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She .Cifiunnnnb vvibunc.
published by the Tunnrsr. Publishing Oo i
J. H. DEVEAUK, M&nagbb. ° .
B. W. WHITE, Solicitor. j
V OL. 11.
jSTEWLY FITTED UP.
L laborinTmen’s home
) B. Brown, Proprietor,
182 Bryan St., SAVANNAH, GA,
Meals at all hours. Choicest brands of
wines, liquors and cigars always on hand.
BENNETT'S
HUMAN BAIR EMPORIUM.
Ladies’ and Gents’ wigs made to order.
Also Fronts, Toupees, Waves, Curls,
frizzes and Hair Jewelry. We root and
make up ladies’ own combings in any
desirable style. We have character Wigs
and Beards of all kinds to rent for Mas
querades and entertainments. Ladies and
children Hair cutting and shampooning.
Also, hair dressing aUyour residence if
required. We cut and trim bangs in all
of the latest styles. Cash paid for cut
hair and combings of all kinds. All goods
willingly exchanged if not satisfactory.
Kid Gloves Cleaned.
R. M. BENNETT,
No. 56 Whitaker St. Savannah, Ga.
FRANK LIN F. JONES,
AT STALL NO. 31, IN THE MARKET,
Announces to his friends and the public
that he keeps on hand a fresh supply of
the best Beef, Veal and Mutton, also all
kinds of game when in season, and will
be glad to wait on his customers as usual
with politeness and promptness. His
prices are reasonable and satisfaction is
guaranteed. Goods delivered if desired.
DON'T FORGET, STALL NO. 31.
GREEN GROCERY.
—o —
FIELDS
THE OLD RELIABLE
GREENGROCER
WOULD inform his friends and the
public that he still holds the fort
t his old stand corner South Broad and
East Boundry streets, where he keeps on
hand constantly, a full supply of fresn
Beef, Veal, Mutton, Pork, Fish, Poultry,
Eggs, Game and all kinds of Vegetables.
Prices reasonable—to suit the times.
Goods delivered if desired.
Making Fortunes in Washington.
I was walking up Sixteenth street,
says a Washington correspondent, and
I came to two stone houses of a bluish
color, very well built. Said I: “Who
is doing that work ?” I was given the
name of a man I imperfectly identified.
“Who is he,” I asked.
“Oh, he is the big pension agent here.
He is worth $1,000,000.”
This reminded me of a house in this
city about seventeen years ago, which
was a wonder of its day. I asked what
rich man had built it. They told me at
that time that it was built by the big
claim agent in town—one who had made
all his money out of a special class of
claims known as prizes. We must not
be surprised, however, that men make
money by getting their commissions
out of appropriations. Here is Mr.
Corcoran, the big banker, who has been
able to give away money in large sums
for years, often to the good of the com
munity and country; he belonged to a
banking house which grew rich by deal
ing in the Government loans at the time
of the Mexican war. The Government
had to raise the money to carry on the
war, and the Secretary of the Treasury
at that time went over to this bank and
offered a commission. The wealth mere
ly arose from the enormous amorint
which incurred the shave. lor an in
dividual to borrow SIOO,OOO is q uite au
operation. He goes to a bank and says:
“I want this money and will pay 6
t>er cent, for it; I will give you | per
cent, more to find me the money.”
Now, this | per cent, is, I think,
SSOO upon every SIOO,OOO. On every
$1,000,000 it is” $5,000; on every $lO,-
000,000 it is .$50,000; on every $100,000,-
<XX) it is $500,000. The Mexican war
took place forty years ago, and $500,-
000 turned over and over since that
time is as large a fortune as is good for
one man.
larmer Harman Emmons of Still
. )\ater, N. Y., missed buckwheat from
K his granary. On Wednesday night he
■ s ‘ ! a te‘ ar trap in the bin, and about
■ midnight was awakened by a rigorous
■fowling in the granary. The howling
■wa-s done by one of his neighbors, whose
■j?” handa were fast in the steel jaws of
r.*‘ teap. Farmer Emmons improved the
■situation and augmented the conuno-
H- ’n with & baker’s dozen of stripes, well
■aid on with an ox gad. Then, after 3
■ iort lecture on the sin of stealing, he
the prisoner.
The Destiny Maker.
She came, and I who linger’d there,
I saw that she was’Very fair;
And, with my signs that pride suppress’d.
There rose a trembling wish for rest.
But I, who had resolv’d to be
The maker of my destiny,
■ I turn'd mo to my task and wrought,
And so forgot the passing thought.
She paused; and I who question’d there,
I heard she was as good as fair;
And in my soul a still, small voice
Enjoin’d me not to check my choice.
But I, who had re-olved to be
The maker of my destiny,
I bade the gentle guardian down
And tried to think about renown.
