Evening Star Newspaper, February 8, 1896, Page 20

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8, '1896-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. (Copyright, 1896, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.) Two crimson spots appeared upon Miss Jemima’s pale face when she heard the gate latch click. She knew that her brother was bringing ia the mail, and as he entered the room she bent lower over her work, her crochet needle flew faster and she coughed a@ slight, nervous cough. But she did not look up. She knew, without looking, that her brother brought in a pile of valentines in his hand, and that when presently he should have finished distributing them to his eager sons and daughters, her nephews and nieces, he would come and bring one to her—or else? he would not do this last. It was this dread that brought the crimson spots to her cheeks. If there was one for her he would present- ly come, and, leaning over her shoulder, he would say, as he dropped upon her lap the larger, handsomer one than all the others “This looks mighty suspicious, Sis’ "Mimi or “We'll have to find out about this,” or, maybe, as he presented it, he would covertly shield her by addressing himself to the younger crowd after this fashion: Ef I was a lot o’ boys an’ girls, an’ could rot git a bigger valentine from all my sweet- hearts an’ beaux than my ol’ auntie can set still at home an’ git, why, I'd quit tryin’— that’s what I would. There was always a_ tenderness in the brother’s manner when he handed his sister her valentine. He had brought her one each year for seven years, now, and after the first time, when he had seen the look of pain and confusion that had followed his playful teasing as he had presented it, he had never more than relicved the moment by a passing st. othe regular coming of “Aunt Jemima’s valentine” was a mystery in the household. It had been thirteen years since she had quarreled with Eli Taylor, her lover, and they had parted in anger, never to meet again. Since then she had stayed at home and quistly grown old. Fourteen years ago she had been in the ficsh of this, her only romance, and St. Valentine's day had brought a great, thick envelope, in which lay, fragrant with per- fume, a gorgeous valentine. Upon this was painted, after the old Dresden china pat- tern, a beautiful lady with slender waist and corkscrew curls, standing beside a tall “This looks mighty suspicicus, Sis’ *Mimie.” cavalier, who doffed his hat to her as he presented the card that bore her name, so finely and beautifully written that only very young eyes could read it unaided. By lifting this card one might read the printed rhyme beneath—the rhyme so ten- der and loving that it needed only the in- scription of a name on the flap above it to make it all-sufficient in personal appli- eation to even the most fastidious. This gorgeous affair was so artfully con- structed that by drawing {ts pictured front forward it could be made to stand alone, when there appeared a fountain in the background and a brilliant peacock with argus-eyed tail, a great rose on a tiny bush and a crescent moon. The oldest children had been very small when this resplendent confection had come into their home. Some of them had not been born, but they had all grown up in the knowledge of it ‘There had been times in the tender mem- ories of all of them when “Aunt "Mimie” had locked her door, and because they had been very good let them tzke a little peep at her beautiful valentine, which she kept | carefully locked away in her bureau drawer. hey had on occasions been allowed to ash their hands and hold it—just a min- ute. It had always been a thing to wonder over, and once—but this was the year it came—when her sky seemed as rosy as the ribbon about her waist—Miss Jemima | had stood it up on the whatnot in the par- Jor when the church sociable met at her brother's house. and everybody in town had seen it, while for her it made the whole corner of the room beautiful. But the quarrel had soon followed—a foolish lovers’ quarrel—Eli had gone away im _anger—and that had been the end. Disputes cver trifles are the hardest to mend, each party finding it so difficult to forzive the other for being angry for so slight a cause. Ard so the years had passed. For ten long years the beautiful valen- tine had lain carefully put away. For five years Jemima had looked at it with tecrless eyes and a hardened heart. And then came the memorable first. anniver- sary when the children of the household began to celebrate the day, and tiny comic pictured pages began flitting in from their School sweethearts. The realization of the new era was a shock to Miss Jemima. In the youthful merriment of those bud- ding romances she seemed to see a sort of reflection of her own long-ago joy, and in the faint glow of it she felt impelled to go to her own room and to lock the door and look at the old valentine. With a new strange tremor about her heart and an unsteady hand she took it out, and when in the light of awakened Whe Fountains of Her Sorrow Were Broken. jotion she saw again its time-stained e and caught its musty odor, she seem- to realize again the very body of her t love and for the first time in all the ears the fountains of her sorrow were ken up and she sobbed her tired heart @ut over the old valentine. Is there a dead-hearted woman in all God's beautiful world, I wonder, who would Rot weep once more, if she could, over some lifo’s yellowing symbols—symbols of love ne by, of passion cooled—who would rot feel almost as if in the recovory of her rs she had found joy again? If Miss Jemima had not found joy, she Bad at least found~her heart again—and} forrow. Her life had been for so long a ‘weary, treeless plain that in the dark depth ef the valley of sorrowing she realized, as something only from sorrow’s deeps poor ALENTINE Rath Ms Enery Stuart mortals