EVERLASTING LIFE.

REV. DR. TALMAGE ON THE REST THAT ETERNITY BRINGS.

Fame Is Vapor, Popularity Is Ephemeral, Riches Take Wings, but the Everlasting Life Is Sure and Safe--An Eloquent and Comforting Address.

BROOKYLN, Aug. 26.--Rev. Dr. Talmage, who is now in Australia on his globe girding tour, has selected as the subject of his sermon for today, through the press, the words, "Everlasting Life," the text being from Micah ii, 10, "Arise ye and depart, for this is not your rest."

This was the drum beat of a prophet who wanted to arouse his people from their oppressed and sinful condition, but it may just as properly be uttered now as then. Bells by long exposure and much ringing lose their clearness of tone, but this rousing bell of the gos-

pel strikes in as clear a tone as when it first rang on the air.

As far as I can see your great want and mine is rest. From the time we enter life a great many vexations and annoyances take after us. We may have our holidays and our seasons of recrea-

come to midlife who has found entire rest? The fact is that God did not make this world to rest in. A ship might as well go down off Cape Hatteras to find smooth water as a man in this world to find quiet. From the way that God has strewn the thorns and hung the clouds and sharpened the tusks, from the colds that distress us, and the heats that smite us, and the pleurisies that stab us, and the fevers that consume us, I know that he did not make this world as a place to loiter in. God does everything suc-

cessfully, and this world would be a very different world if it were intended for us to lounge in. It does right well for a few hours. Indeed it is magnifi-

cent! Nothing but infinite wisdom and goodness could have mixed the bever-

age of water, or hung up these brackets of stars, or trained these voices of rill and bird and ocean, so that God has but to lift his hand, and the whole world breaks forth into orchestra. But, after all, it is only the splendors of a king's highway, over which we are to march on to eternal conquests.

No Rest.

You and I have seen men who tried to rest here. They builded themselves great stores. They gathered around them the patronage of merchant princes. The voice of their bid shook the money markets. They had stock in the most successful railroads and in "safety deposits" great rolls of government securities. They had emblazoned carriages, high mettled steeds, footmen, plate that confounded lords and senators who sat at their tables, tapestry on which floated the richest designs of foreign looms, splendor of canvas on the walls, exquisiteness of music rising among pedestals of bronze and dropping, soft as light, on snow of sculpture.

Here let them rest. Put back the embroidered curtain and shake up the pillow of down. Turn out the lights. It is 11 o'clock at night. Let slumber drop upon the eyelids and the air float through the half opened lattice drowsy with midsummer perfume. Stand back, all care, anxiety and trouble. But, no, they will not stand back. They rat-

tle the lattice. They look under the canopy. With rough touch they startle his pulses. They cry out at 12 o'clock at night: "Awake, man! How can you sleep when things are so uncertain? What about those stocks? Hark to the tap of that firebell! It is your district! How if you should die soon? Awake, man! Think of it! Who will get your property when you are gone? What will they do with it? Wake up! Riches sometimes take wings! How if you should get poor? Wake up!" Rising on one elbow, the man of fortune looks out into the darkness of the room and wipes the dampness from his forehead and says, "Alas, for all this scene of wealth and magnificence--no rest!"

I passed down a street of a city with a merchant. He knew all the finest houses on the street. He said: "There is something the matter in all these houses. In that one it is conjugal infelicity; in that one, a dissipated son; in that, a dissolute father; in that, an idiot child; in that, the prospect of bankruptcy." This world's wealth can give no permanent satisfaction. This is not your rest.

Fame Is a Vapor. You and I have seen men try in another direction. A man says: "If I could only rise to such and such a place of renown; if I could gain that office; if I could only get the stand and have my sentiments met with one good round of hand clapping applause; if I could only write a book that would live, or make a speech that would thrill, or do an action that would resound!" The

tide turns in his favor. His name is on 10,000 lips. He is bowed to and sought after and advanced. Men drink his health at great dinners. At his fiery words the multitudes huzza. From galleries of beauty they throw garlands. From housetops, as he passes in long procession, they shake out the national standards. Here let him rest. It is 11 o'clock at night. On pillow stuffed with a nation's praise let him lie down.

