Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

he .Cuivimnuli ffiribtme. Published by the Trzmwe Publishmr O> i J. H. DKVKAUZ. Mmugib. I E. W. WHITE, Soum iojt. VOL. 11. newly fitted up. LABORINTmEN’S home Restaurant & Lodging, Wm. B. Brown, Proprietor. 183 Bryan St., SAVANNAH, GA. Meals at all hours. Choicest brands of jrinea, liquors and cigars always on hand. BENNETT'S HUMAN HAIR EMPORIUM. Ladies’ and Gents’ wigs made to order. Also "Fronts, Toupees, Waves, Curls, Frizzes and Hair Jewelry. We root and jnake 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 at your residence if required. We cut and trim bangs in all pf 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. FRANKLIN F. JOINES, 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 of game when in season, and will be glad to wait on bis 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. DEISTRY FIELDS THE OLD RKLIAELK 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. The New Commissioner of Patents. We give herewith a portrait of Benton J. Hall, of Burlington, lowa, who has been appointed Commissioner of Patents, in place of Colonel M. V. Montgomery > resigned. z 1-? w z Jf '’lm wr ’ V\ / </ Mr. Hall was born at Mount Vernon, Ohio, January 13, 1835. His home has been in lowa since 1839. He was edu cated at Knox College, Illinois, and at Miami University, Ohio. In June, 1855, he was graduated from the last named in stitution. Returning to Burlington he read law in his father’s office, and was admitted to the bar after two years. Since 1857 he has been in practice at Burlington, of which place he is a prom inent citizen. The new Commissioner of Patents be gan a career of public service with mem bership in the lower house of the General Assembly of lowa, for 1872-73. Begin ning in January, 1882, he was a State Senator for four years. He was elected to the Forty-ninth Congress on the Dem ocratic ticket, and served his term as a member of the House of Representatives. Ex-Governor John 11. Gear was his suc cessful opponent last fall, when Mr. Hall v >; sa candidate’for re-election to Con go SB. * Hail is a strongly built man of me c ! 'Un h' ight. He carries his fifty-two ♦ ' k** Ei* dark brown hair and mus •■f'he as yet s arcely showing the snowy cffecta of time. The Will ans the Way. It was h noble Roman, In Rome’s imperial day, Who heard a coward creaker, Before the battle, say: •‘They’re safe in such a fortress; There is no way to shake it—” “On! on!” exclaimed tho hero, •'l’ll find away, or makj it!" Is fame your aspiration? Her path is steep and high; In vain ho seeks the temple Content to gaze and sigh! The shining throne is waiting. But he alone can take it Who says, with Roman firmness, “I’ll find away, or make it!" Is learning your ambition? There is no royal road; Alike the peer and peasant Must climb to her abode, Who feels the thirst lor knowledge In Helicon may slack it, If he has still the Roman will To “find away, or make it!” Are riches worth the getting? They must be bravely sought; With wishing and with fretting The boon cannot be bought. To ail the prize is open, But only he can take it Who says, with Roman courage, , “111 find away, or mike it!” —John G. Saxe A HERO OF THE PLAINS, i William Matthewson, of Fort Sill, In i dian Territory, stands six feet two inches, with a head on him that would have done for a senator when men were senators; chin square cut; square shoul dered—you would say a man on the I square as you looked at him. Modest : as the brave ever are, not disposed to i talk until he is sure of his man. But when he does talk, the days of Daniel j Boone, says a Boston letter to the New i Orleans States, do not seem so far away. ; See him as he sits’in front of his ranch, grave as a Roman senator. Yonder, galloping across the plains, comes an I Indian. As he comes nearer we sec he has the physique of a giant. Matthew son’s face kindles. “It is Big Bow,” he says. I The Indian rides within forty paces I of us, but veers off toward the Quaker agency. As he does so he shouts and points that way, “Simpah Zilbah! Come I agent." | There has been trouble; he wants Sin- I pah Zilbah—“the dangerous one with ! long hair on his chin”— as the Kiowas I ~ ■ have named Matthewson, to help him ; get at this Quaker agent, who seems to I him a half-squaw man. i How has this man made himself a | power with the fiercest chief among the | Kiowas? Years ago in the state of New York was a lad with a hot, restless heart. That heart had not been made restless by the cheap novel, for the cheap novel was not yet. His heart was rest ! less because it was a big heart, full of I courage and high daring. That heart j had been fired by a book, but it is a ! very noble book, the life of one of our ! very bravest Americans, John C. Frc ! mont. Well, the boy did what my boy readers had better not do unless ' they are absolutely sure they have as I lofty a heart as W-liiam Matthewson had —he ran away, and he struck for the | path the great pathfinder had found, the ; overland route to California. Out and out he went into the heart of what was called once the great American desert, but which never was a desert, only a ' great plain, stretching, as the great Lake ! Michigan stretches, a d which perhaps, ] was the bottom of a great lake once. I Tiie ranch where the youth stopped was i also in the heart of the Indian country. The Kiowas were there, an J fierce, fear less fellows they were, who could look you square in the face without flinching. The Corranchcs, too, occasionally swept j up there, short and squatty, inferior 1 looking save on horseback, and they did : not look—well, square in the eye—they cast furtive, sidewise glances. The Kiowas took lovingly to him when they came in. And while he was learning frontier lore from the ranchmen he was ■ learning as fast as he could the Kiowa ■ language. At 22 he pushed o*it further alone in the Kiowa country and established a j ranch. It is enough of a trading ranch ‘ to give him an excuse to among SAVANNAH. GA.. SATURDAY, APRIL 30.1887. them. His ranch, being the furthest out this side of the Rocky Mountains, is a haven to weary overlanders to Cali fornia. Matthewson, besides the Kiowa language, had learned the sign language, which is the common language between all of the tribes. If yon ask an Indian how far any place is, and if he does not speak your language, he will tell you how many sleeps oil it is. A sleep is about 20 mi’es. If it is about 200 miles off he will lay his head in his hand, close his eyes and then hold up both hands—it is ten sleeps off. If he wished to tell you you lied, he would thrust out two index fingers from his mouth, mak ing an obtuse angle—“you talk forked.” Matthewson understood this sign language perfectly, but the Indians did not know this. Some Indians of another tribe had come in. They were talking this sign language to a group of Kiowas: “What is it?” “A prisoner got away. Prisonc white and a young girl. Stole one o their ponies. Got away in a storm. Will give one, two, thiee, four, five cat tle Kiowa catch her.” “All at once it flashed over me,” he said. “A young girl alone on the plains, two tribes banding to catch her! My brave one, I’m on your side’ I sold them or half gave them the goods to get them away. I saddled two horses—my marc Bess and a splendid horse 1 had. I took my carbine and two Colt, revolvers. 1 told some straggling Kiowas that were still three: ‘My cattle gone; I must go hunt them.’ 1 pushed off on the course 1 knew she woUfid be likely to take. I examine it close; yes, it is hers. Before this 1 strike a small band of Kiowa In dians, who were scouring the plains for her trail. ‘Where you going?’ ‘Hunt my cattle; four got away; two red, two spotted.’ 1 push on. I follow the trail as long as 1 can see; camp; partner, I was young then; I didn’t sleep much. As soon as I can see the bent and crushed grass of the trail 1 push on, east, ever eastward. The girl has got sense as well as pluck. She knows the settle ment lies there. Bess tosses her head and leads out in a long stride. Suppose these red imps strike across and get ahead of me! Well, if it comes to the worst I couldn’t go down in a better cause. Hour after hour nothing but the sweep and the hateful sameness of the stretch of the prairie. It is the middle of the second evening. There’s a speck! Come, Bess, we’ll make that, speck grow bigger. It’s a horse, and there’s some one on it. Partner, I’m not the praying kind, but I did thank the Almighty. When she looked around and saw me she was nigh frightened to death. Iler eyes looked just like a frightened fawn’s, but the next time she turned they looked like a fawn's when she finds its mother has scared it. Her Indian pony was shaky. I had her on my led horse in a jiffy. We pushed