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alts Stninniinh (Tribune.
Pabitohvd by the Tarauira Publish tar Oo.)
J. H. DEVBAUX, Manaoeb. (,
B. W. WHITE, Bouottob. f
VOL. 11.
JJEWLY fitted up.
LABORINgH’S home
Restaurant & Lodging,
Wm. B. Brown, Proprietor,
182 Bryan St., SAVANNAH, GA,
Meals at all hours. Choicest brands of
irines, liquors and cigars always on hand.
BENNETT’S
HOMAN HAIR EMPORIUM.
Ladies’ and Gents’ wigs macle 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
snd Beards of all kinds to rent for Mas
querades and entertainments. Ladies and
children Hair cutting and sliampooning.
Also, hair dressing at your residence if
required. We cut and trim bangs in all
sf 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. 50 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 hard 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
puarnnteed. Goods delivered if desired.
DON'T FORGET, STALL NO. 31.
CREEN CROCERY.
HENRY FIELDS
THE OLD RELIABLE
G-TtE EIN GROCER
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 frcsn
Beef, Veal, Mutton, Pork, Fish, Poultry,
Eggs, Game and all kinds of Vegetables.
Prices reasonable —to suit the times.
Goods delivered if desired.
*
FLEECING AN OLD FARMER.
TWO CUNNING BUNCO MEN ROB HIM Os
SSOOO IN CASH.
Bunco men of Lancaster, Pa., fleeced
another victim, Jacob Rohrer, a prom
inent and wealthyold fanner out oi
SSOOO. Rohrer, who had business in
that place, came here. When he was
about to leave he was approached by a
well dressed young man who gave hia
name as Bailsman, and said he was a
nephew of Jacob Bausiuan, a prominent
and wealthy citizen. He also said he
was employed in the Farmers’ Bank.
This statement attracted Rohrer’s at
tention, and he was asked to accompany
the young man on the pretense that he
was distributing agricultural libraries
worth S4O free of charge. Rohrer con
sented, and was conducted to a private
room on Queen street, where he was
met by another man, about forty-fiva
years old, and who was introduced.
The trio had a short talk about the agri
cultural library. Finally the elder pro
duced a pack of cards. Rohrer seemed
to be completely taken in, and before he
knew it the sharper announced that he
I had drawn S2OOO, and the money was
counted down on the table. Just then
there was a halt, and the bunco men
asked Rohrer for evidence of his respon
sibility, and he went and had a note in
dorsed and discounted, and produced
SSOOO in money.
When lie had counted it out on the
table the elder bunco steerer grabbed
the whole pile and said Rohrer had lost
tile money. Some hot words ensued,
but after being assured that the money
W safe Rohrer, accompanied by the
young man who pretended that he had
2000, also went out and took a walk.
The young man then excused himself,
paying he would soon return with a bond
*o secure Rohrer from loss. He came
bet, and the rich old farmer has learned
- >son which he will doubtless never
»? r get. The rascals have not been seen
pace.
Flock of wild geeso flying over
o C°nn., on Tuesday saw one
kites which the Waterbury boys
> n rfe ♦\ n fL This particular kite was
t high and the geese objected to
circled about it two or three
p,*" 8 ’ en our their uumber,
delegated for the purpose, at
ik) tk kite and tore it into shreds,
w went on their wav
In the Spring.
Have all the songs been said?
Are all the singers dead?
Is all the music fled?—
The sum and aim of life
One dreary struggle, rife
With greed and sordid str if
Man but a dull machine,
Living a vast routine
Os narrow purpose mean?
Oh! while one leaf swings high
Against an azure sky
j In springtime’s ecstasy.
There breathes yet the sublime,
There beats yet living rhyme,
’Tis still the young world’s prime.
Nature has high commands.
Bears gifts with lavish hands
To him who understands.
—[Cornhill Magazine.
! Where the Rainbows Hide.
BY IMOGENE H. SYKES.
In a small room under the eaves of a
tall tenement house, where only stray
! gleams of sunshine could steal in to
brighten its bareness and poverty, two
boys were eating their simple meal of
bread and cheese, moistened with water
from a tin cup.
I The eldest lad was about fourteen,
i strong and able-bodied, though his
brown cheeks and slender hands looked
as if bread and cheese were not the most
nourishing food for a growing boy,
having to earn his own- living and that
of a little brother. He looked at the
■ little fellow as he put his last crumbs into
I his mouth, and the thought struck him
that he was indeed a little fellow—
stunted, pallid and hollow-eyed; and a
; sigh was smothered back as the poor
. boy felt the fear come upon him that
. maybe he would not be long in this big
world.
