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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.