LESSONS OF POMPEII. RIGHTEOUSNESS IS LIFE, BUT INIQUI-

TY IS DEATH.

Rev. Dr. Talmage's Vivid Description of the Ruined City--Solemnity and Awe Inspired by the Surroundings--A Warning to the Wicked of Today.

BROOKLYN, Oct. 8.--In his sermon at the Brooklyn Tabernacle this morning Rev. Dr. Talmage presented an arousing theme of the living cities of today drawn from the tomb of a dead city of the past. The opening hymn, led by cornet and organ, was joined by the voices of the multitude: Arm of the Lord, awake, awake; Put on thy strength; the nations shake.

The subject was "Pompeii and its Lessons;" the text, Isaiah xxv, 2, "Thou hast made of a defensed city a ruin." A flash on the night sky greeted us as we left the rail train at Naples, Italy. What was the strange illumination? It was that wrath of many centuries--Vesu-vius. Giant son of an earthquake. Intoxicated mountain of Italy. Father of many consternations. A volcano, burning so long, and yet to keep on burning until, perhaps, it may be the very torch that will kindle the last conflagration and set all the world on fire. It eclipses in violence of behavior Cotopaxi and Aetna and Stromboli and Krakatoa. Awful mystery. Funeral pyre of dead cities. Everlasting paroxysm of mountains. It seems like a chimney of hell. It roars with fiery reminiscence of what it has done and with threats of worse things that it may yet do. I would not live in one of the villages at its base for a present of all Italy. On a day in December, 1631, it threw up ashes that floated away hundreds and hundreds of miles and dropped in Constantinople, and in the Adriatic sea, and on the Apennines, as well as trampling out at its own foot the lives of 18,000 people. Geologists have tried to fathom its mysteries, but the heat consumed the iron instruments and drove back the scorched and blistered explorers from the cindery and crumbling brink. It seems like the asylum of maniac elements. At one time far back its top had been a fortress, where Spartacus fought and was surrounded and would have been destroyed had it not been for the grapevines which clothed the mountainside from top to base, and laying hold of them he climbed hand under hand to safety in the valley. But for centuries it has kept its furnace burning as we saw it that night on our arrival in November of 1889. THE DEAD CITY. Of course the next day we started to see some of the work wrought by that frenzied mountain. "All out for Pompeii!" was the cry of the conductor. And now we stand by the corpse of that dead city. As we entered the gate and passed between the walls I took off my hat, as one naturally does in the presence of some imposing obsequies. That city had been at one time a capital of beauty and pomp. The home of grand architecture, exquisite painting, enchanting sculpture, unrestrained carousal and rapt assemblage. A high wall of 20 feet thick, threefourths of it still visible, encircled the city. On those walls at a distance of only 100 yards from each other towns rose for armed men who watched the city. The streets ran at right angles and from wall to wall, only one street excepted.

In the days of the city's prosperity its towers glittered in the sun; eight strong gates for ingress and egress; Gate of the

Seashore, Gate of Herculaneum, Gate of Vesuvius being perhaps the most important. Yonder stood the Temple of Jupiter, hoisted at an imposing elevation, and with its six corinthian columns of immense girth, which stood like carved icebergs shimmering in the light. There stands the Temple of the Twelve Gods. Yonder see the Temple of Hercules and the Temple of Mercury, with altars of marble and bas-relief, wonderful enough to astound all succeeding

ages of art, and the Temple of Aesculapius, brilliant with sculpture and gorgeous with painting. Yonder are the theaters, partly cut into surrounding hills, and glorified with pictured walls, and entered under arches of imposing masonry, and with rooms for captivated and applaudatory audiences seated or standing in vast semicircle. Yonder are the costly and immense public baths of the city, with

more than the modern ingenuities of Carlsbad. Notice the warmth of those ancient tepidariums, with hovering radiance of roof, and the vapor of those

