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VOL. I.
SONG.
If lilies bloomed the whole year through
And roses never faded;
If skies were always bright and blue,
With no dark clouds o’orshaded;
We ne’er had knoA’n the charms of spring,
The cool delight the shadows bring.
And should the sun ne’er set or rise,
Lost were eve’s graces tender,
The moon’s soft light, the starry skies,
The morning's glowing splendor;
The melting hues of day and night
Would ne’er have mingled in the sight.
If life no care nor trouble had,
Sour were the wine of pleasure;
The heart that’s gayest oft is sad;
’Tis labor sweetens leisure;
When smiles and tears in life's cup blond .
Tne years flow happy to the end.
—Alfred Lavington.
FAREWELL to the DOBSONS t^e
f ,
•
In every community,no matter how
democratic, one family, at least, is
considered beneath the social level.
Their lower rank does not come from
any difference of wealth, intellect or
morality, but is due, almost entirely,
to the general shiftlessnes3 of the
neglected family. Often the judg-
ment of the neighborhood is just, but
it is not always '
so.
Mrs. Dobson once said, “How do
they know? We never had any chance
here in Nebraska. We were As good
as the best where we come from, and
I’m sure I’ve worked hard ’enough to
be somebody; but what can a woman
do with seven children, and a man as
lazy as the Platte river?”
Mi - . Dobson looked up with a good-
natured grin, but .said nothing. Ap-
parently, he took no more notice of
his wife, who went off’ to spread her
meagre washing on the gum-weeds.
He tilted his rude chair back against
the trunk of a giant cottonwood, and
looked over the landscape with lazy
enjoyment. From his position, he
coukPqee down long vistas of dark,
shining, blue-green corn-stalks and
beyond them the Platte.
“Meanest, dirtiest water I ever
saw,” he thought, dubiously. “’Taint
no good to anybody. Don’t fetch
down any mill power; can’t tote any
trade boats; isn’t ever two days alike,
it’s so shifty and sneaking. ‘As lazv
as the Platte.’ Well! well!”
He sighed, and glanced sheepishly
at his wife, who was shaking out the
last tattered garment of the washing.
He watched her uneasily a moment,
and then his eyes wandered vaguely
to the far-off purple bluffs across the
river; but what he saw was a distance
of years instead of miles.
“Abner,’’called bis wife,plaintively,
“just look at me. Ireckon Mrs. Bar¬
nard hasn’t got any such sand-burs as
we have. She don’t get pricked to
pieces when she goes to spread her
washing. I do wish you’d—” but she
stopped hopelessly.
“Mis’ Barnard don’t have to spread
her washing,” corrected Abner, dog¬
gedly; “she’s got yards and yards of
clothes-line and pins and baskets and
a machine.”
Melvina Dobson glanced at her hus¬
band anxiously. Never before had he
seemed uneasy or envious. “I reckon
Mis’ Barnard has her drawbacks,’’she
admitted, generously.
“Yes,” answered her husband,
moodily, “and Barnard ain’t no more
willing than I’d be if I was him. His
paw left him money, and mine didn’t.
I know one thing, though, if I was
Barnard, Mis’ Barnard wouldn’t wash,
if she did have a machine. I’d sell
the pigs first.”
Melvina looked at him gratefully.
“I know it, Abner,” she answered,
soothingly, “you always have been
good to me. If there ain’t money
enough for both, you always want me
have it. I reckon ’tain’t your fault
that we are so poor; I don’t care for
myself, but the children.”
She broke off suddenly, and went
in to get the scanty dinner. Abner
took down his rusty hoe, and passed
reluctantly into the neglected-patch.
He was working with great delibera¬
tion when his half-grown daughter
passed, “Sallie,” jvithout called. speaking.
he
The girl seemed not to hear him.
She held her head with an air of
offended dignity, and looked neither
to'the right nor to the left. A second
call from her father brought her to a
defiant pause.
“I say,” he called, lazily, “what
ails you? Have I done anything?”'
“Reckon not,” she answered, Sul¬
lenly.
“And your maw don’t seem ffatural.
Is she ailing?”