may know it, the possible heights of biiss. S For the first time since the separation, she clasped the valentine to her bosom ard called her lover's name over and over again, sobbing it, without hope, as one in the death agony. But such emotion is not of death. Is it not the rebirth of ieeling? So it was with Miss Jemima, and the heart-stillness that had been her safety during all these years would never be hers again. There would never again be a time when her precious possession would not haye a sweet meaning to her--when it would not be a targible embodiment of the holiest thing her life had known. From this time forward, as an offset to the budding romances about her, Miss Je- mima would repair for refuge and a mea- ger comfort to that which while in its dis- colored and fading face it denied none of life's younger romance, still gave her her own. ‘The woman of forty never realizes her years in the presence of her contempora- ties. Forty women of forty might easily feel young enough to scoff at the bald head, and deserve to be eaten Ly bears—but thir- ty-nine with a budding maid for fortieth scoffer—Never! Miss Jemima, in her suddenly realized young-love setting, had become to her own consciousness old and of a date gone py. “Aunt Jemima” was naturally regarded by her blooming nephews and nieces, as well as by their intimates who wore their in- cipient mustaches still within their con- scious top lips or dimples dancing in their ruddy cheeks, quite in the same category as Mrs. Gibbs, who was sixty, or any of their aunts and grandmothers who sat serenely in daguerreotype along the parlor mantel. But there fs apt to come a time in the life of the live single woman of forty—if she be alive enough—when in the face of even negative and affectionate disparagement, she is moved to deciare herself. Perhaps there be some who would say that this declaration savors of earth. Even so, the earth is the Lord’s. It is one thing to be a flower pasted in a book and quite another to be the bud a maiden wears— one thing to be Today and another to be Yesterday. One thing, indeed, it was to own a yel- low, time-stained valentine, and quite a different one to be of the dimpled throng who crowded the Simpkinsville post office on Valentine's day. “I reckon them young ones would think” it was perfec'ly re-dic’lous ef I was to git a valentixe at my time of life,” Miss Je: ma sald, aloud, to her looking glass one morning. It was the day before St. Val- entine’s of the year following her day of tears. “But I'll show ‘em,” she added, with some resolution,as she turned to her bureau drawer. And she did show them. On the next day a great envelope addressed to Miss Jemima Martha Sprague came in with the package of lesser favors, and Miss Jemima sudden- ly found herself the absorbing center of a new interest—an interest that after having revolved about her awhile flew off in sus- picion toward every superannuated bache- lor or widower within a radius of thirty miles of Simpkinsville. It had been a great moment for Miss Jemima when the valentine came in, and a trying one when, with genuine old-time blushes, she refused to open it for the crowd. How sbe felt an hour later, when in the | secrecy of her own chamber she took from its new envelope her own old self-sent val- entine, only He who has tender knowledge of maidenly reserves and sorrows will ever know. There was something in her face that for- Eade cruel pursuit of the subject when she returned to the family circle, and so, after @ litttle playful bantering, the subject was dropped. But the incident had lifted her from one condition into quite another in the family regard, and Miss Jemima found herself un- consciously living up to younger standards. But this was ten years ago, and the mys- terious valentine had become a yearly fact. There had never been any explanations. When pressed to the wall, Miss Jemima had, indeed, been constrained to confess that “certainly every valentine she had ever gotten had been sent her by a man” (how sweet and sad this truth! “And are all the new ones as pretty as your lovely old one, Aunt ’Mimie?” To this last quetg she had carefully re- plied: “I ain't never got none thet ain't every bit an’ grain ez purty ez that one—not a one.” “An’ why don’t you show 'em to us, then?” Such obduracy was indeed hard to com- prehend. If, as the years passed, her brother began to suspect, he made no sign of it save in an added tendernes And, of course, he could net know. On the anniversary upon which this little record of her life had opened the situation was somewhat exceptional. The valentine had hitherto al mailed in Simpkinsville—her ays been own town. This postmark had been noted and com- mented upon, and yet it had seemed im- B pessible to have it otherwise. year, in spite of many complications ai difficulties, she had 1ecolved that the en- velope should tell a new story. The farthest point from which, within her possible acquaintance, it would natur- ally bail wis the railroad town of—let us call it Hope. The extreme difficulty in the case lay in the fect that the post office here was kept by her old lover, Eli Taylor. Here for ten years he had lived his reti- cent bachelor days, selling plows and gar- den seed, and cotton prints and patent medicines, and keeping post office in a small corner of his store. Everybody knows how a spet gazed at in- tently for a long time char ges coler—from red to green and then to white. As Miss Jemima pondered upon the thought of sending herself a_ valentine through her old lover’s hands, the color of the sclteme began to change from im- possible gieen to rosy red. The point of objection became in the mysterious evolution {its objective point. instead of dreading she began ardently to desire this thing. By the only possible plan by which she could manage secretly to have the valen- tine mailed in Hope—a plan over which