Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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ISSUED SEMI-WEEKL^ l. m. grist's sons, pubii.hers, { % Jfamitj Jleirspaper: 4" the promotion of the fotiticat, JSocial. ^jrwattapt and ?ommei[cial Interests of the people. {TEB,?NoL^copr. ?vecentoVAHK established 1855. YORKVILLE, S. C? FRJDAY, MAY 15, 1908. . ~ ISTO. 39. 'I*" an hi if" an m an mnimiii | "" &\ By CLARENCE WWWWfWWII 111 HI UUlt Hi HI 111 PART FOURTH. FROM A TRUTH TO THE CLEW? m FrwM A CLEW TO THE TRUTH. CHAPTER XXVII. Miss Bannottie's Photograph. "His name was Gilbert Senn." he said. Miss Bannottie's foot struck something just then, or seemed to. and she stumbled. She leaned heavily on the ^ arm of the man who had saved her life ?very heavily. Perhaps it was as well that she had almost fallen?or had seemed to?for she could scarcely have faced the man Just then. ?alntoct il f ^ wne was giau nnc ? tlie end of their walk. It was a relief to see the walls of the hotel she called home, temporarily, just before her. "Here we an'.'" she said, stopping at the door. "Indeed? Do you live here?" "Oh. no; I am only here for a few tb days." "May I ask where your home Is?" She had gone up a step or two toward the private entrance which led to her rooms, and stood there, in the . semi-darkness, which was scarcely half dispelled by the flickering lamp over the doorway, looking down upon him. She was strongly Impelled to lie to him. as she had lied to Captain Dennis, but somehow she could not find words in which to repeat that wretched story. She had "Denver" at her tongue's end. "Colorado" on her very lips; but something held them back, and put the truth m in their places. It did not promise H much for this gentleman's peace in the future that it was so.* But so it was. This man. like all the rest of mankind, may leave "Lead us not into temptation" unsaid?at his peril. This man. ft like nil other men, must go his way. wherever his free will leads him. and? must take his chances. The woman came down a step or two toward him. She bent a little nearer to him. Her voice was low, almost confidential, and there was just si little quaver of passion in it which made his heart beat faster than it had for many long years. "I ant living in Naples now." she told him. "Though I call it that, my home is in the United States?in Maine." ^ "Indeed? How strange. My home is in Maine also." "Is it?" with a little catch in her voice whteb meant surprise, and perhaps more?say terror, if "more" Is too indefinite. "Is it? Who are you? Where do you live?" "My name is Jasper Jahnway." "Oh, thank you. I believe I never a heard the nrme before." "And I live at a place called Jahnway Park." "Do you? I think I have Just heard that place mentioned. I have little idea where it is located, however. I? V I have a friend who used to know some of the servants there. He used to visit a man called Philip." "Yes? And now." said Mr. Jahnway. "will you please tell me your name? May I know what to call the one I have had the pleasure of serving?' "My name is Bannottie?Lurline Bannottie," was the reply. He looked up at her. admiration * shining in his eyes. One could but - - * * 1 clouDt wneiner nt* was uiuimus ??? nvi name?a name he had never heard before?or of her face, as he next spoke. "It is beautiful, very beautiful." was _ what he said. She smiled. "Do you think so?" she asked. "I do. By-the-way, I am going to Naples within a day or two"?the fact was that the idea of doing so had not occurred to him until within less than live minutes; "may I have the pleasure id culling upon you there?" "Certainly," she replied, and gave him her address and the location of her residence there, and still the truth. "And now," she said, after a pause of a moment or two, "I must go in. I shall sit in my private parlor, away from any friend or acquaintance, and think over what has happened to me. It will be very lonely, and " "And something of a bore?" "Yes, decidedly." "It's so much pleasanter to talk than to think: don't you think it is?" "Certainly. But I cannot let any more of this London fog huve its wicked way with my throat and lungs. Set, unless you will come in " "Thank you: I will," said Mr. Jasper Jahnway. 4 And they went in together. Miss Bannottie proved even more charming within doors than she had outside. She played for Mr. Jahnway. She sang for him. She showed him a few sketches she had drawn, and two or three bits of painting she had done in the intervals of time be tween tlie periods of business wnicn had occupied nearly all her stay in London. "1 can never be idle." she said, simply; "and so when 1 can Ret away from my lawyers and bankers, and Ret the details of business brushed out of my ^ brain. I sketch or paint, or write." "You write?" he inquired. "Yes." And then she read some little bits of poetry which had come from her pen?poems which fell short of the ? lofty dignity of genius at all times, and which in some cases descended fearfully near to the common-place: poems which were untouched with the divine lire of heaven kindled inspiration. and which were of the earth, earthy, and doomed to find oblivion instead of immortality: but poems which sounded well, very well indeed, as they fell, in strong words and well-rounded 0+ . sentences, from the beautiful lips of this regal woman, upon the ears of this new acquaintance of hers, who sat so pleasantly and dangerously near her while the London fog shut closer . and darker against the windows, and seemed to wall them in from the world outside, from the night, from the day beyond the night, and to bind their lives and their futures closely together. iiMnnyiiiiiiimaiiiM HHinyi i BOUTELLE. I h. hi w. ii. iw ii. i.i i.. m m mm wi i Then she told him marvelous stories of her own life, dwelling: upon the girlish years she had spent in her Italian home before her sweet English mother and her proud?but poor?Italian pupa had died and left her alone in the world. There were tears