IN RUINED PLACES. REV. DR. TALMAGE AT THE CITY OF DELHI, INDIA. Among Wrecked Temples, Broken Fortresses and the Debris of Centuries--At the Cashmere Gate--The City of Amber. A Vivid World Picture.

BROOKLYN, Dec. 30.--Continuing his series of round the world sermons through the press, Rev. Dr. Talmage today chose for his subject "Palaces In India," the text being Amos iii, 10, "Who store up violence and robbery in their palaces." In this day, when vast sums of money are being given for the redemption of India, I hope to increase the interest in that great country and at the same time draw for all classes of our people practical lessons, and so I present this fifth sermon in the round the world series. We step into the ancient capital of India, the mere pronunciation of its name sending a thrill through the body, mind and soul of all those who have ever read its stories of splendor and disaster and prowess--Delhi.

Before the first historian impressed

his first word in clay, or cut his first word on marble, or wrote his first word on papyrus, Delhi stood in India, a contemporary of Babylon and Nineveh. We know that Delhi existed longer before Christ's time than we live after his time. Delhi is built on the ruins of seven cities, which ruins cover 40 miles, with wrecked temples, broken fortresses, split tombs, tumble down palaces and the debris of centuries. An archaeologist could probably spend his life here talking with the past through its lips of

venerable masonry.

The Mutiny In India.

There are a hundred things here you ought to see in this city of Delhi, but three things you must see. The first thing I wanted to see was the Cashmere gate, for that was the point at which the most wonderful deed of daring which the world has ever seen was done.

That was the turning point of the mutiny of 1857. A lady at Delhi put into my hand an oil painting of about 18 inches square, a picture well executed, but chiefly valuable for what it represented. It was a scene from the time of mutiny; two horses at full run, harnessed to a carriage in which were four persons. SHe said: "Those persons on the front side are my father and mother. The young lady on the back seat holding in her arms a baby of a year was my older sister, and the baby was myself. My mother, who is down with a fever in the next room, painted that years ago. The horses are in full run because we are fleeing for our lives. My mother is driving, for the reason that father, standing up in the front of his carriage, had to defend us with his gun, as you there see. He fought our way out and on for many a mile, shooting down the sepoys as we went. We had somewhat suspected trouble and had become suspicious of our servants. A prince had requested a private interview with my father, who was editor of the Delhi Gazette. The prince proposed to come veiled, so that no one might recognize him, but my mother insisted on being present, and the interview did not take place. A large fish had been sent to our family and four other families, the present an offering of thanks for the king's recovery from a recent sickness. But we suspected poison and did not eat the fish.

One day all our servants came up and said they must go and see what was the matter. We saw what was intended and knew that if the servants returned they would murder all of us. Things grew worse and worse until this scene of flight shown you in the picture took place. You see, the horses were wild with fright. This was not only because of the discharge of guns, but the horses were struck and pounded by sepoys, and ropes were tied across the way, and the savage halloo and the shout of revenge made all the way of our flight a horror."

The Savage Sepoys.

The books have fully recorded the heroism displayed at Delhi and approximate regions, but made no mention of this family of Wagentreibers whose flight I am mentioning. But the Madras Atheneum printed this:

"And now! Are not the deeds of the Wagentreibers, though he wore a round hat and she a crinoline, as worth of imperishable verse as those of the heroic pair whose nuptials graced the court of Charlemagne? A more touching picture than that of the brave man contending with well nerved arm against the black and threatening fate impending over his wife and child we have never seen. Here was no strife for the glory of physical prowess or the spoil of shining arms, but a conquest of the human mind, an assertion of the powers of intellect over the most appalling array of circumstances that could assail a human being. Men have become gray in front of sudden and unexpected peril, and in ancient days so much was courage a matter of heroics and mere instinct that we read in im-

mortal verse of heroes struck with panic and fleeing before the enemy. But the savage Sepoys, with their hoarse war-cry and swarming like wasps around the Wagentreibers, struck no terror into the brave man's heart. His heroism was not the mere ebullition of despair, but, like that of his wife, calm and wise; standing upright that he might see his arms better."

As an incident will sometimes more impress one than a generality of statement, I present the flight of this one family from Delhi merely to illustrate the desperation of the times. The fact was that the sepoys had taken posses-

sion of the city of Delhi, and they were, with all their artillery, fighting back the Europeans who were on the outside and murdering all the Europeans who were inside. The city of Delhi has a crenulated wall on three sides, a wall 5½ miles long, and the fourth side of the city is defended by the river Jumna.