Hush, all disturbant voices! In his dream let there be hoisted a throne, and across it march a coronation. Hush, hush! "Wake up!" says a rough voice. "Political sentiment is changing. How if you should lose this place of honor? Wake up! The morning papers are to be full of denunciation. Hearken to the execrations of those who once caressed you! By tomorrow night there will be multitudes sneering at the words which last night you expected would be universally admired. How can you sleep when everything depends upon the next turn of the great tragedy? Up, man! Off of this pillow!" The man, with head yet hot from his last oration, starts up suddenly, looks out upon the night, but sees nothing except the flow-

ers that lie on his stand, or the scroll from which he read his speech, or the books from which he quoted his author-

ities, and goes to his desk to finish his neglected correspondence, or to pen an indignant line to some reporter, or sketch the plan for a public defense against the assaults of the people. Happy when he got his first lawyer's brief, exultant when he triumphed over his first political rival, yet, sitting on the very top of all that this world offers of praise, he exclaims, "No rest, no rest!"

From Despair to Triumph. The very world that now applauds will soon hiss. That world said of the great Webster: "What a statesman! What wonderful exposition of the constitution! A man fit for any position." That same world said after awhile: "Down with him! He is an office seeker. He is a sot. He is a libertine. Away with him!" And there is no peace for the man until he lays down his broken heart in the grave at Marshfield. Jeffrey thought that if he could only be judge that would be the making of him; got to be a judge and cursed the day in which he was born. Alexander wanted to submerge the world with his greatness; submerged it and then drank himself to death because he could not stand the trouble. Burns thought he would give everything if he could win the favor of courts and princes; won it, and amid the shouts of a great entertainment

when poets and orators and duchesses were adoring his genius wished that he could creep back into the obscurity in which he dwelt when he wrote of the Daisy, wee, modest, crimson tipped flower.

Napoleon wanted to make all Europe tremble at his power; made it tremble, then died, his entire military achievements dwindling down to a pair of mili-

tary boots which he insisted on having on his feet when dying. At Versailles I saw a picture of Napoleon in his triumphs. I went into another room and saw a bust of Napoleon as he appeared at St. Helena; but, oh, what grief and anguish in the face of the latter! The first was Napoleon in triumph; the last was Napoleon with his heart broken.

How they laughed and cried when silver tongued Sheridan in the midday of prosperity harangued the people of Britain, and how they howled at and execrated him when, outside of the room where his corpse lay, his creditors tried to get his miserable bones and sell them!

This world for rest? "Aha," cry the waters, "no rest here! We plunge to the sea." "Aha!" cry the mountains, "no rest here! We crumble to the plain." "Aha!" cry the towers, "no rest here! We follow Babylon and Thebes and Nineveh into the dust." No rest for the flowers; they fade. No rest for the stars; they die. No rest for man; he must work, toil, suffer and slave.

Arise Ye and Depart.

Now, for what have I said all this? Just to prepare you for the text, "Arise ye and depart, for this is not your rest."

I am going to make you a grand offer. Some of you remember that when gold was discovered in California large companies were made up and started off to get their fortune. Today I want to make up a party for the land of gold. I hold in my hand a deed from the proprietor of the estate, in which he offers to all who will join the company 10,000 shares of infinite value in a city whose streets are gold, whose harps are gold, whose crowns are gold. You have read of the crusaders--how that many thousands of them went off to conquer the holy sepulcher. I ask you to join a grander crusade not for the purpose of conquering the sepulcher of a dead Christ, but for the purpose of reaching the throne of a living Jesus. When an army is to be made up, the recruiting officer examines the volunteers. He tests their eyesight, he sounds their lungs, he measures their stature. They must be just right, or they are rejected.

But there shall be no partiality in making up this army of Christ. Whatever your moral or physical stature, whatever your dissipations, whatever your crimes, whatever your weaknesses, I have a commission from the Lord Almighty to make up this regiment of redeemed souls, and I cry, "Arise ye and depart, for this is not your rest."

Many of you lately have joined this company, and my desire is that you may all join it. Why not? You know in your own hearts' experience that what I have said about this world is true--that it is no place to rest in. There are hundreds here weary--oh, how weary!--weary with sin, weary with trouble, weary with bereavement. Some of you have been pierced through and through.

