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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.