THE CURE OF NAAMAN. REV. DR. TALMAGE PREACHES UPON "THE SICK GENERAL." This Life Is but the Vestibule of a Grand Temple--What General Naaman Was Willing to Do to Be Cured--The True Remedy.

BROOKLYN, Nov. 18.--Rev. Dr. Talmage has chosen as the subject of today's sermon through the press "The Sick General," the text selected being II Kings v, 1, "He was a leper." Here we have a warrior sick, not with pleurisies or rheumatisms or consumptions, but with a disease worse than all these put together. A red mark has come out on the forehead, precursor of complete disfigurement and dissolution. I have something awful to tell you. General Naaman, the commander in chief of all the Syrian forces, has the leprosy! It is on his hands, on his face, on his feet, on his entire person. The leprosy! Get out of the way of the pestilence! If his breath strike you, you are a dead man. The commander in chief of all the forces of Syria! And yet he would be glad to exchange conditions with the boy at his stirrup or the hostler that blankets his charger. The news goes like wildfire all through the realm, and the people are sympathetic, and they cry out, "Is it possible that our great hero, who slew Ahab and around whom we came with such vociferation when he returned from victorious bat-tle--can it be possible that our general and glorious Naaman has the leprosy?"

All Are Afflicted.

Yes. Everybody has something he wishes he had not--David, an Absalom to disgrace him; Paul, a thorn to sting him; Job, carbuncles to plague him; Samson, a Delilah to shear him; Ahab, a Naboth to deny him; Haman, a Mordecai to irritate him; George Washington, childlessness to afflict him; John Wesley, a termagant wife to pester him; Leah, weak eyes; Pope, a crooked back; Byron, a club foot; John Milton, blind eyes; Charles Lamb, an insane sister, and you and you and you something which you never bargained for and would like to get rid of. The reason of this is that God does not want this world to be too bright. Otherwise we would always want to stay and eat these fruits and lie on these lounges and shake hands in this pleasant society. We are only in the vestibule of a grand temple. God does not want us to stay on the doorstep, and therefore he sends aches and annoyances and sorrows and bereavements of all sorts to push us on and push us up toward riper fruits and brighter society and more radiant prosperition. God is only whipping us ahead. The reason that Edward Payson and Robert Hall had more rapturous views of heaven than other people had was because, through their aches and pains, God pushed them nearer up to it. If God dashes out one of your pictures, it is only to show you a brighter one. If he sting your foot with gout, your brain with neuralgia, your tongue with an inextinguishable thirst, it is only became he is preparing to substitute a better body than you ever dreamed of, when the mortal shall put on immortality. It is to push you on and to push you up toward something grander and better that God sends upon you, as he did upon General Naaman, something you do not want. Seated in his Syrian mansion, all the walls glittering with the shields which he had captured in battle, the corridors crowded with admiring visitors who just wanted to see him once, music and mirth and banqueting filling all the mansion from tessellated floor to pictured ceiling, Naaman would have forgotten that there was anything better and would have been glad to stay there 10,000 years. But, oh, how the shields dim, and how the visitors fly the hall, and how the music drops dead from the string, and how the gates of the mansion slam shut with sepulchral bang as you read the closing words of the eulogium! "He was a leper! He was a leper!"

Must Have Sympathy.

There was one person more sympathetic with General Naaman than any other person. Naaman's wife walks the floor, wringing her hands and trying to think what she can do to alleviate her husband's suffering. All remedies have failed. The surgeon general and the doctor of the royal staff have met, and they have shaken their heads, as much as to say, "No cure, no cure." I think that the office seekers had all folded up their recommendations and gone home. Probably most of the employees of the establishment had dropped their work and were thinking of looking for some other situation. What shall now become of poor Naaman's wife? She must have sympathy, somewhere. In her despair she goes to a little Hebrew captive, a servant girl in her house, to whom she tells the whole story, as sometimes, when overborne by the sorrows of the world and finding no sympathy anywhere else, you have gone out and found in the sympathy of some humble domestic--Rose or Dinah or Bridget--a help which the world could not give you.