She left; and I who wander fear
There’s nothing more to see or hear:
Those walls that ward my paradise
Are very high, nor open twice.
And I, wio had resolv’d to be
The maker of my destiny.
Can only wait without the gate
And sit and sigh: “Too late! too late!’’
—[George Lansing Raymond.
THE MAJOR’S WARD.
The glow and glitter of a tropical mid
night was over the lonely tent where
Col. Temple lay dying—the monotonous
chirp of some East Indian night-bird
filled the air with mournful melody, and
the little clock had just struck 12.
“Darrell, you’ll not forget!” said the
sick man, suddenly raising himself on
his elbow 7 .
“I’ll not forget, Leopold,” Major
Darrell responded, soothingly. “Lie
down and be at rest; your last wishes
shall be faithfully carried out!”
“1 know it is asking a good deal of
you,” resumed Col. Temple; “butshe is
all the relation I have in the world—the
only child of my only sister. Poor
Lily—l sometimes think if I had been a
little kinder to her she wouldn’t have
run away with the villian who married
her. But that’s all past and gone—past
and gone? They sent her to an orphans
asylum somewhere—the child, I mean.
And she is at service now—Lily Tem
ple’s child—my niece and heiress! Ha!
ha! hal”
And Colonel Temple laughed a cold,
bitter laugh that changed to a groan.
Darrell bent over him in some dismay!
The turbaned East Indian servant ad
vanced.
‘T told you so!” he signaled to his
master’s friend. “He is going out with
the turn of the tide—.twenty minutes
past twelve!”
Dhurum Jashce was right. At twenty
minutes past twelve Colonel Leopold
Temple died.
“Children, will you keep still? How
on earth am I ever to commit my spelling
lesson, if you make such a racket as this?’’
Lydia Kempfield sat before the kitchen
table, her thumbs in her ears, her fin
gers thrust through her uncombed tres
ses and her elbows among the unwashed
dishes. She was an overgrown girl of
thirteen, with great black eyes, gener
ally half-veiled by tangled hair, a skin
as brown as a berry and a bib-apron so
dirty that it looked as if she might have
used it—as she probably had—for a dus
ter.
“Bother the spelling. B. A. Ba—K.
A. R. ker, Ba-ker,” barked out Master
Rodolphe Jones, balancing neatly on the
back of his chair. “Wash the dishes
first, Lyddy, or I’ll tell ma.”
“I can’t, the water ain’t hot. Mind
your own business Rode!”
“I know somefin,” croaked Philip Au
gustus Jones, who was making pies of
ashes on the hearth. “May says she’s
goin’ to choke off this ere evenin’ school
business for Lyddy. Ma’s goin’ to take
in shirts and set Lyddy at the button
holes.”
“Tell us a story, Lyddy I” coaxed
Meggy, the youngest and least intolera
ble of the lot. “Piease! Just one be
fore going to school.”
“Well, then listen,” said Lydia, sud
denly turnlig round. Rodolphe de
scended from his aerial height—Philip
Augustus left his pies to the mercy of
the cat, who at once proceeded to roil
over in them, and Meggy leaned her el
bows on Lydia’s knee.
“Go on, Lyddy, we’itf all ready,” they
cried in chorus.
SAVANNAH. GA.. SATURDAY. APRIL 16.1887.
“Once upon a time, children, there
was a palace, all made of gold, with the
windows of clear diamonds, and—”
But the unexpected opening of the
kitchen door knocked the castles of gold
and diamonds into the dim realms of
nothingness, and Mrs. Jones flounced
suddenly in, while a tall gentleman
blocked up the doorway, his dark, ques
tioning eyes seeming to take in the whole
scene at a glance.
“There!” cried Mrs. Jones, spitefully,
“it you want to sec my kitchen girl,
here she is, and much good may the
sight do you! But she’s bound legal
and lawful to me till she’s eighteen, and
I’m one as knows my rights as well as
another! No, and ain’t to be cheated
out of ’em, neither—no—not if 1 know
it!”
Major Darrell’s aristocratic lip curled
slightly. For the life of him he could
not help recoiling in spirit from the un
inviting tableau.
Lydia—dirty, greasy and uncombed—
the clamorous children, the reeking,
kitchen! And Lydia’s great, dusky eyes
saw it all. How she wished she were
a little mouse, to run away and hide
from sight at that instant.
“Exactly!” said Major Darrell, slowly.
“Os course, your inconvenience will be
pecuniarily considered, Mrs.—ahem!—
Mrs. ”
“Jones, sir,” interrupted the virago,
now all smiles and curtisies. “To be
sure, sir—l might have knowed you
would ha’ done the correct thing. And
Liddy’s a very good girl, when she ain’t
mooning over her books.”
