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Swbpe's Double THE PRIMS DONNi. Jl Story of Mystery, Love and Devotion. nv n avrn 1.0WRY. CHAPTER VII.?(Continued.) "Do you know who I am?" He bowed. "Then I will be brief. I am the woman in the case.' " She spoke scornfully, bitterly. "The? dare not come out openly?they would, If they could, stab another reputation Insidiously. It is not that that brings me here. There is a sister, I learn, who is almost insane with fear. I have called upon her. I have just left her. 6he does not know me. I instituted inquiries before I called, and have made all necessary arrangements for her comfort since I left her." "The Almighty will reward you foi that," said Livingston suddenly. "When I cease to think so. I hope 1 will die," she answered. "I learned from her that you were there. I want you to find some lady friend?have you ft lady friend who has buried those she loved best?who has realized that all is vanity?" Her voice trembled now?she turned her head aside. "I have a relative who has proved td me there are saints on earth." "Send her, then, to Miss Beauchampe. Pray give her this" (she handed him an envelope), "and say to her if she can eontrive to do it, to permit Miss Beauchampe to think sne is simply another friend?one of many who sympathizes with her in her misfortune." aI will do as you wish," Livingston (aid, wondering why this woman exhibited such an interest in Miss Beauehampe. She was reading his face like an open book; it was not difficult to read his face at any time. "I shall not make any unn;cessary mystery, Mr. Livingston. I hate mysteries in real life. They are very well on the stage. This is all simple, when fou know the truth. A likeness of mine painted by a clever artist abroad?clever In some things, n^t in others?did not please me. It pleased my friends less. We Americans are outspoken. You are urprised?you thought I was French, or Italian? My grandfather was born in this country. I am intensely American. The picture had something that I do not think belongs to me. I compromised irith the artist?I purchased one of his landscapes, giving a round sum for it But I forgot to carry off my portrait ?nd the artist was mean enough to put It on exhibition! It was sold and passed Into Major Dabney's hands. I have nevei met Major Dabpey save in the presence of my manager. Yes?once In the parlor of the hotel. But he tqld his friends how much he paid for the picture. And 1 I had friends who laughed at it so heartily that the Major was compslled to nave it retouched. Naturally he selected an artist capable of doing the work; bat he preferred one comparatively unknown. The chances that the truth would be known were lessened. The Major at least understood human nature-" Livingston comprehended the situation now thoroughly, he thought. no uuuucu as sur piuiccucu, bUUU^U he were keeping even pace with her. He asked himself whether she knew the truth. It was impossible for her to . know, or even suspect, what not another soul in the world knew?what he learned from Beauchampe by the merest accident in the theater. If this woman knew that Beauchampe had secretly copied her p<Jrtrait, perhaps she might manifest an interest in his affairs?the -r result of love. "And since you are Mr. Beauchampe's friend, and in a position to correct a misapprehension that is doing him gross Injustice, I will leave it all in your hands, Mr. Livingston. You know how to manage that It is a matter that * gives me little or no concern. Thanks to my friend?, if it were even necessary to notice the groundless rumors, that you may be sure will be done in a way that will fee effectual. My concern is for Miss Beauchampe and her brother." ("Why did Vittoria put Miss Beauchampe before her brother?) She was was moving to the door, which Livingston hastily opened for her, fcAvin?: "All vnu ha,VA rpmiasted ar>fl much more will be done." "Thanks." She flashed a look on him that remained fresh in his memory for weeks, carefully replaced her veil, and departed. Not till he heard the sound of wheels rolling away from the door did Livingston recover from the surprise this visit created Then he returned slowly to his room, saying to himself: "Matter? are rapidly coming to a locus* CHAPTER VIII. A GOOD DAY'S WORK. Livingston could not compose himselr to read. When he flung down the end of his fir6t cigar he was, if anything, more restless than when he entered his lodgings. The strange interview with the prima donna produced a stimulating effect upon him. He could neither think nor read, and as for the rest he craved? there was more rest, he believed, in active exertions in behalf of poor Beauchampe. He was glad that he had permitted "Vittoria to do all the talking. Evidently she did not dream matters were so serious. Somehow, she had , assumed that the artist's name had been used with