in her eyes as she told of those olden days, adding the pathos of her personality to the story which would have been pathetic enough when told by any tongue, however prosaic. There were tears in Jahnway's eyes as he listened, for the eloquence of truth was in her story, and it touched his heart. After that she told him of her later life, and the tales were more marvel^,,,0 dill I ivurtHtl hnvlnir to Ml' that Jahnway's tears censed, and that his eyes gi*w dry. Much of what she said was "founded on fact," but her words lac ked the eloquence which appertains only to simple and perfect truth. And, though she proved herself ingenious, her stories might have been more remarkable than she made them ?if truth is stranger than fiction. Mr. Jahnway rose at last. The bells of London were ringing midnight. "Pray pardon me." he said; "I had no idea it was so late." * "Nor had I. Good night. You will call upon me in Naples, will you not? [ shall expect you." "I will. That Is?I will try to?if I era thpl-p " "But?I thought you said you were going." "Did I? Perhaps I did. It is still uncertain." "Is it? I am sorry." "Are you? Will you grunt me one last request before you say farewell? It is quite possible you may never see me again." "Why. Mr. Jahnway! I should scarcely recognize you as the gentleman whose acquaintance I made this evening. You are positively gloomy and gloom producing. You will have me colder than this wretched fog made me if you keep on in that strain. Of course we shall meet again, and I venture to predict that we shall be the best of friends?the best of friends. And. of course. I will grant any reasonable request. What do you wish?" "A few lines to remember you by. if we never meet again." She seated herself at her table. She opened a drawer, and took out paper and pen and ink. "As you wish, except that it shall be until we meet again. What shall I write?" "Whatever you please." "No. I am not in the mood tonight. I think I could not write anything original. Suggest something." "Very well. Write this." And he slowly repeated, while she wrote: "Look, love upon my lips here: You cannot hear them speak; But is there need for that, dear? Were words not always weak? "Look deep into my eyes, love: I bravely face you now; Have faith, because you cannot prove The thought behind my brow! "Look, listen, reason well, dear; You cannot know my soul! Content thyself with what is here Who may not claim the whole." Miss Rannottie looked up with an uneasy little shiver as she finished, and held her hand upon what she had just written, instead of handing it to him. "Where?where did you ever see or hear that?" she asked. "I cannot suy," he replied. (Future lexicographers should make a note of the fact that "cannot" in such a connection is equivalent to "will not;" nor should they forget to mention that "I do not know" is at least more straightforward and definite, as well as usually [ more truthful, than "I cannot say.") "It is wretched poetry. Did you know that?" "I suppose so," he replied; "though I believe poetry is largely a matter of taste. I don't pretend to be a judge of such things." "I should hope not?if you like that. And the sentiment is simply atrocious; did you not know that?" "Yes, I did know that," he said, gtavely; "good night." He reached out his hand. Perhaps she did not see it, or did not understand his meaning, for she did not take it. She rose to her feet. She folded the paper she had written. She handed it to Mr. Jahnway. He placed it carefully in his pocket. "Good night." she said. He turned abruptly, without another word, and hurried from the room and from the house. The London fog took his form into its concealing embrace; the roar of the London streets merged the sound of his footsteps into its eter nal thunder. Gone! gone! And burline Btinnottle leaned against the marhie mantel, her face scarcely less white than it, wondering whether it was not all n dream after all?her danger, her rescue, and Jasper Jahnwa.v's visit? and whether she might not take up her life again tomorrow in peace and comfort and triumph. A dream? Alas! no dream! A terrible reality! A reality which set her a hundred new tasks to do and a hundred new problems to solve! No dream! "Why did he stay?" she moaned, as she drew herself into the depths of a huge easy chair, and covered her face with her hands; "why did he stay? He must have seen how I suffered and how much I wished to be alone, unless he was even blinder than the most of his sex. The heartless intruder! How 1 hate him: how 1 hate him! Curse him! How I wish I had him here, for a half-minute, within reach of these two strong hands." She held up the two strong hands, the long, lithe fingers clasping and unclasping in impotent rage: two strong hands?that had done wicked work, not once, but many times?but as helpless now as they had been when Jasper Jahnway risked his life fathers. "So Gilbert Senn is dead? And I? I suppose my mad haste to reach Mr. Lyman in season was the direct cause of it. That makes another thing to add to my long score against Samuel Lyman. I wish he had a hundred lives, and that I had him in my power: I'd try hard to be even with him before I was done." She got up, then, and paced nervously up and down her room several times. She was suffering greatly. She was puzzled?frightened?angry? all at once. "fiilbert Senn is dead. That sets El pie free?from him: that makes it pos- I sible for her to marry Walter Aldrich?I if I cannot prevent: free?free?she is free from every one but me; I?I will take care that she and Walter Aldrich never meet in this world; before they shall, before he shall look or speak love to her, before she shall look or speak tenderness to him in return. I?I ?I will do for her what I did for another once, when I thought she had Walter's love for her own." "I wonder if I'm very pale?" she whispered to herself: "I?I suppose I ought to be. And yet, I don't think Mr. Jahnway Is so very dangerous? not so very dangerous, I've