VOL. XIV.

OCEAN CITY, N. J., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 1895.

NO. 47.

Ocean City Sentinel.

PUBLISHED WEEKLY AT

OCEAN CITY, N. J., BY R. C. ROBINSON, Editor and Proprietor. $1.00 per year, strictly in advance. $1.50 at end of year.

Physicians, Druggists, Etc.

DR. J. S. WAGGONER, RESIDENT Physician and Druggist, NO. 731 ASBURY AVENUE, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Pure Drugs, Fine Stationery, Confectionery, Etc., constantly on hand.

DR. WALTER L. YERKES,

DENTIST,

DENTIST,

Tuckahoe, N. J. Will be in Ocean City at 656 Asbury avenue every Tuesday.

C. E. EDWARDS. J. C. CURRY. DRS. EDWARDS & CURRY,

DENTISTS, Room 12, Haseltine Building, Take Elevator. 1416 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa.

THE PASTELLETTE. "The pastelle is to strong," said he, "Lo! I will make it fainter yet!" And he wrought with tepid ecstacy A pastellette. A touch--a word--a tone half caught--He softly felt and handled them; Flavor of feeling--scent of thought. Shimmer of gem--That we may read and feel as he What vague, pale pleasure we can get, From this mild, witless mystery, The pastellette.--[?]

The Middle Temple's Secret.

While making some alterations in Middle Temple hall for the installation of the electric light into that stately edifice the workmen found a box concealed in a recess of the wall near the roof. It was opened, and in it they saw a skeleton in a perfect state of preservation. From the appearance of the bones, it must have lain hidden there for a considerable time--perhaps a couple of centuries or more. Whether the skeleton was that of a lawyer or a client cannot now be ascertained, or it may even be an osseous framework which has been used in an anatomical demonstration to illustrate how much the law can take out of

a man. What the skeleton was in life

and how it got into the box in Middle

Temple hall are mysteries.--London

Telegraph.

The Jews were commanded to celebrate a jubilee feast, or national holiday, every 50 years. All Jews in bondage to their brethren went free on this feast.

Restaurants.

MARSHALL'S DINING ROOMS FOR LADIES AND GENTS. No. 1321 Market Street, Three Doors East of City Hall,

PHILADELPHIA.

STRICTLY TEMPERANCE. MEALS TO ORDER FROM 6 A. M. TO 8 P. M. Good Roast Dinners, with three Vegetables, for 25 cents. Turkey or Chicken Dinners, 35 cents. Ladies' Room up-stairs with home-like comforts. PURE SPRING WATER. OPEN ALL NIGHT.

BAKERY, 601 South Twenty-Second Street. Ice Cream, Ices, Frozen Fruits and Jellies. Weddings and Evening Entertainments a specialty. Everything to furnish the table and set free of charge. NOTHING SOLD OR DELIVERED ON SUNDAY. H. M. Sciple. J. M. Gillespie. H. P. Sayford. DEALERS IN Boilers and Engines, Every Size for Every Duty, DUPLEX STEAM PUMPS, Third and Arch Sts., PHILADELPHIA, PA.

WALLACE S. RISLEY, REAL ESTATE AND INSURANCE AGENT, 413 MARKET ST., CAMDEN. Properties for sale and to rent. Money to loan on Mortgage. PETER MURDOCH, DEALER IN COAL and WOOD, Ocean City, N. J. Orders left at 806 Asbury avenue will receive prompt attention.

Attorneys-at-Law.

MORGAN HAND, ATTORNEY AT COUNSELLOR AT LAW Solicitor, Master in Chancery, Supreme Court Commissioner, Notary Public, CAPE MAY C. H., N. J. (Opposite Public Buildings.) LAW OFFICES SCHUYLER C. WOODRULL, 310 Market St., Camden, N. J.

JONATHAN HAND, JR., Attorney-at-Law, SOLICITOR AND MASTER IN CHANCERY, Notary Public, CAPE MAY COURT HOUSE, N. J. Office opposite Public Buildings.

Contractors and Builders. S. B. SAMPSON, Contractor and Builder, No. 305 Fourth St., Ocean City, N. J. Jobbing promptly attended to. Plans, specifications and working drawings furnished.