You carry the scars of a thousand conflicts, and you sigh, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove, that I might fly away and be at rest!" You have taken the cup of this world's pleasures and drunk it to the dregs, and still the thirst claws at your tongue, and the fever strikes to your brain. You have chased pleasure through every valley, by every stream, amid every brightness and under every shadow, but just at the moment when you were all ready to put your hand upon the rosy, laughing sylph of the wood she turned upon you with the glare of a fiend and the eye of a satyr, her locks adders and her breath the chill damp of a grave. Out of Jesus Christ no rest. No voice to silence the storm. No light to kindle the darkness. No dry dock to repair the split bulwark.

The Final Rest.

Thank God, I can tell you something better. If there is no rest on earth, there is rest in heaven. Oh, ye who are worn out with work, your hands calloused, your backs bent, your eyes half put out, your fingers worn with the needle that in this world you may never lay down, ye discouraged ones who have been waging a hand to hand fight for bread, ye to whom the night brings little rest and the morning more drudgery--oh, ye of the weary hand, and of the weary side, and the weary foot, hear me talk about rest!

Look at the company of enthroned ones. Look at their hands; look at their feet; look at their eyes. It cannot be that those bright ones ever toiled? Yes, yes! These packed the Chinese teaboxes, and through missionary instruction escaped into glory. These sweltered on the southern plantations, and one night after the cotton picking went up as white as if they had never been black.

Those died of overtoil in the Lowell carpet factories, and these in Manchester mills. Those helped build the pyramids, and these broke away from work on the day Christ was hounded out of Jerusalem. No more towers to build; heaven in [sic] done. No more garments to weave; the robes are finished. No more harvests to raise; the garners are full. Oh, sons and daughters of toil, arise ye and depart, for that is your rest! Scovill McCallum, a boy of my Sunday school while dying, said to his mother, "Don't cry, but sing, sing," "There is rest for the weary, There is rest for the weary." Then, putting his wasted hand over his heart, said, "There is rest for me." A Glorious Consolation. Oh, ye whose locks are wet with the dews of the night oof grief; ye whose hearts are heavy because those well known footsteps sound no more at the doorway, yonder is your rest! There is

David triumphant, but once he bemoaned Absalom. There is Abraham enthroned, but once he wept for Sarah. There is Paul exultant, but he once sat with his feet in the stocks. There is Payson radiant with immortal health, but on earth he was always sick. No toil, no tears, no partings, no strife, no agoniz-

ing cough tonight. No storms to ruffle the crystal sea. No alarm to strike from the cathedral towers. No dirge throbbing from seraphic harps. No tremor in the everlasting song, but rest--perfect rest--unending rest.

Into that rest how many of our loved ones have gone! The little children have been gathered up into the bosom of Christ. One of them went out of the arms of a widowed mother, following its father, who died a few weeks before. In the last moment it seemed to see the departed father, for it said, looking upward with brightened countenance, "Papa, take me up!" Others put down the work of midlife, feeling they could hardly be spared from the office or store or shop for a day, but are to be spared from it forever. Your mother went. Having lived a life of Christian consistency here, ever busy with kindness for her children, her heart full of that meek and quiet spirit that is in the sight of God of great pride, suddenly her countenance was transfigured, and the gate was opened, and she took her place amid that great could of witnesses that hover about the throne. Glorious consolation! They are not dead. You cannot make me believe they are dead. They have only moved on. With more love than that with which they greet us on earth, they watch us from their high place, and their voices cheer us in our struggle for the sky. Hail, spirits blessed, now that ye have passed the flood and won the crown! With weary feet we press up the shining way, until in everlasting reunion we shall meet again. Oh, won't it be grand when, our conflicts done and our partings over, we shall clasp hands and cry out, "This is heaven!"

