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She Soaniwh ®ritnuw.
Published by the Tbtbuwb Publiihiac Ch i
J. H. DEVEAU A. Manage*. <
B. W. WHITE, Bolkito*.
vol. n.
newly fitted up.
LABORING~MEN’S HOME
Restaurant & Lodging,
Wm. B. Brown, Proprietor,
182 Bryan St., SAVANNAH, GA,
Meals at all hours. Choicest brands of
iriaea, liquor* and cigars always on hand.
isi:7\\>L2 r i r r’?s
HUMAN HAIR EMPORIUM.
Ladies’ and Gents’ wigs made to order
Also Fronts, Toupees, Waves, Curial
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
required. We cut and trim bangs in all
Df 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. JONFB
AT STALL HO. 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
guaranteed. Goods delivered if desired.
DON‘T FORGET. STALL NO. 31.
CREEN GROCERY.
HENRYFIELDS
TH® 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 fresn
Beef, Veal, Mutton, Pork, Fish, Poultry,
Eggs, Game and all kinds of Vegetables.
Prices reasonable—to suit the time*.
Hood* delivered if desired.
FOB GOOD
JOB PRINTING
—4O TO THB—
SAVANNAH
TRIBUNE.
Envelopes,
Easiness Cards,
Statements,
Posters,
And in fact everything
in the Job Printing line
neatly and cheaply ex
ecuted at short notice.
SATISFACTION GUARANTEED
Civ© us a cal!.
SAVANNAH, GA.. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3.1887.
Keep Your Faces to the Light.
| There’s a ringing glorious measure
hi the*inarch of life, my brothers;
If we listen we may hear it all hay long,
With an undertone of triumph
*'<> discordance wholly smothers,
And this is the cheerful burden of the song:
‘‘Forward! Keep the column moving!
Perfect rest shall be our guerdon
When our missions are fulfilled—our labors
done;
Duty's path lies plain before us,
i M hatso’er our task and burden, ,
If we bravely set our faces to the sun.
“Disappointments may o’ertake us,
Losses, griefs and grim surprises
May assault us in the weary way we go;
Look not back, but onward, ever,
Lo! the goal before us rises,
And the valley of the shadow lies below!
With a hand to help the fallen,
"Where the rugged steeps delay us,
Though the reddening summits warn us of
the night,
We shall conquer all the evils
That assail us and betray us,
While we keep our faces bravely to the
light!
“Steady! Keep the ranks in motion!
Tho’ we only be retrieving '
The disasters and mistakes of yesterday;
There is shame in dull inaction,
There is glory in achieving,
If we take'one step on the upward way!
Day by day the distance dwindles,
Foot by foot the steeps surrender,
And we dread no more the barriers over
past;
While we breathe the airs serener,
And our eyes behold the splendor
Os the gates where we shall enter in at last;
Wayside thorns may rend and goad us,
Driving mist! and cloud may blind us,
As we struggle up the last stupendous
height;
But remember, and take courage,
All life’s shadows lie behind us
While we keep our faces bravely, to the
light!”
THE GOVERNESS.
I went to live with my aunt, Leonora
Seymour, when my father died. That
was half a dozen years ago, but my
trouble seems as fresh now as it did then.
My father married a simple country
girl,* but a more' beautiful woman I never
saw. Father belonged to a proud race
of people, old as the Conqueror, and
reaching back to the Plantagnets. When
he brought my mother home to Elsmers
Hall, Aunt Seymour met her so haughtily,
and led her such a life, that my father
soon took her away to Italy. There she
died two years after I Was born.
Father and I were all in all to each
other. He was my companion, guide,
teacher, and playmate. I was only 19
when he died, and I was left to the ten
der mercies of my aunt.
I was a Seymour and could not be put to
drudge, so she determined I should be a
governess. I had an advertisement in
serted in the paper, and in about a week
an answer appeared in the person of
Harry Englefield. He was well pleased
with me, and a week later I was installed
in his luxurious home on the coast of
Wales.