caldariums, with decorated alcoves, and the cold dash of their frigidariums, with floors of mosaic and ceilings of all skillfully intermingled hues, and walls upupholstered with all the colors of the setting sun, and sofas on which to recline for slumber after the plunge. Yonder are the barracks of the celebrated gladiators. Yonder is the summer home of Sallust, the Roman historian and senator, the architecture as elaborate as his character was corrupt. There is the residence of the poet Pansa, with a compressed Louvre and Luxembourg within his walls. There is the home of Lucretius, with vases and antiquities enough to turn the head of a

virtuoso. Yonder see the Forum, at the highest place in the city. It is entered by two triumphal arches. It is bounded on three sides by doric columns. Yonder, in the suburbs of the city, is the home of Arrius Diomed, the mayor of the suburbs, terraced residence of billionairedom, gardens, fountained, statued, colonnaded, the cellar of that villa filled with bottles of rarest wine, a few drops of which were found 1,800 years afterward. Along the streets of the city are men of might and women of beauty formed into the bronze that many centuries had no power to bedim. Battle scenes on walls in colors which all time cannot efface. Great city of Pompeii! So Seneca and Tacitus and Cicero pronounced it. VESUVIUS IN ERUPTION. Stand with me on its walls this evening of Aug. 23, A. D. 79. See the throngs passing up and down in Tyrian purple and girdles of arabesque, and necks enchained with precious stones, proud official in imposing toga meeting the slave carrying trays a-clink with goblets and a-smoke with delicacies from paddock and sea, and moralist, musing over the degradation of the times passes the profligate doing his best to make them worse. Hark to the clatter and rataplan of the hoofs on the streets paved with blocks of basalt. See the verdured and flowered grounds sloping into the most beautiful bay of all the earth--the bay of Naples. Listen to the rumbling chariots, carrying convivial occupants to halls of mirth and masquerade and carousal. Hear the loud dash of fountains amid the sculptured water nymphs. Notice the weird, solemn, farreaching hum and din and roar of a city at the close of a summer day. Let Pompeii sleep well tonight, for it is the last night of peaceful slumber before she falls into the deep slumber of many long centuries.

The morning of the 24th of August, A. D. 79, has arrived, and the day rolls on, and it is 1 o'clock in the afternoon.

"Look!" I say to you, standing on this wall, as the sister of Pliny said to him, the Roman essayist and naval commander, on the day of which I speak, as she pointed him in the direction in which I point you. There is a peculiar cloud on the sky; a spotted cloud, now white, now black. It is Vesuvius in awful and unparalleled eruption. Now the smoke and fire and steam of that black monster throat rise and spread, as, by my gesture, I now describe it. It rises, a great column of fiery darkness, higher and higher, and then spreads out like the branches of a tree, with midnights interwrapped in its foliage, wider and wider. Now the sun goes out, and showers of pumice stone and water from furnaces more than seven times heated, and ashes in avalanche after avalanche, blinding and scalding and suffocating, descend north, south, east and west, burying deeper and deeper in mammoth sepulcher, such as never before or since was opened, Stabiae, Herculaneum and Pompeii. Ashes ankle deep, girdle deep, chin deep, ashes overhead. Out of the houses and temples and theaters and into the streets and down to the beach fled many of the frantic, but others, if not suffocated of the ashes, were scalded to death by the heated deluge. And then came heavier destruction in rocks after rocks, crushing in homes and temples and theaters. No wonder the sea receded from the beach as though in terror, until much of the shipping was wrecked, and no wonder that when they lifted Pliny the elder from the sailcloth on which he was resting, under the agitations of what he had seen, he suddenly expired. For three days the entombment proceeded. Then the clouds lifted, and the cursing of that Apollyon of mountains subsided. For 1,700 years that city of Pompeii lay buried and without anything to show its place of doom. But after 1,700 years of obliteration a workman's spade, digging a well, strikes some antiquities which lead to the exhumation of the city. Now walk with me through some of the streets and into some of the houses and amid the ruins of basilica and Temple and amphitheater. EMOTIONS THE SCENE INSPIRES. From the moment the guide met us at the gate on entering Pompeii that day in November, 1889, until he left us at the gate on our departure, the emotion I felt was indescribable for elevation and solemnity and sorrow and awe. Come and see the petrified bodies of the dead found in the city, and now in the museums of Italy. About 450 of these embalmed by that eruption have been recovered. Mother and child, noble and serf, merchant and beggar, are presentable and natural after 1,700 years of burial. That woman was found clutching her adorn-

ments when the storm of ashes and fire began, and for 1,700 years she continued to clutch them.