What a scene it was--one of the grandest women in all Syria in cabinet council with a waiting maid over the declining health of the mighty general. "I know something," says the little captive maid, "I know something," as she bounds to her bare feet. "In the land from which I was stolen there is a certain prophet known by the name of Elisha, who can cure almost anything, and I shouldn't wonder if he could cure my master. Send for him right away." "Oh, hush!" you say. "If the highest medical talent in all the land cannot cure that leper, there is no need of your listening to any talk of a servant girl." But do not scoff, do not sneer. The finger of that little captive maid is pointing in the right direction. She might have said: "This is a judgment upon you for stealing me from my native land. Didn't they snatch me off in the night, breaking my father's and mother's hearts, and many a time I have lain and cried all night because I was so homesick?" Then, flushing up into childish indignation, she might have said: "Good for them. I'm glad Naaman's got the leprosy. I wish all the Syrians had the leprosy." No. Forgetting her personal sorrows, she sympathizes with the suffering of her master and commends him to the famous Hebrew prophet. Pointed In the Right Direction. And how often it is that the finger of childhood has pointed grown persons in the right direction! Oh Christian soul, how long is it since you got rid of the leprosy of sin? You say, "Let me see. It must be five years now." Five years. Who was it that pointed you to the divine physician? "Oh," you say, "it was my little Amie or Fred or Charley that clambered up on my knees and looked into my face and asked me why I didn't become a Christian, and, all the time stroking my cheek, so I could not get angry, insisted upon knowing why I didn't have family prayers."

There are grandparents who have been brought to Christ by their little grandchildren. There are hundreds of Christian mothers who had their attention first called to Jesus by their little children. How did you get rid of the leprosy of sin? How did you find your way to the divine physician? "Oh," you say, "my child, my dying child, with wan and wasted finger, pointed that way. Oh, I shall never forget," you say, "that scene at the cradle and the crib that awful night. It was hard, hard, very hard, but if that little one on its dying bed had not pointed me to Christ I don't think I ever would have got rid of my leprosy." Go into the Sabbath school any Sunday, and you will find hundreds of little fingers pointing in the same direction, toward Jesus Christ and toward heaven.

Years ago the astronomers calculated that there must be a world hanging at a certain point in the heavens, and a large prize was offered for some one who could discover that world. The telescopes from the great observatories were pointed in vain, but a girl at Nantucket, Mass., fashioned a telescope, and looking through it discovered that star and won the prize and the admiration of all the astronomical world, that stood amazed at her genius. And so it is often the case that grown people cannot see the light, while some little child beholds the star of pardon, the star of hope, the star of consolation, the star of Bethlehem, the morning star of Jesus. "Not many mighty men, not many wise men, are called, but God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the mighty and base things and things that are not to bring to naught things that are." Oh, do not despise the prattle of little children when they are speaking about God and Christ and heaven. You see the way your child is

pointing. Will you take that pointing or wait until, in the wrench of some awful bereavement, God shall lift that child to another world, and then it will beckon you upward? Will you take the pointing, or will you wait for the beckoning? Blessed be God that the little Hebrew captive pointed in the right direction. Blessed be God for the saving ministry of Christian children.

A Sick Man. No wonder the advice of this little Hebrew captive threw all Naaman's mansion and Ben-hadad's palace into excitement. Goodby, Naaman! With face scarified and ridged and inflamed by pestilence and aided by those who supported him on either side, he staggers out to the chariot. Hold fast the fiery coursers of the royal stable while the poor sick man lifts his swollen feet and pain struck limbs into the vehicle.

Bolster him up with the pillows and let him take a lingering look at his bright apartment, for perhaps the Hebrew captive may be mistaken, and the next time Naaman comes to that place he may be a dead weight on the shoulders of those who carry him, an expired chief-

tain seeking sepulture amid the lamentations of an admiring nation. Goodby, Naaman! Let the charioteer drive gently over the hills of Hernion, lest he jolt the invalid. Here goes the bravest man of all his day a captive of a horrible disease. As the ambulance winds through the streets of Damascus the tears and prayers of all the people go after the world renowned invalid.

Perhaps you have had an invalid go out from your house on a health excursion. You know how the neighbors stood around and said, Ah, he will never come back again alive." Oh, it was a solemn moment, I tell you, when the invalid had departed, and you went into the room to make the bed, and to remove the medicine vials from the shelf, and to throw open the shutters, so that the fresh air might rush into the long closed room. Goodby, Naaman!

