Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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Beauehampe's Double OR THE PRIMA DONNJL A Story of Mystery, Love and Devotion. BY DAVID LOWRY. CHAPTER XVII. UNPREMEDITATED. Livingston was resolved his stay should be brief. The sad eyes that looked into his when he bade Miss Beauchampe adieu, affecting a cheerfulness he maintained throughout the interview, haunted him. All his sympathy he said to himself wont out to this young girl. It was torture to see her weep. He felt like shielding her from even the shadow of danger. Yes, his stay must necessarily be short, for there was so much to do. Miss Beauchampe's eyes were swollen when she looked at him.. She advanced t first eagerly, but the moment her little hand rested in his. Livingston knew that she was disappointed. Disappointment was depicted in her lucid eyes; in the sudden averting of the weil-poised head. Not a word was uttered for at least a minute. Livingston's wits seemed to fail him. He stood, feeling as he reflected afterward, "like an awkward schoolboy." Finally he spoke. , "It is not so bad. To be sure, we have not found Lester, but* " Sho interrupted him, speaking in a calm tone that was more discouraging than her swollen eyes. "I did not expect good news. I hoped?that was all " "Don't?now, don't give up like this," said Livingston suddenly, as he felt her hand slipping slowly out of his own. "I have good news. We are quite sure now that we have a cluo to work on." "You do know then. Is he?is my brother alive? You have heard from him? He Is well? He " Th? hope faded out of her eyes as she searched his lace. Then she turned aside quickly. "1 will never, never see him again." Her attitude more than the words, and the exquisite pathos in her tones, sent the blood coursing swiftly through Livingston's veins. Then he stuvered? absolutely shivered. What if her wordii should come true? "It is not" so bad as that, T tell you, Miss Beauchampe." What more he said he could never remember. He realized suddenly that she did not hear a word he uttered; then he became dumb until t.ho nnrnwsm of trripf upasorL Shfi Sat down, and began to sway herself from Bide to side. Livingston was at a loss to know what to do or say. Man like, his feelings found vent in impulsive action. He put ont a hand to quiet her. As his hand touched hers, a thrill such as he had never experienced passed over him. The feeling was inexplicable, new to him. He addressed her in tones such as a mother employs to soothe a child, i He wa9 surprised at his own voice. Afterward he marveled at the loolish things he said, but he speedily discovered the inadequacy, the utter weakness of words in moments of great trials. Miss Eeauchampe rocked herself and gave way to her feelings, seemingly unmindful of his presence. "There never was a dearer brother. Ho denied,himself everything to gratify ine. There was nothing he could do for me that was too much. The best, the wisest, the tenderest of brothers gonegone, may be lying in the water, or buried to conceal a horrible crime. And I will never see. never hear him again. Alone?all alone." ^""Don't say you have no friends!" Livingston exclaimed, when he could listen silently no longer. He grasped her wrists. Sho did not pause. Still she moaned, bewailing her brother's death; her uttar loneliness, until In sheer desperation Liv? inirston caueht her arm. and held her quiet He was kneeling beside her without knowing it. "Miss Beauc*<ampe, listen. You must listen. Suppose Lester were ill, and needed your attention?" . "You are keeping something back." See flashed a strange suspicious look on him that cut him to the heart. "What Is it? Tell me the whole truth now. * ( This was said with quiet dignity, as the stood up He rose, too. "As true as there is a heaven, I am ieeping nothing back. But you are working yourself into illness." ; "It is better so. I want to die. I do aot want to live if he is dead." i "That is wicked. You ought not to say that. You have friends?you will never want for friends, for anything, Miss Beauchampe." As -she looked long and earnestly at him, he felt his cheeks flame, then a sudden sinking of the heart caused the i blood to recede from his cheeks. Livingston put a hand to his forehead. It felt cold and moist. He summered something, paused, met her look with one as level, and said impulsively, not pausing to consider his words. i "Let me be a friend. Why not? I was? X am a true iriena 01 your oromer. jl will serve you with my life, Miss Beauchain pe, if necessary." i The words were spoken in low tones, but the vehemence of his manner startled her. She put a hand out to check him, but he caught it quickly and held It "I did not come here to sav this at all. It was uttered without thinking. Pardon