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fHl BONNY SOUTH. ATLANTA. Gfco*.
PLEASANTRlts IN RHYME.
He breathed a ponp Into the air,
Tne ecxjeee bore ibe nolea a‘ong,
But th*-y wooiu Dave Horne tnein better naa
He brtathed an air iuto tbe song.
never had a railroad pas*
Hut that it wrun^ my mod# st nature
To feel tne trainmen took me tor
A member of the legislature.
—R. L. H.
THE CAVEKN QL’EKN.
OONT1MCKD FROM SECOND f▲(!■.]
set firmly on a muscular throat: fea
tures rugged and rather sternly set;
eyes keenly shrewd, yet frank and
honest in their expression. lie wore
dark-gray clothes of good material,
hut ea«y fitting and carelessly worn.
No parlor knight was he—that was
plain.
“You are Mr. Hampden, the lawyer
from Philadelphia?” Erma said,
bending her dark, graceful head be
fore him.
“I am a lawyer, and my name is
Hampden,” he said. “And you—vou
are the lady who sent me that strange
message across the wire&?”
“The message asking if you wished
to know the true fate of a youDg girl
—your ward—who disappeared five
years ago?”
“Yes,” eagerly.
“1 am the person who sent the mes
sage.”
“What have you to tell me? Is she
alive? No, no; that can’t be.”
“Perhaps not. But she did not meet
the fate you have always believed to
have been hers. She was not drowned
in the sink of the lake.”
“Not drowned? What then became
of her?”
“You shall see.”
“See? What do you mean? Ah! I
understand. You are a spirit-medium,
or claim to be. You pretend to mate
rialize the spirits of the dead. I
might have suspected some such trick.
Madame, you mistake the man. I have
no time or money to waste upon frauds
like this you would try on me. More
over, I consider it a mockery of the
sacred dead. I wish you a good-night,
madame.”
“Stop!” Erma said, rising up before
him. “Wait and see what will be
shown you. It is all I ask. I want no
money of you. Do I look like a wo
man who wants money? I will show
you wbat befell your ward, the heiress
of the Charlton fortune. You should
know it in the interest of justice, and
for the sake of the trust your dead
friend imposed on you. Even if you
have no interest in the gin herself-”
“I have the deepest interest,” he in
terrupted, “and if 1 could believe—”
“You can verify all I will show you
tonight.”
He looked at her with keen scru
tiny. Without doubt she was the
most remarkable woman he had ever
seen. Her strange order of beauty,
her wonderful, seductive grace, her
eyes, that scintillated at one instant,
and grew dim and deep the next—all
were new to the limited experience of
the studious, secluded mau. He hesi
tated; then he sat down.
“Since I am here,” he said, “I will
listen to what you propose to tell
me.”
‘ You will look at what I propose to
show you,” she amended.
“It is the same thing. If you can
tell me or show me anything 1 do not
already know concerning the fate of
that poor girl, I will be deeply obliged
to you.”
“It has been five years since she dis
appeared. Do you think you remem
ber bow sbe looked?”
“Remember bow she looked ! How
can I forget her? I have never had
her out of my mind an hour since 1
lost her I”
His voice was husky with feeling
Countess Erma smiled to herself at
the involuntary confession she had
drawn from him.
“It is well,” she thought. “He loved
the girl. He will make her a better
husband than the man she has prom
ised to marry. But women do not
often love the best men.” Aloud she
said; “I am glad you remember how
she looked. You will recognize her
presently. Oi, no materialization of
her. 1 am not a spirit-medium,
shall only—”
She stopped. Her ear had caught
the sound of a voice outside speaking
her name. She rose quickly, and lift
ing the silken tapestry, that, suspend
ed from pearl rings on a silver rod,
formed a partition across tne end ot
the room, she found herself face to
face with Norman.
“You see 1 am true to the promise,”
he said.
The prospective bridegroom looked
radiantly handsome. He had shaken
off his tears. He no longer dreaded
the occult power of Countess Delorme.
