Newspaper Page Text
®lic Cmvimni'ili (tribune.
Published by the Tarstnca Publishhu; Oo.)
J. H. DEVEAUX. >
VOL. 111.
My Mirror.
Between the orchard and the mill
The brooklet of its laughing tires:
Its waters there grew deep and still
About the piers, old and moss-grown,
Beneath the little bridge of stone
Clasped here and there, with wildrose
briers.
I -was a vain young country maid,
Each day at noon sent to the mill,
And used to loiter in the shade,
And lean above the jagged pier,
Beyond the wild rose creeping near,
And peer into the placid rill.
Twas not the water lilies there,
Nor pale green cresses that I sought;
But back to me bright eyes and hair,
Sun-tangled, framed in shadowy green,
Reflected, threw their glamorous sheen
And kept me longer than they ought.
One day I lingered, looking down,
Long past the sunshine of mid-day.
When close beside me, big and brown,
Two eyes, so full of laughter met
My own within the rivulet,
My eyes drooped low and turned away.
You see, ’twas father's harvester —
“Our John,” we alwas called the lad;
Like to his own my parents were,
And I—l cannot rightly tell
By what strange chance it e’er befel —
His coming made me always glad.
How shallow seemed the brooklet ther
After the glance of eyes like his!
I slowly raised my own again
And found him gazing slyly down- t
I never knew that eyes of brown
Were full of such sweet mysteries!
For, looking up, how could I guess
To find my imaged features there?
A mirror full of tenderness
His dark eyes made; the rivulet,
in all my loiterings, never yet
Had made me seem one-half so fairl
The wild rose blossoms all are dead;
And, where the water lilies were,
The brook sleeps in its frozen bed.
Unheeded let the winters pass;
I have a truer looking-glass—
The brown eyes of my harvester!
—[Eva Best, in Detroit Free Press.
Uncle Rudolph’s Choice.
It was a bitter cold night in Febru
ary, snow lying high heaped along the
village street and icicles tinkling in the
bleak wind at every gust that swept
through the boughs of the old cherry
tree in front of our door, while a full
moon, shining in the frozen dome of
heaven, made the outer world look even
more frigid than its actual reality.
The little clock on the mantel—an
ancient, japanned toy, that had once be
longed to our great-grandmother—for
we had ancestors, although we were
poverty-striken enough now—had just
chimed eight, the faded moreen window
curtains were closely drawn and we
were all three of us sitting around the
dining-room fire (our parlor was only
warmed on state occasions), trying to
keep up the caloric, when mamma came
in, holding a newly-opened letter, and
with a sort of scared look on her face.
“Another unpaid bill, mamma?” said
I, but she paid no attention to me.
“Girls,’’ said she, f‘l’ve got a letter
from Uncle Rudolph. And he’s coming
to visit us.”
I jumped up and clapped my hands.
“Splendid,” cried L “I should be
thankful for anything to rouse us up,
even if it were an earthquake!"
Philippa (our beauty) contracted her
dark eyebrows.
“Oh, dear!” cried she, what a pity it
is we haven’t got those new Turkey red
curtains, for the best bedroom.”
» “Not a decent new dress among the
L lot of us,” groaned Laura. “Mamma,
L when is he coming?”
“Now. To-night. Probably within
[ an hour.”
• “Oh! my goodness,” said Philippa,
I jumping up. “Light a fire in the best
[ parlor, Laura. Polly,” to me, “get down
I the flowered china tea-pot at once.
Mamma, I think you’d better open a can
of lobsters, and ”
“Quite unnecessary—quite unneces
| sary," spoke up a gruff voice, just back
I of mamma's shoulder, and then we all
I became conscious of a round, red face,
* like a full harvest moon, a pair of leg-of
| mutton whiskers, and a head as bald
A; and smooth and polished as the ball of
■I Vegetable ivory on the parlor mantel.
Bk “Uncle Rudolph,” we cried in chorus.
M “Yes," said Uncle Rudolph, begin-
ning to unroll about six yards of spotted
red muffler from around his neck.
“Came by the evening train. All I
want is a sight of the fire and an old
fashioned bowl of your mother’s tea.
So you are my three nieces, eh? Come
and kiss me.”
And this was the off-hand manner in
which we became acquainted with the
rich and eccentric uncle we had hitherto
only known by reputation.
We had lived in Sibleyville all our
lives, and Uncle Rudolph had been a
wanderer over the face of the globe—a
far-off and distinguished individual, of
whom our mother had spoken reveren
tially, as people will speak of their rich
relations.