me. But it is the truth. I have never felt the same since I first saw you. I came here on another errand, but I am not sorry I spoke my thoughts. I tell x you you are wronc. Your brother, I believe, will bo found soon. I cannot give you any proof now?only do not despair, because I am sure that ne will Boon be restored to you. And until he Is"?he ventured to take a hand that was not withdrawn from his caressing clasp?"permit mo at least to perform the duty a friend should in an extremity mi Mi q ft t.MQ "Iwiil try to govern myself hereafter, "> ?ho said. "You must think me childish to yield to ray feelings." "I think," said Livingston, admiringly, "such devotion as you exhibit for your brother is sacred. You will hear from mo very soon. Only remember all that human power can do will be exerted to find your brother." Ho felt like kissing her hand, but he wisely restrained himself, bowed, and left her. When ho glauced ath's watch, he b'usbed. His ten minutes werel lengthened to three-quarters of an hour. Be excused himself, be sure. He reflected that it would have been heartless ?cruel?to withdraw until ho kad made here listen to reason; then he blushed again as he bethought himself of the governing, or as he now confessed to himself, tho ungovernable motive?love ?and the part it played in tho scene jast closed. The air and sky was changed; All the world seemed different, Drignter, to Liv- > lngston when ho rodo back to the office ' ef the Record after making tho rounds of the newspaper offices. He had charged himself with the duty of apprising the various managing editors of $ertaiz pha.es of thojnysterlous murder s case as they developed. ~Ndw it was a pleasure, the greatest pleasure of bia life, for go where ho would, the eyes of Miss Beauchampe foNowcd him. Instead of returning to his lodgings, ho resovcd to go to the liccord office, writo out later d volopments of the Iiabney murder, hand it In, then call in the other offices, and then he would meet Simmons. CHAPTER XVHt. A DASH FOE LIBERTY". Beauchampe fell into a dreamles9 sleep early in the evening of the fourth day. How long he slept, he had no means of knowing. lie was aroused by a peculiar sound. He sat upright, staring,in the darkness. He bad forgotten the recent occufrencs. He though he was in his own bed until contact with the iron bedstead recalled his scattered wit9. Then he was all alive to the circumstances and the situation. I fiAmo An ex tcoc +**TT! Ti CT tj~k Anfitr Vl i Q wviuo vuv nuw w* Miw window. A vaRue. shadowy man was moving in front of his window. As Beauchampe viewed this man with strained vision, he beheld, first the form of a man's head. There conld not be any mistake. The contour of a human head was now clearly defined. Next he beheld a shoulder, then an arm was extended. Finally the upper half of a man was faintly defined. Beauchamp6 shuddered. What did it mean? If murder was their object, it cojild be attained easily in other ways. He tried to banish his fears, but as the shape at the window shifted, until at last, as if growing out of a ball, a man's legs were seen on the broad sill, and a man's arms were stretched out, feeling the window carefully. Beauchampe shivered with dread. An inexplicable, horrible fear suddenly possessed him. His life was menaccd. Beauchampe sat like one in a stupor. He had no means of defending himself. He was at the mercy of Varek and Hawkins. He fancied he beheld in the shadow outside of his window a resemblance to the monster Hawkins. Suddenly the figure disappeared. Beauchamoe inclined his ear, listening intently. Yea; there was a sound What it meant he could not divine. Now, however, he was reminded of the proximity 01 tne large umu ui iue tret) nearest iuh house. He fancied ne could see the great limb sway. To convince himself, he rose and stepped noiselessly to his window and looked out. Beyond a doubt, the limb was swaying. Beauchampe, training his vision in the darkness, thought he saw a huge vine swaying in the air. The vine was hanging from the limb. As he concentrated his gaze, standing there in the darkness, he satisfied himself that the thing he beheld was not a vine but a rope. Heavens! What if it were his friends! Certainly that was the explanation.Livingston had at last obtained a clue. He was resolved to free his friend. He adopted this method rather than lose the time the law would consume to accomplish the same purpose. And now an overpowering desire to communicate with his rescuers governed Beauchampe. He struek the window smartly. Instantly the sound at the adjoining window ceased. Again and again Beauchampe struck his window, but there was no response. He waited for hours he thought, then stole back to his bed and flung himselJ upon his face with a low moan. At the end of an interval