Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

elw Unvnnnnli ilvibnnc. Published by ths Tanwas PnbitohiM Oo 1 J. H. DKVRAIIX, Man a. gm. R. W. warns, Bouwttob. ( VOL. IL newly Fitted up. LABORIN?H’S home Restaurant & Lodging, Wm. B. Brow, Proprietor, 189 Bryan St., SAVANNAH, GA, Meals at all hours. Choicest brands of wines. liquors and cigars always on hand. 15 K N Jtf ETT ’ S HUMAN HAIR EMPORIUM. Ladies’ and Gents’ wigs made to order. Also Fronts. Toupees, Waves, Curls, Frizzes and Hair Jewelry. We root and tnake up ladies’ own combings in any desirable style. We have character Wigs j»nd Beards of ail kinds to rent for Mas querades and entertainments. Ladies and children Hair cutting and shampooaing. Also, hair dressing at your reside*oe if Required. We cut and trim bangs in all pf the latest styles. Cash paid for cut hair and eombings of all kinds. AH goods willingly exchanged if not satisfactory. Kid Gloves Cleaned. H. M. BENNETT, No. 56 Whitaker St. Savannah, Ga. FRANK DUST F. .TONES, IT 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 Siaranteed. Goods delivered if desired. ON‘T FORGET. STALL NO. 31. CREEN GROCERY. HENRY FIELDS THE OLD XItI.TABT.IE GREEN 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 fresh Beef, Veal, Mutton, Pork, Fish, Poultry, Eggs, Game and all kinds of Vegetables. Prices reasonable —to suit the times. Goods delivered if desired. A Perfect Weld Without Fire. A correspondent of the Blacksmith writes as follows: “I never never seen anything in the columns of your paper relative to making a perfect weld of steel without tire or borax. A job came to my shop a few days ago in tire shape of two pieces of three-quarter inch round steel, welded together end to end. A taper plug of steel was in one end of a shaft on which a coin was running. The plug of steel was bearing against a piece of steel in the frame, the object of this being to tighten the burrs. Owing to a loose box on the shaft, the shaft got to jumping, giving a side motion and creating friction enough to weld the two pieces of steel together as stated. The two pieces of steel were hardened.” It is not a very uncommon thing, adds the Scientific Press, for a steel spindle in a spinning mechanism, when running at great speed, as it does in a steel cap, with perhaps a little w abbling, to sud denly stop its motion and become thor oughly welded to the cup. Os course this can occur only when the oil in the cup is exhausted. What It Is Depends On the Way You Look at Lt. J \. '4 4.. ■ Aw, > , Cowslips When mists beside the river kneel, Like still gray nuns at matins, And catkins o’er the willows steal. All dressed in silvery satins, Before the soldier-reeds unbind Their swords to tilt against the wind, Before the grass begins to tosa, Its pretty fancies thrilling, Or buttercups and yellow floss Enough to make their frilling, The cowslips sit in golden crowds Beneath dim April’s frowning clouds. Alcne within the fields they bide; No lover that way lingers; The alders by the brooklet’s side Reach down their long brown fingers One lonely robin on the wing, Is-calling plaintively for spring. Bat st ill, as brave and grid are they As any summer beauty; They ask no rosy holiday; They smile for that’s their duty, And all the meadow's gladness lies Within their brave and shining eyes. They promise days in one bright wreath Os bloom and sunbeams airy; The sweetness of their fresh young breath They give the showers to carry To lonely homesteads near and far, Where hearts that long for spring-time are. As if't were dew, the rain-drops wet They take with cheery lightness, None praise them; but, with fair prate yet, 'J hey wear their homely brightness. For truest courage has its birth In an inward sense of worth. -—[Susan Hartley Swett, in St. Nicholas. CHRISTIE'S NEW DRESS. Pretty Christie Burgess was the daughter of the widow with whom j boarded. I was a confidential friend of both mother and daughter and knew that, like myself, they had known bet ter days. Somewhere in California there was an Uncle Charles, Mrs. Bur gess's brother, who would keep them, they were sure, had he known their cir cumstances, but whose address they could not tell, and who knew nothing of their having left their former handsome home. Some of Mrs. Burgess’s former friends had visited her and ore of them, Mrs. Wharton had sent Christie an invitation to a party at her house. As soon as it was positively decided that she could not go, because a new evening dress could not be thought of, I