There is only one cheerful face looking at him, and that is the face of the little Hebrew captive, who is sure he will get cured, and who is so glad she helped him. As the chariot winds out and the escort of the mounted courtiers, and the mules, laden with sacks of gold and silver and embroidered suits of ap-

parel, went through the gates of Damascus and out on the long way, the hills of Naphtali and Ephraim look down on the procession, and the retinue goes right past the battlefields where Naaman in the days of his health used to rally his troops for fearful onset, and then the procession stops and reclines awhile in the groves of olive and oleander, and General Naaman so sick, so very, very, sick.

How the countrymen gaped as the procession passed! They had seen Naaman go past like a whirlwind in the days gone by and had stood aghast at the clank of his war equipments, but now they commiserate him. They say: "Poor man, he will never get home alive! Poor man!"

His Two Diseases.

General Naaman wakes up from a restless sleep in the chariot, and he says to the charioteer, "How long before we shall reach the Prophet Elisha?" The charioteer says to a waysider, "How far is it to Elisha's house?" He says, "Two miles." "Two miles?" Then they whip up the lathered and fagged out horses.

The whole procession brightens up at the prospect of speedy arrival. They drive up to the door of the prophet. The charioteers shout "Whoa!" to the horses, and tramping hoofs and grinding wheels cease shaking the earth. Come out, Eli-

sha, come out. You have company. The grandest company that ever came to your house has come to it now. No stir inside Elisha's house. The fact was, the Lord had informed Elisha that the sick captain was coming and just how to treat him. Indeed, when you are sick and the Lord wants you to get

well, he always tells the doctor how to treat you, and the reason we have so many bungling doctors is because they depend upon their own strength and instructions and not on the Lord God, and that always makes malpractice. Come out, Elisha, and attend to your business.

General Naaman and his retinue waited and waited and waited. The fact was, Naaman had two diseases--pride and leprosy. The one was as hard to get rid of as the other. Elisha sits quietly in his house and does not go out. After awhile, when he thinks he has humbled this proud man, he says to a servant, "Go out and tell General Naaman to

bathe seven times in the river Jordan, out yonder five miles, and he will get entirely well." The message comes out.

"What!" says the commander in chief of the Syrian forces, his eye kindling with an animation which it had not shown for weeks and his swollen feet stamping on the bottom of the chariot, regardless of pain. "What! Isn't he coming out to see me? Why, I thought certainly he would come out and utter some cabalistic words over me or make some enigmatical passes over my wounds! Why, I don't think he knows who I am. Isn't he coming out? Why, when the Shunamite woman came to him, he rushed out and cried: 'Is it well with thee? Is it well with thy husband? Is it well with thy child?' And will he treat a poor unknown woman like that and let me, a titled personage, sit here in my chariot and wait and wait? I

won't endure it any longer. Charioteer, drive on! Wash in the Jordan? Ha, ha! The slimy Jordan--the muddy Jordan --the monotonous Jordan! I wouldn't be seen washing in such a river as that! Why, we watered our horses in a better river than that on our way here--the beautiful river, the jasper paved river of Pharpar. Besides that we have in our country another Damascene river, Aba-

na, with foliaged bank and torrent ever swift and ever clear, under the flickering shadows of sycamore and oleander. Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? I suppose Naaman felt very much as Americans would feel if, by way of medical prescription, some one should tell us to go and wash in the Danube or the Rhine. We would answer, "Are not the Connecticut and the Hudson just as good?" Or as an Englishman would feel if he were told, by way of

medical prescription, he must go and wash in the Mississippi or the St. Lawrence. He would cry out, "Are not the Thames and the Shannon just as well?"

The fact was that haughty Naaman needed to learn what every Englishman and every American needs to learn--that when God tells you to do a thing, you must go and do it, whether you understand the reason or not. Take the prescription, whether you like it or not.

One thing is certain. Unless haughty Naaman does as Elisha commands him, he will die of his awful sickness. And unless you do as Christ commands you you will be seized upon by an everlasting wasting away. Obey and live; disobey and die. Thrilling, overarching, undergirding, stupendous alternative!

A Dead Failure. Well, General Naaman could not stand the test. The charioteer gives a jerk to the right line until the bit snaps in the horse's mouth, and the whir of the wheels and the flying of the dust show the indignation of the great com-

mander. "He turned and went away in a rage." So people now often get mad at religion. They vituperate against

ministers, against churches, against Christian people. One would think from their irate behavior that God had been studying how to annoy and exasperate and demolish them. What has he been doing? Only trying to cure their death dealing leprosy. That is all. Yet they whip up their horses, they dig in the spurs, and they go away in a rage.

