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.Cinvnnnnh (tribune.
Published by the Tnnruww Publishing 00. )
J. H. DEVEAUX. Mamaob* >
VOL. HI.
Fruit of the Topmost Bough.
‘I want the fruit of the topmost bough.
Who cares for the prize that costs uo pain?
What boots the bay on the light-pressed
brow?
’Tis the iron crown as of Charlemagne:
Tis the palace girt with the lion guards.
The Eden beyond the stormy sea;
Let those give way whom the toil retards,
But the strife anil the heat and the dust for
me'
“There is Alexanders bitter tear
O’er the lack of worlds for the victof’s
quest;
There is Cromwell stretched on his gorgeous
bier.
Taking his first and his only rest!
There is Milton. blind to the suns of Time,
Star-eyed in jasper courts at last;
lake the bird that steers through the azure
clime
To the eyrie with hard-won repast.
“I want the fruit of the topmost bough:
him who trembles desert the fray;
I think of the crown on the victor’s brow,
And not of the lions that guard the way.
For the time is short and the arm is frail,
And the bark may weather no other gale;
And the dews of death may lie gathering
now;
But my gaze is fixed on that topmost
bough!
“I want the fruit of the topmost bough.
'Tis a dizzy height and ‘tis lonely there;
But the breezes play o’er the weary brow,
And the fruit of that bough is fair—so fair!
Can I rest and dream while a shred of life,
While a spark of hope is left to me?
Is this the way to the meed of strife?
Is this the Eden beyond the sea?
“In the marble effigy and bust
I read but a dream of the prize I seek,
For, spite of it all, it is dust to dust—
A willing mind, but a frame that’s weak.
Do I call memorials like these
A fitting prize for the deathless soul?
Is this the fruit 1 long to seize?
Is this my star, my crown, my goal?”
X* -i 5
Oh, weary heart of the toiler! turn
From the maze of doubt and the dust of
strife,
And look, for once, on the empty urn
And the wide-strewn ashes of vanished life:
And then, beholding thy better hope,
In starward gaze and with dauntless brow,
Seek the pearly gates which the angels ope —
This is the fruit of the topmost bough!
—[Wrn. B. Chisholm in N. Y. Observer.
A MINISTERING ANGEL.
“Oh, Harry, how beautiful this is!’’
cried Sophie Garland, clasping her
plump little hands with delight. I
never dreamed that you had prepared
such a home as this for me.”
“Love in a cottage, eh?” said Harry
■Garland, looking down with eyes of
amused admiration, at his pretty young
bride. “But you see, Sophie, I thought
this would be so much nicer than a town
house; for the summer months at least!”
Cloverdale was the pieltiest of Gothic
cottages, all embowered in blooming
lilacs, fragrant tresses of honeysuckle
and climbing roses. There was a little
lawn, shorn close as green plush, a run
ning brook bridged over, and the
smallest of grottoes, where the drip of a
cascade was lost among the ferns and
irises.
“It s most charming,” said Mrs. Gar
land, who had tilled both hands with
fu ips, daffodils and early roses. “I
never dreamed of anything so lovely'.
And there is a cabinet piano in the
drawing-room, and real stained-glass
windows in the library and the quaintest
sun-dial 1 ever saw.”
“And plenty of spare room if mv
mother should wish to spend the sum
mer with u-,” said Mr. Garland, care
lessly.
Sophie’s face fell, all of a sudden.
The roses and daffodils drifted to the
ground; she came close to Harry and
began nervously playing with the mid
dle button of his coat.
“Harry,” she said. “I don't want to
seem ungracious but—but perhaps it is
best to have an understanding on this
question at once.”
“On what qu»-tmnt' said Harry,
somewhat bvwii r . <].
“Oa the mother-in-law question,”
courageously answered Sophie.
Harry burst out laughing.
“My dear child,” said he, “who has
been filling your innocent little h-»I
with nonsense?”
SAVANNAH. GA.. SATURDAY. DECEMBER 17,1887.
“It isn’t nonsense, ” said Sophie.
“But I have made up my mind never to
let our domestic peace be imperilled by
such an clement as this. And I—l
can’t consent to receive your mother
here, Harry.”
Mr. Garland whistled low and long.
‘ ‘Tire deuce you can’t!” said he.
“You wont ask it, will you, dear?”
coaxed the young wife, in her sweetest
accents.
“If you only knew my mother, So
phie”—
“But I don’t know her,” pleaded So
phi, ‘‘and I don’t waut to know her.”
“I’m sure you would like her, Sophie;
and lam positively certain you could
not help loving her.”