In addition to these two defenses of wall and water there were 40,000 sepoys, all armed. Twelve hundred British soldiers were to take that city. Nicholson, the immortal general, commanded them, and you must visit his grave before you leave Delhi. He fell leading his troops. He commanded them even after being mortally wounded. You will read this inscription on his tomb: "John Nicholson, who led the assault of Delhi, but fell in the hour of victory, mortally wounded, and died 23d September, 1857, aged 35 years."

The Cashmere Gate. With what guns and men General Nicholson could muster he had laid siege to this walled city filled with

devils. What fearful odds! Twelve hundred British troops, uncovered by any military works, to take a city surrounded by firm and high masonry, on the

top of which were 114 guns and defended by 10,000 foaming sepoys. A larger percentage of troops fell here than in any great battle I happen to know of.

The Crimean percentage of the fallen was 17.48, but the percentage of Delhi

was 37.9.Yet that city must be taken, and it can only be taken by such cour-

age as had never been recorded in all

the annals of bloodshed. Every charge

of the British regiments against the

walls and gates had been beaten back.

The hyenas of Hindooism and Mohammedanism howled over the walls, and the English army could do nothing but bury their own dead. But at this gate I stand and watch an exploit that makes the page of history tremble with agitation.

This city has ten gates, but the most famous is the one before which we now stand, and it is called Cashmere gate. Write the words in red ink because of the carnage. Write them in letters of

light for the illustrious deeds. Write them in letters of black for the bereft and the dead. Will the world ever for-

get that Cashmere gate? Lieutenant Salkeld and Home and Sergeants Bur-

gess, Carmichael and Smith offered to take bags of powder to the foot of that gate and set them on fire, blowing open the gate, although they must die in doing it. There they go just after sunrise, each one carrying a sack containing 24 pounds of powder, and doing this under

the fire of the enemy.

Lieutenant Home was the first to jump into the ditch, which still remains before the gate. As they go, one by one falls under the shot and shell. One of the mortally wounded as he falls hands his sack of powder with a box of lucifer matches to another, telling him to fire the sack, when, with an explosion that shook the earth for 20 miles around, part of the Cashmere gate was blown into fragments, and the bodies of some of these heroes were so scattered they were never gathered for funeral or grave or monument. The British army rushed in through the broken gate, and although six days of hard fighting were necessary before the city was in complete possession the crisis was past. The Cashmere gate open, the capture of Delhi and all it contained of palaces and mosques and

treasures was possible.

Lord Napier of Magdala, of whom Mr. Gladstone spoke to me so affectionately when I was his guest at Hawarden, England, has lifted a monument near this Cashmere gate, with the names of the men who there fell inscribed thereon. That English lord, who had seen courage on many a battlefield, visited this Cashmere gate and felt that the men who opened it with the loss of their own lives ought to be commemorated, and hence this epitaph. But after all, the best monument is the gate itself, with the deep gouges in the brick wall on the left side made by two bombshells, and the wall above torn by ten bombshells, and the wall on the right side defaced and scraped and plowed

and gullied by all styles of long reaching weaponry. Let the words "Cash-

mere gate," as a synonym for patriotism and fearlessness and self sacrifice,

go into all history, all art, all literature, all time, all eternity! My friends, that kind of courage sanctified will yet

take the whole earth for God. Indeed

the missionaries now at Delhi, toiling amid heathenism and fever and cholera, and away from home and comfort, and staying there until they drop into

their graves, are just as brave in tak-

ing Delhi for Christ as were Nicholson

and Home and Carmichael in taking Delhi for Great Britain. Take this for the first sermonic lesson.

Vanished Glories.

Another thing you must see if you go to Delhi, though you leave many things unseen, is the palace of the mo-

guls. It is an inclosure 1,000 yards by 500. You enter through a vaulted hall

nearly 400 feet long. Floors of Florentine mosaic and walls once emeralded and sapphired and carbuncled and diamonded. I said to the guide, "Show us where once stood the peacock throne." "Here it was," he responded. All the thrones of the earth put together would not equal that for costliness and bril-

liance. It had steps of silver, and the

seat and arms were of solid gold. It cost about $150,000,000. It stood between two peacocks, the feathers and plumes of which were fashioned out of colored stones. Above the throne was a life size parrot cut out of one emerald. Above all was a canopy resting on 12 columns of gold, the canopy fringed with pearls. Seated here, the emperor on public occasions wore a crown containing, among other things, the Kohinoor diamond, and the entire blaze of coronet cost $10,350,000. This superb and once almost supernaturally beautiful room has imbedded in the white marble wall letters of black marble, which were translated to me from Per-

sian into English as meaning: If on the earth there be an Eden of bliss, That place is this, is this, is this, is this.