that seemed an age, the sound at the adjoining window was renewed. Now Beauchampe was rendered desperate. His friends had made a miscalculation. All their efforts in his behalf would be lost He advanced to the window and struck It again with-all his might The blow made a dull sound. Footsteps approached his door, and the man who brought him the wooden dish stood looking at him angrily over the light he carried. wYod do that again, I'll put you where you won't make any more noise?at least none to wake me?for a month. Try itr? see how it will work." The door was closed and locked, and Beauchampe was alone agaiu. Hours seemingly elapsed belore another sound was heard. Then Beauchampe thoueht he hoard a sound as is made by raising a window that is moved with difficulty. And now he resolved upon a desperate course. Come what would, the next time his door was opened he would make a dash for liberty. They could not do more than recapture him. And he might fall into the hands of friends. As if in answer to his inward prayei for help, the sound was repeated. ~ was plain to Beauchampe that there was an effort made by some person or persons to enter the madhouse, and that the inmates were unaware of it He stood near the entrance to his room with the resolve of a desperate, despairing man, bent upon one final effort foi freedom nerving him, when the door wa! opened very cautiously, and Hawkins entered, followed by the attendant whose threat still rung in Beauchampe's ears. Hawkins was saying "It must have been in the next room " when Beauchampe suddenly sprang past the attendant, who turned like a flash and struck at him wickedly. The blow grazed Beauchampe's shoulder. Beauchampe ran along a wide hall toward a dim light He hoped he would find a stairway there, and he was not disappointed. He bounded down the stairs at headlong speed. A man fleeing for his life makes little of, takes no thought of, risks that would deter the most resolute. The attendant was close at his heels. Beauchampe felt a cool draught of air as he reached the foot of the stairway,' where all was darkness. ; Suddenly he encountered a mau. The shock was so great that he fell panting on the floor. A door was flung wide open near him at tbe 6ame instant, and a flame of fire illuminated the entrance one brief instant. iu mac instant rseaucmampe ooitcia several figures. Then there was a rush of feet The next sensation Beauchampe experienced was a blow on the head as Hawkins and the attendant stood over him. He heard a confused murmur as the attendant pushed him, with blows, up the stairway, and, thrusting him into his room again, locked the door quickly and left him. He could hear his footsteps aS he ran back through the hall and down the stairway. Later, Beauchampe heard sounds outside, and at intervals words uttered loudly reached his ears. "In for it"?"This time"?"Flunder along with us"?"Obey orders, Doctor," ?"No necessity"?"Same as others, Doctor." '.then there was the sound of wheels crunching gravel, aud all was silent airain. What had happened? What did it all mean? Ueauchampe asked himself i/i vain, as he felt his head and arms. His hands were wet His head was bleeding. Then he fainted, falling heavily upon the floor. CHAPTER XIX. JOBXICE. The copy flowed from Livingston's hands at such a rapid rate that he was surprised, upon counting the pages. But it was "the item of the day," and would be read by millions within twentyfour hours. All the country was talking about the mysterious mur-cr again and nineteentwentieths of tho public thought the unexpected taking-off of Major Dabney was well-timed: they agreed it was just as well his careor had terminated in a tragedy. It made the lesson more impressive. It was half past eleven when Livingston handed his copy to the editor, after reading it over carefully. It was nearly twelve when he cleared his desk of the work intrusted to him, and at least another half-hour was consumed when he made the rounds of the press, and learned" by" telephone at the last office he visited, that an important message awaited him at the office of the .Record. rT 1 3 nrtf\yrl onH XI0 reiuruuu quiuaij iu uuc xtovviu-, read tho message. It was tersevery much like Simmons. Captured our man. Come to station? at once. Simmons. Livingston could have tossed up his hat. He was right. Simmons never would have written "our man" if he had captured Beauchampe- He wa9 walking out of the editorial- rooms when some one called to him. "What is it? I have have no time now," Livingston answered. "I am on the rush." "Somebody down-stairs?a lady, wants to see you. says it is imperative.K Livingston's mood changed on the inptant. His mind was on Mis9 Beauchampe when he entered the business department. His surprise was very great when, instead of Jliss