“As if there ever could be any relation
ship nearer than armed neutrality
between mother and daughter-in-law!”
satirically observed Mrs. Garland. “No,
Harry, it is too dangerous an experiment
to try. You will let me have my own way
in this matter, will you not ?” she added,
caressingly. “It is the first favor I have
asked of you. - ’
“Os course you are the mistress here,”
said Garland, feigning an indifference
that he did not feel. “I do not intend
to oppose your wishes in any respect.”
And Sophie stood on tip-toe to kiss
him, byway of reward.
After this discussion it is hardly
necessary to say that Mrs. Henry Gar
land was not a little surprised, two or
three days subsequently, by the arrival
of a cab at the gate loaded with trunks
and the appearance of a juvenile-looking
elderly lady, very much powdered and
frizzed, with an eighiecu-year-old bon
net and a parasol which a school-girl
might have envied. Sophie started from
the coscy nest in the hammock where
she was reading Dante.
“Mamma!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, darling, it’s me,” said Mrs.
Percy, her mother. “I was on my way
to Brighton, so I thought I would sur
prise you and dear Harold.”
And she gave Sophie a succession of
kisses, which were very strongly flavored
with rose-powder, and beckoned the
cab-man to bring in the trunks.
“Four,” said she.” “And a bonnet
box, and an umbrella-strap, and two
traveling bags. I believe that is all.
My darling Sophie! And the doctor
says country air is the very thing I need
to set me up.”
Mrs. Peregrine Percy was one of those
old-young ladies who remind one forci
bly of an antique piece of furniture
varnished up to look like new. • Sophie
Garland had never been in sympathy
with her fashionable mother. She had
married decideHy in opposition to that
lady's wishes, and was, to tell the truth,
not especially pleased at her appearance
on the scene at this particular moment.
“But what am Ito do,” she said to
herself. “I certainly can’t turn her
out of doors, though I'm sure I don’t
know what Harry will say after all
those disagreeable tilings I said about
his mother.
But Harry Garland was too much of a
a gentleman not to behave courteously
under any circumstance. He welcomed
Mrs. Percy with genuine hospitality,
and did not even notice Sophie's ap
pealing glances when the old lady inci
dentally let fall the information that,
since she liked the situation of Clover
dale Cottage so well, she should perhaps
remain there all the summer, “just to
keep Sophie company you know.”
“It is so good of Harry not to fling
back my own silly words into my face,”
.she thought with a thrill of gratitude.
■ But at the end of a week Mrs. Pere
grine Percy sickened.
“I Lope it's not going to be anything
serious,” said she. Sickness does age
a per-on so. I never had any wrinkles,
you know, dear, before that last attack
of neuralgia.”
But when it transpired that .Mrs.
Percy's ailment was a severe and con
tagious form of disease, ther: was a
general commotion at Cloverdale Cot
tage. The servants gave warning, the
neighbors kept away and poor Sophie
was weary, worn out with nursing and
fatigue, when one day a gentle little
woman ia black presented herself
“She will see v->u. ma’am,” said the
little charity girl who alone could be in
duced to cross the infected threshold,
and who loudly declared that “at the
’ asylum she had everything, and wasn’t
afraid of nothing!” “I told her to go
away, but it was no good.”
Sophie, pale and haggard, crept flown
; into the darkened drawing-room.
“1 don't know who you are,” said
! she. “or what your business is, but you
i had better go away. There is terrible
I sickness here.”
“1 know it,” answered a mild voice.
I ‘‘and that is the very reason that 1 am
j here. lam Harry's mother, darling. 1
j have come to help you.”
So, like a ministering angel, the
“mother-in-law” came into the. house,
I just as Sophie herself succumbed to the
fell disease.
No sooner did Mrs. Peregrine Percy
recover than she packed her trunks
and made off for Brighton as fast as
possible.
“One always needs change after ill
- ncss,” said she. “And the atmosphere
of a sick-room always was most depress
ing for me. 1 dare say that the good
! Mrs. Garland will do all that is necessary
for dear Sophie, and I have my own
■ welfare to think of.”
Sophie, just able to sit up in a pillowed
, arm-chair, her cheeks hollowed by ill
j ness, her large eyes shining from deep,
■ purple circles, looked after the depart
’ ! ing carriage, and then lifted her glance
to the tender nurse beside her.
“Mother,” she said, wistfully, “you
will not leave me?”
“Not unless you send me away,
! Sophie,” sai l Mrs. GArland, tenderly.
1 : “And that will be never,” said Sophie,
closing her eyes with a sigh of relief.
“How very good you have been to me!
4 Without you 1 should surely have
died.”
And even in her slumber she could
not rest peacefully until she held Mrs.
Garland's hand in hers.
That evening, when Harry came home,
she opened her heart to him.
