DR. TALMAGE AT HOME THE FACT SUGGESTS A SERMON ON HOME COMINGS AND PRODIGALS. There Is More Joy In Heaven Over the Repenting Sinner Than Over Any Other Event on Earth--Telegraphy of the Skies. Home, Sweet Home.

BROOKLYN, Nov. 11.--Rev. Dr. Talmage, having concluded his round the world tour, has selected as the subject for today's discourse through the press "Home Again," the text chosen being Luke xv, 28, "Bring hither the fatted

calf and kill it."

In all ages of the world it has been customary to celebrate joyful events by festivity--the signing of treaties, the

proclamation of peace, the Christmas,

the marriage. However much on other days of the year our table may have stinted supply, on Thanksgiving day there must be something bounteous. And all the comfortable homes of Christendom have at some time celebrated joyful events by banquet and festivity.

The Prodigal's Return.

Something has happened in the old homestead greater than anything that has ever happened before. A favorite son, whom the world supposed would become a ragabond and outlaw forever, has got tired of sightseeing and has returned to his father's house. The world said he never would come back. The old man always said his son would come. He had been looking for him day

after day and year after year. He knew he would come back. Now, having re-

turned to his father's house, the father

proclaims celebration. There is a calf

in the paddock that has been kept up and fed tot utmost capacity, so as to be ready for some occasion of joy that might come along.

Ah, there never will be a grander day on the old homestead than this day. Let the butchers do their work and the housekeepers bring into the table the smoking meat. The musicians will take their places, and the gay groups will move up and down the floor. All the friends and neighbors are gathered in,

and extra supply is sent out to the table of the servants. The father presides at the table, and says grace, and thanks God that his long absent boy is home again. Oh, how they missed him! How glad they are to have him back! One brother indeed stands pouting at the back door and says: "This is a great ado about nothing. This bad boy should have been chastened instead of greeted. Veal is too good for him!" But the fa-

ther says: "Nothing is too good. Nothing is good enough. There sits the young man, glad at the hearty reception, but a shadow of sorrow flitting across his brow at the remembrance of the trouble he had seen. All ready now.

Let the covers lift. Music. He was dead, and he is alive again! He was lost, and he is found! By such bold imagery does the Bible set forth the merrymaking when a soul comes home to God.

The Young Convert.

First of all, there is the new convert's joy. It is no tame thing to become a Christian. The most tremendous moment in a man's life is when he surrenders himself to God. The grandest time on the father's homestead is when the boy comes back. Among the great throng who, in the parlors of my church, professed Christ one night was a young man, who next morning rang my doorbell and said: "Sir, I cannot contain myself with the joy I feel. I came here this morning to express it. I have found more joy in five minutes in serving God than in all the years of my prodigality, and I came to say so."

You have seen perhaps a man running for his physical liberty and the officers of the law after him, and you saw him escape, or afterward you heard the judge had pardoned him and how great was the glee of that rescued man! But it is a very tame thing that compared with the running for one's everlasting life--the terrors of the law after him and Christ coming in to pardon and bless and rescue and save. You remember John Bunyan, in his great sto-

ry, tells how the pilgrim put his fingers in his ears and ran, crying, "Life, life, eternal life!" A poor car driver, after having had to struggle to support his family for years, suddenly was informed that a large inheritance was his, and there was joy amounting to bewilderment, but that is a small thing compared with the experience of one when he has put in his hands the title deed to the joys, the raptures, the splendors of heaven, and he can truly say: "Its mansions are mine; its temples are mine; its songs are mine; its God is mine!"

Joy of the Christian.

Oh, it is no tame thing to become a Christian. It is a merrymaking. It is the killing of the fatted calf. It is jubilee. You know the Bible never compares it to a funeral, but always compares it to something bright. It is more apt to be compared to a banquet than anything else. It is compared in the Bible to the water--bright, flashing water--to the morning, roseate, fire workful, mountain transfigured morning. I wish I could today take all the Bible expressions about pardon and peace and life and comfort and hope and heaven, and twist them into one garland, and put it on the brow of the humblest child of God in all the land, and say, "Wear it, wear it now, wear it forever, son of God, daughter of the Lord God Almighty. Oh, the joy of the new convert! Oh, the gladness of the Christian service!"

