VOL. LY. HARTER, AUCTIONEER, REBERSBURG. PA. J C. SPRINGER. Fashionable Barber, Next Door to JOURNAL Store, MILLHKIH, PA. JJROCKERHOFF HOUSE, (Opposite Court House.) H. BROCKERHOFF, Proprietor. WM. MCKEKVBR, Manager. Good sample rooms ou first floor. Free bus to and from all tralua. Special rates to jurors and witnesses. Strictly First Class. IRVIN HOUSE. (Most Central Hotel in the City,) Corner MAIN and JAY" Streets, Lock Haven, Pa. S. WOODS CALWKLL, Proprietor. Good Sample Rooms for Commercial Travelers on first floor. D. H. MINGLE, Physician and Surgeon, MAIN Street, MILLHKIM, Pa. JOHN F. BARTER, PRACTICAL DENTIST, Office In 2*l story of Tomlinson's Gro cery Store, On MAIN Street, MILIHEIM, Pa. C. T. Alexander. C. M. Bower. £ BOWER, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BBLLXFONTK, PA. Office la Q&rm&n's new building. JOHN B. LINN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLERONTX, PA. Office on Allegheny Street. OLEMENT DALE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTK, PA. Northwest corner of Diamond. Y<> cum 4 HASTINGS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. BELLKTONTX, PA. High street, opposite First National Bank. C. HEINLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTK, PA. Practices in all the oonrta of Centre County. Spec al attention to Collections. Consultation! In German or English* F. REEDER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTK PA. All PUB' uess promptly attended to. Collection of claims a speciality. J. A. Beaver. J W. Gephart. JgEAVER <fc GEPHART. ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BELLEFONTK, PA. Offloe on Alleghany Street, North of High. A. MORRISON, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTK, PA. Office on Woodrlngi Block, Opposite Court House. S. KELLER, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BELLEFONTK, PA. Consultations In English or German. QOlpe In Lyon'o Bi+lidlng, Allegheny Street. JOHN G. LOYE, ATTORNEY AT LAW BKLLEFONTB, PA, Office in the rooms formerly occupied by the ADVERTISE IN THE Miliheim Journal. RATES ON APPLICATION. ®ie Pillbeim §®ial PARTING. The suu Is lying In lis western chamber. The stately ships are sailing on the bay, Au*l cloud-hands spread a coverlet of amtxr, Border'd with brown, above the drowsy day; The opaline skies will shine the same to-morrow, And white sails pass gilded with amber light; But the coining shadow of a parting sorrow Shall dim the glory of to-uiorrow night. Now, In the West, the radiance grows dimmer, The tlrst faint star comes, shining tremulously. And red rays from the distaut lighthouse glimmer Across the fo&m-capp'd waters of the sea ; To-morrow's dusk will bring the trembling starlight And wind will chase the white waves to the shore. And fitfully again will come the far light Of warning lamp; Out thou wilt come no more. Ever and everywhere spectres of parting stretch forth their weird hands, saddening our mirth; Kver and everywhere hot tears arc starting. Where stands the empty chair upon the hearth; But Nature brightly smiles, though hearts are bro ken ; Taking at last her children to her breast. And kindly hides lit her mute mounds all token Of the great heart-throbs of a life's unrest. HKSIKGING HIS UK ART. "A clergyman hasn't any business to be a single man," said Mrs. Brushby. "Certainly not," acquiesced Miss Foxe. "But I dare say he's engaged," slyly remarked the plump widow, with a sidelong glance of her green eyes, which seemed to dilate and contract, like those of a middle-aged cat. "No, he's not," said Miss Foxe. "At least I heard him tell Colonel Copley that he was entirely fancy free." "Humph.'"said Mi's. Brushby. "Then there's no reason why he shouldn't marry and settle here at Exmar." "Exmar, indeed!" said Miss Foxe, who had accepted her own old maiden hood as a foregone conclusion. "There's nobody here for him to marry—only fac tory girls, and Colonel Copley's six daughters, the youngest of whom is three ami twenty, to select from." The green eyes scintillated sharply. "Why shouldn't he marry either you or me, Felicia Foxe ?" asked Mrs Brusli by. Miss Foxe gave a sort of gasp, as if she had attempted to swallow some mor sel too large for her. "Why, lie ain't 30 !" said she. "Neither am I," said Mrs. Brushby. "No, Cornelia Brushby, there ain't no sort of use coming that sort of game over me," said Miss Foxe, fairly aroused at last into antagonism. "You were eight and twenty when you married Brushby, aud he's been dead and buried these ten good years." Mrs. Brusnby laughed. "Felicia," said she, "you're worse than au old family record. Don't you see, there's people older than their years, and people younger ! I'm one of the latter; and I don't see why I can't many- Mr. Selwyn, if I once make up my mind to do so." So Mrs. Brushby took up the brown yarn that she had l>een buying at Felicia Foxe's thread and needle store, and went home. Her niece, a tall, pale girl, with