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Beancfempe's Double! THE PRIMA DONNfl. | . A. Story of Mystery, Love and Devotion. tjv nAVin i nWRV. U1 -*-?4T*. * AJ^T ?* .. CHAPTER X. the second letter. Miss beattchampe?Lest the cover of this may excite needless apprehension, I will say at the outset that this is written for the purpose of allaying apprehension. Yon will be surprised to receive a letter from this city, but your surprise cannot exceed the surprise and annoyanco i I experienced upon receiving orders tc come here without moment's delay. In our business we are expected to journey anywhere within five minutes' notice. I was on my way to your lodgings when 1 was met by the messenger who bore the orders to me which brought me here. This will fully explain the rather unsatisfactory telegram you received? wired from the train. My business here may detain me three or four days. I write to say what must sound cold; words are so weak, unless there is something behind them. All I can say is to keep up heart. I am convinced all will yet be satisfactorily explained, and that your brother and you will soon be together, and that you will look back to this time with a smile at your feverish anxiety. I desire to caution you against a cer. tain, or, rather, a very uncertain class of interviewers. I refer to men em ployed upon the press who will put words In people's mouths that were never uttered. It will be best for you? and your landlady, also?to have but one answer for all comers. Say that you are not in a condition or frame of mind on peak on the subject; then firmly close the door. This rule ought to apply to all strangers. If a tried or trusted friend Touches for a news-gatherer, of course tou will use your judgment. I say this because there are reasons for preserving rigid silence. Dabney's friends will report to anything to lessen the correct Impression already made upon the public by the articles printed in a score of papers. I believe the estimate of his life that has excited Dabney's friends to frenzy is jest. If you should be in a great strait, or from any cause whatever require the lervices of one like me, or whom you can trust imnlicitly, address a note to John > Blmmons, 1102 East Eighteenth street. Mr. Simmons is in my confidence, and will prove a true friend and a wise and experienced counsellor. UDCtl UJUI O UU iiVU ucj^uuu. A M have friends, Miss Beaucbampe, who aro resolved to seek and restore your brother to you. If money, or ingenuity, or the experience of the police avail, he will be Iound speedily. Your friend, Arthur Livingston. P. S. Yon will understand I referred lo such aid as a man only could render. I assume that you will repose confidence In Victoria, whose interest in you is very freat. Rely upon her as you would a lister. \ CHAPTER XL behind the bars. These letters were posted by Livinffrton about ten In the evening, after he had done a hard day's work. He had lunched lightly at noon. Now (he inner man craved food. He posted the letters with h's own hand, and, glad that so much was off his mind, turned in Quest of a restaurant. Was it fancy? Did his senses play him a trick? Wa? not that Simmons' brother t a little distance? The gas-light shone fall in his face. Livingston walked toward him. The man suddenly stepped Into an open door near at hand. LivingIton hastened into the house?a saloon. There was no one in sight but the barkeeper. Livingston ordered a glass of wine. As the barkeeper nanaea mm tne fcottle, Livingston said, carelessly: "JVhich way did my friend go? He came in just now." The barkeeper shook his head but did not speak. . "He wants to see me as much as I want him. Tell him that Livingston? Arthur Livingston, from New York?is here. The barkeeper pursed his lips. "We mind our own business here. I ion't know who you want. Do you see anybody here?" "My friend came in Just now," said Livingston, adding, carelessly, "No matter. I give you credit for minding your business. At the same time, there is my hotel; my name is on the card. If it nits you to hand it to the gentleman who entered. I wiil be obliged to you. " He walked out slowly, feeling half vexed at the barkeeper, and stood at the lamp fully fifteen minutes, but Simmons did not emerge from the saloon. Then Livingston stepped aboard a car ?nd rode to his hotel. lie would not make the rounds of the police headquarters and press until one in the morning. In the meantime he would rest. As he was in the act of entering his hotel loud voices in hot altercation at- 1 tracted his attention. A man, evidently nnder the influence of liquor, was regaling a group with his views of government. A man in citizen's attire