as little ground or reason as her own when the murder was discussed. One thine he could and would do at nee. Ho palled half a dozen sheets of paper toward him, wrote rapidly on them, inclosed the slips in as many envelopes, placed thorn in his pocket, rose, put on bis hat, and left the house. Ho walked two squares, turned into an office occupied by an acquaintance, and rung for a messenger. When the boy answered, Livingston placed the envelopes in his hand, gavo the boy doublo fees, and dispatched him swiftly on his errand. The notes were addressed to the managing editors of the loading papers. Livingston knew precisely what they would accomplish. His faith in Beauehampe was so strong, his sympathy for Miss Beauchampe so deep, that ho had taken extraordinary risks. Briefly stated, he had staked his reputation upon the result, claiming in tho notes written that justice to the artist demanded instant reparation for thi injury already dono him. at the sam? time intimating that the friends of th? American prima donna in all probabilitj would find a better and speedier way to correct, instantly., any silly misapprehension concerning ncr than b? Ing cards in the newspapers. Having staked his all on the result, Livingston resolved to seek Simmonf again, and, either with or without his assistance, solve so much of the mysterious_ murder as jyould enabl_e him to :-vf. determine wnether there was any ground for suspecting his friend. That he might be able to do this, he explained the nature of the work he wa9 engaged upon in the note he left on the desk of the managing editor of the paper claiming his undivided attention. Then he dispatched a message to Simmons, and repaired to a chop-house much frequented by writers on the daily press and artists, and was surprised at the appetite be manifested when he cleared the table. Having thus fortified himself for another hard day's work, he went in quest of Simmons. Mr. Simmons failing him, Livingston made an appointment for the afternoon, and then went to work in his own way. When a live newspaper man's resources fail him, the average man may as well sit down. Micawber-like, and wait until something turns up. The newspaper man commonly turns something up, and when necessity demands supplies the pivot. It was late in the evening when Livingston and Simmons compared notes. Livingston's expression as he grasped Simmons' hand heartily prepared the detective for good news; only gratifying discoveries could change Livingston's mood. He was lively?cheery when they sat down together. "You begin, Simmons. After yon." Simmons' report was a model of brevity. He had given order9 to shadow the store Livingston wa? positive gave refuge to Beauchampe, with the following results: 1. The proprietor, long suspccted, proved to be a "fence" inside of an hour. Brought to book, he was glad to confess that a man had entered his house before Livingston rushed in. The man was an artist in one sen?e. His name was well known; numerous "fences" knew him. 2. He had not left anything with Mr. Sharply; he simply passed in and out ol the house. It was true, he went out through a back window and in broad daylight. Mr. Sharpiy was not responsible for that 3. The police were on the man's track. He had been traced to two disreputable haunts, and Simmons' confident tone and manner implied that he would be in the hands of the police within twenty-four hour.-, possibly less time. Livingston's report was equal.'y brief. Ho had begun with the theater. Ho obtained the addresses of the ushers, had seen and talked with all of them. Chance remarks made by two of the ushers spurred him into extraordinary endeavors, all well rewarded finally; but h6 had encountered numerous obstacles and experienced many disappointments in his quest. All he had to begin with was a few chance words by three men as they reentered tho theater. He did not know the names of any of thesj men. One of tho ushers was positive he described their ages and dress correctly, and that one addressed another as "Harry," and was called "Ned" in turn. With this slender thread to begin with Livingston had traversed half the city, succeeded in finding neither "Ned" nor "Harry," but two of their companions, who fully explained the origin of the remarks the ushers heard. They had witnessed the recapture of an escapcd lunatic, and properly characterized the treatment ho was subjected to as brutal in the last degree. This man, they believed, was the man who created the dis turbance in the theater. There could not be any misapprehend sion concerning the hour. Tho people in the theater?hundreds could testify to the time the acts began, and the duration of the entire performance. From this Livingston deduced the following, which Simmons noted carefully bv nodding at every point: 1. That the man seized on the street and placed in a carriage, with his hands Dound behind him, about 10 o'clock, cor> tainly not later than 10:15, could not have murdered Major Dabney ten minutes betore, or a few minutes after 1 the next mornine. 