“A pretty good-looking set of you,”
remarked Uncle Rudolph, as he viewed
us over the edge of his tea-cup. “ Let
me see. I think I’ve got your identity
pretty w T ell decided in my mind. This
is Philippa, the beauty; this is Laura,
the literary one, and this,” with a kindly
touch of my curls, “is Polly, the one
that has no particular vocation, and con
sequently is set to doing everything.
Well, girls, I’ve brought you each a pres
ent.”
Philippa’s imagination, so she after
ward told me, jumped at once to
diamonds. Uncle Rudolph might have
strung us all over with precious jewels
and never missed it out of his wealth.
Laura thought, vaguely, of a new set of
parlor furniture; I hoped it might be a
black silk dress for each of us, not for
getting mamma, whose Sunday gown
was positively shabby.
But Uncle Rudolph’s next words dis
pelled the illusion:
“Here’s a fifty-dollar bill a-piece,”
said he; mind, now, you spend it sen
sibly.”
Os course we thanked him and ex
pressed our gratitude in the choicest
terms we could select at so short a no
tice, but our tongues were not fairly
loosed until we were in our room at
night, crimping our hair and putting
away our ribbons and furbelows.
“Mean old hunks!” said Philippa, in
dignantly. “If it had been five hun
dred, now, it wouldn’t have been so
disgraceful. But fifty dollars! My
gracious!”
“Never min 1,” said Laura, laughing,
as she crouched on the hearth-rug.
warming her hands—Laura always con
trived to secure the best and snuggest
place—“it serves very well for an open
ing wedge, I mean to study all the old
gentleman’s peculiarities, and get the
blind side of him. Didn't mamma say
he meant to adopt one of us? It shall
be me.”
“It wouldn’t hurt him to adopt the
whole family,” said grumbling Philippa.
“But I wish he didn’t talk so abom
inably through his nose,” said Laura,
mimicking the old gentleman’s peculiar
accent with a correctness that sent
Philippa off into a peal of laughter.
“Girls!” cried I, jumping up from
the footstool, where I was twisting my
yellow hair over a long hair-pin; “you
ought to be ashamed of yourselves!’’
“Indeed!” pouted Philippa. “Who
are you, Miss Polly, to set yourself up
in judgment over your elder sisters, I’d
like to know?"
“I don’t care,” stoutly persisted I,
“Uncle Rudolph is a dear, generous
hearted gentleman, and I won’t sit here
to hear him laughed at. Now you just
keep still, both of you!"
“Hateful thing, she’s jealous,” said
Laura. “She can’t bear the idea of my
I being adopted by the rich uncle of the
: family.”
“I don’t care a pin whether he adopts
I you or not," said I, pulling savagely
j away at my hair. “But I won’t hear
him made fun of when his back is
turned.”
“He’ll not adopt you, anyhow,” said
Philippa; nobody wants such an ugly,
wide-mouthed little gnome about their
i house.”
I winked back my tears. Philippa
I knew that I was sensitive about my
mouth when she aimed that wordy shaft
i so skillfully.
“If you say another word in ridicule
iof Uncle Rudolph,” said I, “1 11 go
I straight to mamma and tell tier."
SAVANNAH. GA.. SATURDAY. J ANUARY 28, 1888
“Mamma won’t care.”
“Mamma will care,” said I. ‘‘Mamma
loves her brother dearly, and sho won’t
allow you to laugh at him.”
A sullen silence ensued on the part of
my elder sisters. I had’gained! my point,
but they contrived to make it very un
comfortable for me.
However, neither Laura nor Philippa
I were girls to bear malice very long, and
they came down the next morning to
. help get breakfast, as good-natured as
ever.
“Mamma,” said Laura, “give me the
key of the blue room and I’ll go up for
some of the larger napkins. These are
mended and darned until they are
hardly decent, besides being too small.”
“You can’t go now," said mamma,
who was busy brewing chocolate. “Your
Uncle Rudolph is in the blue room. I
put him there to sleep because there’s a
leak in the roof of the best bedroom,
and I was afraid it might be a little
damp. Why, girls, what’s the matter ?"
For Philippa had uttered a little
shriek, and Laura dropped the double
damask table-cloth into the coal-scuttle,
while I stood transfixed the floor.
“Uncle Rudolph in the blue room!”
gasped Plulippa. “Close to ours! With
that doorway between! Laura, he must
have heard every word we said!”
And she sat down and began to cry.
Laura looked aghast, but she was
quicker to recover herself.
“Hush, Philippa,” she said. “Don’t
make a fool of yourself. Here’s Uncle
Rudolph coming down now. I’m just
as sorry as you are, but all the whim
pering in the world won’t do any good.