If she was indeed a modern witch a
mind reader,a clairvoyant—what prac
tical evil could her knowledge work to
him? The law—public opinion—would
require proofs, and she could have
none. He felt strong enough to defy
her.
“You have been true to your prom
ise. I am ready^to be true to mine,’
she answered; aiW at the same time
•he lifted ihefc-ilken portiere.
He caught a glimpse of a man sit
ting at upper end of the room.
•‘There is some one here,” he said,
stopping short. At the same instant
he recognized the man’s face.
“Hampden!” he exclaimed under
his breath. “What is he doing here?”
His countenance had undergone a
quick change.
“ 1 wrote for Mr. Hampden to come
on a matter of business,” she an
swered.
“I will not intrude on your business
engagement with your lawyer,” he
said, stepping back.
“What if the business also concerns
you?”
‘Mel” He turned pale. “Whatcan
it have to do with me?”
“Stay and you will see. Are you
afraid?”
“Afraid! What have I to fear?” he
sneered. “Yes I will stay. But you
will say nothing before him about
this nonsense of fortune-telling and
looking into the past? I don’t warn
it to get out that 1 am so weak as to
waste time in such a way.”
She smiled—her baffling, half mali
cious smile.
“1 shall say nothing about your for
tune—future or past!” she said. “Come
on.”
They passed into the room, where
Hampden, who had already recog
nized Norman’s voice, though be had
not caught the low-spoken words, rose
and shook hands with him, frankly
but not cordially. He had not seen
him since the business relations be
tween the growing out of Norman’s
accest-ion to the Cnarlton estate had
ceased. He felt a vague distrust and
dislike of the brilliant young heir to
the lortune that would have been
Amy's. He tried to shake this off as
au injustice to the young man, but the
chill of it was in his greeting at this
moment.
Norman, on his part, felt oppressed
in the lawyer’s presence. He had
been glad to see no more of him after
the transfer of the estate was com
pleted. He hastened to put a few
hundred miles between his abiding-
place and that of the guardian of Amy
Wharton.
After the usual expressions of greet
ing were over, and the two men had
exchanged a few remarks on common
place topics, Hampden said:
“I am here tonight for a purpose
that I think may interest you. Mad
ame Delorme has offered to make me
a sort of revelation—not by word of
mouth or pen, as I understand, it i
something I am to see, as it appears
f think you will not object to seeing
it with me—if madame is willing.”
‘I do not object at all,” madame
said, smiling sweetly.
A chill of apprehension went
through Norman’s frame. He felt
strongly impelled to get up and leave
the house at once, but a desire to know
the worst, a fear lest his going might
be worse for him than his staying
nerved him to face what he felt was
some damaging revelation.
“I shall be glad to see the exhibitioi
madame has promised you,” he man
aged to say. “I hope she will not de
lay it, as i am not well tonight am
can not stay long.
“At once,” Erma answered.
She rose from her seat, and, flittiD?
about the room for a moment, con
trived to extinguish th-» lights one bj
one till all were out ex ?ept one tha*
burned luridly under its dark-rei
shade in a corner behind a cluster ol
palms.
In the half-light they could just see
the gliding, panther-like shape of the
countess, and the dimly gleaming folds
of h*-r yellow-brown robe, as she mov
ed amoDg the tropical plants.
Presently she disappeared. They
could not see where she had gone,
but after a moment they heard the
notes of some strange instrument soft
ly touched—a sound like the lapping
of waves on a lonely shore.
While they sat wondering what
would come, a vista suddenly opened
in the wall before them—it might
bavs been from the sliding of a panel-
door or from the drawing aside oi *>
portion of the rich hangings of tb»
wall.
At the end of the vista appeared »
square of gray canvas lgbtnd fron
behind. Ou this lighted screen ws
presently thrown a shadow that grew
quickly into the semblance of a ruin
ed house.
