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ingr m jr iwr n.- ,-mmib wiitoi■- - *
THE WEEKLY STAR.
„■ , : ——. 1| —4— - -
Vol. V®-NO. 9.
-
C. D. CAMP,
J9T l.tfW'
Civil Engineer & Surveyor,
DOUGLASVILLE Ga
~B.~G. GRIGGS,
A TTO RKE i; AT LAW
Douglasville, Georgia.
WILL practice in all the ooarte, State
and Federal? Jan aS ly.
John M. Edge
jnou.iti' .iri.tH-.
X>c>xisl *» oxzille, ■ Oa.
WILL practice in all the conrte, and
promptly attend to all business
rusted to his care.
."ZJXffiX
Attorney at Ijaw,
rOVG LAS VILLE, GEORGIA.
Will practice in the Courts of Doug
las,Campbell, Carroll,Paulding,Cobb
Fulton and adjoining counties.
Prompt attention given to all bus
i neaa.
’ ■ THOMAS W. 1 ATHAM?
Attorney at law
FIRBURN, GEORGIA.
Will practice iu all the Courts
both State and Federal.
Special attention given to suits
against Railroads and other Corpo
rations. Will attend regularly the 1(
Superior and other courts of Douglas
county.
T. S. BTTTL SE.
XIOUMC ’F’OAIXXtOir
DOUG LA VILLE, -GA I
«Wyt LL make old furniture look as w 11 a
W new. Give him a trial in thia line, wli
luo farpenterintf work,
2? S. Verdery,
Physician and Surgeon.
OFFICE at HUDHON & EDGE'S DRUG
STORE, where he can b« found nt nil
hour* except, when profet«<lanally engaged,
•peelHl attention given l<» (thionicca-'i’S and
opecially all chhch ttmt have been treated and
ajextill uncured. JanlS-6,1y.
Revpectfully offer tny services as physi
cian an t sttrrcon, to the penpin of Dmijr
lanvlliennd vicinity. Al' callh will Ivo atten
ded promptly, (an be found nt the drug store I
of Hudson A Edge, during the day and at
night at my lea'deune at the house recently I
occupied by J. A. Pittman. .
J. B. EDGE
DENTISTRY.
t.“r. coo k?”
DENTAL
SURGEON
Hug located in Douglasville. 20 i
yearns experience. Denistry in all I
ito brane hr s, done in the moat ap-'
.proved alyle. Office over post office. I
BONHAM’ 8j
IMPROVED
J|a Turbine I I
lathe best constructed and I
wb-i li'gM.Slf Wnlshad, gives better perre.t,
iMMIiRNi taae, more power and i< sold
|®gf f|!![ W’ for less money perlmr-e power
tiny other rurbjue in tha
world
asTAew painphletsent fr Eby
BROS., York, Pa.
rafmf’B TON J(T
A pure Family Medreine that Never
Intoxicates.
If you have Dy apt paht, Rheumatism, Kid- ‘
nay «r Urinary (Mmp'sluu. or if you are
troubled with any disorder of the 'arg*,
•tomaehc, h<»wel», blmxl or nerves you can j
be ruled by Parker's Tonic,
If you are a lawyer, minister or buslaesa
man exhausted by mental strain or anxious
nut lake Intoxicmlwg stimulant*,
bat aoa Parkers’ Tonic.
If you are a mechanic or farmer, worn ou
with over-work, oi a mother r«t> down b
am Uy orhusibold duties try Istktr »Tonl
A ."MOW.-—Reftise all substitute*. Par
. ’ Tonic ia composed of the best remedia I
its la the world, and is entlrelr diflTeren I
ft preparations of ginger alone. Baud so I
uUr.
®ITTEr< 3
The g«wat goate j , i i.c pt, .
Muwwa r», wit. it it,
IWH pt»<>t digM.Ov.K *;><!
OOd IM «*»v* perfiwmanre of (ferir rnuo
tw*» Wy 'la Itm and bowHe A. the
srs? acracar-g
Hre«arw a»d mace Unaquii, headache*
** **** * uif .Mtwfoa* awxwfy wlurit i*
fc,y ’ »P<ES?Xi
• -■ 7 T
Douglasville, Georgia, Tuesday April 7 1885.
