises up friends
for him because he believes in and trusts
Him.”
“But it was mother that gave Daddy Bliv-
ins the trowsers and bed-quilt,” pointedly
reminded Top.
"Suppose it was," sharply retorted John
ny. “Didn’t the Lord put it in her heart to
do it?"
“May be so; but I wonder if the Lord will
send him a good dinner to-morrow,” replied
the disbelieving Top.
“You may be sure He will,” said Mr. Jol
lyfinger, “for the Lord put it in my heurt a
week ago to place an extra plate on the table
to-morrow for Daddy Blivins; and now fall
to and dispose of your supper, my lads, for I
see it is reudy, and mother is waiting to take
the baby."
The boys needed no second invitation. Top
asking, as he received his share of the mut-
ton-stew:
“Is he to drink out of the cup, too, moth
er?”
"Why, yes, of course!” replied the little
woman. “It is not likely we would ask him
to dinner and then refuse to treat him as
THE TUFTED DOVE.
THE FAMOUS CDF OF THE JOLLY*
FINGERS.
A THANK80IVIHQ STORY.
The clocks in the tall steeples rang out
merrily six o'clock. The foundry bells and
the factory bells caught up the sound send
ing it forth in every direction, as if deter
mined to outdo the clocks if possible, or at
least to quite destroy the beauty of their
music.
The streets swarmed with people because
of this bell-ringing, and men, women and
children hurried out from factories and
foundries with eager haste, some going in
one direction, some in another, and all look
ing unusually happy and desirous of reach
ing home as soon as might be.
Among the crowd was one particularly
bright, rosy, laughing face, that nobody
could mistake forany other than Papa Jolly-
closer inspection of a covered pot upon the
hearth, from which escape fragrant little
whiffs of steam. Mrs. Jollyfinger was has
tening to the rescue, when the door opened,
admitting her husband and Tom. The
former caught up his dimpled baby girl, al
most smothering her with kisses, while Tom
exclaimed delighted;
“There’s a hint of Thanksgiving in to
night’s supper, sure, else my nose is playing
me false, and my eyes, too, for that matter.”
And he looked longingly overhis mother's
shoulder at the pot, from which issued the
appetising steam.
“Why, don’t you know that our Thanks
gi vin’ always begins the night before?" said
Johnny, in a tone meant to be reproachful.
“Last year it was stewed tripe and oysters,
and this year it’s mutton, two pounds, twelve
cents a pound. Top and I bought it, and
there’s onions and potatoes and some other
nice things a-stewin’ in it.” *
And the prolonged sniff with which John
ny honored the pot in question spoke elo
quently of his entire approval Of its savory
coutenls,
"It’s my opinion, my dears," said Mrs.
Jollyfinger, pushing them all aside with a
sweep of her chubby arms in order to provide
room for dishing up the supper—"in my
opinion, it’s Thanksgiving all the year
'round in this bouse, and I’m sure it'ought
to be, for we’ve a great deal to be thankful
for, though we are poor folks, and have to
one of us.”
No sooner was supper over than the boys
began to nod, and one by one they stole off
to bed sleepily, Impatient for to-morrow and
Thanksgiving to come.
By nine o'clock, quiet reigned in the Jol
lyfinger household. The fire had gone out
in the kitchen-stove, and only the moon
beams lingered among the homely articles
on the doal-dresser, the stiff wooden chairs
and bare floor. The Jollyfingers little and
big, always retire early.
It was never rightly known who was out
of bed first the next morning. Top declared
it was himself, while Johnny was just as
positive it was he. and Tom was equally cer
tain that both were wrong, and that he alone
was the one entitled to the honor of being
the first to greet the early rays of the blessed
Thanksgiving sun.
After breakfast there was so much to do
that the three boys were obliged to "pitch
in,” as Tom said, “and help mother with the
dinner."
There was the room to sweep, the dishes to
wash and everything to dust and put in or
der, besides the baby to look after and the
turkey to prepare for the oven.
