HERE AND IN HEAVEN. REV. DR. TALMAGE ON LIFE HERE AND HEREAFTER.

The Woes of Time and the Joys of Eter-nity--A Glimpse of Life In the Heavenly City--Consolation of the Truth of Revelation. BROOKLYN, Nov. 4.--Rev. Dr. Talmage, who is now nearing the close of his globe circling tour and will shortly reach American shores, has selected as the subject of today's sermon through the press "Victory Over Pain," the text chosen being Revelation xxi, 4, "Neither shall there be any more pain." The first question that you ask when about to change your residence to any city is: "What is the health of the place? Is it shaken of terrible disorders? What are the bills of mortality? What is the death rate? How high rises the thermometer?" And am I not reasonable in asking, What are the sanitary conditions of the heavenly city into which we all hope to move? My text answers

it by saying, "Neither shall there be any more pain."

No Pain In Heaven. First, I remark, there will be no pain of disappointment in heaven. If I could put the picture of what you anticipated of life when you began it beside the picture of what you have realized, I would find a great difference. You have stumbled upon great disappointments. Perhaps you expected riches, and you have worked hard enough to gain them; you have planned and worried and persisted until your hands were worn, and your brain was racked, and your heart fainted, and at the end of this long strife with misfortune you find that if you have not been positively defeated it has been a drawn battle. It is still tug and tussle, this year losing what you gained last, financial uncertainties, pulling down faster than you build. For perhaps 20 or 30 years you have been running your craft straight into the teeth of the wind.

Perhaps you have had domestic disappointment. Your children, upon whose education you lavished your hard earned dollars, have not turned out as expected. Notwithstanding all your counsels and prayers and painstaking, they will not do right. Many a good father has had a bad boy. Absalom trod on David's heart. That mother never imagined all this as 20 or 30 years ago she sat by that child's cradle.

Your life has been a chapter of disappointments. But come with me, and I will show you a different scene. By God's grace entering the other city, you will never again have a blasted hope. The most jubilant of expectations will not reach the realization. Coming to the top of one hill of joy, there will be other heights rising up in the vision. This song of transport will but lift you to higher anthems, the sweetest choral but a prelude to more tremendous harmony, all things better than you had anticipated--the robe richer, the crown brighter, the temple grander, the throng mightier.

Further, I remark, there will be no pain of weariness. It may be many hours since you quit work, but many of you are unrested, some from overwork, and some from dullness of trade, the latter more exhausting than the former. Your ankles ache, your spirits flag, you want rest. Are these wheels always to turn, these shuttles to fly, these axes to hew, these shovels to delve, these pens to fly, these books to be posted, these goods to be sold.

No Work and No Poverty. Ah, the great holiday approaches. Not more curse of taskmakers. No more stooping until the back aches. No more calculation until the brain is bewildered. No more pain. No more carpentry, for the mansions are all built. No more masonry, for the walls are all reared. No more diamond cutting, for the gems are all set. No more gold beating, for the crowns are all completed. No more agriculture, for the harvests are spontaneous.

Further, there will be no more pain of poverty. It is a hard thing to be really poor; to have your coat wear out and no money to get another; to have your flour barrel empty and nothing to buy bread with for your children; to live in an unhealthy row and no means to change your habitation; to have your child sick with some mysterious disease and not be able to secure eminent medical ability; to have son or daughter begin the world and you not have anything to help them in starting, with a mind capable of research and high contemplation to be perpetually fixed on question of more livelihood.

Poets try to throw a romance about the poor man's cot, but there is no romance about it. Poverty is hard, cruel, unrelenting. But Lazarus waked up without his rags and his diseases, and so all of Christ's poor wake up at last without any of their disadvantages--no almshouses, for they are all princes; no rents to pay, for the residence is gratuitous; no garments to buy, for the robes are divinely fashioned; no seats in church for poor folks, but equality among temple worshipers; no hovels, no hard crusts, no insufficient apparel.

"They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall the sun light on them nor any heat." No more pain!