—IJ. 1— Al-V” .'.'.JK
A PAKK MYSTERY'
By the Author of “My Ducats and My
”, 1 ■ |
“Mlle. Duchastre caused her unhappy lover |
to be buried with propriety, and had a stone I
.erected over his grave, where she still hnngs
wreaths of immortelles. But she had iot yet
heard the last of Sangtira.. About t tree
niontta agosl’.e was a yotmg Ja> I
anose,
Saiigura’s brother. KioSakatold berthat his I
brother had written him ot the straits into ‘
which he had fallen, asking him to leave Yeddo .
for Paris at the earliest opportunity, and, i
when there, to lose no time in visiting Mlle, l
Duchastre. It was from Mademoiselle that .
Kiosaka first heard the news of his brother’s (
painful death; he was profoundly affected,
apparently with rage as well as grief, and
muttered something in his own language,
Mademoiselle told me, ‘with an accent which
was terrible.’ Shortly after he hade her fare
well, and him also she has never seen again.
“I ask M-Ademoiselle if she has a portrait of
the late M. de Sangura Mademoiselle has; a
miniature on ivory, of beautiful execution.
After some hesitation she consents to lend it
to me, on my swearing to return it uninjured.
Taking my depai ture, I first show this por
trait to Mouton and his daughter; they recog
nize it at once as that of the foreigner who
had so frequently visited Meissner up to about
a year ago. and whom the old money-lender
had ‘flayed,’ to use Menton’s own term. I
then proceed to the Rue St. Jacques, in order
to show the portrait to the proprietor of the
house where Sangura found his last lodging,
and w here he died. There I made a discovery,
. unexpected, but most important, the discov
' eiy that another Japanese, about four months
ago, had rented the very garret in which
Sangura destroyed himself; that he did not
live there, but spent in the garret a portion of
, almost every day; and that he was quite a
i problem to Pajol, the proprietor, and to all
i the other tenants. But to me the point of
greatest interest was this: On Cliristmas day
' the Japanw e visited Pajol in his shop, and
told him that he was about to make a journey,
the duration of wldch was uncertain. He
then paid three months’ rent for the garret,
remarking that it served very well to store
his effects in, and that he would take the key
with him. Since that day the Japanese has
been neither seen nor heard of.
“Messieurs, to men of your intelligence the
story is now plain. A young Japanese noble
man comes to Paris, and wastes in profuse
extravagance all the wealth he has brought
with him. This young Japanese has in his
possession a jewel of immense value, a f>< i arl.
which is an heirloom in his family. Ream ed
to the direst straits, he pledges it to the usurer
who has been his min. His debts swallow up
the sum he has received from the money
lender; starving and desperate, he finally
puts an end to his life. Before this, however,
he has written to his brother in Yeddo telling
him that the family heirloom is in Meissner’s
hands, prol>ably adjuring him to recover it.
This brother, Kiosaka, conies to Paris; he
desires to recover the pearl; but more eagerly
still, as his actions show, he desires revenge.
He takes up his abode in the garret where his
brother put an end to his life, that he may be
constantly reminded of the duty of vengeance.
1 Messieurs, I have not told you that Mlle.
I Duchastre was asked by the Japanese where
I his brother had been buried. The grave of
I Sangura is in Mont Parnasse; I visited it my
j self; on the tombstone erected by Mlle. Du
chaatre certain words have been cut in the
Japanese character. I have made a oopy of
these words, and obtained a translation.
[ Their meaning is, ‘ My brother, rest tn pence;
•hou shalt be arenfjed.' That inscription,
cut in the stone by KJosoka’s order, expresses
his fixed pmrpoae; in the murder of Joseph
Meissner he carried that purpose into execu
tion."
[ I drew a long breath of relief as M. Blery
finished At last the mystery of the Passage
de Mazarin had been made dear I
“I may be called away at any moment,”
said the dete< l tive; “copies ot this portrait i
have been sent to every iteaport in France, i
and to the towns on the frontier. Before '
many boors have passed I shall be on the i
trail nf the assassin.”
