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44 THE SOUTHERN WORLD, DECEMBER 1, 1882. " The world, dear child, !■ as we take it, and Lite, be sure, Is what we make It." THANKSGIVING HYMN. O Lord of love and light I Creator Infinite! Benignant God I We come before thy Ihrono Thy sovereign might to own, Thy love to laud. Without thy help In vain Toe farmer sows the grain, Or guides the plow; Through thee his work Is done, The crowns of victory won That decks his brow I The harvest's rich Increase, Wealth, honor, power, and peace, Come from thy hand, No end thy love doth know, Thy blessings overflow The smiling land. All-wise, benignant Friend I Wliat man can comprehend Tby wisdom's ways? Incline to us thine ear. And condescend to bear Our feeble praise; Our grateful thanks receive— Tis all that we can give, Ruler divine I We are thy pensioners— The boundless universe. Father! Is tlilne. Almighty God! In thee Our stronghold sure shall be, Forevermore; In trust thy hand we take— Bless us for Jesus' sake In soul and store! Charles W. IIiiinku. THE TUFTED DOVE. This dove is remarkable on many accounts. It has a very slender body, short bill very much bent at the tip, long sharp wings, long wedge-shaped tail, and a sharp tuft on top of the head, on account of which it is regarded the archetype of the class Ocyphapi. The feathers of the back part of the head are black, and those of the upper sides light olive brown. The larger wings (for they are made up of three divisions.) are of a greenish bronze with white border, the smaller ones being brown. The graceful form of this dove, to gether with other characteristics, makes it one of the most beautiful found in Australia. It may often be seen in the dales of Wellington and in the neigh borhood. The second kind of this group is the bronze-wing dove, which is(considered the representative of the class known as the Schiller dove. The bronze-wing dove is brown on the upper side, dark brown on the back of the head, wine colored and gray on the lower side, the forehead, a band near the eye and on the throat are yellowish white, the other sides of the throat are gray, some of the wing feathers are of a brassy copper and green pointed, and the mid dle tail leathers are brown, the rest be ing gray. The eye is dark and red- brown, the bill very dark gray and the foot red. The female dove has not the light head border, its color is grayer and the points are smaller. Its length is a little less than 13 inches, that of the wings and tail respectively S!4 and 5 inches. This dove belongs to the birds of New Holland, which were found by the first naturalists. It seems to live over the whole world, but in certain parts only is a bird of passage. It prefers dryness and pine barrens, where it stays mostly at nights; in the morning as soon as the sun rises it flies out to the water. The meat of this dove is eaten by all classes in New Holland. finger’s, and beside him walked, or rather trotted, bis son Tom, who closely resembled his parent, and was a boy of wonderful abil ities in the vaulting and double somersault line. There was frost in the air, and father and son trudged homeward with rapid steps, never pausing till they reached the outskirts of the city, and there they were at last at the gate of a low, whitewashed paling before the smallest one-story house you ever saw. There were two gate-posts, of course, and upon each one was perched a little Jollyfin- ger. The small, shivering, blue-eyed young ster who called out so cherrily, "Happy Thanksgi vin’, papa 1 ” was Johnny Jollyfin- ger, and the one on the opposite post was little, flaxen-haired Top. “Yes, sure enough, Thankgiving's come around again,” replied Father Jolly finger. “How’s mother and the baby ? ’’ “Mother is first-rate, and baby is under the lounge, ” promptly replied Top. ‘That’s good news. And now down with you, you young rogues. Don’t you know better than to sit shivering up there, when you might be toasting your toes before a comfortable fire 7” answered the senior Jol- lytinger, giving a helping hand to each rosy- cheeked lud. They were down from their elevated seats in a twinkling, uud scampering off to the house, shouting, at every step: “Futhcr and Tom’s come, mother 1 Hur rah for Thanksgivin’ 1 ” Mrs. Jollyfinger, a small woman of the dumpling order, was patiently dividing her atttdntion, at the moment Top and Johnny tumbled into the kitchen, between the sup per and a blue-eyed baby, who had succeed ed in reaching a red ball that had rolled quite out of sight under the lounge, and was slowly