led his senses and his reason into captivity. He loves me, or thinks he does, just as all the rest of them have done, and lie lias a masterly way with him?a very grand and imperial sort of way. I? I almost think I could have been taught to love him?if I had never known Walter Aldrich. I wonder where he ever heard those wretched verses of mine? I am sure I never wrote them but once; I am certain they were written in but one place; once before to night, I mean. Was it a threat t neara In his voice when he repeated them, or did I imagine? Has Samuel Lyman left me another heritage of danger, founded on his criminal carelessness? I?I must see Mr. Jahnway tomorrow, and make sure that he will not tell what he knows?if he knows anything, nor what he suspects. I must fascinate him. I must make my power over him absolute. I can do it. I will do it. I?what did he say his London address Is? What? What?" She sprang to her feet. She ran to the outside door. She opened it. Oreat, dense waves of the heavy fog rolled up the steps from the street, and seemed to spread a tangible darkness in the hall. Outside, the whole great world of London seemed swallowed up in the blackness. Rain was falling slowly and almost silently through the murky gloom. She shut the door. She staggered like a drunken person. She reeled back into her handsome parlor again, and sat down, once more, as though her strength was utterly gone. "Fool! fool!" she cried, striking her forehead with her hand: "I did not ask him that. I did not tind where he lives here. It would be madness to attempt to find him on such a night as this, even if I knew just where to go. But how can I wait? Suppose he does not call again? Suppose he does not follow me to Naples. Suppose?suppose " She relapsed into silence, and tears of agony ran down her cheeks. "I?1 suppose he could make that cost me dear, if he wished. I?I don't doubt I signed my own death warrant when I wrote it?if he chooses to make it so. I?I " She paused once more. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes seemed to blaze th -ough the tears which stood " " ? ft. 1 ? r | in mem. rter nps were iiihu.v nn. Some strong emotion seemed to sweep over her, and to sway her as the tempest sways the trees of the forest. What emotion? Don't ask me. There are some things in which the historian must fall short of knowledge: some things in which his opinion is of but little value. I cannot tell you what her emotion was; I can tell you what it was not; I can. and I will. It was not remorse?it was not remorse! "He--he has me in his power?if he has wit enough to know it. I must bend to his will?if he is brave enough to use it. Well?no matter. Forewarned is forearmed, they say, and I a in safe in the knowledge of the worst he can do; he can show that I wrote those silly rhymes on a photograph I gave the man who died so strangely, I suppose, and I am sure he can do no more than that; and that would prove nothing." Ah. Lurline Bnnnottie, are you sure of that? Is that trivial thing what you are disturbed over. Go to your bed: try to dream the whole truth: and then see whether your brain is strong enough to let you wake sane instead of mad! "Yes, I am in his power; there is no doubt of that. But?I was in Samuel Lyman's power; and I am not now! I ?guess it is safe for me to sleep; there may he times in the future when I cannot." She went into the next room, her sleeping room, and threw herself, dressed as she was, across her bed. Let us leave her, as she falls slowly and calmly into a sleep that will not be haunted by anything worse than the stern resolve to have safety and success?no matter what the cost, to others. ami follow Jasper Jahnway home. Jasper Jahnway had not started on his voyage without making more than necessary provisions for all possible financial contingencies. He was not exactly a stranger in London, having1 been there, for a very short time, on two or three occasions; besides that, lie had one or two very good friends who resided in that city. So it happened that he had made arrangements to have money placed to his order there? though it was far from his intention to attempt to cross the Atlantic in the Homeward Bound, or. at least, not until the weather was fair and settled, and it had not occurred to him to think of the possibility of going out in the Homeward Bound and coming home some other way. He would haw been almost as likely to have thought of not coining home at all. His action had been a fortunate one. however, since Kate had decreed that he was to land in England. He had money there, in plenty, and his nature was such that he was disposed to make the most of any event, no matter how unexpected or involuntary his part in the beginning of that event might have been. He had not started for England; he had come to England, however; so in England he was ready and willing to stay until something more pleasant promised. He told himself, sis he went home that night from his call on Miss Ban nottie, that something' more pleasant did promise; he insisted, as though his other self was only waiting for him to finish before rising up to argue the point with him, that London was a deplorable, dismal place in which to live, with its fogs and its rain and its mud, and that Naples, though he had never seen it, must be far better. He came to his lodgings. He took his key. He let himself in. He lighted his lamp. He gave the fire a vigorous poke or two, for the night and the room were chilly. He glanced around the room with some complacency. He was rich, but ho had not thought it wise to pay for much of luxury or elegance; there was everything for comfort ? everything that convenience could require, however. and the man was pardonable for the look of pleased pride with which he regarded it. "A pleasant place to live in," he said, reflectively, "If I had some one with whom to share it. If she were only good and pure and true, and I could win her, how happy we could be here together." , You see she received no name as he spoke of her. Hut we needn't remain long in doubt as to whom he meant. | His thoughts were finding it hard to go back beyond the time when lie saw Lurline Hannottie in danger, and hurried to her relief; he was already beginning to count the events In his life ' forward and back from that one, and to base his hopes and plans and dreams * '1 f..