CHRIST A CONQUEROR. REV. DR. TALMAGE PUTS OLD TRUTHS IN A NEW GARB. A Remarkable Sermon Full of the Well Known Preacher's Apt Metaphors and Glowing Illustrations--A Sermon For the Unconverted.

BROOKLYN, March 4.--From the star-

tling figure of the text chosen by Rev. Dr. Talmage in his sermon in the Brooklyn Tabernacle today the preacher brought out the radical truths of the Christian religion. It was sacramental day in the Tabernacle. The subject of the sermon was "Christ the Conqueror," the text be-

ing Isaiah lxiii, 1, "Who is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah--this that is glorious in his apparel, traveling in the greatness of his strength?"

Edom and Bozrah, having been the scene of fierce battle, when those words are used here or in any other part of the Bible they are figures of speech setting forth scenes of severe conflict. As now we often use the word Waterloo to de-

scribe a decisive contest of any kind, so the words of Bozrah and Edom in this text are figures of speech descriptive of a scene of great slaughter. Whatever else the prophet may have meant to describe, he most certainly meant to depict the Lord Jesus Christ saying, "Who is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah, traveling in the greatness of his strength?"

GOING TO BATTLE.

When a general is about to go out to the wars, a flag and a sword are publicly presented to him, and the maidens bring flowers, and the young men load the cannon, and the train starts amid a huzza that drowns the thunder of the wheels and the shriek of the whistle. But all this will give no idea of the excitement that there must have been in heav-

en when Christ started out on the campaign of the world's conquest. If they could have foreseen the siege that would be laid to him, and the maltreatment he would suffer, and the burdens he would have to carry, and the battles he would have to fight, I think there would have been a million volunteers in heaven who would have insisted on coming along with him. But no; they only accompanied him to the gate; their last shout heard clear down to the earth; the space between the two worlds bridged with a great hosanna.

You know there is a wide difference between a man's going off to battle and coming back again. When he goes off, it is with epaulets untangled, with ban-

ner unspecked, with horses sleek and shining from the groom. All that there is of struggle and pain is to come yet. So it was with Christ. He had not yet fought a battle. He was starting out, and though this world did not give him a warm hearted greeting there was a gentle mother who folded him in her arms. And a babe finds no difference between a stable and a palace, between courtiers and camel drivers.

As Jesus stepped on the stage of this world it was amid angelic shouts in the galleries and amid the kindest maternal ministrations. But soon hostile forces began to gather. They deployed from the sanhedrin. They were detailed from the standing army. They came out from the Caesarean castles. The vagabonds in the street joined the gentlemen of the mansion. Spirits rode up from hell, and in long array there came a force together that threatened to put to rout this newly arrived one from heaven.

Jesus, now seeing the battle gathering, lifted his own standard. But who gath-

ered about it? How feeble the recruits! A few shoremen, a blind beggar, a woman with an alabaster box, another wom-

an with two mites and a group of friend-

less, moneyless and positionless people came to his standard. What chance was there for him? Nazareth against him, Bethlehem against him, Capernaum against him, Jerusalem against him, Galilee against him, the courts against him, the army against him, the throne against him, the world against him, all hell against him. No wonder they asked him to surrender.

But he could not surrender, he could not apologize, he could not take any back steps. He had come to strike for the deliverance of an enslaved race, and he must do the work. Then they sent out their pickets to watch him. They

saw in what house he went and when he came out. They watched what he ate, and who with; what he drank, and how much. They did not dare to make their final assault, for they knew not but that behind him there might be a re-enforce-

ment that was not seen.

But at last the battle came. It was to be more fierce than Bozrah, more bloody than Gettysburg, involving more than Austerlitz, more combatants employed than at Chalons, a ghastlier conflict than all the battles of the earth put together, though Edmund Burke's estimate of thirty-five millions of the slain be accurate. The day was Friday. The hour was between 12 and 3 o'clock. The field was a slight hillock northwest of Jerusalem. The forces engaged were earth and hell, joined as allies on one side, and heaven, represented by a solitary inhabitant, on the other.

HERO OF EARTH AND HEAVEN.

The hour came. Oh, what a time it was! I think that that day the universe looked on. The spirits that could be spared from the heavenly temple and could get conveyance of wing or chariot came down from above, and spirits getting furlough from beneath came up; and they listened, and they looked, and they watched. Oh, what an uneven bat-

tle! Two worlds armed on one side; an unarmed man on the other. The regiment of the Roman army at that time stationed at Jerusalem began the attack.