You have seen sometimes a man in a religious assembly get up and give his experience. Well, Paul gave his experience. He rose in the presence of two churches--the church on earth and the church in heaven--and he said, "Now, this is my experience, sorrowful yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, yet possessing all things." If all the people who read this sermon knew the joys of the Christian religion, they would all pass over into the kingdom of God the next moment. When Daniel Sandeman was dying of cholera, his attendant said, "Have you much pain?" "Oh," he replied, "since I found the Lord I have never had any pain except sin." Then they said to him, "Would you like to send a message to your friends?" "Yes, I would. Tell them that only last night the love of Jesus came rushing into my soul like the surges of the sea, and I had to cry out: 'Stop, Lord; it is enough! Stop, Lord--enough!'" Oh, the joys of this Christian religion!

Vanity of Sinful Pleasures.

Just pass over from those tame joys in which you are indulging--joys of this world--into the raptures of the gospel. The world cannot satisfy you; you have found out--Alexander longing for other worlds to conquer and yet drowned in his own bottle, Byron whipped by disquietudes around the world, Voltaire cursing his own and while all the streets of Paris were applauding him, Henry II consuming with hatred against poor Thomas [?] Becket, all illustrations of the fact that this world cannot make a man happy. The very man who poi-

soned the pommel of the saddle on which Queen Elizabeth rode shouted in the street, "God save the queen!" One moment the world applauds, and the next moment the world anathematizes.

Oh, come over into this greater joy, this sublime solace this magnificent beatitude. The night after the battle of Shiloh there were thousands of wounded on the field, and the ambulances had not come. One Christian soldier, lying there a-dying under the starlight, began to sing: There is a land of pure delight. And when he came to the next line there were scores of voices uniting: Where the saints immortal reign. The song was caught up all over the field among the wounded until it was said that there were at least 10,000 wounded men uniting their voices as they came to the verse: There everlasting spring abides And never withering flowers, Death like a narrow stream divides That heavenly land from ours. Oh, it is a great religion to live by, and it is a great religion to die by.

There is only one heart throb between you and that religion this moment. Just look into the face of your pardoning God and surrender yourself for time and for eternity, and he is yours, and heaven is yours, and all is yours. Some of you, like the young man of the text, have gone astray. I know not the history, but you know it--you know it.

The Circle of Safety.

When a young man went forth into life, the legend says, his guardian angel went forth with him, and getting him into a field the guardian angel swept a circle clear around where the young man stood. It was a circle of virtue and honor, and he must not step beyond that circle. Armed foes came down, but were obliged to halt at the circle. They could not pass. But one day a temptress, with diamond hand, stretched forth and crossed that circle with the hand, and the tempted soul took it, and by that one fell grip was brought beyond the circle and died.

Some of you have stepped beyond that circle. Would you not like this day, by the grace of God, to step back? This, I say to you, is the hour of your salvation.

There was in the closing hours of Queen Anne what is called the clock scene. Flat down on the pillow, in helpless sickness, she could not move her head or move her hand. She was waiting for the hour when the ministers of state should gather in angry contest, and worried and worn out by the coming hour, and in momentary absence of the nurse, in the power--the strange power which delirium sometimes gives one--she arose and stood in front of the clock, and stood there watching the clock when the nurse returned. The nurse said, "Do you see anything peculiar about that clock?" She made no an-

swer, but soon died. There is a clock scene in every history. If some of you would rise from the bed of lethargy and come out of your delirium of sin and look on the clock of your destiny this moment, you would see and hear something you have not seen or heard before, and every tick of the minute, and every stroke of the hour, and every swing of the pendulum, would say, "Now, now, now, now!" Oh, come home to your Father's house! Come home, oh prodigal, from the wilderness! Come home, come home!

The Divine Justice. But I notice that when the prodigal came there was the father's joy. He did not greet him with any formal "How do you do?" He did not come out and say: "You are unfit to enter. Go out and wash in the trough by the well, and then you can come in. We have had enough trouble with you." Ah, no! When the proprietor of that estate proclaimed festival, it was an outburst of a father's love and a father's joy. God is your father.