resolved upon the awful extravagance of presenting the pretty girl with a dress. It was worth it all to see Christie when I called her to my room on the afternoon of the eventful day and in troduced her to the fiery spread out upon my bed. •‘I have some jewels here, Christie, J am going to lend you for this evening,’’ said I. “Oh, how pretty and how odd !” she ciied. “Were they made to order, Miss Jane?” "Yes] They were a gift to me seven years ago, when I was your age, Christie.” She looked at me wistfully when we were alone, her soft-brown eyes ques tioning my face; but she asked no questions and went down to her mother, softly and thoughtfully. Seven years before that night I had been left an orphan, hopeless and heart broken. I had no mother to share the grief, no sister or brother to lighten it. I was all alone. 1 was not a strong-minded girl to face the trouble, and so I shut myself up alone until the funeral, refusing to see even Charlie. Then I ran away at night. Iba i one friend in Cleveland to whom I dared confide all, and I went to her. I wrote to Charlie and told him I should never ask him to fulfill his vows to me and bade him farewell. For days after I arrived at Cleveland 1 was utterly prostrated; but my friend was kind, as I knew she would be, and when I was able to think aided me in all mv plans. J had brought nothing from home but the one mourning suit I had worn to the funeral and Charlie's car buncles. Airs. Munroe had been an 'old friend of my mother’.*, and had vis t ■<! us more than once, always urging me to return the visits, but, unable to win my father’s consent to part with me for so long a journey, for I was a three days’ railway ride from my old home. As soon as J SAVANNAH. GA.. SATURDAY, MAY 21.1881. was able to undertake teaching, Hrs. Munroe exerted herself to procure me scholars, and I soon had a class that paid me an income sufficient for my modest wants. For six years I had a home in my friend’s house, she alone knowing that Miss Jaue Gray was the missing Ella Thorne advertised by her relatives, more to save their own reputation than from any interest in her fate. I mule, no doubt, a nine days’ wonder in A , and then ray uncles, aunts and cousins probably forgot my existence. Charlie, perhaps, was one of those seeking me, but 1 was resolved never to share my fortune? with his. When the death of my friend and benefactress was added to my list of sorrows, I was known enough in Cleve land to retain my scholars, and found a new home with Mrs. Burgess. I was still sitting with locked door, brooding over the pa*t, and unconscious that Christie had been gone three hours, when Mrs. Burgess came to my room, demanding admittance in an excited voice. J opened the door at once. “Oh, Miss Jane! Miss Jane!” she cried, “Charles has come! Charles has come! and he wants to see you!” j “Wants to see me?” “Oh, yes! It’s the strangest thing al together! He has been here more than an hour; he met Christie at the parly; and, only think, be has beeu home over ; three month’, part of the time in A ' and part here, trying all the time to find ■ us, so it was no wonder Christie’s name j struck him at once at. the party. He ' taked to her a little while and then came to me. But lam talking on, and forgetting that we are keeping him wait- I ing. Will you come down?” i “But what can he possibly want of I me?” j “To thank yon, I guess, for sending ! Christie to the party. He knows she ' could not have gone but for your kind ! ncss.” 1 went down stairs very slowly. I went into the dining-room first and there heard a little bustie of arrival. Christie had come and was again welcoming her 1 uncle. There was no venerable white ' haired gentleman, such as I had pictured this L’ncle Charles, now standing before ' Christie under the entry lamp. This i man was tall and handsome, barely 30 ' years of age, in the full vigor of youth. I Just a? I saw him he was saying: “1 could not ask you in those crowded rooms, Christie; but if you will unclasp that bracelet for me and let me see the initials engraved inside 1 shall be very glad. I—l saw a set like them once. They are very odd; Miss Gray, you said?” “Yes; she lent them to me for this j evening.” “She—she—bought them of some one i did she not?” “Oh, no; they were a gift from a friend who invented the design. Here , is the bracelet, Uncle Charles.” Hi* hand trembled so that lie could | scarcely hold it while he rea l the initials j “C. IL” to "E. T.” 1 could not resist any longer. Try ing to steady my