They knew how to fight, for they be-

longed to the most thoroughly drilled army of all the world. With spears glit-

tering in the sun they charged up the hill. The horses prance and rear amid the excitement of the populace--the heels of the riders plunged in the flanks, urg-

ing them on.

The weapons begin to tell on Christ. He rode down through the ages "traveling in the greatness of his strength." On that day your sin and mine perished, if we will only believe it.

THE LORD OF BUSINESS.

There may be some one here who may say: "I don't like the color of this con-

queror's garments. You tell me that his garments were not only spattered with the blood of conflict, but also they were soaked; that they were saturated; that they were dyed in it." I admit it. You say you do not like that. Then I quote to you two passages of Scripture: "WithSee how he looks! There the blood starts, and there, and there, and there.

If he is to have re-enforcements, let him call them up now. No; he must do this work alone--alone. He is dying. Feel for yourself of the wrist; the pulse is feebler. Feel under the arm; the warmth is less. He is dying. Aye, they pronounce him dead. And just at that mo-

ment that they pronounced him dead he rallied, and from his wounds he unsheathed a weapon which staggered the Roman legions down the hill and hurled the satanic battalions into the pit. It was a weapon of love--infinite love, all conquering love. Mightier than javelin or spear, it triumphed over all. Put back, ye armies of earth and hell!

The tide of battle turns. Jesus hath overcome. Let the people stand apart and make a line that he may pass down from Calvary to Jerusalem, and thence on and out all around the world. The battle is fought. The victory is achieved.

The triumphal march is begun. Hark to the hoofs of the warrior's steed and the tramping of a great multitude, for he has many friends now! The hero of heaven and earth advances. Cheer, cheer! "Who is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah, traveling in the greatness of his strength?"

FIGHTING FOR SALVATION.

We behold here a new revelation of a blessed a startling fact. People talk of Christ as though he were going to do something grand for us after awhile. He has done it. People talk as though 10 or 20 years from now, in the closing hours of our life or in some terrible pass of life, Jesus will help us. He has done the work already. He did it 1,861 years ago. You might as well talk of Washington as though he were going to achieve our national independence in 1950 as to speak of Christ as though he were going to achieve our salvation in the future. He did it in the year of our Lord 33--1,861 years ago--on the field of Bozrah, the captain of our salvation fighting unto death for your and my emancipation.

All we have to do is accept that fact in our hearts, and we are free for this world, and we are free for the world to come. But, lest we might not ac-

cept, Christ comes through here today "traveling in the greatness of his strength," not to tell you that he is go-

ing to fight for you some battle in the future, but to tell you that the battle is already fought and the victory already won.

You have noticed that when soldiers come home from the wars they carry on their flags in the names of the battlefields where they were distinguished. The Englishman coming back has on his ban-

ner Inkerman and Balaklava; the Frenchman, Jena and Elyan; the Ger-

man, Versailles and Sedan. And Christ has on the banner he carries as conquer-

or the names of 10,000 battlefields he won for you and for me. He rides past all our homes of bereavement--by the door-

bell swathed in sorrow, by the wardrobe black with woe, by the dismantled for-

tress of our strength.

Come out and greet him today, O ye people! See the names of all the battle passes on his flag. Ye who are poor, read on this ensign the story of Christ's hard crusts and pillowless head. Ye who are persecuted, read here of the ruffians who chased him from his first breath to his last. Mighty to soothe your troubles, mighty to balk your calamities, mighty to tread down your foes, "traveling in the greatness of his strength." Though his horse be brown with the dust of the march, and the fetlocks be wet with the carnage, and the bit be red with the blood of your spiritual foes, he comes up now, not exhausted from the battle, but fresh as when he went into it--com-ing up from Bozrah, "traveling in the greatness of his strength."

THE GREAT CONQUEROR.

You know that when Augustus and Constantine and Trajan and Titus came back from the wars what a time there was. You know they came on horse-

back or in chariots, and there were tro-

phies before, and there were captives be-

hind, and there were people shouting on all sides, and there were garlands flung from the window, and over the highway a triumphal arch was sprung. The solid masonry today at Benevento, Rimini and Rome still tell their admiration for those heroes. And shall we let our con-

queror go without lifting any acclaim? Have we not flowers red enough to de-

pict the carnage, white enough to cele-

brate the victory, fragrant enough to breathe the joy?