So, after all, it seems that this health excursion of General Naaman is to be a dead failure. That little Hebrew cap-

tive might as well have not told him of the prophet, and this long journey might as well not have been taken.

Poor, sick, dying Naaman! Are you going away in high dudgeon and worse than when you came? As his chariot halts a moment his servants clamber up in it and coax him to do as Elisha said. They say: "It's easy. If the proph-

et had told you to walk for a mile on sharp spikes in order to get rid of this awful disease, you would have done it. It is easy. Come, my lord, just get down and wash in the Jordan. You take a bath every day anyhow, and in this climate it is so hot that it will do you good. Do it on our account, and for the sake of the army you command, and for the sake of the nation that admired you. Come, my lord, just try this Jordanian bath." "Well," he says, "to please

you I will do as you say." The retinue drive to the bank of the Jordan. The horses paw and neigh to get into the stream themselves and cool their hot flanks. General Naaman, assisted by his attendants, gets down out of his

chariot and painfully comes to the bank of the river and steps in until the water comes to the ankle and goes on deeper until the water comes to the girdle, and now standing so far down in the stream just a little inclination of the head will thoroughly immerse him. He bows once into the flood and comes up and shakes

the water out of nostril and eye, and his attendants look at him and say, "Why, general, how much better you do look!" And he bows a second time into the flood and comes up, and the wild stare is gone out of his eye. He

bows the third time into the flood and comes up, and the shriveled flesh has got smooth again. He bows the fourth time into the flood and comes up, and the hair that had fallen out is restored in thick locks again all over the brow. He bows the fifth time into the flood and comes up, and the hoarseness has gone out of his throat. He bows the sixth time and comes up, and all the soreness and anguish have gone out of the limbs.

"Why," he says, "I am almost well, but I will make a complete cure," and he bows the seventh time into the flood, and he comes up, and not so much as a fester or a scale or an eruption as big as the head of a pin is to be seen on him.

His Wonderful Cure.

He steps out on the bank and says, "Is it possible?" And the attendants look and say, "Is it possible?" And as with the health of an athlete he bounds back into the chariot and drives on there goes up from all his attendants a wild

"Huzza, huzza!" Of course they go back to pay and thank the man of God for his counsel so fraught with wisdom.

When they left the prophet's house, they went off mad. They have come back glad. People always think better of a minister after they are converted than they do before conversion. Now we are to them an intolerable nuisance because we tell them to do things that go against

the grain, but some of us have a great many letters from those who tell us that once they were angry at what we preached, but afterward gladly received the gospel at our hands. They once called us fanatics or terrorists or ene-

mies. Now they call us friends. Yonder is a man who said he would never come into the church again. He said that two years ago. He said, "My family shall never come here again if such doctrines as that are preached." But he came again, and his family came again.

He is a Christian, his wife a Christian, all his children Christians, the whole household Christians, and you shall dwell with them in the house of the Lord forever. Our undying [?] are those who once heard the gospel and "went away in a rage."

The True Remedy.

Now, my hearers, you know that this General Naaman did two things in order to get well. The first was, he got out of his chariot. He might have staid there with his swollen feet on the [?]-

ed ottoman, seated on the embroidered cushion, until his last gasp, he would never have got any relief. He had to get down out of his chariot. And you have got to get down out of the chariot of your pride if you ever become a Chris-

tian. You cannot drive up to the cross with a coach and four and be saved among all the spangles. You seem to think that the Lord is going to be complimented by your coming. Oh, no, you poor, miserable, scaly, leprous sinner, get down out of that. We all [?]

the same haughty way. We [?] to ride into the kingdom of God. Never until we get down on our knees will we find mercy. The Lord has unhorsed us, uncharioted us. Get down out of your pride. Get down out of your self right-

eousness and your hypercriticism. We have all got to do that. That is the journey we have to make on our knees.

It is our infernal pride that keeps us from getting rid of the leprosy of sin. Dear Lord, what have we to be proud of? Proud of our scales? Proud of our uncleanness? Proud of this killing infection? Bring us down at thy feet, weeping, praying, penitent, believing suppliants.

For sinners, Lord, thou cam'st to bleed, And I'm a sinner vile indeed. Lord, I believe thy grace is free. Oh, magnify that grace in me.