“Harry,” she said, “can you ever for
give me?’’
“Forgive vou, dearest?”
i “For what I said about our dear, dear
mother,” fervently uttered Sophie. “She
: is precious beyond expression to me now.
' She has saved my life by her courage
and devotion. And I feel that 1 cannot
part with her any more. Would she
stay here with us always, do you think,
Harry?”
*T am her only son, Sophie,” said he.
> “Yes, I think she will—if you ask her.”
Sophie made her confession to her
j mother-in-law at once.
“I was so rude, so selfish,” she c.iu-
I didly acknowledged. “But I did not
know you then.”
And Mrs. Garland's tender kiss was a
■ seal of the most loving forgivcnc-s.
Mrs. Peregrine Percy never has gone
| back to Cloverdale Cottage.
“I don't fancy that stupid, monoto
nous life,” said she. “And my poor
child is given up, soul and body, into
j the clutches of a mother-in-law! It
wasn't for the want of warning, either.
I told Sophie how it would be, but she
j never would take my advice.” [New
■ York Journal.
The Grotesque in Architecture.
Ihe taste for the grotesqu and horri
ble that leads men to wear skulls for
| scarf pins and coffins for sleeve buttons,
that induces a dainty girl to choose a
i dress with snakes outlined on it, and a
metal spider perched at her tliro.it, has
got into architecture. The writer went
to call, and, mounting the steps, laid a
hand carelessly on the iron rail that
meandered up the stone stoop. It fell
i on the head of a bronze an t realistm
snake that was coiled round and round
the balustrade. The whole row of tint
houses had the same sort of ai proach,
and twisting about a’.l the hand rails w.,s
1 the vile serpent, with battened h? >.d a .<1
baleful eyes, natural and hideou enough
! ; to make one afraid to enter or leave the
! house. It’s to be hoped that old Major
' Jim Jams never rents one of e'm; he'll
come home some night from the club and
break his neck in a tit at his own door.
• . . Ni-w York Sun.
Cannibalism on the Congo.
It is an open question whether canni
balism is really a vice of any tribe in
the regions of the Congo, though evi
deuce of it crops up now and then in a
second-hand way that is required a«
sufficient by some travelers to take the
custom as established. Mr. Stanley, on
his second journey through the Dark
Continent, nt a village named Kam
punzu, found two rows of skulls running
along the entire length of the village,
imbedded about two inches in the
ground, the “cerebral hemispheres” up
permost, bleached and glistening white
from the weather. lie was told
they were the skulls of the
“sokos”—chimpanzees, otherwise called
“meat of the forest.” The chief
said the bodies had been eaten. “What
kind of a thing is* the ‘nyama,’ or meat
of the forest, as you call it?” Stanley
asked. “It is about the size of this
boy” pointing to one of Stanley’s
attendants, four feet ten inches in
height—“and walks like a man; goes
about with a stick, with which it beats
the forest, and makes hideous noises.
It eats bananas, and we hunt it, kill it
and eat it." It was further described
as very good food. Stanley offered a
reward for one of these animals, but it
I was found impossible to kill one before
I several days should pass. Stanley had
not time to wait for an example of the
nyama, but he brought, away several
skulls of the alleged chimpanzee, which
Professor Huxley pronounced to be those
i of natives of the ordinary African type,
| upon which Mr. Stanley remarks: “Pro
i lessor Huxley, by this decision, startles
me with the proof that Kampunzu’s peo
| pie were cannibals, for at least one-half
■ of the number of skulls seen by me bore
i the mark of a hatchet which had been
driven into the head while the victims
i were alive. .
.1 apa nose Sake- Dr ink e rs.
Thomas Stevens, writing in the Now
York Sun, says: No nation in Asia
drink-; so persistently and steadily ns do
the Japanese. The average Jap con
sumes about half a pint of sake, or rice
beer, with each meal—a pint and a half
per day—saying nothing about, further
social indulgence in the evening. Both
men and women drink sake by the pint
daily, and think no harm of it either.
At meals the sake is served up in slen
der, big-necked earthenware bottles,
holding about a pint. The favorite way
is to drink it warm. Il is usually
warmed by setting the bottle in boiling
water for a while before putting it on
the table. Rice beer is a rather decep
tive name to give sake, as it resembles
liquor more than beer, both in color,
. consistency, and intoxicating property.