*..%.A V%*? ntmiiTTictgnpA ! llir lilt* 1UIUIC VII 11ICU WIIVUIIIW%UI?W, as well as to reckon them from It as 1 the Initial and superlatively red letter day of his personal calendar. Once? But no matter! If a man has remained a bachelor, and chosen the life of a wanderer, because of something in his life so sad that he never re- ' lates it, we ought, perhaps, to respect 1 his silence and keep an equal silence. When he forgets his past, with the tears that were wept, the vows that 1 were plighted, and the grave in which 1 love sleeps, perhaps we ought to forget too. When he scorns his voluntary ' bachelorhood, when he begins to think of the delights of home, it is perhaps unnecessary for us to ask whose were the tears that flowed, whether the vows were kept or broken, or who lies ' in the grave, far away on a tiny tropical island, where the noisy clamor of the waves Is eternal. With Jasper Jahnwny as he Is, and as he will be, we have to do largely in this history; and 1 grant you that what a man has done and suffered, what he has thought 1 and said, index largely what he Is and 1 prophesy pointedly what he will be. But when a man sits down to plan ' how he may win the coveted love of a woman he instinctively distrusts? suspects?almost despises; when he allows himself to think how he may , frighten and coerce when he cannot succeed by gentler and manlier means; wnen ne ueuueitiics uii mc tukuaw which may be his with one whose ac- 1 quaintance he "picked up In London," I think we may put the earlier volumes of the record of his life reverent l.v away, shut and lock the door upon them, and at least say, sadly, perhaps but none the less firmly, "Not yet!" Mr. Jahnway spoke again soon: "A pleasant refuge, this, and a safe 1 one, if one had been so unfortunate as to have been concerned in any?any? ' any accident! Authority might hunt 1 long for guilt which had deliberately lost itself In London. I wonder whether Lurllne Rannottie could learn to love me? I wonder whether she had 1 anything to do with the?the?the 1 death of Constance Craig? I wonder ' whether I have the means of proving ' it? I wonder?I wonder " Do you, Mr. Jasper Jahnway, do you? I wonder, too! I wonder if a man may have a guardian devil?as well as a guardian angel? I wonder ' if two attendant spirits are fighting ' for the possession of your soul tonight? I wonder if you have strength to resist the allurements of temptation? I ' wonder if you will escape? He speaks again: "I found an awful document?a horrible letter. It had neither date nor ' signature, but many a jury has done less justifiable things than it would be to hang the writer of it as the murderer of Constance Craig. I sent it to Prier. He would use the evidence, and 1 use it mercilessly, of course." He rose then. He got a cigar and lighted it. He smoked with an inten- I sity of effort which spoke volumes of the nervous strain there was upon him, 1 and the difficulty he had in restraining it. Thus for five minutes. Then he ' threw the cigar away. He spoke to 1 himself once more: "I found a photograph, later. It 1 - T Z/Min/1 J was Cltwe I ? lUC (imcr niiCK' 1 Iiiuuu tlio letter. It was stained?discolored ' ?faded; but it was tlie picture of I.urline Rannottie; there is no doubt 1 of that. There were three stanzas of poetry upon it, the same poetry I die tated to her to write tonight. I exam- 1 ined it with cui'e; it was in the handwriting of the fearful confession * I found; the one who wrote it killed Constance Craig. I wonder whether Lurline Bannottle wrote It, or whether she did not. I was careful to stand, tonight, where I could not see i the lines as she wrote them; I do not think I could have kept a calm face I under her glances, if I had seen the , writing, and so been certain, no mat- I ter which way that certainty had de- i cided the question. I?I have only to i burn this folded paper, burn it and i never go where I can see writing of i hers again, in order to never know, i Do I love her too much?or too little? I to let her go?" i ?i ??,i? m./? < ne rose aim iciMnupurii m.-> mv. And yet. there were prreat drops of 1 sweat standing: upon his forehead. 1 "I have the picture here?here in a 1 waterproof case where I put it when I went away on the Homeward Pound, and it will take but a moment to know. There! The face 1 is turned downward upon the table: I cannot think nor reason with those eyes looking into mine, even from a i card. What Is it she says?? i " 'Have faith, because you cannot prove The thought behind my brow!' , Faith, indeed! I have none. She i called the sentiment atrocious: I i think she did well; I should call it I devilish, if I had to sit and look deep into her pictured eyes any longer." i He drew the folded paper .Tom his pocket. He laid it, folded still, beside i the card on which lie had first seen. ? and from which he had learned, the < lines lie had dictated to her to write. "There is the solution of the problem," he said to himself; "there is the truth. For right or wrong, for good or bad, for truth or falsehood, there it is. Dare I solve it? Will I solve it? And what shall I do when it Is solved? For trust or certainty of guilt, for safety or danger, for " That is it, Mr. Jasper Jahnway; that is just it. Why do you not go on? What is there in that, since ycu have gone so far, to make you pause? For honor or Infamy?(Do not wince, you know it is true)?for loyalty or treason?