yellow hair like braids of dead gold, a transpa rent pale skin and sad, hazel eyes, was setting the table. "How slow you are, Clara !" said Mrs. Brushby, snappishly. "I supposed, of course, tea would be all ready by the time I came back." "I'm sorry for the delay, aunt," said Clara, timidly, "but I was detained at the factory." "There, that w ill do. I don't see why you neecTbe flinging the factory in my face all the time. Oh, it's bad enough to have a niece obliged to drudge for her living without hearing of it forty times a day." The deepest scarlet glow mounted in to Clara Cone's cheeks. "I could not pay my board, aunt," said she, "if I did not earn the money in the factory. But if the subject is disagreeable to you I will endeavor to avoid it." It was now six months since Clara Cone had arrived, a homeless orphan, with all her worldly belongings packed in a shabby little traveling bag, at Mrs. Brushby's door. "Aunt," she said, trying to repress the rising sob in her throat, ' 'will you give me a home? I am your sister's orphan daughter." Mrs. Brushby had received her as cordially as a fish might have done. "I suppose you'll have to stay," said Mrs. Brushby. But I didn't die and leave a swarm of oqihans for my sister to take care of. Oh, yes, you can stay, and perhaps I can find you a situation as dressmaker's apprentice or in a shop. Because, of course, one cannot expect me to keep a great girl like you for no thing. " k Upon which Clara bestirred herself actively and had been thankful to obtain . a place in the pin factory, in the glen below the village, where half a hundred other pale-faced operatives worked for a scanty livelihood, and Mrs. Brushby charged her a high price for board, and got a servant-maid's work out of her before and after hours into the bargain. "I should like to go church, aunt," Clara had ventured to say one Sunday morning when the maples in the glen were all blazing in their autumn colors. "That's just like you selfishness Clara Cone!" said Mrs. Brushby, acidly. "And let me stay at home, for, of course, one of us must stay at home, to see that we are not robbed by tramps, and cook the dinner." "But couldn't I go in the evening, aunt ?" I ".Certainly not!" said Mi's, Brushby. MILLHKIM. PA., THURSDAY, AUGUST 11. JSBI. "I belong to the 'Rebecca band,' which always meets in the chapel on Sunday evenings, and Deacon Halstead calls for me in his box wagon. If you feel so piously inclined, you can read your pray er IHK)k at home." And so Clara found herself gradually degenerating into the merest household drudge. She went nowhere and saw nobody. "Pretty !" Mrs. Brushby would scorn fully remark when a neighbor chanced to hazard an opinion concerning her niece. "Nonsense ! .Tust exactly like a color less celery sprout, and never a word to say for herself !" And if by chance Clara was invited to join in any of the neighborhood festivi ties, Mrs. Brushby made liaste to de cline for her. "Clara never goes out," she said. "She has 110 taste for such things, poor dear." Until people began to believe that Clara Cone was either a recluse or an idiot. The pale factory girl had just taken the teapot off the stove, uion this espe cial evening, when Mrs. Brushby uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Whisk the things into the closet, quick, Clara," said she. "Put the bread behind the family Bible. Don't leave that bottle of pickles on the mantle. Mr. Sehvyn is coming." A minute and a half later Mrs. Brush by, in her liest black silk apron, greeted the clergyman with her sweetest siuile. "My visit is intended to your niece, Miss Cone, as well as to yourself," said Mr. Selwyn, after the topic of the wea ther had been duly discussed. "0, Clara," said Mrs. Brushby, sim jjering—"Clara wishes to l>e excused. Clara sees no company. I really regret the dear girl's eccentricity, but—" And she rolled her green eyes heaven ward, with a deprecating motion of the hands. "She never comes to church," said Mr. Selwyn, gravely. "Ah-li-h!" groaned Mrs. Brushby, "her heart is like the nether millstone. If you knew, dear Mr. Selwyn, how I have striven with her!" Mr. Selwyn looked cornered. "I am beginning a series of sermons to young people next Sunday evening. Pray use your endeavors to induce this young girl to attend." And Mrs. Brushby promised that she would, and the young clergyman took his leave. "You must!" said Mrs. Brushby. "Please, aunt, don't ask me !" said Clara, with tears in the limpid eyes. "What a goose you are !" said Mrs. Brushby. "As if it made any earthly difference ! And I must have the dress to wear to church to-morrow evening. Mr. Selwyn is to preach the first of a series of sermons to young people, and I'm specially interested in 'em." "But I never sewed 011 Sunday in my life." "The dressmaker has disappointed me, and I must have the dress. A few seams more or less, what do they matter? I'll risk your soul! And nobody need ever