JOSEPH F. HAND, ARCHITECT, CONTRACTOR AND BUILDER, Ocean City, N. J. Plans, Specifications and Working Drawings furnished. Estimates given on Application. Satisfaction guaranteed.

D. S. SAMPSON, DEALER IN Stoves, Heaters, Ranges, PUMPS, SINKS, &C., Cor. Fourth Street and West Avenue, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Tin roofer and sheet-iron worker. All kinds of Stove Casting furnished at short notice. Gasoline Stoves a specialty. All work guaranteed as represented.

D. GALLAGHER, DEALER IN FINE FURNITURE, 43 South Second Street, PHILADELPHIA, PA. L. S. SMITH, CONTRACTOR IN Grading, Graveling and Curbing. PAINTING BY CONTRACT OR DAY. Eighth St. and Asbury Ave., OCEAN CITY, N. J.

Bakers, Grocers, Etc. JACOB SCHUFF, (Successor to A. E. Mahan,) THE PIONEER BAKERY, 706 Asbury Avenue, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Fresh Bread, Pies and Cakes daily. Wedding Cakes a specialty. Orders delivered free of charge. Nothing delivered on Sunday.

McCLURE, HERITAGE & CO., Successors to Finnerty, McClure & CO., DRUGGISTS AND CHEMISTS 112 Market Street, Philadelphia. Dealers in Pure Drugs, Chemicals, Patent Medicines, Paints, Oils, etc.

Y. CORSON, DEALER IN FLOUR AND FEED, No. 721 Asbury Avenue, OCEAN CITY, N. J.

Nicholas Corson, CARPENTER AND BUILDER, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Estimates given. Plans and Specifications furnished. Buildings put up by contract or day.

G. P. MOORE, ARCHITECT, BUILDER, AND PRACTICAL SLATER, Ocean City, N. J. Best Roofing Slate constantly on hand. GEO. A. BOURGEOIS & SON, Carpenters and Builders, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Estimates given. Buildings erected by contract or day. LEANDER S. CORSON, ARCHITECT, CONTRACTOR AND BUILDER, Ocean City, N. J. Plans and specifications furnished. Terms reasonable. First class work.

STEELMAN & ENGLISH, Contractors AND Builders, Ocean City, N. J. Plans, specifications and working drawings furnished. Job work promptly attended to.

Plumbers, Steam Fitters, Etc. J. T. BRYAN, Practical Plumber and Gas Fitter, No. 1007 Ridge Ave., Philadelphia. Circulating Boilers, Sinks, Bath Tubs, Water Closets, Lead and Iron Pipes, Pumps, Etc., furnished at short notice. Country or City Residences fitted up in the best manner. Sanitary Plumbing and drainage a specialty. Orders by mail promptly attended to.

ISRAEL S. ADAMS & CO. Real Estate AND Insurance AGENTS, Rooms 2, 4 & 6, Real Estate & Law Building, ATLANTIC CITY, N. J.

Commissioners of Deeds for Pennsylvania. Money to loan on First Mortgage. Lots for sale at South Atlantic City.

Plasterers and Brick-Layers.

W. STONEHILL. G. O. ADAMS. STONEHILL & ADAMS,

Plastering, Range Setting, Brick Laying, &c.

All work in mason line promptly attended to. OCEAN CITY, N. J.

HARRY HEADLEY, OCEAN CITY HOUSE, 717 Asbury Avenue. PLASTERING, BRICK LAYING. Ornamental Work of Every Description. All kinds of cementing work and masonry promptly attended to.

TREATMENT BY INHALATION! 1529 Arch St., Philad'a, Pa. For Consumption, Asthama, Bronchitis, Dyspepsia, Catarrh, Hay Fever, Headache, Debility, Rheumatism, Neuralgia, And all Chronic and Nervous Disorders. It has been in use for nearly a quarter of a century. Thousands of patients have been treated, and more than 1000 physicians have used it and recommended it.

It is agreeable. There is no nauseous taste, nor aftertaste, nor sickening smell. We give below a few of the great number of testimonials which we are constantly receiving from those who have tried it, published with the express permission in writing of the patients.