(That is the way the down hill category of horrors reads)?for paradise or perdition?for salvation or damnation. That is the end, Jasper Jahnway, and you know it. Dare you solve the problem? Will you" And what will you do when it is solved? " 'Look, listen, reason well,'" he IJUWIUU, ftlCHCIV , JUU VUllllUk rtllW" my soul!' Yes, Lurllne Bannottie, I can know your soul, and, even If it costs me my own, I will know it!" He suddenly opened the folded paper, as though he feared his resolution would fail him if he delayed or hesitated. He opened the paper?and it needed but a glance to see the whole horrible truth. He had known that the writer of the confession and the writer of the lines on the bark of Lurline Bannottie's photograph were one and the *aino person. And now?he knew that the same hand had written the lines he had Just looked at, on the paper he had unfolded, as had written the same words on the photograph! And ?he had seen Lurline Bannottie write the words on the sheet of paper, with her own hand! "She?she is guilty," he gasped; "and she has the face of an angel. She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw; more beautiful than any face I ever saw represented on canvas; more beautiful than the imagination of artist ever conceived; and guilty? guilty! Guilty, and In my power. I wonder?I wonder whether she would grive?give?give herself?for my silence?" Do you, Jasper Jahnway, do you? God hejjl you! There is no voice to warn if Conscience and Reason fail. TJp.darkness of the London night will give no sign. Your battle must be fought oUt alone, and in silence. Rut It is a terrible battle, none the less, and a most important one?important hereafter, when you are done with fancies for fair faces and all the rest r?f the follies of earth?important here and now. Do you value pence and honor? Or are those terms too abstract and intangible? Very well. So be it. Do you value long life, Jasper Jahnway, and hope for old age to set its seal upon you ere you go out from it? Do you? Oh, Jasper Jahnway, Jasper Jahnway, if you do, pause and think?catch at something?a hope?a memory?a fancy?to save you. You wonder whether Lurline Bannottie would ?ive herself for your silence; you wonder that? Alas! man, though you cannot know it, Samuel Lyman wondered the same thing, and put his wish and his will to the test. She told him she would pay the price he asked, and then? Then?God only knows the unlmagIned horror of the road she sent him t?n alone: God help you, Jasper Jahnway. Tiia man sat in silence. Minutes? hours?went slowly by. He was fighting out his battle with temptation, as every man must fight it at some time, ind the struggle was a long and a hard one. The only question was how it would end. Do not blame Jasper Jahnway's weakness; it may he no greater than your own. It is not the strongest who always turn temptation away at once ;ind conquer :?roin the beginning. Temptation Is not sin; the sin is in the yielding. To wish wickedly Is the first step toward happiness, if the wish be slain and its dead self be made uich a step by t ie contrite heart. Did Jasper Jnhnway win??or did he lose? I am more than glad to have it to write that he won. What saved him? A little thing. Little things have saved?and lost? souls and empires, since this world was. Could we look outside our own tiny planet, and see the races which people the countless worlds of the universe, we might find that the little things of life have saved and lost worlds, since chaos shone with the first light of creation and nebulae began to condense into systems and suns. What little thing? - A memory. The memory of the farewell between himself and Gilbert Senn. Unseen, through the thick darkness, that act of heroism was, nevertheless, destined to bring forth fruit after its own Kind. "He?he saved my life," said Jasper Jahnway, the tears in his eyes; "and undoubtedly gave his own for it. A life bought j,t such a price should be r>ne of honor. I will be a man!" The struggle was ended. Jahnway was saved. And then? He faced the other task, a task you might have found harder than the first. For, much as you may love justice?in theabstract?and much as-you may rejoice, over your pleasant and comfortable breakfast, with your fresh morning newspaper in your hand, at the tales you there read of the condemnation of men to long lives of confinement at hard labor, or to the scarcely greater horror of sudden and disgraceful death, you may not know how serious and solemn a thing it is to do that which will send even the guiltiest of human beings down tbe road which has but one ending?Death, and scarcely more than two gates at Its end? Nog a I Execution anil Suicide. Hut Jasper Jahnway?did his duty. I' is nothing to his discredit that I have to say ttint he did it hurriedly, as though feat ful that he would find his resolution wavering if he delayed or allowed anything to hinder him. He did his duty. None could have done more. It is enough. He sat and wrote his letter in the parly dawn of a London morning? a morning of dampness and chilliness rind fog. He went out and posted it himself, long before the most of the world of the great city was astir, and drew u long breath of relief when It was done, and he was safe from himself. Do not blame him that he did ?ne tiling, so kindly and generous and chivalrous that it bordered upon the weak and wicked. "It is only fair to give her a fair warning and a lighting chance," he said to himself; "and she Is a woman, only a woman, after all." So a short note went to Lurline Bannottie to her London address, as well as a letter to J. B. Prler. The letter had Miss Bannottle's photograph, and the lines she had written at Mr. Jahnway's dictation. Inclosed with It, and But let us enjoy the privilege which is ours, as writer and reader, and read them both: "Mr. J. B. Prler, My Dear Sir?" (Said the letter, after the place and the date had been mentioned) [ "I wrote you, some time after sending you the remarkable paper I had found in my grounds, saying that I had found another thing, or that I had another bit of information, which .might be of use to you. You will. I hope, do me the justice of believing me when I