But he had not only to get down out of his chariot. He had to wash. "Oh," you say, "I am very careful with my ablutions. Every day I plunge into a

bright and beautiful bath." Ah, my hearer, there is a flood brighter than any that pours forth from these hills. It is the

flood that breaks from the granite of the eternal hills. It is the flood of pardon and peace and life and heaven. That flood started in the tears of Christ and the sweat of Gethsemane and rolled on, accumulating flood, until all earth and heaven could bath in it. Zechariah called it the "fountain open for sin and uncleanness." William Cowper called it the "fountain filled with blood." Your fathers and mothers washed all their sins and sorrows away in that fountain. Oh, my hearers, do you not feel like wading into it? Wade down now into this glorious flood, deeper, deeper, deeper! Plunge once, twice, thrice, four

times, five times, six times, seven times. It will take as much as that to cure your soul. Oh, wash, wash and be clean!

Naaman's Cure.

I suppose that was a great time at Damascus when General Naaman got back. The charioteers did not have to drive slowly any longer, lest they jolt the invalid, but as the horses dashed through the streets of Damascus I think the people rushed out to hail back their chieftain. Naaman's wife hardly recognized her husband. He was so wonderfully changed she had to look at him two or three times before she made out that it was her restored husband. And the little captive maid, she rushed out, clapping her hands and shouting: "Did he cure you? Did he cure you?" Then music woke up the palace, and the tapestry of the windows was drawn away, that the multitude outside might mingle with the princely mirth inside, and the feet went up and down in the dance, and all the streets of Damascus that night echoed and re-echoed with the news: "Naaman's cured! Naaman's cured!" But a gladder time than that it would be if your soul should get cured of its leprosy. The swiftest white horses hitched to the King's chariot would rush the news into the eternal city. Our loved ones before the throne would welcome the glad tidings. Your children on earth, with more emotion than the little Hebrew captive, would notice the change in your look and the change in your manner and would put their arms around your neck and say: "Mother, I guess you must have become a Christian. Father, I think you have got rid of the leprosy." O Lord God of Elisha, have mercy on us!

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.

THE PATHOLOGICAL NOVEL.

A Medical View of the Latest Specialty In Modern Fiction.

Among physicians "The Heavenly Twins" is looked upon not as a literary venture to be judged by artistic stewards, but as a readable representation of symptoms which suggest definite pathological conditions.

"Ships That Pass In the Night" is admirable as a pulmonary record, and "The Yellow Aster" affords an insight into the psychic phenomena resulting from neglect of natural instincts and desires, which surviving the appropriate period of life, subsequently assert themselves in the form of belated maternal love and ex post facto philoprogenitiveness.

As to Miss Harradon's book, while we find it useful in the profession for its glimpses into refined sickroom conversation and pulmonary persiflage, we regret, from a medical point of view, that after giving such a careful history of the heroine's case the author permitted her to be killed by an omnibus.

It is humiliating, after following attentively the course of the disease and the method of treatment, to be told that an omnibus was the cause of death and to be dismissed without hearing the result of the autopsy. Moreover, we found her style so delightful that we would have gladly followed the hero to the last hemorrhage, but that, too, was denied us.

Sarah Grand's cases are open to the same objection of incompleteness. She starts out enticingly with such a character, for instance, as Edith's husband, but leaves the latter and more interesting phrases of his pathological history untold. As a general rule, however, she comes up to the requirement of modern

fiction; the cases of most of her characters can be diagnosed, and with a little more clinical experience we have no doubt that her future novels will be above reproach.

There is danger lest in the first stages of the medical movement in literature young writers will attempt to cover too wide a pathological area in their novels and forget the inexorable law of specialism that obtains in the medical profession itself.

To introduce a paretic or ataxic patient in a [?]logical novel would not only destroy the unity of the story, but would justly expose the author to a suspicion of a want of thoroughness. If the writer has determined upon appen-

dicitis as his plot, he should not [?] his energies upon irrelevant diseases in his minor characters. He could [?] variety by introducing other forms of enteric disorders, but should never exceed the limits of the abdominal region.

Until he has had a thorough medical training we think the course of a single disease should supply him with all the medico-literary material that he can handle in an intelligent manner. A blow on the head supplied the author of "God's Fool" with all the plot that he needed. [?]'s "Ghosts" is simply the dramatization of an inherited brain dis-

ease, and many a successful short story is based upon a case of simply mania with delusions.--American Medical Surgical Bulletin.

THE BONAPARTE FAMILY. It Was Probably of Italian Origin and Was Patrician.