Everybody being so busy, the morning
passed all to oquickly, and it wasone o'clock,
Mrs. Jollyfinger declared, “before they knew
An hour later, Daddy Blivins arrived,
bent, old and badly twisted with “rheuma-
tls,” but looking wonderfully cheerful and
at peace with the world.
As soon as Mr. Jollyfinger had seen the
feeble old man comfortably seated beside the
stove, with the baby on his knee, be silently
disappeared through the door leading to the
best room.
The proper browning of the turkey was a
heavy responsibility weighing upon Mrs.
Jollyfingers’s mind, and nobody expected a
word from her till every one should be seat
ed around the table and the dinner placed
smoking hot before them.
It is needless to say that complete success
crowned her efforts. The turkey, stewed
cranberries, baked potatoes, home-made
bread and miuce-pies were all that they
should be, and as Mrs. Jollyfinger surveyed
the bountifully spread board, with the steam
ing coffee-pot in her hand, she had a right to
feel pround of her work, and to bid husband,
guest and children to the feast with beaming
eyes and smiling lips.
“Now, this is what I call jolly,” said Tom,
getting into his place with all speed, and
without seeming to notice the silver cup,
half-covered with a snow-white napkin, that
his father somewhat gravely deposited in the
centre of the table, as if to give as much dis
tinction as possible.
Daddy Blivins offered a blessing, during
which impressive moment Top and Johnny
tried their best not to look at the tempting
brown drumsticks so engagingly displayed
on the huge blue disn that, next to the sil
ver cup, was the pride and delight of the
Jollyfingers, young and old.
Grace said, the serving began amid much
happy talk and pleasant illusions to past
Thanksgivings. Sundry sly winks and
nudges, and smothered bursts of laughter
from Top and Johnny, told conclusively that
they were enjoying themselves to the ut
most, and the baby chuckled in sympathy
in such a funny manner that the boys
could hardly dispose of their liberal
supply of good things for the mirth
that threatened toburst their jackets
without the aid of the drumsticks.
The silver cup, the only article of
any real value on the table, had been in
the Jollyfinger family for five genera
tions, and was likely so to be for many
generations to come.To drink from the
silver cup was happiness enough for the
boys, and always markedrare nerioda ,
in their lives, for.never did theprecious
heirloom appear on the table except
at Thanksgiving and Christmas, when so
cial festivities and good cheer were the
common enjoyments of the day.
All the cup contained was pure,
cold water. It was solemnly handed
around justbefore they arose from the
table, and wheneach had taken a sip,
beginning with Father Jollyfinger and
ending with Master Top, it was rever
ently replaced in the centre of the
board by Mrs. Jollyfinger and care*
fully recovered with the napkin.
And this the Jollyfingers do every
Thanksgiving. It is their way of
pledging themselves to drink neither
wine nor aught that intoxicates, rob
bing men of mannood,honor and reason,
during the year—aye, and for all their
lives. It was the way of Grandfather, ~
and of Great-grandfather Jollyfinger,
and will no doubt be the way of Tom and
Johnny and Top, since it is said that as the
twig is bent so will the tree incline.—
Helen J. Hicks in Qolden Days.
yes,
The Dreams of Youth,
Who can estimate the power and influ
ence of the dreams of youth ? Who can re
late the consequences flowing from the.
youthful fan cy ? In the spring-time of life,
when the young sapling is just beginning to
take firm root in the earth, the though ts and
habits that will mould the tree are all form
ed. Every transient turn of the imagina
tion, every idea elaborated by the toying
brain, is a source of good or evil. In the
heart of youth arise the visions of the future
life. Dwarf not this spirit. Let it live;
nourish it as you would the vital spark, and
never cease to foster its growth tillitsprings
into glad fruition. The dreams of youth
make the men of genius. It is then that
spirit may be aroused which in future will
rule the many and raise ita. possessor to the
heights of fame. It is the fancy of youth
that produces the nobility of manhood
The red-letter days of a man’s life,
are the days of a well-spent youth.—Emory
Mirror.
What rhymes to boys and girls?
What, nothing else but toys and curls?
Why not joys and Southern World! ?