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"There is one in Pittsburg."

At one side is a small stand with a hot-air blow"The process is no doubt very intricate," ob- pipe set at right angles to the wheel. The operator served Frank. takes one of these bars of glass three feet long

"On the contrary," returned our friend, "it and holds the end in this hot blast which melts

is very simple. As I understand it, a mass of molten glass is taken from the furnace, and two of the employees of the factory, with tongs, pull it slowly in opposite directions until it stretches along the floor of the factory like a red-hot rope, from one end of the apart

the glass. A thread is then drawn from the bar with a pair of pincers and secured to the wheel. The steam is then turned on and the wheel begins to revolve, while from the bar of glass held in the hot blast a thread of glass runs steadily forth. At first it is thick, but when the wheel increases its

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ment to the other. sufficient number of these long ropes of glass have been drawn, say of a thickness of from one-half to threequarters of an inch in diameter, they are cut into lengths of about three feet each and allowed to cool, becoming annealed gradually. When cold they are taken to the spinning-room. Here is a large driving-wheel of wood over eight feet in diameter, and with a smooth surface of about twelve inches in width. This driving-wheel is run by steam power, and can be revolved at the rate of three hundred revolutions per minute.

revolutions the thread gradually dwindles down until it becomes as fine as the finest silk thread. If it is desired to run more than one thread at a time, another end is started and fastened about the wheel in the same way as before, and is spun at the rate of three or four miles per minute. Strange as it may appear, the finer the thread is spun, the more elastic and pliable it becomes."

A BEAUTIFUL SPECIMEN OF GLASS FRAME.

"But does this thread possess strength? I should hardly imagine it would," Frank remarked. "Yes, it does; in addition to pliability, it has

also great tensile strength. But to continue: After an immense coil of the glass has been spun, it is bound together in skeins, and the next step in the process of making cloth is weaving. For this purpose a weaving machine very similar to a silk-weaving machine is used. The fibres of glass are stretched across the loom and the weaver passes his spindle from side to side, uniting the warp and the woof. By regulating the machinery the fabric can be made fine or coarse as desired, and the threads, having gained strength by the degrees of fineness to which they are spun, unite together like silk threads. Not only can a fine-grained fabric be made, but even lace patterns, no matter how intricate, may be exactly reproduced."

"I should think this would be very pretty, especially if in different colors," I observed.

"That is one of its greatest beauties," returned our friend; "a roll of glass-cloth can be made of a combination of colors, such as deep amber glass, white glass, clear glass, purple and iridescent glass, and when woven together in one fabric it would glitter under the gas-light like an immense setting of infinitesimal gems."

If a jug, a decanter, or vase, is to be blown, the operator proceeds in much the same manner as a bottle-blower, except that the article is not moulded but manipulated by the workman until it assumes the desired shape.

With an instrument something like a pair of sugar-tongs he compresses the glass at one part, expands it at another, and gives it graceful curves. While effecting this, the material often becomes cold and has to be heated from time to time at an opening in the furnace until brought into proper condition again. If the vessel is to have a foot, another workman brings a little melted glass on the end of a rod and applies it to the bottom, where the first workman quickly fashions it; if it is to have a handle, more glass is brought and speedily formed; and in this manner they continue until the piece is completed. Many articles of flintglass are considered finished at this stage, but those which are "cut" require a further process.

The cutting or grinding is effected by means of a thin wheel; and above is a vessel containing water or sand, which trickles down on the wheel. Some of the wheels are of iron, some of stone,

"Do you think this manufacture will ever come and some of willow-wood, according to the kind into general use?"

"That I cannot say. The price for which glass-cloth can be produced will no doubt decide whether it remains a curiosity or not; at present it is an expensive article."

During our lengthy conversation we had followed Mr. Hires through the various departments of his establishment, and having completed the survey we left him and returned to the hotel for some supper.

By this time I was thoroughly aroused to a state of lively interest in glass manufacture, and during the next few days gleaned much important information on the subject. Among other things I will mention a few processes connected with the manufacture of flint-glass, which is a much finer quality than the other, and of greater brilliancy.

No one would suppose that so beautifully transparent a substance could result from a mixture of sand, hard and opaque; red-lead, not less opaque; and soda or potash, very far from resembling glass in hardness or transparency; yet these are the ingredients used to make flint-glass. Formerly, instead of sand, flints were employed, ground to a very fine powder, and hence the name; but this practice has been wholly abandoned.

of work to be done.

The workman takes the glass article and applies it to the edge of the rapidly-revolving wheel, according to the pattern he desires to produce, and holds it in various positions till the ground portions present the ornamental appearance he desires.

There is another process of engraving glass, somewhat different from this, and without the aid of wheels. A cylindrical vessel with a coneshaped bottom is filled with well-dried sand. At the apex of the cone is a short tube, through which the sand is allowed to flow in a continual

A tube conveying air or steam passes down through the centre of the vessel and ends in a nozzle. By a jet of steam the sand is thrown violently against the glass article to be engraved, and exerts an abrading action upon it. Holes may be drilled in glass and other substances much harder, by means of this apparatus; but in engraving on glass very little pressure is required, as the lines need not be deep. Those portions of the work which are to remain clear are covered with paper or an elastic varnish, these substances being sufficient to withstand the action of the sand.