“You won’t get lonely to-day, will
you, Nicco?” he ashed, cheerily, as he
| put away plate and tin cup on a shelf in
the corner.
The wan face lit up wonderfully.
“Not to-day!” he cried with a strange
eagerness, propping up his chin with a
j small, thin hand. “I—l think the
| fairies will come to-day, Gerome.”
“Can’t you keep them for me to see?”
said his brother, with a kind smile for
| the child’s fancy.
“Yes; they will stay with me now,for
I found them, and they belong to me.
Gerome, I want to whisper something.
Stoop down, bother, and listen.”
The small face was all aglow with its
secret, and the big, brown eyes looked as
if they had seen the wonders of fairyland
in very truth.
Gerome put down his implements of
daily toil, and gravely bent his head to
listen.
“I know where the rainbows go when
1 they fade out of the sky,” whispered Nic
-1 co, exultantly, in his ear. “The fairies
, showed me where they h.de. You shall
' see, too, Gerome, when you come home.
Don’t stay too long.”
Gerome brushed his sleeve across his
eyes as he slung his blacking-box over
his shoulder and went down the long,
steep stairs. “Poor little chap!” he
said to himself. ‘‘He believes in his
fairies and dreams, and is happy in
thinking of the good times coming to
us. But it is just as well, perhaps, for
him to think so, for he can’t work for
, his bread with his poor weak back, and
■ with no one to look after him all day in
' that room half up in the sky. He’d be
lonely enough without his fairies.”
The day went on in its usual routine
I and Gerome plied his brush industrious
! ly. But thoughts of the lame boy in the
attic, sitting ail the day long at the high
i window so near the clouds he loved to
! weave his fancies from, broke in upon
his work with persistent recurrence, and
finally made him drop bis brush an hour
or two before his usual time, and, seat
' ing himself on his box, sank into a rev
i ene.
“The fairies have told him where the
rainbows hide,” he mused. “Poor little
chap! What does he mean? His head
is full of such imaginings, and that’s
' why it aches so much.”
He looked up at the spire of the tali
| church opposite him. The sun was gild
ing the cross on its tor.
SAVANNAH. GA.. SATURDAY, MAY 14.1857.
“Nicco is at the window now,” thought
‘ Gerome, anxiously. “The sun is shin
ing in it just for a few moments, and he
is watching for his fairies. He said he'd
show them to me. I can’t work no
more, I”
Here Gerome arose from his box, and,
slinging it over his shoulder, walked
away. An irresistible desire to get
home hastened his steps, as he thought
I of the lonely child in his room under
I the roof.
“No father, no mother—nobody but
i me,” said Gerome, with a big lump in his
throat. “And meso poor I can't half
| feed him, nor buy him paper and pen
i cils for his fairy pictures! And him so
I patient and ligh-hcarted! The fairies
I ought to come to him—poor little
j Nicco!”
Here he opened the door of their
i room with a cautious hand, and crept in
I on tiptoe to surprise the dreaming boy.
lie paused in the middle of the room,
with hushed breath and startled eyes.
And all the rainbows of the world
j had left their hiding-places to shine
■ above Nicco’s head as he sat beside the
; window on a wooden chair, his head
I pillowed on his arms ou the window
! sill—fast asleep.
The sun shone through the upper
panes, as if he were peeping for a mo
ment before disappearing over the house
top. Thousands of beautiful rays of all
colors flashed and wavered in long,
i slanting shafts from top to bottom of the
! window sash, playing around the sleep
! ing child like tiny tongues of flame.
Gerome knew not what to make of it.
He bent over Nicco, and called him
softly. The sleeping boy roused up, opened
his dreaming eyes, aud looked eagerly
into his brother’s questioning face.
“See, Gerome, see!” he cried, with
outstretched hands, catching up and
pouring the lovely light from palm to
palm. “I’ve found all the rainbows
from the sky. They’re not lost, brother,
but hidden in these pretty white stones!”
And he pointed to the window.
Gerome climbed up on the narrow sill,
and a cry of amazement broke from his
lips as he dashed bis hands here and
there picking up the white objects he
I saw lying upon the ledge of the bottom
sash.
“Nicco, speak quick!” he said in a
low tone, looking feerfully around the
room; “where did you get these?”
“I found them, Gerome. Are they
wicked? Throw them out! throw them
out!” And Nicco shrank away in sudden
terror from his former lovely playthings.