say that I did not really think it of importance when I wrote, though I now know that it is. "You will notice that the lines written on the back of the Inclosed photograph are In the same handwriting as in the letter, or confession, which I sent you some time since. Two questions would naturally suggest themselves to one brought face to face with that fact. "1 Did the nrieinnl of the nicture write the lines? "2. Who is she? "Fortunately, I am able to answer both questions. "The original of the picture did write the lines. I inclose a paper, written by, her. from my dictation, here in London, last night. The lost link is thus supplied; the truth is thus made evident: the handwriting is the same in all three places, and? the woman is guilty! "Her name is Lurline Bannottle. "Her present home is in Naples, though she is recently from Maine. "I regret having to write this letter, and only do so because I regard it as my duty. I saved that lady's life last evening, and am naturally much interested In her In consequence. "As for myself, I am sick and disgusted with the whole business. Please do not try to see me again; I have put the clew in your hands; now be Just enough and generous enough to let me alone. "I must not forget to inform you of the death of Gilbert Senn. I have neither the time nor the Inclination to enter into the particulars of the accident we encountered, nor am I either complaining or boastful enough to speak of my own sufferings and privations. Enough to say that you were right, so far as your belief went, in your estimate of thut remarkable young man, though you fell far short of the appreciation of the simple dignity of his character which I feel as T write. Loyal, brave, of sterling worth, he died as he lived? a hero! With respect and good wishes, "Very sincerely yours, "Jasper Jahnway." "Miss Bannottie: I love justice and honor too much to see you again at any future time. But I am too?too something?to feel that I can betray a woman into the hands of her enemies and give her no word of warning. So I write these lines. "You killed Constance Craig. No matter how I know that you did; I do know; there is no link lacking in the chain of evidence: it can be proven. 'And? "I have notified Mr. J. B. Prier, and have sent him the whole of the items which constitute the demonstration of your guilt. "With sorrow, I am "Jasper Jahnway." All of which would lead to the conclusion that Mr. Patsy Gullens was scarcely correct when he set Mr. Jahnway down as a pirate. To be Continued. ADVICE TO FAr,...-iRS. Mr. Wiiloughby Reasons Why Cotton Acreage Should be Reduced. Newberry Observer. Last week we solicited the bankers to assist some of us in holding a rem nant of last year's crop of cotton until needed by the spinners. We now have an abundant proof that the bankers and the merchants are quite willing' to do all they can for us. We must not. however, expect much assistance from this source for southern cash capital is greatly limited. We are up against a trust founded forty-five (45) years ago, which has managed to grow steadily without let or hindrance. Among other things, it has absorbed, or at least obtained, a controlling interest in most of the cotton mills, both In the north and in the south. It has forced a pool not only with regard to the purchase of cotton, but also to the output of the mills. In reorganizing in about 1900 the mills were required to turn Into the hands of Xew York commission houses their output. Some of you will remember that the Darlington and Laurens mills of this state fought this part of the pool in the courts and lost. Since that date the prices of the manufactured goods have been fixed. Likewise tbere has been no competition in the sale of cotton. The army of men employed as buyers have represented different grades only, which they have been required to assort and ship under daily telegraphic orders. It has required the government to bear the expense of obtaining and publishing weekly reports of the progress of our cotton crops, also to obtain from the ginners the bales of cotton ginned, and publishing semimonthly reports, thus placing in the hands of this trust the most accurate Information possible with regards to the quantity of cotton in our hands. On'the other hand, it has left the cotton growers at sea as to the quantity of manufactured goods being stored away by the trust, from which it is today supplying orders, while bearing the,price of cotton below the cost of production. In view of these facts, it would be suicide for any farmer to produce more cotton this year, than he is able to keep on hand for a period of at least one year. It would likewise be criminal on the part of a southern banker or merchant. to, knowingly, lend aid to the farmers who would import meat, corn or hay to enable him to make a large cotton crop that must be forced into the hands of this trust before it is needed for use by the spinners. Kemember, we have this one trust to price and store our cotton, and this same trust to price the manufactured goods. We have but one choice which will enable us to avoid the grasp of this gigantic trust; namely?to reduce the production of cotton so as to make it our surplus capita), without which we can live until the mills call on us for it, and compete for the different grades as we do in the commercial world for the merchandise that we buy. Therefore let us price our cotton and place it in the hands of heavily bonded warehousemen, who are instructed to hold it until it is needed and brings the price. The cotton being forced on the market below the cost of production today. was produced by farmers who neglected to produce at home, a supply of meal, corn and hay. T. C. Willnughhy. iUisccllancous grading. LIVESTOCK INDUSTRY. Source of Prosperity That Is Neglected In South Carolina. At the Farmers' Union held in Sumter last week, Mr. B. Harris, president of the State Farmers' Union delivered the following interesting address on the livestock