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quest, that I would answer him affirmatively, and
tnus bewilder entirely my friends, in return for
their curiosity to hear the expected proposal, with
out any consideration what the consequences might
be. I thought of the present fun, and now it was
) over. I felt totally at loss what to do, or how to
revoke my decision. I had some conscience still,
and was unwilling the good man should remain
deceived, or love one so unworthy. I thought,
could he but know my unworthiness, the trial of
disappointment would be deprived of half its bit
terness. After Mr. Fairfax left m». and had safely
reached his room, the young ladies came from their
hiding place. I put my finger on my lips to denote
silence, and we hastily sought our chambers. Then
they all, with one voice exclaimed, at the unex--
I pec ted denoument :
‘What have you done, Ellen i Are you in your
senses ?’
I then told them I wanted to puzzle them a little
also, but had placed myself in so difficult a position
by so doing, I knew not the best means of escape.
For many hours we made plans to effect my re
lease ; at last I came to this conclusion, that I
would rely wholly upon Mr. Fairfax’s benevolence,
and confess the whole truth. To be sure it was
humiliating, but I deserved punishment for my
thoughtless conduct.
The next morning at breakfact, he received me
with such perceptible empressment, it was noticed
by all at the table. When, afterwards, he came to
me, with great kindness of manner inquiring for
my health, the tears unbidden came into my eyes,
to feel how poor a return I must make him. He
noticed my looks, for lovers are acute observers.
I said to him :
‘I would like to see you alone, before you leave
for the city, if you have leisure.’
‘I am at your service, dear Ellen,’he replied, ‘for
I intend on this first day of my happiness, to dedi
cate the hours to enjoyment.’
I looked very serious, as he placed my arm with
in his own, and we walked into another room. Mrs.
Evans was always busy in the morning, and my
friends knew of my purpose, therefore, we were
left to ourselves. I at once commenced by saying :
‘Mr. Fairfax, it is with sincere grief and sorrow
I now speak to you. I can only reveal the truth,
and trust to your kindness a second time, though
wholly undeserving of it.’
‘What do you, can you mean, my dear Miss
Howard ? What have I to pardon, in one whose
every wish shall be my law. ’
‘I fear you will despise me, and indeed, I ought
to be condemned ; but 1 will not keep you a mo
ment longer in suspense. Do not interrupt me, but
let me, if possible, get through this painful recital.
‘When I first thought of coming to this village to
pass the winter season, I was told of the inmates of
the family, among the rest, your name was men
tioned. You were described to me as a person of
great susceptibility, having been many times, as
you supposed, deeply in love : but never yet, from
some cause or other,' had you obtained a wife. You
were represented to me in the light of a male flirt ;
ever more despicable is flirtation in a man, than in
a woman : therefore I determined, for mere fun’s
sake, to get up some amusement, and you, I confess
with shame, -was the mark at which my folly aimed.
I made a plan with my companions, that before
the winter passed away, I would make you both
dislike and love me. So anxious was I too succeed
in this, that propriety, reason, and even decorum,
were cast aside, and my conduct has been as you
have seen.
‘Mr. Fairfax, I esteem you highly, and am not
worthy your regard with my present character. I
humbly ask your forgiveness, and hope you - will
forget the past entirely ; knowing me now truly,
I feel certain your disgust at my conduct will not
make you regret dissolving our connexion. Allow
me to sav, had I before known your great superi
ority of character, your refinement of feeling, I
should never have commenced such a course. But
having begun, I had not self-restraint enough to
deter from farther action. I have done very
wrong, but it will be a lesson I will endeavor to
profit by. I confess all to you, it being the only
reparation I can > , ow make. It remains with you
to forgive or not; but at all events, I sincerely beg
your pardon, and will listen to any reprimand you
2®iit anti itrnnor.