There at the soldiers' barracks are 64 skeletons of brave men, who faithfully stood guard at their post when the tempest of cinders began, and after 1,700 years were still found standing guard. There is the form of gentle womanhood impressed upon the hardened ashes. Pass along, and here we see the deep ruts in the basaltic pavements worn there by the wheels of the chariots of the first century. There, over the doorways and in the porticoes, are works of art immortalizing the debauchery of a city, which, notwithstanding all its splendors, was a vestibule of perdition. Those gutters ran with the blood of the gladiators, who were the prizefighters of those ancient times, and it was sword parrying sword, until, with one skillful and stout plunge of the sharp edge, the mauled and gashed combatant reeled over dead, to be carried out amid the huzzas of enraptured spectators. We staid among those suggestive scenes after the hour that visitors are usually allowed there and staid until there was not a footfall to be heard within all that city except our own. Up this silent street and down that silent street we wandered. Into that windowless and roofless home we went and came out again onto the pavements that, now forsaken, were once thronged with life. And can it be that all up and down these solemn solitudes, hearts more than 1,800 years ago ached and rejoiced, and feet shuffled with the gait of old age or danced with childish glee, and overtasked workmen carried their burdens, and drunkards staggered? On that mosaic

floor did glowing youth clasp hands in marriage vow, and cross that threshold did pallbearers carry the beloved dead, and gay groups once mount those now skeletons of staircases?

While I walked and contemplated the city seemed suddenly to be thronged with all the population that had ever inhabited it, and I heard its laughter and groan and blasphemy and uncleanness and infernal boast as it was on the 23d

of August, 79. And Vesuvius, from the mild light with which it flushed the sky that summer evening as I stood in disen-

tombed Pompeii, seemed suddenly again to heave and flame and rock with the lava and darkness and desolation and woe with which more than 18 centuries ago it submerged Pompeii, as with the liturgy of fire and storm the mountain proclaimed at the burial, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

My friends, I cannot tell what practical suggestion comes to your mind from this walk through uncovered Pompeii, but the first thought that absorbs me is that, while art and culture are important, they cannot save the morals or the life of a great town. Much of the painting and sculpture of Pompeii was so exquisite that, while some is kept on the walls where it was first penciled, to be

admired by those who go there, whole wagon loads and whole rooms full of it have been transferred to the Museo Borbonico at Naples, to be admired by the centuries.

Those Pompeiian artists mixed such durability of colors that, though their paintings were buried in ashes and sco-

ria for 1,700 years, and since they were uncovered many of them have remained there exposed to the rains and winds and winters and summers of 130 years, the color is as fresh and vivid and true as though yesterday it had passed from

the easel. Which of our modern paintings could stand all that? And yet many of the specimens of Pompeiian art show that the city was sunk to such a depth of abomination that there was nothing deeper. Sculptured and petrified and embalmed abomination. There was a state of public morals worse than belongs to any city now standing under the sun. Yet how many think that all that is necessary is to cultivate the mind and advance the knowledge and improve the arts. Have you the impression that eloquence will do the elevating work? Why, Pompeii had Cicero half of every year for its citizen. Have you the idea that literature is all that is necessary to keep a city right? Why, Sallust, with a pen that was the boast of Roman literature, had a mansion in that doomed city. DO you think that sculpture and art are quite sufficient for the production of good morals? Then correct your delusion by examining the statues in the Temple of Mercury at Pompeii, or the winged figures of its Parthenon, and the colonnades and arches of this house of Diomed. By all means have schools and Dusseldorf and Dore exhibitions and galleries where the genius of all the centuries can bank itself up in snowy sculpture, and all bric-a-brac, and all pure art, but nothing save the religion of Jesus Christ can make a city moral. In proportion as churches and Bibles and CHristian printing presses and revivals of religion abound is a city clean and pure. What has Buddhism or Confucianism or Mohammedanism done in all the hundreds of years of their progress for the eleva-

tion of society? Absolutely nothing.