I have not much sympathy with that description of God I sometimes hear, as though he were a Turkish sultan--hard and unsympathetic and listening not to the cry of his subjects. A man told me he saw in one of the eastern lands a king riding along, and two men were in altercation, and one charged the oth-

er with having eaten his rice, and the king said, "Then slay the man, and by post mortem examination find whether he has eaten the rice." And he was slain. Ah, the cruelty of a scene like that! Our God is not a sultan, not a despot, but a father--kind, loving, forgiving--and he makes all heaven ring again when a prodigal comes back. "I have no pleasure," he says, "in the death of him that dieth."

If a man does not get heaven, it is because he will not go there. No differ-

ence the color, no difference the history, no difference the antecedents, no difference the surroundings, no difference the sin. When the white horses of Christ's victory are brought out to celebrate the eternal triumph, you may ride one of them, and, as God is greater than all, his joy is greater, and when a soul comes back there is in his heart the surging of an infinite ocean of gladness, and to express that gladness it takes all the rivers of pleasure, and all the thrones of pomp, and all the ages of eternity. It is a joy deeper than all depth, and higher than all height, and wider than all width, and vaster than all immensity. It overtops, it undergirds, it outweighs all the united splendor and joy of the universe. Who can tell what God's joy is?

The Rejoicing Father.

You remember reading the story of a king who on some great day of festivity scattered silver and gold among the people, who sent valuable presents to his courtiers, but methinks when a soul comes back God is so glad that to ex-

press his joy he flings out new worlds into space, kindles up new suns and rolls among the white robed anthems of the redeemed a greater Hallelujah, while with a voice that reverberates among the mountains of frankincense and is echoed back from the everlasting gates he cries, "This, my son, was dead and is alive again!"

At the opening of the exposition in New Orleans I saw a Mexican flutist, and he played the solo, and then afterward the eight or ten bands of music, accompanied by the great organ, came in, but the sound of that one flute as

compared with all the orchestra was greater than all the combined joy of the universe when compared with the resounding heart of Almighty God.

For ten years a father went three times a day to the depot. His son went off in aggravating circumstances, but the father said, "He will come back."

The strain was too much, and his mind parted, and three times a day the father went. In the early morning he watched the train--its arrival, the stepping out of the passengers, and then the departure of train. At noon he was there again, watching the advance of the train, watching the departure.

At night there again, watching the coming, watching the going, for ten years. He was sure his son would come back. God has been watching and waiting for some of you, my brothers, 10 years, 20 years, 30 year, 40 years, perhaps 50 years, waiting, waiting, watching, watching, and if this morning the prodigal should come home, what a scene of gladness and festivity and how the great Father's heart would rejoice at your coming home! You will come some of you, will you not? You will, you will.

Joy Over the Repentant.

I notice also that when a prodigal comes home there is the joy of the min-

isters of religion. Oh, it is a grand thing to preach this gospel! I know there has been a great deal said about the trials and the hardships of the Christian min-

istry. I wish somebody would write a good, rousing book about the joys of the Christian ministry. Since I entered the profession I have seen more of the goodness of God than I will be able to celebrate in all eternity. I know some boast

about their equilibrium, and they do not rise into enthusiasm, and they do not break down with emotion, but I confess to you plainly that when I see a man coming to God and giving up his sin I feel in body, mind and soul a transport.

When I see a man who is bound hand and foot in evil habit emancipated, I rejoice over it as though it were my own emancipation. When, in our communion service, such throngs of young and old stood up at the altars and in the presence of heaven and earth and hell attested their allegiance to Jesus Christ, I felt a joy something akin to that which the apostle describes when he says, "Whether in the body I cannot tell, or out of the body I cannot tell. God knoweth."

Have not ministers a right to rejoice when a prodigal comes home? They blew the trumpet, and ought they not to be glad of the gathering of the host?

They pointed to the full supply, and ought they not to rejoice when souls pant as the hart for the water brooks?

They came forth saying, "All things are now ready." Ought they not rejoice when the prodigal sits down at the banquet?

How Ministers Are Sustained.

Life insurance men will all tell you that ministers of religion as a class live longer than any other. It is confirmed by the statistics of all those who calculate upon human longevity. Why is it?