While we were still talking a telegram was ;
handed in. M. Blery ran his eyes over it. i
“From the chief of police at Marseilles,” he
said; “I go there at owe. Your friend, M.
i Mar*al, is now as %pod qg lilwrated. In a ,
I few hours, or days, will be coniine*! '
in his plai'e. What a disappointment to my i
friend Pyj’
CHAPTER XIL
I The eviilence which Sapinaud wax able to lay
1 before the imperial pnxnraUr proved suffi
i cimt to secure Raoul's muni-dlate release. All
I the neceasary stops were taken by Sapinand; I
the office of tvwring the joyful news to the pris
oner devolved upon mo.
I found Raoul iu his prison duunber, tying
half aale»*p on his pallet The light of the
solitary candle falling on bis face showed
what the effect of three weeks' imprisonment
had been; his former associates might have
had difficulty in recognizing him. Mrs features
were wan anti haggani; black lings surrounded
his eyes; an untritumed lieond eovtred toe
tower part of feis Law. I do nut think I had
realised until then what Raoul bud home ia
otwifinesnenL
As lettered be sprang from the truckle
bed on which be had been lying.
“Ah, Paul, my friend,”he cried; “ills you—
you again.'"
Then, releasing my band, he took a stqpi
backward, and fixed «j me a surprised, al
auai a startled look. This surprise was, in
deed, natural. Iw in <'vwung drass; there
was a bouquet in my buttonhole; my fea
lures T suppose, brtravnf my exciu-ment,
my i-Mtom. J saw Kocud's lip quiver; 1 fsn
s*jkl that be trembled. I seised both his haad >
in mine.
"Raoul, * 1 half whispered, “be brave; lam
going *° feu y<* scsuvthiug'-—■*
‘•There w hope?" he enwl, with trembling
mgerntwx, as I hmtotod. “They have dfe
torarad wmwthtag i My innocence—"
"In prwwl. proved! There set m
' Laig«r toe shadow at a doubt: Mure than
"Mare than ths.tr be repeated, and hfe
’ voice w»s weak aad shaking.
"Ym,” I cTfed. "more toaa tbat—frem this
. bmar you are fiwl*
Wgef<
' J -I
“ From this hour you are free!"
| Raoul fell back on his bod; he had fainted.
The warder who had accompanied me ran
for water, and I sprinkled it on Raoul’s face.
In a few minutes he revived, and looked at
me with a smile.
“The shock has been too much for you," I
said.
“Gabrielle” —he answered—“does she know
I am innocent I"
“I have but now left her. You shall your
self see her this night.”
“Ah, Paul,” hp said, “you are indeed a
friend—but now tell me what has been dis
covered —tell me all—l can bear it.”
“I shall tell you all afterward. In the
meantime you must come with me. But— ,
exjx?ct surprises—Raoul, do you think you
are strong enough to bear excitement?”
“I will go with you at once to Gabrielle.
lam stroug again, my friend. Ah, Paul, if
you had passed such weeks of horror, you
would not wonder at my weakness—you
would know all that is meant by that little
phrase—l am free!”
I do not very well know how I got out of
that prison. I only know that Raoul leaned
on my arm, and that I walked beside him in
an ecstasy of joy. A cab was waiting for us
at toe gate. Raoul took his seat without ask
ing any question. He seemed to confide him
self silently to my direction. It was as if he
lived and moved in a dream. At last, when
we had driven some distance, he spoke:
“How is it that we are not yet at Gab
rielle’s. I thought you were to take me to
her at onceF 1
“Patience, patience, my dear Raoul,” I an
swered; “you forget you are not as yet look
ing like yourself. Your confinement, your
suffering, have altered you. We shall see
Mlle. Dumaine soon. But, fli-st, you must
be made once mere like the Raoul of former
days. At present you are unshaven, you are
not dressed uropcrly.’ The sight of you, so
changed, might alarm Gabrielle; who knows!”