approached the brawier and addressed him. The brawler looked up and down tho Btreet suddenly, and walked away quickly. Livingston looked after him. The man in citizen's attire followed tho brawler. Livingston was a little distance in tho rear of this man. Tho brawler stepped into a saloon. Livingston oould soe a score or more or men in the saloon. Suddenly his heart bounded. He beheld the side of?Beauehampe's head at tho end of the counter. Beauehampe was talking to a villainous-looking man twice bis ago. He was gesticulating rapidly. Livingston entered the saloon without pausing, and was making his way diroctly to his friend, when a commotion arose. There were b!ows and cries, oaths and pistol shots. It was all over in thirty seconds?less time. Bui even that short time sufficed to cleai r ?.Vw> woro ir> it but* IUUJH IUVOU nuv .M -w. When Livingston recovered liis breath he was on the pavement rubbing a sprained wrist. A number of men wero Running away, but it was plain that at least half those in the room had escaped through the rear door and windows. But four men were in custody, and Livingston smiled upon realizing he was one of the four. He found an opportunity to whisper to one of the officers who had raided the place, telling him to send a well-known detective to him immediately. Then ho was convcyed to the station house with his fellow-prisoners. One of these, the loud-talking man, was next to Livingston, but the brawler was silent, subdued. When he was placed in a cell. Livingston for the first time experienced dread Jest he might be detained until morning. "What if hl9 friend should not 1 be near at hand? The very thought j made him angry. He strove to call the attention of the officer near him. The | man looked at him, but made no response. "Come here. I have something of importance to communicate " The officer shook his head. "They all say that. Try something else." j "Very well," Livingston answered I calmly. "I sent word to McCandless, by one of the men who brought us here. If McCandless fails to get word, and you refuse to deliver my request to the captain within half an hour, at most, I will bp sorrv. It does not suit me to remain here long. Still, in that case, my feelings would be more agreeable than yours." The man affected indifference at first, then thought better of it. Perhaps it would be best to speak to a sergeant, or some one who could relieve him of the sole responsibility. He called the sergeant. The sergeant was engaged with a gentleman, at that moment. Presently tho sergeant found time to step back. The gentleman accompanied him. The moment the gentleman beheld Livingston, he uttered an exclamation. "You here!" Livingston's surprise chocked his utterance It was Simmons, who spoke. Simmons whom he thought, at that moment, was in New York. The sergeant looked from one to tho other. "Here, let my friend out," said Simmons shortly. "What blunder is this anyhow?" "It isn't so wonderful after all," said Livingston, as the door was opened, and he stepped out. "I was looking for a friend in the saloon the police entered? that's all." He smiled. The sergeant recited tho facts; Simmons regained his good humor, and presently an were laugnmg uver luc newspaper man's misadventure. When the friends left the stationhouse Simmons suddenly clutched Livingston's arm, faying. "How in the name of all that is wonderful did you come here?" "That is just what I was going to ask you," Livingston replied, coolly. "I mailed a letter to New York for you an hour ago." "Humph! Like as not it is in the pouch with one I wrote to you." "Come to my hotel." said Livingston. "Let us talk this thing over." Then they walked on, arm in arm. CHAPTER XII. A PCRELY LOCAL DISTURBANCE. When the friends exchanged theii views at Livingston's hotel comparison of notes showed that they were both subject to orders neither could have anticipated or disobeyed. "1 had not a minute to lose," Simmons said. "My time was as short as the time allowed you. And I am here, as you may surmise, on business of the utmost Importance The truth will never b3 known outside of a certain circle; but before we are done any information in my possession, or that I may acquire here, will prove very useful to the State authorities, as well as the city and county authorities." "Then you are not emp'oyed by the authorities of New York?" said Livingston, quickly, jumping to a conclusion. "You've hit it. In this instance I will be paid out of the secret-service fund. But now?about your friend. This is a mistake. You are wrong." "Why do you speak so positively?" "I'll convince you you are mistaken." Livingston smiled incredulously and shook bis head. "You