A PATH THAT SHINES. REV. DR. TALMAGE PREACHES UPON THE LIGHTNING OF THE SEA.

An Unusually Attractive and Eloquent Ser-mon--The Pathway of the Almighty--An Irradiated Wave of Gladness--The Glow of Good Deeds. BROOKLYN, Feb. 18.--In the Brooklyn Tabernacle this forenoon Rev. Dr. Talmage preached an unusually attractive and eloquent gospel sermon to a crowded audience, who listened with rapt interest. The subject was "The Lightning of the Sea," the text selected being of Job xii, 32, "He maketh a path to shine after him."

If for the next thousand years ministers of religion should preach from this Bible, there will yet be texts unexpounded and unexplained and unappreciated. What little has been said concerning this chapter in Job from which my text is taken bears on the controversy as to what was really the leviathan described as disturbing the sea. What creature it was I know not. Some say it was a whale. Some say it was a crocodile. My own opinion is it was a sea monster now extinct. No creature now floating in Mediterranean or Atlantic waters corresponds to Job's description.

LIGHTNING OF THE SEA. What most interests me is that as it moved on through the deep it left the waters flashing and resplendent. In the words of the text, "He maketh a path to shine after him." What was that illumined path? It was phosphorescence. You find it in the wake of a ship in the night, especially after rough weather.

Phosphorescence is the lightning of the sea. That this figure of speech is correct in describing its appearance I am certified by an incident. After crossing the Atlantic the first time and writing from Basle, Switzerland, to an Ameri-

can magazine an account of my voyage, in which nothing more fascinated me than the phosphorescence in the ship's wake, I called it the lightning of the sea.

Returning to my hotel, I found a book of John Ruskin, and the first sentence my eyes fell upon was his description of phosphorescence, in which he called it "the lightning of the sea."

Down to the postoffice I hastened to get the manuscript, and with great labor and some expense got possession of the magazine article and put quotation marks around that one sentence, al-

though it was as original with me as with John Ruskin. I suppose that nine-tenths of you living near the sea-

coast have watched this marine appear-

ance called phosphorescence, and I hope that the other one-tenth may some day be so happy as to witness it. It is the waves of the sea diamonded; it is the in-

florescence of the billows; the waves of the sea crimsoned as was the deep after the sea fight of Lepanto; the waves of the sea on fire. There are times when from horizon to horizon the entire ocean seems in conflagration with this strange splendor as it changes every moment to tamer or more dazzling color on all sides of you. You sit looking over the taffrail of the yacht or ocean steamer, watching and waiting to see what new thing the God

of beauty will do with the Atlantic. It is the ocean of transfiguration; it is the marine world casting its garments of glory in the pathway of the Almighty as he walks the deep; it is an inverted firmament with all its stars gone down with it. No picture can present it, for photographer's camera cannot be successfully trained to catch it, and before it the hand of the painter drops its pencil, overawed and powerless.

This phosphorescence is the appearance of myriads of the animal kingdom rising, falling, playing, flashing, living, dying. These luminous animalcules for nearly 150 years have been the study of naturalists and the fascination and solemnization of all who have brain enough to think. Now, God, who puts in his Bible nothing trivial or useless, calls the attention of Job, the greatest scientist of his day, to this phosphorescence, and as the leviathan of the deep sweeps past points out the fact that "he maketh a path to shine after him."

WAKE MADE BY A BAD MAN. Is that true of us now, and will it be true of us when we have gone? Will there be subsequent light or darkness? Will there be a trail of gloom or good cheer? Can any one between now and the next 100 years say of us truthfully as the text says of the leviathan of the deep, "He maketh a path to shine after him?" For we are moving on. While we live in the same house, and transact business in the same store, and write on the same table, and chisel in the same studio, and thrash in the same barn, and worship in the same church, we are in otion and are in many respects moving on, and we are not where we were 10 years ago, nor where we will be 10 years hence. Moving on!