The girl looked him full in the face,
and her eyes were not jdeasant. “Oh,
maw,” she answered, sharply, “why,
THE TRIBUNE o ft
“Don’t Give Up tta.© Stiip.”
BUCHANAN. UA., FRIDAY, JULY 1898.
maw is kind of worn out with c' ur h
socials and things, maw is. It’s most
made her sick, sewing on her new silk
dress and doing up her hair. And
now there’s the party at Sansen’s.”
“Sansen’s?”
“Yes, when they move into the new
house. Everybody has been asked,
even Mis’ Jenkins, ’cepting maw. Maw
has such fine clothes and is so stuck
up, that she wasn’t bid. „
Abner turned the hoe in his hands,
and watched a potato-bug travel calm¬
ly from one hill to another. Some¬
thing in his attitude touched the
child. Suddenly she lost her look of
defiance, and said brokenly:
“Maw couldn’t go anyway, she’s
got nothin’ to wear. Her old gray
dress turned yellow in the sun years
1
| about Sansen’s party, I thought I’d
, color maw’s dress and have it ready.”
j A tragic silence followed. Abner
looked up questiouingly.
! “-"She can t wear it no more,”
answered the girl, unsteadily; “it
! turned brown and green, and went all
spotted and speckled.”
j For a minute the silence was heavy;
f then Abner said gently, “Never mind
Bailie; I’m real proud of you tor try-
iu S- Now you ruu along and help
y° 111 ' maw. Y'ou’re a good girl,
Bailie.”
Tbe child went back to the shabby
S0( l bouse with smiling eyes, and left
ber father to his own devices. From
the force of long habit he sat down to
cultivate his thoughts, while the bugs
the weeds waxed strong among
the potatoes. TV hat he thought today
was something new and strange, and
11 °t agreeable. Often bis mind re-
verted to the coming party,
When the company finally assembled
at the Sansen’s they repaid Abner
Dobson for his speculations by freely
and frankly discussing him and his.
“Oh, folks like the Dobsons don’t
cave,” insisted Mrs. Sansen; “they
could get ahead if they wanted to.
Sansen and me didn’t have anything
but a mortgage when we started, and
now look at the farm and its improve¬
ments. ”
“The rest of us ain’t far behind,”
laughed Mrs. Early. “Only fourteen
years ago we drove into the state 'With
a span of horses, a wagonload of
furniture, and two dollars.”
“We are all better off,” suggested
someboby else, “tli n our folks that
we left behind.”
“Except the Dobsons,” corrected
Mrs. Sansen.
“Why are they so far behind?”
asked Mrs. Barnard, in the tone of a
newcomer. “Weren’t they early set¬
tlers?”
“Of course they were,” answered
Mrs. Sansen, “but they didn’t use
their chances. They were too shift¬
less for anything. ”
A little faded woman in rusty black,
whom Sallie Dobson bad spoken of as,
“even Mis’ Jenkins,” looked up with
keen protest in her eyes.
Mrs. Early saw the glance, and has¬
tened to smooth things over by say¬
ing, “Maybe the Dobsons haven’t used
judgment, but they did work better
before they got so discouraged. While
the rest of us were getting a start,
they had more than their share of
sickness and death and accidents to
their property.”
“You needn’t worry about that,”
broke in Mrs. Jenkins, “they are going
back to the mountains. Mrs. Dobson
told me that they was tired of being
lonesome.”
A sudden uneasy hush fell on the
little company, followed by a confused
demand for further information.
Mrs. Barnard sat listening to the
talk, which had drifted back to the
days before she lived iu the neighbor¬
hood. When a pause finally occurred
in the conversation, she turned to her
companions and asked brightly, “Why
can’t we give the Dobsons a farewell
party? I am sure it would please
them; and whatever we saw lit to give
would seem prompted by friendship
rather than charity.”
The women looked at each other in
keen surprise, but before one could
protest, Mrs. Barnard spoke again; “I
was thinking how much Mr. Dobson
needed another horse, since one of
his span died. I am going to give him
my old Bess. She is homely and
rather meat!, but she can work. Mr.
Barnard said yesterday that we liad
too many horses.”