In the new life of Napoleon by Professor W. M. Sloan of Princeton in The Century the professor, after describing the efforts of the Corsicans under the lead of one of the national heroes, Pascal Paoli, to resist Genoese encroach-

ments and tyranny, says: Curiously, longing in his exile for a second Sampiero to have wielded the physical power while he himself should have be-

come the Lycurgus, Paoli's wish was to be half way fulfilled in that a warrior greater than Sampicre[?] was about to be born in Corsica, one who should, by the very union so long resisted, come, as the master of France, to wield a pow-

er strong enough to shatter both tyrannies and dynasties, thus clearing the ground for a law giving closely related Paoli's own just and wise conceptions of legislation.

This scion was to come from the stock which bore the name of Bonaparte, or, as the heraldic etymology later spelled it, Buonaparte. There were branches of

the same stock, or at least the same name, in many other parts of Italy.

Whatever the origin of the Corsican Buonapartes, it was neither royal from the twin brother of Louis XIV, thought to be the Iron Mask, nor imperial from the Julian gene, or Greek, nor Saracen, nor, in short, anything which some lat-

er invented and lying genealogies declared it to be. But it was really Italian and probably patrician, for in 1780 a Tuscan gentleman of a side line devised a scanty estate to his Corsican kinsman. The earliest home of the family was probably at Sarzana, in Tuscany, where for generations men of that name had exercised the profession of advocates.

Moreover, they were persons of local consequence in their latest seats, partly because of their Italian connections, partly in their substantial possessions of land and partly through the official positions which they held in the city of

Ajaccio. Their sympathies as lowlanders and townspeople were with the country of their origin and with Genoa.

During the last years of the sixteenth century that republic authorized Jerome, then head of the family, to prefix the distinguishing particle "di" to his name, but the Italian custom was averse to its use, which was not revived until later, and then only for a short time.

Nearly two centuries fled before the grand duke of Tuscany issued formal patents attesting the Buonaparte nobility. It was Joseph, the grandsire of Na-

poleon, who received them. Soon afterward he announced that the coat of arms of the family was a count's coronet, or two chevrons and two mullets,

with the two letters B P, signifying Buona Parte, the tincture gules, the charges azure, etc.

Such heraldic cant shows that either the sovereign or the receiver was a poor

herald. This was in 1757. In 1759 the same sovereign granted further the title

of patrician. Charles, the son of Joseph, received a similar grant from the arch-

bishop of Pisa in 1769. These facts have

a substantial historical value, since by

reason of them the family was recognized as noble in 1771 by the French authorities, and as a consequence the most illustrious scion of the stem became eight years later the ward of France, which was still monarchical. Reading between the lines of such a narrative, it appears as if the short lived family of Corsican lawyers had some difficulty in preserving an influence proportionate to their descent, and therefore sought to draw all the strength they could from a bygone grandeur, easily forgotten by their neighbors in the moderate circumstances of the later day.

No task had lain nearer to Paoli's heart than to unite in one nation the two factions into which he found his people divided. Accordingly, when at his request Carlo de Buonaparte, the single slender atom on which the consequential lowland family depended for continuance, appeared at Corte, the stranger was received with flattering kindness and probably, as one account has it, was appointed to a post of emol-

ument and honor as Paoli's private secretary. The new patrician, according to a custom common among Corsicans of his class, had already studied at both Rome and Pisa, and in 1769 he was made doctor of laws by the latter university. There are many pleasant anecdotes told to illustrate the good fellow-

ship of the young advocate among his comrades while a student on the main land. There are likewise mythical narratives of his persuasive eloquence at home and of his influence as a patriot.

In short, an organized effort of sycophantic admirers, who would, if possible, illuminate the whole family in order to heighten Napoleon's renown, has invented fables and distorted facts so that the truth as to Charles' character is almost unrecognizable.

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]

Burnt Wood Decoration.

The kind of wood you should use depends greatly upon the size and character of your decoration. For the frieze of a room or a large panel to go over a chimneypiece soft wood would be best, for it would allow of bold treatment of

lines. But if you were intending to or-

nament a jewel box hard wood would

be best, because it leads itself to the most delicate work. You can make upon very hard wood a line as delicate as the finest produced by an etcher with his needle upon the copper plate. Burnt wood decoration is rather slow work. It is more allied to carving or etching than to painting. I go over and over my work, as the etcher bites and rebites his plate. I deepen a tone here by reburning, or I work it off with my emery cloth or sandpaper and reburn it. This is a little secret technique which

I have never told before.