A Newspaper Reporter with His Nose at the Key-hole.
may think proper. ’
Mr. Fairfax did not speak. I ventured to look
at him, and shall never forget his expression. He
looked overwhelmed with distress, and as he kindly
took my hand in his, a teal - fell upon it. That tear
unlocked all the full fountain in my heart, and
now, all that pride had reserved in its humiliation,
gave way, and I wept in true anguish of mind.
Was he not noble ? Was he not generous and
kind > He forgave me freely, but said it was im
possible for him to speak for at that time ; he
could not endure this sudden reaction, from exces
sive joy to such deep grief. I must excuse him for
the present, but should hear from him again. He
grasped my hand in his, looked at me a momtnt,
and went hastily from the room.
Oh ! how wretched I felt, how' little, when com
pared with the greatness of character he had
evinced ! I would have given much to recall the
past, but it was too late. Repentance often comes
at a tardy pace, but happy is it if she does not for
sake us altogether. I sat for some time in deep
thought. I wished I could love him truly. I ad
mired his character, I respected him, but could not
love him with earnestness and truth. At this peri
od, I might get up an enthusiasm of feeling and
think it love, but soon as the immediate remem
brance of this scene had passed, I should see my
illusion, and feel unhappy and discontented. I
tried to check my love of the ridiculous, by think
ing of the foolishness 1 had exhibited seeking to
procure fun from others. I absented myself from
find my beloved, my Marianne, the wife of another.
It was long since I had heard from her, and sup
posed the letters must have been lost or miscarried.
I was dumb with amazement, for I felt sure she had
loved me. I was too proud to ask any questions,
or even to seek her house or family, (as I heard of
this before I reached her native town.) All now
seemed worthless to me. I was wealthy, and came
back laden with rich gifts for my expected bride.
I will pass hastily over this period, it is beyond my
strength of endurance, when I recall it, even now,
to mind.
‘Twelve months passed on, when one morning a
man brought to my hotel a letter ; it was from
Marianne, and ran thus :
‘I am very ill, come to me if possible, without de-
lav. I wish to communicate once more with vou.
I have the permission of my husband for this re
quest, and the interview. I sign my name as ever,
for I am, and have been in heart, your unchanged
Marianne.
“Soon sis I had finished reading her dear letter. I
took a horse, and scarcely rested until I reached the
abode of my beloved. I felt sure now, as I had al
ways hoped, some mystery was connected with
Marianne’s marriage, for I could not believe her so
insincere.
‘I was conducted by Marianne’s husband, whom
I beheld for the first time—and here let me say, he
was the very opposite in appearance to myself—to
the chamber of his wife and my betrothed. But
what a change ! She was the shadow only of her
former self. Pillowed upon her couch, she half re
clined ; so ethereal was her whole appearance in
her white muslin robe, it seemed as if she only
waited for some kind angel to remove the slight
drapery of mortality, leaving her at once robed in
the invisible garb of righteousness and peace. Her I
husband left us alone. She motioned me to be |
seated near her bedside, and informed me of the
cau-e of her being in the situation she now was.
‘My physician tells me it is impossible for me to
linger much longer ; a month at fartherest is all I
have to hope for ; so my husband permitted me to
write and send for you to communicate once more,
before I died, with you, face to face. Thomas,’ she
continued, ‘I have loved you alone. My marrying
was by my parents’ express wish and command.
They thought it very doubtful if you obtained the
property you sought. Arthur was rich, young and
handsome. My father was embarrassed and need
ed assistance. This could be rendered him through
my means, if I accepted Arthur, and consented to
an immediate union. I refused for a long time,
and candidly told Mr. Rivers I could never love
him, as my affections were pre-engaged. My
my friends that day, for I told them I did not feel I father’s necessity compelled me, however. I could
worthy any society, until I could better control my no t re f use , though I felt I must be a sacrifice. I
impulse-. They also felt grieved, but said I had
won their gifts, which I should soon receive. At
first I rejected these, then remarked, if each one
would devise some means by which the gift should
remind me of the folly I had committed, i would
keep them as silent mementos of my sorrow, for
what had occurred.