Industry: Mr, Chairman, Ladles and Gentlemen: It affords me the greatest of pleasure to meet with the representative farmers of South Carolina, and especially of Sumter county. I have been assigned to talk to you about the livestock Industry in our state and its needs. I lind that the average farmer iti South Carolina needs education along the line of breeding, developing and handling livestock, more than In any other branch of agriculture. And I wish to say right here, that a state cannot prosper, if it does not make livestock .one of the leading features of agriculture. The first (|uostion that arises In the minds of our South Carolina farmers, is whether or not the south is adapted to the breeding and raising of livestock. I hope that we will be able to prove to you that the fault Is not with the conditions existing in South Carolina, but that the fault lies with the farmers themselves. If you were to ask me what county was the best adapted to stock raising in this state, I would answer you Sumter county. Then If you were to ask what kind of livestock would be the most profitable to raise in South Carolina, I would answer dairy cattle, horses, sheep, hogs, and poultry. If you ask me why I say Sumter county could foster stock raising with such great profit, I would reply because there is no section that offers more natural advantages for the breeding and raising of livestock. I .say this because you can raise such a diversity of forage crops. Ten months out of the twelve you can have some kind of soiling crop to feed to your cattle, horses, sheep and lings. I will not attempt to name the kind of soiling crops for this within itself would require too much time. However, I will say that the Bermuda grass will do for the south what blue grass has done for Kentucky. I know of one place In particular where one-quarter of an acre of Bermuda grass, furnishes all the grazing that a 1,200 pound bull can eat for seven months out of the year and it takes an average of one acre of Kentucky blue grass for a steer. Right here in Sumter county, one acre of Bermuda grass will furnish grazing for three head. There is no country where feed can be raised cheaper than in South Carolina and where stock is freer from disease. Healthy stock should be expected, for they can have outdoor exercise every day of the year, which is very essential to the health of animals. Now as to the necessity for raising livestock in our southland. How are we to reclaim our worn out soil? Can we do It with commercial rertinzersr The answer is no. We will have to do it with livestock. I wish to make p. comparison of conditions along this line as they exist in Iowa and in South Carolina. In the state of Iowa you will find that this ratio exists?to every inhabitant there are one and one-half milch cows and in South Carolina to every eleven inhabitants there is only one milch cow. In Iowa there is one sheep to every inhabitant, in South Carolina there is one to every twentyseven inhabitants. Continuing this comparison, statistics show: Iowa has three and one-half hogs to each inhabitant. South Carolina has one hog to each inhabitant. Iowa has one cow to every six and one-half acres, South Carolina one cow to every fifty-four and one half acres. Iowa foaled 191.237 horses and mules in 1900, South Carolina foaled 2,829 horses and mules in 1900. Iowa value of farm products per agricultural worker, $985, South Carolina value of farm products per agricultural worker, $174. Iowa, horses and mules to every two agricultural workers, seven, South Carolina horses and mules to every two agricultural workers, two. Iowa value of dairy products, per each agricultural worker, $74: South Carolina value of dairy products, per each agricultural worker, $3. Even the hens lay ten times as many eggs in Iowa as they do hi South Carolina, notwithstanding the climate in South Carolina far surpasses that of Iowa for egg producing. Now why did I say we must have dairy cattle in South Carolina? Because the quickest road to a dollar la through the dairy cow. She pays her expense account every twenty-four hours and gives you a profit of ten per cent on her cost for three hundred and sixty-five days in the year, and besides she furnishes you the most wholesome food obtainable for your table. She does not run on a credit basis. It ir all cash with her and no futures in it. South Carolina buys annually $12,G00.000 in dairy products and there is no state in the union that can produce these products cheaper than we can here in South Carolina. Now let us see where our money is going every year. We send from home $13,100,000 annually for bacon. Any good farmer in our state can raise bacon for three cents per pound. We send out of the state for horses and mules annually $11,350,000, and there is no country where you can raise a horse or mule any cheaper than you can in South Carolina. I can raise a better one here for $100 than our farmers are paying $250 for out of the state. I can raise all of the feed on one acre that a colt will require until he if three years old and at the end of that time will have $50 in cash to the credit of the land. Apply the manure the colt has made In three years to the same acre and you will increase the production of that acre twenty per cent. Now why should we impoverish our country by sending west for horses and mules and bacon. South Carolina spends annually $20.OflO.OOO for Hour and $9,000,000 for corn. How are we to reclaim our worn out lands. The answer is?diversification of crops and livestock raising. I have seen from the car window, since I left I my home, coming two hundred miles, enough waste land, if it was used for sheep raising, to grow more mutton than is now consumed in South Carolina. As this land stands today, the taxes are a burden to the owner, but if properly husbanded with sheep rais ing, it would in ten years be the most fertile land on the farm. I can see some cause for a machine or man to wear out. but more men rust