Newspaper Page Text
®w .Cimwuuih tribune.
published by the Tnrmnrn Publiahfay Co 1
J, H. DEVEAoaL, Majiagwa (
B. W. WHXEX, Sosmito*.
VOL. 11.
XEWLY FITTED UP.
LABORING MEN’S HOME
Restaurant & Lodging,
Wm. B. Brown, Proprietor,
182 Bryan St., SAVANNAH, GA,
Meals at all hours. Choicest brands of
vines, liquors fund cigars always on hand.
J3E IN NKTT’?S
HUMAN HAIR EMPORIUM.
Ladies’ and Gents’ wigs made to order.
Also Fnonte, 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 at your residence if
squired. 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.
FRANKLIN 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
wifli politeness and promptness. His
prices are reasonable and satisfaction is
Biaranteed. Goods delivered if desired.
ON‘T FORGET, STALL NO. 31.
GREEN GROCERY.
HENRYFIELDS
m OLD RELIABLE
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.
Moods delivered if desired.
————
Behind and Before.
a-
- -nrwi . . . . ■*—
- < .i'Z — a .♦*'*• •.
If you think these men are friends
' mF* Nil. WwF
You are mistaken.—
Uriah Rinker, a farmer near Tan
nersville, Pa., was cleaning his saddle
horse on Friday when the barn was
struck by lightning and the horse in
stantly lilled. Rinker was knocked
senseless to the floor, and when he be
came conscious was surrounded by
flames and all means of escape nearly
cut off. By a desperate effort he man
aged to catch hold of the door sill and
drag himself from the burning building.
Just as he crossed the sill his wife
rushed to his assistance, and dragged
him to a place of safety. His clothing
■*as then ablaze, and the heat from the
fire was so intense that Mrs. Rinker’s
arms and hands were blistered. The
watch in his pocket was destroyed by
the lightning, and three long gashes
Were made in a new boot on his foot.
Frowns and Tears.
Before the days of clock in hall,
Or watch in pocket, or on wall,
The ancients told the time of day
By measurements of sun and shade,
Just as you do, you fro ward jade.
Who can be everything but gay.
They set up in a public place
A dial, with a painted face,
VV hereon a figure, like your nose,
Or like your threatening finger, rose;
And when the sun went up and down,
Pointed the hours, as you do now,
With sul en humors cn your brow,
For every hour a different frown!
When the sun set, or hid his light
In cloudy days, and in the night,
They told the time another way,
By water, which from vessels dropped,
Till they were emptied, when it stopped,
And this they called the clepsydra.
You use the same old measure yet,
For evermore your eyes are wet,
You leaky creature, old and sour,
Whose life is a perpetual shower!
Strong should he be, and in his prime,
To whom, as wife, you measure time.
How he can tell, with you in sight,
Whether it be the day or night.
Has puzzled me, I own, for years,
Your peevish tempers change so soon;
Your frown, as now, proclaims it noon,
And now ’tis midnight—by your tears!
—[R. H. Stoddard in Harper’s Magazine.
A FALLEN IDOL.
“I think him the very embodiment of
chivalry and gallantry,” said Ethel
Hunt, enthusiastically.
She was a dark-cheeked, diamond
eyed girl of eighteen, with braids of
blue-back hair coiled around the back
of her small, Greek shaped head and a
color as rich and velvety as the side of a
July peach.
“Humph!” said Aunt Sara. “I’ve
fteard girls talk so before and it general
ly ended in one thing.”
“For shame! Aunt Sara,” cried Ethel
coloring up to her eyelashes. “I only
mean, of course, that he is a very agree
able companion.”
“An agreeable companion—of course,”
said Aunt Sara. “Look Ethel; do you
think white Maltese lace or French
blonde, with a heading of Roman pearls,
would be prettiest for this berthe?”
Aunt Sara knew when to drop a sub
ject and when to hold on to it! But
when Ethel was stitching the quilting of
French blonde on to the white silk dress
her young aunt’s mind was busy upon
the topic she had apparently abandoned.
“The disagreeable fellow,” thought
Aunt Sara. “He has somehow heard
that Ethel has money, and he is deter
mined to win it. If she could only see
him in his true light—but I know what
a perverse thing a woman’s heart is.