‘ You will come with me at once, my
child,” said Major Darrell. “I am your
guardian—the representative of the
wishes of your deceased uncle, Colonel
Leopold Temple. The carriage is at the
door.”
And so Lydia Kempfield vanished from
the domestic stage of the little Jones,
and the castle of gold and diamonds was
never finished.
“Is that the wild girl of the woods
you have with you, Darrell?” questioned
Mrs. Seacord, contemptuously, as Major
Darrell waited patiently in one of the
fashionable temples of the city for poor
Lydia to be measured for a clean and
decent outfit of clothing.
“Looks like it, does she?” laughed the
major. I think myself she is rather an
unpromising specimen.”
“What an ugly face!” said Mrs. Sea
cord, lowering her voice. “Whom did
you say she was?”
“Leopold Temple's neice—and heiress,
by the way—and my ward. Is that
your carriage Mrs. Seacord? Pray allow
me the pleasure.”
As the courteous major escorted Mrs.
Seacord to her coupe, Lydia twitched
herself out of the dressmaker’s hands
and ran up to the great mirror.
“They are right,” she said to herself,
after a momentary survey; “lam ugly;
I do look like the wild girl of the woods,
and I wish I was dead—so there!”
And she sullenly went back to Mrs.
Threadneedle, who sat in a sort of mild
amazement, waiting her erratic notions.
The next dav she went to boarding
school. Major Darrell left her at Beau
champ Lodge, with a kindly shake of
the hand.
“Good-by, Lydia,” said he, “I hope
you will do well. Os course, I shall re
ceive quarterly reports of you, and in
case of sickness, or any necessity, pray
call upon me as you would on your own
father.”
So he went away. Lydia stood star
ing after him, with great, glittering eyes
and set lips.
“He never kissed me—he never
stroked my hair," she thought. He don’t
care for me; nobody cares for a wild
girl of the woods. Why couldn’t they
have left me alone in my kitchen..”
Major Darrell was absent in India
eight more years, and when he returned,
the silver threads were beginning to min
gle in his chestnut-brown locks.
“I suppose I must go and see the
little wild girl,” he thought, as he sat
alone by the hotel fire, the first night of
his arrival. And as the reluctant sense
of duty forced itself on his mind, a soft
tap sounded at the door.
“Come in,” said Lionel Darrell, think-
ing only of his slippers or the newspaper,
and in walked a tall, beautiful girl,
slender as a reed and graceful as a lily j
stalk, with purple-black curls, looped
back from a low, broad brow, and eyes
of a melting violet-black. She wore a
simple gray silk, exquisitely made and in ;
excellent taste, and a scarlet cashmere
scarf was thrown picturesquely across j
her shoulders.
“Good evening, guardian,” said she, I
gayly. “I’ve come to welcome you i
home. 1 saw your arrival in the morn- |
ing paper, and as I chanced to be in ;
town with Mrs. Beauchamp, I took ad- 1
vantage of the opportunity!”
“Eh?” gasped the major, “you—you I
are never little Lydia, the wild girl of |
the woods 1”
“But I am,” said she, laughingly i
shaking back her curls. “Time works
wonders, you see, ami I’m so tired of
Beauchamp Lodge!” You’ll take a
house, won’t you ,guardian, and let me j
come and pour your tea and coffee for
you? And let it be by the seashore,
please; I delight in the sea.”
“It shall be wherever you say, ” quoth
Major Darrell, fairly bewildered by the
beautiful vision.
The house was taken ami furnished
regally; a vinegar-visaged old house
keeper and three maids engaged, besides
the major’s copper-colored Malay valet.
And Lydia, the homeless, came home.
“My twenty-first birthday, guardian,”
said she, with pretty imperiousness.
“What did you bring me for a present?
I dare say you forgot all about it.”
“No, I do not,’’said the major valiant
ly, “Ihave brought you a husband, my
little girl.”
“Whom?”
“Myself! Will you marry the battered,
old campaigner, Lydia?”
And then and not till then, pretty, |
blushing Lydia whispered a secret to her
guardian.
“Dearest, 1 have loved you ever since
that day when you first saw me in the
dirt and dust of Mrs. Jones’ kitchen.”
“And you never told me?”
“It was for you to speak first,” she ,
laughed.
And this was Lydia’s fortune, better
than any castle of gold or diamonds.
Wise Florida Buzzards
On the coldest morning of our late
disagreeable spell of weather, says the
Palatka (Fla.) News, the fishermen,
built a large fire on a point projecting in
to the river from East Palatka, and after
wanning themselves, went on with their
fishing and left the fire burning. Re
turning after a time they were surprised
to see a group of some fifty or sixty
buzzards standing before the fire, kick
ing up all sorts of antics. Not under
standing such proceedings the boats were
rowed up pretty close, and the occu
pants watched the birds for some time.