out than wear out. There is no excuse for an acre of land to wear out; it should be twenty times more productive after being In cultivation one hundred years, than it was the first two years. How is this to be done? Raise more live stock and better live stock. It requires intelligent effort to breed and handle livestock. Now, it is not that we lack the brains, and it is also a slander to say that we have not the energy and application necessary. We can grow cotton and do the other things you want to do, and right successfully too?but you have never wanted to grow live stock. What has been the result of efforts to grow live stock in this and other southern states li: the past? Ninety-nine out of every hundred men who have engaged in it have made failures. Why? Because they were men with money, but without knowledge or experience in the business and they turned the work over to men who knew but little more and usually oared less. Any negro can raise cotton, hut when It comes to diversified farming, he is not in it. How are we to keep our boys on the farm? We will have to educate them above a cotton field and a mule. How can we do this? By teaching them that by diversified agriculture and stockraising they can make money on the farm and can cope with men In any other profession. . The DISHONEST MAN. Can Not Stay at the Top For Any Length of Time. It is easy to deride success, and it is so pleasant. It leaves one with a feeling of patronizing complacent superiority. It is always easier to denounce than it Is to do. It furnishes an excuse for not having succeeded, says an editorial in the March Appleton's. Your moneyless man leans back In his seat and says to his fellow-commuter: "I could be as rich as old Moneybags, but I would rather be honest. I have come to the conclusion that It requires a very low order of ability to become rich, If a man Is willing to do the things that are necessniy." Then he feels a glow of virtue which passes Into bitterness when he reaches home and finds that his wife needs a new dress or his boy a pair of shoes, and he can not afford to make the needed purchase. "It is an outrage." he protests; "here my family must suffer because I am honest, while old Moneybags gets more money In an hour then I can earn In a month?It Is an outrage." We are all familiar with the stock exchange transactions, which reach into millions of dollars daily. In that apparently careless, hurrying mass of humanity, when a man raises his finger and nods he will keep his word without question. The history of thp New York Stock Exchange has no exception to this rule. But that Is not an Isolated case?It runs through the business world. In China, perhaps the oldest business nation in the world over, what do they do? If a Chinese comprador steals or defaults or is dishonest, his European employer need not worry. First of all, the money is paid to him by the association of which his comprador had to be a member before he could do business. Then in twenty-four to forty-eight hours this comprador cuts his own throat?to avoid having it cut for him. Is it so with Japan? No, because they are Just beginning to be a commercial nation, and they have still to learn. The ultimate basis of business transactions Is mutual confidence based on belief in the personal honesty of those Involved. How rare It is for this to be betrayed! Have you ever stopped to think how few banks have failed, and what a minute percentage was lost thereby when compared with the vast total involved? Of course, every rule has an exception. But canvass your own field of real, personal, positive knowledge and see If you can find a single case of permanent, lasting success based on dishonesty or unfair dealings with customers. Temporary successes there have been, and always will be until man is perfect. Some are going on today, but. on the whole, what is your honest verdict, without nreludice or bias? A WONDERLAND. New Zealand's Belt of Geysers of Boiling Water. If one can imagine a furious and active volcano with a crater a thousand miles in extent, sunk level with the eaith and thinly covered with a screen of soil, one has some idea of the awe inspiring "wonderland" of New Zealand's north island. You cannot poke a stick into the ground without starting a boiling spring, and wherever you turn the ground Is fairly alive with geysers of boiling water?steam jets and blowholes, with quivering 'volcanoes and gurgling "mud pots." all colored fantastically with rainbow hues, ranging from brilliant sapphire to vivid scarlet. Stranger still, the entire face of this region is constantly changing in shape and color, and there are hot springs here stretching in a continuous chain for 300 miles. The ground throbs and quivers with volcanic activity, and set in the midst of it all are native Maori villages of surpassing interest, a strange race of magnificent savages, who, although they have been cannibals within the memory of man. are now a highly intelligent race and actually send representatives to the parliament in Wellington. The native women, gorgeoujt in garments of crimson, green and purple, are forever putting .stolidly at big pipes and going hither and thither about their household work with the quaintest of babies slung across their backs. This reminds me that domestic work in this strange region is made light Indeed for white housewives as well as the Maori women. Every garden and back yard has its hot water provided by nature. And when these easy going people grow hungry the mother prepares a meat pudding or a joint and drops it into a convenient pot of natural boiling water in the earth, and in a few minutes it Is cooked. The same conveniences are still more in evidence on washing day. Stepping carefully through a tangle of boiling geysers and gurgling mud pots, one suddenly comes upon a great collection of native women and girls doing their washing in a vast smoking lake big enough to have steamers on it.?W. T. Fltz-Gernld in St. Nicholas.