It was a pleasant place. From my win
dow I could see the white caps of the
ocean and the bright waves glancing in
the sunshine like diamonds. I was hap
pier than I had been since poor papa
died.
Mr. Englefield was a kind, pleasant
man. about 35 years of age, and well
preserved. My pupils were his> two
daughters, May and Kate, aged respec
tively 15 and 12 years. Mr. Englefield
was a widower, his wife having been
dead three' ye*ars. I commenced my
duties at once. My pupils loved me,
and we got on pleasantly. I began to
think my lines were cast; in pleasant
places, but an enemy was at hand in
the person of Mr. Englefield'* cousin
and housekeeper, Helen Ixroy.
She was about 21 years of age, hand
some and imperious as a queeji-r-a dead-
Iv enemy to those whom she hat cd. She
treated me well, but still a feeling of
dislike was plainly visible. My pupils
made wonderful progress, and I was
happy. 1 saw very little of Mr. Engie
fleld.
One morning after I had been there
about three weeks he came into the
school room, saying he had come to see
what progress the children were mak
ing.” He spent a half hour or more
with us, and 1 caught myself wondering
often when he would come again.
The next evening he came up and told
us to lay aside our books, and come for a
drive. It was a beautiful evening, and
our way lay through a lovely country.
On either hand rose lofty mountains,
clothed with magnificent trees. Before
us lay the ocean in all its grandeur, its
white caps tossing and breaking on the
rocks with a sound like thunder. I sat
quietly drinking in the wild beauty of
the scene.
“You seem to enjoy tho scene, Miss
Seymour,” said Mr. Englefield.
“I do, Mr. Englefield, I have a great
love for wild scenery, and this is the
most beautiful view I have ever seen.”
“It is a lovely view, but you should
see the ocean when a storm is upon it,”
he answered.
“I would like it,” T said, “but I hope
no storm will arise just to please me.”
I had hardly uttered the words when
a loud peal of thunder sounded in our
ears. A storm came on with a terrible
violence. The thunder roared and the
winds howled like demons. The ocean
w T as a magnificent sight. As far as the
eye could see the white foam and
spray rose and fell heavily and we were
wet through and through.
“I am sorry you are so wet, Miss Sey
mour. You will take your death of
cold,” said Mr. Englefield, in an anxious
voice.
“Do not fear for me,” I replied; “a
little wetting will not hurt me.”
We reached the house and 1 retired to
change my wet clothes. Miss Leroy came
up to my room, and said sneeringly:
“So you got a wetting for your pains,
did you? lam glad I did not go. Any
fool could have seen it was going to
rain.”
“Thank you, but Ido not need your
sympathy,” I replied, quietly, and she
was gone.
I dressed myself and went down stairs
to the parlor.
“Hove do you feel, Miss Seymour?”
said Mr. Englefield.
“I am all right—none the worse for
my bath,” I replied, sitting down at the
piano.
“Will you play some for me, Miss Sey
mour?”
“Yes; I will try." I began to play the
last waltz of Von Weber.
When I had finished he said, “Will
you sing? Do, I will help yfiu.”
We sang several songs, and then sepa
rated for the night.
Things went on this way for several
months, Mr. Englefield and I being more
and more together. One day I went
down in the garden in the evening to
read. I seated myself at the roots of a
large oak, and was soon deeply interest
ed in the book I had brought. A step
crunched the gravel, and Harry Engle
field stood beside me.
“What are you reading?” he said,
quietly.
“ ‘The Lass o’ Lowrie,’ ” I replied.
He sat down by me, saying, “Put
aside your book ; 1 want to talk to you.
Annie, do you know you are dearer than
all the world to me?”
“I was not aware of it,” I sqid quietly.
“Do not trifle with me, Annie. Tell
me you love me 1” he said, passionately.
“I do love you, Harry,” I replied ear
nestly.
“You have made me the happiest man
in the world, Annie. Let us go down
on the beach,” he said, clasping mein
his arms, “and we can talk it all over
together.”
We went slowly down to the beach,
and finding a shady cove, we sat down.