steps, T went to meet him. i “Ella! myEla!” That was the cry | of my faithful lover as be clasped me in j his arms. j “.Mine again; mine!” he murmured, i And I, in a dream of bliss that was al- I most delirium, could only lie there, too j happy to speak. "But,” said Christie, presently, “what ! is it all?” "She is my betrothed wife, be an swered, in a broken voice, “whom I have sought for seven long years, but now xs ill hold till death parts us,” and he , st . lined me to him as if be meant the i words literally. “But why didn’t you tell us, Miss i • i Jane,” said Christie. “How c uld I dream that vour Uncle Charles was my Charlie?” I said. "And now, how is it? Your name is not Bur gess, Charlie?” “No, but my half-brother’s was.” “Why, to bo sure,” said Mrs. Burgess, “we never told you that Charles was I only a younger half-brother. His Dame !is Reynolds. Well, Charles,” site said, half laughing, a few minutes later, “1 suppose Christie and I may retire into the background again.” “Not so!” he answered, quickly, “I am a rich man, Sister Mary, and know that the same generous spirit that took from a hard-earned pittance the sum to purchase an evening of pleasure for iny little niece will be willing to share a husband’s fortune with a widowed sister and her child. It is not so, Ella?” We had a quiet wedding in the spring. Christie was iny only bridesmaid; but we returned to A-, taking the widow and her daughter with in. And, in my ohl home, among my old friends, 1 now preside, the happy wife of my first, my only love; while on festive oi casions I still wear Charlie’s carbuncles. A Curious Little Honey Bird. We came to n large piece of timber,and while passing through it 1 had my first experience with the honey bird of South Africa. This curious little bird is, in size and plumage, about like an English sparrow, and gets his name from the fact that the little fellow, who is very fond of houey, being unable to obtain it for himself, will lead men to the places where wild bees have hidden stores of rich wild honey. Whenever this bird sees a man be will fly close to him, hov ering around, uttering a twittering sound; then he will go off in the direc tion of the place (generally a tree) where the honey is, flying backward and for ward in a zigzag fashion. Then back he will c nne, twittering in the same manner, as if to say, “Come along. I’ll show you where it is.” These actions are repeated until the tree is reached, when the bird will indicate it very plain ly by flying to it and hovering around it. If the distance is great, and some times the honey bird will lead a person who is willing to follow a distance of ten miles, he will wait on a tree until the follower comes up and will then continue his business of piloting. He is very persistent and will do his best to draw any one on, but if the party is not posted about honey birds and re fuses to follow, or goes in the wrong direction, the bird will leave, probably in search of some person who will ap preciate his efforts to provide him with sweetmeats. While the bees are being smoked out and the houey taken up, the bird will hover over the vicinity until the job is dune, when of course his reward comes in the shape of a feast on the fra merits that are left. If he knows of other hives, just as soon as one is disposed of he will lead the way to another, and I have, since this time, known as many us four trees to be taken up by a party in one day. When the houey bird has shown one tree, if the hunters are satis fied with that and refuse to follow him further,he leaves them; but I have never heard of an instance in which the bird misled any one in regard to finding honey. It frequently happens, however, that a honey bird will lead a person into very dangerous places, and unless the hunter keeps his eyes about him, when following this bird, lie may run right onto a lion, a venomous snake, or some other equally undesirable acquaintance. The Gulf Stream. The fact is well understoo I, of course, that Great Britain and other parts of northwestern Europe owe much in the matter of climate and temperature, to the warming influence of the Gulf Stream. Tue extent of the effect which is thus produced, according to the cal culations made by I).’