Peking and Madras and Cairo are just what they were ages ago, except as Christianity has modified their condition. What is the difference between our Brooklyn and their Pompeii? No difference, except that which Christianity has wrought. Favor all good art, but take best care of your churches, and your Sabbath schools, and your Bibles, and your family altars. TWO REMARKABLE CEMETERIES. Yea, see in our walk today through uncovered Pompeii what sin will do for a city. We ought to be slow to assign the judgments of God. Cities are some-

times afflicted just as good people are afflicted, and the earthquake, and the cy-

clone, and the epidemic are no sign in many cases that God is angry with a city, but the distress is sent for some good and kind purpose, whether we understand it or not. The law that applies to individuals may apply to Christian cities as well. "All things work together for good to those that love God." But the greatest calamity of history came upon Pompeii not to improve its future conditions, for it was completely obliterated and will never be rebuilt. It was so bad that it needed to be buried 1,700 years before even its ruins were fit to be uncovered. So Sodom and Gomorrah were filled with such turpitude that they were not only turned under, but have for thousands of years been kept under. The two greatest cemeteries are the cemetery in which the sunken ships are buried all the way between Fire island and Fastnet lighthouse, and the other cemetery is the cemetery of dead cities. I get down on my knees and read the epitapheology of a long line of them. Here lies Babylon, once called "the hammer of the whole earth." Dead and buried under piles of bitumen and broken pottery and vitrefied brick. And I hear a wolf howl and a reptile hiss as I am reading this epitaph (Isaiah xiii, 21), "The wild beast of the desert shall be there, and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures." The next tomb I kneel before in this cemetery of cities is Nineveh. Her winged lions are down, and the slabs of alabaster have crumbled, and the sculpture that represented her battles is as completely scattered as the dust of the heroes who fought them. Perhaps I put my knee into the dust of her Sardanapalus as I stoop to read her epitaph (Zephaniah ii, 14), "Now is Nineveh desolation and dry like a wilderness, and flocks lie down in the midst of her; all the beasts of the nations, both the cor-

morant and the bittern, lodge in the up-

per lintels of it." And while I read it I hear an owl hoot and a hyena laugh. The next entombed city I pass has a monument of 50 prostrate columns of gray and red granite, and it is Tyre. The next sepulcher of a great capital is covered with scattered columns and defaced sphinxes and the sands of the desert, and it is Thebes. As I pass on I find the resting place of Mycenae, a city of which Homer sang, and Corinth, which rejected Paul and depended upon her fortress, Acrocorinthus, which now lies dismantled on the hill, and I move on in this cemetery of cities, and I find the tombs of Sardis and Smyrna and Persepolis and Memphis and Baulbek and Carthage, and here are the cities of the plain and Herculaneum and Stabia and Pompeii. Some of them have mighty sarcophagus and hieroglyphic entablature, but they are dead and buried never to rise. But the cemetery of dead cities is not yet filled, and if the present cities of the world forget God and with their indecencies shock the heavens let them know that the God who on the 24th of August, 79, dropped on a city of Italy a superincumbrance that staid there 17 centuries is still alive and hates sin now as much as he did then and has at his command all the armament of destruction with which he whelmed their iniquitous predecessors. It was only a few summers ago that Brooklyn and New York felt an earthquake throb that sent the people affrighted into the streets, and that suggested that there are forces of nature now suppressed or held in check which

easier than a child in a nursery knocks down a row of block houses could prostrate a city or engulf a continent deeper than Pompeii was engulfed. Our hope is in the mercy of the Lord continued to our American cities.