know. Only think, Clara Cone, what I have done for you." "On, aunt, I can't!" cried Clara, in a choked voice. It wouldn't be right." ".And who sat you up as a judge of right and wrong, I'd like to know?" almost screamed Mrs. Brushby. "Now take your ciioiee ; either finish up this dress for me, or leave the house," Clara was silent for a moment. Then she spoke. "I will leave the house," she said. "And I fully approve of your decision," said Mr. Selwyn's voice, as he stepped in from the open-doored portico, where his knock had been drowned by the high accents of Mrs. Brushby. "Leave the house, Miss Cone, and I will see that a refuge is provided for you at the home of Miss.Foxe." Mrs. Brushby stood startled and dis mayed. Clara Cone, pale and silent, laid her hand on the minister's arm and left the room and the house. • Honest Miss Foxe was amazed when Clara Cone took refuge with her. "Well," she declared. "I always knew that Cornelia Brushby was a regular grinder, but I did suppose sin had some Cliristain decency about her. Yes, child, you are welcome to my spar* room, and I sha'n't charge you am board. I dare say you will lend a hand now and then, when I'm busy; and youi company will be a deal of comfort t* me." But Miss Foxe didn't have that "com fort" long, Mr. Selwyn had become interested in the pale, clear-eyed factory girl, and, before the wild roses blos somed along the verge of the woods, tin parsonage had a mistress, and Mr. Sel wyn no longer came under the head ol '' unmarried clergymen." Mrs. Brusliby's tender aspirations were blighted in the bud ; but a bald headed old bachelor bought the factory just about that time, and Mrs. Brushby transferred her attentions to the new comer—and, with many nods and winks, she gives the general public to under stand that Mr. Selwyn is her rejected lover. "You see," said Mrs. Brushby, with her green eyes of oonfiding artlessness uplifted, "I never could reconcile mysell tp the trials of a minister's wife." A mask of gold hides all deformities. A Highland Tubli* l>'lf*te. I had been improving uiy raind lately, reading Itooks of travel—"A ride in Petti coat and Slippers," "A Trip tManitoba," "A Daring Voyage Across the Atlantic," "Journeys in Canoes Down Foreign Ri vers"-- -every description of adventure, toil and travel. Fired with ambition, I longed to travel. However, lam only a little widow, fragile in appearance, and not too courageous in reality (in fact, jny sisters laughed excessively at the mere idea of my traveling); so 1 thought petticoats and slippers must be an uncomfortable way of seeing savage countries, and to which I really did not feel quite equal, and I preferred a trip to Scotland. It sounds easy, but then it is very romantic ; and there is always the chance of the coach upsetting (which, by-the-by, one did the other day, and several people were hurt), or the steamer blowing up, or oneself being blown off a precipice, to add zest and danger to the undertaking. I traveled alone with a maid —maids arc trouble some creatures, still it is a great thing when one is tired to have one's dressing gown laid out, and one's muddy boots pulled off; so I had to endure her. Of course she had uo soul; she never ad mired the sunsets, but leant buck munching apples ; she could not descry a charm in hunting up butterflies and killing them with chloroform—it cer tainly always gave me a shudder to per form this office; it was so terribly like vivisection ; nor did she core a bit for all the sweet little wild flowers I picked us we went along, and which, indeed, did fade dreadfully Ixfore we reached our destination. I even caught her throwing some exceptionally decayed 011**8 out of the railway carriage window, with the exclamation, "My gtxxluess, what a lot of muck!" The railway traveling 'was dull enough, I allow : tribes of tourists getting in and out at every station, and looking hot, angry or discontented; slamming down their bas kets and bundles of weeds and damp ferns tied up in handkerchiefs upon our wincing feet, or grumbling because we did not immediately make room for a fat papa, mamma, and daughters beside 11s —why should we ? they were no ac quaintances of ours—dr very tall, very sunburnt, very ruddy young men with alpen-stocks, which tlioy planted firmly in front of them at the imminent risk of putting out our eyes. these little events were very ordinary and, I must say, disagreeable. Brushfcr, my maid, thought so t* HI, I could see. But, then, when we fairly reached the Highland scenery, where fairy-like silver streams tumbled down the sides of steep rocks that looked as if made for the purpose; where birch firs and mountain ashes clung lovingly to crested hills, and deep purple tips reached away up through a dim curling mist into the clear blue sky, while real burns or torrents or whatever else is the proper name for them rum bled and dashed along in happy showers of milk-white spray far below us—l did