she had lost sieep, and in which she had been finally aided by an illiterate colored ser- vant going there, to return next day—it must reach her on the day before Valen- tine’s. This day had come and gone—and her valentine had not returned to her. Had the negrc failed to mail it? Had it re- mained all night in the post office—in pos- session of her lover? Would she ever see it again? Would her brother ever get through his trifling with the children and finish giving out their valentines? PART IL. Miss Jemima had not long to wait, and yet it seemed an age, before the distribu- tion was over, and she felt rather than saw her brother moving in her direction. “Bigger an’ purtier one ’n ever for Aunt ‘Mimie this time—looks to me like,” he said, as at last he laid the great envelope upon her trembling knee. “Don’t reckon it’s anything extry—in particular,” she answered, not at all know- ing what she said, as she continued her work, leaving the valentine where he had dropped it; not touching it, indeed, until she presently wound up her yarn in an- swer to the supper bell. Then she took it, with her work basket, into her own room, and, dropping it into her upper bureau drawer, turned the key. The moment when she broke the new envelope each year—late at night, alone in her locked chamber—had always been a sad one to Miss Jemima, and tonight it was even a sadder ordeal than ever. She had never before known how she cared for this old love token. As she sat tonight looking at the outside of the envelope, turning it over and over in her thin hands, great hot tears fell upon it and ran down upon her fingers, but she id not heed them. It was, indeed, a mea- ger little embodiment of the romance of a life, but such as it was, she would not part with it. She would never send it out from her again—never, never, never. . It was even dearer now than ever before, after this recent passage through her lov- er’s hands. At this thought she raised it lovingly and laid it against her cheek. Could he have handled it and passed it on without a thought of her? Impossible. And since he had thought of her, what must have been the nature of his thoughts? Was he jealous—jealous because somebody was sending his old sweetheart a valentine? This year’s envelope, selected with great Pains and trouble froma sample catalogue and ordered from a distant city, was a fine affair profusely decorated with love sym- hols. For a long time Miss Jemima sat enjoy- ing the luxury of nearness to her lover that the unopened envelope had brought her be- fore she felt inclined to confront the far- away romance typified by the yellowed sheet within. And yet she wanted to see even this again—to realize its recovery. And so, with thoughts both eager ard fearful, she finally inserted a hairpin care- fully in the envelope, ripping it open deli- cately on two sides, so that it might come out without injury to its frail perforated edges. Then carefully holding its sides apart, she shook it. And now— Something happened. One of God's best traits is that He doesn’t tell all He knows —and sees. How Miss Jemima felt or acted, whether she screamed or fainted, no one will ever know, when, instead of the familiar pic- tured thing, there fell into her lap a beau- tiful brand new valentine. It was certainly a long time recovered herself enough to strange thing into her hands, she did so, it was with fingers that trem- bied so violently that a bit of paper that came within the valentine fluttered and fell beyond her reach. There it lay for fully several minutes before she had strength to move from her seat to recover it. + There was writing on the fluttering frag- ment of paper, but what it was and why Miss Jemima wept over it and read it again and again are other trifling things that perhaps God does well not to tell. The details of other people’s romances are not always interesting to outsiders. However, in this particular case, it may be interesting to Know that the woman who took charge of the old lover's room in Hope, and who had an investigating before she take the and when Sh* Raised It Lovingly and Laid It Against Her Cheek. way with her, produced seven or eight torn scraps of paper coliected at this period from the scrap basket, on each one of which was written in slightly varying terms bits of rough sketch of a note in which occurred broken sentences like the following: “sending you this new valen- tine just as hearty as I sent the old one eighteen years- “You shan't never want for a fresh one again every year long as I live, unless you take—" “If you want the oid one back again and me along with it.” One cf the lowest things- that even a very depraved and unprincipled person ever did is to collect torn scraps from any- body’s waste basket and to read them. To print them or otherwise make them public is a thing really too contemptible to contemplate in ordinary circumstances. But this case, if intelligently considered, seems somewhat exceptional, and perhaps it is well to do so,for,be It borne in mind,all these scraps, without exception, and a few others too sacred to produce even here, are the things that Eli Taylor, post- master, did not send to his old sweetheart, Jemima Martha Sprague. Miss Jemima always burned her scraps, and so, even were it well to condescend to seeking similar negative testimony from her concerning her laboriously written reply, it would have been quite Impossible. Certain it is, however, that she posted a note on the following day, and that a good many in- teresting things happened in quick succes- sion after this. And then?