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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.