It amazes me that this city, which has the quietest Sabbaths on the conti-

nent and the best order and the highest tone of morals of any city that I know of, is now having brought into as near neighborhood as Coney Island carnivals of pugilism and debasing as any of the gladiatorial contests of Pompeii. What a precious crew that Coney Island Athletic crew is, under whose auspices these orgies are enacted! What a degradation to the adjective "athletic," which ordinarily suggests health and muscle developed for useful purpose! Instead of calling it an athletic club they might better style it "The Ruffian Club For Smashing the Human Visage." Vile men are turning that Coney Island, which is one of the finest watering places on all the Atlantic coast, into a place for the offscouring of the earth to congregate, the low horse jockeys and gamblers, and the pugilists, and the pickpockets, and the bleats regurgitated from the depths of the worst wards of these cities. They invite delegates from universal loaferdom to come to their carnival of knuckles. But I do not believe that the pugilism contracted for and advertised for next December will take place in our neighborhood.

A STEP TOO FAR. Evil sometimes defeats itself by going one step too far. You may drive the hoop of a barrel down so hard that it breaks. I will not believe that the inter-

national prize fight will take place on Long Island or in the state of New York until I see the rowdy rabble rolling drunk off the cars at Flatbush avenue and with faces banged and cut and bleed-

ing from the imbruting scene. Against this infraction of the laws of the state of New York I lift solemn protest. The curse of Almighty God will rest upon any community that consents to such an outrage. Does any one think it cannot be stopped and that the constabulary would be overborne? Then let Governor Flower send down there a regiment of state militia, and they will clean out the nuisance in one hour.

Warned by the doom of other cities that have perished for their ruffianism,

or their cruelty, or their idolatry, or their dissoluteness, let all our American cities lead the right way. Only our dependence is on God and Christian influences. Poli-

tics will do nothing but make things worse. Send politics to moralize and save a city, and you send smallpox to

heal leprosy or a carcass to relieve the air of malodor. For what politics will do I refer you to the eight weeks of stul-

ification enacted at Washington by our own American senate.

American politics will become a re-

formatory power on the same day that pandemonium becomes a church. But there are, I am glad to say, benign and salutary and gracious influences organ-

ized in all our cities which will yet take them for God and righteousness. Let us ply the gospel machinery to its ut-

most speed and power. City evangelization is the thought. Accustomed as are religious pessimists to dwell upon statistics of evil and dolorous facts, we want some one with sanctified heart and good digestion to put in long line the statistics of natures transformed, and profligacies balked, and souls ransomed, and cities redeemed.

Give us pictures of churches, of schools, of reformatory associations, of

asylums of mercy. Break in upon the "Misereres" of complaint and despondency with "Te Deuma" and "Jubilates" of moral and religious victory. Show that the day is coming when a great tidal wave of salvation will roll over all our cities. Show how Pompeii buried will become Pompeii resurrected. Demonstrate the fact that there are millions of good men and women who will give themselves no rest day nor night until cities that are now of the type of the buried cities of Italy shall take type from the New Jerusalem coming down from God out of heaven. I hail the advancing morn.

I make the same proclamation today that Gideon made to the shivering cow-

ards of his army. "Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him return and depart early from Mount Gilead." Close up the ranks. Lift the gospel standard. Forward into this Armageddon that is now opening and let the word run all aloing the line: Brooklyn for God! All our cities for God? America for God! The world for God! The most of us here

gathered, though born in the country, will die in town.

Shall our last walk be through streets where sobriety and good order dominate,

or grogshops stench the air? Shall our last look be upon city halls where justice reigns, or demagogues plot for the stuffing of ballot boxes? Shall we sit for

the last time in some church where God is worshiped with the contrite heart, or where cold formalism goes through unmeaning genuflexions? God save the cities! Righteousness is life; iniquity is

death. Remember picturesque, terraced, templed, sculptured, boastful, God de-

fying and entombed Pompeii!