It was a very cold morning, and the
birds would stand with one side to the
fire until it was warm, and then they
would deliberately turn around and
warm the other side. Those on the out
side of the group would get so eager to
get within the warmth of the fire that
hey frequently crowded the birds on the
inside nearly into the flames, and the
struggle was waged fierce and bitter for
advantageous positions.
• ————SK
A Bora Mystified.
A genuine bore having bothered a
newcomer with every conceivable ques
tion relative to his object in visiting the
gold country, his hopes, his means and
his prospects, at length risked him if he
had a family. “Yes, sir; I have a wife
and six children, and I never saw one
of them.” After this reply the two sat
a few minutes in silence, then the in
quisitive man began again—“ Was you
ever blind, sir?” “No, sir.” “Did you
I marry a widow, sir?” “No, sir.” An
other int rval of silence. “Did I under
stand you to say, sir, that you had a
wife and six children living in New
York, and bad never seen one of them?”
“Yes, sir, Iso staled it.” Another and
a long pause. Then the bore re-com
menced: “How can it be, sir, that you
never saw one of them?” “Why,” was
the reply, “one of them was born after I
I left.”
($1.25 Per Annum; 75 cents for Six Months;
< 50 cents Three Months; Single Copies
( Scents—ln Advance.
PEARLS OF THOUGHT.
Economy is of itself a great revenue.
Do not put too much trust in the man T
who praises you. i
The road to home happiness lies ove A
small stepping-stones.
As every thread of gold is valuable,
so is every moment of time. |
It is easier to believe an ill report than
to inquire into the truth thereof. |
Great hearts alone understand how
much glory there is in being good. i
He will not long boa babe in grace 1
who lives out. that little grace he has. *
We all love to be flattered, but the 1
best friends we have are those who crit- .
icise our acts. I
If we hope for what we are not likely
to possess, we act and think in vain,and 1
make life a greater dream and shadow 1
than it really is. |
One of the illusions is that the present
hour is not the critical, decisive hour.
Write it on your heart that every day is
thebestday in the year.
The golden beams of truth and the
silken cords of love, twisted together, 1
will draw men on with a sweet violence,
whether they will or not.
Our condition never satisfies us; the
present is always worst. Though Jupiter
should grant his request to each, we
should continue to importune him.
The deepest trust leads to the most
powerful action. It is the silenc
ing oil tint makes the machine obey
the motive power with greatest readiness
and result.
A flippant, frivolous man may redicule
others, may controvert them,scorn them;
but he who has any respect for himself
seems to renounce the right of thinking
meanly of others.
Oul of Sweetness Strength.
It has until lately been supposed that
the busy bee had no other use for his
sting and his poison apparatus than for
purposes of attack or defence, and the
necessity of such warfare seemed to be
tuflicient excuse for being In the case of
this doughty weapon and panoply of
battle. Recently, however, it has been
observed that when at work, after the
little creature has tiled the cell on which
he is occupied, with such substance as it
is destined to hold, and has shaped and
closed its tiny waxen lid, sealing it for
future nse, he then adds to its sweet con
tents a particle of the pungent acid that
is contained in his poison bag, by quiet
ly stinging the thin scale that forms the
lid, and depositing the acid beneath it.
The part that this acid plays ss in the
prevention of fermentation, and thus by
its men s the honey is kept unspoiled so
long as there is any of it left. The cur
ious question of instinct has soma new
prominence given to it by this observa
tion, for every student of the disputed
point of the dividing line between in
stinct and reason, must wonder how
many generations of bees it took to
make the discovery and apply the inven
tion in the matter of formic acids pre
venting fermentation ami keeping honey
from turning sour. No bee has as yet
taken out a patent.--[ Harper’s Bazar.
Accidents at the Loudon Zoo,
“Our records of fatalities at the Zoo
since its establishment in 1826, numbers
two,” and Mr. Bartlett of the London
Zoological Gardens, smiled a smile of
very justifiable gratification. “One of
these cases was an accident. An old
servant was walking in front of an ele- *
ph ant; some one prodded the brute in
the back, and caused him to start for
ward. The old man was knocked down,
trampled under foot and killed. In the
s econd case a man was killed by the bite
of a cobra. He took the cobra out in a fit
of drunkenness, and whirled it around his
head, crying out: ‘I am inspired! lam
inspired!’ The cobra struck him be-
I tween the eyes, and in a few hours he
was a dead man. Now, here, we never
allow a man to enter a cage for cleaning
purposes without shutting off the ani
mal ty the usual door. There is abso
lutely no danger with the animals if
men avail themselves of the machinery
provided. Accidents ~c usually she
nmlt cf an inclistion or parade.”
Nt). 26.