Bulls In the Irish Commons. There seems to have been an enor-

mous quantity of bulls perpetuated in the Irish house of commons during the last years of its existence. We read that in 1790, in the course of a debate on the leather tax, the chancellor of the ex-

chequer, Sir John Parnell, observed that "in the presentation of the present war every man ought to be ready to give his last guinea to protect the remainder." Mr. Vandeleur said that "however that might be, a tax on leather would press heavily on the barefooted peasantry of Ireland," to which Sir Boyle Roche replied that this could be easily removed by making the underleathers of wood. Speaking in favor of the union, Sir Boyle said that one of its effects would be "that the barren hills would become fertile valleys." In another debate he said, "I boldly answer in the affirmative --no." In mentioning the Cape he declared that "myrtles were so common there that they make birch brooms of them." He once mentioned some people who "were living from hand to mouth like the birds of the air." To Sir Boyle Roche also is attributed the portentous warning, "You should refrain from throwing open the floodgates of democracy lest you should pave the way for a general conflagration."--Seventy Years of Irish Life. Fanny Kemble's Feat. Fanny Kemble once stopped at the Revere House, Boston, and being a splendid horsewoman took daily rides, accompanied only by an English groom. The horse on this occasion was a thoroughbred, a powerful animal, high spirited and rather inclined to be vicious. He was brought around to the front of the hotel, and after some difficulty Mrs. Kemble mounted him, wearing the customary lady's riding costume. But he refused to move, except by fits and starts, varied by rearing and plunging in a rather dangerous way. The rider, after trying in vain to subdue the obstinate steed, finally dismounted and told the groom to change the saddle while she retired to change her dress. In a few moments she reappeared in man's costume, booted and spurred, and springing into the man's saddle in man fashion she gave the horse a dose of cold

steel and hot whip which surprised him. The more he reared and plunged and kicked, the deeper went the spurs and faster fell the lash. It was 10 minutes before the battle ended in a victory for Fanny, but then she rode out of Bowdoin square in triumph, amid the cheers of the vast crowd gathered to witness the remarkable performance of a remarkably plucky woman.--Stageland.

Ringing the Dead Home. In Shropshire, England, there is a custom of "ringing the dead home"--viz, chiming all the bells instead of ringing only one while the funeral is on its way to the church. When the procession nears the churchyard gate, the chiming is stopped, and a minute bell is tolled.

The sexton's fees at Much Wenlock, as laid down in 1789, include "a chime, if required before the funeral, 0 1 0." At Hatherleigh, a small town in Devonshire, it was the prevalent custom to ring a lively peal on the church bells after a funeral, as elsewhere after a wedding.

Even in the present day in some re-

mote rural districts, and especially in Hampshire, the practice still prevails of leaving open the outer door of the house through which the corpse has been car-

ried until the mourners return from church, and in some places the custom extends also to windows. This arises from a superstition that if the doors or windows be shut there will certainly be another death in the house within a year.

In some districts there is a belief that if when the moment of death approaches, all the doors and windows of the house are opened, the spirit will leave the body more easily.--Westminster Gazette.

Mrs. Philip Sheridan. Mrs. Philip Sheridan is said to be almost the only widow of a great war chief who has absolutely declined purses, funds and any such testimonials after his death, and to have resolutely opposed all offers from military socie-

ties and others who wished to erect his monument. She said [?] other provision than General Sheridan had himself made for the family, and that the erection of his tombstone was too precious a duty to be assigned to any one else.--New York Sun.

Since the Emperor William gave to Leoncavallo an order to write an opera on "Roland von Berlin," no less than 13 other composers are toiling over the same material.

THE SOUTHERN CROSS. THE EMBLEM GOD MADE WITH FOUR WORLDS IN THE HEAVENS. Dr. Talmage's Beautiful Description of the Celestial Crucifix--Grand Work Done by Missionaries In the South Sea Islands. Heroes and Heroines.

[Copyright, Louis Klopech, 1894.] STEAMSHIP ALAMEDA, Midocean, July 10.--There are some things in the [?] year after year remaining undefined. The time for explanation does not seem to come. We had for years seen allusions to the southern cross. We knew not what it meant. We supposed it to be an appearance in the heavens at certain latitude and longitude, yet we knew not exactly what that appearance was. But, seated a few nights ago on the deck of this ship in our voyage around the world, a gentleman bent over me and said: "The southern cross is visible. Let us go and see it." Going to the opposite side of the ship, I looked up and beheld it in all its suggestiveness looking down upon us and looking down upon the sea. The southern cross! It is made up of four bright stars. One star standing at the top of the perpendicular piece of the cross, and another star standing for the foot of it. One star standing for the right hand end of the horizontal piece of the cross and another star for the left hand end of it. So clear, so resplendent, so charged with significance, so sublimely marking off the heavens that neither man nor woman nor child nor angel nor devil can doubt it. The southern cross! To make it God put those four worlds in their places. The tender and tremendous emblem of our religion nailed against the heavens with silver nails of star. Four are enough.