"Please accept my sincere gratitude for the restored life of happiness and health and vigor and usefulness that the Compound Oxygen has certainly given me. "While I was always considered a healthy child, I was known to be dyspeptic from baby-hood. It was inherited. For two years I was confined almost constantly to the lounge. For more than four years I did not know a moment free from pain. All this time dyspepsia continued is ravages, except when temporarily relieved, and aggravated other serious disorders. My friends and physicians thought I would not recover. To-day I am entirely cured of dyspepsia, can enjoy articles of food that I never dared use before in all my life. For the past year I have been up and going in ease and health, with sufficient vigor to take some part in domestic work of the most laborious nature. As my strength continues to improve, since leaving off Oxygen, I feel that I can conscientiously recommend the treatment, not only to cure (provided the doctors' directions are observed), but to be lasting in its beneficial effects. "MISS JAMIE MAGRUDER, "Oak Hill, Florida." "The Oxygen Treatment you sent me for C. O. Harris, a year ago, one of my missionaries from West Africa, whose life was in danger on account of lung trouble and a severe cough, he now testifies has greatly benefited him. He has entirely recovered his health, married a wife, returned to Africa, and taken his wife with him. Bishop WILLIAM TAYLOR, 150 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. "Compound Oxygen.. Its Mode of Action and Results" is the title of a book of 200 pages published by Drs. Starkey & Palen, which gives to all inquirers full information as to this remarkable agent and a record of surprising cures in a wide variety of cases--many of them after being abandoned to die by other physicians. Will be mailed free to any address on application. Drs. STARKEY & PALEN, 1529 Arch St., Philadelphia, Pa. 120 Sutter St., San Francisco, Cal. Please mention this paper.

AUTHOR AND GIRL. "And you really write books? Fancy! How do you do it?" "Oh, I don't know. How do you invent a new frock?" "I sit--and think--and frown--and scold my maid." "My process is just the same." "Fancy! I wonder if I've read any of your books. No, I don't think I have. You see, I don't read much." "Your eyes were made for something better," observed the other politely. "Oh, now, that's out of one of them. Isn't it? Yes, I shall read them if they're like that. Are they like that?" "Well, I don't always get such an inspiration," the author admitted. "If I always could"--"I might come and sit by you," suggested the Butterfly thoughtfully. "Not in working hours, thanks," said the author hastily. "That's very horrid of you! I shouldn't get in the way." "Oh, yes, you would." "But I'd--shut them." "What would happen then?" asked the author, smiling. "Oh, please be sensible," implored the Butterfly. "I was told you were so clever, you know." "It's a term of abuse nowadays," observed the author resignedly." "I'm not clever, you know. My sister Mildred is, though." "But then"--began the author. "Why, she's a sweet looking girl," interrupted the Butterfly in apparent

indignation.

"They always are," said the author. "Mamma's looking this way," remarked the Butterfly after a pause. "All right. She thinks I'm a publisher," and he smiled at the Butter-

fly's caution.

"Did you tell her so?" "Well, I live by telling them," protested the author. "Are your books ever about--about love, you know?" "Always," he answered, with a touch of melancholy. "Don't you get rather tired of it?" "Of writing about it," said the au-

thor.

"And are your heroines nice?"

"No."

"They're not! Nor your heroes either?"

"Beasts," said the author gloomily. The Butterfly looked at him sympathetically. "I should have a nice hero anyhow," she remarked. "Heroines don't matter so much. Why don't you make them nice?" "I can only draw from what I see." "But you know some nice men sure-

ly?"

"All the men I know," said the author, with emphasis, "are"--"But I know a lot of the men you do, and"--"They're all in love with you," concluded the author. "That's why"--"They're horrid." "Yes, and why I wanted to know you." The Butterfly glanced again toward mamma. "You're sure she thinks"--she be-

gan.

