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dbc 'jiivnnnnli tribune.
Published by the Tarwuxa Publish iw? 00. 1
J. H. DEVEAUX. Maxioue t
VOL. 111.
At Dawn of Day.
The yellow lighthouse starts quenched
Across the lonely sea;
The mountains rend their misty veils,
The wind of dawn blows free;
The waves beat with a gladder thrill,
Pulsing in lines of spray,
And fast and far chime on the bar—
God bless my dear today!
A thousand leagues may lie between
A world of distant dim;
But speeding with the speeding light
My heart goes forth to him.
Faster than wind or waves it flies,
As love and longing may,
And undenied stands by his side—
God bless my dear today!
God bless him if be wake to smiles,
Or if he wake to sighs;
Temper his will for every fate,
Anti keep him true and wise;
Be to him all I fain would be
Who is so far away,
Light, counsel, consolation, cheer —
God bless my dear to-day!
The gradual light has grown full dim
And streameth far abroad;
The urgence of my voiceless plea
Is gathered up by God;
Take some sweet thing which else were mine,
Truly I dare to pray,
And with it brim his cup of joy—
God bless my dear to-day!
—[Susan Coolidge, in Independent.
Seth Dakin’s “Figgerin.”’
BY MRS. M. L. RAYNE.
He was not a mathematician, but from
his youth up, he had been “figgerin’,”
as he pronounced it, a form of expres
sion common to most business men, and
some women, not Bostonian in elegance,
but very popular with “the masses.”
He did some figgerin’ when he made
up his mind to marry sweet, pretty
Neelie Marlow who taught in the pri
mary department of the public school,
and had known him since she was a wee
toddler, and he was a gawky, freckled
facc school boy.
“I’ve been figgerin’,” he said to his land
lady, as he sat one night with pencil and
paper before him. She had looked in
to collect his board bill, a week before
it was due, to protect herself.
“I’ve figgered it out that it’s as cheap
for two to live as one. I mean that it
won’t cost me any more to get married
and take care of a wife than it does to
live single. You see, I've figgered it all
out. The same fire will do for both,
and I won’t have to pay out for mend
ing, and there’s a lot of ways a young
man spends money with his friends that
he can save if he has some one to look
after him. I’ve got it all down here and
added up, and there is a balance in favor
of my plan on the credit side.”
“He’s figgerin’ on the rule that what
ain’t enough for one, is plenty and to
spare for two,” thought his landlady;
“’twont work, but it’s none of my
affairs.”
Seth Dakin married the little school
mistress, and for a brief year they
boarded with his former landlady in
such a pinched and subdued style that
they were comfortably wretched most of
the time, and had it not been for the
genuine love that existed between them,
could never have survived their domes
tic hardships. At the end of the year
Seth did some more “figgerin’.”
This time he figured, himself into a
house and lot, on some installment plan,
and it looked so feasible that Neelie
clapped her hands with enthusiasm—
very thin white hands they were too.
“Arc you sure it can be done?” she
asked anxiously, as she reckoned up the
long column of items. “Can we ever
pay for them ?”
“Easiest thing in the world, dear,”
Seth answered gently. He was very
fond of Neelie. If she had no cloak fit
to wear neither did he have any over
coat, but went out on the coldest day
buttoned up and trim.
“You’ve forgotten your overcoat, Mr.
Dakin,” said a polite friend to him one
day, “aren’t you cold?”
“N-n-n-ever w-wear o-o-ne,” stam
mered the poor fellow shivering like a
hungry dog over a bone. “I s-»-should
d-despise to r-r-01l up 1-l-ike an o-o-ld
w-woman!”
You see he was only a clerk on a beg
garly stipend in a time and place that
demanded luxuries, carpets and bare
SAVANNAH. GA.. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3.1887.
floors, meat and pie instead of brown
loaves or cabbages and beans; he could
as well have turned cannibal as to have
tried to do without the kind of food
they had been reared upon.
“Figgers don’t lie,” he said, cheer
fully, “Neelie, we’ll have a home.”
This house was built for them and
they moved in. For another year they
pinched and saved, and pared down to
the bone. Then Seth began to “figger”
again.
This time it was the baby.
He was as cheerful and light-hearted
—not the baby but Seth—as if the debt
on the house was not staring them in
the face. He w histled and sung and
one night he sat down by Neelie and
showed her two long columns of credit
and debit.
“I’ve been figgerin’,” he said gaily,
“and that little shaver over there isn’t
going to cost us a cent. I’ve put every
thing down that he can possibly need
for a year, and it only adds up SSO.