The next morning I found on the parlor table a
letter. Mrs. Evans said Mr. Fairfax left it for me.
He had gone a short journey, on a visit to some
friends in another State. ‘He wished me to give
his compliments to the ladies,’ continued Mrs.
Evans, as she handed me the document. Uncon-
sciously 1 blushed, and trembling, retired alone to I sanctity' i can never forget.
read my letter.
He had truly gone. I should not perhaps ever
again meet with him, even to let him see my sorrow,
and as I humbly hoped, my amendment of charac-
t er. No doubt it is for the best. 1 said. Then
opening the‘letter, I read it over and over, and now
once more re-read it, my kind friends to you.
‘Miss Howard,—I now am calm, though de
pressed and deeply grieved. Let me thank you for
your full confession, knowing as I do, it cost you
infinite pain to make it. From this trait in your
character I hope much. Be assured, it is far nobler
to confess our faults and repent, than to continue
through a false pride, to all appearances insensible
of them. That you caused me much anguish, I can
not deny. But I forgive you. Itisnotthe first
time I have been acquainted with sorrow, though I
would fain hope it might be the last. I feel as if I
had done with vour sex forever, through my utter
inability to understand the seeming contradictions
in their character. As you have been so frank with
me, even at this late hour, I still retain much in
terest for you, and an earnest desire for your rapid
improvement of the many rich gifts God has en
dowed you with. Feeling sure I may commit these
pages to you, in confidence, I admit you into a
knowledge of my former life.
‘Several years ago, I loved a beautiful and gentle,
girl, who returned in reality mv affection. We ex
pected to be married in the course of a few months,
and preparations were made accordingly. But I
was suddenly called abroad, delay, was impossible,
and Marianne’s friends were unwilling our marriage
should take place before I went.
I well remember the last evening before I start
ed. There was a party at her father’s house, and
when my betrothed and I caught a few minutes
alone, in one of the curtained alccves of the draw
ing-room, «e exchanged those vows of undying
love and fidelitv, which do to much to soften the
pain ol a parting like that. She placed her hand
in mine, with a promise to be true to me forever,
and I lifted it to my lips reverently, believing
every word she uttered.
SEE ENGRAVING.
Then I went away.
I was detained longer than I expected, owing to
a law-suit connected with the settlement of the es
tate : as it was for the purpose of attending to some
business of this nature, concerning my father’s
property, I was thus peremptorily summoned
8 ^When I returned sixteen months after, it was to ‘
have been failing for some time, but I could not feel
resigned until I saw you, to confess my feelings
were unchanged. Let this comfort you, dear
Thomas, and now if you would be happy, seek some
lovely, interesting girl, to be your companion in
life. You will be happier far than to live alone,
unsympathized with, uncared for. When trials
come upon you, in sickness or sorrow, j'ou will find
the gentle spirit of feminine affection relieve you of
much anxiety ; for the love of a true woman is an
inexhaustible mine of wealth.’ This was the sub
stance of her conversation. I cannot admit anyone
to our farewell; it was sacred, invested with a
Marianne died shortly
I Faults Pompey Couldn't Remember
A good clergyman wishing to be rid of his
horse, and to try for a better one, directed his
old negro man to sell his beast for what he
would fetch, or to exohange him for another,
adding at the same time, an anxious caution not
to deceive the purchaser, and even enumerat
ing the faults of the animal, lest one should be
overlooked.
‘Remember, Pompey, he has four faults.’
‘Ob, yes, massa, 1 take care.’
Pompey jogging along the road, and counting
over the list to himself, as the old lady did over
her luggage, big box, little box, band-box, bun
dle, ’ was overtaken by a man on horseback, who
entered into conversation, and among other
topics, made some inquiries about the horse.
Pompey told his story, said that his master
had charged him to tell the horse’s faults to the
purchaser without reservation.
‘Well, what are they ?’ said the stranger, who
had a mind to swap.