God wastes no worlds. He will not encourage stupidity. If you cannot see the southern cross in the four stars, 40 stars will not make you see it. Up yonder they stand, the four stellar evangelists upholding the cross.

What a gospel of the firmament! The cross that Constantine saw in the sky with the words, "By this conquer," was an evanescent cross and for one night, but this southern cross is for all nights, and to last while creation lasts.

So every night of this voyage among the islands of the Pacific I am reminded by this celestial crucifix of the only influ-

ence that has turned the islands from their cruelty and shamelessness and horror--the influence of the cross.

Excepting the throne of the Deity, I think there will be no higher thrones in heaven than those occupied by the missionaries. Others have lived and died for their own country. These lived and died for the natives of other countries.

Many of the missionaries were the graduates of Yale or Princeton of New Brunswick or Oxford or Cambridge or Edinburgh and were qualified for pul-

pits, for editorial chairs, for medical achievement, for great words and deeds in courtrooms, for commercial successes that would have brought all honors and all luxuries to their feet. Many of the women of this foreign mission cause were brought up in refined associations, could play well on musical instruments, were the charm of best society, had at-

tractiveness that fitted them for any circle of easy or opulence. Such men and women took whaleships for foreign lands, lived on fare that only coarsest digestive organs could manage, were tossed for months on rough sees, landed

amid naked savages, abode in grass huts, spent their life amid the squalor, and the stench, and the vermin, and the epidemics, and the low vices of those whom they had come to rescue. Of a roll of 180 names of such men and women not more than four or five of them were ever heard of outside of their own kindred of the circles of barbarians among whom they lived.

The story of Christian heroes and heroines who came to these islands of the Pacific in the brig Thaddeus, the Leland, the Benjamin Bush, the Ave-

rich and the Mary Frazier under Captain Charles Sumner can never be fully told. All the talents, all the scholar-

ship, all the nerve and muscle and brain, all the spiritual energies of these Christly men and women put forth on behalf of people whom they had never seen and whose names they had never heard pronounced until the day of the arrival on these islands! Some of these messengers of light were cut to pieces and devoured by cannibals. Some of them toiled to save the besotted sav-

age, while profligates of Christian countries landed from merchantman or war vessel or whaling ship trying to destroy them. The daughter of one of the missionary families describes her mother as toiling until the skin was blistered off her arms and says that while her father was about to preach a group of drunken sailors broke the win-

dows and one brandished a knife about his face, saying: "Here he is. I have got him. Come on!" These missionaries sent their little children to America and Europe because they could not be prop-

erly brought up amid heathenism, and what heartrending partings took place as fathers and mothers surrendered their children for the voyage across the sea, in many cases those parents never see-

ing their children again! No regular postal arrangements--letters were often not received until 18 months or two years old. The ship captain, Charles Sumner, for the first part of the voyage to the Pacific with his group of missiona-

erly brought up amid heathenism, and wries scoffed at Christianity, but he was converted under the influence of their example and became their champion.hat heartrending partings took place He said about one of these Pacific islands: "I have been here before, and I see the difference. Formerly as soon as my anchor was down my ship was surrounded by dissolute men and women skimming out from shore and trying to come aboard. How different now! Christianity has made the change."

And when some one traduced the missionaries he said: "Oh, you need not tell me these stories! I have lived four months with these dreadful people and know them well. I knew the natives, too, as they were many years ago, and I am fully convinced that the change I see is from the influence of the religion of the Bible."

One boy was the means of the civilization and evangelization of the Sandwich Islands. His father and mother were killed, and he ran away with his baby brother on his back. The infant was slain by a spear. The heroic boy got on a ship for New England. He was found weeping on the steps of Yale college, Connecticut. He told the story of his native island. That story aroused the Christian world. "A little child shall lead them." The Tahitian islands have felt the same supernal power.