2. Yet the man suspected was seen long after that near Major Dabney's residence. That much was nroved. 3. Simmons had satisfied himfelf that the man handcuffed in the theater visited two places within an hour p,ftcr ho knocked the policeman down. Ik Finally, Sharply admitted a wellknown thief bad visited his place the lext morning before 6 o'clock, which troved conclusively that there were two icn who bore a striking resemblance to tavh other. "My theory," said Livingston with unusual deliberation, "is this and I'll risk all I have in the world on it. I'll risk tny reputation?a year's salary on it. I uave been mistaken throughout. It wasn't Beauchampe that struck tho tisher, although I was so positive about that at first. It was somebody who looks like him. And this mau is the toan who killed Dabney. But Beauihampe is the man that was so horribly maltreated on the street, pitched into tho carriage, and fs now?God only knows where. We will have to?we must, Simmons, search every mad-house In the State?everywhere where there is -1- - i 4. isi.^i2i?j: u: rni 111(3 leabu IIKtJilUUUU Ui ililUJIJg J1IU1. JLUtJy might drive to a railway station and take Beauchampe the Lord only knows where. You agree with me?" Simmons rellected perhaps a minute, then he said in his deepest tone and with unusual deliberation "I do. You've convinced me. It's as plain as that clock there. There's a 'double' in this case?no room for doubt now. What are you going to do now?" "Tho lirst thing is to write up the affair in the RccoriL That will be killing two birds with ODe stone?it will supply the evidence I guaranteed when I notified half a dozen or more responsible men that they had best hold in their norses for twenty-four hours, ard it will create sympathy for the man maltreated. That man is Beauehampe. The face I saw in Sharply's window was not Beauchampe's. You will prove that, I am confident, by arresting the man." "In that case, then," said Simmons, "suppose we say we'll meet?when?" "I want to make the rounds of the papers," Livingston answered. "Say about twelve, or between twelve and one." "Very well." Simmons turned *nd added, "Possibly we will have our man by that time; at least I will try to. " There was one thing more Livingston deemed o{ equal or greater importance than anything he had mentioned to ouuiuuua. He resolved to call upon Miss Beau champe for the purpose of reassuring her so far as lay In his power. That was the first duty to be discharged, and when they parted, Simmons to strive to secure "his man" at the earliest moment. Livingston hailed a car and was intent upon visiting Miss Beauchampe, experiencing sensations wholly new to him. Ho did not pause to analyze his feelings?what young man under similar inlluences does? Ho was preoccupied with thought. The car halted near him; he was in tho act of stepping aboard when he felt his arm plucked. Glancing at tho envelopo thrust into his hand, he started, waved a hand to tho driver of tho car, who drove on, and then, looking down upon tin; boy who brought him tlift note, Livingston for tlio lirst time observed that he was breathless. The note bore tho well-known letterhead of the Record. The envelope was as familiar to him as tin titlo pige of the great newspaper that employed him. "What dejes this mean? They have my addross?" He was reading the note. The boy interposed. "I?they did send to your lodgings, and ?and you wasn't there. That's why?I ?they asked me if I knew you, sir, and?there's two others hunting you? that's why I run so hard, Mr. Livingston " "All right," Livingston answered, putting his hand in his Docket and giving thtf boy a coin. "They paid me at the Record." "Of course; and that's my part. You can go back and toil thein 1 cot tho order." He frowned as he spoke. The revu> on of his feelings was so great that he wished at that moment there was no such thing as a newspaper in tho world. But he had not a moment to SDare. He glanced at his watch. It was half an hour later than he thought it possible. The visit to Miss ' Beauchampe could not be made now. He almost wished he had never entered the Eccord office as he recalled a speech made by me iiiuiiagiijg euinui a ofjtttu ua felt the force of until now. It was to the effect that Livingston must be prepared at a minute's notice, if necessary, to go to any part of the globe. Thero was to be no time for packing trunks or saying farewell. He recalled one commission thus executed on the spur of the moment. There was a spice of adventure in the work, and Livingston had acquitted himself so well that his name was on half the lips of the civilized world when it was done. But this ?this was altogether different. His