— Thee was a little quiet, middle-aged wea- ding%n the church on Easter Sunday. It was the old lover's idea to have it there, as he said their happiness was a resurrection from the dead, and belonged to the Easter season, and there was no one to object. Miss Jemima showed her new valentine to the family before the wedding came off, but in spite of all their coaxing and begging, she observed a rigid reticence in regard to all those that had come between that and the old one, and so, seeing the last one actually in evidence, and rejoicing in her happine: they would only smile and whisper that th supposed “ge and she had been quar'lin’ it out on them valentines, year by year, and on'y now got to the place where they could make up.” ‘The old man, Eli, in spite of his indomit- able pride, had come out of his long silence with all due modesty, blaming himself for many thing “I ain't fitten for vou, Jemimy, honey, no mo’n I was eighteen year ago,” he said, his arm timidly locking her chair, the night before the wedding, “but ef you keered enough about me to warm over the one little “1 ain’t fitten for you, Jemimy, honey.” valentine I sent you nigh twenty year ago, and to make out to live on it, I reckon I can keep you supplied with jest ez good ez thet, fresh every day an’ hour.” “But befo’ I take you into church, I want to call yo’ attention to the fac’ thet I’m a criminal, li'ble to the state’s prison for openin’ yo’ mail—an’ if you say so, why, I'll haf to go. “Well, Eli,” Miss Jemima answered, quite seriously, “ef you're li’ble to state’s prison for what you done, I don’t know but I’m worthy to go to u hotter place—for the de- ceit I've practiced.” “Well,” said Eli, “I reckon ef the truth was told, the place where we jest nachelly both b’long is the insane asylum—for the ejoits we've acted.” “When I reflect that I might 'a’ been ez happy ez I am now eighteen year ago, an’ think apOue all the time we've lost.” “Well” “How cones it thet Easter comes so late this year, anyhow?” (The end.) ——._—_ He Put It Frankly. From the Indiavapolis Journal. “I got a quarter here,” said the red-nosed wanderer, “and I calculate to git me din- ner wit’ it.’ ‘What's that to me?” asked the citizen whom he had stopped in the street. “Jist this. I’m goin’ to git a regular meal —table dote, see?—and I thought that maybe if you would lend me a dime to git a drink, I could git a good enough appetite to eat my money's worth.” ~cee- Z Singular, Isn’t Itt Brom the Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph. Py Miss Northside (to her brother)—“Do you know, Fred, that no fewer than four men want to marry me?” Fred—“All right, sis, may the best man win!” Miss Northside—“You don’t know much DELICIOUS ‘BON BONS A Peep Into a Stby@Where Dainty Sweets He Made, DEPT FINGERS MGLD!CrAKING FORUKS Some of the Arfitlé Used in the Manufactur® ‘df Candy. ACTUALLY BY THE TON a HERE ARE MIL- lions in the business of making and mar- keting candy. Refined sugar, the basis of it, costs less than 4 cents a pound. Can- dy sells to the con- sumer all the way from 20 cents to $1.50. The difference repre- sents labor, enter- prise and invention. It must be a churl, indeed, who grudges them their reward. Few city sights are more interesting than a great candy store—especially just before a holiday. There is such a suggestion of Aladdin's palace about it that you do not wender at the eddy that it makes in the human stream rushing along the pavement. Every moment the big crystal doors swing in or out at the touch of all manner of hu- mankind. Women, of course, predominate— for the most part young women, hardly past girlhood. The older ones have usually a child in charge. They are aunts or grand- mcthers—or bonnes, in cap and apron, lead- ing solicitously the heir or helress of mil- lions. The masculine moiety of it may be di- vided roughly into grandfathers, bride- grooms and beaux, whose attentions rarely mean intentions. The old men, you see, buy such big generous boxes—almost more than their hands will hold, cumbered as they are with cane and kerchief. The smiling bridegroom chooses the most lus- cious of melting sweets; while the beaux spend their sheckels for dainty little bon- bonieres, full of yet daintier and smaller bon bons, that some fortunate young wo- man may eat without loss of caste all through the tears and laughter of the play. All and several they have a liberal range of choice. The long counters are full of sil- ver trays, heaped with all sorts and condi- tions of candy. Here are satinettes of every color, breathing out the fragrance of rose or jasmine or heliotrope; peach pits, natural as life; filberts, chestnuts, acorn: in and out of shell; chocolate in every con- celvable shape and combination; fairylike “blown candy,” that looks as if it had been spun from sweet sounds and odors; green peas in the pod, lemon and orange slices, tiny button onions, nyt creams and cara- mels, nut-bar, nougat—and fifty sorts be- side. ; Inside the brilliant cahinets on both sides of the shop are other Siivered trays upon plateglass shelves, wherein you see rose buds, or orchids or lilies, shaped from pink or yellow almond pasfe with calyxes of pistache green. They’ are so lifelike it seems vandalism to eat’ them—even if you have paid $1 for half a pound of them, Dipping Chocolate Creams. -keep in countenance the dandied berries, cherries, violets .and..rose that'are but one-half as costly—sell- ing at the same rate as the familiar glace fruits—and the unfamiliar “‘caprice,” which looks as though scented red or amber wine had been frozen into hail. So much the casual customer sees. One who inquires into the reasons and processes of the shop will find after a little question- ing that the owner of it is a big manufac- turer as well, and that there is very much more to this fairy merchandise than what immediately meets the eye. As, for exam- ple, the pattern maker. He stays at the Very top of the building—where he has a factory in miniature. Usually he is a Parisian, and always an artist of the first water. Often he speaks no English; but he hardly needs it, so eloquent are his eyes and fingers. His domain is a pattern of cleanliness. The copper kettles