But the peacocks that stood beside the throne have flown away, taking all the display with them, and those white marble floors were reddened with slaughter, and these bathrooms ran with blood, and that Eden of which the Persian couplet on the wall spake has had its flowers wither and its fruits decay, and I thought while looking at the brilliant desolation and standing amid the vanished glories of that throneroom that some one had better change a little that Persian couplet on the wall and make it read: If there be a place where much you miss, That place is this, is this, is this is this.

As I came out of the palace into the street of Delhi, I thought to myself paradises are not built out of stone; are not cut in sculpture; are not painted on walls; are not fashioned out of precious stones; do not spray the cheek with fountains; do not offer thrones or crowns. Paradises are built out of natures uplifted and cunolded, and what architect's compass may not sweep, and sculptor's chisel may not cut, and painter's pencil may not sketch, and gardener's skill may not lay out, the grace of God can achieve, and if the heart be right all is right, and if the heart be wrong all is wrong. Here endeth the second lesson.

But I will not yet allow you to leave Delhi. The third thing you must see or never [?] that you have seen in India is the mosque called Immua Musjid. It is the grandest mosque I ever saw except St. Sophia at Constantinople, but it surpasses that in some respects, for St. Sophia was originally a Christian church and changed into a mosque, while this of Delhi was originally built for the Moslems.

A World's Wonder. As I entered 1,000 or more Mohammedans were prostrated in worship.

There are times when 5,000 may be seen here in the same attitude. Each stone of the door is 3 feet long by 1½ feet wide, and each worshiper has one of these slabs for himself while kneeling. The erection of this building required 5,000 laborers for six years. It is on a plateau of rock, has four towers rising far into the heavens, three great gateways inviting the world to come in and honor the memory of the prophet of many wives; 15 domes, with spires gold tipped, and six minarets. What a built up immensity of white marble and red sandstone? We descended the 40 marble steps by which we ascended and took another look at this wonder of the world.

As I thought what a brain the architect must have had who first built that mosque in his own imagination, and as I thought what an opulent ruler that must have been who gave the order for such vastness and symmetry, I was reminded of that which perfectly explained all. The architect who planned this was the same man who planned the Taj--namely, Austin de Bordeau--and the king who ordered the mosque con-

structed was the king who ordered the

Taj--namely, Shah Jehan. As this

grand mogul ordered built the most splendid palace for the dead when he built the Taj at Agra, he here ordered

built the most splendid palace of wor-

ship for the living at Delhi. See here what sculpture and architecture can accomplish. They link together the centuries. They successfully defy time. Two hundred and eighty years ago Aus-

tin de Bordeau and Shah Jehan quit this life, but their work lives and bids

fair to stand until the continents crack open, and hemispheres go down, and

this planet showers other worlds with

its ashes.

I rejoice in all those big buildings, whether dedicated to Mohammed or Brahma or Buddha or Confucius or Zoroaster, because as St. Sophia at Constantinople was a Christian church changed into a mosque and will yet be changed back again, so all the mosques and temples of superstition and sin will yet be turned into churches. When India and Ceylon and China and Japan are ransomed, as we all believe they will be, their religious structures will all be converted into Christian asylums, and Christian schools, and Christian libraries, and Christian churches. Built at the expense of superstition and sin, they will yet be dedicated to the Lord Almighty. Here endeth the third lesson.

Under the English Flag.

As that night we took the railroad train from the Delhi station and rolled out through the city now living over the vaster cities buried under this ancient capital, cities under cities, and our traveling servant had unrolled our bed, which consisted of a rug and two blankets and a pillow, and as we were worn out with the sightseeing of the day, and were roughly tossed on that uneven Indian railway, I soon fell into a troubled sleep, in which I saw and heard in a confused way the scenes and sounds of the mutiny of 1857, which at Delhi we had been recounting, and now the rattle of the train seemed to turn into the rattle of musketry, and now the light at the top of the car deluded me with the idea of a burning city, and then the loud thump of the railroad brake was in dream mistaken for a booming battery, and the voices at the different stations made me think I heard the loud cheer of the British at the taking of the Cashmere gate, and as we rolled over bridges the battles before Delhi seemed going on, and as we went through dark tunnels I seemed to see the tomb of Humayun in which the king of Delhi was hidden, and in my dreams I saw Lieutenant Renny of the artillery throwing shells which were handed to him, their fuses burning, and Campbell and Reid and Hope Grant