were positive you saw my brother not long since?" "I did." "My brother is in California." Livingston started. "I received a message from him today. He is at San Jose, on a matter of business. "Then it was you I saw?" "Of course. Tell me where you saw me?" When Livingston related the particulars Simmons nodded his head sagely. "That was precisely whore I was?the barkeeper understands his business. By the way, he is not a barkeeper, except in an emergency. He is one of the sharpest detectives in the country. Some of the police here know it, but the authorities?the men who have given him his choice?relying upon him to do good work, know it better." "I may be mistaken about ^eauchampe, and if I am, do you know it will relieve Tiy mind? I can't believe he would avoid me as this man does." "And I am glad you are upset, as you say." "wnyv"Because Ms conclusive proof to mo that we are an nere together. Tllfc man you think is your friend, and the man I I know is the murderer of Pabney?you and me?we are all here in Chicago just as we wefe all in New York two days' ago. I consider it a good sign. Some-1 thins will turn i:p soon. Mark my words if matters are not brought to a focus suddenly. The only trouble is, I don't know when 1 may have to jump on to New York again." , "In my ease, it is certain I will be here for some days, at least." "I am not sure about that, either," said Simmons. "This sensation is stunning?it will blow over in a few hours. It is purely local. I've got that far a'ong. The people in New York and other cities needn't worry." "That's the best news I've Heard," said Livingston earnestly. "I confess I was stunned at first" "That's natural. It is our first experience in this line " "I Lope it"may be the last." said Liv| ingston. "So you think, spite of the fact thht we are strangers in Chicago." I T om nc tmi"h at. brim A bore as I am in Now York." "True. 1 forgot that." "I can traco a man hero as easily as I can in Now York. And I moan to p!ac? my hand? or'to be able to put my hano on this man you think is Beauchampu. * "You seem to have a uew theory aboul my friend. "I have. I will not say now that your friend did not commit tho murder. I will say I have satisfied myself, after turning everything over in my mind, that there must be two men as much alike almost as my brother and myself. You have proved that much to mo." "Have you any settled plan?" Livingston asked after a lengthy pause, "Yes?I have thought it all out I'll take some of tha police into my confidence, and inside of twenty-four hours,.! think, we will know something. If I want to sec you " "Telephone to me at the Qlobc office, or here." "You'll find me at police headquarters. Just ask for Jacobs." "Jacobs?" "That s all. What are you going to do now? Have you any report to make?" "Yes. i ll bo busy until daylight. I am going to police headquarters now. If you are going that way we may as well no together. I've a lot of work before me?I'll be glad when it's all over, as you seem to think it will be. so far as th<r safety of other cities Is concerned. I've been thinking all along it could not be as bad as it seemed at first Americans are not the people to permit an uprising such as was feared when I came on here." "Not much," said Simmons, in his positive way. "I won't say what will be * a hundred years hence; just now the man who proclaims himself an anarchist will come to grief. Well, come. I have some work on hand, too, which, by the way, I will give you an account of confidentially?not for publication For your guidance, and to convince you this is a local disturbance." "I suppose it will not be amiss for me I to tell the Rccord folks, and impress it on them that this is simply a local outbreak?" "I'll stake my reputation on that," said Simmons. When Livingston closed his report, three hours later, he tacked to it the idea for a heading which reassured all who read the Record that day. One of the head-lines read: "A Purely Local Disturbance." CHAPTER XIII. BAFFLBD. Livingston was fagged out when he closed his report. He was despondent. The conference with Simmons had stimulated him, infused hope, and inspired him with courage until his work was done. Then he began to experience a strange oppression. His thoughts reverted to New York, and to Miss Beauchampe. What was she doing? What could a girl like that do all alone? She might go inad. She might be tempted in sheer frenzy to go out alone, perhaps be subjected to insult or suspicion. in snori, i^ivingsiun ueutnuo a yivy uu utter desDondency. Where then was her brother? If tho man he had seen was another, where was poor Beauchampe? How did it help matters if it could be proved that