We must just make the best of it.”
“Girls,” said poor, bewildered mam
ma, “what does all this mean?”
But before we could explain, Uncle
Rudolph came down stairs, snug, smooth
shaven and looking as fresh as a water
pippin.
“Good morning, Sister Rockfield,”
said he, sitting down opposite the fire.
“Good morning, girls. I was talking
last nignt, sister, about adopting one of
the three, and making her the heiress to
what little I’ve got to leave.”
“Yes?” said mamma, wondering very
much what was coming next.
“Well, I’ve made my choice. This is
the one,” drawing me close to him.
“Not Polly!”
“Yes, Polly. True, she hasn’t Philip
pa’s wax-doll face, nor Laura’s quick-
I ness of repartee, but I think she’ll get
! fond of me all the same. Philippa thinks
;me a mean old hunks. Laura don’t ap
prove of away I have of talking through
imy nose. But little Polly stands up for
the old gentleman, like a brave girl as
she is, with a heart of genuine gold!”
“I’m sure I don’t understand what on
earth you mean, Brother Rudolph,”
i said mamma, with a puzzled wrinkle
' between her brows.
“But these girls do,” said Uncle Ru
dolph, with curious roguish sparkles in
i his eyes.
“The next time you’ve got company
staying in the house, young ladies,” to
Laura and Philippa, “you must do up
your confidential conversation in a low
tone of voice.”
Philippa pouted. Laura hung down
> her head. I cried. I couldn’t help it.
‘ “Uncle Rudolph,” said I, “I don’t
want anything that my sisters can’t
share!”
“But, you see, you haven’t any say
in this question, miss,” retorted Uncle
Rudolph laughing.
So, that is the reason that I, little
Polly Rockfield, whom my sisters al
ways declare was bop for a kitchen
maid, live in a. great house, with a
, swarm of servants at my beck and call,
and Laura and Philippa, who would
have graced a ducal castle, keep house
together in a cottage. Mamma lives with
j us, but Uncle Rudolph won’t have the
girls.
i “They don’t like my way of talking
I through my nos*:," said he. “And I’m
too old a dog to learn new tricks at my
time of life! No! no! little Polly suits
me the best.”—[New York News.
Put a pail of water into the tubs di
rectly after using, and they will not
leak when wanted for use.
g • • •
fEARLS OF THOUGHT.
The line of life is a ragged diagonal
between duty and desire.
Never think you can make yourself
great by making another less.
Genius without ambition is as useless
as a cannon ball without powder.
You must love your work and not bo
looking over the edge of it for the play
to begin.
How noiselessly the snow comes
down. You may see it, but never hear
it. Such is true charity.
This mystery of sleep! This greater
mystery of waking! If we could fathom
them we should have fathomed ourselves
and life and death!
A great many petty trials of life
would cease to trouble us if wo only
thought how little they will matter a
thousand years hence.
Let every man take care how he
speaks or writes of honest people, and
not set down at a venture the first
thing that comes uppermost.
I have always looked upon it as the
worst condition of man’s destiny that
persons are so often torn asunder just as
they become happy in each other’s soci
ety.
We find it hard to get and to keep
any private property in thought. Other
people are all the time saying the same
things we are hoarding to say when we
get ready.
Inexhaustible good nature is the most
precious gift of heaven, spreading itself
like oil over the troubled sea of thought
and keeping the mind smooth and
equable during the roughest weather.
A man without reproach, from whom
the breath of scandal passes like com
mon breath from any other polished
surface, could afford to do what com
mon men could not.
“Watches” on Shipboard.
The system of watches common to the
naval and merchant marines of many,
countries, especially American, English
and German vessels, consists of dividing
the day into watches of fotir hours each,
and dividing the crew into starboard
or port watches, each taking alternate
ly four hours’ watch. The stime of each
watch is told off on the ship’s bell at in
tervals of half an hour. Half-past twelve
half-past four, half-past eight, day and
night are indicated by one tap of the
bell; two bells mean one, five and nine
o’clock, and soon to eight bells, which
means four, eight and twelve o’clock.
The bells are sounded by twos; thus,
five bells will be two strokes near to
gether, then two other strokes, then one
stroke. Eight bells are struck by four
doublets. The dreaded mid-watch is
from mid-night to four o’clock in the
morning. To avoid this watch always
falling to the same division of men, the
watch from four to eight in the evening
is sometimes cut in two at six o’clock,
the watch coming on at four serving till
six instead of eight, and the watch com
ing on at six and serving till eight.
Then the watch which went off at six
comes on again at eight. This shifts the
scheme every twenty-four hours.