Economizing on Preachers. In Clark county, where hard times prevail and crops failed this year, the religious people of all denominations are getting together and discharging all but one minister in the interest of economy. At Ashland, the county seat, seven denominations combined and took a vote on the most popular of the seven ministers who should preach the gospel to the people, eschewing all doctrinal topics. Rev. Milleck of the Methodist church was se-

lected and the other six discharged.

The unsuccessful were not soured, and accepted their fate, knowing that there was support but for one minister.--Kan-sas Cor. Philadelphia Press. Baby Cheney's Narrow Escape. Babies will eat whatever they sea. That's how Baby Cheney of Randolph, Me., came near dying. The nice dish of green beans which Mrs. Cheney had set out for the kittens and which baby sampled had been nosed over by a dog which had been just previously poisoned. So baby came near dying, and Mrs. Cheney says to her neighbor, "Did you ever?" And no one ever did hear of just such a case.--New York Recorder. A Thirty Pound Nugget of Gold. The recent gold strike made at the Virtue mine, near [?], is the richest and most extensive revealed for years. One afternoon a chunk was taken out weighing 30 pounds, which is estimated to contain $3,000. On account of the extreme richness of the ore it is not run through the mill, but it is pounded up in a large mortar.--Cor. Portland Oregonian. No Bogus Italian Counts. American heiresses need have little fear of bogus Italian counts for the same reason that there is no imitation Italian wine--the real article is too cheap. The possession of a title in Palermo gives nothing great of itself, but its indispensable accompaniment is a carriage, horses and driver in livery. To maintain these on an income of next to nothing a year it is often necessary to eat macaroni and thick soup for a regular diet, do a great part of one's housework in gloomy, faded apartments and sit about in old clothes all day long to await the magic hour of 8 p. m. Then mother and daughter don their finery, the carriage is driven to the door and it begins--the long, ceremonious drive to La Favorita and the Giardino Inglese.--Stirling Hellig's Letter.

ODDS AND ENDS. Schools of forestry were established in Austria in 1810. Bees never store honey in light, because honey thus exposed granulates. Men are more liable than women to insanity, but die sooner after becoming insane. About 1620 the use of logarithms was introduced into problems of navigation by the famous Edmund Gunter. In 1892 there were 1,895 vessels of all kinds built in the United States, with an estimated tonnage of 199,000,000. Tobacco, cigars, cigarettes and the usual mixture are forbidden from entering New Zealand by parcels post. The first United States navigation laws were passed by congress in 1792 and for the most part are still in force. Siam's exports last year included no less than 6½ tons of birds' nests sent to Hong-Kong to mkke the celebrated Chi-

nese soup.

The Chilkat Nation in Alaska is divided into sections, each named after some living thing. There are the Ravens,

Wolves, Eagles, Snails, Bears, etc.

Sir Arnold White, an English lawyer who died recently, was the private solicitor of Queen Victoria and other members of the royal family, as well as the

king and queen of Belgium.

The use of the flannel shroud dates back to acts of parliament 18 and 19, Charles II, which, to encourage the woolen trade in England, compelled that all

bodies should be so protected.

Between 2,000 and 2,500 convicts from English prisons are annually discharged on ticket of leave, and of these over 700 are apprehended for fresh offenses and

120 for failing to report themselves.

The Imperial canal of China is the longest in the world and the greatest in point of traffic. Its length is 2,100 miles,

and it connects 41 cities situated on its banks. It was completed in 1350, after 600 years spent on its construction.

One of the best remedies for toothache is the common compound tincture of

benzoin, sold everywhere in the drug stores. If a few drops are placed on cotton and put in or around the tooth, the pain will be almost instantly stopped.

The great steamships plying between Australia and England are provided with

freezing machinery, by which mutton, frozen, is preserved and delivered in

London in fine condition. Australian flowers, preserved in ice, are also car-

ried to London.

The Duke of York must be acquiring a considerably library, for it is said that he is preserving all the newspaper refer-

ences touching on any part of his life.