No More Parting. Further, there will be no pain of part-

ing. All those associations must some time break up. We clasp hands and walk together, and talk and laugh and weep together, but we must after awhile separate. Your grave will be in place, mine in another. We look each other full in the face for the last time. We will be sitting together some evening or walking together some day, and nothing will be unusual in our appearance or our conversation, but God knows that it is the last time, and messengers from eternity on their errand to take us away knew it is the last time, and in heaven, where they make ready for our departing spirits, they know it is the last time.

Oh, the long agony of earthly separation! It is awful to stand in your nursery fighting death back from the couch of your child, and try to hold fast the little one, and see all the time that he is getting weaker, and the breath is shorter, and make outcry to God to help us and [?] to save him, and see it is of avail, and then to know that his spirit is gone and that you have nothing left but the casket that held the

jewel, and that in two or three days you must even put that away and walk around about the house and find it desolate, sometimes feeling rebellious, and then to resolve to feel differently and to resolve on self control, and just as you have come to what you think is perfect self control to suddenly come upon some

little coat or picture or shoe half worn out and how all the floods of the soul burst in one wild wail of agony! Oh,

the eyes that never can look merry at our coming, to kiss the hand that will never again do us a kindness! I know religion gives great consolation in such an hour, and we ought to be comforted, but anyhow and anyway you make it it is awful.

No Tears Nor Crape. On steamboat wharf and at rail car window we may smile when we say farewell, but these goodbys at the death-bed--they just take hold of the heart with iron pinchers and tear it out by the roots until all the fibers quiver and curl in the torture and drop thick blood.

These separations are wine presses, into which our hearts, like red clusters, are thrown, and then trouble turns the windlass round and round until we are utterly crushed and have no more capacity to suffer, and we stop crying because we have wept all our tears.

On every street, on every doorstep, by every couch, there have been partings.

But once past the heavenly portals, and you are through with such scenes forever. In that land there are many hand claspings and embracings, but only in recognition. That great home circle never breaks. Once find your comrades there, and you have them forever. No crape floats from the door of that blissful residency. No cleft hillside where the dead sleep. All awake, wide awake, and forever. No pushing out of emi-

grant ship for foreign shore. No tolling of bell as the funeral passes. Whole generations in glory. Hand to hand, heart to heart, joy to joy. No creeping up the limbs of the death chill, the feet cold until hot flannels cannot warm them. No rattle of sepulchral gates. No parting, no pain.

Further, the heavenly city will have no pain of body. The race is pierced with sharp distresses. The surgeon's knife must cut. The dentist's pinchers must pull. Pain is fought with pain.

The world is a hospital. Scores of diseases, like vultures contending for a carcass, struggle as to which shall have it.

Our natures are infinitely susceptible to suffering. The eye, the foot, the hand, with immense capacity of anguish.

The little child meets at the entrance of life manifold diseases. You hear the shrill cry of infancy as the lancet strikes into the swollen gum. You see its head toss in consuming fevers that take more than half of them into the dust. Old age passes, dizzy and weak and short breathed and dim sighted. On every northeast wind come down pleurisies and pneumonias. War lifts its sword and hacks away the life of whole generations. The hospitals of the earth groan into the ear of God their complaint. Asiatic choleras and ship fevers and typhoids and London plagues make the world's knees knock together.

Earthly Suffering.

Pain has gone through every street and up every ladder and down every shaft. It is on the wave, on the mast, on the beach. Wounds from clip of elephant's tusk and adder's sting and crocodile's tooth and horse's hoof and wheel's revolution. We gather up the infirmities of our parents and transmit to our children the inheritance augmented by our own sicknesses, and they add to them their own disorders, to pass the inheritance to other generations. In A. D. 262 the plague in Rome smote into the dust 5,000 citizens daily. In 544, in Constantinople, 1,000 gravediggers were not enough to bury the dead. In 1813 ophthalmia seized the

whole Prussian army. At times the earth has sweltered with suffering.