“I can’t do anything so handsome,”
exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins, “but I cau
give a quilt or two.”
“And I some canned fruit, and a
ham'or so,” added Mrs. Early.
The enthusiasm spread, aud amid a
confusion of tongues, the list of dona-
tions grew and grew. !
“Suppose you stop ou the way
home, Mrs. Barnard,’’suggested some
one, “and tell them about the party.
I’m afraid they wouldn’t be tidy
enough to enjoy a surprise.” .*
So when the party dispersed, Mrs.
Barnard delivered the ueighborhood
message, and passed ou with a smile
of satisfaction.
From that time forth a new life
dawned on the Dobsons. Their lamp
was the last in the valley to go out at
night, and the first to be lighted iu
the morning. The whole family
seemed possessed with a fever of joy¬
ous excitement.
“Got to have everything slick aud
mended,” admonished Abner; “can’t
go off leaving things shiftless like.”
When the eventful day of the party
finally arrived, everything was in per¬ i
fect order. Two hours before the ear¬
liest guest could be expected, Mrs.
Dobson went to the door in her fresh, !
,
new calico, and looked about anxious- !
iy.
“They will be along now pretty
soon,” she announced, excitedly;
“you haven’t forgot your piece, have
you, Abner?”
“I reckon not,” he answered,
thoughtfully, as he flicked a straw
from his new overalls; “it begins —
‘Fellow neighbors.’”
“Oh, never mind about sayin’ it
now,paw,’ she interrupted, “I reckon
you will get through wheu the time,
comes.
But Abner was not certain. He
repeated it over and over again. Even
during the arrival of the people, he
could not escape its hauuting phrases,
He forgot it only when he went to see
the unexpected gifts from his neigh.-
bors. Then his vision suddenly grew
dim, aud his mind confused.
He wandered back to the end of the
house which the men had appropri-*
ated. After a moment he drew him-
self erect, and began in a loud, arti-
ficial tone: “Fellt-v neighbors—”
The unusual address attracted the
notice of those nearest. A wave of
silence passed on to the women’s edge
of the company.
“Feller neighbors,”he began again,
“me and Mis’ Dobson feel to thank
you for this here unexpected notice,
Mayby we-uns ain’t been any credit to
you-all before, but after this we’re
going to be.”
He clqared his throat, while the
people looked at each other question- j
iugly. His wife prompted him quickly,
“Mis’ Dobson aud me—” she whis-
pered.
“Mis’ Dobson and me, ”he rejreated,
“got lonesome, and thought we’d bet-
ter go back to our kin. But lately I
you-all have showed we-uns that there
is kin nearer than them of blood.
They didn’t give us no farewell party.
You-all have been mighty good; Mis’
Dobson and me know that there ain’t
no other such neighborhood on earth.
So we ain’t going to the mountains. ”
A gasp of astonishment, almost of
consternation, escaped the company.
“We ain’t going,” he concluded;
“we-uns are going to stay right here
and act like white folks. That’s all,
fellow neighbors.” He sat down in
silence and confusion.
Tbe neighbors were startled, but
they had undertaken to make this
party a success; to a man, they arose
to meet the new occasion. For the
first time they made the Dobsons wel¬
come.
After the party was over, when the
last wagons were separating, Mrs.San¬
sen said, “I’m glad we did it, anyhow.
It’s just made people of them Dob¬
sons. Him aud Billy come over and
cut all them C » nada thistles we
blamed them for.’ -
“And mended our barbed wire
fence,” added Mrs. Early, “and fixed
Mrs. Jenkins’s plow.”
“Say,Mrs. Barnard,” laughed some
one, “your party was a big fizzle as a
‘good-by. 1 1 » softly,
“Perhaps,” she answered,
“but I think it was a great success as
a farewell to the Dobsons. Good
night, dear.”
The well-satisfied neighbors passed
under the quiet stars, . which looked
down peacefully, long after they had
vanished, on the lazy, vacillating
Platte, and today Dobsons, re¬
generated by neighborly kindness and
made active by sympathy and ap¬
proval, bear .no resemblance to the
sluggish, unlovely stream.—Youth’s
Companion.