Beauchampe, ho beheld the prima douna. She was very plainly dressed; her face was concealed, but Livingston recognized in the graceful figure and the manner the famous singer. She was dseply agitated; her voice trembled a3 she spoke. "Pardon me; the matter is Imperative. It admits of no delay?not an instant that can be avoided. I am glad I found you here. You must go at once to thonearest police station. Your friend, Mr. Beauchampe, is there. There is something terrible, I know, and for his sis ter's sake?on her account " He interrupted her wonderingly. "Impossible. It cannot be Beauchampe." "But I saw him, Mr. Livingston. I was just entering my carriage. The performance was unusually long, and 1 never am in haste. They had him in an open wagon of some sort; his head was cut?perhaps he resisted; who knows? It was all so terrible. I recognized your friend at the lirst glance. I bade my driver follow them to the station. I Bent in word by an officer, but the gentleman who cftioo out gave me no satisfaction whatever. He was very polite. I tried every argument, and everything falling?I had the manager of the theater brought there to help me, too?1 came here. You will go at once? "At once?I am going now." Vittoria hesitated, then, as If it cost her an effort, she said: "My carriage is at the door. It is at your service. My maid and I can go to the hotel afterward." Livingston's only answer was "Come." When they entered the carriage, Vit? toria spoko to the driver in a low tone. The .driver nodded, and the carriage drove off furiously. In a very little time, seemingly, they stopped at the station, where Livingston found an officer ho was well acauainted with. Presently Simmons appeared, and these three consulted befora Vittoria was admitted. It was Simmons who stepped toward her and placed himself at her service. "I wish to see the prisoner." Simmons led the way. Livingston brought up the rear. A barred door was before Vittoria's eyes. A man was confronting her with baleful eyes. Vittoria started. Then she exclaimed: "It is not Mr. Beauchampe." She heaved a great sigh of relief as sh? spoke. ?\'n " cniH T,1vino>'it.nn "Tint. t.Viorr? 5<l a marvelous resemblance." "There is?you don't say!" exclaimed the prisoner, leering at Livingston. "He must be handsome as a picture If he looks like me." The prisoner put a hand to a gash on his head. Vittorla shudderingly withdrew, as did Livingston and Simmons. "You are satisfied you are mistaken," i said Livingston to the prima donna. "Quite." She spoke with quiet dignity now. "We will go." "No," said Livingston. "There is no haste. Wo will speak to my friend here ?Mr. Simmons. I am sure he will assist us in learning something of our friend. Mr. Simmons has a communication to make to me which you can hear." "It is a short story," Simmons added. uTvr- .L n W. ?.**_ "luis 1iju.u )uu set; uuic piauuuu a uuik* lary some time ago. He induced an old partner of his to come on to New York to help him move the 'plant' I was in Chicago, learned something was amiss; came home; put a watch on the companion, and we captured three of the burglars. One of them is the man you saw. He planned the job. Livingston thinks with this man lu our power we ought to bft able to learn where his friend is. There has been a confounding of persons he claims." "Oli, that I am sure of," said Vittorla "And this robbery, where was It? DU they succeed?" "They did. It suited me to permit them to enter the house?to put tin plunder in a bag. Here it is." Simmons pointed to a sack. "If you choose you can look at the articles" * He proceeded to uado the string around the sack, talking rapidly. "You see, they effected an entrance by opening a window in the upper part of the house. To do that one climbed into a tree. Then he went down stairs and opened the door. Our men were near at hand all the while. We watched until they had these in the bag, then we pounced upon them " "And was no one hurt?" "Yes, one man was shot, and one.of the burglars got away, but two of the burglars got pretty well used up. See: here is a part of the plunder. They got over ten thousand dollars in Government bonds, about eight hundred dollars in cash and all this." Simmons emptied the sack. A large number of pieces of silver dropped out "All solid?every bit of it. We brought it here to prove the thieves are guilty? the owner preferred to keep it, but 1 considered it best to bring it just as 1 found it. This is old-style silver. " "Yes?but it is not all silver," said Vittoria. "See! there is a bowl that is pewter." She pointed to a dish almost concealed from view. Livingston lifted it and placed it in her hand, saying, laughingly. "You have a good eye." I "Yes, it is as I thought," said Vittoria. "All the silver is fine?it must have cost a pretty penny. It is