"Certain," the author assured her, with another smile. "Why did you want to know me? Do you want to put me in a book?" "Would you read yourself if I did?" "Why, of course I would. You'd give me a copy, wouldn't you?" "In return for"--"My help," put in the Butterfly hastily. "I wonder if I should recognize myself, though?" "I don't expect you would," said the author. "What should you make me do?" "I should make you break a poet man's heart." "Only one?" asked the Butterfly. "It doesn't do," said the author apologetically, "to divide the interest. But for that I'd make it a score." "Oh, it's not a score," murmured the Butterfly as she played with her fan. "And then you'd marry a rich man." "Yes, yes; that's very good. Go on." "A lord, I think." "I'm not particular about that." "And then"--The author seemed to hesitate. "Well, and then?" "Then you'd be very sorry you'd done it," said the author. The Butterfly looked up at him, then down on her lap, then up at him again. "Think so?" asked the Butterfly, and a smile appeared on her lips. "You would be--in the book," said the author firmly. "Oh, in the book!" murmured the Butterfly, with a kind of amusement. "I see," observed the author, "that you wouldn't recognize the picture."

The Butterfly paused before she made any further remark. Then she asked: "Should you be in the book yourself?" "Yes." "Who would you be?" "Surely you [?] that," said the author. "You [?] that you'd be"-- "Poor and broken hearted, of course." The Butterfly considered this for a moment. "And when I was very sorry what happened?" "Nothing," said the author. "That doesn't sound very amusing," observed the Butterfly. "No. It's a realistic book," said the author. "Who was the rich man in the book?" asked the Butterfly almost in a whisper. The author covertly pointed as he answered, "That man talking to your mother." "Oh!" said the Butterfly as she blushed. Then she added, "Books aren't a bit like life, are they?" "This one is," insisted the author. "It will be a horrid book," said the Butterfly. "Abominable," assented the author. They both sighed. "Nothing at all happened?" she asked again. "He was not killed in the hunting field," said the author. "Not even after ever so many years--three or four, I mean?" "No, never. He lived on." The Butterfly was looking attentively at the man who was talking to her mother. "It will be a horrid book," she said, with a little shudder. "But you couldn't help yourself. He was so splendidly rich, you see." "Was it--very awful?" "Dull as ditch water. You'd never cared for him, you see." "Hadn't I?" asked the Butterfly.

There was a pause. Then the Butterfly, with yet another glance across the room, added in a whisper: "Why do you write it if it's horrid?" "Why do you?" asked the author. The Butterfly unbuttoned her glove and buttoned it again.

"Were you always broken hearted?" she asked.

"To the very end."

"And were you always poor?"

The author smiled.

"I made a most wonderful success," said he dreamily, "with a book that

came out exactly one week after the

wedding."

"Then you were an author in the book too?"

"The portrait of me is exact in every particular," said he. "And of me--is it?" asked the Butterfly, still engaged with her glove.

"Well, is it?" asked the author. "Are you [?]nary?" "A little," said the Butterfly, with a

pout.

"Worldly?" "I like nice things," said the Butterfly, with a sigh. "Shallow hearted?" asked the author, bending down to her. "Well, can you see to the bottom of

it?" she asked.

"I'm trying. There's something right at the bottom"--"Is there?" she asked, and she opened her fan. "I wonder if I could dive in and get it!" "I shouldn't do that. I should let it stay," said the Butterfly. "Really?" asked the author. "Perhaps," said the Butterfly. "And the book?" "Don't write it," whispered the Butterfly. At this moment the mother of the Butterfly and the man opposite rose. "I must go," said the Butterfly. "It's funny I met you. I--I've seen you about so often." "I've seen you about, too," said the author. The mother of the Butterfly and the man were close now. "If I write the book, may I send you a copy?" asked the author. "The book," said the Butterfly, "is not to be written," and she turned most graciously to the man as he approached. The author bowed and escaped. "I've been telling your mother who that fellow is," said the man. "Yes," said the Butterfly's mother, with a significant air; "I was mistaken about him. He's just a--writer"--"Of very stupid books," said the man. The Butterfly looked at him for an instant. Then she observed in a distant manner, "Well, I've just prevented him writing a stupider one still." "What about?" he asked. "Curiously enough--you," returned the Butterfly. "Confound him! What would he have said about me?" "Nothing," said the Butterfly, with marked emphasis, "that is in the very least likely to be true. So I told him to leave you out. But I said he might write about me if he liked." "Does he want to?" asked her mother. "Why, yes, I think so," smiled the Butterfly. "It won't be a bit more true," growled the man. "I don't know about that," said the Butterfly, and she smiled again.--An-thony Hope in National Observer.