There is more draft upon the nervous system than in any other profession, and their toil is most exhausting. I have seen ministers kept on miserable sti-

pends by parsimonious congregations who wondered at the dullness of the sermon, when the men of God were perplexed almost to death by questions of livelihood and had not enough nutritious food to keep any fire in their temperament. No fuel, no fire. I have

sometimes seen the inside of the life of many of the American clergymen--never accepting their hospitality because they cannot afford it--but I have

seen them struggle on with salaries of $500 and $600 a year, the average less than that, their struggle well depicted by the western missionary who says in a letter: "Thank you for your last remittance. Until it came we had not any meat in our house for one year, and all last winter, although it was a severe winter, our children wore their summer clothes."

And these men of God I find in different parts of the land, struggling against annoyances and exasperations innumerable, some of them week after week en-

tertaining agents who have maps to sell and submitting themselves to all styles of annoyance, and yet without com-

plaint and cheerful of soul. How do you account for the fact that these life insurance men tell us that ministers as a class live longer than any others? It

is because of the joy of their work, the joy of the harvest field, the joy of greeting prodigals home to their Father's house.

Our Innocent Joys.

We are in sympathy with all innocent hilarities. We can enjoy a hearty song, and we can be merry with the merriest, but those of us who have toiled in the service are ready to testify all these joys are tame compared with the satisfaction of seeing men enter the kingdom of God. The great eras of every minister are the outpourings of the Holy Ghost, and I thank God I have seen 20 of them. Thank God, thank God!

I notice also when the prodigal comes back all earnest Christians rejoice. If you stood on a promontory, and there was a hurricane at sea, and it was blowing toward the shore, and a vessel crashed into the rocks, and you saw people get ashore in the lifeboats, and the very last man got on the rocks in safety, you could not control your joy. And it is a glad time when the church of God sees men who are tossed on the ocean of their sins plant their feet on the rock Christ Jesus.

The Effectual Prayer.

When prodigals come home, just hear those Christians sing! It is not a dull tune you hear at such times. Just hear those Christians pray! It is not a stereotyped supplication we have heard over and over for 20 years, but a putting of the case in the hands of God with an importunate pleading. Men never pray at great length unless they have nothing to say, and their hearts are hard and cold. All the prayers in the Bible that were answered were short prayers: "God be merciful to me, a sinner." "Lord, that I may receive my sight." "Lord, save me or I perish." The longest prayer, Solomon's prayer at the dedication of the temple, less than eight minutes in length, according to the ordinary rate of enumeration. And just hear them pary now that the prodigals are coming home. Just see them shake hands. No putting forth of the four tips of the finger in a formal way, but

a hearty grasp, where the muscles of the heart seem to clinch the fingers of one hand around the other hand. And then see those Christian faces, how il-

lumined they are. And see that old man get up and with the same voice

that he sang 50 years ago in the old country meeting house say, "Now, Lord, lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation." There was a man of Keith who was hurled into prison in time of persecution, and one day he got off his shackles, and he came and stood by the prison door, and when the jailor was opening the door with one stroke struck down the man who had incarcerated him.

Passing along the streets of London, he wondered where his family was. He did not dare to ask lest he excite suspicion, but passing along a little way from the prison he saw a Keith tankard, a cup that belonged to the family from generation to generation. He saw it in a window. His family, hoping that some day he would get clear, came and lived as near as they could to

the prison house, and they set that Keith tankard in the window, hoping he would see it, and he came along and saw it, and knocked at the door, and went in, and the long absent family were all together again. Oh, if you would start for the kingdom of God to-

day, I think some of you would find nearly all your families around the holy tankard of the holy communion--fathers, moth-

ers, brothers, sisters, around that sa-

cred tankard which commemorates the love of Jesus Christ our Lord! Oh, it

will be a great communion day when

your whole family sits around the sacred tankard! One on earth, one in

heaven.

Joys of the Redeemed. Once more I remark that when the prodigal gets back the inhabitants of heaven keep festival. I am very certain of it. If you have never seen a telegraphic chart, you have no idea how many cities are connected together and how many lands. Nearly all the neighborhoods of the earth seem reticulated,

and news flies from city to city and from continent to continent. But more rap-

idly go the tidings from earth to heaven, and when a prodigal returns it is announced before the throne of God.

And if these souls today should enter the kingdom there would be some one in the heavenly kingdom to say, "That's my father," "That's my mother," "That's my son," "That's my daugh-

ter," "That's my friend," "That's the one I used to pray for," "That's the one for whom I wept so many tears," and one soul would say, "Hosanna!" and another soul would say, "Hallelujah!"