making her way to the stove for a work bard for the simple comforts we pos- “That’s just what I was telling Tom as we came along,” rejoined Mr. Jollyfinger, heart ily, “and yet there are people who never can be made to see their.blessings or to be thankful for any thing.” "Well, that maybe so,” said Top, some what unsympathetically,, “but I'd like to know what old Daddy Bllvins has got to be thankful for; and when Johnny and I went there last week with that pie he was a-pray- in’, ’cause we looked through the window and seen him, and waited outside till be got done." "Yes, that’s so,” earnestly endorsed John ny ; “and he says the Lord raises up friends for him because he believes in and trusts Him.” “But it was mother that gave Daddy Bliv- ins the trowsers and bed-quilt,” pointedly reminded Top. "Suppose it was," sharply retorted John ny. “Didn’t the Lord put it in her heart to do it?" “May be so; but I wonder if the Lord will send him a good dinner to-morrow,” replied the disbelieving Top. “You may be sure He will,” said Mr. Jol lyfinger, “for the Lord put it in my heurt a week ago to place an extra plate on the table to-morrow for Daddy Blivins; and now fall to and dispose of your supper, my lads, for I see it is reudy, and mother is waiting to take the baby." The boys needed no second invitation. Top asking, as he received his share of the mut- ton-stew: “Is he to drink out of the cup, too, moth er?” "Why, yes, of course!” replied the little woman. “It is not likely we would ask him to dinner and then refuse to treat him as THE TUFTED DOVE. THE FAMOUS CDF OF THE JOLLY* FINGERS. A THANK80IVIHQ STORY. The clocks in the tall steeples rang out merrily six o'clock. The foundry bells and the factory bells caught up the sound send ing it forth in every direction, as if deter mined to outdo the clocks if possible, or at least to quite destroy the beauty of their music. The streets swarmed with people because of this bell-ringing, and men, women and children hurried out from factories and foundries with eager haste, some going in one direction, some in another, and all look ing unusually happy and desirous of reach ing home as soon as might be. Among the crowd was one particularly bright, rosy, laughing face, that nobody could mistake forany other than Papa Jolly- closer inspection of a covered pot upon the hearth, from which escape fragrant little whiffs of steam. Mrs. Jollyfinger was has tening to the rescue, when the door opened, admitting her husband and Tom. The former caught up his dimpled baby girl, al most smothering her with kisses, while Tom exclaimed delighted; “There’s a hint of Thanksgiving in to night’s supper, sure, else my nose is playing me false, and my eyes, too, for that matter.” And he looked longingly overhis mother's shoulder at the pot, from which issued the appetising steam. “Why, don’t you know that our Thanks gi vin’ always begins the night before?" said Johnny, in a tone meant to be reproachful. “Last year it was stewed tripe and oysters, and this year it’s mutton, two pounds, twelve cents a pound. Top and I bought it, and there’s onions and potatoes and some other nice things a-stewin’ in it.” * And the prolonged sniff with which John ny honored the pot in question spoke elo quently of his entire approval Of its savory coutenls, "It’s my opinion, my dears," said Mrs. Jollyfinger, pushing them all aside with a sweep of her chubby arms in order to provide room for dishing up the supper—"in my opinion, it’s Thanksgiving all the year 'round in this bouse, and I’m sure it'ought to be, for we’ve a great deal to be thankful for, though we are poor folks, and have to one of us.” No sooner was supper over than the boys began to nod, and one by one they stole off to bed sleepily, Impatient for to-morrow and Thanksgiving to come. By nine o'clock, quiet reigned in the Jol lyfinger household. The fire had gone out in the kitchen-stove, and only the moon beams lingered among the homely articles on the doal-dresser, the stiff wooden chairs and bare floor. The Jollyfingers little and big, always retire early. It was never rightly known who was out of bed first the next morning. Top declared it was himself, while Johnny was just as positive it was he. and Tom was equally cer tain that both were wrong, and that he alone was the one entitled to the honor of being the first to greet the early rays of the blessed Thanksgiving sun. After breakfast there was so much to do that the three boys were obliged to "pitch in,” as Tom said, “and help mother with the dinner." There was the room to sweep, the