•Dere is four, massa,’ said Pompey, ‘and I
don’t remeuiber ‘em all very well just now,
but—’
‘Well, tell me those you do remember,’ said
the other.
‘Well, sair, one is dat de horse is white and
de white hairs get on massa’s coat, and dat don't
look well for a clergyman.’
‘And the next ?’
‘Why, when he comes to a brook he will put
his nose down and blow in de water, and massa
don’t like dat.’
‘What next ?’
‘I don’t anyhow remember de oders,’ said
Pompey, peering into the clouds with one eye
reflectiDgly.
The stranger concluded to strike a bargain
and exchange his own horse, which had not
quite so gentle an air as the parson’s for this
nearly unexceptionable animal. It was not
long before the clerical steed stumbled and
threw his rider into a ditch. Picking himself
up as well as he could, he examined his new
purchase as well as he could, and discovered
that the horse was entirely blind.
Finding Pompey again without much diffi
culty, his wrath burst forth in a torrent of re
proaches.
•You black rascal! What does this mean ?
This horse is broken-kneed, and as blind as a
mole!’
‘Oh, yes, massa,’ said Pompey, blandly,
‘dem’s the Oder two faults dat I couldn’t remem
ber !’
A boy’s first bet—Alphabet.
A question of time—What o'clock is it?
Self-sufficiency is miserable insufficiency.
When is a toper’s nose not a nose? When it is a
little reddish!
Lovers are respectfully advised to eat onions by
proxy. Important suggestion.
W hat is that which ties two persons and only
touches one? A wedding ring.
A bee flew out in the sunny air
By a boy so blithe and young,
Who langhad and screamed without a care,
And would not hold his tongue.
The scene it changed; with sob and shriek
The vaultjof heaven rung;
And homeward flew the bee so meek.
While the small boy held his stung.
Why is a vain young lady like a drunkard? Be
cause neither of them is satisfied with a moderate
use of the glass.
Send news to Blaine far down in Maine—
To Sherman in Ohio—
That U. S. G.
From o’er the sea,
Comes in the good Tekio.
Tell each to pack his little sack,
And stop his little booming;
For wis„ men see
In U. S. G-
The star of empire looming.
Industry, brains and cheek—these three, but the
greatest is cheek.
Things'are sadly changed. Iu Aladdin's time, the
slave of the ring was a genius.
No gentlemanly student’s lamp will smoke in
the presence of ladies.
The circus that give the most dead-head tickets
is the gratis show in the world.
Some ofth‘ pol'-parrots on fall bonnets look nat
ural enough to ask for a cracker.
ft is said tbatSchuz will write a novel calleu
“The (White) House of Seven Gabbles.”
She called him “sweety” because he had lots of
“sugar;” but when it was all spent, she soured on
him.
Skirts are to be gathered to the waist this winter;
say the fashion journals. Heavens! are we going to
have mud waist deep?
* Beaconsfleld has become a regular old woman,”
says a correspondent. He probably spends his time
darning Afghans.
%ot(d platters.
“And oh, Edward,” said the girl he was going to
leave behind: “at every stopping place, be sure you
write, then go ahead.”
Whenever a doctor makes his presence in a new
settlement in the far west, the inhabitants know
that it is about time to pick out a location for a
cemetery.
A religious exchange says poetically that Adam
and Eve began in spring and ended with early sum
mer. We aiways thought they had a fall trade.
The Philadelphia Ledger informs an anxious in-j
quirer that “poets are born, not made.” We regret
to leaan tlii-, for we had intended io take a block Of
wood and a pen-knife and whittle out a few for the
fall trade.—Dr, J. G. Holland.
When a woman carefully slides out of bed in the
dead of night, and by the pale light of the moon
goes ihroagh her husband's pockets, why does she
always take the smalljchange and leave the bills?
Answer. Because she doesn’t.