feel that traveling was very nice. Then, too, I began my first experience on a tattle dhote. When we reached the little country inn, half smothered in larch and ash trees, staring right up a beautiful valley that seemed to fade away into a kind of regiment of dark blue hills, each popping up to look over the other's head; of course, I asked for a sitting room. "Ye can have one, mem; but there's just the common room and the coffee room, where yell tak' yer meals." I had never taken meals before, like the servants; I had always dined; however, there was no help for it; and now at last 1 felt 1 was really exploring, really roughing it. Mine was a stuffy little bedroom,with red moreen curtains and the chambermaid and waiter wash ing the tea things and quarreling and making it up just outside my door; so I was not sorry when the bell rang, or ra ther tolled (for it sounded just like a church bell) for dinner. I walked down the stairs with my usual dignity—no thing gives so much effect to a small woman as dignity—and perceived a good-looking young lady, with clouds of fuzzy hair and a jersey-body, just in front of me. "I'll follow her," I thought; and so I did—into the. servant's dining room, where a waiter, running after me, explained that I was wrong and brought me triumphantly into the dining hall. The latter had an imposing effect, pan eled ceiling, sides and dtxirs of polished pine, a quantity of flaring mineral oil lamps 011 the table, a few artificial flow ers, and round about fifty people all eating soup. I took my place, while my heart sank and my appetite faded away. This was indeed "taking" meals, not dining. "Oxtail on giblet?" a hoarse voice murmured at my elbow; and be fore I even knew that I had answered, a smoking bowl of soup stood in front of me, into which I absently plunged my electro-plated spoon. How I wished now I had brought Brasher ! But then I reflected maids must never l>e taken out of their proper sphere; and if she had dined with me then, she might ex pect to do so in the future at home, ludeed, a widow is so lonely she would gladly even dine with her maid. Presently, as nobody Heeded to pay any attention to me, I ventured to look around; and I was struck by one fact— almost all the women were in mourning. Not in complimentary or fancy black, such as it is very chic now to wear, but in real uncompromising mourning, jet brooches, and all (flat sort of tiling. I thought with dismay of my own dark blue gown and amber tie; for my poriod of weeds was over. What did it mean ? Was it the livery of the table d'hote V Was it considered good taste ? Or were they really in such grief that they had elected to travel in order to disperse Home f their sorrow? I could not de cide, so I looked again. Then I saw that almost all the men were clergymen, and the rest rough-looking people in shooting-eoats, with tanned faces. Be side me, 011 one side, an elderly gentle man of amiable appearance, trade un mistakably marked iqxm him ; 011 the other, u lad with aquiline nose and retreating chili. 1 could not tackle him, for I always detest boys or any 111**11 under thirty. 1 turned to my other neighlHir, rather uncertain, if it was the thing to speak to one's neighbor, and said: "Do you think it will rain?"—l noticed afterwards that it was raining ; but then one cannot be expected to think of everything—and the old gentle man answered pleasantly that In* thought it would. After that we got ou capitally. We began talking 011 all sorts of subjects, even the Academy; he hud seen a great many pictures that I hud somehow over looked, and 1 felt quite at my ease and at home, and laughed just as I do when lam happy, when a sharp " Luke, my dear, don't you see I want the salt ?" from the wife on the other side brought us up short, and I had to hold my tongue while my neighltor soothed his letter half's irritated feelings. At the head of the table was a parson, evidently looked upon as a person of importance, for reference was made to his opinion on all subjects, from Church questions to trout-fishing. The man next him was stout ami jocular, and car ried on a running conversation with the waiter, in this wise—"Yes I'll take some more beef and some of the greens—at least;" ou being corrected and informed that they were not greens, but French beans, "at least they're green, which the greens never are. Now, then, give me some strawberry jam ! Who ever heard of a Scotch meal without strawberry jam ?" Opposite were a spruce little couple—she with polished hair braids and best silk neckerchief and brooch ; he in spotless black, like an undertaker out of place, even the sparse hairs on his head black and shiny and funereal. They conversed much together amiably, and hi* remarked that 7 o'clock was quite a heathenish hour to dine at; 6 o'clock w-as late enough in all conscience. The meal was very plentiful and very good, and every one did justice to it except myself, who, after