Now, of course, he has added those about his bride. The volumes are handsomely

bound and have solid gold clasps, which display the duke's initials beautifully engraved.

Perfumed Mists. On certain parts of the coast of France, including the channel, mists occasionally appear which are generally called "perfumed mists." They come in the morning, especially during the spring, and strangely enough only when the wind is in the northeast. Sometimes they only last for a few minutes; at others they hang about all day. They have a characteristic smell, similar to that of a lime kiln.

The origin of these mists is a mystery.

In one district the inhabitants thought the smell came from some lime kilns some miles to the northeast, and they may have been right, but that was not an explanation of the phenomenon, because the smell from these kilns could not have been carried by a northeast wind to all the other places where the

mists were seen and the smell noticed.

In one of these places the northeast wind comes from the sea; in another it

comes overland. The smell does not therefore necessarily come from the ground. During the past few weeks the

northeast wind has been very prevalent and the mist frequent.

The best explanation given is that the blustering northeast and east winds sweep up the dust, gases and germs of the ground over which they pass and drive them toward the sea. When this wind is continued for some time, it contains such a quantity of these things as to affect all our organs. That is the cause of the complaints which appear when the east wind blows, and it may

be the cause of those "perfumed mists."--Paris Petite Revue.

A Genuine One. A Detroiter who had been at the World's fair for two weeks met an acquaintance in a Chicago railway station as he was starting back home. As he paid for his sleeper he showed up a $50 bill. "What's that?" asked the astonished acquaintance. "What's what?" "That bill?" "A fifty." "How long have you been in Chicago?" "Two weeks." "And got that much left?" "More than that." The acquaintance pondered a moment. "Look here," he said. "Would you like to hire out for the rest of the season as a freak?"--Detroit Free Press. His Dog Stopped the Leak. One of the few dogs worth having is owned by Silas Holbrook of East Harpswell. Starting out from the wharf in a boat with his master the other day, the dog noticed that the plug was out of the bottom of the boat and the water was coming in. After calling attention to the trouble he placed his paw over the hole and kept the water out until his master found the plug and replaced it.--Lewiston Evening Journal.

Mrs. Ross' Invention.

Mrs. Grafton Ross, an English woman, has invented a tool for killing weeds in gardens. It is in the form of a hollow piercer, through which poison is conveyed to the heart of the root of a weed, causing it to shrivel up in a very short time.--London Gentlewoman.

When a personage of high rank dies in Siam, the king helps bathe the body and prepare it for cremation and finally lights the funeral pyre. A cubic inch of gold is worth $210; a cubic foot, $362,380; a cubic yard, $9,797,702. This reckoning bases the value of gold at $18 per ounce. Cleopatra's needles were not erected by that queen; neither do they commemorate any event in her history. They were set up by Rameses the Great.

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If you intend visiting the seashore the coming season, communicate with

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Y. CORSON, REAL ESTATE AGENT, AND LICENSED AUCTIONEER, No. 721 Asbury Avenue, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Properties for sale. Boarding Houses and Cottages for Rent in all parts of the city. Correspondence solicited.

WM. LAKE, C. E., REAL ESTATE AGENT, Surveying, Conveyancing, Commissioner of Deeds, Notary Public, Master in Chancery, Sec'y Ocean City Building and Loan Association.

Lots for Sale or Exchange. Houses to rent, furnished or unfurnished. Deeds, Bonds, Mort-

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SUPERINTENDENT OF

OCEAN CITY ASSOCIATION

From its Organization, and also

REAL ESTATE AGENT Having thousands of Building Lots for sale at various prices, Some very Cheap and located in all parts of Ocean City. Now is the time to purchase property before the second railroad comes, as then property will greatly advance. I have a good many Inquiries for Property between 6th and 12th streets. Any one having property for sale might do

well to give me their prices.

All persons desiring to Buy, or Sell, or Exchange property, would do well before closing any transaction to call on or address E. B. LAKE, Association Office, No. 601 Asbury Ave., Ocean City, N. J.