as massive a9 any I have seen, and I have seen some heavy silver." They examined the ware carefully. The workmanship was exquisite. It must have cost three times as much as the metal. Vittoria was very much interested in it all. There were upward of thirty pieces. The silver itself was a "plant" for a burglar's efforts. Then Vittoria picked up the pewter bowl again and looked at it, wondering how it came to be placed with the silver. Livingston laughed at the pewter bowl. Vittoria smiled too; then, as she turned the pewter dish over in her hands, she stated. .. . i "Look! see, Mr. Livingston. "What docs it mean?" As Livingston turned the bottom of the di-U up where the light fell full upon it, h<! beheld two pictures engrave:!. or rather scratched on the bottom of the dish. One cielim av.-d three men pushing a fourth into a carriage. One held a bludgeon aloft. In the other, three men were thrusting a man into a house. Here no-n.in t.i'.ft hlnflrnrin \v,is linlfl aloft. There was a barred window over the door, and Livingston managed to -make out the single word "madhouse" over entrance. lie passed the dish to Simmons. The effect produced upon Simmons was electrical, he was transformed on the instant into another man. "Here, you!" he said to a man near him, "get the others at once?not a moment to snare! (jet the wagon out?and you remain here till we return, Livingston. The ladies can remain also if thej wish. Serves me right for not attending to this myself, as I intended in the first piace." Livingston and Vittoria were left to imagine whatever they pleased. With Livingston it was not difficult to surmise the truth. The word "asy.'um" was recalled, and when he reminded the prima donna of the connection in which it was used, she instantly exclaimed. Van it be your friend, Mr. Beauchampe, you think made this drawing? Then he is the man so cruelly treated! Horrible. Unreal! In this age, and in this city! It is?" she paused, then added in a low tone, as if to herself, "monstrous!" Her composure deserted her then. She paced the floor. As time sped, she became more restless. "If it is as we think?and you have convinced me your friend is in that horrible place?some one should warn hia sister. I will do it myself. I have my maid with me?I will go now." And Livineston was only too glad to see her driving away in the directiou oi Cou (1 he have accomi anied the sinpcr, he would have witnessed a face drenched in tears There was a romance under it allconcealed from all human eyes?that he did not dream of. When Simmons returned, he brought with him a jounR man with a haggard face. There were deep, dork-blue circles under his eyes, but the voice that greeted Livingston was as clieery as ever. "I owe my reason if not my life to you," Beauchampe said. "That is putting it rather strong; eh, Simmons," said Livingston with a swelling in his throat, "Anyhow, I thank God you are with your friends again. Your experiences must have been awful, Beauchampe." "No tongue can describe it I will do the best I can to-morrow?you will write it out, and then the world can judge whether there is a hell on earth! Perhaps you can locate it with my assistance. " *****#^# When all the country read Beauchami-e's story, written by his friend, deep regret was manifested because Dr. Varek and bis chief assistant had evaded justice. Dr. Varek and his assistant fled to Europe. Their victims were p aced whore the State authorities had free access to them, and a well-zrounded feeling against private madhouses has been greatly strengthed and confirmed by 13cai;charape's statement. Among Dr. Varek's private papers were lettoi-s from Major Dabuey, inclosing checks for large amounts, and containing instructions for the confinement of Jim Carrick. Carrick had been imprisoned ihiefly at the instance of Major Dabncy, who for reasons best known to himself preferred to have him immured for life in a mad-house. The revelations following the murder of Major Dabncy were of such a nature as to excite a morbid sympathy for "Carick, the crook," whose trial for murder furnished a series of sensations, terminating in the greatest sensation of all. Defended by the ablest lawyers, he was acquitted, became hysterical in the court-room, and two weeks afterward wa9 removed to an asylum for the Insane, dying a few months later. Emerson's idea of compensation seems to be carried out in the lives of the Beauchampes and Livingstons. Vittoria ceased to be a prima donna wnen sue uecainu me wue ui ijtssiio Beaucharape. Her talent is appreciated in private circles; her public displays are entirely in the interest of charity. Sho is passionately devoted to art. Those who should know assert she is entitled to half the fame her husband onjoys. The Livingstons are not so well favored in a financial sense, but they are of the opinion that they are getting as much good out of the world as anybody they know. (the end.] TEMPERANCE. 