The Limit of Visibility.
Just how large is the minutest object
it is possible to see under h microscope,
is a speculation of considerable interest,
Sir Henry Rosco having treated the
1-100,000 of an inch as the limit of visi
bility with the highest known magnify
ing power. Mr. Crisp, of the Royal
Microscopical Society, aflirqjs that the
real limit may be quite safely placed be
low 1-500,000 of an inch, though it can
not be definitely determined. Rev. Dr.
Dallinger, the eminent president of tho
Society, endorses this view, stating that
he has himself seen objects which were
certainly between 1 200,000 and 1-300,-
000 of an inch.
The Tramp’s Distress.
Tramp (to woman at the door), “I
feel very much distressed, madam.”
Madam; “Something you havo
eaten?”
Tramp: “No, something I've not
eaten.”---* Epoch.
(*1.25 Per Anna tn; 75 cents for Six Months;
’ 50 eents Ttin • Months; Single Copies
I 6 cents' -In Advance.
Tho Genesis of Spoons,
Tho earliest spoons were doubtless
made of wood, a hollowed improvement
ott John Chinaman’s ehopstick. These,
in their turn, were supplemented and
displaced by spoons of bone and horn,
from whence wo get tho proverbial ex
pression as to making the spoon or spoil
ing the horn. Then camo spoons of tin
or iron, of rough and inelegant shape,
and hammered by hand, such as may be
seen in many a humble rural kitchen.
In the prosperous Tudor times the pre
cious metals became more plentiful, and
old and silver plate was in such de
mand that every great family had its
own goldsmith. Os this there is abun
dant mention. The will of Katherine
of Arragon bequeaths to her goldsmith
a year’s wages, while Cardinal Wolsey’s
goldsmith. Robert Amadale, as
became that ostentatious gentle
man, was a famous craftsman. In a
“Description of England,” by one Wil
liam Harrison, who was chaplain to Lord
Cobnam in 1586, prefixed to Holliu
shed’s Chronicles, is given a graphic
picture of the increase and spread of
wealth in the country, which speaks of
the exchange of “treene (tinned iron)
platters into pewter, and wooden
spoons into silver or tin;” and con
cludes with a list of the plate usually
possessed by a yeoman, consisting of “n
silver salt, a bowle for wine (if not a
whole neast), and a dozen of spoonos to
finish up the suite.” There can be little
doubt that, at the close of this century,
silver plate among the wealthy classes
was comparatively plentiful.—[Cassell’S
Magazine.
Terra Del Fuego.
Terra del Fuogo, or at least that part
of it which belongs to the Argentine Re
public, is not altogether the miserable
“tail end of creation" which some ex
plorers in their ignorance have painted
it, but a country diversified and pictur
esque in the extreme, with a beautiful
alternation of mountain, upland an 1
plain, with immense forests of seven,
varieties of valuable timber, with widu
pampas and extended plains, with a va
riety of succulent grasses suitable for
both cattle and sheep, with a large
number of small rivers ahd watercourses
running to the four points of the com
pass, with lakes and lagoons in different
parts of the interior, with a large num
ber of beautiful bays and harbors, with
various kinds of wild animals valuable
for their flesh and their furs, with an
abundance of excellent game, with a
climate somewhat rigorous in the win
ter, but healthful in the extreme and
suitable for the cultivation of the cereals
and nearly all varieties of vegetables; a
country, indeed, which is capable of
wonderful development and possess
ing quite all the elements necessary for
sustaining a large population. There is
no country which has been so persist
ently maligned and misrepresented, and
simply because' those who visited its
coasts never penetrated into its interior,
but drew their conclusions from what
they saw, or imagined they saw, from
their ships.—[Report of Consul Baker.
The Priesthood In Russia.
A writer in the New York Observer,
describing life in Russia, says there the
priesthood are divided into two classes—
the white anti the black clergy. The white
clergy arc the parish priests, are obliged
to murry, and have duties corresponding
to those of pastors in this country. The
black clergy, or, as they are called, “the
black monks,” hold the places of power
in the church, are celibates, and live in t
monasteries. Their dress gives their#
names to the priests. Not unnaturally,
the white priests and the black monks
are anything but friends.
Live Weight and Dead.
First Omaha Man—Does a dead animal
weigh more than a live one?
Second Omaha Man—l should say so.
Last summer Jack and I went fishing,
and Jack caught a big fish, which I
weighed at once before it was dead, and
the weight wu* three pounds.
“ Yes.”
“ Well, Jack took that fish home, and I
the next day 1 heard him tell a,. man it |
weighed um .posoda,- .Omalm Workl,
NO. 15.