“You are right, Paul," tie said; “you are
more con fute' ato than I. But eanwou
der at my impatience I’
First I todk Idm to a hairdresser’s on the
Boulevard St. Michel. Here his long black .
hair was trimmed and the last week’s growth
of beard removed. Then we flrove to the
Rue Dauphine and entered our old chamber,
where we had Ixyin so happy together, and
riwe I hail been so wretched alone. The
lonest servant and his wife Nannette poured
>ut their congratulations, but Raoul seemed
«arcely to hear them. When he crossed toe
.hreehold he shuddered and passed his hand
tefore his eyes, as if to tout out a sight of
lorror. I fancied that some shape-some
icene that he had beheld in that room in his
Ireams, had again arisen before him. Then
le once more relaysed into a kind of stupor.
I confers I began to feel alarmed about Raoul.
When the servant and his wife had left us,
( showed' Raoul a suit of evening dress, laid
mt on his bed.
“Now,” I said, “you will oblige me by put
;ing on these at once. There is not a moment
» spore unless you wish me to break an ap
pointment.
Raoul gave me a puswJixl look.
“What does this mean ?” he said; “I do .
lot nndeiKtnnd.”
“You will soon. Remember your promise
—you feere to oliey me in everything for this
>nenight. If you do not, I warn you, Raoul, I
i ihn.ll not I»e the only one whom you will dis
. appoint.”
! llaoul asked no further queetiom, but al
< lowed events to develop themselves as I
' iris bed.
I When be had dressed, we went downstairs.
Hie cab was still waiting, and we again en-
! tered it. In a few minutes it drew up before
a large buihling. the front at which was one
blare of light. There we dismissed the cab.
| “It is the (Xleon Theatre," said Raoul.
“Ah—l see—but Gabrielle F
1 I allowed him no time for reflectum. I ted
i him up tin? staircase and through ‘he cor
' ridor to the stage-boxes. 1 knoclteu at the
door of one of toewe, opened it, and half
pushed Raoul within. Then I dosed the door
and waited.
j After an interval of a few minutes toe door
was reojiencd, anti Raou! drew me into the
I box. I found mywif with my friend and '
Gabrielle Damaine. The light was dim, for
the curtains nf the box were drawn, but it
was not so dim t!mt I could not discern the
change that had come over toe faces of these
two since I had last looked upon either.
Gabrielle was radiant with tire
aereae. pare lutpplness which is bcm only of
sorrow, il bad seen her before in her mo
monta of gavety and in her time of anguish,
but I had never seen her forking 80 lovely a<
toe did then. It seemed as if her trial had
not only tested her h-art. bat bad in some
subt ile way heightened her beauty and given
it a new dignity and sweets®-* soft witrts
ery. a calm, spiritual rapture born of deep
«>3d thought and proved devotion.
I need not repeat here wbat Gabrielle and
Raoul said to me m ww three sat, holding
rack other by the hand, in toe darkened box
in the tkfeon. Suffice it to say that they so
exaggerated my share in nstonng Raoul to
liberty that, I protest, it was almost a relief '
to me when toe door opened, azal there ap
peared M. Sapinaui tetpUng in Mme. Du
maine. Thea there were fresh ocmgratula
tions, and we were still in toe midst of a con
vemateun. joyful, but on toe part of toe
ladies tearful also, when “a bell rang and a
Unto swereded to the bum that had filled the \
toratra.
Thau I drew hack toe curtain of o«r box, '
and looked, for the first tone, on the audimce !
that. ba:l assembled to wiwsa Raov”* play.
The home was crowded fro'.u ffor to ocliin
I ’coked from the eircte, from toe brenty an 1
rank toot filled it—from toe mi >wy. !w-trou<
dresses, toe tgrilliaut snifwius tjr-
jewels, toe flowera, the white-gloved Unger*
toying with fans or raising lorgnettes—l
looked from the circle to toe stalls, .to toe
black-coated gentlemen among whom, I knew,
were seated the keenest dramatic critics of
Paris. The thought that they were there
filled me with exultation. I had no fear for
toe success of Raoul’s comedy. I had no doubt
that before toe night was over several of the
brightest pens in the most qritical city of the
world would be running swiftly in his praise.