Beauchampe and this man resembled eacb other? Livingston was walking to his hotel when his attention was attracted to two men on opposite corners of a street. One stood silent, motionless. The other shuffled his feet, and looked all about him. One stood so close to a lamp post that he might have been unnoticed, or mistaken for the post The other stood out boldly on the street corner. One was slight. The other was of massive frame, evidently. As Livingston looked, he was impressed with the idea that the slender man was watching the large man. He felt somehow as if he was about to participate in a struggle. Instead of pursuing his steps In that direction, ho paused, and stood looking at the figures on the opposite corner. Suddenly the large fipure stood stock still. Livingston was sure the man was contemplating the figure close to the lamp-post Then the big man made a move. He was crossing the street when the slight man shot out from tho lamppost and sped toward the opposite corner. Then a figure suddenly shot out as from a wall seemingly, and the slender figure turned, doubled on his tracks, and tvna Vioarfincr toward Livingston. His face was turned toward a powerful light?a huge lamp in front of a hotel. The instant Livingston beheld his face, he sprang forward, uttering one word?"Beauchampe!" The man Shot a look at Livingston that bespoke fear and terror, but did not pause. The big man shouted: "Halt!" He, too. ran swiftly. He was within a few feet of Beauchampe when the latter whirled around?there was a flash, a report, and the big man put his hand to his thigh, but still pursued his man. Now, the third man sped past Livingston, and he could not resist the temptation to roiiow them. Thus all four were running on one side of the street swiftly. The wounded man labored, but he rah fast withal. Gradually this man's breath gave out He paused to signal his fellows. and at that moment Livingston passed him. The man nearest the man who fired the shot gained noticeably on Beauchampe. It was a neck-and-neck race for at least the length of a block. Then - ?> n lionH T.lvitlOrfit.nn 1110 pursuoi )IU? uuv a UUI.VA. ? _ could see the men struggling. He was near them when one was thrown violently to the ground. The other?Beauchampe, sped on. Livingston still pursued. Another and another block was passed Livingston realized they were approaching a passenger depot He feared he would lose Beaucliampe now, If he did not succeed in reaching his fide. It was Beauchampe ? but so strangely altered. He called to him now as he ran, not in a loud voice, but so distinctly that Beauchampe could hear him. Beauchampe did not turn, did not abate his speed. He ran the faster until he reached an alleyway, when suddenly Beauchampe disappeared. When iiis pursuer looked up and down the alley, no sign of a living being was seen. It was as if the earth had swallowed Beauchampe up. While Livingston stood dazed, marveling what had become of Beauchampe, he heard violent outcries on the next street. Hastening in that direction, lis observed a number of men running along* the railway track toward a train of cars.. They darted in and out and under the cars, which were motionless, then gathered in a group. Livingston could hear them talking excitedly. He approached tne group slowly. As lie neared the sroup, one man said: "I thought I had my hand on him." "And I was sure he jerked under th? rear car," said another. "It is the strangest thing I ever saw," another said. "But he's as good as ours. I'll bet my month's pay we'll nab him before the day's over." "I feel like taking that bet," said a voice Livingston rccognlzedf "In my opinion he'll not be nabbed in Chicago." "How will he get out of it if we mind our business and look into every car?" demanded one young man, whereat there was a loud laugh at the young man's expense. "What you don't know, Adam," said a big policeman, "would fill whole libraries. Of course he will get out of town if he gets aboard; he won't be alr ad of a brass band. " Livingston stepped forward, and wa9 recognized by Simmons, who said to him, quietly: "It's our man. I thought we had him, but he is too quick for us. He is one of the sharpest I have ever had to deal with." Livingston was on the point of relating all he witnessed, but he reconsidered and remained silent for a time. Finally he asked Simmons what he thought of the affair. "I think," said Simmons, with rare delibr-ation, knitting his brows, "that he w .. find Chicago too not lor nun, aua will get oiit if he can." "And which way will he go?" "To New York. Where else would he go?" "What did he come here for if he cannot manage to stay?" "You and I don't want to stay, yet \ re are both here," Simmons answered with a smile. "I don't know what he cane for?I know why he is getting out ?because the town is too hot to hold him now. He may thank me for that much." "Then you ma-y as well admit he has baflled you again." "Yes?that's the word. But that is precisely the reason why he is near the end of his string. I consider my reputation is at stake now. and I won't rest satisfied until I have him in my grip. We have just lost six hours' solid work. Let him look out the next time I go after him." (to be oontinued. i AMONG THE MOORS. THE GREAT POWERS OF EUROPE ALL WANT MOROCCO. Something About the African Country Now Agitating European Politics ? Nearly ae Big as Texas ? Its People. SINCE the death of Sultan Mullej Hassan the Morocco question has become an absorbing topic of European politics. i J? ii_ lne more or ie8B lurecuy luicicstcu powers are watching one another with an ill-concealed suspicion and anxiously awaiting developments. The English want Tangier very badly, for with that, as it lies directly opposite Gibraltar, they would command the straitB between Europe and Africa. Spain wants it for a naval station which would be of utmost importance to them. Italy wants it because Spain does, and France will leave no stone unturned to secure a firm foothold there. Their policy is that given Morocco a railway soon would be built which would connect the French possessions in North Africa with those on the Atlantic, thus uniting all the French African colonies in a compact body. Should any of the European powers come into possession of Morocco it will certainly, according to the Chicago Herald, reap a rich harvest, for of all the north African countries this is the most favored by nature. Map makers are responsible for a great many errors in the popular mind with regard to the size of foreign countries. The Americans are accustomed to see their country mapped out on a very large scale, -while other countries are J I 0 n jl>'m 1 ?b-'' * *' . * THE SACRIFICE OF A BUIiTi?REIilGIOTJS CER ROCCO IN SWEARING ALIiEGI pictured the reverse; on this account an erroneous idea becomes prevalent that a great many foreign countries I rta small, when in realitv thev are quite the reverse. Those accustomed to look upon Arabia, for instance, as a mere corner of Asia, and represented by a spot which may easily be covered by the palm of the hand, are apt to forget that the scale of the map of Asia is in most geographies very different from that of the map of America. Were they to consider the scale they might be surprised to find that Arabia is aB large as all of the United States east of the Mississippi Biver. This is true also of Morocco. On the map in the extreme northwest corner is a very email spot which marks the territory ruled over by the Sultan of Fez and Morocco. But small and insignificant though it be on the map it nevertheless represents an area of not less than 260,000 square miles or almost as large a territory as that of Texas. Morocco has 250 miles of coast line on the Mediterranean and not less than 750 miles on the Atlantic shore, a most respectable stretch for such an insignificant little spot. \\U A MOUNTAIN PASS IN MOROCCO. Far from being a desert and flat as the prairie lands of Illinois, which seems to be the general impression, Morocco is ju6t the opposite. Of course there are great stretches of sandy plains, but the general charac/i/vnv>4"viT io wiMlr mnnnHin. I CCA UX l/JJLC WUUl'iJ A J TT**VWJ ous, resembling New Mexico perhaps more thRn any other State. The mountains are in most parts destitute of any vegetation and present a 6cene of desolation and bareness rather than of picturesque grandeur. The climate inland is fully in keeping with the frowning scenery. Nebraska cyclones and cloudbursts are not infrequent and are as fully as destructive as the American product. These sudden storms make the rivers alternately floods and dry channels. Still the country is not 60 destitute of water as is generally supposed. Abundant water may be had by digging in the numerous water courses of wad is, as they are called, which cut the country in every direction. The atlas mountain slopes used to, in times gone by, be covered by splendid forests, but thanks to the wanton spoliation there remains but very little left of their former extensive splendor. The Romans often alluded j to the vast magnificence of the forests of Mauritania, and during tho time they occupied the country they did < everything to save it from the reckless destruction which, even in those fl?re oRCPrtfifl itself. Nobody has ever been able to ascertain, even approximately, the true figures of the number of inhabitants