Those men of whom I just spoke dragged their victims at the chariot wheels, but Christ, our Lord, takes those who once were captives and invites them into his chariot to ride, while he puts around them the arm of strength, saying, "I have loved thee with an everlasting love, and the waters shall not drown it, and the fires shall not burn it, and eternity shall not exhaust it."

If this be true, I cannot see how any man can carry his sorrows a great while.

If this conqueror from Bozrah is going to beat back all your griefs, why not trust him? Oh, do you not feel under this gospel your griefs falling back and your tears drying up and you hear the tramp of a thousand illustrious promises led on by the conqueror from Bozrah, "traveling, traveling in the greatness of his strength?"

On that Friday which the Episcopal church rightly celebrates, calling it "Good Friday," your soul and mine were contended for. On that day Jesus proved himself mightier than earth and hell, and when the lances struck him he gath-

ered them up into a sheaf as a reaper gathers the grain, and he stacked them.

Mounting the horse of the Apocalypse, out the shedding of blood there is no remission. "In the blood is the atone-

ment." But it was not your blood. It was his own. Not only enough to redden his garments and to redden his horse, but enough to wash away the sins of the world. Oh, the blood on his brow, the blood on his hands, the blood on his feet, the blood on his side! It seems as if an artery must have been cut.

There is a fountain filled with blood Drawn from Immanuel's veins, And sinners plunged beneath that flood Lose all their guilty stains.

At 2 o'clock tomorrow afternoon go among the places of business or toil. It will be no difficult thing for you to find men who by their looks show you that they are overworked. They are prema-

turely old. They are hastening rapidly toward their decease. They have gone through crises in business that shattered their nervous system and pulled on the brain. They have a shortness of breath, and at night an insomnia that alarms them.

Why are they drudging at business early and late? For fun? No; it would be difficult to extract any amusement out of that exhaustion. Because they are avaricious? In many cases, no. Because their own personal expenses are lavish? No; a few hundred dollars would meet all their wants.

The simple fact is the man is enduring all that fatigue and exasperation and wear and tear to keep his home prosperous. There is an invisible line reaching from that store, from that bank, from that shop, from that scaffolding, to a quiet scene a few blocks, a few miles away, and there is the secret of that business endurance. He is simply the cham-

pion of a homestead, for which he wins bread and wardrobe and education and prosperity, and in such battle 10,000 men fall. Of ten business men whom I bury nine die of overwork for others. Some sudden disease finds them with no power of resistance, and they are gone. Life for life. Blood for blood. Substitution!

LIFE FOR LIFE. At 1 o'clock tomorrow morning, the hour when slumber is most uninterrupted and most profound, walk amid the dwelling houses of the city. Here and there you will find a dim light, because it is the household custom to keep a subdued light burning, but most of the houses from base to top are as dark as though uninhabited. A merciful God has sent forth the archangel of sleep, and he puts his wings over the city. But yonder is a clear light burning, and out-

side on the window casement a glass or pitcher containing food for a sick child --the food set in the fresh air. This is the sixth night that mother has sat up with that sufferer. She has to the last point obeyed the physician's prescription, not giving a drop too much or too little, or a moment too soon or too late. She is very anxious, for she has buried three children with the same disease, and she prays and weeps, each prayer and sob ending with a kiss of the pale cheek. By dint of kindness she gets the little one through the ordeal. After it is all over the mother is taken down. Brain or nervous fever sets in, and one day she leaves the convalescent child with a mother's blessing and goes up to join the three in the kingdom of heaven. Life for life. Substitution! The fact is that there are an uncounted number of mothers who, after they have navigated a large family of children through all the diseases of infancy and got them fairly started up the flowering slope of boyhood and girlhood, have only strength enough left to die. They fade away. Some call it consumption; some call it nervous prostration; some call it intermittent or malarial disposition, but I call it martyrdom of the domestic circle. Life for life. Blood for blood. Substitution!