shine, the marble molding slab is immaculate, and so are the great man's big apron and white starched cap. From his flavors, sugar, fruits and nuts he is forever evolving new colors and com- binaticns. His experiments are sent into the snop and, if they “take,” the pattern and formula go at once to the factory for } wholesale use. Yet pronounced successes are rare; and it is not too much to say that the inventor of a taking and entirely new sweet would receive from the candy makers | more than the Roman emperor offered for { a new pleasure. Meanwhile our artist stands beside the molding slab with two or three knives handy. They are sharp and short, of vari- ovs curve and temper. In front of him, above the slab, is a long-hooded gas jet, or rather ar iron cylinder, through which shcot reedies of flame. It is perhaps a foot above the slab, and heat from it keeps the candy there workably warm without melting. It is just now a long roll of pea-green, which ! the pattern maker is turning into young} peas half open. He cuts off a bit from the €nd, rolls into a ball as big as a marble, flat- i tens it and sets other smaller balls in a row along the middle. A deft wrist motion turns the edges of the flattened bit toward each other—and, behold! there is your pea pod to the life, opening delicately to show the fruit within. ‘The peas are an Easter fashion; they will be passe befcre Thanksgiving. Fashion, you see, has very much to do with the success or failure of such wares. That comes to you more than ever forcibly when you step into the stock room and note the array of fancy baskets, bags and boxes, the cost of which runs up into the thousands; yet this ch | mate value wholly depends upon their catch- ing the fancy of the Buyin world. This is particularly true of the things of lace and satin and fine paper made up for holiday seasons. 9. = Still these are hardly so"Mteresting as the hig, squarish, commercial-looking paper boxes one finds a little further on. First resy young woren line them generously with fine waxed paper; theh they go to oth- ers, who fit into thent divisions of stiff pa- per folded at various angles. For truly fine candy is delicate. Itdeaundt bear even its own weight without crushing, and is pack- ed barely one layer ideep; with these im- maculate fenders between the various com- ponents. ier: Next the boxes ga to the fillers—brisk young women, each with a Bilver tray hold- ing one particular sort ofsbon bon. The; pass up and down the tablerwhere the boxes are set, putting one piece, neither more nor less, from the trays they carry into each subdivision of the box. The candy must be handled delicately, and for the most part with tongs. Then the waxed paper is folded over, the top put on, and the box wrapped and tied. After that it is sealed and stamp- ed with the maker’s name and guarantee. Once upon a time the process of candy making was summed up with two words— sugar and skill; but candy in these end-of- the-century days means very much more. Whafever the world yields of flower or fruit, of nut or spicy essence, has been laid under tribute for te sweets of our time. A candy factory has very much the look of any other factory—except that it is, in| every part, kept scrupulously clean. The machinery, tco, may lcok a thought more incomprehensible than the ordinary bands and pulleys and shafts and cog wheels. But there fs no mistaking the use of the big, deep, beautifully polished copper kettles: sbout such things. A bride does not marry | Sugar is put into them, a barrel at a time, the best man.’ with more or less water, according to its ; escaped being bitten. ultimate purpose. A steam jacket comes two-thirds up the side of each kettle, and steam cooks the contents thereof without the least possibility of burning or scorching. If the syrup is to be creamed—as 4t is_ three ‘times in five-it goes from the kettles straight to the creaming mill, where big curved iron arms beat and twirl it into a white, light, foamy mass. Next the cream is packed down in big tubs and set away to await making up. That is perhaps two: years ahead—since cream improves wonderfully for good keep- ing. The big candy makers have tons and tons of it always in storage. But that ‘s not surprising when you remember that a single factory in’ the height of its season uses daily more than half a ton of pure chocolate for flavoring its goods. To make up the cream, girls sit about a steam table in which a dozen or twenty small kettles are sunk flush with {ts face. In them the cream is heated, and worked =——F It Looks and Tastes Fit for a Fairy's Feast. smooth and semi-fluid. Then it is ready for the ‘‘dipping,” which the girls do by means of a bit of twisted wire. The wal- nuts or dates, or whatever is to be dipped, are piled at the dipper’s elbow. She-sets one in her wire loop, plunges it below the surface of the cream, lifts it out and drops it lightly upon a coarse sieve. Each nut is now a shapeless oblong, with the yellow of the skin showing through a sparse pink coating. A second girl sets one of them in her wire, thrusts it again into the pink cream and brings it up about doubled in size. With a quick, indescribable wrist mo- tion she sets it upon white paper, where already there are other pink sweets a-row. But she docs not abruptly withdraw her looped wire. Instead she draws it up one side, and to the top, shaping the warm candy as it passes into two fine, slightly curled horns, which give an.artistic finish. But three times in five, no matter how they begin, candies end by vecoming choc- olate of some sort. Chocolate dipping is much like the creaming process—-with the difference that while it is possible to mold cream candies of some sorts, nothing yet invented can take the place of the ten fin- gers for chocolate. One cf the most interesting sights Is the making of the “blown candy,” which looks and tastes fit for a