Count up the pains of Austerlitz, where 80,000 fell; of Fontenoy, where 100,000 fell; of Chalons, where 800,000 fell; of Marius' fight, in which 290,000 fell; of the tragedy at Herat, where Genghis Khan massacred 1,600,000 men, and of Nishar, where he slew 1,747,000 people; of the 18,000,000 this monster sacrificed in 14 years as he went forth to do as he declared, to exterminate the entire Chinese nation and make the empire a pasture for cattle.

Think of the death throes of the 5,000,000 men sacrificed in one campaign of Xerxes. Think of the 120,000 that perished in the siege of Ostend, of 300,000 dead at Acre, of 1,100,000 dead in the siege of Jerusalem, of 1,810,000 of the dead at Troy, and then complete the review by considering the stupendous estimate of Edmund Burke, that the loss by war had been 35 times the entire then present population of the globe.

Go through and examine the lacerations, the gunshot fractures, the saber wounds, the gashes of the battleax, the slain of bombshell and exploded mine and falling wall and those destroyed under the gun carriage, and the hoof of the cavalry horse, the burning thirsts, the camp fevers, the frosts that shivered, the tropical suns that smote.

Add it up, gather it into one line, compress it into one word, spell it in one syllable, clank it in one chain, pour it out in one groan, distill it into one tear.

Aye, the world has writhed in 6,000 years of suffering. Why doubt the possibility of a future world of suffering when we see the tortures that have been inflicted in this? A deserter from Sevastpol, coming over to the army of the allies, pointed back to the fortress and said, "That place is a perfect hell."

Our lexicographers, aware of the immense necessity of having plenty of words to express the different shades of trouble, have strewn over their pages such words as "annoyance," "distress," "grief," "bitterness," "heartache," "misery," "twinge," "pang," "torture," "affliction," "anguish," "tribulation," "wretchedness," "woe." But I have a glad sound for every hospital, for every sickroom, for every lifelong invalid, for every broken heart. "There shall be no more pain." Thank God! Thank God!

Recognition. No malarias float in the air. No bruised foot treads that street. No weary arm. No painful respiration. No hectic flush. No one can drink of that healthy fountain and keep faint hearted or faint headed. He whose foot touches that pavement becometh an athlete.

The first kiss of that summer air will take the wrinkles from the old man's cheek. Amid the multitude of songsters not one diseased throat. The first flash of the throne will scatter the darkness of those who were born blind. See the

lame man leaps as a hart and the dumb sing. From that bath of infinite delight we shall step forth, our weariness forgotten. Who are those radiant ones?

Why, that one had his jaw shot off at Fredericksburg; that one lost his eyes in a powder blast; that one had his back broken by a fall from the ship's halyards, that one died of gangrene in the hospital. No more pain. Sure enough, here is Robert Hall, who never before saw a well day, and Edward Payson, whose body was ever torn of distress, and Richard Baxter, who passed through untold physical torture. All well. No more pain. Here, too, are the Theban legion, a great host of 6,666 put to the sword for Christ's sake. No distortion on their countenance. No fires to hurt them, or floods to drown them, or racks to tear them. All well.

Here are the Scotch Covenanters, none to hunt them now. The dark cave and imprecations of Lord Claverhouse exchanged for temple service, and the presence of him who helped Hugh Latimer out of the fire. All well. No more pain.

I set open the door of heaven until there blows on you this refreshing breeze. The fountains of God have made it cool, and the gardens have made it sweet. I do not know that Solomon ever

heard on a hot day the ice click in an ice pitcher, but he wrote as if he did when he said, "As cold waters to a

thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country."

Clambering among the Green mountains I was tired and hot and thirsty, and I shall not forget how refreshing it was when, after awhile, I heard the mountain brook tumbling over the rocks.

I had no cup, no chalice, so I got down on my knees and face to drink. Oh,

ye climbers on the journey, with cut feet and parched tongues and fevered temples, listen to the rumbling of sap-

phire brooks, amid flowered banks, over golden shelvings. Listen! "The Lamb

which is in the midst of the throne

shall lead them unto living fountains

of water." I do not offer it to you in a chalice. To take this you must bend.