Many eyes were turned to our box that
night. The evening papers had already an
nounced toe fact of Raoul’s liberation, aud a
rumor that he was present in the theatre bad
circulated through toe house. But it was
not merely to the romantic experiences of its
author that toe comedy owed its success.
Its power, its pathos and its wit would of
have insured that. It was so
strong that it hold that brilliant, that fastidi
ous audience from the first scene to the last.
At the close of the second act M. Desnouettes
and a great critic—one of those who can
speak in golden pieces, if they will—came
round to our box to congratulate the
author. The color came back to Raoulf
cheek and his eye sparkled. From the
inmate of a prison-cell—from a man all
but condemned—to become the cy
nosure qf Paris! The men and
women who had but yesterday mentioned his
name with a cynical indifference or a flippant
affectation of horror, were now the willing
captives of his genius—the unconscious mir
rors of his inoods, as the dialogue shifted from
grave to gay. Raoul had drunk of the cup of
despair'; he was now to taste of toe sparkling
draught of fame. I feared the revulsion
might be too great. And so, indeed, it might,
had not Gabrielle been there. But the love
which had sustained Raoul iu his hour of agony
calmed and steadied him in his hour of tri
umph His eyes were turned less often to the
stage, where his ideas were finding body and
voice and clothing themselves in new power,
than to Gabrielle. As for G abrielle, she passed
the time in a charmed distraction between
her lover and toe creatures of his imagination.
For my own part, I am afraid I could not
that evening have given a very clear account
of all that passed on the stage of the Odeon.
Indeed? nowhere, perhaps, in all the theatre
was Raoul’s comedy followed with less intel
ligent attention than in the box occupied by
toe authqr and his friends. But it was the
happiest hour of my life, and the thought
which always came to me was—What a won
derful thing is this love! It has lifted Raoul
out of the shadow of aterror worse than death;
it has made him strong to receive with com
posure an ovat ion from toe elite of Paris.
For it was, in truth, an ovation. I need
scarcely remark that Parisian audiences are
not, as a rule, prone to enthusiasm. But,
when the curtain fell that evening on Raoul’s
comedy, toe house fairly rose at him. A great
shout of “Author 1 Author!” went up from all
jwrte ot the theatre. Then, for the first time,
R.iodi turned pale and ti embled slightly.
“It is t<*o much,” he said, “let us go."
Wyh •••'Tjgd the < loak : room, the roar of
the theahwresounding in our ears. M. Des
nouettes, as we learned afterward, < ame for
‘ ward and assured the audience that the author
was deeply grateful for the reception they had
given his piece, end that only too state of his
health prevented his appearing in answer to
their call.
When we came out of toe Odeon I said:
“You have borne yourself bravely, my
dear Raoul, but your trials are not yet ended.
Even a Moliere is not privileged to break iiis
promises. You have conquered Paris, but
you must obey me—you must still follow."
“Are we not to go back to the Rue de
IXIdeon?" said Gabrielle. “What do you
meanf’
“I mean that since Raoul has to-night pro
vided so well for the mind, it is for me to
provide for the body”—and I led the little
party to Bignon’s.
What a supper that was! We laughed—we
grew witty—at least some of us did—we con
gratulated one another, we basked in the
fame of our dramatist, we were eloquent,
childhh, whimsical, satirical, sentimental—
we uttered a thousand absurdities—and we
, were wildly, supremely happy. But if iait
talk was beaded with toe bubbles of frivolity,
its current flowed from the deep places of the
heart. Our light words were often only the
mask of onr u;>- welling emotion.
The honors of the evening were carried off
by Sapinaud, who relieved his feelings in a
speech of suniossing eloquence—indeed, it
v- as a© ingenious, so thrilling, so ornate, that
I had an idea it must have lx?eu intended for
delivery at toe trial —the trial that was never
to take place. Then I had to tell Raoul the
St< ry of his liberation. When I had ended
Gabrielle, who eras seated next me, seized
mj hand and kissed it liefore I could prevent
her. Need I say that I felt myself richly
rewarded?
