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®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.