Get down on your knees and on your face, and drink out of this great foun-

tain of God's consolation. "And, lo, I heard a voice from heaven, as the voice

of many waters."

A Strange Pictorial Error. With regard to the numerous technical mistakes committed by artists who select military subjects for their pictures a good story is told of the late Frank Holl. In his painting room he had a portrait of the Duke of Edinburgh as one of the elder brothers of the Trinity House.

The duke, of course, wore naval costume, which affords little opportunity for color to the painter. There is the blue of blue cloth, and there is the gold of gold lace, and there is very little more. The union jack, with its angles and patches of white, red and blue--a blue of a different quality from the uni-form--was the painter's chance, and Frank Holl seized it with a painter's avidity.

The duke stood beside a little table, of which the flag acted as a cloth or cover. The artist so arranged this bit of drapery as to harmonize with his general scheme, and, much delighted with the result, awaited the verdict of the Trinity brethren. Some of these came to the studio and were one and all dissatisfied. Poor Frank Holl was greatly surprised and disconcerted. The picture would not do at all, and, in fact, could not be hung as it then appeared.

And Holl had taken such pains with that portrait and was so delighted with his clever conquest of its difficulties.

Then the critics explained that the flag was disposed upside down; that this meant the surrender of the ship; that the duke would be disgraced, the Trinity House disgraced, the service disgraced, England disgraced, unless the flag hung the other way on the round table. --London Tit-Bits.

DAZED ON THE DESERT. A Man Dies of Thirst Within One Hundred and Fifty Yards of a Lake of Fresh Water.

On the burning sands of Cocopah desert beside a lake that appears to be of [?] and the purest of fresh water lie the bones of an American who died of thirst, and around him are five or six holes of two or three feet in depth, which he dug with his finger nails in a frenzy of thirst. His fingers are worn off at the ends, and only his whitening bones are left to bear witness to the tragedy.

[?] Garcia, who makes a living by peddling from one little camp to another on the desert, has returned from a trip which began on Aug. 20. He left here at that time and engaged a guide at the new [?] camp at Los Picachos, below the boundary line, to take him to a mining camp in the Cocopah mountains in the heart of the desert. The guide was named Quirino Sosilio, a

half breed, not with them went also Frank Cota, a Mexican. They left Los Picachos in the afternoon, traveled all night, and by the next morning were far out on the desert. By some miscalculation they were without water, and

though not lost they were bewildered as to the nearest way to a well and spent the next two days in traveling without

water, becoming almost insane from thirst. On the evening of the third day they found water. They were then on the northeast side of Great Salt Lake, or Laguna Saluda, that lies between the Cocopah mountains on the east and the Painted mountains on the west. The lake is about six miles wide and 20 or 30 in length, varying in size according to the season, indicating that it is fed by the gulf of California. It is very shallow and saltier than the waters of the ocean.

The three men proceeded southward between the lake and Cocopahs for a distance of ten miles or so and there encountered two Mexicans and a white man. The two former were named Margarito Augulo and Felipe Moreno, and the American's name was not learned, but from the description he is thought to be Fred Wassum, who left this city for the Cocopah placers some weeks ago. Garcia continues the story as follows:

"The men came from Los Picachos by way of Niji and had been without water for several days, and one of them, Margarito Angulo, was already crazy.

He was as deaf as a post and wandered around like a drunken man. He paid no attention to my guide, and we had to lay hold of him to make him drink. In a few hours he was all right. The others were in their right minds, but in a terrible condition, and as I saw their swollen tongues my own began to swell, for I had passed through the same tor-

ture only two days before, and even now my tongue swells while I think of it.

We gave them water, and they soon revived and continued on their way. They were burdened with a dry washer and many tools and moved slowly, so we left them, my guide giving them directions where to find the next water.