covered with blood, and Nicholson fall-

ing while rallying on the wall his wavering troops, and I saw dead regiment fallen across dead regiment, and heard the rataplan of the hoofs of Hodgson's horse, and the dash of the Bengal artillery, and the storming by the immortal fourth column, and the rougher the Indian railway became and the darker the night grew the more the scenes that I had been studying at Delhi came on me like an incubus. But the morning began to look through the window of our jolting railcar, and the sunlight poured in on my pillow, and in my dreams I saw the bright colors of the English flag hoisted over Delhi, where the green banner of the Moslem had waved, and the voices of the wounded and dying seemed to be exchanged for the voices that welcomed soldiers home again. And as the morning light got brighter and brighter, and in my dream I mistook the bells at a station for a church bell hanging in a minaret, where a Mohammedan priest had mumbled his call to prayer, I seemed to hear a chant, whether by human or angelic voices in

my dream I could not tell, but it was a chant about "peace and good will to

men." And as the speed of the rail train slackened the motion of the car became so easy as we rolled along the track that it seemed to me that all the distress and controversy and jolting and wars of the world had ceased, and in my dream I thought we had come to the time when "the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away."

The City of Amber.

Halt here at what you have never seen before, a depopulated city, the city of Amber, India.

The strange fact is that a ruler abandoned his palaces at Amber and moved to Jaipur, and all the inhabitants of the city followed. Except here and there a house in Amber occupied by a hermit, the city is as silent a population as Pompeii or Herculaneum, but these cities were emptied by volcanic disaster, while this city of Amber was vacated because Prince Joy Singh was told by a Hindoo priest that no city should be inhabited more than 1,000 years, and so the ruler 170 years ago moved out himself, and all his people moved with him.

You visit Amber on the back of an elephant. Permission obtained for your visit the day before at Jaipur, an elephant is in waiting for you about six miles out to take you up the steeps to Amber. You pass through the awfully quiet streets, all the feet that trod them in the days of their activity having gone on the long journey and the voices of business and gayety that sounded amid these abodes having long ago uttered their last syllable. You pass by a lake covering 500 acres, where the rajahs used to sail in their pleasure boats, but alligators now have full possession, and you come to the abandoned palace, which is an enchantment. No more picturesque place was ever chosen for the residence of a monarch. The fortress stove looks down upon this palace, and the palace looks down upon a lake. This monarchial abode may have had attractions when it was the home of royalty which have vanished, but antiquity and the silence of many years and opportunity to tread where once you would not have been permitted to tread may be an addition quite equal to the subtraction.

An Abandoned City. I will not go far into a description of brazen doorway after brazen doorway and carved room after carved room, and lead you under embellished ceiling after embellished ceiling, and through halls precious stoned into wider halls precious stoned. Why tire out your imagination with the particulars when you may sum up all by saying that on the slopes of that hill of India are pavilions deeply dyed, tasseled and arched; the fire of colored gardens cooled by the snow of white architecture; bathrooms that refresh before your feet touch their marble; birds in arabesque so natural to life that while you cannot hear their voices you imagine you see the flutter of their wings as you are passing; stoneware translucent; walls pictured with hunting scene, and triumphal procession and jousting party; rooms that were called "alcove of light," and "court of honor," and "hall of victory;" marble, white and black, like a mixture of morning and night; alabaster and lacquer work and mother of pearl. All that architecture and sculpture and painting and horticulture can do when they put their genius together was done here in ages past, and much of their work still stands to absorb and entrance archaeologist and sightseer. But what a solemn and stupendous thing is an abandoned city! While many of the peoples of earth have no roof for their head, here is a whole city of roofs rejected. The sand of the desert was sufficient excuse for the disappearance of Heliopolis, and the waters of the Mediterranean sea for the engulfment of Tyre, and the lava of Mount

Vesuvius for the obliteration of Herculaneum, but for the sake of nothing but a superstitious whim the city of Amber is abandoned forever. Oh, wondrous India! The city of Amber is only one of the marvels which compel the uplifted

hand of surprise from the day you enter

India until you leave it. Its flora is so

flamboyant, its fauna so monstrous and

savage, its rains so suggestive, its idolatry so horrible, its degradation so sickening, its mineralogy so brilliant, its splendors so uplifting, its architecture so old, so grand, so educational, so multipotent, that India will not be fully comprehended until science has made its last experiment, and exploration has ended its last journey, and the library of the world's literature has closed its last door, and Christianity has made its last achievement, and the clock of time

has struck its last hour.