“Phoo!” exclaimed Norman, ‘ is this
all the magic Madame Delorme can
show us? No magic about this, ex
cept the well known magic of claro-
obscuro—the every-day magio lan
tern.”
“But that house!” returned Hamp
den. He was looking attentively at
the picture on the canvas.
“You recognize that house, don’t
you?”
Niirman was silent. He did recog
nize the haunted house of Hurricane
Hills. There was no mistaking the
strange-looking building—one half
repaired and habitable, the other a
burned rum; the roof gon«», the chim
ney fallen; the walls—the empty shell
of a hou-e—still standing; the black
ened, stone kindly mantled by nature
with wild ivy and moss.
The chill of apprehension that bad
before crept over Norman thrilled
through him again.
“Wh.t will appear next?” bethought,
and he waited with intense anxious
ness.
[TO BX CONTINUED.]
ON THE PLEASANCE.
BILLNYE SAYS HE IS GETTING TO BE
quite well known there.
A Pickpocket Meet* Him In the Crowd and
Mistakes Him For a Brother In Crime.
Nye’s Tam O’Shanter and the Offer It
Led To.
[Copyright, 1893, by Edgar W. Nye.]
Chicago, Oct. 3.
My Dear Son—I thought I would write
one more letter from here before we
leave, which is tomorrow morning.
This past week I have been less on the
Pleasance and more on my good behav
ior, and this makes your mother almost
happy.
I was much pleased with your letter
of last week from New York, in which
you touched up the theaters for going
absolutely to the dogs, with nothing but
varieties and artistes, as you call them,
that kick so high, and I thought what
you said, where you allude to this great
Shakespearean revival of medicated flan
nels, was pretty good and showed that
your disgust was doing its perfect work.
I saw Carter Harrison day before yes
terday. He is the mayor of Chicago. He
is a fine looking man with an eagle’s eye.
He talks freely regarding personal affairs
and wears a broad soft hat, but does not
put oil on his hair, as many suppose. He
is undoubtedly the Governor Tillman of
the west. He was a great favorite with
the infanta when she was in Chicago
and is undoubtedly the coming duke of
the West Side.
I was reminded of you the other day
while mother and I were watching the
big Ferris wheel go round.
“Branscombe,” spoke up a voice not
far away that sounded like the thrill of
a throttle, or something of that kind,
“you cannot—oh, you cannot, be so wild
as to say those words to me here in this
great gathering of people—those words
which to a young girl mean so much.
Certainly you cannot be in earnest thus
to sue for me hand here, where the throng
is thronging?”
“Aye, do I here, sweet one—here,
where the great panting procession from
the deserted universe has come to greet
the wonders of earth and sea and skeyi!
I offer to yon me liond in marriage.
Think how long we have known each
other, Magnolia—ever since we met at the
sausage exhibit! Next Friday will he a
week ago. Since then I have saw noth
ing else. I pay every day to see the Ad
ministration building and the art exhibit,
but I do not see them. I see no one hut
you, Magnolia; no one but you. I have
not even looked at the big wheel since
next Friday was a week ago. I love you,
Magnolia, and that is what is eating of
me.”
“Ah, it is sosuddin, Branscombe,” she
said; “so unexpected; so contretemps!
And I am so young! But I accept you,
dear. I accept your honest love. I take
it to me heart,, love, and we shall be hap-
GETTING OVER THE FENCE,
py together, Branscombe, so happy, as
we glide hand in hand along down the
sunlit vista of our sweet united lives.
Yes, Branscombe, you can pack your
clothes in my trunk.”
I got over the fence and went out
where I could get more air. I pressed
on to a place where a man from Quincy,
His., had unharnessed his team and fed
the horses corn in the ear. I got up in
the wagon and played with the buggy
whip quite awhile and thought of my
past, such as it is, and of you, Henry,
faraway, trying to scrape together money
enough to get married on by writing vis*
iting cards in the corridor of a large hotel.