He passed his arm around my waist, and,
kissing me, said: “How long have I
loved you, Annie? Can you guess?”
“No, Harry.”
“Just from the hour I first saw you.” i
Just as he spoke a large rock fell
down from the cliff over our head. My i
arm was lying on a rock by my side, i
and the rock fell with a heavy thud on ;
it. I uttered a scream, and a hoarse, :
exulting laugh sounded over our heads, i
Harrv sprang to his feet, and that is al!
I remember.
When I came to myself I was lying in
my room, with Harry sitting by my side.
My arm was terribly crushed and
swollen. Harry said when he got out
where he could see up ou the cliff he (
saw a woman’s dress flutter among the
rocks and then disappear. We had no
idea who it was. So it remained a
mystery. My arm got well, and wo
were making preparations for our wed
ding. when one morning a boy brought
Harry a note written in a familiar
hand, lie opened it, and this Is what
he read:
Mr. Harry Englefield: I was in the
garden when you were talking to Annie. I
loved you, but 1 hated her. Trolled the stone
down. I meant to crush her head, but I did
not. Forgive my murderous intention. I
have left, and you will liear of me no more.
Helen Leroy.
Harry looked at me. “Poor Helen,”
he said.
Harry and I were married. Years
later we heard that Helen had married
a wealthy man and was happy.
Harry does not envy her husband in the
least.
Alkali Lands of the Southwest.
On the desert plains of the west and
the southwest are large white patches of
land, commonly known as alkali soil.
The peculiarity is caused by the presence
of carbonate of soda. Even in the irri
gated valleys much of this substance is
found, and in places it is impossible to
raise crops on account of its excess.
On the desert plateau, where agricul
ture is impossible, the presence of the
alkali is of no economical disadvantage,
but in the fertile valleys it is a source of
much trouble to the agriculturists. By
the natural processes of evaporation at
the surface and capillary rise from be
low, these salts, which are present in
variable quantities in nearly all the
soils of the southwest, tend to accu
mulate near the surface, add form the
efflorescence, which gives the appear
ance above noted. Such a esoil, aside
from the destructive effects of the al
kali, cannot be used for crops, because
even the most thorough cultivation only
results in breaking the soil ijp into
hard lumps. Each irrigation softens it,
but as soon as the sun has commenced
to dry the surface, it becomes hard and
cloddy.
A system of drainage must therefore
be established, and in this way the land
can, doubtless, be made of great value,
for it is naturally rich. The broadcast
culture of cereals is the worst possible
crop for an alkaline soil. They are
readily killed, do not admit of cultiva
tion, and give little protection to the soil
against evaporation. Deep rooting crops
which shade the ground are especially
well fitted forsuch soil. Alfalfa, a very
profitable crop in the Southwest, take*
readily to alkaline soils, if the salts are
not too abundant. Ail fruits, especially
the sweeter kind#; are found to flourish
in slightly alkalfrte ground. Possibly
sugar-cane and sorghum will find the soil
adapted to their demands. —[American
Agriculturist.
A Great Singer.
In one of the many attractive environs
of London, Madame Jenny Lind Gold
schmidt lives to-day, passing her old age
in a most peaceful, happy manner. She
is in her With year, but is still youthful
in feeling and intensely interested in
every musical event. Among the great
est of the achievements witnessed by the
people of Vienna was that accomplished
by herself, and it must b< a ■ source of
great happiness to her to recall her tri
umph in the Austrian capital. To-day
she passes quietly in and out of her home,
unnoticed except by those who know her
worth as friend and neighbor and
greet her with respectful deference.
Forty years ago every civilized country in
the world knew of her wonderful pow
ers and was ready to do her homage.
She could not pass from her hotel door
without encountering crowds, who would
stand hours to see her. Probably no
woman upon the stage ever held precise
ly her position. There may have been
quite as much curiosity to see other fa
mous singers and crowds have followed
them, but the people of two worlds re
spected Jenny Lind, am! the old feeling
has not died out. She is still the great
artist and no one has dethroned her in
the hearts ami minds of those who
heard her years ago.- [London Musical
World.