Look at the family record, or the almanac, or into the mirror, and see if any one of you is where you were. All in motion. Other feet may trip and stumble and halt, but the feet of not one moment for the last 60 centuries has tripped or stumbled or halted. Moving on! Society moving on! The world moving on! Heaven moving on! The universe moving on! Time moving on! Eternity moving on! Therefore it is absurd to think that we ourselves can stop, as we must move with all the rest. Are we like the creature of the text, making our path to shine after us? It may be a peculiar question, but my text suggests it.

What influence will we leave in this world after we have gone through it? "None," answer hundreds of voices; "we are not as one of the immortals. Fifty years after we are out of the world it will be as though we never inhabited it."

You are wrong in saying that. I pass down through this audience and up through these galleries, and I am looking for some one whom I cannot find. I am looking for one who will have no influence in this world 100 years from now. But I have found the man who has the least influence, and I inquire into his history, and I find that by a yes or a no he decided some one's eternity. In time of temptation he gave an affirmative or a negative to some temptation which another, hearing of, was induced to decide in the same way. Clear on the other side of the next million years may be the first you hear of the long, reaching influence of that yes or no, but hear of it you will. Will that father make a path to shine after him? Will that mother make a path to shine after her? You will be walking along those streets or along that country road 200 years from now in the character of your descendents. They will be affected by your courage or your cowardice, your purity or your depravity, your holiness or your sin. You will make the path to shine after you or blacken after you. Why should they point out to us on some mountain two rivulets, one of which passes down into the rivers which pour out into the Pacific ocean, and the other rivulet flowing down into the rivers which pass out into the Atlantic ocean? Every man, every woman, stands at a point where words uttered, or deeds done, or prayers offered, decide opposite destinies and opposite eternities. We see a man planting a tree, and treading sod firmly on either side of it, and watering

it in dry weather, and taking a great care in its culture, and he never plucks any fruits from its bough. But his children will. We are all planting trees that will yield fruit hundreds of years after we are dead--orchards of golden fruit of groves of deadly upas.

I am so fascinated with the phosphor-

escence in the track of a ship that I have sometimes watched for a long while and have seen nothing on the face of the deep but blackness. The mouth of watery chasms that looked like gaping jaws of hell. Not a spark as big as the firefly; not a white scroll of surf; not a taper to illuminate the mighty sepulchers of dead ships; darkness 3,000 feet deep, and more thousands of feet long and side. That is the kind of wake that a bad man leaves behind him as he plows through the ocean of this life toward the vaster ocean of the great future.

THE GROWTH OF SIN.

Now, suppose a man seated in a corner grocery or business office among clerks give himself to jolly skepticism.

He laughs at the Bible, makes sport of the miracles, speaks of perdition in jokes and laughs at revivals as a frolic, and at the passage of a funeral procession, which always solemnizes sensible people, says, "Boys, let's take a drink." There is in that group a young man who is making a great struggle against temptation and prays night and morning and reads his Bible and is asking God for help day by day. But that guffaw against Christianity makes him lose his

grip of sacred things, and he gives up Sabbath and church and morals and goes from bad to worse, till he falls un-

der dissipations, dies in a lazar house and is buried in the potter's field. Another young man who heard that jolly skepticism made up his mind that "it makes no difference what we do or say, for we will all come out at last at the same place," and began as a consequence to purloin. Some money that came into

his hands for others he applied to his own uses, thinking perhaps he would make it straight some other time, and all would be well even if he did not make it straight. He ends in the penitentiary. That scoffer who uttered the jokes against Christianity never realized what bad work he was doing, and he passed on through life and out of it and into a future that I am not now going to depict.