for the first station or ranch on the route. We changed horses there, and still pushed on. We. are not safe yet. I carried her to the settlement in Kansas. Her folks had all been murdered in Texas. She made her home there after ward. Partner, it would make a pret tier ending for me to say tint I married that girl; but I didn’t; my time hadn’t come yet. Later on I lariated a splen did girl up off a Kansas prairie. A Terrible Affliction. A physician says that a man with but one car can hear just as well as a man with two, but he cannot locate the sound. The man with but one ear de serves our sympathy. When he hears a small boy making an infernal racket after dark by <1 rawing a stick across the fence pales he doesn’t know in what di rection to hurl the brick he instinctively grubs. [Norristown II raid. a. I— JI He Was No Pavement. “And now,” comduded the lecturer, if there is any one here who wants to ask any questions, let him be heard.” “I’d like to know, ’ aid an old, bald headed man, rising in the back seat, “how many marbles have been dropped on my head by those scalawags in the gallery? I’m no pavement.”- [Tid-Bits Carried It Himself. It was in the days of the early railroad, when it was yet new; the days when the journey to New York was less of a little jaunt than it is now; when greenbacks were not popular here. One summer morning a man, walking in happy and feverish haste, with wild excitement beaming all over his face, stepped into the office of a well-known banker. “1 want exchange for this on New York.” “All right. What is it?” The man looked fearful around hire and then brought out a packet. “It’s $25,000 in greenbacks.” “I guess 1 can do it. Going East?” “Yes, I’m going to-morrow. 1 don’t want to carry all this with me. Couldn’t do it. Sure to get robbed. So give me a draft. How much?” “Oh, seeing it’s you, one per cent.; $250. “It goes.” So the banker made out a draft on New York and took the money. “You’re going to-morrow, are you?” “Yes.” “Would you mind taking a little parcel for me and handing it to my brother?” “Certainly. I’ll do it with pleasure.” The banker went into the other room and presently came back with the parcel. “Just put it in your valise, and don’t lose it, will you?” “I’ll take the best of care of it.” “Thank you. Good by. Pleasant (rip.” Arrived in New York, the Californian went to the address and delivered tiie package. Then he presented his draft. The man opened the package and gave him the identical $25,000 in greenbacks he had in San Francisco. lie had car - ried them all the way himself. [San Francisco Chronicle. “Ihank You.” We respondfto the following request for information with the satisfaction of knowing that our answer will doubtless be the means of preventing more than one serious and lamentable calamity: “In returning thanks for any favor should anything besides an exclamation of ‘Thank you' be employed?” In answering this question, as in an swering all others, the particular times and circwßistances must be considered. Generally “Thank you” is sufficient. If a person passes you the butter, it is proper to say “Thank you.” Or if a p r son agrees to grunt any simple request of yours, it is proper and appropriate to say “Thank you.” But. there are other occasions when this or perhaps any other verbal expression wcul l be unnec essary, if not absolutely inexcusable. If, in response to a passionate and ear nest appeal to a young woman that she should illuminate your dismal loneliness, enlighten your bachelor inexperience,and assist your solitary helplessness by be stowing her confi ting sell upon you,and placing her future happiness in your guardianship, she should say “Yes,” and ycu should then say “Thank you,” the chances are that she would throw the whole thing up. Such a reply would knock the bottom out of an almost un fathomable sentiment. A man who would receive a young woman’s band with the same expression with which he would acknowledge a butter dish or the return of a blown-off ha'., could not ap preciate the real value of a woman’s love. Tne proper response to such a priceless gift is made with the eyes, the arms, perchance the lips; but the words are out of place.