Why, I can make that by writing up
books in the evenings this winter.”
Neelie smiled, but it was a sad wan
smile. She began to see how Seth’s
“figgerin’” came out—always a deficit
instead of a balance, but she hadn't the
heart to discourage him.
The baby grew and thrived. His
mother was his nurse. She was also
chief cook and seamstress, as well as
mistress and housekeeper.
“I’ve been figgerin’,” began Seth one
evening, “that the baby is the best
economist in the family. He keeps us
from going anywhere, so we can’t spend
any money for outside pleasures if we
try. And we’re ever so much happier
together, ain’t we, little mamma?”
The little mamma looked very tired,
but she assented with her whole heart
to what Seth said. Here was her world.
These two were her treasures.
They had barely been able to pay the
interest on their home with all of Seth’s
“figgerin’,” when the baby was taken
very ill and a doctor was called in.
Then followed a dreadful siege of
sickness. The doctor came three or four
times a day. The father and mother
were watchers and nurses themselves,
bnt at last the little fellow was saved
and the long, dreadful anxiety was over.
Then Seth brought out that well
known pencil and paper.
“I’ve been figgerin’,” he said, but this
time more gravely than was his wont,
“and it seems to me now, if nothing
happens, that we'll have the house and
lot paid for , inside of five years—that
ain’t long, Neelie, is it?”
Neelie did not answer. She was look
ing at the thin hand, oh, so much thin
ner than hers had ever been —that held
the fatal pencil in such a jaunty way.
Her eyes were full of tears.
“You're worn out,” he said kindly,
“but you needn’t worry dear; the baby's
all right, and I’ve been figgerin’.’’
“I’ve been figuring too,” said Neelie,
“and after this I am going to be ac
countant of the firm. You’ve lost your
place, Seth, at the store, but I’ve taken
it. I’m glad I learned bookkeeping and
I need a change of work. Sister Alice
is coming to take care of the house and
the baby, and you ore to take a vaca
tion.”
He gave her one stricken look, then
bowed his head on his arms and if he
wept it did honor to his manhood and
was naught to be ashamed of, since
it was God’s will that he should be laid
aside.
The doctor was at the bottom of it
all. He saw that worry and privation
and hope deferred, had sapped the very
depths of Seth Dakin's life, and that
now the end was very near.
Brave Neelie! true little wife! She
went down to the store every morning,
swallowing hard all the way to keep
down the sobs she had time to utter.
She is there yet, clad in her widow’s
weeds, working daily with one strong,
resolute purpose—to keep Seth’s home
for Seth’s bov—and she will do it, never
doubt.
The end came happily to Seth. He
was propped up in bed, looking at the
sunset with fading, wistiul eyes. Sud
dcnly he turned to Neelie.
“I’ve been figgerin’, u he said in the
old cheerful way; “I’ve figgered it all
out —and there’s a—balance- a- bal
ance—Neelie, dear—ahead. ” [Det roit
Free Press.
Birds Killed by Liberty's Light.
The torch-bearing goddess of Bedloe's
Island does not trim her hat with hum
ming-bints, nor adorn her robes with
the bright plumage of feathered crea
tures. She is, nevertheless, an innocent
cause of death to a great many birds, of
all sizes and colors, and representing
numerous species, without discrimina
tion. The fatal instrument of decoy
and destruction is the vast cluster of
electric lights which she holds aloft in
her right hand, 300 feet above the
waters of the sea, and whose powerful
rays are visible to the human eye
at a distance of nearly forty miles.
This is the season of migration;
and the number of winged wanderers of
the air that dash themselves against
the deceptive beacon, and fall back
stunned or dead is almost incredible.
Ono morning recently, after the first
cold wave had set the birds (lying
southward, the officers on the island
picked up no less than 1,375 downy lit
tie dead bodies. Many of them wore
beautiful creatures, and the sight was
pitiful. There were among them speci
mens of more than one hundred distinct
species. The largest bird was a Cana
dian woodpecker, measuring thirteen
inches irom wing to wing. The smallest
was an exquisite little humming-bird,
one inch loug.
An examination proved that the heat
of the light had blinded the unfortunate
creatures. In some cases their brains
were actually roasted. Comparatively
few of them were dashed to death, but
nearly all were fatally burned and
blinded.--[Frank Leslie's.
Afghan Love Songs.
Love songs are plentiful with the
Afghans, though whether they are ac
quainted with love is rather doubtful.