"A few miles further we came upon the bones of a man lying stark on the sand about [?] yards from the lake. There was no flesh left. The coyotes had found the body. One leg was gone, but the rest of the remains were there. The head lay toward the north, face upward. The whiskers were dark and turning gray, and the hair was the same. The man had worn a blue jumper, a red

woolen undershirt, one boot and a brown slouch hat. I found a cheap clasp purse in his jumper pocket which contained this paper, which is a piece of an envelope or paper sack, addressed 'James Moore, paymaster A. T. and S. F., Topeka.' In the purse was also part of a greenback. There was nothing else to identify the body. The boot was about a No. 6, and the man did not seem to have been large.

"I examined the fingers and found the ends worn off, and there were five or six holes in the ground around the body, made by scratching for water. One of the holes, farther away, seemed to have been made with a pick and shovel.

There were no tools around the man, no canteen and no sign of food. As we proceeded I traced his barefoot tracks for more than five miles, coming from the direction of Yuma or New River and going toward Coyote Wells. The tracks were irregular and frequently crossed and sometimes went into the lake. About 150 yards from the body, away from the lake, we found a reservoir of fine fresh water. We found the body on Sept. 12."

As the body is in Mexico nothing can be done by the officers here, and it will in all probability rest where it was found. Coroner Woodward will take steps to ascertain who the man was.--San Diego Cor. San Francisco Examiner.

A FAMOUS TOURNAMENT. The Splendid [?] Given by Lord [?] in 1839. Two [?] in Lord [?] distinguish [?]. At the time of [?] Lord [?] was [?] seventh year and one of the [?] men of his day. His desire was to produce [?]. Preparations [?] about £[?],000 but the [?] calculations all thought of the English climate, which so marred the [?] was the great [?]. The aroma, or [?], and two [?] were erected on either side of the [?] to accommodate the [?] invited [?] tickets were sent [?] by his orders. Neearer the [?] canvas a [?] for the banqueting hall and ballroom, with each of the knights had his own [?]. The day orations of [?].

The grand [?] was [?] with a [?] of the [?] to whom [?]. [?] in succession [?]. At 2 [?], in the [?], the procession started from the castle, but the [?] rain marred all the splendor of the [?]. Instead of [?] on her [?] her throne, the queen of love and beauty and her ladies were forced to take shelter in [?] the jousting ground, a spectacle met their eyes which [?] shouts of laughter from the spectators surrounding the [?].

There, firmly planted upon his [?] war charger, [?] dignity the Marquis of [?], clad from head to foot in burnished [?], for which he had been [?] Milan [?] inlaid with gold, the cost of his [?] being, it is said, at least [?]. The marquis was a short, stout old man, and above his head he held an enormous [?] to protect him from the peltings of the merciless storm.

Despite the weather, several jousting [?] others, the Earl of [?] in a splendid panoply of [?] of the Marquis of [?], upon whose breast he broke two spears. At night it was announced that the banqueting hall and the ballrooms, constructed one of canvas tents, were so saturated by the heavy rain that it was impossible to enter them. On the afternoon of the second day the weather cleared, but the sports were confined to the ball tent, in which Prince Louis Napoleon, afterward Emperor Napoleon III, engaged in a series of [?] combats on foot against Mr. [?] . Sir Charles [?], both [?] being [?]

in armor. On the third and last day the proceedings [?] with a general [?] in which the knights, armed with swords, met their opponents in an amicable fray. It was soon seen, however, that the blows exchanged between the fiery Marquis of Waterford and Viscount A[?] were so far from being amicable that the combatants were separated by the intervention of the knight marshal. On the fourth day the rain was so inclement that by universal consent the [?] conflict was given up.

So ended the great Eglinton tournament after bringing together a concourse of spectators variously estimated at from 80,000 to 200,000 persons. In addition to the vast sum spent upon it by Lord Eglinton, the tournament attracted eager sightseers from all parts of the United Kingdom, who paid heavily to get there, while the continent, the colonies and the United States were well represented. As if to cover the whole affair with ridicule, a very humorous account of the mock fighting and of the attempt at invitation of old world chivalry was written for an American journal by the late Mr. N. P. Willis, a fitting [?] of such a bizarre scene. To their flying hour many of the southern visitors never forget what Scotland is capable of in the way of rain during the autumn months.--London Telegraph.