Pleased with the news, the saints below In songs their tongues employ. Beyond the skies the tidings go, And heaven is filled with joy. Nor angels can their joy contain But kindle with new fire. The sinner lost is found, they sing And strike the sounding lyre.

At the banquet of Luculius sat Cicero, the orator. At the Macedonian festival sat Philip, the conqueror. At the Grecian banquet sat Socrates, the philosopher, but at our Father's table sat

all the returned prodigals, more than conquerors. The table is so wide its leaves reach across seas and across lands. Its guests are the redeemed of earth and the glorified of heaven. The ring of God's forgiveness on every hand,

the robe of a Saviour's righteousness adroop from every shoulder. The wine that glows in the cups is from the bowls of 10,000 sacraments. Let all the redeemed of earth and all the glorified of heaven arise, and with gleaming chalice drink to the return of a thousand prodigals. Sing, sing, sing! "Worthy is the lamb that was slain to receive blessing and riches and honor and glory and power, world without end!"

WHEN THE POPE DIES. The Scenes and Formalities Which Attend His Deathbed. As soon as it is clear that the pope must die [?] all the cardinals composing the sacred college who are in Rome gather at the bedside and on their knees wait for the end. The sacristan bishop administers the [?] and the extreme [?]; the grand penitentiary gives absolution; the penitential psalms are then [?]; the sacristan bishop pronounces the consecrated formula; the dying pope, if he has the strength to do so, gives his benediction to the assembly, and the dirge of the hymns for the dead continues to the last. Then the camerlengo, to make the official record of death, with a small silver hammer strikes three light blows on the dead man's head and calls him by his Christian name.

When in 1878 the dead pope was Pius IX (Giovanni Mastai-Ferretti), the cam-

erlengo, Cardinal Pecci, the present pope, attest striking the three blows with the hammer, called, "Giovanni! Giovanni! Giovanni!" then ,turning to the assembly, said, "The pope is really dead." Thereupon, while the assembly is kneeling, the camerlengo intones the "De Profundis." The master of the chambers then removes from the dead pope's fingers the "fisherman's ring," and hands it to the camerlengo, a symbol of the temporary transfer of the authority of the holy see. At the first plenary meeting of the scared college this ring, the seals and other insignia of office connected wit the late pope are broken up and destroyed. The temporary sovereignty has passed into the hands of the sacred college.

In its choice of a pope the sacred college is not limited by any law or regulation to Italians, though it is 370 years since a pope of any other nationality has been elected. The last was Adrian Florent, a Netherlander, Pope Adrian VI, in 1832-3, whose nearest non-Ital-

ian predecessor was the infamous Rodrigo Borgia, Pope Alexander VI, elected the year of Columbus' discovery of America. Neither is the college restricted by law to cardinals or to priests. Any faithful Catholic, even though he be a layman, is eligible. The conclave has the whole Catholic world to choose from, but for a precedent for a layman pope it would have to go back to 1023, when the Patrician Crescentius became Pope John XIX. The only indispensable rules are that a majority of all the cardinals living shall be present, and that of those present a majority of two-thirds is required to elect. Thus is if the sacred college had its full number of 70 cardinals, which it rarely has (the latest list contains only 62 names), 37 of these must be present at the conclave, and at least 25 of these would then have to agree on the same candidate. There were 50 cardinals present at the conclave which elected Pius IX and 69 at that which made Leo XIII pope. Of the 62 cardinals now living who will have the right to elect the next pope 32 are Italians and 30 belong to the other nationalities.

The bull issued to regulate the next conclave confirms to the sacred college the exclusive right to elect the pope, absolutely excluding any intervention on the part of the secular power. All previous municipal magistrates in conjunction with the conclave are done away with, leaving the regulation of all matters concerning it to the hands of the cardinals. Should the pope die at Rome the cardinals present must decide at once by a majority vote whether the conclave shall be held out of Rome and out of Italy, or not; if held in Italy, the moment any pressure is brought to bear on it either by private persons or

by the government, the conclave must dissolve and reassemble out of Italy. The pope expresses his personal wish that, considering the peculiar position of the holy see, the next conclave be held out of Italy.