THE SACRIFICE OF PATRIOTISM. Or perhaps the mother lingers long enough to see a son get on the wrong road, and his former kindness becomes rough reply when she expresses anxiety about him. But she goes right on, looking carefully after his apparel, remembering his every birthday with some memento, and when he is brought home, worn out with dissipation, nurses him till he gets well and starts him again and hopes and expects and prays and counsels and suffers until her strength gives out and she falls. She is going, and attendants bending over her pillow ask her if she has any message to leave, and she makes great effort to say something, but out of three or four minutes of indistinct utterance they can catch but three words, "My poor boy!" The simple fact is she died for him. Life for life. Substitution!

About 33 years ago there went forth from our homes hundreds of thousands of men to do battle for their country. All the poetry of war soon vanished and left them nothing but the terrible prose.

They waded knee deep in mud. They slept in snowbanks. They marched till their cut feet tracked the earth. They were swindled out of their honest rations and lived on meat not fit for a dog. They had jaws all fractured, and eyes extin-

guished, and limbs shot away. Thou-

sands of them cried for water as they lay dying on the field the night after the battle and got it not. They were home-

sick and received no message from their loved ones. They died in barns, in bushes, in ditches, the buzzards of the summer heat the only attendants on their obsequies.

No one but the infinite God, who knows everything, knows the ten thousandth part of the length and breadth and depth and height of anguish of the northern and southern battlefields. Why did these fathers leave their children and go to the front, and why did these young men, postponing the marriage day, start out into the probabilities of never coming back? For the country they died. Life for life. Blood for blood. Substi-

tution!

But we need not go so far. What is that monument in Greenwood? It is to the doctors who fell in the southern epi-

demics. Why go? Were there not enough sick to be attended in these northern latitudes? Oh, yes; but the doctor puts a few medical books in his valise, and some vials of medicine, and leaves his patients here in the hands of other physicians, and takes the rail train.

Before he gets to the infected regions he passes crowded rail trains, regular and extra, taking the flying and affrighted populations. He arrives in a city over which a great horror is brooding. He goes from couch to couch, feeling of pulse and studying symptoms, and pre-

scribing day after day, night after night, until a fellow physician says, "Doctor, you had better go home and rest; you look miserable." But he cannot rest while so many are suffering. On and on until some morning finds him in a delirium, in which he talks of home and then rises and says he must go back and look after those patients. He is told to lie down, but he fights his attendants until he falls back, and is weaker and weaker, and dies for people with whom he had no kinship, and far away from his own family, and is hastily put away in a stranger's tomb, and only the fifth part of a newspaper line tells us of his sacrifice--his name just mentioned among five. Yet he has touched the furthest height of sublimity in that three weeks of humanitarian service. He goes straight as an arrow to the bosom of him who said, "I was sick and ye visited me." Life for life. Blood for blood. Substitution!

THE CRIMSON TIDE.

Some of our modern theologians who want to give God lessons about the best way to save the world tell us they do not want any blood in their redemption. They want to take his horse by the bit and hurl him back on his haunches and tell this rider from Bozrah to go around some other way. Look out lest ye fall under the flying hoofs of this horse, lest ye go down under the sword of this conqueror from Bozrah! What means the blood of pigeons in the old dispen-

sation; the blood of the bullock; the blood of the heifer; the blood of the lamb? It meant to prophesy the cleansing blood, the pardoning blood, the healing blood of this conqueror who comes up from Bozrah, "traveling in the greatness of his strength."

I catch a handful of the red torrent that rushes out from the heart of the Lord, and I throw it over this audience, hoping that one drop of its cleansing power may come upon your soul. O Jesus, in that crimson tide wash our souls! We accept thy sacrifice. Conqueror of Bozrah, have mercy upon us! We throw our garments in the way. We fall into line. Ride on, Jesus, ride on! "Traveling, traveling in the greatness of thy strength."

But after awhile the returning con-

queror will reach the gate, and all the armies of the saved will be with him. I hope you will be there and I will be there. As we go through the gate and around about the throne for the review, "a great multitude that no man can number"--all heaven can tell without asking right away which one is Jesus, not only because of the brightness of his face, but because while all the other inhabitants in glory are robed in white--saints in white, cherubim in white, seraphim in white--his robes shall be scarlet, even the dyed garments of Bozrah. I catch a glimpse of that triumphant joy, but the gate opens and shuts so quickly I can hear only half a sentence, and it is this: "Unto him who hath washed us in his blood!"

A REMARKABLE PIGEON. He Lived on Board Ship For Thirty-three Years and Never Strayed Away.