which pay nllegiance to the Sultan. They are estimated in round figures by various authorities as being anywhere from 4,500,000 to three times that number. The first of these sums is probably nearer to the truth than the second. The peojrie are of several races, the Moors, Arabs. Berbers, Jews and Africans forming by far the Wger portion. Of these the Berbers are probably the best element. They are the aborigines, and, althongh not possessing so high degree of civiliza A MOROCCO HOME. tion?if the term civilization can be used at all in Morocco?aB some of the others, they nevertheless have many good qualities which their fellow subjects of the Sultan do not possess. They inhabit the interior, living on the slopes of the mountains in stone houses, and are noted for being the [ best bricklayers and stonecutters in North Africa. An exception must, however, be made of the Berbers on the Kiff coast, who are of a most ferocious and piratical disposition. The Moors are mostly the descendants of those expelled from Spain about the time of the discovery of America. The Arabs are looked upon as foreigners, while the Africans are descendants of slaves originally brought from Soudan. Though to all intents and purposes slavery is supposed to be abolished, it nevertheless flourishes here in EMONV OF THE MOUNTAIN TRIBES OF MOANCE TO THEIR NEW HITLER. Morocco even to-day. The slave trader in 6ome way or other manages to get out of the clutches of the law, which is extremely severe on this point. It is safe to assert that the officials share in nine cases out of ten with the slave traders, who at times make no pretense of secrecy, but sell their human goods openly to the highest bidder. All efforts on the part of the European powers to stop this horrible slave hunting have been a total failure so far as Morocco is concerned. The slave traders find the thickly set-1 tied region between the Niger and the Congo a very profitable field for their operations. One frequently, on the great caravan route between Timbuctoo and Fez sees large droves of wretched slaves. The necks of these poor creatures are always fastened to a heavy beam and their hands chained to a long pole, while the brutal drivers urge them on with blows and curses, often putting a bullet through them I 11 LUC J UCUUUiC HUV tAMMUU^VV* vw ? M.... The efforts of the French in Algeria hare been directed to the mitigation if not suppression of this slaye traffic, and hostile encounters between the French native soldiery and the slave drivers have been more frequent of late than for several years. There is I always a strong demand and ready market for slaves in Morocco, and as long as they pay such good prices for them as they do at present, there does not seem to be aDy immediate relief in view. i To a stranger there is always a great deal of interest to be seen in the old town. The streets are all very narrow and invariably very crooke.l. Some of them are scarcely wide enough to let a loaded camel pass, and as a beast laboring under the burden of a heavy load of hay or other merchandise approaches a narrow turn all the passersbv must squeeze themselves into the angles of the wall to escape being trampled under foot. A wedding procession is always a treat for a traveler if he chances to get a view of one. If of an Arab the ! bride will be in a sort of cage or ! square box on the back of a camel, while her trousseau, borne along after her by slaves, either hired of borrowed for the occasion, will be displayed as publicly as possible for the admiration of the townspeople. One very curious thing that no traveler will fall to notice is the large number of Arabs who at night go to sleep in every nook and corner in the streets. Here they are found, wrapped up in all possible and impossible attitudes, sleeping as soundly as if in the mosi luxurious beds. The Arab seems to have a knack of adjusting himself to the requirements of his resting place, no matter how inconvenient or uncomfortable it may be. He will sleep j under all conditions, let them be what j they may. The Moroccoans have a great pro- { pensity for religious festivals of all j kinds, and on account of their wild i and weird nature they are always of a | great attraction to a stranger. At the liciglit of jjolitical excitement these re- ] llgions observances are more frequent j than usual. Great bands of howling anil ferocious Aissowas roam about ; both in tie cities ami in the interior, i Their ceremonies present an asiiect of j ignorant religious fury ami savage i barbarity; they run about shrieking j and howling, cutting themselves, often I quite badly, in their religious frenzy, j I They ask as a rule for