In times past France, Austria and Spain have vetoed papal elections, and these countries still claim the right to veto. If any one of them were to try to exercise it, it is very likely that Italy would claim the right too. The papal see has never acknowledged the legality of these claims, but the possibility of the interposition of a veto undoubtedly has weight in the selection of a candidate.--New York Sun.

The Thackerays at Home.

About luncheon time my father sent us down to the pastry cook's shop, where we reveled among cream tarts and petits fours, and then we ordered our dinner, as people did then, from a trattoria near at hand. Then we went out again, still in our raptures, and when dinner time came, just about sunset, excitement had given us good appetites, notwithstanding the tarts. We were ready, but dinner delayed. We waited more and more impatiently as the evening advanced, but still no dinner appeared. Then the English servant, Charles, was called and dispatched to the cook's shop to make inquiry. He came back much agitated, saying the dinner had been sent; that they assured him it had been sent. It had apparently vanished on its way up the old palace stairs. "Go back," said

my father, "and tell them there is some mistake, and that we are very hungry and waiting still."

The man left the room, then returned again with a doubtful look. "There was a sort of box came an hour ago," he said. "I have not opened it, sir."

With a rush my sister and I flew into the hall, and there, sure enough, stood a square, solid iron box with a hinged top. It certainly looked very unlike dinner, but we [?] it with some faint hopes, which were not disappointed. Inside and [?] still upon the hot plates was spread a meal like something in a fairy tale--[?] and [?] meat, a loaf of brown bread and compotes of fruit and a salad and a bottle of wine, to which [?] we immediately sat down in [?] excitement, our first Roman family meal together.--[?] Magazine.

All Iceland Sneezing.

According to [?] received from Iceland, a violent epidemic of influenza is raging at Reykjavik. No papers have been published for a week, and about 90 per cent of the inhabitants are said to be suffering from the complaint. The [?] to close, all the [?] with one exception [?] pupils being attacked.--[?]

A new pen point often refuses to work. Stick the point into a raw potato, and it will then write easily and smoothly. The [?] at [?] Creek, Pa. It [?] a day. The [?] horn, sold at Chris[?], London. [?]

MILITARY BRUTALITY.

The Poet Heigel and an Old Man Cut Down by Austrian Officers.

In Germany and Austria every week brings with it instances of military brutality toward civilians. Most of these instances are forgotten after the publication of a few indignant paragraphs in the Radical journals and a Radical or Social Democratic interpellation in parliament. One that occurred at Riva, on Lago di Garda, two weeks ago, however, was so remarkable for such exceptional brutality that it has had more serious consequences.

Carl Heigel, the German poet, was sitting with a friend at a table in the great concert garden in Riva. His friend was 65 years old and somewhat decrepit. At the next table sat several officers of the imperial chasseurs, who are garrisoned at Riva. Heigel's friend, who had been wearied by a rather long walk, fell asleep, and the officers began to poke fun at him. They were so loud that they woke the old man up. When he heard them cracking jokes at his expense, he re-

marked to Heigel:

"Persons who make fun of an old man can hardly be gentlemen, even if they do wear uniforms." Heigel nodded assent. All the officers heard the remark and saw the nod. One of them sprang up, faced Heigel and ordered him and the old man to leave the garden. Heigel's answer was a stunning open hand blow which sent the officer reeling back on the table. Then followed a scene with features painfully familiar to persons who have lived in Germany or Austria. The officers drew their swords and started forward to run through the two unarmed men. The old man fell at the first onset, but Heigel stood his ground, dealing blows right and left until cut down. Blood was flowing from three wounds in his head and he lay half unconscious. A young lieutenant aimed a sword blow at him, but the bandmaster, Brunelli, who had hastened from the platform, caught the sword with his baton and pushed the lieutenant back. Several other men gathered in front of Heigel and his companion and threatened to make short work of the officers in case another blow should be struck. A crowd invaded the garden, began jostling the officers and demanded that they be disarmed and punished then and there.

The police were obliged to interfere to save the officers from violence, although no policeman had found time to interfere when Heigel and his companion were beaten down.