A tooth of Sir Isaac Newton was
sold to a nobleman in 1816 for a large
sum. He had it placed in a ring, aud
wore it constantly ou his finger.
SOCIAL LIFE IN MANILA.
A Nightly Picturesque Scene Along It*
Fashionable Promenade.
“The Luueta is the fashionable
promenade in Manila, and one may
there see the best social side of the
Philippines, The Luneta is a sort of
Fifth avenue along the banks of the
Passig river. The composite character
of the population in Manila makes the
throngs of people along the Luneta
very picturesque. A long bridgo ex¬
tends along the Passig and the prom¬
enade is across that. The shops and
stores of the city are close at hand,
aud at night they are gorgeously illu¬
minated. The street electric lights
shed their effulgence oh the moving
mass of humanity, aud the music by
the baud enlivens the scene. I never
saw such picturesque throngs in
America. Every one smokes a cigar
or cigarette. There are beggars by
the hundred, Hindoos and Japanese
in tlieir native garments. The Boculs,
or native Indians, come trooping along
1,1 b , * ve . eet , f'!! 1 , «emi-nndity. . There
are the latest Parisian styles and the
raggedest, poorest people imaginable.
Here comes a family group with the
parents at the head, arrayed in gar¬
ments of reds, blues and purples.
The father strides along with a huge
cigar in his mouth, and liis wife witli
a cigarette. Next follow a group of
smiling, chattering padres from the
numerous Catholic churches or the
great cathedral, and all, too, are pnff-
j U g at mammoth cigars. Then there
are Japanese by hundreds, Chinese
] JV scores,and native Malays and Neg-
ritos by thousands. They all wear
light, fabrics, flowing garments of gay-col-
ored and all smoke. Here
comes a company of native girls with
raven hair and*the blackest of black
eves, set off by fresh olive complex-
ions and the ruddiest of lips. They
wear black lace mantillas on their
heads and some pretty flowers deck
their hair. Their dress is of loose
thin red aud white fabrics. As they
go sauntering along behind a parent
or chaperon they roll cigarettes and
smoke like old professionals. Spanish
soldiers and naval officers in gaudy
uniforms are always in the throngs
that promenade the Luneta at night.
Here there ai( Europeans in linen
suits and bamboo helmet hats. Occa-
sionally one may see an American
among the promenaders, but there are
fewer than 150 Americans on Luzon
island. The pmrade continues back
and forth until after midnight. Fash-
ion and poverty go side by side. It
is the only chance that lovers have to
see one another, and it is always
amusing to Americans to see how
these young folks in the Orient make
tlieir passionate longings known to
one another.”—New York Bun.
The Earth’s Cloud-Belt.
A writer in Knowledge makes a
vivid picture of the great belt of clouds,
some three hundred miles in breadth,
which surrounds the earth a little
north of the equator. Within this
belt rain almost incessantly falls,
sometimes in sheets and the wind sel¬
dom stirs. Before the invention of
steamships, vessels becalmed in the
“cloud-belt” sometimes drifted help¬
less for weeks. Even now the cross¬
ing of this belt, where everything is
surcharged with moisture, is a disa¬
greeable experience for voyagers
going from the North to the South
Atlantic ocean, or vice versa. The
belt cau be traced across equatorial
Africa and across tbe American isth¬
mus, and the great rivers, Amazon,
Orinoco, Niger, Nile and Congo,
arise in these rain-soaked regions,
which are like exhaustless reservoirs
The cause of the equatorial cloud-
belt is connected with the trade-winds,
and in the course of a year it oscillates
north and south over a distance breadth. equal
to about three times its own
Mummies of Ancient King;*.
Probably the most important find
of its sort ever made in Egypt is that
of M. Leret,who has discovered seven
royal mummies in a tomb at Thebes.
The principal figure of the group is
Ameuophis the Second, who reigned
1500 B. C. Iu an outer chamber be¬
fore the tomb lay the slaughtered
bodies of four persons, not mummified
by art, but perfectly preserved by na<
ture.
Not Buying,
Proprietor—I think that lady over
there is not being properly waited
ujdod.