TheOil Citj Derrick asks this conundrum, “What
is a gentleman?” A gentleman, old fellow is a man
who comes into a newspaper office once in a great
while and pays for hispap.rin advance. We always
thought you knew that, else we should have told
you before.
A Keokuk boy has built a small engine or motor
which runs by the power of Limberger cheese.—
The stronger the cheese, the stronger the engine
runs. He thinks he has struck a big bonanza, and
by adding a few onions and a small quantity of
boarding-house butter, enough stiength will be ob.
tained to hold a mule by the hindlegs while the
smallest kind of a boy twists the mule’s tall.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA. OCTOBER, 18. 1879.
The numerous visitors to the Atlanta Fair will
not reed to wandef far in search of refreshment
for the inner man. It oan be had, as excellent
and varied as anywhere in the oity, at the hand
some eating saloon of Messrs. Ballard and Du
rand at the Car Shed. The broiled steak, oys
ters and coffee there to be had cannot be excell
ed; the attendance is prompt, the table appoint
ments exquisitely neat, and ladies are sure of
the utmost attention, for is not Henry Durand,
known to more than Atlanta fame as the pink of
courtesy?
On Monday 20th inst. the North Georgia Fair
opens at Oglethorpe Park in Atlanta. The man
agers, Messrs Cox and Wrenn, have outdone
themselves in efforts to provide extraordinary
attractions and to bring together specimens of
the industrial progress and enterprise of the
people. Blooded stock, fast horses, fine poul
try, the latest improvements in agricultural im
plements in mechanical art and manufactures
will be on exhibition. Our native artists have
contributed some beautiful piotures in oil, cray
on and pencil, the needlework department is
well filled, the race ground has been put in
splendid condition, the Fair Grounds furbish
ed up tastefully and everything done to pro
vide for the comfort of the great tide of visitors
that will pour intosthe Railroad City, fare on
the different roads being reduced for the occa
sion.
A London society paper ‘protests most em
phatically against afly artist on the stage de
liberately recognizing—even with the prettiest
and most coquettish of smiles—any single soul
beyond the lights. It is bad art, bad acting,
bad form—very gratifying, doubtless to the re
cipient in the stalls, but peculiarly irritating to
those who dislike such gross violations of all
dramatic art and craditian. We shall have
handshaking across the orchestra after a bit if
this goes on.’
CLARKE
Tlie Great ICetail Halter ol Georgia.
after this. And years passed on. I endeavored to
take her advice, and find some soul congenial to my
own I have tried and been disappointed, more
than once, in the objects of my interest. You know,
Miss Howard, the result of, as I hope, my last ef- 1 , , „ .. ..
fort; vou can imagine my feelings ; I will not at- j men t&l feeling, your foolish habit ot thought cn
tempt "to describe them. I would fain wish, my | some little secret opinion confessed in a mo-
young friend, yon might learn from this event a ! ment of genuine confidence. It matters not
Saying “Hateful’' Things.
What a strange disposition is that which leads
people to say ‘hateful’ things for the mere pleas
ure of saying them ! You are never safe with
such a person. When you have done your best
to please, and are feeling very kindly and pleas
antly, out will pop some underhand stab, which
you alone can understand—a sneer which is
masked, but which is too well-aimed to be mis
understood. It may be at your person, or your
useful lesson, and not through your love of fun,
f ive unnecessary pain to any of your fellow beings.
hat you may reflect and become worthy of your
self, thus enjoying a happy future, is my sincere
desire. Your friend, Thomas Fairfax.
With this letter I close the account of my folly
while in D. I remained but a short time after this
event, returning to aiy home in the city, a more
sober-minded, and as I hope, a better girl. Before
I take leave of my' kind friends, I must ask as a
favor, wben tuey feel inclined to jest on the deso
late situation of their unmarried acquaintances,
they will remember the trials to which poor Thom
as was subjected and for bis nobleness of character
and many disappointments, learn to respect the
race and their loneliness : sympathizing, in as far
as lies in their power, with all who come under the
title or cognomen of Old Bachelor.
