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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. ♦ -