dishes to wash and everything to dust and put in or der, besides the baby to look after and the turkey to prepare for the oven. Everybody being so busy, the morning passed all to oquickly, and it wasone o'clock, Mrs. Jollyfinger declared, “before they knew An hour later, Daddy Blivins arrived, bent, old and badly twisted with “rheuma- tls,” but looking wonderfully cheerful and at peace with the world. As soon as Mr. Jollyfinger had seen the feeble old man comfortably seated beside the stove, with the baby on his knee, be silently disappeared through the door leading to the best room. The proper browning of the turkey was a heavy responsibility weighing upon Mrs. Jollyfingers’s mind, and nobody expected a word from her till every one should be seat ed around the table and the dinner placed smoking hot before them. It is needless to say that complete success crowned her efforts. The turkey, stewed cranberries, baked potatoes, home-made bread and miuce-pies were all that they should be, and as Mrs. Jollyfinger surveyed the bountifully spread board, with the steam ing coffee-pot in her hand, she had a right to feel pround of her work, and to bid husband, guest and children to the feast with beaming eyes and smiling lips. “Now, this is what I call jolly,” said Tom, getting into his place with all speed, and without seeming to notice the silver cup, half-covered with a snow-white napkin, that his father somewhat gravely deposited in the centre of the table, as if to give as much dis tinction as possible. Daddy Blivins offered a blessing, during which impressive moment Top and Johnny tried their best not to look at the tempting brown drumsticks so engagingly displayed on the huge blue disn that, next to the sil ver cup, was the pride and delight of the Jollyfingers, young and old. Grace said, the serving began amid much happy talk and pleasant illusions to past Thanksgivings. Sundry sly winks and nudges, and smothered bursts of laughter from Top and Johnny, told conclusively that they were enjoying themselves to the ut most, and the baby chuckled in sympathy in such a funny manner that the boys could hardly dispose of their liberal supply of good things for the mirth that threatened toburst their jackets without the aid of the drumsticks. The silver cup, the only article of any real value on the table, had been in the Jollyfinger family for five genera tions, and was likely so to be for many generations to come.To drink from the silver cup was happiness enough for the boys, and always markedrare nerioda , in their lives, for.never did theprecious heirloom appear on the table except at Thanksgiving and Christmas, when so cial festivities and good cheer were the common enjoyments of the day. All the cup contained was pure, cold water. It was solemnly handed around justbefore they arose from the table, and wheneach had taken a sip, beginning with Father Jollyfinger and ending with Master Top, it was rever ently replaced in the centre of the board by Mrs. Jollyfinger and care* fully recovered with the napkin. And this the Jollyfingers do every Thanksgiving. It is their way of pledging themselves to drink neither wine nor aught that intoxicates, rob bing men of mannood,honor and reason, during the year—aye, and for all their lives. It was the way of Grandfather, ~ and of Great-grandfather Jollyfinger, and will no doubt be the way of Tom and Johnny and Top, since it is said that as the twig is bent so will the tree incline.— Helen J. Hicks in Qolden Days. yes, The Dreams of Youth, Who can estimate the power and influ ence of the dreams of youth ? Who can re late the consequences flowing from the. youthful fan cy ? In the spring-time of life, when the young sapling is just beginning to take firm root in the earth, the though ts and habits that will mould the tree are all form ed. Every transient turn of the imagina tion, every idea elaborated by the toying brain, is a source of good or evil. In the heart of youth arise the visions of the future life. Dwarf not this spirit. Let it live; nourish it as you would the vital spark, and never cease to foster its growth tillitsprings into glad fruition. The dreams of youth make the men of genius. It is then that spirit may be aroused which in future will rule the many and raise ita. possessor to the heights of fame. It is the fancy of youth that produces the nobility of manhood The red-letter days of a man’s life, are the days of a well-spent youth.—Emory Mirror. What rhymes to boys and girls? What, nothing else but toys and curls? Why not joys and Southern World! ?