From Porkopolis come dispatches of a fierce
battle between Doctor Hamilton Griffin, mana
ger for Mary Anderson, aEd John P. Smith,
founder of the Pullman Coach Dramatic Indus
try. The action began on the South side of
Fifth street, by a feint upon the part of the wily
doctor. This was followed by a retreat to the
Pike’s Opera House office, where both forces
formed in line of battle, face to face. The doc
tor threatened to open fire with a cane, when
Smith, of Virginia, barked his antagonist’s
beardless chin. The medicine man's well-
armed ten-pounder (fist) landed squarely upon
Smith‘s dexter optic, and caused some confu
sion as well as a total eclipse of that organ. The
Pnllman coacher sought vainly for a hidden
arsenal in his vacant hip pocket, but he had
prospered and had changed his pants
on that day. Had he not done so the undertak
ing business wonld have been very profitable, as
Sam Hickey and Business Manager Burnham
were on hand to beoome targets for Smith's ex
cellent pistol practioe. These lookers —on called
a parley, and a temporary truce was effected.
how sacred it may be to you, he will have his
fling at it; and, since the wish is to make von
snffer, he is all the happier the nearer he
touches your heart. Just half a dozen words,
only for the pleasure of seeing a cheek flush or
an eye lose its brightness, only spoken because
he is afraid you are too happy or too conceited.
Yet they are worse than so many blows. How
many sleepless nights have such mean attacks
caused tender-hearted men ! How, after them,
one awakes with aching eyes and head, to re
member that speech before everything—that
bright, sharp, well-aimed needle of a speech
that probed the very center of your soul l—Ex.
SURPRISING VEGETATION.
‘Let’s see, they raise some wheat in Minneso
ta, don’t they ?’
‘Raise wheat! Who raises wheat ? No, sir ;
decidedly no, sir. It raises itself. Why, if we
undertook to cultivate wheat in that State it
would run us out. There wouldn’t be any place
to put our house.’
‘But I’ve been told the grasshoppers take a
good deal of it.’
‘Of course they do. If they didn’t I don’t
know what we would do. The cussed stuff
would run all over the State and drive us out—
choke us up. Those grasshoppers are a God
send, only there ain’t half enough of ’em.’
‘Is that wheat nice and plump !’
‘Plump ! Why, I don’t know what you call
plump wheat, but there are seventeen in our
family, including ten servants, and when we
want bread we just go ont and fetch in a kernel
of wheat and bake it.’
‘Do you ever soak it in water first ?’
‘Ob, no ; that wouldn’t do. It would swell a
little, and then we couldn't^ get it in our range
oven.’
Answers to Correspondents.
G. Ogi.etkee, of Columbus says: A dispute has
arisen between a friend and myself with regard to the
color of the Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. He contends
that she was black, hut beautiful, which, according to
my idea of the beautiful in woman, is very absurd. I
hold that Mark Antony would have never sacrificed
Rome at the shrine of an ebony damsel though she wa
queen of Egypt. Please settle the matter through your
corresponding column by giving us the facts and au
thority. * ® * You are right my dear sir.
Cleopatra was not a “black hut comely damsel. She
was of the pure Greek blood, coming down in a direct
line from the renowned Ptolemy—the favorite general
of Alexander the Great. When the conquered Provinces
were divided among Alexander’s generals, Egypt was
given to Ptolemy to rule over. Then succeeded the
Ptolemy dynasty—a long line oi Greek princes reigning
over an Egyptian realm. Cleopatra the Beautiful was
the daughter of the eleventh of the line. The blood
had kept purely Greek by intermarriage. Ptolemy An-
leter was the name of Cleopatra’s father. He was the
grandson of another Cleopatra hardly less celebrated lor
her beauty, hut so fierce, cruel and ambitious that she
is known as the Terrible Cleopatra. Her history is also
romantic.