I do not propose with a searchlight to show the breakers of the awful coast on which that ship is wrecked, for my busi-

ness now is to watch the sea after the keel has plowed it. No phosphorescence in the wake of that ship, but behind it two souls struggling in the wave--two young men destroyed by reckless skepticism, an unillumined ocean beneath and on all sides of them. Blackness of darkness. You know what a gloriously good man Rev. John Newton was the most of his life, but before his conversion he was a very wicked sailor, and on board the ship Harwich instilled infidelity and vice in the mind of a young man--principles which destroyed him. Afterward the two met, and Newton tried to undo his bad work, but in vain. The young man became worse and worse and died a profligate, horrifying with his profanities those who stood by him in his last moments.

Better look out what bad influence you start, for you may not be able to stop it. It does not require very great force to ruin others. Why was it that many years ago a great flood nearly destroyed New Orleans? A crawfish had burrowed into the banks of the river until the ground was saturated and the banks weakened until the flood burst.

THE SHINING PATH. But I find here a man who starts out in life with the determination that he will never see suffering but he will try to alleviate it, and never see discouragement but he will try to cheer it, and never meet with anybody but he will try to do him good. Getting his strength from God, he starts from home with high pur-

pose of doing all the good he can possibly do in one day.

Whether standing behind the counter, or talking in the business office with a pen behind his ear, or making a bargain with a fellow trader, or out in the fields discussing with his next neighbor the wisest rotation of the crops, or in the shoemaker's shop pounding sole leather, there is something in his face, and in his phraseology, and in his manner, that demonstrates the grace of God in his heart. He can talk on religion without awkwardly dragging it in by the ears. He loves God and loves the souls of all whom he meets and is interested in their present and eternal destiny. For 50 or 60 years he lives that kind of life and then gets through with it and goes into heaven a ransomed soul. But I am not going to describe the port into which that ship has entered.

I am not going to describe the Pilot who met him outside at the "lightship." I am not going to say anything about the crowds of friends who met him on the crystalline wharves up which he goes on steps of chrysoprases. For God in his words to Job calls me to look at the path of foam in the wake of that ship, and I tell you all it is a-gleam with splendors of kindness done, and rolling with il-

lumined tears that were wiped away, and a-dash with congratulations, and clear out to the horizon in all directions is the sparkling, flashing, billowing phosphorescence of a Christian life. "He maketh a path to shine after him."

And here I correct one of the mean notions which at some time takes possession of all of us, and that is as to the brevity of human life. When I bury some very useful man, clerical or lay, in his thirtieth or fortieth year, I say:

"What a waste of energies! It was hardly worth while for him to get ready for Christian work, for he had so soon to quit it." But the fact is that I may insure any man or woman who does any good on a large or small scale for a life on earth as long as the world lasts. Sickness, trolley car accidents, death itself, can no more destroy his life than they can tear down one of the rings of Saturn. You can start one good word, one kind act, one cheerful smile, on a mission that will last until the world becomes a bonfire, and out of that blaze it will pass into the heavens, never to halt as long as God lives.

WHAT ORDINARY PERSONS CAN DO. There were in the seventeenth century men and women whose names you never heard of who are today influencing schools, colleges, churches, nations. You can no more measure the gracious results of their lifetime than you could measure the length and breadth and depth of the phosphorescence last night following the ship of the White Star line 1,500 miles out at sea. How the courage and consecration of others inspire us to follow, as a general in the American army, cool amid the flying bullets, in-

spired a trembling soldier, who said afterward, "I was nearly scared to death, but I saw the old man's white mustache over his shoulder and went on." Aye, we are all following somebody either in right or wrong directions.

A few days ago I stood beside the gar-

landed casket of a gospel minister, and in my remarks had occasion to recall a snow night in a farmhouse when I was a boy and an evangelist spending a night at my father's house, who said something so tender and beautiful and impressive that it led me into the kingdom of God and decided my destiny for this world and the next. You will, before 24 hours go by, meet some man or woman with a big pack of care and trou-

ble, and you may say something to him or her that will endure until this world shall have been so far lost in the past that nothing but the stretch of angelic memory will be able to realize that it ever existed at all.