. Croll, almost ex ceed belief, or even comprehension, in a mathematical sense. He has found, by a careful scientific estimate, that the amount of heat conveyed northward in th • Atlantic by tin* * ream is equivalent to 77,479,560,000.000,000 foot pounds of energy per day, which is • qual to all the heat received by 1,560,035 square miles at the equator, and more heat than is conveyed by all the air currents—and so positive is its climatic effect, and so far reaching, that according to Dr. Croll, the heat of the Arctic seas and North Atlantic would be diminished to that immense extent by the stoppage or di version of ‘.he great ocean river. i t 1.25 Per Annum; 75 cents for Rix Months; 50 oeuta Three Months; Single Copies ' 5 cents—ln Wrnws. The Red Man’s Domestic Life. .! It must be said fur the red man that® he keeps good hours. Darkness usually® finds him in bed, and daylight, thqfl pangs of hunger and the swarms of I buzzing, biting flies may be counted® upon to route him at the first blush of® dawn. His toilet is soon performed. In® summer it is limited to a stretch, and al long drawn chest-satisfying yawn end ing in a querulous demand for breakfast.; In winter it is somewhat more elaborate, but is even then comprised in a ju dicious section of blankets and robes for the day’s wear, chocsing from those in which he has passed the night a greater or less quantity, according to the in i leniency of the weather. The Indian i goes to lied as he dies, with his boots on. ( i He washes—never. In all things save eating, horses and the labor of women, j he is scrupulously economical, He; I wastes nothing. A few sticks of wood, I and they are always surprisingly small, l suflico to keep bis lodge tolerably warm; in the severest weather. If the nights are cold, and they frequently are so, the! lodge floor at night is a writhing mass of Indians, great and small, lying closely, together for warmth. Night ixaa few! attractions for those who believe that it was made to sleep in. Their savage t luncy, therefore, peoplesit with harmful | spirits, whose presence means no good, ] whose influence is always evil, boding i death and misfortune. Nothing short a of the direct necessity will induce them I I to move or travel at night, aud no form u of amusement can be conceived or at- | tractive enough to draw an Indian from j] ‘ the blankets which he seeks at close of jl day. [N. Y.. Graphic. The “Buck Log.” it will surprise many ]>ersons of the il present day to be told that the “bick- | log” of which we read so much in old- N time stories was a large stone, a porous! ’ stone being preferred if possible. This J stone was buried in the ashes, and on I top was placed the “back stick." The | back stone in those primitive times fl played a very important part in the I 1 economy of early housekeeping; matches I were not then invented ; flint, steel cud tow were th • only means of lighting a tire or a lamp ; imagine for a moment the , “Bridget” of to-day thus engaged with the thermometer ten degrees below zero ' in the kitchen. The stone, together with the ashes with which it was cov ered, served to retain fire and heat i through the night, and all that was nee- ? essary in the morning was a little kin dling and gentle use of the indispensa ble bellows, and a fire was as readily | made as at the present day. Back stones were not in much use in bedrooms and parlors offer the beginning of this century, turf having taken ittfj place and served equally well, while 1 taking up less space. The stone login my possession and which behngetito'' ■ >'*y grandmother, and in use down to within a few years of her death, half a century ago, is at the service of the Bps-i ! ton Society if they should think it of sufficient importance. It is not less than 150 years old.— [Boston Transcript. _. _ M The Deer’s Slave. Where there are few deers a big stag is ? I generally accompanied by a small one, | who acts as his slave. The duties of tiie v latter are to watch on a hillock while?; his master lies in a snug hole out of the j I wind, and to go in front when there ift q some prospect of danger. Any negli , fence is quickly punished by the horns l or forefeet of his lord. One evening Ixird Lovat severely wounded a good i stag, when another fine stag galloped | 1 back to keep him company in his inis fortune. A bullet finished the wounded, j beast, but still the devoted friend kept close by and would not leave the spot. His lor Islnp had not the heart to shoot the poor beast after he had given proof of ' such wonderful fidelity, and at last had 5 almost to drive him away.—[Montreal -j Star. Force of Habit. Wayfarer: I beg your pardon sir, I have lost my way. Will — Elitor: Lost your way, eh. Well, ; ' why don't you advertise and offer a ra wurd for it?—Life. NO. 31.