Heigel has received calls daily in his sickroom from all the most conspicuous persons in Riva, excepting, of course, the military. The city officials have called upon him to apologize for the attack in the garden. Throughout the whole district round Riva there was a unanimous demand for the punishment of the officers concerned in the fight. A high railway official who was with them in the

garden was discharged. A lieutenant colonel, who struck down Heigel's companion, was called a coward by a captain in his own regiment. In the duel which followed both officers were wounded. The rest of the officers will be tried by court martial. Heigel and his friend are recovering slowly.--New York Sun.

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HER CONGRATULATIONS.

They Were Tendered In Good Faith, but

With Embarrassing Results.

Congratulations offered in a general way are just a little below par in one of the down town departments at present. A certain chief of division named Smith is very popular with the ladies of the department. He has under him a clerk also named Smith. On New Year's day the wife of Clerk Smith presented him with a son and heir, and on the following day his friends in the department fairly swarmed around his desk with congratulations. That morning a modest little maiden clerk, whom for present purpose we may style Miss Jones, overheard two acquaintances in the corridor talking about "mother and child" in hushed voices, and womanlike she stopped to ask what the news was. "Why, haven't you heard?" exclaimed one of the conversants. "Mr. Smith has had an addition to his family--a splendid big boy. We've all been in to

offer our congratulations."

"Indeed!" cried Miss Jones. "I must

go too."

Suiting the notion to the word and without pausing to reflect that there were two Messrs. Smith, she started post haste for the desk of the chief of division. He was buried up to his ears in work and did not notice her approach till in her gentle little voice she said:

"Please accept my congratulations, Mr. Smith."

Chief Smith is a kindly man. His friends of the other sex had been interrupting his work all the morning with wishes for a happy new year, and in his absorption he had fallen into a stereotyped way of answering without half hearing the remark or noticing its form. So when he heard Miss Jones' light treble saying something indicative of good wishes he merely raised his eyes mechanically and responded with an

absent air:

"Thank you, Miss Jones. The same to you!"

Miss Jones gave a little gasp and attempted to stammer out something explanatory of which nothing was audible to the clerks sitting around except the words "little stranger." Still the chief, his mind full of his work, missed the entire purport of her speech. All he observed was that the dear little lady had not left her place at his side, and thinking that possibly he had not spoken distinctive enough the first time he repeated in a louder tone: "The same to you, Miss Jones--and many of them!"

This was too much both for Miss Jones, who retreated to her room, blushing like a peony, and for the surrounding clerks, who roared till the office fairly shook. Ever since Jan. 2 it has been noticed that Miss Jones conducts her business with Chief Smith's [?] in writing or by messenger.--Kate Field's Washington.

To Cross the Ocean In a Cockleshell.

A novel experiment in ocean navigation is to be attempted by a Nottingham enthusiast who has been occupying himself for a year past with the construction of a boat in which he proposes to cross the Atlantic during the summer.

The vessel, which is built of iron and is entirely of his own design and make, is

only 10 feet 6 inches long, with 3 feet

beam and 2 feet 6 inches depth, and is

thus the smallest craft that has ever at-

tempted such an adventurous voyage. It is what is known as a "whaleback" deck, and the cabin, lighted by glass windows at the side, will be completely water tight when closed, fresh air being

obtained by pipes.

Should the tiny craft be overturned the inventor claims that it will automatically right itself. She will be fitted with a 10 foot mast from the fore deck with jib and mainsail, and additional motive power will be supplied by a geared hand screw. The navigator intends to start from Nottingham, sailing down the

Trent to Huil, and making for the Atlantic by way of the English channel. He expects that the trip will occupy him something over a month.--London Tele-

graph.

Empress Nurses a Doll as Her Baby. The empress of Austria is the subject

of a queer and pathetic delusion. She believes that her unhappy son, the Crown Prince Rodolph, is still a baby, and that she is being prevented from seeing him.

For a long time the doctors sought in vain to quiet her, but finally it was only

by the happy thought of one of her maids of honor that any remedy could be found. A large doll was procured

and put into her arms in a darkened room, where she occupied herself in nursing it, with many kisses and tears of joy. Every day she fondles the toy and quite frequently refuses to be separated from it at night.--Chicago Tribune.

Economic. There is a brakeman on one of the northern railroads who shows certain evidence of an economical instinct. When the conductor puts his head in at one end of the car and calls, "Somerville," the brakeman replies from the opposite door, "Same here."--Boston Transcript.

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. WORKINGMENS 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.