I am not talking of remarkable men and women, but of what ordinary folks can do. I am not speaking of the phos-

phoresence in the wake of a Campania, but of a Newfoundland fishing smack. God makes thunderbolts out of sparks, and out of the small words and deeds of a small life he can launch a power that will flash and burn and thunder through the eternities.

How do you like this prolongation of your earthly life by deathless influence? Many a babe that died at 6 months of age by the anxiety created in the parent's heart to meet that child in realms se-

raphic is living yet in the transformed heart and life of those parents and will live on forever in the history of that family. If this be the opportunity of or-

dinary souls, what is the opportunity of those who have especial intellectual or social or monetary equipment?

Have you any arithmetic capable of es-

timating the influence of our good and gracious friend who a few days ago went up to rest--George W. Childs of Phila-

delphia? From a newspaper that was printed for 20 years without one word of defamation or scurrility or scandal, and putting chief emphasis on virtue and charity and clean intelligence, he reaped a fortune for himself and then distributed a vast amount of it among the poor and struggling, putting his invalid and aged reporters on pensions, until his name stands everywhere for large heartedness and sympathy and help and highest style of Christian gentleman. In an era which had in the chairs of its journalism a Horace Greeley, and a Henry J. Raymond, and a James Gordon Bennett, and an Erastus Brooks, and a George William Curtis, and an Irenaeus Prime, none of them will be longer remembered than George W. Childs. Staying away from the unveiling of the mon-

ument he had reared at large expense in our Greenwood in memory of Professor Proctor, the astronomer, lest I should say something in praise of the man who had paid for the monument. By all acknowledged a representative of the highest American journalism. If you would calculate his influence for good, you must count how many sheets of his newspapers have been pub-

lished in the last quarter of a century, and how many people have read them, and the effect, not only upon those read-

ers, but upon all whom they shall influence for all time, while you add to all that work of the churches he helped build and of the institutions of mercy he helped found. Better give up before you start the measuring of the phosphorescence in the wake of that ship of the Ce-

lestial line. Who can tell the post mortem influence of a Savonarola, a Winkelried, a Gutenberg, a Marlborough, a Decatur, a Toussaint, a Bolivar, a Clark-

son, a Robert Raikes, a Harlan Page, who had 125 Sabbath scholars, 84 of whom became Christians, and six of them ministers of the gospel.

THE BRIGHT PATH.

With gratitude and penitence and worship I mention the grandest life that was ever lived. That ship of light was launched from the heavens nearly 1,000 years ago, angelic hosts chanting, and from the celestial wharves the ship sprung into the roughest sea that ever tossed. Its billows were made up of the wrath of men and devils, Herodic and sanhedrinic persecutions stirring the deep with red wrath, and all the hurricanes of woe smote it until on the rocks of Golgotta that life struck with a resound of agony that appalled the earth

and the heavens. But in the wake of that life what a phosphorescence of smiles on the cheeks of souls pardoned, and lives reformed, and nations redeemed. The millennium itself is only one roll of that irradiated wave of glad-

ness and benediction. In the sublimest of all senses it may be said of him, "He maketh a path to shine after him."

But I cannot look upon that luminoisity that follows ships without realizing how fond the Lord is of life. That fire of the deep is life, myriads of creatures all a-swim and a-play and a-romp in parks of marine beauty laid out and parterred and roseated and blossomed by Omnipotence. What is the use of those creatures called by the naturalists "crus-

taceans" and "copepods," not more than one out of hundreds of billions of which are ever seen by human eye? God cre-

ated them for the same reason that he creates flowers in places where no human foot ever makes them tremble, and no human nostril ever inhales their redolence, and no human eye ever sees their charm. In the botanical world they

prove that God loves flowers, as in the marine world and the phosphori prove that he loves life, and he loves life in play, life in brilliancy of gladness, life in exuberance. And so I am led to believe that he loves our life if we fulfill our mission as fully as the phosphori fulfill theirs. The son of God came "that we might have life and have it more abundantly." But I am glad to tell you that our God is not the God sometimes described as a harsh critic at the head of the universe, or an infinite scold, or a God that loves funerals better than weddings, or a God that prefers tears to laughter, an omnipotent Nero, a ferocious Nana Sahib, but the

loveliest Being in the universe, loving flowers and life and play, whether of phosphori in the wake of the Majestic or of the human race keeping a holiday.

LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE. But mark you that the phosphorescence has a glow that the night monopolizes, and I ask you not only what kind of influence you are going to leave in the world as you pass through it, but what light are you going to throw across the world's night of sin and sorrow? People who are sailing on smooth sea and at noon do not need much sympathy, but what are you going to do for people in the night of misfortune? Will you drop on them shadow, or will you kindle for them phosphorescence? At this moment there are more people crying than laughing, more people on the round world this moment hungry than well fed, more households bereft than homes unbroken. What are you

going to do about it? "Well," says yonder soul, "I would like to do something toward illumining the great ocean of human wretchedness, but I cannot do much."

Can you do as much as one of the phosphori in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, creatures smaller than the point of a sharp pin? "Oh, yes," you say. Then do that. Shine! Stand before the looking glass and experiment to see if you cannot get that scowl off your forehead, that peevish look out of your lips.

Have at least one bright ribbon in your bonnet. Embroider at least one white cord somewhere in the midnight of your apparel. Do not any longer impersonate a funeral. Shine! Do say something

cheerful about society and about the world. Put a few drops of heaven into your disposition. Once in awhile substitute a sweet orange for a sour lemon.

Remember that pessimism is blasphe-

my and that optimism is Christianity. Throw some light on the night ocean. If you cannot be a lantern swinging in the rigging, be one of the tiny phosphori back of the keel. Shine! "Let your light shine before men that others seeing your good works may glorify your Father which is in heaven." Make one person happy every day, and do that for 20 years, and you will have made 7,300 happy. You know a man who has lost all his property by an unfortunate investment or by gutting his name on the back of a friend's note. After you have taken a brief nap, which every man and woman is entitled to on a Sunday afternoon, go and cheer up that man. You can, if God helps you, say something that will do him good after both of you have been dead a thousand years.

Shine! You know of a family with a bad boy who has run away from home. Go before night and that father and mother the parable of the prodigal son, and that some of the illustrious and use-

ful men now in church and state had a silly passage in their lives and ran away from home. Shine! You know of a family that has lost a child, and the silence of the nursery glooms the whole house from cellar to garret. Go before night and tell them how much that child has happily escaped, since the most prosperous life on earth is a struggle.

Shine! You know of some invalid who is dying for lack of an appetite. She cannot get well because she cannot eat.

Broil a chicken and take it to her before night and cheat her poor appetite into keen relish. Shine! You know of some one who likes you, and you like him, and he ought to be a Christian. Go tell him what religion has done for you, and ask him if you can pray for him.

THE FAILURE OF EULOGY. Shine! Oh, for a disposition so charged with sweetness and light that we cannot help but shine! Remember if you cannot be a leviathan lashing the ocean into fury you can be one of the phosphori, doing your part toward making a path of phosphorescence. Then I will tell you what impression you will leave as you pass through this life and after you are gone. I will tell you to your face and not leave it for the minister who officiates at your obsequies. The failure in all eulogium of the departed is that they cannot hear it. All hear it except the one most interested. This, in substance, is what I or some one else will say of you on such an occasion: "We gather for offices of respect to this departed one. It is impossible to tell how many tears he wiped away, how many burdens he lifted, or how many souls he was, under God, instrumental in saving. His influence will never cease. We are all better for having known him. "That pillow of flowers on the casket was presented by his Sabbath school class, all of whom he brought to Christ. That cross of flowers at the head was presented by the orphan asylum which he befriended. Those three single flowers --one was sent by a poor woman for whom he bought a ton of coal, and one was by a waif of the street whom he rescued through the midnight mission, and the other was from a prison cell which he had often visited to encourage re-

pentance in a young man who had done wrong.