“Found them!” repeated Gerome
slowly—“found these! where Nicco,
where?"
“In the street—in the gutter,” re
plied the little boy, innocently; “the
other day, when you badc me try to
walk out a bit. Tiiey were wrapped up
in a piece of paper, and I thought they
were bits of glass. When I got home, I
put them on the window to look at, and
then I found they were full of rainbows,
and I thought the fairies had come to me
in truth. What are they, Gerome?”
“Diamonds!” replied the boy in fever
ish excitement, pouring the precious
stones into an old handkerchief, and
tying it up carefully. They’ve been
lost or stolen, and must be taken to a
magistrate. Come, Nicco, come; get
your hat. This may be fairy luck for
you, after all.
And he hurried the little fellow as fast
as his lameness would allow to the house
of the nearest magistrate, told his story
with straightforward candor, and placed
his precious parcel before him. Nicco
relfted how he found them in his gentle
little voice, and looked wistfully at the
white stones as they were spread out to
view by the officer.
“I thought the fairies gave them to
me,” he murmured, sadly. “And now
I my window will be so dark and lonely
without the pretty rainbows.”
“Not so, my lad,” said the magistrate
kindiy, after hearing Geromc’s account
of their orphanage in Italy and journey
to this country with relations who had
' deserted them. “If the owner of this
: property is found, you will get a mag
nificent rewar 1; if not, it is yours.”
The boys caught hold of euch other in
awe-struck wonder, and went back to
j their attic in silent speculation as to
■ their strangO discovery.
The diamonds were turned over to the
cleric of the court, and were largely ad
vertised. Numerous claimants made
i their demands for their surrender, but
! not proving their claim properly, failed
to get the brilliants.
Months went on, and Nicco thought
• sadly of his lost rainbows in his lonely
, hours, while Gerome pondered over the
! amount of the reward the little fellow
might eventually receive. One day
Nicco was crying softly all alone in the
cheerless attic, when the door opened,
' aud in rushed Gerome, followed by the
■ magistrate and several other gentlemen.
“The owner of the diamonds has been
j found, Nicco!” cried Gerome, hugging
i his small brother excitedly, “and he is
• going to take care of you now. That is
f to be your reward, and hereafter we can
■ have more food, more clothes ”
i “And more sunshine?” asked the ear
. nest little voice. ‘■Please, sir” -to the
j magistrate—“l thought I had found
! where the rainbows were hidden in those
' pretty stones, but 1 think they must be
) in the sunshine, alter all.”
j But the sunshine in his heart was a
■ rainbow of promise in his future life.—
Tall Stories.
When a theatrical '.nan and a veteran
of the late war meet and exchange ex
periences, says the Philadelphia Press
gossipper, one can fairly expect some
thing of a quite measurable altitude in
the way of stories. Two such did meet
the other night. One was a comic opera
manager, and the other a “B’vt. Brig.
Gen., U. S. Vols.” They exchanged
experiences as follows: “It is a singular
thing,” said the general, “but neverthe
less a fact, that I once carried a broken
wrist around with me for ten days with
l out knowing it.”
“Indeed,” said the manager.
“Yes,” said the general, “I fell on
the thing, and a doctor said it
was a sprain and put arnica on it. The
I thing bothered me a good deal, but
‘bless me,’ I said, ‘you’ve tco many
I wounds to be a baby for a little matter
like that.’ Ten days afterward I was
, in the surgeon-general’s office writing,or
I trying to write, with my supposed sprain.
‘Let me 'ook at it,’ said the surgeon
' general. ‘Why, hang it, man, it’s
broken.’ So it was, and if he hadn’t
; noticed it when he had I should have
I lost the aim.”
I “A very painful accident,” said the
! manager. “I’ve pretty good luck in
I that way myself. Stop a minute,though.
' I did break my arm once. I fell ofl the
' step of a high carriage. Pm a pretty
! heavy man, as you see, and when I
j picked myself up I found that my finger
i tips were snugly reposing in the crook of
,my elbow. The break had just doubled
I the arm up above the wrist as neatly as
' if it had been made in sections and
I packed to save room in transportation.
Os course the bones came through the
skin, but it’s all right now.”
Street Scenes in Ceylon.
Leaving the carriage, writes a corres
i pondent of the Baltimore Sun, we start
ied out for a walk through the streets,
' which present an aspect very different
from those of cities in India. Europeans,
! Cingalese, Tamils and Moormen all min
' gle together in apparent concord, and
j each race could easily be distinguished
by manner of dress from the others.