whole being was bound up in the extraordinary affairs of his friend and his friend's sister. Livingston was walking rapidly while these thoughts passed through his mind, lie was looking for a cab?any vehicle that would enable him to make the train it was his duty to go on. Fortunately a hansom whirled around a corner. Livingston hailed the driver. The next minute he was riding rapidly to the ferry. He turned over the note he still held in his hand in a mechanical way, while his thoughts weie on Miss Bcauchampe. The note, or command, for such it proved in this instance, was very briefcurt, Livingston thought. Pr rppti tn fihlr^ftiro bv the train. In. I structions by wire. M. "A man on the Record staff is very much like a soldier," Livingston soliloquized as he jumped out of the cab and paid his fare. "Lucky I've enough money to pay my fare. I'll wire Simmons on the way." At that moment an acquaintance jostled him. The two men looked al each other. "What! Where aie you bound for?" "I wish I knew," Livingston answered, more to himself than his acquaintance, then, recollecting himself, he said, "West, just now." "Yes--to Jersey, of course." "No?Chicago, confound it." "Chicago! -I wish it was Denver. You'll go with me?unless " "I am alone," Livingston said moodily. The other beamed on him; his face expanded into a broad smiie. "How fortunate! Got your ? of course you have, though." "If you mean a sleeping berth, I haven't" Then, in a burst of irritation that surprised his acquaintance, "1 haven't so much as an extra handkerchief or collar?not even the article Gen. Sherman deemed indispensable when he began his march to the sea?a comb." "Ha, ha! Good. I can accommodate fou with berth?everything. You're lucky. Mv c .usin was coming with me ?everyth ng ready?traps on ahead? JamIvIa Ka*. ?.^ahKIq foro fhanflrnrl hia mind in live minutes?fact. AH about a girl?he's dead in love, Sanders is. Quarreled?going out West. Oh, yes? and she gave him just one look, and I'll bo banged if he didn't back square oui ind a dozen of us laughing at him. Fact! I'd never telieved it of Sanders. What an ass a man is when he's spoony7 PI n^vor make an ass of myself in tbat if ay." Thoy were near the landing now. "You look glum, Livingston, and luck raining on you. What's the matter with fou?not feeling just yourself, eh?" "Not quite," Livinston replied. Then he made an effort. He owed it to bis acquaintance to be agreeable, at least. Til bo all right directly. I'm g!ad you've got tickets?I'll settle with you when we get on the cars " "Yes, you will! I'd like to see yon. I None ol that, Livingston. I'm ueucea I glad we met. I was half mad at Sanders. Blamed if I don't think it's good fortune now." "Well, we will not quarrel with fate, anyhow," Livingston answered as they entered the Puliman. But he sighed a? he thought of Miss lieauchampe. What mizht not happen before his return? He resolved to wire to her, too. chapter;ix. t1jl kllts i' letteb. Chicago, , . Dear Simmons?This will not surprise you a tenth as much as my orders surprised me an the street shortly after we ; partr-d. As is the custom in the Rccord j ollice, I was ordered to come hero on the ' first train?all the notice I received. I came. Found my instructions ahead ' of me. A 1 tho world knows what the ! business is 1 am expected to get at the j bottom facts?or rather to see that the j news is forwarded to New York. Have \ not been idle since I came. Quite likely I tho type will show you that much if you ! have read the report in the Rccortl. I There must be a good deal of anarefcy | (n the paper out by the time this reaches ; you. ; Had barely time to catch the train. Had a jolly companion?Ned Somers. j ivicn, oir-nana, maniy. uiu a gouu turn away back?and he never will forgot it. It was some lying story a Bcoundrel printed about his cousin. I straightened It up?showed the malice, got a hamper of wine and no end of thanks. Somers was in pocket with two tickets to Denver?he would not take a nickel from me. Stopped over ou account of the row here. No need mentioning it to you. You know just how matters are. It's a bad business all through?and there's more to come. I feel half ashamed of the thing. Sounds too much like oid-world ways. As far as I am concerned?and the Rccurtl?this is a chase for facts, or rather an investigation that wili expo-e i the methods of the anarchists. Of course it's exciting?very. Here we've got the telegraph, telephone, and special delivery, or I'd fancy I was living in Venice and rubbing clothes with bravo*. Chicago is boiling. Everything is on edge?everybody is wide-awake I've run against all kinds here, same as we've got 'em in New York. I meet lots of people who think Liberty ought to i.?e spelled with a small 1, and license with a big L. Here I've oeen jogeing alone like a passenger in an old-fashioned coach, nodding and dozing in complacent pride of country, and have woke up to find that the reason my life has not been fr,?