VICTRIX VICTA.

BY FRED F. FOSTER.

FORMERLY, among the residents on one of the most fashionable thoroughfares of our "modern Athens," was the family of John Eveleth, banker. There were rumors that Mr. Eveleth had once been a soap-maker; that in this decidedly plebeian vocation he had acquired the basis of his substantial fortune. The brown-stone front, with its costly appointments; the grand dinners, served on massive plate; the gorgeous "turn-outs;" the elegant silks, satins, broadcloths-these were established facts. Absurd, indeed, would it have been to overweigh such claims to distinction with paltry rumors. Therefore his aristocratic neighbors made no attempt to ostracise him from their midst.

To Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth but one child was born, Blanche, the idol of her parents, and, from her infancy, never knowing a desire ungratified, if love or money rendered its gratification possible. Naturally, even when a child, she was an imperious little tyrant; naturally, too, this imperiousness "grew with her growth, and strengthened with her strength." Yet she possessed many excellent qualities, which gained her numerous warm friends. She "came out" at sixteen, this early début being in accordance with the wishes of her mother, who was desirous that her daughter should contract an eligible marriage, and was aware that, "other things being equal," a fresh and fair young face is a powerful "card." With her mother's matrimonial schemes, Blanche, unfortunately, had no sympathy. She was, however, more than willing to render herself agreeable to the gentlemen; in fact, her aim seemed to be the subjugation of masculine hearts, and wherever she was were to be found scores of her victims. Every one knew her for an arrant coquette; nevertheless, she continued to impress each gentleman with whom she associated with the conviction that he was the favored mortal. When matters culminated in a proposal, as they frequently did, she would listen thereto with downcast eyes and modest mien, then blast the suitor's hopes with the utmost sang froid.

Finally, weary of an incessant round of excitement, and heartily desiring a temporary exemption therefrom, she went, one summer, to pass a few

weeks on a farm in the "Granite State," whither she was attracted by an advertisement which came to her notice, "Private board in the country,' that seemed to promise exactly what she sought.

The family of which she thus became an inmate consisted of Mrs. Mason,- -a woman upward of fifty years old,-one son, Henry, not far from twenty-five, and one daughter, Emma, about her own age-twenty. To Miss Eveleth, from the time of her arrival, everything connected with this family was a happy surprise. She had supposed that country people had no regard for aught save that pertaining to the "bread-and-butter" of existence. A few hours passed with the Masons served effectually to disabuse her mind of so erroneous an impression. They were people who believed in education for the masses, not for the few, and sought all means tending to intellectual advancement.

Accustomed as she was to sycophantic homage, the treatment she received at the hands of these strangers, kindly, but devoid of obsequiousness, won her respect. Their easy, unconstrained manner in her presence, proving they did not consider her as belonging to an order of beings superior to their own because she was a resident of Boston, convinced her they estimated people for what they really are; that, while with them, it would not pay to "put on airs." The courtliness manifested by each member of the family toward the others; the willingness with which one deferred to the wishes of another; the earnest, loving endeavors made by mother, brother, sister, to outdo one another in little acts of tender love, satisfied her that an exhibition of her own domineering proclivities would not only be in bad taste but excite the contempt of the family. Previously, she had neither thought nor cared what opinion people held of her; just then she was anxious to create a favorable impression.

This desire, laudable in itself, in her case, we are sorry to say, was incited by an unworthy motive nothing other than the wish to see if she could inspire the son with the grande passion; to learn if he, a strong, self-possessed man, could be converted into the nervous, impetuous lover. He

seemed, in every respect, so unlike any upon whom she had heretofore practiced her wiles, it would be a novel and interesting experiment, and the result would assist to establish or refute her pet hypothesis: "All men are unconscionably weak where women are concerned."

To be sure, he was only a farmer, with hands and feet far from delicate, and a sunburnt face; one whom her acquaintances of the beau monde would not place in the category of "gentlemen. But his features were regular, his countenance expressive of intelligence and radiant with good humor, his brown eyes beaming with smiles; and, despite the tan, she deemed him fine-looking. He was, in the best sense of the word, a gentleman; honest, industrious, and well qualified to command the esteem of all who knew him.

With slight personal knowledge of the world outside the immediate vicinity of his home, he believed all women pure, true, sincere, judging them from his mother and sister. To find the one upon whom he had lavished the wealth of his manly affections, by whom he had every reason to believe it fully reciprocated-to find her weak, base, heartless, would be a crushing blow. The wound might not be "so deep as a well," and in time the primal, benumbing pain it caused would wear away; but his implicit confidence in her sex would be shattered forever.

Unusual as it was for her to consider the possible consequences of her acts, the above thoughts obtruded themselves upon her mind; and more than once she half resolved to renounce her purpose, so unwomanly, so absolutely cruel did it seem to trifle with the affections of such a man. But she had invariably thrust her conscience aside when dictating a course antipodal to that which the realization of her wishes necessitated, and the protests of the little monitor against any of her plans had become feeble as well as infrequent. In the present instance, her recurrent impulses, though noble and generous, were unable to withstand the mightier power opposed to them; indeed, after each appeal of the good angel, she was more desperately intent upon the enterprise than before.