Woman with the Afghans is a purchasa
ble commodity; she is not wood and
won with her own consent, she is bought
from her father. The average price of
a young and good looking girl is from
about 300 to 500 rupees. To reform th
ideas of an Afghan upon that matter
would be a desperate task. When Heid
Ahmed, the great Wahabi leader,
the prophet, leader and king of
the Yusufzai Afghans, tried to abol
ish the marriage by sale, his power
fell at once, he had to flee for his
life, and died an outlaw. There is no
song in the world so sad and dismal as
that which is sung to the bride by her
friends. They come to congratulate—
no, to console her, like Jephtha’s daugh
ter: they go to her, sitting in a corner,
and sing:
“You remain sitting in a corner and ery to
us.
What can *we do for you?
Your father has received the money.”
All of love that the Afghan knows is
jealousy. All crimes are siid to have
their cause in one of the three zs—zar,
zamin or zon, money, earth or woman —
the third zis in fact the most frequent
of the three causes. —[ Contemporary
Review’.
The Inventor of Shorthand.
It has recently been ascertained that
the credit of inventing the first system
of shorthand writing by sound belongs
to the Rev. Phineas Bailey, a native of
New Hampshire, who had settled in
Vermont, and published a book setting
forth his system in 1819. This was
eighteen years before Mr. Pitman’s
“Stenograpldc Shorthand” saw the
light, but to the latter is, nevertheless,
accorded the credit of being the modern
father of shorthand.—-[The Epoch.
George Wan Hopeful.
“You understand, George, of course,”
she said, as she nestled in his arms,
“that I shall have no money of my own
until papa passes away. ”
“1 understand, dear,” replied George,
tenderly and hopefully, ••but just
think, love, how feeble you father la."
—[Epoch..
' Art, i" India.
The natives of India are a gentle, re-
I fined, art-loving people. In no country,
Italy not excepted, is the love of art
more innate; and nowhere is there pre
sented a higher standard of taste in fig
ure posing and of effect in color combi
nation, whether in embroidery, weav
j ing or painting. In pottery and bras,
work their patterns are those which,
for thousands of years, have most
pleased mankind combinations of
slender, graceful, curved parts with
massive parts —the same as arc found
in the pyramids of Egypt, in the tombs
of Cyprus and in the ruins of Pompeii,
and as to-day are imitated in the art
pottery of Dresden ami Worcester.
Nothing can exceed in richness of col
oring, delicacy and perfection of work,
their paintings on ivory, especially fig
ure painting—the most difficult of all.
They are. passionately fond of ornaments,
of dress, of music, of flowers and deli
cate perfumes. They love illuminated
books; are fond of coin collections, and
the dwellings of the wealthy are models
of exquisite taste in furnishings and
decorations; and in architecture, the
world might be challenged to produce
the equal of that dream in marble the
Taj of India. Perhaps I need not say
that high knowledge of art implies a
knowledge of the ideal in art, or the
' power of culling beauty from individ
ual'objects and uniting them in one.
Wherever in the world's history this
high art power has been manifested by a
people, they have been found to be cul
tivated and refined, the race homo
; geneousandof fixed national character,
i with rigid political forms and inflexible
religious dogmas.-[ Journal of the Mill
I tary Service.
High Art.
I “Painting,” said the broken-armed
man in the artist’s studio. “Well 1
I should smile! You fellows, you go out
into the woods, and you set up a camp
under a tree, and you loaf around and
i sketch, and you think you’re howling
big artists. I -I’ve been in the Rock
ies. 1 never tackle anything so com
| monplace as Austin creek or the Big
i Trees. Give me nature, say I. Give
me a towering crag that you can’t shin
up, and the snow and the bluff and the
storm. I’ve been in the highest part of
the Rocky mountains.”
“Painting?'’
“Painting. Certainly.”
“And have you got any sketches?”
“Sketches! 1 don’t sketch. 1 go up
there ami 1 paint. I broke my arm up
there; was holding on to :i rock and I
slipped---’’
“And where are your pictures-'’
“There was a picture of mine in a
magazine a few weeks ago."
“Yes? What was it ?’’
“Did you see an article on 'Signs of
Civilization?’ There was a view of an
enormous cliff.”
“Ay, yes. 1 remember. It had 'Bubble
Soap’ painted on it.”
“That was me; 1 painted that."—-
■ [San Francisco Chronicle.
“Glassblowar's Cheek.”