"Those three loose flowers mean quite as much as the costly garlands now breathing their aroma through this saddened home crowded with sympathizers. 'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. They rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.'" Or if it should be the more solemn burial at sea, let it be after the sun has gone down, and the captain has read the appropriate liturgy, and the ship's bell has tolled, and you are let down from the stern of the vessel into the resplendent phosphorescence at the wake of the ship. Then let some one say, in the words of my text, "He maketh a path to shine after him."

Like the Belt of the Summer Girl.

The ancient girdle was used for other material or actual purposes besides that of a receptacle for money. As it were hung in the thousand and one odds and

ends needed and utilized in every day affairs. The scrivener had his inkhorn and pen attached to it, the scholar his book or books, the monk his crucifix and rosary, the innkeeper his tallies, and ev-

erybody his knife. So many and so various were the articles attached to it that the flippant began to poke fun. In an old play there is mention of a mer-

chant who had hanging at his girdle a pouch, a spectacle case, a "punniard," a pen and inkhorn and a "handkercher,

with many other trinkets besides, which a merry companion seeing said it was like a haberdasher's shop of small wares."

In another early play a lady says to her maid: "Give me my girdle and see that all the furniture be at it. Look that cizars, pincers, the penknife, the knife

to close letters with, the bodkin, the earpicker and toe scale be in the case."--Chambers' Journal.

ONE CURE FOR INSOMNIA. A Man From New York State Took a Little Active Exercise on Horseback.

"I once was a sufferer from insomnia," said a dentist who lives in one of the small villages of the state, as he sat talk-

ing with other men in the sitting room of an uptown hotel, "but I got rid of the trouble."

"What did you take for it?"

"Bucking pony." "Tell us about that, please." "Well, you see, there was nothing the matter with me only I couldn't sleep. The doctor looked me over and said I wasn't suffering from any disease that he could detect, but all the same I could get only a few catnaps every night, and

I felt that I would go crazy if such a condition of affairs continued much longer. A wise friend of mine advised me to try

horseback exercise. Just at that time a sleepy looking animal that we called him of ponies from the west. As the ponies were wild they were offered for sale man had brought to the village a string cheap. I bought one. He was such a

Rip Van Winkle. After we knew him better we dropped part of the name and called him plain Rip. The first ride I took on him furnished excitement for the whole village. Two men helped me to saddle and mount him in the stable. When the door was opened he shot out into the street like a streak of lightning.

"He ran full against the fence opposite the stable and broke several pickets. Then he reared up on his hind legs and came near throwing me over backward.

Next he tried to stand on his head, but I yanked him back on his feet and drove the spurs into him. He started to run

then, and I let him go as fast as he could leg it until we got to the Methodist church at the end of the street. A temperance meeting was being held in the church and the door was open. Before I

could stop the pony we were in the church and half way up the aisle. Women screamed and fainted.

"Some of the men led Rip back into the street. I didn't dare to get off his back. When the men let go of the bridle he began to buck, and for a few minutes I thought my neck would be broken. He would go at a gallop when he went at all, but he would stop now and then to indulge in some bucking. Presently he changed his tactics and went from one street to another, across lots, jumping fences, turning up flower beds, damaging gardens and keeping me busy dodging the branches of fruit trees. The next street led to a turnpike, along which I spurred him for miles until he was covered with foam and nearly tired out. "He seemed to be docile when I got him back to the stable. Next day, however, he was nearly as bad as when I first rode him, and every day for a fortnight I was obliged to race him along the turnpike several miles. My! my! How he did buck! I was so lame at the end of two weeks that I could scarcely walk to

my office, but I could sleep. A few min-

utes after I got into bed at night I was sleeping soundly, and I awoke every morning thoroughly refreshed." "Do you still ride the pony?" "No. By the time I was cured of sleeplessness I had broken Rip to ride, and I sold him for double the sum I had paid for him. My advice to anybody who is suffering from insomnia is to get a bucking pony and ride as fast as he can. If no necks are broken, both man and pony will be benefited by the treatment."--New York Tribune.