Success, she felt assured, would never crown her efforts unless she first secured the favor of Mrs.

Mason and Emma, in whose opinion Henry implicitly trusted, conformably to which his own. was in no slight degree moulded; and to this end she made herself extremely agreeable to them.

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She and the young man were much in each other's company. He rode or walked with her to various places of interest near his home; she played or sang for his entertainment. The more she saw of him, with the greater respect for him was she inspired. Whereas other gentleman had pandered to her vanity, he ever endeavored to stimulate her to faith in her capacity for little things. And the earnestness with which she often found him regarding her, the occasional tremor of his voice when he spoke to her, convinced her that the task she had undertaken was not likely to prove fruitless.

One morning at the break fast-table, Mrs. Mason, noticing the purple rings circling her eyes, and the pallor of her countenance, said:

"You look ill, Miss Eveleth. Were you sick during the night?"

"Only restless," was the response. "I am never able to sleep when a thunder-storm is in progress."

"The shower last night was remarkably heavy," observed Emma.

"I shall be under the necessity of having Emma's assistance about my forenoon's work,” continued Mrs. Mason; "but can't you drive for an hour or two with Miss Eveleth, Henry ?"

"As well as not, if Miss Eveleth would like to take a ride."

"Thank you," returned Blanche; "it would give me great pleasure."

"I wish Emma could accompany us, to describe the various objects we shall see," remarked Henry. "There is scarcely a tree, shrub, or stone for miles around with which she has not some romantic tale connected."

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Thank you for suggesting this one object of gave him every reason to believe it was reciprointerest."

The ride among the low-lying hills that cloudless, cool, exhilarating morning, bringing within the range of her vision grand and varying scenery, restored the color to Blanche's cheeks, and caused the rings circling her eyes to disappear. All at once her companion said:

"There is the haunted house."

Looking in the direction indicated with his finger, she got a glimpse of a building situated several rods from the highway, and so nearly hidden from view by the trees surrounding it that but for his words it would have escaped her notice.

"I will tie my horse to this post," he continued, jumping from the carriage, "and we will go where you can examine the place all you choose. There is no dew, and the rain of last night seems to have soaked into the ground, so the surface is not at all moist," assisting her to alight. Then they took a path which from long disuse had become overgrown with weeds and knot-grass, and presently reached a spot whence she distinctly saw the house.

It was a cottage, to which time and storm had imparted a hue not unlike that of the granitic boulders dotting the neighboring hill-sides. About the door, where once, no doubt, the sunflower and hollyhock had bloomed, even if rarer flowers were not to be found,-only a few dried thistles and stunted shrubs appeared. Of the fence enclosing the homestead all that remained was an occasional worm-eaten post.

"Would you like to go inside?" asked Henry. "If you please," was the reply.

A push on the door caused it to swing on its rusty hinges with a harsh, grating sound, and they entered. The odor of the building was musty and extremely disagreeable, and Blanche was satisfied with a brief stay in-doors. When once again outside, she said:

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cated. From this happy dream he was rudely awakened by the receipt of a letter from her, in which she informed him that their 'pleasant flirtation' must end, as she was shortly to wed a gentleman to whom she had, for a long time, been secretly affianced; followed, ere many weeks, by the knowledge that she had married.

"The poor fellow was completely unmanned, and, in a moment of desperation, took his own life. His mother was prostrated with grief, and in less than three months was laid in a grave beside her son. Since then strange sounds have been reported to proceed from this house, accompanied by weird lights flashing at the windows. Probably these sounds and sights, if not wholly imaginary, are referable to natural causes; but no one has ever attempted to 'lay' the ghost supposed to haunt' these premises."

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"Most likely you consider her suffering a just retribution for her sin ?"

"I believe that every deviation from the path of right is punished."

"What should you do, if subjected to such treatment as young Williams received?" Blanche could not help asking; but she put the question with a tremulous voice, and looked down as she spoke.

"One can hardly foretell what he will do under particular circumstances."

"You would not commit suicide?"

"That has always seemed to me an unsatisfactory method of extricating one's self from trouble."

"Perhaps you would prefer to assist in avenging your wrongs?"

"I see no reason why the fact that I had been wronged should lead me to dishonor my manhood

"Your sister suggested a 'tragic history' as sufficiently to seek a petty revenge." connected with this house."

"It is soon told. Something more than a score of years since, a widow-Mrs. Williams-resided here with her only child, a young man, twentytwo years of age. He became deeply enamored of a young lady whose home was in a neighboring town; and, though no engagement between them existed, she knew and encouraged his love, and

"Shouldn't you hate a woman who trifled with your affections ?"

Henry, surprised at the singularity of her questions, remarked:

"I think I should despise her most supremely." "I think you would," returned Blanche, and a silence fell between them that continued till they re-entered the carriage; nor during the remainder

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