Though the wages or remuneration in
glass blowing are very high, the indus
try is not popular. Its unpopularity is
no more than natural, th labor being
severe and exhausting, the pain and dis
comfort great, and the healthfulness
being unpleasantly small to those en
gaged. It has a characteristic disease
the glassblower’s cheek—ju-t as the
white lead and quicksilver industries
have tlrnir specifi 7 ' ills. From long
continued blowing, the cheek's at first
muscular, grow thin and lose their elas
ticity; they then begin to hang down
like inverted pockets and finally grow
absolutely unusable. It is a matter of
record both here and in Europe that
glass operatives have blown holes
through thei. cheeks, but no living curi
osity of this sort can be found at the
present time. —! Philadelphia Telegraph.
Juvenile Craft.
Very truthful and hungry little girl
(to little Ixiy who bat ju*t been laying
in an unlimited store of good things);
I Oh, Tommy, my ira says you’re ilu
[, only little boy I’m toplay with! Life.
* -.-■r’ - ‘ -
ifl.2S Per Annnm; 75 cent* for Six Monika;
- 50 cents Tn r Montha; Single Copies
5 oente- -In Advance.
Plain Talk About Boys and Girls.
Mothers are too reticent with their ,■
daughters on subjects of vital impor
tame to our sex. Curiosity to investi
gate the mysterious causes many girls to
read unhealthy books, or converse with
unworthy people who excite their im
aginations and tarnish the purity of
their minds.
In the country children ramble homo
from school together promiscuously,and '
evercreative nature reveals many ot het [
mysteries to wide open young eyes. If
mothers would satisfy the natural curi- i
ositv of young girls regarding all these i
mysteries, and teach them to regard the
wonders of nature with reverence, the ;
temptation to personal investigation |
would be removed.
City streets teem with cheap oppor- ;
tonifies for flirtations with unknown
men who designate themselves as
“mashers.” Only the silli st or most
depraved of our sex risk lives and repU- !
tations by responding to them.
A lady is xddoin accosted or troubled 1
by these men in the day-lit streets of
New York. A handsome young girl who
earns her living by newspaper work, J
which calls her into al! sorts of business
offices, recently told me that she had
never received an insinuating or embar
rassing word or look in all her career.
I do not believe that the Creator
made man any more wicked than
woman. Both sexes have the same im- ;
pulses and emotions. Women are com
pelled to tight against their own weak
nesses and to combat those of men.
Where ten women are tempted, two j
only fall. Where ten men are tempted, ,
two only stand.
And yet, we are called the weaker
sex. If the penalties for folly were as
severe for men us for women, and if the
world demanded as high morality from
them, they would be us good aS we are.
--I Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
German Politeness.
A correspondent of the Saratoglan
writes: Ever since we have come in; • <
these German countries we have bee.
impressed with the politeness of the
people, and down in Munich, where we
met it first in its intnsity, I really
thought I’d have a spasm unless somebody
were rude to somebody else. On the cars
men tipped their huts and spoke to the
entire compartment coming in and going [
out. On the roads in the suburbs of ,
towns rneu and women saluted each
other and all strangers; in parks the
same co le of recognition was adopted,
but the iunni - t was to se • the Munich
men’s effudrencs. among acquaintances. •
I have seen men turn around, if per- .[
chance they had passed without speak
ing, and taking off their hats, make /
such a sweeping bow a? would occupy
the entire pavement. it was <ione la
good faith, too. I attributed it all to ;
the famous beer of Munich, which, I am ’
free to confess, is sufficiently ambrosial [
in its qualities to make a man polite to j
a hitching post. The women arc •quite
as polite, too, as the men. which
is saying a good deal, for woimin are '
not so usually, particularly to each
other, and I have frequently had
women speak to me when it would
been quite as good form not to» havo
done so. .. ’
* ’
Walnuts a.* Food for Turkeys.
In former days tame turkeys were fed
with walnuts to give them the taste of
wild turkeys. In Italy turkeys uro
always fattened with walnuts. Thirty
days before a turkey is to be killed <»ae
walnut is stuffed down his throat. Each
day he is given an additional walnut,
and on the 29th day he ha? 29 walnuts.
He is then immensely fat. I have often
wondered why our turkey breeders do
nut adopt this plan.—[London Truth.
Mature Molly.
“What's the matter, Molly?” asked
Col. Percy Yerger of his little six-year
old daughter.
“Pa, my mocking bird is dead.” ;
••Well, never mind, Molly; I’ll buy
you another one,” replied Col. Yerger.
“I am ealm enough |ow, but wh- n I
that potfr [itUe dead ‘ bird. I tnauld
nVhild,'' said
NO. 7.