First to Wear the Kilt.

The first reference to highland costume occurs in the saga of Magnus Barefoot, king of Norway, 1096-1103, written by [?], who was reared with the children of that mon-

arch's daughter. Here it is stated that Magnus and his men, on their return

from a [?] expedition to the west of Scotland, brought with them a great deal of the habits and fashions of clothing of those western parts. They went about the [?] with bare legs and had short [?] and [?], and therefore his men called him Magnus Barefoot, in [?].

In the thirteenth century [?] to have something like a [?] reference to actual [?] of the [?] of the church of Aberdeen, which provide that "all [?] are to [?] ap-

pareled [?] and striped clothing, and their garments [?] not to be shorter than the [?] of the leg."

But it should be noticed that the word "tartar," which occurs in this fifteenth century in the accounts of the lord high [?] of Scotland, which was regarded by both [?] and [?] as [?], [?], as pointed out [?] luxuriantly [?] and [?] of [?]. We find a reference [?] in the [?].--Exchange.

The New [?].

Mrs. [?] of Chicago was [?]. This [?] and as ex[?] the past year. Mrs. [?] of [?] was of [?] of [?].

RACE WITH CUSTOMS OFFICERS. Experience of a Yankee Skipper In Smuggling Cheroots In Spain.

"You want something to write about, do you?" [?] Captain Bra[?]ock, an old skipper, in reply to a reporter's query. "Well, do you [?] that flag?" and he directed my attention to a revenue flag flying from the staff of a boat. "Well, that reminds me of a little episode in which [?] a great man years ago.

"In the summer of 18[?] I was one of the crew of the flagship Curb[?], at that time waiting in the port of Manila with a cargo. Captain [?]--'Old Barny,' we called him--was an energetic trader. I then thought myself pretty smart. While we were in Hongkong the old man had a light cedar cutter made especially for the transportation of himself and wife and for quick communication with the shore in whatever port the vessel might be. He took special pride in his racing gig, as he termed it, and had a picked crew with me as a coxswain.

"The ship was moored nearly nine miles from the town of Manila. Once sure, and sometimes twice a day, the gig was manned and rowed over that distance to the house of Russell & Sturgis, who were our consignees as well as the representatives, minister and consul of the United States in that port. Their office, which was a palatial affair, was situated some distance up the '[?]' (Anglice canals), and to get to it we had to pass the fort at the entrance of the waterway leading up to the interior of the city. The old man had some two dozen geese on board, and he made a deal for them ashore, taking cigars in payment. As in all Spanish countries, an import and export duty prevailed. The task of taking the geese ashore and brining off the cigars without paying duty fell, of course, upon us, and in spite of the usual quacking characteristic of the bird I got safely by the revenue officers, landed the fowl and loaded the boat with cheroots. In the canal, plying its length, was a deft oared customs boat. We had nearly gained an exit to the harbor, when out from a sheltering point dashed the guards and hailed us. "In my excitement I cried in Spanish, 'No entende,' and at once the boat started for us. Knowing the fate in store for us if captured, I said to the boys: 'You see that boat. If she ever takes us, it means a ball and chain for at least two years in that fortress. Shall we give them a chase?' A load American cheer arose from the crew, and the next dip of the oars nearly lifted the boat out of the water. The guardboat started after us, and occasionally a marine would step in the bow and discharge a musket at us. Of course we did not dare to pull to the ship, as that

would have established our identity, so we were compelled to strike out to sea.

At the entrance to the harbor, 18 miles from the city, is an island, and to that, closely pursued by the revenue boat, we pulled. After reaching the island it was a game of hide and seek until dark-

ness came on, and then we put back for our ship. Our race had been witnessed from our vessel, and when we arrived the guardboat was not over a quarter of a mile astern. The davit tackles were all ready to hitch on, and boat and all, with 25,000 cigars, we were run up. The boat was taken on deck, painted black and swung to her proper position only a few minutes before the vessel was boarded by a crowd of customs officers in search of a white boat that had given their barge such a race.