0k5zj1al howard's wat, General Hownrd was recently chosen President of the National Temperance Society. He explained how ft public man could attend banquets, and, without drinking anything, be considered a good fellow. He arranges for the filling of his wine glasses with water before the occasion. When a toast is nnllorl tr\y hn /IrlnL'o whiif 1 Ira lil*o winn but Is in reality water. bct weather advice. Just about this time of year tho newspapsrs carry an advertisement something like this: "Don't pet excited. Keep cool. Avoid all unnecessary exertion. Keep the pores of the skin open. Don't bathe too much. Drink Humbug's poor slop whisky. It will degenerato the blood, induce profuse perspiration, predispose to sunstroke and apoplexy, create an abnormal thirst, weaken the system, spoil the night's rest, and otherwise assist its victim to bear the rigors of the heated term with ppin and profanity." This isn't the exact language, but near enough for the truth.?Picayune. an important decision. The decision of Monsignor SatolII, the Pope's Legate of the United States, upholding the ruling of Bishop Watterson, of Ohio, Is one of the most important ever made by tho Church in this country. The bishop orders that no one engaged in the liquor traffic should be admitted to membership in the various societies connected with or forming a part of tho Church organization. He even suspends every society from its rank and privilege until it ceases to be officered by such men. Mgr. Satolli refers to the liquor traffic "as the source of much evil," anct although the decision mav not technically apply to jurisdictions outside of that of Bishop Watterson, tho moral effect will extend all over the country.?National Temperance Advocate. a drunkard's daughter. A minister of the Gospel pointed out to mo a younggirlin the lunatic asylum. A more beautiful uirl I never saw : but she was rav inp mad, and her hnnds were confined to keep her from doing herself injury. Tho minister said: "That girl was a member of my church, and I believe she was a Christian. Her father wns a drunkard. She would come to me and ask, 'What shall I do? What can I do? I will do anything to sayo my father, but I am hopeless. Why, sir, he abuses my mother so brutally that I shall go mad. I will not leave her and she will not leave my father.' "One dny that man came home raving mad with drink, he seized his wife and dashed her to the floor, and his flst began to beat her upturned faco till his hand was bloody to the wrist. Tbe girl was there. What should she do? It was her mother she saw thus abused. Her brain reeled ; she rushed into the wood-house, seized an ax and struck her father several times. As her father fell dead, she went mad, and not a single ray of light has penetrated the darkness of her mind from that time to this."?John B, Gough. , FASHION'S FANCIES. STUDIES IN THE DRESSMAKER AND THE MILLINER'S ARTS. How the Delicate Fabrics of This SeaBon Are Made Up?A Pretty Dress of Dimity?Hat In Brown Straw. THE special study of the dressmaker just now is how to make up to the very best advantage the thin and delicate fabrics with which the markets are filled. This, says the Ledger, is a season of semi-transparent materials, and whoever has the time, patience and ingenuity to devise new ways of putting fhom +n<TofVior ia in of on mnnh ftViparl ! in the fashionable race. There is a fancy for puffs of various widths, and -waists made up with velvet ribbon or galloon and puffs alternating are among the latest and most admired caprices. A novelty in this line is a costume of dotted silk-mull and velvet, The spots and the velvet match in color, and the thin goods are out in strips the width of the velvet, very closely gathered and overseamed to the ribbon. A fashion of putting these materials together somewhat more easily than this is to join the puffs by means of a plain strip and sew the velvet on over it. Rolling the edges of a ruffle or puff and sewing it over and over has become almost a lost art, and dressmakers have had no end of trouble in finding skilled workwomen to undertake this portion of the task. In some waists the puffs are graduated so that all of them run narrower at the waist line. They are of equal width where they meet the belt and nearly double the width at the upper part of the fhfc NOVEL AND STY: waist. Long streamers of the same velvet ribbon fall from the shoulders, and a rosette is worn at the belt. This style of trimming is much liked, being specially suited for dressy costumes. With a waist, of this sort, a skirt is made with the material in folds, and sections of velvet matching the ribbon are arranged as panels. Another