fairy’s feasts. Men are the workers here. They take a lump of hot candy bieger than one’s head, toss and twist it hither and yon, and end py flinging it across a big hook, against which they pull as franticaily as though life depended on it. They double the extended mass, re- double it, fling it high in air, draw it back and play such fantastic tricks before high heaven that one cannot wonder that the stuff is so full of grain, though it seems miraculous to note the transmutation of motion so violent into the gay, glistening ribbons of sweetness. Rose leaves and violets are erystallized by dropping them one minute in very hot candy, skimming them out and spreading thin, then shaking hot sugar over them. It is a tedious process—but hardly so much so as the making of fruit glace, which must first be boiled in sirup until it is clear, then spread, sugared and dried with infinite care. A word as to flavorings. Though for cheap candies all sorts of villainous sub- stances abound, and in spite of the undeni- able excellence of many latter-day chemi- cal flavorings, every first-class manufac- turer will show ycu in his store room ex- tracts and fruit juices by the gallon which are derived from nature alone—and were expressed from her choice products into the bargain. It is much like a perfumer’s shop; indeed,even musk, the basis of scents, is not lacking, though in use there is a de- Ughtful paucity of it. nae ee SNAKES FOR BEDFELLOWS. A Belgion Naturalists Night in the tec Ruins of Quemada, From the San Francisco Call. “When I was collecting specimens of plants and animals in Zacatecas,” said the noted Dr. Maximilien Schumann, “I had an | experience with rattlesnakes which came near being the death of me.” The doctor had just returned from Sac- ramento, where he had been for a couple of days on a hunting trip. He ts the Bei- gian explorer and naturalist who through Africa, and is now bound to Thibet for the Baron de Rothschild and the In- stitution of Natural Sciences of Luxem- burg. In telling of his adventures he said: “I had gone a day’s journey on horse- |} back from the city of Zacatecas to the southeast to examine some old Toltec ruins | These are known as the Quemada | I got) there. ruins. They are very extensive. there late at night. I had shot a couple of doe on the way, and had thrown them across my pack animal. “On my arrival within the ruins I lit a fire to get my supper, after which I spread my blankets and lay down. In the morn- ing when I woke up I threw my hand out- side of the bianket and it almost touched a big, poisonous rattlesnake. I escaped by the merest chance. Looking toward my feet, what was my astonishment to see rat- tlesnakes all over the blankets. There were no less than six of them besides the one that had missed my hand. “The reptiles were not the Crotalus hor- ridus or diamond crotalus known in Cali- fornia, but the Crotalus milarius, found in the hot regions. They are very’ poison- ous. When I had lit my fire in the evening I could not see the snakes, which, I pre- sume, had crept along the walls. “The altitude of Zacatecas and the old ruins is between 7,000 and 8,000 feet, and it gets quite cold at night. My fire was what undoubtedly attracted them. When they ; got out toward it they found my bed, and. discerning the warm blankets, crawled up on them and went to sleep. I have always thought it was almost miraculous that I As I did not want the snakes, having already all I wanted, I killed them and nailed them all to the adsbe wall, with my card on each. “The lizards and other reptiles which I got there I salted away in casks and for- warded to Europe. It is a general belief among the Indians, notably among the Creeks, Cherokees and Choctaws In In- dian territory, where I was for a time, that ff one is bitten by a rattlesnake, all he has to do to prevent fatality is to eat snake. But I never discovered any vir- tue in this. The best remedy is to imme- diately bind a thong above the wound, so that the poison cannot circulate higher. Then cut an incision below the wound and squeeze out as much blood as possible. Then, if to the wound is made an applica- tion of potash or any alkali, there is al- most no danger. “I got the best collection of reptiles from Mexico and forwarded them to Europe that has ever been seen there. The rattlesnakes were so plentiful that they could be seen by thousands and thousands.” eae eS They Snowballed the Fire. From the Paducah (Ky.) Standard. The citizens of Smithland adopted a novel method of extinguishing a fire a few days ago. A blaze started in a residence, and when the usual impromptu bucket brigade arrived at the scene it was found that no water was to be had, every available sup- ply being frozen and the ground covered | with snow. Finally a bright idea struck some one in the crowd, and the suggestion was made that the party should use snow to subdue the flames. The excited citizens divided and one company rolled up snow- balls about a foot in diameter, and passed them on to others, who heaved them over on the rapidly consuming structure. The house, being on the hillside, made this an easy matter, as they secured a good van- tage ground on the hill above the house, which rendered it an easy matter to throw the snow over with accuracy and effect. To make a long story short, the fire was extinguished before it gained any head- way in the main building, and the floors in one or two other rooms were saved. The people in Smithland are still talking about how they put out the fire. A famous remedy, Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup. SKUNK HUNTING IN NEW ENGLAND. Material Profits of the Chase im Sup- plying Skins, Which Are in Demand. From tho Springfield Republican. /Throughout the hilly farms of New Eng- land another skunk skin crop has now been gathered in. It isn’t a harvest which is mentioned in the regular agricultural