To Remove Substances From the Eye. To remove the solid particles from under the lids it is sufficient to pull the lid away from the eye and to wipe the body with a piece of moist paper or the corner of a handkerchief. If it is under the upper lid, grasp the lid firmly between the thumb and finger, lift it from the eyeball and draw it down over the lower

lid, and then allow it to slide slowly back to its natural position. The foreign body will be scraped off on the lashes. The operation may be repeated several

times. Or lift the lid from the eyeball, allow the tears to accumulate beneath the lid and forcibly blow the nose. Or place in the eye a few grains of flaxseed, which, forming a mucilage, will promptly bring relief. Or place across the upper lid to the point of a pencil or bodkin, and turn the lid back over it. In this way the foreign particle is brought into distinct view and can be readily wiped away.--Washington Star.

A Long Underground Canal.

The canal between Worsley and St. Helena in north England is probably the longest and most remarkable canal of the kind in the world. It is 16 miles long and is underground from one end to the other. Many years ago the managers of the Duke of Bridgewater's estate filled its old mines with water that they might transport the coal under ground instead of on the surface. Ordinary canalboats are used, the power being furnished by the men. The tunnel arch over the canal is provided with cross pieces, and the men propel the boats along as they lie on their backs on the loads of coal.--Pittsburgh Dispatch.

A Silly Joker's Lesson. Some time ago a guest of one of our hotels sent old Mrs. Marsh to the Southern Express company's office with an order to the express agent to pay Mrs. Marsh $50,000 at once. The simple old woman took it to the express office, believing, as she always does, that the money was due her. Clyde Glenn, the polite and manly agent, took the note, wrote across its back and sent Mrs. Marsh with it to the writer.

When the man opened the note, he found the express agent had indorsed it thus: "Will you not try in the future to conduct yourself as a gentleman, remem-

bering that your mother is or will be an old woman?" The thoughtless joker took the note to the express office, called for the agent and grasping Mr. Glenn's hand said, "I thank you for that rebuke."--

Tampa (Fla.) Times.

The Gold Cure For Sore Throat.

A well known Portlander wears a necklace and is no dude either. He is exceedingly sensitive to sore throat, and he believes the gold of the chain protects him from it. When he was married, his wife found that he constantly wore a string of gold beads around his neck. She had little faith in their remedial property, and when the string broke one day she was in no hurry to replace it. But her husband came home with a bad sore throat, and she was so converted to this gold cure that she bought him a chain that would be less likely to break than the string of beads. He has probably worn gold around his neck for at

least 20 years, and you can't convince him that it's merely a whim.--Lewiston (Me.) Journal.

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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, Mortgages, Wills and Contracts carefully drawn. Abstracts of titles carefully prepared. Experience of more than twenty-five years. Office--Sixth Street and Asbury Avenue. P. O. Box 825. WM. LAKE.

Honesty is the best policy.--B. Franklin. Therefore get the policies issued at the office of H. B. Adams & Co., by HONEST, Sound, Liberal, Solid and Successful Fire Insurance Companies. Your choice of 18 of the best American and English Companies. LOTS FOR SALE in all parts of the city. Hotels and Cottages for Sale or Rent. Money to loan on mortgages. H. B. ADAMS & CO., Eighth Street, opposite W. J. R. R. Station, OCEAN CITY, N .J.

E. B. LAKE,

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.

ISRAEL G. ADAMS & CO., Real Estate and Insurance AGENTS,

2031 ATLANTIC AVE. Atlantic City, N. J.

Commissioner of Deeds for Pennsylvania.

Money to loan on first mortgage. Lots for sale at South Atlantic City.

Flagging & Curbing. GET THE BEST STONE FLAGGING and CURBING Never wears out. No second expense.

For terms and contracts consult Robert Fisher, my agent for Ocean City. DENNIS MAHONEY.