In the consumption of alcohol the
Japs, as a nation, rank far ahead
of any other Asiatic count ry. In addi
tion to sake, they are rapidly coining to
the fore as consumers of beer and brandy
and whisky Their consumption of
those beverages keeps a curiously even
pace with their progression toward what
we are pleased to consider our own
higher plane of civilization. When they
first began to think of wearing European
: clothes they contented themselves with
importing French brandy an I English
and Milwaukee be r. Now, however,
the Government compels all its officials
to adopt European clothes, and the up
p r crust society at Tokio are far from
being alone in Europeanizing their
habits and < stumes. Consequently the
Japs have commcacid brewing their
own beer and making a very good imi
tation of French brandy. They have a
big brewery now at Ko-fu that turns out
hundreds of thousands of Lotties of very
good beer annually.
Arrow Throwing.
The new Yorkshire sjrort of arrow
throwing has been developed so that 250
yards are not rare, although 200 arc
nearer the mark. The throwing is over
hand. The arrow is an ordinary one of
soft wood, but without feathers ormct.il
at the cads, and Varis from 2 feet to 3
feet in length, as the thrower prefer-.
A target is not aimed at. Distance tells,
and it is marked off in spaces 20 yard?
apart Nev. York Time .
(fI.M Per Annnsn; 75 cent* for Six Month*;
• 50 cent* Thr <e Month*; Single Oopia*
I i cent*--In Advance.
“ Would Kiss the Hund,” Ao.
Maurice Barrymore is an Englishman,
says a New York Bun writer. His
courage is invincible and his wit pOr
pctual. He has a good temper, but
once in a while he gets ruffled. Such
was the case one night last spring when
young Mr. Van Brunt looked at him for
a long while in a chophouse, and then
expressed a deep contempt for actors in
general, and Barrymore in particular.
The actor overlooked the first affront or
two, but finally Van Brunt became so
pointed in his remarks that there was no
evading them. He is a good amateur
sparrer. Barrymore stepped up to him
politely and said in a most engaging
voice: - j
“Perhaps, sir, you would like to step
outside and repeat this conversation.’’
“With all the pleasure in life, sir” said
Van Brunt, delightedly, as he winked
at his friends. They all trooped out to
Twenty-sixth street. It was about 3
o'clock in the morning, and the moon
was shining brightly. Van Brunt took
oil his coat and winked at his friends.
Barrymore asked Van Brunt if he was
ready, and he replied that he was. It
must have been two minutes later when
Van Brunt was carried into Paul's chop
house by Barrymore aud his friends, and
raw beefsteak and oysters were applied
humanely to his swollen jaw, blackened
eyes, and generally beaten exterior.
“Who on earth,” gasped Van Brunt
when he had sufficiently recovered to
recall what had happened, “is that
man?"
“Maurice Barrymore, the actor, for
merly champion middle-weight boxer of
idl England."
“Ab, champion of all Englund, ch?”
said the amateur, drawing himself up as
much as possible, nnd looking more con
tent. “Then this is no disgrace.”
Bhititirek Fined.
Diiiing Printe Bismarck’s stay at
.Mal ie:)bad the < !i:mcellor was in the habit
of taking long walks un it tended, and one
• lay, finding himself somewhat far from
the town, look tli*' shortest cut back.
His way led him ncro some fields find
the prince inarched vigorously forward,
forgetful of th • fai t that he was tre pass
ing. Suddenly he w:n hailed in loud
stentorian tones and on looking back
saw a -tout country-woman pursuing him.
The indignant proprictrc < of the fields
accused him to hi? face of his offense
ami declared that she would follow him
and give him in charge. She proved as
good us her word and tramped after the
chancellor until the high road was
reached ami a police officer came in view.
The worthy woman formally made her
complaint and the police officer was
about to arrest the offender.
Struck by the resemblance of the
trespasser to a certain high functionary
the police officer cautiously demanded
hi- name. On hearing the name the po
liceman was simply paralyzed with fear,
ami the over-bold country-woman gath
ering up her skirts fled precipitately.
Naturally the police officer was reluctant
to take the charge, but Prince Bismarck
insisted upon going to the station.
W hen there he charged himself with the
offense of trespass, ami paid the fine
customary in such matter-. In addition
to this the prince sent a present byway
of consolation to the woman whose
land he had invaded.—[St. Stephen’s
Review. t
Home, Sweet Home, In Dakota.
A gentleman h rating for land in Da
kota came across a boarded-up claim
shanty with half-a-dozen boards across
the door, upon which were the following
touching inscriptions: “Four miles from
a nayber. Sixty miles from a postofis.
Twenty-five miles from a raleroad. A
hundred atey from timber. 230 faet
from water. God bluss our home. We
h ne gone east to spend the winter with
my wife's folks.
After Hours.
Blind-M u.—Do you know that man
going d '>v:> the street.
Deaf ;> d Dumb-Mun—Biightly, just
merely to -peak to. Do you know .
him t
Blind man—Not personally—only by
*>iglit. -[Texas Sifting-
NO. 9.