Shopwalker—Oh, she doesn’t want
to buy anything. Everything that has
been shown her she has declared per¬
fectly lovely. She hasn’t found fault
iu the least with anything.—Tit-Bits.
NO. 33.
CUBA ONCE ENGLISH.
tVh«>n mid How th«> British Won the
Island From Spain.
The rich island of Cuba was once
in the possession of England.
In the spring of 17(52* a fleet left
Falmouth for the West Indies. George,
the third Earl of Albemarle, com¬
manded the expedition, while under
him served his two brothers. On June
6, 1762, the Heet cast anchor before
Havana with an army of 11,000 men
on board.
At daybreak on the 7th the aiege
commenced.
The art of waging war iu the hot
climates is to choose the cool season
of the year. Unfortunately for the
British Cuba was extremely hot and
unhealthy in the month of June, aud
it was therefore the very worst season
in which the siege of Havana could
have been attempted.
After Havana had fallen the Earl of
Albemarle wrote home to the secre¬
tary of state: “We are now better
acquainted with the climate than we
were when the present expedition was
undertaken aud it is certain that the
only season iu the year for troops to
act in is from the beginning of No¬
vember to the latter end of March.
The Morro fort was the chief point
of resistance ; it guarded the entrance
to the harbor of Havana. Supporting
the guns of the fort were eleven Span¬
ish men-of-war. Six of these carried
seventy guns, one carried ninety-four
and the remainder were sixty-gnn
ships. It took three weeks to get the
siege guns landed and in position.
The Spaniards fought bravely and did
great damage to the attacking fleet.
By the middle of July the defense
was practically at an end. On Aug.
12 articles of capitulation were signed
and the victors proudly set 1141 the Brit¬
ish flag in Havana after a splendid
tight for the richest city in the Indies.
At the assault of Morro 706 Span¬
iards were killed, wounded and taken
prisoners. The Spanish loss alto¬
gether was not less than 5000 men.
The British losses were 560 during the
fight and by the end of October (the
ran, had been dying oft' like flies from
sickness owing to the climate) the
death roll arose to the enormous num¬
ber of 4708.
Although Albemarle sent off a
great number of survivors to New
York to recruit their health the mor¬
tality was very great there, and he
eventually fouud himself iu command
of only 2000 men. It is interesting
to note in passing that his estimate
of the force necessary to hold Cuba
was 6000 men. Spain today has more
than 100,000 men in Cuba.
On Feb. 10, 1763, the treaty of Paris
was concluded between England.
France aud Spain, and Cuba passed
again under Spanish rule, being given
up almost for the asking.
"Walking Erect.
Very few persons walk well. The
little girl of six summers, with her
pretty new dress on, walks as straight
and elegantly as ever she will. Her
little feet are thrown forward with an
elasticity peculiar to that age. The
little girl of thirteen begins to be
careless, bends her back forward, and
goes diving into the schoolroom as if
she were going to swim. At sixteen
she steps along with short steps,
striking her heels hard on the floor
with a don’t-cave-for-anybody sort of
walk. At eighteen she thinks more
of gait, and tries to recall that of her
earlier childhood. ? The boy of eleven,
with his new thick boots, plants his
foot like a soldier, and never knows
that his boots disturb anybody. Many
children are taught at home aud at
school to walk on their toes. This
will do iu a sick-room, when one has
squeaking shoes, but it is not natural
or elegant. Put the heels down lightly
at first, and the toes last ; this keens
the body erect, instead of bending the
body forward as a person must bend
who walks ou his toes.—New Y’ork
Ledger.
Memorial to Caedmon.
Caedmon, “the morning voice of
England,” the monk who first sang of
the creation of the world’s growth, is
to have a memorial in the form of a
Gothic cross erected on tne old abbey
heights on the chalk cliffs of Whitby.
The inscription will be lines from his
poem in Runic letters with a trausla-
tion in modern English.
An Enormous Piano.
A Roumanian manufacturer has an¬
nounced his intention of sending to
the Paris Exhibition of 1900 a piano¬
forte of such exceptional sonority that
its tones will be heard at a distance
of six miles.