F. N. says: I and a friend of mine have had quite a
controversy about the nationality of John B. Gough and
Wendell Phillips. My friend contends that they are
Americans. I say they are of English birth. We have
laid bets on the matter and refer to you for an answer
that shall decide the question. * ® ® You are
only half right. John B. Gough was born at Sandgate
England in 1817 and came to America when he was
twelve years old. serving as a book binder’s apprentice
in New Y’ork. Wendell Phillips is a native of Boston,
where he was born in 1811, his father John Phillips being
the first mayor of Boston. So you have lost your bet,
half of it at least.
L. W, H. says: Let us know through the correspond
ent's column why Gramercy |Park, the residence of Til-
den is so called, and how it is pronounced. ® *
* It is from the French, Grand merci—i Thank you
much.) It is a term often used by Shakespeare as a kind
of ejaculation. It is pronounced (the a in the first sylla
ble being broad) Grar mercee.
Texas Gip.l asks: Is it correct to call the’gentleman’s
or lady’s name first, when one introduces the two. *
* S! The lady’s name should he called first.
“Student” says: In a late issue you tell a corres
pondent that the dollar mark is the figure 8 (meang 8
reals j with two lines drawn through to distinguish it etc.
Now, I was taught, and have since taught others, that
it is a monogram composed 1 of the letters U. and S.
forming 8. Which is correct, * * * It is hard
to tell where authorities differ. The explanation we
gave is that given by Appleton’s Encyclopedia. An
other authority says that the dollar mark is contracted
irom Scutum and the two horizontal marks are to indi
cate the contraction.
Branham says: Can you tell me where I can find an
additional verse to “John Anderson My Joe ?” I saw it
published before the war and preserved a copy, hut it is
Ten years ago Lewis Clarke embarked in the hat
trade in Atlanta. Al that time he was comparative-
y unknown in business circles—certainly quite ob
scure in that particular branch upon which he
fixed his choice, Y'ear after year his pleasing man
ners, tireless energy, careful attention to the detail s
of the trade, have been brought to bear in the up_
building of his great retail business until to-day he
stands at the very head of the hat trade, not only in
Atlanta the scene ol his early struggles and splendid
triumphs, but he is the great retail hatter of the
State of Georgia.
And yet It is not matter of surprise that Mr. Clarke
should occupy this proud position. He has in rare
profusion all the elements which go to make up the
successful retail hatter. He w.:s born popular. No
one could be a better judge of human nature.
There is not a bigger hearted man living than Lewis
Clarke. It is simply impossible for man, woman,
or child to talk to him five minutes without liking
him. There is something in the honest eyes, the
kindly voice, the gentle courtesy, the well-rounded
form that attracts you like a magnet at first sight.
It is.we think the general airof good humored kind
ness which permeates the whole man and immedi
ately propitiates those who come within its influ
ence. Beneath this most pleasing exterior runs *
current oi strong, and swift common sense, which it
has been truly said is of all kinds of sense, the most
uncommon. These two things then have enabled
Lewis Clarke to litt himself to the enviable position
of the greatest retail hatter in Georgia—his power
to please, and splendid common sense. And this is
exactly the reason that no man in his business
either in Atlanta or in Georgia can hope to rival
him—because in the two qualities, upon which his
success has been built up, no n an can hope to equal
him. He was born to be popular and borr* to be
sensible. We have watched his course closely for
many years, and observing the admirable system
upon wh eh his business has been conducted have
rejoiced at his success. His methods are legitimate.
He is a stranger to envy, the meanest, passion
known to th° human heart, and never stoops to
iDjure a brother merchant in the same line of busi
ness :n order to benefit himself. He has too much
magnanimity to pursue so disreputable a course.
He attends to his own business, resorting to all
honorable means to extend his popularity and in
crease his trade. This has ever been his custom.
Now, what is the result. Why, to-day he is actually
selling goods iu live Southern states; and no house
in Georgia can boast so fine an assortment of hats.