Just as sure as I attempt to tell her
what he really is she’ll make up her mind
that he is the finest and least appreciated
personage on the face of the earth. And
I did so want her to keep her heart
whole until Earl Wells comes to be
Charles’s groomsman. Earl Wells is
worthy of a princess.
“They say he is perfectly intolerable
at home,” Sara said to herself. “Clara
Waters was there once and heard him
rating his sisters fearfully because the
beefsieak for his late breakfast was a ■
little overdone. If only I could man- i
age it that Ethel should see him in his
true light.”
She sat and thought a while longer—
and suddenly the color bloomed into
her cheek, and dimples into her chin,
shestarted up.
“Ethel,” she said, “I’m sure you must
"be tired of sitting over that everlasting
stitching. I’ve got to go over to Susy
Morand’s to borrow a pattern. It will
be just a pleasant walk for us.”
“To Miss Morand’s ?” Ethel was
vexed with herself, but she could not
help the tell-tale blood that surged into
her cheeks. “Isn’t it rather early? Only
9 o’clock!”
“Early? Not a bit! Susy and I are
■o intimate that we don’t mind curl
papers and calico wrappers. Get your
hat and come along, quickl”
But, in spite of her exhortations to
speed, Bara Martell smiled to herself to
perceive that Eth.l Hu«t lingered long
enough in her own room to change her
black lace breast-knot for a becoming
little butterfly bow of rose-colored rib
bon, and to rearrange the dainty tend-
SAVANNAH, GA.. SATURDAY. JUNE 25.1887.
rills of silky black hair that drooped so
caressingly over her low, broad forehead.
“She thinks we shall see Julian Mor
and,” she thought to herself. “Well,
perhaps we shall. I am putting myself
entirely in the hands of luck and
chance.”
But when they reached the Moran d
mansion, instead of ringing formally at
the front door, Miss Martell went around
to the back porch, a pretty little entrance
all shaded with honeysuckles and trum
pet vines.
“I always go in here," said she, non
chalantly, in reply to Ethel’s remonstrat
ing glance. “Sue Morand and I are just
like sisters.”
Sue Morand, a blooming girl of
eighteen, was in the kitchen making
apple pies.
“The pattern? Os course you shall
have it,*’ she cried. “Just wait a minute
till I get it.”
“I’ll go with you.” said Sara. “Ethel,
you’ll not mind waiting for us here?”
“Not in the least,” said Ethel. And
she sat down by the window, where
ivies, trained in bottles of water, were
creeping like green jewels across the
crystal panes of glass.
“Sue? Sue!” She started as the voice
of her preux chevalier of the evening
before came roaring down the back
stairs. “Confound you all down there,
why aren’t my boots blacked? Sue!
Mother! Nell! What’s become of my
breakfast! You must think a man has
nothing to do but to lie here and wait
all day for you lazy folks to stir
around.”
There was no reply as he paused, ap
patently expecting one. “Mother” was
down in the garden under a big green
sun-bonnet, gathering scarlet-cheeked
tomatoes for dinner. “Nell" was in the
front yard picking red-veined autumn
leaves out of the gold and russet drifts
that lay like treasures of precious stones
upon the grass.
Sue was shut up among the mysteries
of “patterns” innumerable, with Miss
Sara Martell. Ethel Hunt sat coloring
and half frightened, the sole auditress of
Mr. Morand’s objurgations.
“I know there’s some one down
there!” he shouted. “I can hear you
breathe and your dress rustle. Just like
your ugliness not to answer a fellow! Do
you hear, Sue? Black my boots, quick!
I’m waiting for them !”
And bang! bang! came the useful
articles of wear in question down the
winding stairway that led to the
kitchen.
Poor little Ethel 1 She half rose up,
then sat down again, piteously undecid
ed what to do, and even while she hesi
tated, with color varying like the red
and white of the American flag in a high
wind, the door at the foot of the stairs
flew open and in stalked Mr. Julian Mo
rand, sallow and dishevelled, with un
kempt hair and beard, fretfully curved
mouth and most unbecoming costume of
a Turkish dressing gown, faded pearl
colored nether garments' and stockinged
feet thrust into red morocco slippers.