the remark about the salt, felt distinctly snublied. The next morning, after I descended to breakfast, I again sat next the same family, but this time it was next the lady. I attempted, in the intervals of scones and buttered toast and newly gathered honey, quite delicious to au English gourmet, to hazard a slight re mark. The lady tossed her head, and said, "Indeed !" I felt further efforts were hopeless ; and there was my friend of last night at the head of the table, not even daring to throw me a glance of approval. I drew myself up and looked haughtily, as I can do when I like. But the mother could smile well enough when she chose, as she proved presently when her good-looking daughter asked for jam. I wondered what would have been the result had I asked for jam. To my surprise, later in the day, when I had finished my tramp among the hills with Brusher—the views were lovely, but Bruslier's petticoats got wet, aud she did not care for the walk—the same elderly lady came up to me at the sta tion, w here I was sitting partly on a coop of chickens, partly 011 mv own portman teau, very damp and sticky with ladies ; and said in an unctions voice, "I think you said you were going to Inverness, would you mind taking charge of inv daughter?" I felt flattered, pleased, flabbergasted, all in one moment "What had happened ? Had the husband apologized or the wife forgiven? Or ulid she think, after all, a little widow at a tabe d'hote was entitled to some indul gence, or i>erhaps she imagined I was a duchess in disguise ? I never knew. But the girl was very nice, and I took care of her as far as Inverness, much to Bruslier's disgust. A Telescope Story. The San Francisco ( 'all tells an extraor dinary story respecting a monster telescope made by Pro lessors Lefevre and Lougtour, French scientists, anil erected at Sun Fran cisco. The lenses are twenty feet in di imetor, and this is what happened when the astronomers and their frinds turned ih<* instrument to the heavens : M. Dufrere was the first to apply his eye to the eye piece of the telescope. For fully five min utes he looked 011 in speechless amazement, l hen, without a word, turned away to hide his emotion. One by one the gentlemen present tested Vhe telescope, exhibiting their astonishment in various ways. The planet which happened to cast its beams ipon the great speculum was Mar*, and the revelation is too wonderful tor credit The eyepiece of the lowest magnifying power was first placed on, wl\en the planet pre sented a most astonishing sight. The power ful lens brought the planet nearer than that of the moon lias ever been brought by the I most powerful telescope. The green of the sea was brought out in unmistakable color, and one could almost imagine that he could see the waves upon the surface. There be fore the eye was spread out a splendid pano rama of bill aud dale,dark patches that must be covered by forests, great y olio wish patch es that looked like autumn fields, silvery threads that must be rivers, and several unmistakable volcanoes in action. Tricks of Auctioneers. A young couple who came from the country, having a little ready money, determined to try the experiment of letting furnished rooms in New York. They hired a house within four blocks of Madison Square, in a residence neigh borhood, at a moderate rent, and stocked it with furniture which, although not new, was in a fair condition. They paid sl,2<M) for their furniture. After a few weeks they c*included that the experiment would not be profitable, as both were in ill health, and they decided to sell their furniture. Advertisements for purchas ers at private sale brought none w illing to give more than SI,OOO for the furni ture, and the owners made up their minds to sell it by auction. An auctioneer was recommended to them, and he went to look at the goods. He told theni that the furniture would bring more than SI,(MH) at auction. He was so jsisitive that he offered to take the goods and pay S9OO cash for them. When the day of sale came the auction eer took charge of the house, with his clerks and helpers, The owners were lwith sick and unable to give their jer sonal attention. Meanwhile the auction went on. Pretty soon friends who hail come to bi*l on several articles of value found that they couln not catch the eye of the auctioneer. The house was filled with second-hand dealers who were on familiar terms with the "going—going —gone " man, and they alone could get their bids recognized. The result was that things went for nominal prices. It was in vain that the honest bidders pro tested that their bids had not been recognized. "Can't help it; I didn't hear you;" or, "You must speak louder;" or, "I did not see you," were the replies that the auctioneer made in an off-hand way as lie hurried from one article to another. It was iu vain that messengers went to the owners and told them that their pro perty was being given away. The sale was rushed