"The next day, when I went ashore, Barny gave me a doubloon to treat the boat's crew. Since that time I have never seen such a revenue flag of any nation but it recalls to my memory the incident I have just related, and it makes me laugh when I think of the blundering marksman shooting at us, the pompous officer in charge of the boat demanding our surrender and the poor, tired, sweating oarsmen in their heavy uniforms chasing the robust Yankees of my boat's crew, who, with but slight exertion, could propel their light boat through the water two feet to our pursuers' one."--Boston Herald.

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Six of One, Half Dozen of the Other.

There are two points up the Hudson from New York which do not stand

well in the opinion of all people. One is at West Point--it is the United States Military academy, and there be those who say that the first year there for a cadet is something terrific. The other is at Sing Sing, and there be those who say that life in the penitentiary is not as desirable as it might be, though it might be much worse. Not long ago a youth, on his way to West Point to try for admission, met another youth on the train who had been there a year and quit. The young fellows chatted along about baseball and that sort of thing as a starter, and finally the ex-cadet made an inquiry of a personal character. "By the way," he said, "where are you going? Up to the Catskills? Fine place up there to spend the summer."

"No," responded the other, "I'm going to West Point." "For the summer?" "No, as a cadet. The ex-cadet gasped.

"Jee-rusalem, man," he exclaimed, "you don't know a good thing when you see it. Why didn't you get off at Sing Sing?"--Detroit Free Press.

Strange Coincidence. The conversation had dwelt for some time on the subject of thought transference. Several persons had come under their notice, and then Gaswell said: "Let me tell you something which happened to me the other day. I don't know whether you will class it as an example of thought transference or simply as a singular coincidence. There was Fred Grimsey. Fred and I were close friends five or six years ago, and then he went south, and I lost sight of him entirely. Not even a letter passed between us. The other day, all of a sudden, as I was walking along the street,

I thought of Grimsey. Hadn't thought of him for months, possible not for a

year, but he popped into my mind on this occasion. As nearly as I could re-

call, there was nothing which would naturally be expected to bring him into my memory at that time. He came spontaneously, as you might say. Just then I turned the corner of a street, and right in front of me and coming to-

ward me"--

"Was Fred Grimsey, of course," said two or three, trying to finish Gaswell's sentence.

"No, but a man who looked a great deal like him."--Pittsburg Chronicle Telegraph.

Some ornaments belonging to an idol --the city of [?]--were stolen by a certain [?]vicary of that place. A local goldsmith and his wife, who were apprehended while melting the [?] ornaments, were prosecuted, and yet this crime does not rank as high as killing a cow.

When the Women Vote.

They were discussing a proposed en-

tertainment when the caller asked:

"Have you invited [?] Verey?" "Oh, dear, no!" replied the hostess. "I couldn't think of it for a moment."

"But, my dear child, she is a charming conversationist and a splendid

dancer. She is wonderfully attractive

in the ballroom."

"I know it," admitted her hostess, "but you see she is an offensive partisan."

"Really?"

"Yes, indeed. Why, she tried to get me to vote the Republican ticket, and I couldn't for a moment think of giving her an opportunity to make converts at my dance. I've had to leave her out." "Naturally, under these circumstances," acquiesced the caller. "But how about Mrs. Wilkins?"

"Not a suitable person to invite, my

dear. She's not in our set at all."

"I hadn't heard of that. What's the

matter?"

"How thoughtless of you! Why, she doesn't even vote in our ward."--Chi-

cago Post.

Men Who Do Not Register.

"I don't see his name on the register," said a gentleman who was inquiring for a friend at one of the hotels last night. "He is here," replied the clerk. "Give me your card, please."

Then the clerk informed the man that his friend had not registered, but he had a room in the hotel.