The Sea Galley. The sea galley in tropical seas is very dangerous to bathers. One of these creatures fastened to the body causes a pain so intense that swimmers have been known to faint ere they could reach the shore. The pain has been compared to that of a very acute attack of inflammatory rheumatism.

NO CASH "TIPS" FOR WOMEN. They Get Only Smiles and Smirks From Men at Restaurants. In restaurants where women are employed as waiters the average man seems to be of the opinion that smiles or smirks are tantamount to "tips," although they cost the giver nothing and have no cash value anywhere, except, perhaps, as elements to be considered in estimating damages in breach of promise suits, says the New York Herald. "Why a man should consider it more or less obligatory on him to give a gratuity to the man who waits upon him, be he white or colored, while his conscience relieves him of all such obligations when a woman performs a similar service for him, is one of those mysteries which the feminine mind is Incapable of solving. I have conversed With several. "waitresses" on the subject, and they have always told me that they would infinitely prefer dimes to

smiles, more especially as their pay is so small that the problem of making both ends meet is for them a particular-

ly hard one.

It may be said in defense of masculine custom in this matter that the conduct of the recipients of these amatory demonstrations would justify the opinion that they prefer them to small pecuniary emoluments, but the cruel fact is that the girl employed in a restaurant who doesn't act more or less as a flirt stands no chance of retaining her position. A complaint of a customer's familiarity, instead of causing him to be rebuked, would more likely result in her own dismissal. It isn't alone for waiting that she is paid. She is expected to make herself "attractive." There are many men of an economical turn of mind whose patronage of restaurants where women are employed is largely due to the fact that at such places they can refrain from "tipping" without being suspected of meanness. And a dime saved is 20 cents earned. But, all the same, a woman who waits on table in a restaurant is just as much entitled to a "tip" as a man, and the fact that she doesn't get it is only another link in the chain of evidence which shows that the average man will always take advantage of a woman in pecuniary matters if he gets half a chance--that is to say, for doing the same thing he will always pay a woman less than he will a

man.--New York Herald.

Napoleon and His Pipe. Napoleon was a snuff taker in a mild way, smelling of the tobacco rather than snuffing it, but never learned to smoke. Once only, according to his valet, Constant, he tried a pipe. The attempt, of which Constant gives a humorous account, was on this wise: An eastern ambassador, Persian or Turkish, had presented the emperor with a handsome oriental pipe, and one day the fancy took him to use it. Constant, at his master's request, got everything in readiness and applied the fire.

It remained, of course, for the emperor to set the tobacco alight by drawing in his breath. So his valet told him.

"But," adds Constant, "at the rate

his majesty went to work the thing would never be done. He contented

himself with opening and shutting his lips without breathing the least in the

world."

Finally he put the pipe into the valet's hands and commanded him to light it, which the valet did and returned the pipe to his majesty. Napoleon took one good puff and was as awkward this time as before. The smoke got into his windpipe, and instead of being expelled through the mouth it came out of the nostrils and eyes. So Constant says at all events. The emperor was nearly strangled, and as soon as he recovered breath he cried: "Take it away. The horrible thing. It makes me sick." It was more than an hour before he recovered his equanimity, and that was the end of his career as a smoker.--Youth's Companion.

TRICKS WITH CARDS. A REMARKABLE EXHIBITION BY A NON-PROFESSIONAL. A Wealthy Cincinnati Business Man Entertained the Hamilton Whist Club of Philadelphia With Tricks Which Have Mystified Kellar and Herrmann.