“My dear Raoul,” I said, “I am charmed
to see how well you few yourself already.
Retirement for a little while in the society of
Gabrielle is all that is necessary to complete
the cure. Tlx* past will soou be lißgotten,
believe ma Mme. Dumaine and I have this
day seen a villa at Auteuil. which we think
-Jtiil suit you perfectly. It is handsomely
furnished, it has a pleasant garden sloping
down to the river—the very spot for a drama
tist to compose or rehearse love scenes. You
can become its tenant at once.”
AiO,. lAj u
•im®
■ ® WWn
I The supper at Mignon's
“My dear Paul, what do you man ? Y»n
forget I am not a itotoacbikl. but only a poor
stixfentof law.”
“My dear Raoul, let mo bar® tka felicity of
fefowming yon toa. you are an exceedingly
rich man.'* . . - ■.
Subscription * ei.o»ca«b Per
~ <
certainly,” said Sapinaud, answering
Raoul’s look of inci'edulity; “you arc too legal
heir of your uncle. He died in the possession
of great wealth; all that is yours.”
“Not to speak of the comedy,” I added,
“which will of itself bring you no trifle.”
It had never occurred to Raoul that his
I uncle’s riches would now be his. He seemed
■ at first overcome by the intelligence. Then
i he said:
“I will accept this wealth only on one con
j dition, Paul—we must share good fortune as
i well as bad; we must divide in the future as
; well as in the past.”
“I shall certainly,” I said, “go to toy mon
eyed friend rather than to that wolfish Israel
, ite, Levi Jacob.”
i “As for tliat,” put in Sapinaud, “our friend
Paul is jjcxfiiUikely tq w-wdjuuney,
means to live like a Lucullus. His reputatfou*
is made at the Prefecture. I see in him a
future judge of instruction—it makes me
giddy to look higher.”
“And the marriage?” I asked, “when is
that to taka place?”
“To-morrow,” answered Raoul, “if Mme.
Dumaine and Gabrielle do not object.”
Madame did not object, and Gabrielle as
sented with a blush. I became very envious
of my friend’s good fortune.
“We shall take the villa at Auteuil,” said
Raoul, “and before long these weeks will bo
to me like a bad dream, which one forgets in
the morning; only I shall always remember
the constancy and devotion of my friends.”
CHAPTER XIII.
CONCLUSION.
The following extract from The Figaro will
form the conclusion of my story:
I MYSTERY OF THE PASSAGE DE MAZARIN.
We have to record this morning the closing
scene in the extraordinary drama of revenge
and crime which takes its name from the Pas
sage do Mazarin. This scene equals in ro
mantic interest any that has gone before it.
Our readers have been already told how the
Japanese, Kiosaka, after the murder of Jo
seph Meissner, immediately left Paris. The
detective Blery, who has in this case dis
played such singular ability, at once
started in pursuit of the assassin. A
clew was found at Marseilles, through
a photograph of Kiosaka’s brother,
which had been sent to all the seaports, there
being a close family resemblance between the
brothers. M. Blery ascertained that Kiosaka
had certaiuly gone to Marseilles, probabty
meaning to ship from that port; but having
tn the meantime heard of toe arrest of M.
Girard, the author of “The Gold of Toulouse,”
he seems to have changed his intention and
returned to Paris, where he remained during
toe whole inquiry conducted by M. Roguet.
Kiosaka had artfully concealed his hiding
place in Paris, and it was uot until a few
days ago that M. Blery succeeded in tracing
him out. It was then found that the Japa
nese had left Paris precipitately, immediately
1 after the innocence of M. Girard had been
proved, and the hue and cry raised against
himsoif. lie adorned various disguises, but
in the end M. Blery succeeded in tracing him
to Nanfiak By this time his money appoaix
to have been nearly exhausted, as he could
not satisfy toe demands of toe captain of a
merchant vessel trading to England, where
| he intended to take refuge. After this the
: unfortunate man wandered aimlessly from
village to village, avoiding all towns and
buying just as much food as would keep him
to lifa The detective meantime followed
him closely, sometimes losing the trail,
but always recovering it by his in
genuity and indefatigable perseverance.