A college education is a big thing,
Henry. It enables one to get a full arm
movement on him so that he can earn as
much as a dollar a day writing visiting
cards for wealthy people who cannot
spell.
I wouldn’t wonder if it galded you
sometimes to use your fine education and
massive matriculated mind on writing
cards that way for a thickset lady of
] wealth who has shed.foari4) husbands.
As the weather gets a little
you should feel that you need that cu*.
overcoat that you gave me last winter, I
will go back to the one that I had all
along. It is good enough if one does not
allow the wind to blow it open and ex
hibit the tracks left by the lining when
it escaped.
When I was at the mayor’s office the
other day, there was a strange case came
up. A man sent up his card, and the
mayor asked if I would mind if he ad
mitted this man. I said, “No, certainly
not.”
The man came in. He was pale and
genteel. He looked a little hungry, but
his linen was in good shape.
“I hope that in requesting an audience,
Mr. Mayor, I am not giving you annoy-
3.nc6? w
“Not at all; not at all,” said the mayor.
“Thank you, sir; thank you,” said the
man. “You can never know how much
good you have done me. I have been
trying to fight the farce comedies and
flipflap and cartwheel ladies of the stage
by means of a legitimate drama, and a
slight frost, in September has deepened
into good sleighing. For two weeks I
have had no audience. A policeman told
me that I might obtain one with the
mayor. I have done so. It has done me
good. Thank you, sir; thank you.”
As he passed me on his way out two
big tears tock a 10 cent shine off my nice,
new kip boots. What a sad world this is!
Quite a number of people here have
had bad luck in making their everlasting
fortunes out of the fair.
One of them is Isaac Isaacs, the Eng
lish pickpocket. He got up a sham fight
for my benefit the other day, as, I pre
sume, he had seen me every little while
put my hand to the inside breast pocket
of my vest and then wear a look of in
tense relief. I crowded up to where the
fight was at-its height, and after the par
THE PICKPOCKET’S MISTAKE,
ties had been separated I suddenly felt
of my inside vest pocket, but there was
nothing there.
My Sunday paper was gone, and I
hadn’t read over half of it. But let it
pass.
When I first got here, I was in a big
crowd resulting from a spontaneous fight
and a cry of fire also. In the midst of it
a fat pocketbook was handed to me by
an unknown person, I thought for safe
keeping. I could not really understand
it for about a week, and then I saw a
picture of Richard Preston, the Omaha
Kid, and I could see that, with his hat
and spectacles on, I had the honor of
looking very much like him. One of his
associates had probably made a fatal
error.
The pocketbook when I first got it con
tained $180, but no directions as to what
disposition I should make of it. Should
the owner turn up, I shall require 60
days’ notice before he will be permitted
to draw the full amount.
I got a poor man to haul my trunk for
me when I landed here. It is a good look
ing trunk and might adorn the home of
wealth. It is the trunk you had when
you were expelled from Princeton. The
poor man stole the trunk, but brought it
back again.
I judge that your mother’s corsets did
not fit him.
I lost my hat yesterday from a gon
dola, and it drifted out to sea. I am now
wearing your Tam O’Shanter and have
been offered $3 per day to arouse curios
ity and draw people to the Pleasance and
the streets of Kyro. I may do it, alter
nating with a highland costume of yours
which you wore when you was a tablo
or table dote, or whatever it was.
I will try it some day on the Pleasance
as soon as my mosquito bites get better.
I am quite well known on the Pleasance
now on my own merits, though I got my
start here by being introduced as your
father.
The general public now call me “The
Daily Hint From Paris.”
Poor and humble as I am, Henry, lam
doing you a world of good here. Your
loving father,
Has
ir o«bt him
T. >«d H,. 7. *
LaWy * r «—• of St. ***•
Try and the M, n , y fop ^
Mcl.ro.der, the M..n w ho
the Ticket to Fellow, j,
I'ullsf mint.
im>.