—[New York Sun. Morning in Her Room. Bright and early the other day—so early that it seemed to the head of the house that he had just fallen asleep he was awakened by a vision of white flannel nightgown, a fair face above it, with fairest hair encircling that, big blue eyes an 1 a rosy mouth, with one w'liite linger thrust fultcringly between the lips, standing by his bedside. “What is it, Margherita?” he asked. ‘•lt’s it’s—it’s morning in my room. It was morning throughout the house after that.---Boston Transcript. (fl. 25 Per Innnm; 75 cent* for Six Months; ■; 50 cents Tlir- e Months; Single Copies ( 5 cent*-—ln Advance. Its English, You Know. Tn England, says a correspondent; ■ crackers are called biscuits and bisculM rolls. Syrup and molasses are botlji known as treacle; a pie (of fruit) is M tart; a sugar bowl is a sugar basin; <1 stoop is a porch and an entry a halll® a pitcher is a jug, and a bureau is a] chest of drawers; a cane is a walking®! stick, an overcoat a great coat; a check!! rein a bearing rein. Reins are neverl! called lines, and a coachman is neverfl called the driver. Every store is a shopgfi| a fruit store is a fruiterer’s; a hardware!! store an ironmonger’s; a dry goods stortfl a draper’s or haberdasher’s; a drug store® a chemist’s, and a vegetable store agj greengrocer’s. Coal is invariably called® coals; calico print, thread cotton, and a.|l spool a reel. A frock coat is never called® a I’rnci AlbeM nor is a high hat called!] a stovepqie. Rare meat is always under-® done, and the stubs of check books are® the counterfoils. Sleeve-buttons are I cuff-links, and shirt-cuffs wristba®s. Mush is porridge. A balky horse is a jii bii.g horse, and to balk is to jib. A cigar store is a tobacconist’s. Beets (cooked) nre beet-root; the german (dance) is always cilled cotillion. A stem-winder is a keyless watch, and beer I (at bars) bitter. Os course, in this I ex-, eept lager beer, which is now in such great vogue in England. ‘The lingo of I railways differs wonderfully. Railroad I is railway; the track is the line, and the j rails the metals; the curs are the train ! to switch is to shunt; a turnout is a siding. Running a Mile on the Ties. “Talking about peculiar railway ac cidents,” said a freight conductor on the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul, “let me tell you of a queer one we had a few weeks ago up near Lanark. It was just about three miles east of that station that our caboose jumped the track and began bumping on the ties. We bad a long train ahead, ami were just going into the valley, running at a lively rate, and it took a long time to stop the train. My brakem in got scared the first thing and jumped, while I went ahead and began setting brakes, an 1 trying to attract the attention of the engineer and of the head brakeman, who was in the engine cab. We had several passengers in the ca boose, one a man with a little boy, and they were were afraid to jump. The caboose bumped and rattled along on the ties fully a mile. In going that dis-- tance we passed over one high embank ment and across one short bridge. The caboose clung to the ties all the way, though sometimes, as we afterward saw, , the wheels were within an inch of the end of the sleepers on one side or the other, and thereby saved the lives of the passengers. The man who had the little boy with him was almost in a faint when we finally brought the train to a stand-' still, ami no wonder, for it must have . been a frightful experience.—[Chicago Herald. • 1 ■■■ana**-- The Religions of India. Prof. Sir Mon er Williams of Oxford, declares that Buddhism bus entirely died out in India proper, the place of its origin, an !*s rapidly dying out in other Asiatic countries. He thinks the de votees of the religion do not number over 100,000,000 at the present time, and that the exaggerated ideas with re gard to the population of China, to gether with the forgetfulness yf the millions who worship no one but their own ancestors, account for the popular ideas that the Confuciani.sts are so num erous. His own opinion is that in point of numbers Christianity stands at the head of all the religions of the world. The order following Christianity he be lieves to be Hinduism (including Brah manism, Jainism, demon and fetish wor:>h pi). Confucianism, Mohamme danism, Buddhism, Taoism, Judaism und Zoroastrianism. . What She Would Do. Charley (to his jueity cousin, who is I fi-hing)—Any bites y-t. Maud? Maud —Only a nib le or two. Charb y —What wou d you do, Maud, J if you should make as good a “catch" as 1 am said to be? Maud—Throw it back in, Charley.—- NO. 28.