“I say, you,” he snarled out, “why
don’t you ”
And than perceiving to whom he was
actually addressing himself, he started
back, turning fiery red.
“Miss Hunt?”
And, with a downward glance at his
toilet, he fairly and fled, the
skirts of his Turkish dressing gown
floating like red and orange meteors be
hind him. And, mortified and terrified
though she was Ethel Hunt could not
resist the temptation to break into a
peal of hearty laughter.
This, then, was her ideal among man,
her “Sir Launcelot” of fancied perfec
tion snarling at his mother and sister like
an ill-conditioned bear, dinging old
boots down the stairs at them, tumbling
out, of bed at 9 o’clock in the morning,
while his mother split kindlings and
picked tomatoes out in the vegetable
garden! Like some Chinese idol so fell
Mr. Julian Morand off his high pedestal
in the estimation of Miss Ethel Hunt.
She told it all to Sara Martell when
they were safe at home.
“Aunt Sara," she said, “I am thor
oughly disenchanted.”
Miu Martell shrugged her shoulders
and mentally thanked her lucky stars.
“I could have told you as much be
fore," said she. “These Adonises are
like cheap calico—they will neither wash
nor wear! Wait until Earle 11. Wells
comes. The nicest young fellow in the
world—after my betrothed husband."
When Mr. Wells came he so far justi
fied Aunt Sara’s encomiums that Ethel
really did like him. And Aunt Sara was
willing to leave the rest to fate.
Very Green Peas.
Men are usually the historians of a
country, and their works are apt to over
look the part taken by women in mak
ing history. For years after we had
become a great nation, only tradition
chronicled the deeds of the women of
the Revolution, or told how much they
suffered to gain peace and prosperity for
their children’s children.
Mrs. Fremont preserves, in her “Sou
venirs of my Time,” one of these old
traditions, which tells what that war
brought to her great-grandmother, who
carried to her grave “King George’s
mark,” a long cut on her forehead from
the knife thrown by an Indian in the
British service.
One day several English officers, of
the brutal Colonel Tarleton’s command,
rode up to her house and demanded food
for themselves and their men. She po
litely requested them to dismount, say
ing it would take an hour to prepare
dinner, and sent them to the bedrooms
to make their toilet.
At dinner, she appeared in her best
damask gown and petticoat. One of the
officers, a surly, ill-bred man, seeing
that the peas were very green—they had
been boiled with lettuce to add to their
green color—rudely exclaimed: “I be
lieve, madam, you mean to poison us;
that is the meaning of all your fine airs.”
The lady made no reply save to send
for her youngest daughter. Taking the
little girl on her lap she quietly fed her
with the peas. Then turning to the
officers, she said with impressive digni
ty: “You may feel safe now, gentle
men. Whoever eats at my table, invited
or not invited, has my best. Aly hus
band, my young sons, my brothers, are
all in the Rebel army, and I pray for
their success and your defeat, but you
will receive no harm from me.”
Curious Marriage Customs.
The associations connected with the
marriage rites among the Kirghese of
the northern steppes of Turkestan are
most formidable, involving the payment
of a “kalim’,’ besides the giving of va
rious presents. The first portion is paid
by the match maker when negotiations
are entered into, but the second not for
twelve months unless the bridegroom be
wealthy. Should the bride-elect die
during this period, her parents must re
turn all they have received, or give their
next daughter as a substitute, together
with a fine of one or two horses and
robes or furs. This same law applies in
the event of a girl jilting her suitor. On
ihe other hand, should the man die, his
parents must either pay a fine and for
feit the “kalim," or tak: the girl for
their next son. At the expiration of
the term of betrothal the bride
groom, attired in his best, goes
with his friends to the “aul," or
village of the bride, where a tent has
been prepared for his reception.
Throughout t e ceremonies of betrothal,
the bride’s brother has the right of pil
fering from the bridegroom whatever he
pleases; but at the wedding the bride’s
relatives, near and distant, come and
take as presents almost everything he
has. His hat, coat, girdle, horse, saddle
and all that he has are pilfered, each
one taking an article, remarking that it
is for the education of the bride. There
is, however, some reciprocity in the
matter, for when the rela‘ives of the
bride visit the “aul" of the bridegroom,
they are fleeced in exactly the same way.