In 1861 Captain Newbury, now of Oakland, ran out of New York in the ship Mary Jane and anchored at Norfolk on April 10. With the night came the news that Virginia had gone out of the Union, and the captain hove anchor and prepared to run for it, fearing the confiscation of his ship. Just as the vessel was under way, when the first hint of morning was streaking the black of the city, a pigeon, spent with the wanderings of the night, fluttered above the ship and alighted upon a yard. It was secured without difficulty. From that time until a few days ago, during a life of nearly 33 years, it never attempted another flight and lived mateless, unclassified and lone. Captain Newberry made a pet of the bird, which had many of the markings of a long distance pigeon, but which was unlike any other pigeons known to America. Though frequently exhibited and taking valuable prizes for its beauty and unusual intelligence, no one ven-

tured to say to what family of the avi-

fauna it belonged, and it seems to have been the last of its race.

It scorned the nest provided for other pigeons, but made its home in a shoe lined with wool. Into this he was tucked and covered like a child in a crib. If threatened by a predatory cat or wan-

dering dog, Billy would not take refuge in flight, but hopping to the door of a member of the captain's family would peck on the door and coo plaintively for protection. At the approach of strangers he would give warning in the same manner. Through all its days it would not mate with any other dove or pigeon, but lived a life of bachelorhood, its extraordinary age of 33 years indicating that celibacy tends to longevity in birds as well as men.

In ordinary demeanor Billy was grave and reserved, but he unbent to the music of a waltz and tripped his measures in perfect time and with no inconsiderable grace. It was Captain Newbury's intention to have exhibited the bird as part of Alameda county's display at the Midwinter fair, but this plan was stopped by death. The taxidermist who was intrusted with "setting up" the ancient pet said the species was entirely new to him, and it is probably that Billy had been blown from some far shore before finding a haven on the Mary Jane. Having one said experience of flight, he never attempted it again.--San Francisco Examiner.

The Original Americans.

It is possible, according to recent sci-

entific researches, that the people from whom, in the opinion of some investigators, the name of America was derived were originally inhabitants of the Polynesian islands. Ages ago, it is believed, a nearly complete land connection existed between those islands and Central America, the Pacific Ocean being at that time almost bridged with a chain of islands. The tribe of Indians afterward known as the Ameriques are supposed from certain remains to have first taken possession of an island--Momotombito--near the western edge of Nicaragua, where they left some very interesting carvings and other tokens of their skill.

Afterward, according to the theory, a subsidance of the land occurred, which drove them eastward until they came to the fertile slopes of the Amerique mountains, where their descendants are still to be found. It has been suggested that Vespucius got his pseudonym "Amer-

igo" from the name of this tribe of Indians. If all these things are true, it might be pointed out that even geological convulsions have played a part in the long series of events leading up, as if in obe-

dience to a degree of Providence, to the naming of the new world not Columbia, but America.--Youth's Companion.

That Tempting Wedding Cake.

A country visitor to the metropolis was wandering along Oxford street agape at the many wondrous things that met his view. Passing a large confectionery establishment, he paused to look at the good things temptingly displayed in the window, a huge bride cake particularly striking his fancy. Unable to resist the temptation, he entered the shop and in-

quired the price. "Ten pounds," replied the shopman, eying curiously the very unlikely purchaser, who looked not a bit like a prospective bridegroom. "Ten pounds!" echoed the countryman in astonishment. Then he pondered the matter for a few moments and fairly petrified the shopman by saying: "Then I'll hav' a ha'porth."--London Tit-Bits.

Grape and orange growers near Tallahassee have decided to enter upon the manufacture of wine from grapes and oranges on a large scale, developing an extensive market at home for the products of the groves and vineyards.

ODDS AND ENDS.

A boil in the pot is worth two on the neck.

Mexico has 350 mines, worked by 100,000 men.

A white lie soon loses its creamy complexion.