Three days ago toe Japanese was heard of
i at a small hamlet near Poictiers; but in none
of the ne.ghboring villages hail he been seen
I after that time. The frost had been exeeed
i ingly keen in the district, and from these facte
i M. Blery drew an inference which proved '
correct. Under his direction the country .
people made a careful search of the woods
lying round rhe village which too Japanese
had Last visited, and a party led by M. Biery
hims»-H <iis»-over<Hl the corpse of the ill
starred Kiosaka lying stark and stiff among
the biushwood. Ho luid succumbed to toe
severe cold, which his natural constitution
and the privations he had lardy undergone
rendered him unable to resist. On the person
of the Japanese, hung in a littlo bag round
his neck, mas found the pearl which the old
raoney-k iider had obtained from the Japanese
Sanguro, aud for the recovery of which lie
was murdered by Kiosaka. This pearl, which
is of great beauty ami very considerable
value, jatsses into toe possession of M. Girard,
as heir of Joseph Meissner. The reward of
five thousand francs offend by the anthori- :
ties for toe discovery of the assassin, together
with the twenty thousand lately* added to
that arnonnt by M. Girard, will be nuide over
so M. Blery, who cannot be too highly corfi
pi mentort <>n the skill and energy which he
has displayed in the affair of the Passage do
Mazarin. * .
THE END.
I
Cheap Fuel tor tlakotah
■ pTaketa F/HBer.] .
A correspoiifient »fter haring tried
“turf, rt coil, ‘wood,. and aunnowdrs,
has settled upon the last named as
the cheapest and best fuel for treeless
Dakota. He aay»: “I grow one are of
them every year, and bare plenty of
fuel for one stove the whole year round,
and nse some in another stove besides.
1 plant them in hills the same as corn
(only three seeds to the hill), and culti
vate the same aa corn. I cut them when
the leader or top flower is ripe, let the n
lay on the ground two or three days; in
that time I cut off all the seed heads,
which are put into an open shed with &
floor in it. the same as a corn crib; the
stalks are then hauled home and packed
iu a common shed with a good roof on.
“When cut in the right time, tha
stalks when dry are as hard as oak. and
make a good, hot fire, while the seed
heads with the seed in, make a better
fire than the best liard coal. The seed
be ng very rich in oil it will warm bet
ter and burn longer, bushel for bushel, !
than hard coni. The sunflower is very
bard on land, the piece of ground se
lected to plant on should be highly en
ri bed with manures. In the great
steppea (prairie) region in the interior of
Russia and in Tartary, where the
winters are more severe than hr*re in
Dakota, the sun lowers are. and have
been for eenturica past, the only kind of
fuel used. * '
!!«- ■■ i""" i« zihii .uw
ffiuts About gfflfofrrfr
The imported bSnnate are either very 1
simple and plain, and should therefore
be inexpensive, or else they are ex
tremely rich, being made of embroid
ered stuffs stiff with tbc threads of gold
and beads with which fßey are wrought.
For simple bonnets smooth with felt io
chosen top general use, aod plain velvet
for nicer wear. The new felt bemnete
have the erown cufc out in a curve or
point on the lower edge to make room
for high drbSred hair, or to form * pretty
finish above that, part of toe hair which
Is comfenl’upwni&fjrom tbe.pape of the
neck. It is a very, easy (paser to trim
such a bonnet k larg®
cJnster ofr stiff koops of velvet ribbon
near the.front, directly rm top, making
each loop stand out in wing shape, just •
as small wings are. now ananged. On
the edge of the brim a binding of gal
loon, or some velvet folds, or a puff, are
all that is needed. A bird’s head or
some straight feathers may be thrust in '
among the velvet loops, or the whole
cluster there may be of feathers grouped
by the more practiced milliners hand
before being sold. These montures
simplify the trimming, and only need a
little care in sowing them on, as they
have a good background for holding ti e 1
stitches. The strings may be the small
velvet bow now so popular, or else they
may be two yards of velvet ribbon from
two io three inches wide; this ribbon
crosses the lower edge of the crown, or
may be attached on each side by a fan
ciful pin.
