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

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