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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.