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®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.