What was regarded by experts as the most marvelous exhibition of card magic ever seen at Philadelphia was given at the Hamilton Whist club by Thomas B. Arnold of Cincinnati. A formal reception was given by the Hamilton club to Mr. Arnold, who, in return for the hospitality tendered him, entertained his hosts with a series of most remarkable card tricks. Mr. Arnold is a well known Cincinnati business man, being a member of the wholesale shoe firm of Alter, Julian & Co. He is not a professional magician, but his tricks have mystified such men trained in magic as Kellar and Herrmann. He has refused fabulous sums which have been offered him to go before the public as a professional, preferring a quiet, domestic life to any notoriety he might gain as a magician. Mr. Arnold opened the eyes of his witnesses by what he calls a very simple trick. Two new packs of cards belonging to the club were produced. He had never seen them before. Shuffling one deck, he held it out to one of the gentlemen present, saying: "Select a card from this pack and then return it, keeping the card in your mind. I will turn my back to you as you make your selection. One of the other gentlemen will take the second pack and throw it on the floor. The only card that will fall face upward will be the card selected by you. I will not touch either one of the decks." The card was selected, and the gentleman threw the second pack on the floor, the nine of diamonds being the only card that fell face upward. "That," exclaimed Mr. Arnold, "is the card you selected." A cheer greeted the announcement that that was correct. "Now, here is a good one," said the entertainer. Pointing to Charles Yarnall, he continued: "Will you kindly select a card in your mind? Do not mention its name." When the selection was made, he picked up a pack, shuffled it carelessly, and walking over to the wall threw the cards at a picture. They fell in a shower to the floor. "Turn the back of the picture outward," said Mr. Arnold. When this was done, a card was seen sticking in a crack in the back of the frame. It was the jack of spades. "That, sir, is the card you had in mind." Mr. Yarnall acknowledged that it was, and the crowd was convulsed. Again, a member of the company was asked to take a card in his mind. Four others were asked to take cards at random from the pack and remember the numerical value of the card. The spectator who drew the first card was told to write the number on a sheet of paper.

The second man wrote the number of his card in a separate corner. The third man placed his number under the second one and added the two together, affixing the result to the first number. The fourth man affixed the number of his card to the other two numbers. The result was 374.

"Now," said Mr. Arnold, "will two gentlemen accompany me to the library, each of them holding one of my hands. A third can come along to see fair play." They returned bringing a book. "Turn to page 374," ordered the entertainer. The book was opened at the page indicated, and a card was found. It was the deuce of spades. "That is your card," said Mr. Arnold to the gentleman he had asked to make a selection. The statement was correct. The most remarkable trick of all was the last. Captain Walton, president of the American Whist Players' league, was asked to draw a card from the pack, replacing it and keeping the card in his mind. Mr. Arnold took an egg, selecting one at random from a half dozen, and broke it into a tumbler. He showed first that neither the shell nor the inner skin of the egg had been broken. No card was concealed up his sleeve or anywhere about his person. When the egg was broken, a card was seen in the tumbler, crumpled up and covered with the yolk of the egg. Drawing it out, Mr. Arnold asked, "What card did you draw, Captain Walton?" "The queen of clubs." "There it is." The pack was searched and that particular card found miss-

ing.

Although an expert on cards, Mr. Arnold never played a game for a stake in his life. "I could make a fortune as a gambler," said he, "for I can deal a

man any hand I choose, but I wouldn't dare to play out in our western country

for I would be shot sure as fate. I don't know what it is that enables me to do these tricks. I studied them all out myself, but I can't explain how or why I do them."--Philadelphia Times.

[?] Girls. You've heard of the [?]. They are proverbial. [?] speaking, every [?] of the Queen City wears a [?], a pair of large, sparkling [?] lovely [?]. Whether this is due to the [?] of the atmosphere or the [?] of the sil, [?] that [?] D[?] and H[?], [?] the [?]. Th[?] and [?] all [?].--[?]

Her Fortune. Pearl [?]--Yes, dear papa is very generous. On my birthday anniversary he always gives me a dollar for each year I have lived. Yulie Younger--Indeed? That must havebeen the money Charley Gayhey meant when he said you had a fortune in your own right.--Buffalo Courier.

Lehigh is a corruption of the Indian word [?], "a fork."

Where He Got It.

The little son of a well known physician was entertaining a playmate at his father's house. As children will, they ransacked every nook and corner of the building. Their curiosity led them to explore the recesses of a closet, in which the doctor keeps his instruments and other personal effects, among which is a complete skeleton. The strange boy was frightened when he first beheld the grinning remnant of what once had been a human being and started to run away. The doctor's son, however, had seen the skeleton so often that he entertained for it only that feeling of contempt begotten by familiarity, and in a little while succeeded to so allaying the fears of his

companion that the youngster began to handle the thing and settle for dry bones. "Where did your father get it?" he finally asked. "I don't know," was the reply, "but I guess it was his first patient, for he's had it an awful long time."--Butte Miner.