(Trwi nnt. hv f5v.llinit over a sheer preei pic e was owing more to the good sense of the horses than the judgment of the driver. Why, Chicago is as bad as New York, Simmon?! A very curious thing happened yesterday. I was on a street car. and seeing a man I wanted to talk tr?, signed t'? get ; ott". The driver's attention was otherwise engaged: when I f?ot. ofT I had lost my man. And who do you think it was? 1 It was your brother. 1 caught just one 1 glimpse of him. What is he doing here? Telegraph him if you can reach liiin, and give him my address. He can help me, perhaps?at loa?t, I want to talk to him. Now, prepare for something startling. Beauchampe is here. You will not bcT ooi? liiynl Anrl t.ljfl 1JU>C tliis< duu x oa . thin? that surprises mo is a resolve on his rart to avoid me. You will say I am mistaken: that it a resemblance. I would agree with vou if it was not for one thing. Ho saw me. And he is keeping out of my way. Bcauchampe was awful seedy-looking. I looked at him the 9econd time. He was turning a corner, and saw me turning my head to look after him. He turned his head, but I am positive it was Beauchampe. Now, why is he avoiding me? I am all at sea. Simmons. I can't get rid of the Impression that something terrible has happened him. Why should he leave New York? 1 am convinced he had no more to-do with the murder than you or I. But what did he come here for? J have not told you all. Now I come to i statement I do not like to make, but in spite of the uply looks of the thing I feel it is only right to tell Vou all. 1 found a man I knew was a policeman in citizens' attire. (There are a number dressed as citizens; the man I refer to was pointed out to me shortly after I came by a reporter.) I poinied In the direction Beauchampe disappeared, and inquired if the policeman had ever seen that man. (Of course I told the policeman I had learned how he came tc be in citizens' dress.) Tho | policeman pave me a sharp look, and said he knew whom I meant. Tho man had been pointed out to him early that morning. I was stunned, Simmons. Thac may mean a great deal. He may be locked up here for tho murder, or he may be regarded as a suspicious character. I can't believe ill of Beauchampe. 1 reiterate, there is a deep mystery here. Something you or some man like you could perhaps fathom. Now?business. I want to see if your brother can bo of any use. Write him at once, unless you yourself can come on. Simmons, I'll maKe it. wonn ?auu casn to you if you can jump on here (in case your brother can't helD me), and clear it ?p. I am tied?never was so loaded in my life. I've sent off at least fourteen columns by wire since I've struck the town, besides writing half as much mora Now, you know all. You've had my dispatches, and this will make everything clear to you. Answer at once? wire me about your brother if he can be found lirst. Yours, overcrowded, Livingston*. P. S. If you should meet Miss Beauchainpe tell her I will be in New York in a day or two, and encourage her. I pity that poor girl, Simmons. |t0 be continued.j TEMPERANCE. ^ ~ V an expert 8 declaration. - Mr. James M. Alexander, Vice-President ot the Equitable Life Insurance Company of New York, declares that more persons die from alcoholism than from any other cause, with the exception of pulmonary diseases. Why such a death-seeking agency should be legalized, is a mystery to those who have carefully studied the matter.?Witness. hcJw rvnz coasAC ib made. A recent report of the British Consul at La Rochelle sheds light on the liquor mystery . "The owners of vineyards complain bitterly of the small price offered to them for their wine, and the local newspapers Klainly and openly state the reason for it to e that the process or making cognac out of beetroot and potato spirit has reached such a degree of perfection that the wine of this district, out of which it used to be made, is no longer necessary. WORSE THAN WASTED. Altogether, not taking stock of the money we expend for champagne whose sparkling bubbles burst about the brimming goblet, and the other imported nnd native wines which drive away carking care, the people of the United States spend annually for drink and tobacco the almost incomprehensible sum of $1,641,903,460. The mind is incapable of grasping the largeness of the total, but when it is remembered that this is more than tho circulating medium of the United States, that Is, $27 per head more than the per capita circulation; that it proves that the head of every family, supposing he handles the purse string, pays out $195 annually tor t^rink nnd tobacco, and that every dollar in the United States goes each year over the b^r or the counter of some tobacconist, some idea of its magnitude can be obtained.?Atlanta