[From the Buffalo New Turk T
September 14 h ]
“Not a cent,” said Joseph B. f i
lews, of Prospect avenue, when
by a Times representative whether b
bad received the $7,500 won by fa- *
last May from a lottery concern rn
by E. Fox Co., of Kausas City, Ca! j Q
ed the Little Louisiana L Jtt.ry but
has no connection with the Loui. a „
State Lottery proper. “When
saw I was persistent and after the
publication of The Times article gj T .
ing tie particulars of my holdingg
winning ticket and their failure to
pay they telegraphed me that the?
were enjoined from paying by Ue
court Since then 1 have heard no-h.
ing from them.”
“Of course you expect to,” said the
Times man.
“Well, I don't know,” replied Mr
Fellows. There is a lawyer at St
Paul who wrote me that he r.presenl
ted a man who bad won a $15.000pr ze
and named conditions under viiich
he would undertake to get my $7500
at the same time. I told him to g 0
ahead, but I seem to be as far aw»y
now as I was before It coat me $30
to send my ticket to Kansas City and
I think they might at least return
that amount to me, as l bad to pay it
to the express company.”
“What does Sohroeder, the man
from whom you bought the ticket
think of it?”
“He was as badly taken in as I was."
“Does he sell tickets for them stiii?"
“No, indeed; they had the audacity
to send him some and request that be
go on and do business for them as be*
lore.”
Schroeder is a barbpr on Niagara
street, and knew nothing of the char
acter of the concern which he repre
sented. When he learned it through
the Times, and his experience in the
Fellows matter, he dropped them
quick, SDd has warned all thoe who
formerly furebased tickets of him not
to do any more buoiness with them or
their representatives.
Mr. Fellows is an honest, industri
ous citizen, who has a right to believe
that he should receive what they ac
knowledged was his. There are those,
however, who are of the opinion that
as this is the same company that
swindled the late Julius Haas out of 1
like amount that Mr. Fellows stands 1
very small chance of ever getiingi
penny from it.
Just what success Lawyer Stone
will have for his client Mr. Fellows,of
course, cannot tell, but he hopes for
the best. People who have been In
vesting their money in this concern
are of the opinion that if this comparj
is the fraud it seems to be they shorn!
be exposed in all sections of the com
fry. Their game, like that of tin
green goods man and the bunco mas
is one of fraud.
Ih the first account of tbefrani
practiced on Mr. Fellows it was shown
chat in St. Paul and other cities ihi
same game had been played on the un
suspecting. Some people think there
may be a compromise through Lawyer
Stone, but those who have read an®
heard more of this concern than they,
say that Fellows is out the $1 he p»*®
Schroeder for the licket, out theP
he paid to send it to Kansas City, and
out $7 500 which his ticket t ailed for
as a half winner of a capital prize.
There are lotteries which are said to
pay, and pay promptly, but it is plain
to be seen that this, the Little Lou
isiana, so-called, run by E Fox & Co.,
Kansas City, is not one of them.
In the Transportation Bldg, of the
World’s Columbian Exposition majw
-een many evidences of mechanical in*
gei uit/ and inventive genius. Hurt*
b'aik tshave been used for years.
The difficulty of keeping them on to
horse has always been a serious P r °“*
lem. In the Burlington Blmket to.
exnibit of Burlington, Wis., may w
seen the new Burlington “stay**
blanket, which obviates all this din*
culty. It fits like a tailor-made co
and the horse cannot get it under a
feet. These blankets are made *** <
styles and of various material, sucC *?
canvas, canvas lined, jute, Jinen,
They import and design all their .
blankets which have been so comm 0
ly U9ed among the leading h or “ e ®t;°
18 a Thf-V
summer blanket. They
them in sizes to fit from the s®* 1 *
colt to the largest horse, and a
manufacture waterproof blankets,* v
robes, stack covers, etc. Address
Burlington Blanket Co., Burling '
Wis., for a handsome lithograph
mstrated catalogue.
We sold JtO Sunny South high ^
machines last week. A