sta- Ustics, but it is an important one, neverthe- less, and a very large proportion of barns, especially among the meadows of Con- necticut and central Massachusetts,are now rejoicing in their store of garnered skunks. In fact, the skunk skin is the most im- portant thing in the line of fur which ts still exported from the more civilized parts of New England. The mink skin is more valuable, but it is now quite rare, and the muskrat, though plenty, is so cheap as to be hardly worth the ‘catching; but the skunk is both quite valuable and still fairly plenty, increasing and multiplying in a riotous, six-fold geometrical progression that would let it inherit the earth in half @ dozen generations if it were not for the intrepid pursuit of the small boy and the farmer. Besides, it furnishes an exhilarat- ing sport for all in search of adventures afield. But by a certain delicacy of our sporting writers much has been left unsaid which might be said of the dangers, dis- asters and hairbreadth escapes of skunk- ing. This cannot be looked on otherwise than as a loss to literature. How important a side issue this skunk catching, in many cases, is to farmers can be seen by the fact that it is estimated that from 15,000 to 25,000 skunk skins, aver- aging about fifty cents apiece to their cap- tors, were sent out from the state of Con- necticut alone last year. The skins were nearly all sent abroad, the prices being governed by three big sales in London, one in January, one in March and one in June. At last January’s sales there were 150,000 skins disposed of. Of these a great proportion are said to go for use as caps in the Russian and other continental ar- mies. With these data, we cannot refrain from remarking with surprise the neglect of the skunk dog as a factor in European warfare. THE WICKEDNESS OF SLEEPING. Some of the Notions Which Were En- tertained Years Ago. From the Spectator. That idea was almost dominant in re- ligious society sixty years ago, and some- times assumed forms which, if not ridicu- lous, were at least quaint. It was, for in- stance, held to be wrong for any but the aged to sit in easy chairs, not, as ts now vainly imagined, from any ignorant idea as to the injury done to the figure, but be- caus? “lolloping” betrayed a blameworthy tendeicy to ease and self-indulgence. That was the origin also of the extraordinary Prejudice against taking any extra sleep. The old knew well that sleep, when sleep is not needed, is to the young the most weari- some of all obediences, but nevertheless they belleved that to wish to sleep more than a strictly regulated time, which, ac- cording to modern hygeists, was too short. was a mark of sluggish self-indulgence, and it was visited, therefore, with moral repro- bation. Early rising was extravagantly praised, not because it lengthened the day, for the early risers went to bed early, but because it was disagreeable; and some curious rules went H of diet—for example, abstinence from sugar —were defended in part upon the same principle. We have known girls cut off their curls avowedly because they were proud of them, and men go about in shab- by clothes, because, as they averred and believed, it was well by diminishing com- fort to promote serious reflection. —_+e+_____ An Icy Revenge. From St. Paul's. 1. “What a doosid pretty have the pleasure?” subbed, by Jove! Try again!” 3. “What a cold beauty! even with her yet!” But I will be 4“ » ha! How does this style suit her?” RAILROADS. * CHESAPEAKE AND OHIO RAILWAY. THROUGH THE GRANDEST SCENERY I AMERICA. ALL TRAINS VESTIBULED, ELECTRIC LIGHTED, STEAM HEATED. ALL MEALS SERVED IN DINING CARS. STA TION SIXTH AND B STREETS. Schedule in effect November 17, 1895. 2:25 P.M. DAILY—Cincinnati and St. Louls Spe- sini—Solid train fo: Cincinnati, Pullinan sleepers to Cincinnati, Indianapolis and St. Louis without —4 Parlor cars Cincinnati to Chi 11:10 P.M. DAILY-F. F. V. Limited Solid train for Cincinnati. Pullman sleepers to Cincinnati, Lexington and Louisville witbout change. Pull- man sk © to Mga) Sprit without Change, Wednesdays and Saturdays Siecpere Cine Slnnatl to Chicago and St Loos, = 10:57 AM, PT “SUNDAY—Via_ Richmond for Old Point and ‘Only rail line. 25 P.M. DAILY—For Gordonsville. Cuarlottes- pilig, ‘Staunton and for Michmond, “daily, except rm Hg Reservations and tickets at Chesapeake and Ohio ofices, 513 and 1421 Pennsylvania avenue, and ut the station. H.W. FULLER, 4028 General Passenger Agent. PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. Station corner of 6th and B streets, In effect January 6, 1896. 10:30 AM. PENNSYLVANIA LIMITED.—Pullman Sleeping,” Diving, anu Observation Cars Berrisburg to Chicago, Cincinnati, Indias St. Louis, Cleveland and ‘Toledo. " Buffet Ger to Harrisourg. 10:80 A.M." FASI” LINE—Pullman Buffet Parlor Parlor and Vining Cars, Har- Gar to’ Harrisburg. Fisburg to Pitiabu 8:40 P.M. CHICAGO. AND ST, LOUIS EXPRESS.— Pullman Buffet Parlor Car to ge 2 Bieep- ing and Dining Cars, Harrisburg to St. Louis, Cincinnati, Louisville ‘and Chicago. 7:10 P.M. "WESTERN EXPKBsS.—Pallman Sor ing Car to Chicago, and Harrisburg to Cler Dining Car to Chic: 7:10 P.M. SOUTH-WESTERN EXPRESS.—Pullman Sleeping and Dining Cars to St. Louis, and Sieep- ing Car Harrisbarg to Cincinni 10:40 F-M. PACIFIC EXPRESS Pullman Sleep- ing Car to Pittsburg. 1:50 AM. for ‘Kanes Canandaigua, Rochester apd , exept Sunday. Niagara Fails dails (M1. for imira ‘and Tenovo,, daily, except Sunday. “For Williamsport daily, 3:40 P.M. 7:10 P.M. for Williamsport, Rochester, Buffalo and Niagara Falls daily, except Saturday, with Sh Pe, Sor Washington to Suspension Bridge vi uftalo, 30:40 P.M. for Erie, Canandaigua, Rochester, Buf- — al : oe Falls daily, Sleeping Car Wash- ington to Eluira. POH PuILADELDEIA, NEW YORK AND THE EAST. 4:00 P.M. “CONGRESSIONAL LIMITE! Gally, ‘ail Parlor Cars, with Dining Gar from Baltimore. Regular at 7:05 (Dining Car), 7:20, 9:00, 10:00 ining Car), 10:05 (Dining Car) and 11:00 (Dining r from Wilmington) A-M.. 12:45, 3:15, 4:20, Gilsae an, Wo a, Situs @inae Sa ining Car), 7:20, 9:00, 10: ining ining Car from Wilmingtcn) A.M., 12:15, 3 4:20, 6:40, 10:00 and 1135 PM. For Philadel: ia’ only, Fast Express 7. ress, 12:15 week dus, 2: - | For Boston without change, week days, and 8:15 P.M. daily. For Baltimore, 6:25, 73 £50, 9:00, 10:00, 40,08. 