It is a frequent thing for a man to stop at a hotel and not register. Ex-Speaker Reed never registers. Neither does Tom Platt, ex-President Harrison, Lieutenant Governor Sheehan, Senator Hill nor Governor McKinley. Other men who, for private reasons, desire to keep their presence a secret from the outside world do not either. On the other hand, President Cleveland always places his name on the hotel register.

Except in cases where the parties are known to the clerk, it is compulsory in

all hotels for them to place their names in the public register.--New York Tel-

egram.

No Use For Carlyle.

Scene--Book counter in department store; bargains in standard works; two overdressed, pasty faced damsels lingering carelessly to examine titles.

"Did you ever read this?" said one, picking up a 10 cent copy of "Sartor Resartus." "Mr. Smith says it's splendid."

The other took the little volume rather gingerly, glanced for a moment into its solidly printed pages, and with a contemptuous "Excuse me!" tossed it across the counter.

The vulgar intonation of that "Excuse me!" and its flippant application to so

ponderous a work were amusing, to say the least.--Art In Advertising.

Admitted. Tilling[?]--What a bashful girl Miss Elder is! [?]--[?] she's on the retired [?].--Detroit Free Press.

Chicago is having a new comet. St.

Louis papers, envious as usual, say it

has a distinct curl on the end of its tail. --New Orleans Picayune.

W. L. DOUGLAS $3 SHOE IS THE BEST. NO SQUEAKING. $5. CORDOVAN, FRENCH & ENAMELLED CALF. $4. $3.50 FINE CALF & KANGAROO. $3.50 POLICE, 3 SOLES. $2.50, $2. WORKINGMEN'S EXTRA FINE. $2. $1.75 BOYS' SCHOOL SHOES. LADIES $3. $2.50 $2. $1.75 BEST DONGOLA. SEND FOR CATALOGUE. W. L. DOUGLAS, BROCKTON, MASS.

You can save money by purchasing W. L. Douglas Shoes.

Because, we are the largest manufacturers of advertised shoes in the world, and guarantee the value by stamping the name and price on the bottom, which protects you against high prices and the middleman's profits. Our shoes equal custom work in style, easy fitting and wearing qualities. We have them sold everywhere at lower prices for the value given than any other make. Take no substitute. If your dealer cannot supply you, we can. Sold by Dealer, whose name will shortly appear. Agent wanted, apply at once.

GILBERT & LAKE, House and Sign Painters. RESIDENCE: 450 West Avenue, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Jobbing promptly attended to. Estimates cheerfully given. Guarantee to do first-class work and use the best material. Orders left at Wm. Lake's office, corner Sixth and Asbury avenue, will receive prompt attention. C. THOMAS, NO. 108 MARKET STREET, PHILADELPHIA. HEADQUARTERS OF SOUTH JERSEY FOR FINE FAMILY GROCERIES. ALWAYS THE FRESHEST AND BEST TO BE FOUND IN THE MARKET. Full Flavored Teas, Choice Brands of Coffee, Sugars of all Grades, Canned Fruits, Pickles, Spices, Raisins, Dried Beef, Butter and Lard. Hams of Best Quality, Weighed when Purchased by Customers. No Loss in Weight Charged to Purchasers. Stop in and make selections from the best, largest and freshest stock in Philadelphia. Orders by mail promptly attended to and goods delivered free of charge at any railroad or steamboat in the city.

LOW PRICES. Satisfaction Gauranteed. [sic]

OCEAN CITY. A Moral Seaside Resort. Not Excelled as a Health Restorer.

Finest facilities for FISHING, Sailing, gunning, etc. The Liquor Traffic and its kindred evils are forever prohibited by deed. Every lover of Temperance and Morals should combine to help us.

Water Supply, Railroad, Steamboats And all other Modern Conveniences.

Thousands of lots for sale at various prices, located in all parts of the city. For information apply to E. B. LAKE, Secretary, Ocean City Asso'n, SIXTH ST. & ASBURY AVE.