They had been in the habit of slaying aged parents, and where there were too many children in the family they were put out of the way. Cannibalism was a part of the diet. There was no law of morality for unmarried women. One of their religious sacrifices was a man and a pig roasted together. In the Fiji islands parents were buried alive, and wives were captured as buffalo are las-

soed. Incantation was common, and snake worship prevailed. Among the Marquesans polyandry, or the custom of having many husbands, was considered right. An iron needle was worn in the nostrils. The lower lip, by force of torture, was driven out to utmost distortion. There was canonization of filth and obscenity and massacre. The Friendly islands and the Society islands were at the lowest depths in morals and cruelty. All these islands have been illumined, and the most of the abominations have speed[?] away not because of the threat of foreign guns or as a result of national or international politics, but by the influence of that which yonder mighty crucifix in the night sky typifies. Let no ship captain ever see it from a deck on the Pacific or passenger, whether for pleasure or profit sailing amid these islands, behold it without remembering what the southern cross has done for the besotted savages bounded on all sides by these vast wildernesses of water.

Oh, that southern cross! Were ever four worlds better placed than those which compose it? Though they were uninhabited and built only for this sig-

nificance, they were worthily built. Shine on until all the people of this hemisphere who see thee shall bethink themselves of the sacrifice thou dost depict! A cross not made out of darkness, but out of light. A cross strong enough for all nations who see it to hang their hopes upon. One night while I watched this celestial crucifix the cloud gathered, and the top of the cross was gone, and the foot of it was gone, and the outspread arms were gone. No more of it

to be seen than if it had never been

hoisted. Had the cloud conquered the

stars? No. After awhile the clouds

parted and rolled back and off, and there

it stood with the same old emblazonment --the southern cross. So the hostilities of earth and hell may roll up and seem to destroy the hope of communities and

of nations, but in God's good time the antagonism will fall back, and all ob-

curations will be dispelled, and all the earth shall see it, the southern cross for the

south, the northern cross for the north, the eastern cross for the east, the western cross for the west, but all four of the crosses found at last in the new astronomy of the gospel to be one and the same cross--that which was set up 1,900 years ago and of which I have found either a prophecy or a reminiscence in that uplifted splendor seen night by night while pacing the deck of a steamer on the Pacific. T. DE WITT TALMAGE.

Women Bicyclists. The death of the lady cyclist from syncope after a bicycle ride is of course the text for many fraternal warnings and advice to lady bicyclists to give up the enjoyment of an exercise in which it is feared they may indulge to excess.

They are, of course, told by some that bicycling is unladylike, if not unwomanly, and that women do not know how to practice the careful restraint in such matters to which men are accustomed.

They may very well afford, however, to treat all this sage advice as at least su-

perfluous. So far from being unsuited for women, bicycling is an exercise in which they may indulge with perfect security and generally with much ad-

vantage. We are persuaded that they are as little prone to excess in athletics as are the generality of men, and within

reasonable bounds we should like to see cycling as generally practiced by women as by men, and it would be greatly to the advantage of many cycling clubs

and cycling resorts that the ladylike element should be more largely introduced.--British Medical Journal.

Gave Her Life For a Child's.

Ellen McGaugh of Newark, N. J., recently saved the life of her little cousin, Mamie McGinnis, at the cost of her own. Miss McGaugh was talking to some friends on the street, while the child played near. The little one repeatedly ran into the street, but no one minded her until suddenly Miss McGaugh rushed from the group toward the middle of the street. A trolley car was speeding along, and directly in front of it was the little girl. The child seemed lost, but the plucky young wo-

man sprang in front of the car and

pushed the child from the track. She then tried to run back, but it was too late. The car, at reduced speed, struck

her and threw her forward along the track. When she was lifted from the

street, she had been fatally injured, and she died before the hospital was

reached.--Paterson Standard.

A Rare Compliment.

English educators passed a rare compliment on women by sending a commission of five women to the United States for the purpose of examining the American system of public education in order to ascertain if there be any of its features that can be advantageously adopted in England or can be incorporated in a new school bill which is in course of preparation for introduction to parliament.--Chicago Inter Ocean.

Meyerbeer, in his last will, ordered his musical remains to be untouched for 30 years after his death. That time has expired, and it is reported that among his papers is a nearly completed long opera in which the young Goethe is the center.

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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, 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 E. B. LAKE, Association Office, No. 601 Asbury Ave., Ocean City, N. J.

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Insurance written by first

class Companies. Come and see me before insuring else-

where.

Money to loan on Bond and Mortgage on Improved Property.