pretty dress is made of mull with the finest of dots in color. The ckirt is very | full and slightly draped, there being an underskirt effect across the front and side-widths.. This lower skirt is trimmed with wide bands of insertion above a scant and very narrow raffle. , The drapery is perfectly plain, wit-li a deep hem. The waist has three rows of insertion, one around the lower edge jnst above the belt, the other one immediately below the arms and the third r.round the shoulders and over the bust. Above this upper row the material is shirred to form a yoke. It is a nice little task to shirr a yoke in to fit the figure perfectly, and upon the accuracy of the lines and the arrongement of the fullness depends much of the effect of the garment. In this instance, the gathers are as perfectly laid as though by machinery. This is secured by making the stitches exactly of a length and the rows an equal distance all around. The sleeves < ?< this drees are a deoarture from or- , dinary models. They are almost straight, having sufficient curve over the tops to make them fit perfectly, and they are not gathered in any banil, hut fall loosely from the arms just below the elbows. They are made with three rows of insertion, equal distance apart, the lower row forming the edge of the sleeve. The dress is elaborately trimmed with ribbons of the color of the dot in the goods. The lavish use of insertion in some the newest imported designs is one of the features of the making-up of thin fabrics. The charming gown in the double column illustration is in fine lined silk, arranged with red and yellow shot silk gauze and paste buttons; guipure lace and gold straw hat, flowers toning with shades in gown. The 1 fit-.*.. ...4. muKe 01 wn? guwu in CAnuuiKij uum | and stylieh and suitable for any fete, i "smoking dkesses/' Tailor made costumes, known under | a new name, 4'Smoking Presses" areas great favorites as ever. Their nov- ' elty consists in u waistcoat of white, j ( spotted or faucv checked pique, with , stiff starched shirt front, high collar and small cravat. A medium sized j j sailor hat, toque or Bolero are the only form of head gear allowable with such a dr.vs3. rnETIT DllESS Of .DIMITY. Dimity makes a pretty dress, anil it. j < is one of the few wash fabrics that one j feels dressed up in. I saw a very taste- i ful garden party gown made from it 1 earjy this week, Jt was of pale blue, f and the waist had an odd, though i simple, decoration of lace on the jacket. A DRESS OF DIMIXI. InsertingR sewed together formed the decorfttion np to a height of six inchee. The full vest was of white dimity. The odd ribbon trimming was of white moire, and the beauty of it is that it may be easily removed when laundering is neccssarv. The best dimity is twenty-five cents per yarci. uneaper may oe iouna iot mteen cents. french cambric skirts. Some of the French cambrics are as pretty as silk. There are flower dejp r, 0T5H C0STC31E. signs of pink, lavender, rose, heliotrope and buff for underskirts that have only to be seen to be appreciated. These prints made into underskirts, dressing jackets and night robes, are not as popular here as tibroad, but that is the American woman's loss. In London and Paris a pretty batiste skirt, with embroidered ruffles and silk draw string, only costs eighty cents. They are sHop laundered and worn on tho street. HAT IN BROWN* STRAW. The lint in the illustration is rnado of browu straw, with a crown of amour encircled by a band of black watered silk, fastened in the front ,// % JM , ' a. ' k/'W with a red rose and with u jetted osprey; at the back is a white lace bow, wired to stand out aggressively, and beneath the brim, again, appear two roses resting on the hair. It is very attractive and stylish. TO KEEl' MUSLINS CIU$r. To keep muslin dresses looking fresh they should not be allowed to hang in closets with woolen dresses, or where the door is opened frequently. A dress that iskept in u wardrobe divan retains its sparkling crisp long after one that is left hanging in a much used closet. If you have no wardrobe divan lay the skirt in a barf *u drawer and fold the skirt over the top, not ut the bottom. Then put the waist in a dress box, with all tbe ribbons :md Accessories. If bureau drawers are scarce there is still anoth- | r-r plan. Jjuy liait a tiozouo; mc ion;j ilress b;ixos that dry goods stores use to bold ready-mado gowns when sent home. Put the skirt and waist into une of these. These boxes can be i>i!ed under the bed or lonuge and so kept out of si^ht. Eve:, the dampness that enters a room through an upen window is snltieient to take tho srispuess out of mu.