live sheep from j the populace, and if they get any they j j immediately tear the poor animals to i pieces with their teeth and hands, drinking the blood and devouring the raw flesh like ravenous beasts. Woe J betide the stranger who, even in Tangier. under the protection of guns of the foreign fleets should in any way make a slighting remark on the ay \ j pearance of these fanatics. More than likely he -would share the fate of a live ! sheep in an instant, for the Aissowas firmly believe that nothing gives them a cleaner passport to paradise than to murder a "Christian dog," by which cheerful sobriquet all strangers are known in Morocco. There are a few attractive things in this country, and they are amply offset by a number of, to a traveler, decidedly unpleasant features. Most places are overrun with venomous spiders, centipedes and scorpions. Poisonous snakes are so numerous that they scarcely call forth any remarks. The remedy for snake bites ihat the Moors apply seems almost as bad as the bite. They cauterize the wound with fire, and, with an air of the utmost iodifference, burn their flesh in + mnof Vinrrililo nunilPr. If a mw.TI I I finds one of his sometimes numerous l boils annoying he 6imply drives his dagger through it often running the j risk of cutting an artery. The mail service offers a va6t field for improvement. A traveler will sometimes come across a postman in the interior: they are half clad wretches, running over the hot sand or climbing the jocky mountain paths, traveling sometimes for days without water and food. They catch a few minutes of sleep at night, having an ignited cord fastened to their feet which slowly burns, like a fuse and serves the sleeper as an unfailing alarm clock. These are a few features of the country which now is giving some great European powers so much concern, But it is not for the possession of the country for its own sake that they exhibit all this interest. Tho SouthdoTms. The Southdown certainly heads the I list of mutton-wool sheep, both from its acknowledged superiority and from the fact that it is the parent cf pretty nearly all the other Down breeds. Bred for many generations in a distinct line, they have acquired great prepotency, and are used for crossing with our native sheep with good sue- i cess. While this breed has been famous for centuries, it is only within the past hundred years that the improvement has taken place which has raised the Southdown to its present pinnacle for, without laying claim to shearing as heavy a fleece, or furnishing as large a quantity of mutton as some of the other breeds, it will be conceded on all hands that for quality of carcass they are on the top. The head of the Southdown is small and hornless and the face brown-gray in color and neither too short nor too lnni* The linn are thin and the SDace - ?L 4. between the eyes and the nose narrow; the ander jaw is fine and thin, while the ears are tolerably wide and well covered with wool; the forehead also and the space between the ears is covered with wool. The eyes are full and bright, but not prominent. The neck .^Inf ^ Jc * GROUP OF S< is of medium length, thin towards the head but enlarging towards the shoulders, where it is broad and high, but straight in its whole course above and below. The breast is wide, deep and projecting forward between the forelegs, indicating a good constitution and a disposition to thrive. Corresponding with this the shoulders 6hould be on a level with the back and not too wide above; the back is flat from the shoulders to the setting on of the tail; the loin is broad and flat. The wool should be short, close, curled and fine, and free from spiry projecting fibres. ? 4 "~i? rne average netxe sumuu ?cigu uwui. four pounds. The ewes are prolific, make excellent mothers, and their lambs are hardy and vigorous. In size the Southdown is above the medium. Next to ! the Merino the Southdown is the 1 most -widely known of ail the breed of i sheep in the United States. They i made a fine showing at the sheep ex- I hibit at the Chicago Fair, being rep resented by about one hundred and ) fifty head.?New York "World. New York's New Clearing Honsf*. The new building for the New York Clearing House,a unique structure for a unique institution?one of the most important financial adjuncts in the world?will be located on Cedar street, between Broadway and Nassau street, on a lot recently purchased by the association. In this vicinity a square foot of ground is worth a small fortune, but the clearing house is very rich aud can afford to allow its working force plenty of room and to make a liberal concession to architecture. The clearing house will occupy the