The burning of wood seems to be one of nature's arts. The Japanese employs the hot iron for permanently tinting his bamboo; even the savage uses it for tracing designs upon his wooden domestic utensils. Yet, although it is so simple that the aborigines employ it upon the handles of their weapons, it is susceptible of being carried as far as any medium of expression we have in the graphic arts. Think how wide, too, is its scope--from the delicate traceries for a dainty jewel box to the bold frieze or panel of a spacious library or altar

decoration.--Art Amateur.

Education Based on Child Study.

In order to make it possible that the

parent, the teacher, the physician, the

minister, the merchant, may know how

to treat the child, it is necessary that the child be studied, analyzed--cata-logued, one might say. It seems to me that the best way to do this is to train young men and young women in our

colleges and schools in the study of the

child, and so send out a number of peo-

ple into the various walks of life who can get "into" the life of the child. If

this study is scientifically and properly

carried on, there is no doubt in my mind but that it will revolutionize all

the present methods of approach to the child. I predict that some of my readers will live long enough to wonder how it was possible for colleges and universities to have existed so long, and to have differentiated so many departments

of study, and yet to have waited almost

till the beginning of the twentieth century to create a department of study which is--shall I say worth more than all the others put together? They will live to see the day when the science of the child will have taught the world

more in 50 years about the child than the world learned during the preceding 5,000 years.--Forum.

How Suffrage Is Restricted In Canada.

The Canadian restrictions on suffrage

are peculiar. In order to be entitled to vote, not only must one be a male British subject 21 years of age and have

lived in the Dominion at least a year, but he must also have been the owner of real estate or the occupier of a rented house or business property for the same time. If he owns real estate in a city, it must be worth $300, if in a town $200, and if elsewhere $150. If he neither owns real estate nor occupies real estate as a tenant, he can vote if he earns $300 a year, or if he be the son of a farmer or real estate owner and live at his father's home. An income voter is not required, as all other voters are, to live a year in the district where he wants to vote, but can register at any time.--Albany Times-Union.

An American Song. A good story was told on the ship by a Boston man who was in Antwerp while the preparations were in progress for the exposition. Representatives of all nations were there preparing exhibits from their respective countries. In the evening all the visitors were in the habit of gathering in a large hall on the grounds to listen to the band play. Out of compliment to the visitors the national airs of the different countries were played and received an ovation from the group of that nationality in the hall. The night that our Boston friend attended the band performance this playing of national airs was on the programme. All were played, but not a thing that could be twisted into an air for the bird of freedom. A delegation of the Americans went up to the leader and told him that they felt slighted; that their country had not been recognized. With profuse apologies the leaders aid it was clearly an

oversight and promise to give them the American air at once. He distributed the music, and, waving his baton, the band broke loose, not with any familiar patriotic air, but "The Man That Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo." Amusement among the Americans finally gave way to visions of Old Hoss Huey and his song, and when the band finished the tumultuous applause from the American delegation elicited an encore.--Washington Star.

Chances of Death In Battle. At the battle of Solferino, according to M. Cassendi's carefully deduced calculations, a comparison of the number of shots fired on the Austrian side with the number of killed and wounded on the part of the enemy shows that 700 bullets were expended for every man wounded and 4,200 for each man killed. The average weight of the ball used was 30 grains; therefore it must have taken at least 126 kilograms or 227 pounds of lead for every man put out of the way. Yet Solferino has gone into history as a most important and bloody

engagement.

Bogert, in light of the above, was not far from right when he quaintly said, "War is awful, but the sound of war is awfuler."--St. Louis Republic.

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.

It is estimated that the annual salt product of the world is fully 7,000,000 tons.

In the shop of a St. Petersburg watchmaker a human faced clock is on view --the only one of its kind. The hands

are pivoted on its nose, and any messages that may be spoken into its ear are repeated by a phonograph through

its mouth.

Smothered by a Dog.

A 3-months-old infant of Charles Salmus of Bucksboro, N. J., was smothered to death the other evening by a large Newfoundland dog sleeping on its head.

The baby was left alone early in the evening and was sleeping soundly. The dog went to the bedroom unnoticed and curled himself on the child. It was dead when found. The distracted father shot the dog.--Philadelphia Press.

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. Make no substitute. If your dealer cannot supply you, we can. Sold by C. A. CAMPBELL.

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.