through, and a thing would hardly lie put up before it was knocked down to some of the dealers who crowded around the auctioneer, and with know ing mxls and winks showed how they enjoyed the legalized robbery that was going on. A parlor set worth $l5O was sold for $lO. An easy chair worth S4O went for $5. Hair mattresses worth $lB sold for $4. Kitchen utensils were knocked down hurriedly for a few cents lief ore anxious bidders in the room could get a chance to bid. When the auctioneer settled with the owners he had a long list of charges and commissions, bills for advertising, print ing catalogues, help, stationary, per centage, auctioneers' fees, etc., which tix>k off a large slice of even the small percentage of value obtained. The result was that the owners got about S2OO for $1,200 worth of furniture, and hail the satisfaction of seeing a large part of it for sale in a neighboring auction store the next day. Ice Cream and Glue. "Is there any pure ice-cream? Well," a New York confectioner said, " I elaim to make ice-cream of pure ma terials, but I cannot afford to sell it at the price laid down by manufacturers, They charge $1 a gallon, I charge $1.50. and, although I give my customers a pure article for their mouev, I don't sup pose tjiat I make nearly as much profit out of a gallon as the large firms make who sell it 50 cents cheaper." "Why?" "The reason is plain enough. If you read this jxistal card it will give you the key to the whole mystery:— "Dear Sir:—We herewith sendsam ple; please give it a fair trial. Price 50 cents per pound. " Respectfully yours, . "This sample packet contained two ounces of what was called gelatine, and is said to make one tuid a-half quarts of crystalline jelly. In reality," the con fectioner continued, "it is nothing more nor less than a fair quality of glue, wliich can le bought at any drug store. The cost is estimated at from 35 cents to 30 cents a pound. It is not even gelatine, for gelatine is usually sold in sheets. These two ounces are sufficient to make two gallons of ice-cream. It is first melted in luke-warm milk and then poured iuto the freezer to give the cream a lxxlv. Nearly all the large manufactu rers use it, aud in proportion to the amount of glue they put in, the less cream they require. It is quite easy to tell when ice-cream is adulterated. It has a puffy appearance, somewhat like Charlotte Kusse, and if you plunge a sp*x>n iuto it you w ill almost feel the air rushing out. After eating it a peculiar sensation is felt in the throat. This arises from two causes: First, from the gelatine, so-called; and secondly, from the adulterated flavoring that is used. For instance, the lemon flavor is obtain ed from oil of lemons; the strawberry ; flavor from concentrated strawberry, ; which, in turn, is made from ether; the ■ vanilla extract from alcohol, as it does j not pay to make it from the beans, which cost sl*o per pound. That is how some manufacturers get their flavoring. Since this refined glue has been introduced, corn-starch is used leas extensively. It is not uncommon for big dealer's to put bone-dust in their white sugar, so that you see there is another item of adulter ation. " "What does a quart of pure ice-cream cost you?" "A quart of pure cream costs 20 cents. I can buy cream for 15 cents, but it isn't pure. Four fresh eggs coat 8 cents, a half-pound white standard sugar 5 cents, flavoring 3 cents, ice and salt 3 cents. Total, 39 cents. This will give a little over a quart, and I generally put the actrral cost of a quart at about 30 ; cents, or $1.20 per gallon, leaving a mar gin of 30 cents profit. The fact is, no wholesale manufacturer can produce pure ice-cream at $1 a gallon, and there fore they have to put glue into it in order to make a big profit on their sales. A Fearful Half-Hour. In the early days of the Cincinnati Southern,before it had attained its pres ent system, and immediately after ilie road had been opened for traffic to Som erset, occurred an event the recollection of which even to this day serves to bring out goose flesh on those who at the time were cognizant of the impending disas ter. Within a few days after passenger travel began the officers of the Southern sent invitations for a trip over the road to all of Cincinnati's wealthiest men and heaviest tax-payers, and on the morning of the excursion dozens of carriages left the Burnet house, the place of meeting and conveyed them across the river to Ludlow, where the "special," headed by No. 1, the crack engine, with Mat. Coombs at the lever, was in waiting. Miles N. Beatty, now superintendent of the southern division, was conductor. When all the excursionists were 011 lxiard the engineer and conductor went into Train Dispatcher Cooledge's office, where they read and signed the follow ing order, and placed copies in their jiockets : "Meet and pass No. 2, nortli-1 K>UIUI passenger train, at Willianistown." To Willianistown for