entire building, except the basement, which will be leased to some bank. The cost of the building will be abo\it ;?300,000. After the furnishings are in the association will nave expended, inclusive of the ground, little less than $800,000 for its luxurious and handsome home. The beauty of the building is apparent from the ilj lustration. The arms of the city, | State and Nation -will occupy the j center of the facade, while two statues i will be placed in a niche at either end. In the basement will be the most complete system of safety vaults in New York, for which the architect claims that they are absolutely in- i vulnerable. To prevent tunneling j through the walls these vaults will i have passage both underneath and ' around their sides for hourly inspec-1 tion by watchmen. A grand staircat will lead from the bottom to the to of the structure, and a private staii case and elevator will connect th N1W YORK CLEARING HOUSE. principal offices of the association < the second floor with the floor aboi and the dome. The "clearing roon will be on the third floor. This w include the space under the gre dome, which is sixty feet in diamete and the two wings. Back of the don will be two storiee, which will conta - J- - ? a IIlie Uliilllg iUUUi, jamii/i a 4UUK1 and administration office. From tl ground to the apex of the dome w be a height of eighty-five feet. T structural material will be marble u on granite foundation. Where It is a Trifle Chilly. A person who has never been in t Polar regions can have no idea what cold is. When we have t temperature down to ten degrees fifteen degrees above zero we think bitterly cold, and if our houseB we not as warm as at least fifty degr< above zero we should begin to thi of freezing to death. Think, then, living where the mercury goes doi to thirty-five degrees below zero the house, in spite of the stove, course, in such a case, fur garmei are pilei on until a man looks lik< great bundle of skins. Dr.- Moss, of the Polar expediti of 1875-76, among other odd thinj tellB of the effect of cold on a w candle which he burned there. T temperature was thirty-five degri below, zero, anu the doctor must hn been considerably discouraged wh< upon looking at his candle, he d covered that the flame had all it cot do to keep warm. It was so cold tl the flame could not melt all the w of the candle, but was forced to < its way down, leaving a sort skeleton of the candle standing. The aroa liaot an nil <rh HfttrflVflr. to ID oddly-shaped holes in the thin wifl of wax. and the result was a beai^B fill lacelike cylinder of white, witfln tongue of yellow flame burning Hj side it Rnd sending out into the d&^H ness many streaks of light.?SanFr^B cisco Chronicle. 9 t-5> , ? I Bill duthdown's. ffl Fireproof Lnmber. S A Chicago man has inrenteoH chemical solution, by which he cla^H that wood can be rendered firepr<^H If saturated in this solntion, be rutflfl tains that it is impossible for a pi^J of lumber to burn, even if it ehc^H be soaked in coal oil. The woo^H inflammable material of which hot^H are constructed is first immerse<^H the solution of chemicals for a pei^H of twenty-four hours. The lumbe^f tkue claimed to be fireproof and burn no more than a piece of iroifll stone. By means of the chemical the wood becomes so dense that will decompose it by charring o^H but will not cause any flame. substance produces an inert gas, wl^H prevents combusfciou. By this sc^| tific process of making wood flammable, the inventor believes tflH thousands of fires may be preven^H He also thinks that after the ini^H tion is thoroughly known, many road coaches will be built of woot^H piepared.?Southern Lumberman^? An Effective Support lor Trees^l Many who set out young trees l^H them without protection against wind or the depredation of ania^H Others drive down two or more ro^B stakes at irregular distances ftlHH ^rces and^H trunks of trees to these a piece of cor^H f-V* H V result that is quently injurio^H ?U.f "VI the trees, becHfl i|)j i; JTg the cord chafe^N '' j,'i 'j I tender bark as^H 11 ji I J young tree it, |( j| | pod by the : >; j| A better prnct^B| | ; I' shown in the "*' M? JJ ^ tration. where MB ' awuy. wf . pieces of dimer^^J 6tnff' Uyo b?H inches, are d^^B at just such distances apart and the tree that short pieces of wood^H by three inches can be inserted^^B tween the tops, where they are lig^^J nailed. A strip of hoop iron is nailed firmly around the whole. tree is held firmly in place by pac^^J a bit of burlap or even hay int(^^| opening at the top. Such a sup^^J is attractive, holds the tree o?/J TT-ill nri'vr. nmnlfi RPCOmillod^MH hum " 444 b* 'v ??i b^H| for growth until supports cease 1