The richest fabrics, some of which cost
one hundred an I forty dollars a yard
and are so narrow that a yard willonly
serve for two crowns, are the gold-cm--
broidered carael’s-bair made as stiff as
metal with threads of gold. Far simpler
than these are the efiibroidered velvets l
with small figures all over them, as for
instance, a lozenge sha;xj wrought in
self-colored silk with a zigzag outline of 1
silver or gilt threads. This design is
handsome in black and silver velvet
placed smoothly on the small crown.-
while the close capote brim is covore-f
with diagonal rows of silver bra'd
edged with a thick cord covered wita
black velvet. Ob top of the bonnet irf
a rosette cluster of black lace threaded
with silver and this holds some brill ; ai>k
feathers of the bird-of-paradise whicls
are cut only a few inches in length, and
are far more graceful tkan tha long
slender plumes of that bird when used
in their natural Length. The strings aro
of. striped velvet anil watered silk.
Green is the prevailing color In im
ported bo^nnote for the autumn and
winter, and is seen in the usual dark
myrtle and bottle greens, but is
most distinguishable in the new and
lighter oresson shades. There are band
some frise figured velvet without figure#
for the brim and the strings. Dark
brown with green tinges giving olive
hues combines handsomely with the
brighter greens, and is worn near tow
face when cresson is used for the expwa.
A dark myrtle velvet hat has its brina
arched, not sharply pointed, and partly
covered inside near the face with a
cluster of fine piping folds of brilliant
©oquelieot red velvet.
A novelty iu velvet round bats is Mr
bnve the top of the crown quite soft, as
if to indent ft tit pleasure, and to cover
the tides of the crown with gathered
velvet, forming two puffs all around it.
The brim is then covered plainly, and
edged with galloon that has gold thread#-
tn it, or else gold beads, but the prefer-*
ence is for wrought gold rather Umiv
for beads. Velvet ribbon loops aud a*
bunch of feathers directly in front are*
almost the only trimmings seen ott
round hats. The high square of slightly
tapering crowns are moat used, aud tluv
bnm is narrow and stiff being quite'
even all around, or else getting still
narrower in the biw k. The crown is*
high and large enough to take in the*
high coil of hair, if the hat is set slightly'
back on the head, and in this way the l
front hair fs also '' own.
Felt round bats to match woolen suito
have cording ail over t,.e civwn in ver
micelli patterns, or else they are slightly
embroidered in silks of the snrue »had<%
Galloon, velvet bands, and wings thrust,
in velvet loops are the trimmings sots
felt hate.— Harper's Lazar.
Curtr.'r.ei MrntfiL
I Now that the plain white mantel to
out of fashion, a device for covering it,
which will produce the popular effect,
may be acceptable to many. The sup
position is that tt e m.sntel shelf is su;»—
plied with a lambrequin, aud we desire
to cover the bare whitcnesß of the man
tel front. Os the lambrequin material
make two curtains just reaching to th»
floor aud meeting in the center directly
over tlte fire front. The cunaius are-
Btispended by small rings on a slender
brass rod placed under ti:e mantel
shelf. They should fe sparingly deco
rated with embroidery or whatever eiase
of ornementalioa is put upon the lam
brequin. #
Anothe** moans of transforming ft.
white mantel is by the use of paint.
Where it is found ncc •.‘•*ary to do over
the woodwork of a room, have it don»
in the fashionable cherry or mahogany
color, painting the mantel in the same.
Have the usual black fire front done to
imitate copper and gold, and the rf
fevt is new. novel and pleasing.—Cwv
etonafi Times.
a.... ■ i *■ ■OO • <to 1 ft
1 If iheie j.< any man cho, more
Ih in another,uld make ir a poinG
to Inve the beat jMwible st< ck, it i*
the fm til farmer; and yet m uiy men
argue that liecauMe they hwe am ill
tarni® it is irnmateritl what
sl ’ek th«y keep. ♦ -