1 $ 1.25 Per Annnm; 75 cents for Six Months;
J 50 cents Three Months; Single Copies
( 5 cents' -In Advance.
Persian Jewelers.
The goldsmith-’ and jewellers’ shops
in Persia present little attraction to the
■ye. Perhaps there i.s a small glass ease
I containing a few of the less costly ob
jects, but the owners are not wealthy
men ami keep little or no stock, merely
working to order. The artificer, with
his vne or two grimy journeyman and
perhaps a couple of apprentices, may be
seen hard at work in the open air from
morning till night. There they sit in
the little brick archway, with a tiny
furnace of live charcoal, at which th*
youngest apprentice is seen blowing with
primitive bellows made of a goat skin.
Their tools are few and rough: but their
work is invariably original. With tho
silversmith it is another affair. So com
mon is the use of silver that it is hardly!
looked upon as a precfOns metal. Electro
plating is not unknown; but it finds
no favor in Persian eyes, coming under
the head of badel or sham. The silver
smiths' bazaar in all the great Persian
cities is a sight to see. In the east every
trade has its own special quarter. Thera
is the shoemakers’ bazaar, the copper
smiths' and the silversmiths’. There tho
rival artisans work side by side, and tho
result is a sort of perpetual competitive
exhibition. Pipe head* in endless va
riety, coffee pots, trays, bowls, basins,
ewers and bottles here stand in glitter
ing array and bewildering variety.
There is no middleman; thy maker is tho
vender, and stands or falls by his own
work. Woe be to the wretched silver
smith who adulterates or alloys. There
is no need of hall marks when the
darogah, or police master, is ever on the
alert to apply the bastinado to the feet
of the swindler.
The Persians are particularly clever in
both incised and chased work, and in
repousse work of the highest class. The
in< ised work resembles the best of tho
Seimle work, with which the recent In
dian exhibition has made most of us fa
miliar. As for chased work, the Persian
is inimitable. Every artisan is prepared
to produce scrollwork and tracery strik
ingly original. Many a rugged work
man can turn out representation of men
and animals in motion, wonderful little
groups, battle scenes, hunting scenes, and
representations of birds, fruits, foliage
and flowers. Engraving upon metal, in
fact, is carried in Persia to its highest
perfection. Pipe heads, water laittles,
basins, ewers and even spittoons are
often made of silver uud sometimes
of gold; horse furniture and stirrups,
trays, dishes, sword hilt and scabbard*,
dagger and knife handles, boxes and mir
row frames, drinking cups and goblets,
as well as tea urns and services, are or
dinarily made of the precious metals.
Every villager has his silver-mounted
pistol; the stork of his gun is often yrna
mented wjjh silver plates. No lady,
however poor, would think of wearing
aught but ornaments of the purest gold.
Silver ornaments Arc only worn by the
poor, the women of the wandering tribes
and by negresses. Coral, too, being out
of fashion, i.s relegated to slaves.—
[Jewelry News.
A Musical Mendicant.
The best and most widely known street
musician in New York is a Frenchman.
His history has a pathetic interest. Years
ago he was the principal tenor in the
finest opera troup that then delighted
Paris. He married and all the world
went well with him. Suddenly his eye
sight began to fail; when he went to an
oculist he learned the terrible truth that
he was doomed to perpetual blindness.
When he was no longer able to read tho
notes of music he lost his position in tho
opera troup. With his wife, whom ho
had married in the days of his prosperity,
he came to America. Stai ration stared
him in the face, and he curbed his pride
to the extent of going out on the street
at singing. He ha% a nowcrful voice,
and sings the “Mars-.-mabe” in such
stirring manner that the most careless
pedestrian cannot help stopping to listen
to him, and every Frenchman throws up
his Iml and goes wild with enthusiasm.
His wife playing a harmonica aecom
panies him, and the blind Frenchman
makes and average income of |8 per
day,—[American Musician.
NO. 46.