Constitution. AN EARLY PROHIBITION LAW. The Lewistown (Me.) Journal prints the following: "It seems there was a prohibition law in Maine much earlier than is generally supposed. In a paper read by Judge Hall before the Kennebec Natural History and Antiquarian Society this week attention was called to a law passed by the government of Gorges at Kittery in 1636 which provide that: 'Any man that doth sell his neighbor strong liquor or wine ; shall suffer his neighbor or servant to continue drinking in the house, except men invited or laborers on working days for an hour at dinner, or strangers or lodgers, shall forfeit ten shillings.' Fifty years later it was ordered by the same government 'Thenceforth no rum, strong liquor, nor flip shall be sold to any inhabitant of the town directly nor indirectly by any ordinary keeper except in cases of great distress or sickness.' Before this a very brief prohibitory law was passed by the Duke of York's government, embracing the East Kennebec region at Pemaquid. I It was in these words: 'Ordered No rum to be drank on that side the bank stands.1" BRINK AND CHIME. Word and Work says "There is one small village in the south ot Ireland, with 1200 inhabitants, in which there are actually fiftytwo licensed public houses for the sale of strong drink. It requires thirty-two police to keep the inhabitants of that village in order." The last census shows that the only States where crime is not increasing faster in proportion than the population, are prohibition States. j New York State has three thousand six hundred and seventy-flve inmates of its j juvenile reformatories. Kansas only two | hundred and eight; New York has eight . ?KA?oi.n/l nntx Vin r?/l n rwl ninnfv PnnviAt.q I VUVUJUUU VUV IJUUU4WV* ?>?v? _ w in its penitentiaries, Kansas only nine hundred and eighteen'. The Grand Jury of Cometa County. J Georgia, sometime since, made tlie following i report: "We note with sorrow the marked increase ot crime in this county, an 4 that the same is traceable almost iu variably to the influence of whisky." ALCOHOLISM AND BEER. At the eleventh International Medical ' Congress, held In Rome. Italy, March 29th j to April 5th, 18D4, inclusive. Dr. S. Laa'the. j of Christlania, Norway, gave an address noi on "Idiopathic Hypertrophy (enlargement) ! of the Heart." in which he said : "Alcoholism is a factor of considerable j importance, especially that form seen in | beerdrinkers, which is, according to the inI terestinjj researches of Bollinger, a preponI dering cause of so-called idiopathic hyperI trophy. The plethora provoked bytheimj moderate ingestion oT beer. and the increase I of blood-pressure resulting therefrom, furn! ishes an explanation of the increasing part, disputing the first place even with tuberculosis. which cardiac affections play in the mortality statistics of Munich. The overheart constitutes certainly the sad reverse of the medal. I refer to so justly celebrated Bavarian beer. But at the same time it furnishes a new and interesting aspect of the multiple manifestations of chronic alcoholism." There is steadily cumulative testimony, by many scientific experts, that beer, which the brewers boast of as a wholesome "temperance" beverage, is in reality more prolific in physical injury than the stronger liquors. ?Temperance. Advocate. jZ:JC\i SUMMER STYLES. WHAT WOMEN ARE WEARING IN THE DOG DAYS. The Newest Fancies In WaistsPretty and Comfortable Duck Dresses?Some Fashionable Headgear. WAISTS this summer in variety are almost endless. Chief of them are the simple but undeniably stylish ones with big revers and aggressively prominent gigot sleeves, and the round waists having dainty ribbon belts with streaming loops and ends at one side, und tne waists trimmed with horizontal bands of insertion or ribbon. Many of the new white China silk shirt waists are laid in box pleats, which have an insertion of black lace covering their edges,'and with the same finish for collars and PICTURESQUE Tuscan straw hat, with deep red roses un rich black tips and bows of Tuscan satin, witt cuffs. White' or ecru lace appears ! thus ou black blouses. Some of these end at the belt, while others are furnished with a gathered lace flounce that is fastened to the blouse belt, a sash ribbon concealing the joining. In the picture of a summer waist i | there is a blouse of citron colored crepon de laine, trimmed with narrow black ve'vet ribbon. It has a round i yoke shirred twice, to which the ! blouse part is sewed with a small head ' and fastens at the side. The two tiny I basques are ornamented with bands of i ribbon, which also appear at the top and form the spiral trimming of the sleeves. The standing collar is perfectly plain and also fastens at the i eiaes. Frills are declining in favor, and ruffles of lace, except in very elaborate gowns, are seldom seen. Insertions and applique