He buys his hats from the manufactory by the case
He is the only retail hatter in the State who does
it. He is the agent ol J. B. Stetson, the celebrated
fine bat maker of Philadelphia, that gentleman him
self superintending all the buying nd manufactur
ing *f hats for Clarke. The cousequence . s that for
the same money you can buy a better aat from
Clarke than from any other dealer in hats in the*
entire South. Clarke’s motto is and ever has been—
a better hat than any man in the South keeps and
for less money. It is -natural then, that he should
be so universally patronized. Men will go where
they can buy the best quality of goods for the small
est outlay of cash.
The world is full of men who lacking ihe power to
originate anything are content to play the poor
role of would-be imitators. This remark may be
properly applied to certain individuals who have
faithfully endeavored to imitate Clarke. We warn
the public not to be misled oy these would be imi-
tafors. There is great da:.ger of being sold even
while buying an inferior article.
Clarke is also the agent in Atlanta for the cele-
Dunlap Hat, and his store is the only place
can^lKi btmght* 161 ^ 6 *’* ia *' bandso me and stylish hat
Ranged upon Clarke’s shelves may be seen the
most magnificent stock of lists South of the P??
toniac. He keeps the latest styles, the newest
shapes, the most approved qualities. The old an<i
the young flock to his emporium. The rich and
the poor resort to his counters. And well thev
may, for he has hats to please every taste and to IU
every head. It s as natural for the elegant R oc?etv
man to buy his hat at Clarke's as it is for hP™
breathe The same may be said of the young maP
who seeks a business hat. young man
- 9u ri£ if <: ov ered more heads since he has
in the hat business in Atlanta than an- two deal-™
in hats who have opened here since the war rwo
his customer, always his customer for he ° nce
faikj to give satisfa. tion because hfs^’aUaVeluarlm
Clark^has > Dm°excfiwive C agencv ,
gest satchel factories n P^meri^ anTh ° f K? e ! ar ‘
gest and most complete assortment of sq.teh P i h ^ ar ‘
found in the city. They are of a f sizes iml fh l P ’ ?
finish. The prices are in keen\„., -.? n . he best
and the number whi< h he sells*?? c VIth ,, tbe times
derful. Most satchels '™n-
frauds. Those at Clarkes aro^. lDs , Market are
somest in the city but the most snh? J hand -
this in mind when you are ? Bear
that is ornamental as well as useOl h ° f a satchel
Then there are umbrellas tr;
only the most extensive and^ var’ierPhn*? 6 ,? 1 is not
attractive ever seen in Atlanta b x Ut tlie most
said that Clarkesells more umbrella*, 6 truthfull - v
any other house in the state With L ?, at retau than
months he has sold more thun t*?, Repast twelve
laus worth of these useful artmfes thousand do ;.
Th» reason is that Clarke can a#** *
umbrellas tt lower prices th?,? afford to offer his
Southern States. P S tban an y one else in the
Clarke’s assortment of canes i« tv,
most elegant ever offered h“% F? e nobb! <*t and
canes, beautifully carved can.; ... ne Rod-headed
nary sizes, all to be had at ful’-i ge ’ sm all, ordi-
elsewherein the city. After vl/^ 6 s , cheaper than
Clarke, the hatter has firmlv nu a bara struggle
of the hat trade in theeity ami Ph* 1 hllnse,f in front
termined to maintain hisL Sta . , f’ He >* de ‘
tng everything in his line to th* L po ? ufon
lost- The verse finishes up the piece so nicely that I am | ing everytntng in his line toTh'** 1 ’ posui
anxious to get it again. * * * Can an¥ o{ our j sonable rates than any other 9 People i
subscribers give the required verse? We have ‘read it. j allying'toLtuh® ; ?tv‘ *> ub ‘
possibly published it in the Sunny South, but cannot and be convinced. Make^o* ® W hitehall street
now recall it. * No. or the place. Alwav«° a J? is J ake > either in the
j agent for J. B. Stetson. * b for Lewis Clarke,