delivery to the north-liound passenger train on arrival, was sent the following order : " —Conductor : "Meet, and pass south-bound special at Willianistown." So that the situation stood thus—either train reaching the place indicated first was to go on the siding and wait there until the one coming from the opposite direction had arrived and gone ahead on the cleared track. Of the wealthy passen ger load some were seated chatting, others were standing on the platforms, and still others on the summer car, when, glancing up and down his train, the con ductor, finding everything in good order and readinea, waved his hand to the watching engineer, and the special pulled out, slowly at first, but as it moved on the speed increased until it went out of sight around the curve a-flving, and a little later a rumbling sound told of its crossing the trestle, and that it was well and fairly started on the way south. It was understood that extra fast time was to be made, and to offer no obstacle the track had been cleared of eveything save the passenger train referred to. One half hour after the start from Ludlow, No. 2. fifteen minutes behind time, reached Willianistown, at which place the standing rule was imperative that conductors should at all times stop and inquire for orders. Shipping oily long enough to unload a passenger in the mud, the conductor, thinking only of making up lost time, signaled the engi neer, and the triun went on. The horrified operator from his window saw No, 2 flashing northward to what seemed inevitable destruction, as the tel egraph line between his room and Lud low was unbroken by a single instrument, and at that moment two trains at high rates of speed were rapidly lessening the distance l>etween each other on the sin gle track. He telegraphed at once to Ludlow that "No, 2 had passed without stopping for orders." All color left the face of train dispatch er Ckxiledge as he received the message and as he communicated the dire in telligence to Jack Redmond, master OL transportatisn, that individual's counte nance assumed a similar hue. With him to think was to act. Stepping to the station door he quietly lieckoned several men to him and composedly gave in structions to each. One-half dozen of them went on the double-quick in diff erent directions for physicians. The store keepers went into the warehouse and gathered together sponges, baskets, ma terials for splints and soft muslin for bandages. Meanwhile other employees had run up to the engine-house, and starting a fire under an idle locomotive had hitched oh to a cal>oose and backed down in front of the station where the car was transformed at once into a hos pital coach. To all save Redmond and Cooledge these preparations were mys terious. The relief train was soon in readiness, but did not start. Redmond, seated at the desk and estimating the rate of speed at which the trains were moving, calculated about where the col lision would take place. Some of the passengers would escape unhurt, and one of them would hasten at once on horseback to Willianistown, the nearest point for medical aid. Here the operator would learn the exact locality of the ac cident and send a dispatch to Ludlow. Possessed of this information Redmond could send his waiting engine and car, with its corps of physicians and nurses, to the spot at the rate of nearly a mile a minute. The other and slower plan would be to let the "relief'-' start out and cautiously find its way around the many curves. He chose the wiser course. The scene in the train dispatcher's office was painful. Cooledge, leaning over the silent instrument, watched it with fever ish eyes as if to read its secret before transmission. On another chair was Redmond, with big globes of perspiration coming from the pores of his face and rolling down unheeded. Neither man spoke. Five, ten, twenty, thirty minutes that seemed like ages passed, when came a sharp click. It was Willianistown call ing Ludlow. Cooledge's hair rose up on end as he gave the response. Redmond stood up and placed a hand on the door knob. The next moment Cooledge fair ly yelled, "No collision. No. 2, has just backed into Willianistown." The two men shook hands with the same vigor as if they were twin brothers and hadn't met for a thousand years. It was then ascertained that, by the mo4t fortunate circumstances, the trains liatl simultaneously entered from oppo site ends upon the longest piece of straight track between the two telegraph 1 stations, and an instantaneous application of brakes had brought them to a stop with in twenty feet of each other. No. 2, re eegnizing the "special's" right of way, i backed to Williamstown, where it went ' in on the siding,and Cincinnati's million aires and capitalists proceeded unhurt on their journey. We love the evil we do until we suffer for it. ! Envy shooteth at others and woundeth himself, NO. 32.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers