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.