On the payment of the “kalim" the par
ents are bound to give up their daugh
ter, giving her as a dowry a “kibitka,”
or tent, a camel, or riding norse, and a
number of cattle? according to their
position in life, also a bride’s headdress,
called “saoukele,” or, if poor, another
called “jaoulonk,” besides a bed, crock
ery and a trunk of weariqg apparel.—
[All the Year Around.
(91.25 Pnr Annum; 75 cents lot Six Months;
50 cents Three Months; Single OopiM
( loenta—ln Advance.
A Paralyzed Farmer.
A Detroit butcher named Joe Wlfiete
was up in Alecosta county a few day!
ago to sec some relatives. Joe is built
after the old stylo architecture—onfl
story and a basement—and any man whd
picks him up for a consumptive is bound
to feel sad over the mistake. While oufl
riding one day with a friend ho camfl
across a fanner who was trying id
“yank" a stump out of the ground wlta
a yoke of feeble looking stcera. Thfl
stump had begun to “give," but thfl
steers strained and twisted and pulled
and couldn’t budge it another inch.
“What are you trying to dot" naked
Joe as he stopped his horse.
“Trying to pull out this stump sir, WS;
the reply.
“And tho steers can’t do its"
“No, nor any other yoke in them
parts. It’ll take a pound of gunpowder
to lift that stump.",
“Shoo I now, but take off your cattla.
I’m something on the pull myself."
“You! Say, do I look like a fooll
You can drive on, stranger."
But Joo jumped down, slipped the
chain off the yoke, drove tho steers to
one side, and then walked over to the
stump and said;
“Sometimes the dirt flies over half AU
acre of ground. Better shade your eyes.**
With that he spit on his hands, ciao
ped his arms around the stump, and with
out a bulge of his eyes he lifted the
whole thing out of the earth and flung
it outside with the remark:
“Shouldn’t like any better fun than to
pull those steers backwards over the
fence, but we must be going now. Bo
Tong old man.” .T
And he climbed in and drove off. At
a bend in the road half a mile away
they looked back. The farmer stood
there, mouth open and eyes as big as
Bermuda onions, and when they waved
their hats at him he never moved
a hair. Ho touldn’t. lie was para
lyzed.— [Detroit Free Press.
A Good Word for Pass.
Cats are sometimes accused of being
treacherous; this appearance is wholly
owing to timidity, says a writer in the
Boston Transcript. Whatever faults
they may have may be traced generally
to the way they are treated. If a cat ie
kept hungry she will be a thief, and , I
do not blame her. If she is struck and
kicked she will use her claws, and who
can blame her. If she is left out in the
cold shivering, she will visit and often
take up her abode with another who is
kind to her. It does not become man to
accuse her of treachery, for man is the
most treacherous of all .animals. But
whoever may neglect or ill-treat them,
they have more friends than enemies.
They arc the companions of the s’clf
and lonely, the pets of childhood and
age, and the faithful servants of
I have a friend who, when her Sambo is
asleep in her armchair, will take a less
comfortable one for fear of disturbing
him; like the caliph who cut off tho
corner of his costly robe to rise without
awakening his favorite pet. I have
another friend who all winter puts her
cat, James Garfield, to bed in his barrel
with a hot soapstone. Some may laugh
at this, but is not extreme kindness far
better than extreme cruelty?
—.
Over Production.
“Don’t you think, M-. B uemarck,*
asked Aliss Daisygirl, sweetly, “that
poets are born?” “Too many of ’em
arc,” groaned the editor, “too many of
’em are,” and with a withering look he
scratched out nine stanzas of an “Ode
to J. T. on Seeing Iler Swing in a
Hammock at M , May, 1887,” twist*
ed the remaining four into a misfit son
net and said wearily to the waiting fore
man, “Put it somewhere under Crash Jb
Linen’s cut; folks’ll think it’s park of
the ad."—fßurdette.
Where the Fault Lies.
Rural Child—“Alamma it’s rainy and
the almanac said to-day would be clear.*
Mamma —“That medics! almanacl"
“No, the Farmers’ Almanac.”
“The ways of Providence are past
finding out. The weather gets wrong
every once in a while.”—[Omaha World*
NO. 36.