10:80, 1106 and 1:60 “A.M. 12:15, 12. (4:00. Limited), 4:20, 540, 10:40, 11:15 and 11 7:05, 7:20, '9:00, 0:05, 10:05, F . 12:15, 1:45, 2:01, 3:15, 8:4 4:00 Limited), 4:20, 5:40, 6:05,'6:40, 7:10, 10:00, 10:40 ard 11:85 P.M. For Pope's Creek Tine, 7:20 A.M. and 4:36 P.M. daily, except Sunday. For Annapolis, 7:20, 9:09 A.M., 12:15 and 4:20 P.M. Sally, except Sunday. Sundays, ¥:00 A.M. and “4:20 P.M. = Atlantic Coast Line. “Florida Special” for Jack sonville and St. Augustine, 10:45 P.M. week days. Express for Richmond, points on Atlantic Coast on 620 AM. 5:05 EM. delty. Richosend ane Atlanta, 8:40 PLM. daily. Kichmond only, 10:5 A.M. week da: Accommodation for Quantico, 7:45 A.M. daily, and 4:25 P.M. week days. For Alexandrie, 4:30, 4:30, 7:45, 9:45 AM., 2:45, 6:15, 8:02 and 10:10 EM: Leave Alerand-la for Washington, ei 10:28 A 1 10:15, station, Gth and B sts., where arders can be left for the checking ‘of baggage to destination trou te 80M PREVOST, J. R. woop, Getieral Manage. General Pansinger Agent. SOOTHERN RaILwa¥. (Piedmont Air Line.) Schedule in eflect January 6, 1896. All tralus arrive and leave at Pennsylvania Passenger Station. 8:00 A.M.—Daily—Local for Danville. Connects Manassas for Strasburg, daily, except Sunda, at Lynchburg with the ‘Norfolk and Western daily, ind with C. & Q. daily for Natural Bridge and Cilfton Forge 11:15 A.M.—Dalls—The UNITED STATES MAIL carrics Pullman Buffet Sleepers Ni and Washington to Jacksonville, unit | lotte with Pullman Sleeper for Augusta | man Sleeper New York to New Oriean: gomery, | Sle ~ 301 0 Pull- via_ Mont. Pullwan connecting at Ati a with am, Memphi. «od St. Louis. wr for Birmi peM.—Locat except P.M. |-—Local for Strasburg, daily, leeping ‘Cars, > | an Drawing “Ioom Sik | Tampa and Augusta; | ington to | to'St. 4 daily WASHINGTON AND SOUTH: SLBULED LIMITED, tomposed of | Pullinan Vestivuled Sleepers, Dining Cars and Day Coaches, Pullman Sleepers New York to Asheville and Hi N, New York to Memphis via { Biri » New ‘York to New Orieaus yla. At- j lanta and ‘Montz estibulea Day Coach Washi Raliway Diving SHINGTON AND ROUND 01 A.M. daily and 4:45 3. and 6:25 P.M. Sun- P.M. daily, except for Leesburg, c dally, for . Returning "ari at Washington "8:26 - and 3:00 P.M. daily from Round Hil, 7:08 2 daily, except Sunda: | AM. éaily, except Sunda’ Through trains froin the 2 AM. 9:45 from Herndon, and 8:34 trom Leesburg. south arrive at Wasbing- 1., 2:20 P.M. ond 9 vision, 10:00 A.M. duily, ally from Char: le. Tickets, Sleeping Car reservation and inf furnished at offices, 511 and 1300 Pennsylvania @ Bue, and at Pennsylvania Railroad Passenger S*. tion. W. BH. GREEN, General Superintendent. 3.M. CULD. ‘rraftic Manager. W. A. TURK, Genera: Passenger jaT L. S. BROWN. Gen. Agt ion Agent. Pass. Dept. BALTIMORE AND OHIO RAILROAD, bedule in effect December 1, 1895. | Leave Washington from station corucr of New | For Chicago and Xot | tains 11:30-a. 2 |. For Cincinnat: | buled Limited p.m, BE ‘ | . For Pitusburg acd Cleveland, Express daily 11:30 ) a.m. and 8:40 p.m. ton aud Staunten, 11:30 a.m. | Ber Winchester and way 30 p.m. | For Luray, Natural Bri noke, Ruoxville, Cbattanooga, “Memphis and’ New Orleans, 9:10 ‘Sleeping Cars . 35 pam. daily. imo eWeek days, x69," 8:30,” x0: x12:30, a. | For’ Hagerstows, | For Boyd and w For Gaithersbu zg 12250, °11:30 p. ashington Junction and way points, | 4:80, 95:30 p 315 pan. xpress trains, sto stations ay; o Pa. BLUE LINE 2 YORK AND PHILADELPHIA. AM trains ilunninated with plutsch light, | For Philadelphia, New York, "Boston and. the | Bast, week drys ( Dining’ Car), 8:00 (10:00 | a.m. Dining Car), i , 3:00 G98 Dining Cun, 8:00 Sleeping + Open at 10°00 o'clock) 00, Din- | | ing’ Car), (9:0 a.m., | Cary, 3:00 (6:05, Dining Car), $:00° a2: | Sleeping Ca. open for passengers 10:00 p.w.). Buffet Parlor Cars on uli day trains. For Atlantic City, 10:00 and 11:30 a.m., 12:30 p-m. Snodays, 4:55 a.m., 12:30 a. “Except Sunday. **Daily. ‘ISnadays only. xExpress trains. Baggage calied for rnd checked from hotels and residences by Union Transfer Co. on orders left at ticket offices, 619 Pennsylvania avenue northwest, New York avenue and loth street and at de HB. CAMPELLL, CHAS. 0. Sct Gen, Manager. Gen. Pass. Agt. e2 - . POTOMAC RIVER BOATS. E. S. RANDALL PUTOMAC RIVER LINE— Steamer Harry Kandall leaves River View Wharf, Zth street, Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday, at 4 a.m., lending at all wharves as far down as Mad- dor éreek, Va., Including Chapel Point and ¢ Beach, returnii on Monds nesdays and Fridays about commodat first-class. | hour of sailing. | FA. REED & a 8. sy ents, Alexandr eior and Mani Bente OO. 0. CARE ~ STEAMBOAT CO. Potomac will’ leave Stephenson's wharf, foot 7th st., every Sunday at 4 p.m., for Baltimore aud river landings. Accommodations y fire Fre c landings on Saturday and must be given on Balti r WASHINGTON STEAMBOAT CO., “LTD.” FOR POTOMAC RIVER LANDINGS, From 7th st. Ferry Wharf. , Wednesdays and Saturdays at 7 for river landings to St. Clement's Bay and Nomin! Creek; returning, afternoon. Wednesdays for rivet 's Bay and Nomin{ Creek; th to Piney Point, St. Geor Smith’s Creek. Coan and Yeocomicd rivers, rai ves Nomini ing, Creek Thursday afternoon for river landings, arriv- ing Friday morning. Saturdays for river landings to Nomini Creek and St. Clement's Bay; returnin arrives Sunday afternoon. In effect Nov. | Bee echedale, C. W. RIDLEY, Gen. ‘nol -