The male Cingalese is a walking curios
ity in the matter of dress. In the place
i of trousers he wears a rectangular piece
■ of figured stuff wrapped around his legs
i from his wai ; t to his ankles—wrapped
so tight as to make it impossible for him
to take any but short, mincing steps.
With this he also wears a short, neat
jacket of dark cloth. His hair, which
is long and of a glossy biack, he wears
combed straight back and rolled up into
a tight roll on the back of his head, with
this roll kept in place by a large, high
I tortoise-shell comb. As a general rule
jho also wears earrings, tnl, if he is
1 young, it is not an uncommon thing for
strangers to mistake him lor a woman.
Their women dress much in the same
j style, with the exception of the jackets,
and it is often difficult to distinguish
j between the sexes.
1 $1.25 Per Annum; 75 cents for Six Months;
50 cents Tun o Months; Single Copies
I Scents —In Advance.
Massage*
In nervous prostration and weariness ;
from overwork, the tendency of tha - ’
blood is to leave the arteries and be—
come engorged in the veins. Massage,
rightly employed, aids in th restoration
of the normal circulation, ami thus helps |
the system to right itself. . The patient
is extended upon a lounge or bed, and
the operator begins with one foot,
squeezing it gently with the bands as
though it were a sponge filled with wa
ter and he was squeezing the water
from it, and working always towards
the heart. The hands of the operator
clasp the limbs with a firm but gentle
grasp, and apply this squeezing, pinch
ing pressure all the way from the bands
and feet to where these limbs join the
body, not rubbing the skin, but press
ing and working tile muscles under it.
The muscles of the chest, neck and ab
domen will receive the same treatment.
Then the patient gives his buck to the
operator. All down the back are large
veins, and these become engorged with
blood. The operator kneads and
pinches aud squeezes and presses all the
muscles of the back for a long time, un
til a pink tint flushes the skin. All
about the face, the neck, the back of
the neck especially, there are many
veins, and the muscles which they
traverse are thoroughly handled until
the circulation is free. The patient soon
begins to find relief, and sinks to sleep
or into a delicious disposition to lie
still and rest, which disposition will be
encouraged as long as it lusts.—[New
York Tribune.
Characteristic of Lincoln.
Dr. Mackay, who was a New York
correspondent of the London Times
during the war, was evidently shocked
by the blunt speech of President
Lincoln. He was invited to attend n
public reception at the White House,
“as the friend of the President und
stand either at his side, or ns one of the
crowd.” Dr. Mackay tells how he ac
cepted the invitation:
“ Mr. Lincoln, if you will permit me
to be one of your suite 1 shall be grate
ful for the privilege. ‘One of my what?*
asked Mr. Lincoln suddenly. ‘One of
your suite, or, if your Excellency liken
the word better, one of your circle.*
‘Oh! I sec now,’ he replied; ‘but excuse
me for not understanding Latin. I
never had much schooling, aud I am too
old now to learn anything but the
mother tongue; and 1 rather flatter my
self that I can make myself understood
in it, and can say what I mean us plainly
ias uny man living. But you English
beat us hollow in languages. We
: Americans are content to talk the lan-
I guage of the Bible, and of old John
Bunyan, and of Benjamin Franklin, one
of the plainest speakers of all. But
time’s up. We must be moving. Como
along! I must not keep the public
waiting.’ ‘Punctuality is the jiohteness •
of princes and of presidents,’ said I,
with an alliteration which was wholly
unpremeditated.” -New York Critic.
Good Things that Don’t Get In.
W. 8. Gilbert, the composer, is good
at repartee. One of the best of his re
j partces was hurled at Mr. F. C. Bur
nand, the editor of Punch. They were
at a press dinner in London, and Bur
nand was responding to a toast. Gilbert,
who sat at the other end of the table
kept talking while Burnand was speak
ing, and attracted the attention of a
number of guests who were intent on
what he was saying. Burnand was con
i siderably annoyed, and finally said:
“Gilbert, whtt are you relating down
there; some of the good things you send
to Punch that don’t get in?”
This thrust put the laugh on Gilbert,
but he instantly retorted:
“Well, Burnund, I don’t know who
sends the good things to Punch, but
they evidently do not get in.—[At
lanta Constitution.
What He Hoped.
Brown —What was it that Fogg said
i to you about me?
—He said you were no better
than you should be. .
Brown —1 hope you told him I waa.
—[Judge.
NO. 30.