effects rule in the use of lace. Very narrow lace, used as an edge, and insertion laces are more in vogue than the wider designs. The narrowest Valenciennes or guipure is still much in vogue for edging ribbon, which is to be pleated, or for edging tulle or net of a contrasting color. An odd and dainty finish for a waist consists of a sort of dog collar of many ihaded silk, with a deep jabot of lace arranged in front so full that its upper corners reach the shoulder and the lower edge falls in a point to the belt. The belt corresponds to the collar, and has panier looping of lace over the hips corresponding to the jabot, the point falling to the knee line and the sides meeting prettily front and back. Many of these devices tend to A SUMMER "WAIST. i .1.1. .^.1^ am 1%ii 4- + 1m o nr^fi ward over-eiauomuuu, uut umo uul seemed free from it. DtX'K DRESSES. Duck dresses can be bought very cheaply ready made, and are pretty and comfortable, but thi? home made article can be easily superior. Be sure to wash the goods first, or have the dressmaker do iv. else after its first trip to the tub the gown will look as if made for a smaller sister. White duck is by all means the swelle6t color. ! It soils easily, bui.it washes well. The real, heavy duck, such as men have J worn these many years, wasues soft j and fine. A little chalk judiciously applied to the gown will make it spotless. That is what the soldier folk do with their fine white helmets and shoes, and even their gloves. Sailor hats to go with duck dresses are trimmed with j a band of duck to match. A very stun-1 ning duck dress was made of brown duck, peppered with scarlet dots. It; was tailor cut, opening over a ecarlct waistcoat, and the liat was a sailor, with a band of scarlet ribbon and two great rosettes of violets on either side. The duck suit in the illustration is after King Louis "XV.'s time. Tlie skirt is perfectly plain, and 60 is the waistcoat, but the at is fine. It has the hip-pocket lap?, -with "frogs" in lieu of button-holes, the big cuffs and lace rnffles. The lace neckwear is omitted in deierence to the season. VERT JAUNTY HATS. The English walking hat is the only really new thing of the season this year in headwear which is widely popular. Though very generally worn, the strictly correct ones are sufficiently different from the cheaper imitations to insure the continued popularity of the fashion with the best dressed folks. There is a fancy for a hat of the English walking type, with sugar loaf crown entirely covered with shaned velvet: that is. a band of vel vet fitted to th? crown of the hat and covering it entirely. A very stunning hat of this kind is of light straw, the brim wide and curving up at the sides, the crown tall, sugar loaf shaped, and covered with amber velvet. Two STRAW HAT. ider the waved brim. It is trimmed with l jet pins. white plumes are set at the back of the hat on the brim, so that they spread to right and left and show from the front. They are fastened by a bow of violet velvet, with long loops and ends which spread and lie | on the hat brim. ' LOUIS XV. DUCK SUIT. j The sketch depicts a dainty toque | which will commend itself at once to the home milliner, from the fact that for it old trimmings may be utilized. It ifl a brand new model and a pretty example of the simple and small summer hats. A Nile green satin bow and a green feather pompon with aigrette are used for its trimming, together with a small bunch of white roses placed at the back. With this model for the amateur hat maker to ponder o'er, it is not amiss to offer one general suggestion, viz., in attaching trimming it is a mistake to use too many stitches. The proverbial timely stitch was not taken by a milliner, and two or three stitches in the center of a bow are as serviceable as nine or more. If bows are ; set too primly the effect may be en- j tirely disappointing. When finishing j the edges of bows or of a made hat. fold the moire or velvet neatly and i exactly to meet at the edge, and then 1 with a long millinery needle slip stitch the edges, only bringing the I needle out between the folds at inter- I I vals. j POPULAR ALPACA. For the momeut there is nothing so i popular as alpaca. A gray one had a j wonderful bodice trimmed with nar- j j row white braid, and small bone but- j I tons placed between rows of this same j narrow braid on the side seams at the back and front, for it turned back j like the Tyrolean peasant jacket, of j | which it reminded me, and showed j ! button holes on one side and buttons | on the other, haviug u simple white I I satin ribbon bow at the waist. There | j were cream pipings here and there, j and a turn-down collar and the waist i coat, or rather shirt, was of cream t \ batiste with a clase-set line check of i j red and blue, neat and smart, the j i most difficult of all uuions. A blaek ' ftlpaca ekirt and jacket, with large | sleeves ending at the wrist, had an ir- j regular-shaped revers?:in excuse for j the introduction of some tine ecru ; lawn exquisitely embroidered. The ! I glory of it, however, was the blouse, a j I perfect bodice made of poult de scie, I of the most brilliant cerise, with a lit- | tie beurre lace toward the neck, open- | ing with the selvedge, forming a cascade on either side, showing ti white I satin front. With this the alpaca jacket j could be -worn, or not, as the wearer pleaned. The sleeves were of the; If A DAINTI TOQUE. newest form, large at the top, narrowing toward the hand, the tipper portion of the wrist falling in a point over the hand, with the result of making tapering fingers much more tapering. WITHOUT RINGS. Those who use nags and poles for their window curtains sometimes tire of seeing a thin curtain suspended in this way, and wish they coald dispense with rings, but do not care to incur extra expense for brass rods and fixtures. They may do so and yet retain the pole. Turn over the upper edge of the curtain as much as will leave the desired length, and then with needle and thread run across it twice, in the sarre way that you would treat a muslin cartain which is to be gathered on a cord. In this case it is to be the pole instead of a cord, so the space must be wide. A lace, muslin or scrim curtain gathered on a pole in this way, with a fulness left above, dresses the top of the window more prettily than when rings are used, espscially when there is no cornice. THE BEST FANS TO USE. The more gorgeous a fah the less likely it is to raise a comfortable breeze. The spangled gauze fans are enough to make a girl bankrupt herself buying them at bargains, but they don't furnish any more wind ** vn'^AAn'o +'<aofVmn o n rl V?U.rf11x7 bUilU (l |;j^cuu o mum half as much. The heavy silk handpainted or etched fans afford air, but it is apt to be warm. The most comfortable fan and satisfactory all around is the Japanese paper fan that closes in broad folds. They give more wind, which is always cooler than that produced by any other fan. Don't have them too heavy scented with perfume, for they generally possess a faint imitation Oriental odor of their own which is pleasant. These paper fans are made in very artistic designs and colors, and any one can afford to have a number to go with different dresses. "When the night is warm one of the rice paper fans with a handle if lightest and gives the coolest breeze, while one is trying to fall asleep. A novel way to use a fan while trying to get to sleep is to dip a large palmleaf in cold water and then lazily sway it back and forth. The damp fan is heavier than the dry one, but the moisture on the fan cools the air surprisingly. NECK SCARFS. Large neck scarfs for summer wear are made of plain silk chambray net | in white, black and cream shades, and in delicate tints and deep tones of yellow, blue and cardinal, pink, green, etc. Chiffon, gauze, silk muslin, etc., plain or accordion plaited, are%lso called into service for these dainty hit* nf npfilc wear. The trimming takes the form of edgings in black, white, cream, beurre or beige lace. The chambray net comes in double width, at forty-five cents a yard. A Mirror That Cannot Be Broken. For many years a popular superstition has found favor in the minds of many regarding the misfortunes which would follow the persons who broke a mirror, but at last this fear of ill-luck promises to become a thing of the past. The celluloid mirror is a new invention which should have a future. The manner of constructing it is as follows: A plate of transparent celluloid is coated with silver or other polished metal, over which another layer of opaque celluloid is placed, and a mirror is obtained which may be j burned, but which will not be broken by an accidental fall. It is hoped that this invention may be applied ?-11. ..U.,nliino ti ru-?tir>al in of r II m pnts Wll/U KUYnUV(V^? iv v^??ww? of large dimensions, owing to the ductility of the substance, which permits of its taking the required form with greater ease than reflectors in metal, while possessing all the merita of the glass reflector.?House Furnishing Review. Where the Different Kinds Come From. Richmond, Va., is the largest horse market in the South. Last year there were 10,000 horses and mules sold in that city. This stor:k was of all kinds and grades. The work horses wer<j largely from Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Missouri and Ohio, aud were sold to North and South Carolina. The saddle and light hare ess horses cauie from Virginia, Kentucky aud Tennessee and were takeu by Northern buyers.?New York World. A Rebuff. rt!|p wl'i ''-'^'1" J&O. I Weary Willie? "Madam, I was not alw ijk us \cm hqy mo now." Lady of the House ? 'So, indeed, you came as a blind beggar yesterday."? Truth. '*