The Jewish title rabbi meant master or teacher. The first copper mine in this country was opened in Massachusetts in 1648. There are five orders of nobility in England--the duke, marquis, earl, viscount and baron. The title of margrave was limited to the rulers of the Marches of Brandenburg, Weisen, Baden and Moravia. An English peer when examined as a witness in criminal or civil cases or before the high court of parliament must be sworn. It is well to remember the fact that it takes only a single vote to pass a good resolution.--Chicago Standard. Majesty is an old title with modern use. It was first assumed by Diocletian, and its use gradually spread until it is now universal among kings. A splendid collection of Chinese lilies is shown in the window of a Brooklyn Chinese laundry, where they are admired daily by many people. Courtyralla park, over in Wales, is dotted with graves and tombstones "to the cherished memory" of favorite dogs and cats of the Rous family. The title grand duke was of medieval origin, being first found in Moscow in the eleventh century. It traveled to southern Europe in 1569, when Pius V bestowed it on Cosmo de Medici. The constable was formerly one of the highest officers of a kingdom. In England the office was sought by the greatest nobles. Edward Stafford, duke of Buckingham, was in 1521 the last great constable.

LETTERS OF JUNIUS. Fresh Testimony Showing That Their Author was Sir Philip Francis. An event of the first magnitude is about to take place. Lord Beaconsfield said that there were only two really burning questions: Who wrote the letters of Junius? Who was the Man In the Iron Mask? The former of the two has at length been satisfactorily cleared up, and the proofs, based on re-

cently discovered documents, will be published in a volume to be issued shortly by a great old firm, whose name will be a guarantee of the genuineness of the discovery.

The public will of course guess that this has been made through the mass of manuscripts of Sir Philip Francis, which came into the market some months back. In fact, it is said that the new matter discovered leaves no doubt whatever that Francis was the author of the famous letters. A grandson of Sir Philip is said to be still alive, and to have been a judge in Australia. The little clique of literary Australians assert that he is

in some way connected with the book and are very jubilant at the prospect of Australia once more coming as prominently before English readers as she did a few years since. The first of the letters of Junius appeared more than a century ago, on Jan. 21, 1769. They were published at intervals from 1769 to 1772, when they were collected by Woodfall and revised by their author, whose name not even the publisher ever knew. They were attributed to Sir Philip Francis, Warren Hastings' most bitter enemy; to Lord George Germaine (Sackville), who was dismissed the army for cowardice at Mindon, and as minister was responsible for repressive measures against the American colonists; to Lord Temple, to the great Duke himself and at least six or seven others. There are probably a few of our readers who are not acquainted with Macauley's summing up to prove that Sir Philip Francis was Junius:

"The external evidence is, we think, such as would support a verdict in a civil--nay, a criminal--proceeding.

The handwriting of Junius is the very peculiar handwriting of Francis, slightly disguised. As to the position, pursuits and connections of Junius, there are five marks, all of which ought to be found in Junius. They are all five found in Fran-

cis. We do not believe that more than two of them can be found in any other person whatever." In dedicating his collected letters to the English people their writer said, "I am the sole deposi-

tary of my own secret, and it shall perish with me." John Wilkes, writing to Junius in 1771, called it "the most important secret of our times." And so it has remained for a century and a quar-

ter. But it is soon to be a secret no longer.--St. James Gazette.

Human Petrification.

Thomas Callahan of Foote, Iron county, Mo., writes as follows: "In 1848 a relative of the writer died and was buried in Wood county, O. In 1856 I took part in the work of disinterring the body.

The coffin, which was of walnut boards, was found to be perfectly sound. After everything was ready for hoisting the coffin and its contents to the surface was found that it was utterly impossible to

perform the task with the force at hand on account of the unusual weight. Four strong men were then called, and with ropes and other appliances we finally succeeded in raising it to the surface.

"The body was found to be in a complete and perfect state of petrification.

The person, who had died of diphtheria, never weighed more than 140 pounds when in life, and it was the extraordinary weight of the remains after they had lain eight years in the earth that prompted us to make an examination which re-

sulted in our astounding discovery. Since that time (1856) several petrified human bodies have been disinterred in the same general locality."

Hero's Full Dress Uniform. Lieutenant Hero of the army has been creating no end of excitement in Wash-

inton society for some time past by appearing at every entertainment to which he is invited in the gorgeousness of his full dress uniform. This action, far from being due to some causeless freak of fan-

cy on the part of the lieutenant, has a distinct end in view.

He is in the city for the purpose of getting a bill through congress by which army officers of all ranks shall be com-

pelled in future to wear their uniforms whenever they appear at public or private gatherings of a social nature. It is in order to carry out in practice his theories on the subject that Lieutenant Hero is pursuing his decidedly novel manner of dress at afternoon tea and similar functions.--Kate Field's Washington.

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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.

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

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DESIRABLE COTTAGES FOR SALE OR RENT.

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