-:!ins and organdies, iad they never look as well afterward. Instances were kuown in tli3 early Liiitory of several of the Western states of tales being paid m coon kins and beaver pelts. Medicine lor Horses. Few people understand how to administer medicine properly to a horse. Even when well the animal will instantly reject any food of an unpleasant taste, and when sick, and consequently irritable, the difficulty orvTNq A Piiii/. is greatly increased. The medicine must be given quietly and skilfully, or the thrashing about of the animal in its efforts at resistance will do more harm than the good effected by the drug. If the medicine is in a liquid form it may be administered by tying up the head of the horse as high as possible, putting up boards to prevent being struck by the fore feet, pouring the mixture from a bottle, and holding the head high until the horse is obliged to swallow. The easiest method when the medicine is to be given as a paste, which is oftentimes necessitated from the decided distaste which the horse has for the drug, refusing to eat it with the food?is to mix the medicine with bran, making a sticky mass that can be rolled into a ball. This may be wrapped in a small piece of tissue paper, so as to keep it from the animal's tongue. The person administering should bare the right arm and stand in front of the horse, a little to the right, and with the left hand take hold of the i i. iiuroc D LUUtJUCj U1UW il ^CUUIJ XXUU4 the mouth, placing it on that part of the lower jaw that is bare of teeth. It is a good precaution to place the tongue between the molar teeth to prevent the horse closing his mouth and biting the arm. The right hand holding the ball is now inserted in the horse's mouth as shown in the accompanying cut, and the ball deposited at the root of the tongue. The right hand is then withdrawn, the tongue released, and a small handful of hay offered to the horse at once, the head being still held up. In the movement made to eat the hay he swallows the ball, and its course down the gullet may be seen by watching the side of the neck.?New York World. An Improvement in Churns. An improvement in the ordinary box-shaped concussion churn has been made in Australia. The improvement consists simply in having two square apertures, one opposite the other, instead of the one aperture which is the rule in ordinary churns. Th? second opening permits thorough ventilation after the operation of churn:ng i? concluded, and also enables the cleaning to be much more effectually done ? -- xi.. .il | man unoer tne oiu uuiiuinuu.? uoit Tork World. A Jlevr Method of Canning. The French industry of iciDg milk is an original departure in canned commodities. The milk is frozen and placed in block form into tins, and on the part of the purchaser requires to be melted previous to use. Being hermetically sealed, the commodity thus iced preserves its form until it is required, when a minute's exposure to the sun's rays or the heat of the fire is all that is necessary to reduce it to a liquid condition.?New York World. The Dagger That Killed Carnot. The accompanying cut is an authentic representation of the dagger need by the assassin Cesario in taking the life of President Carnot. Cesario remained in Cette, where he had been working for several months in a^E bakery, until June 23d, when he lcftH^ for Lyons, the scene of the crime. H| The dagger was purchased in Cette H| on June 22d, two days before thej^J murder, from a cutler in the EueHfl Gambetta named Guillaume. The tri-^H angular blade is very sharp and meas-HH ures sixteen centimetres, about 6J in-IH ches, from the point to the guard. IteflHj greatest thickness is 2* centimetres,H| about an inch. It bears the usual^H Spanish incriptions, on one side "To-^H ledo," and on the other <<Recuerdo."^H How (Juail Are Caught. BBS When frightened a quail will alwaysH| hold his head up. This fact is always^H taken advantage of by trappers, ani^H vast numbers of them are caught by^B the simplest of means. All that is^H necessary is a box with an opening^H through which the birds can pass^^H trail them into the box with corn, and^H when once in the box they will neveiHH get uut, because the hole being at the^f bottom they will look up and never^H see it. Another characteristic of quailt^H !*** f fliov will all fnl-^Kfl low their leader, ami wbeu he enters^H the box the entire covey is caught^B ?Cincinnati (Ohio) Enquirer. BH Remunerative Youusr Fruit Farm. Seven years ago a fruit-grower set^H out 1000 fruit trees on sage-brust^H land on the Columbia Fiiver, nixteenHB miles north of Wilbur, Oregon, anc^Ej has since added 3000 trees to his oi-^H chard. Last year five acres of hii^^H peaches were bearing aod 3980 boxee^H of the fruit were sent to tho Spokane^M market. From three acres of straw-^H berries 27.000 boxes were nicked. Ht^HI obtaind about ?5000 as the product ot^H his comparative young fruit farm. ? New York Fost. MR