HUMBUG ABOUT TERRAPIN. Preparing the Dish Not a Difficult Art According to a Caterer.

"There is a good deal of polite humbug about terrapin stew," said a caterer. "The Maryland style is generally accepted as the best way in which the dish should be eaten, but as a matter of fact there is so little difference between that style and the Philadelphia style that no one can tell the difference by the taste of it, and, further, the Virginia style of preparing terrapin, as followed by the incomparable negro 'mammy' cooks, of the Old Dominion, is the only true way to cook it and by far the simplest. The cooking of terrapin seems to be a natural gift with the Virginia negress. It is an art that the professional cook has to acquire.

"The preparing for the table of a terrapin in the approved Maryland style is quite a tedious proceeding, and the person who does it never fails to impress you with the fact that he believes, or thinks he believes, that he is and of necessity must be a being of exceptional accomplishments as a culinary artist, but if you are not susceptible to the glamour which tradition has cast around the terrapin cook you can do the business just exactly as well yourself. You will never be able to get a recipe for cooking a terrapin from any of these glorified concoctors of a stew. They will always give you a wise shake of the head and declare that such a thing would be impossible, save as to the mode in a general way, because they have certain artistic secrets about making terrapin stew which they cannot impart to any one, the same, of course, being in very excellent quality of [?]. The preparing of a terrapin depends more upon the knowledge of how to treat it anatomically than on any artistic touch.

"A terrapin that has been caught after it has gone into its winter quarters does not need to be cleaned before it is cooked. There is no food in its stomach, and its interior is as clean as it can be made. In the Maryland or Philadelphia way of preparing terrapin it is thrown alive into a pot of hot water. This is cruel enough, but it is humanity compared with the way the terrapin is treated in the old Virginia style. In beginning its preparation in this style the unfortunate reptile is thrust alive among hot coals or shut in a very hot oven and left there until it is choked. When this result is reached, the under shell of the terrapin is easily removed with a knife, exposing the [?] the natural dish formed by the upper shell. Noth-

ing but the gall sack is removed, and with the addition of butter, seasoning and a glass of sherry or Madeira wine, the terrapin is eaten from the shell.

But it is not terrapin stew.

"As the terrapin is cast into the kettle of hot water, as in the Maryland and Philadelphia styles, it is left there until it is dead. It is then taken out and the upper shell removed. The terrapin is returned to the hot water, left a short time, removed and its under shell taken

off. Now comes a very delicate operation and the one on which failure or success depends. This is the removal of the liver and the gall sack. If so much of the gall as would cover the point of a pin should remain, it would taint the entire stew and make the eating of it an impossibility. This necessary dissection done, the meat is put back into the kettle and stewed until it is ready for the final touch. This is the addition of the very finest butter, the yolks of raw eggs, the whites of hard boiled eggs, thick greens and spices. The addition of a sherry of Madeira must be made only a very short time before the stew is served, or the effect of that flavor will be lost, the wine evaporating quickly."--New York Sun.

FACTS ABOUT COUNTIES. Imaginary Lines and Not Natural Boundaries Used to Mark Most of Them.

Few even of the New England states have made use of natural features for county boundaries. British kinds set the fashion in the New World of marking political divisions by imaginary lines, and the fashion has been followed faithfully in states old and new. Its final development is found in the western states and territories, where nature's boundaries, mountain ranges and rivers are neglected for the sake of the [?] lots and meridians. Maine, whose counties are as irregular in shape as any in the world, has not made use of natural landmarks to any considerable extent. Vermont and New Hampshire have here and there used mountain ranges and streams for county boundaries. Massachusetts and Connecticut have disregarded natural boundaries in great degree. Even the great Connecticut river flows across counties and is a boundary line only between parts of Middlesex and New London counties in Connecticut. Rhode Island's chief county boundaries are imaginary lines.

Massachusetts has two island counties, Dukes and Nantucket. Island counties occur also in New York and Washington, but not elsewhere, though the larger part of Door county, Wis., is an island in Lake Michigan. Washington's island county bears the name of Island and is surrounded by the waters of Puget sound. Maine's counties average nearly 500 square miles each in area, and there are several each of which is larger than the state of Rhode Island.

New York has few natural county boundaries save in the lake regions and along the Hudson. New Jersey has artificial boundaries for many counties, but Pennsylvania has used mountains and rivers in many instances. Delaware has used small streams to bound her counties and even her townships, or hundreds, as they are called. Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia, having plenty of streams and mountain ranges, use such natural features for county boundaries. Virginia's counties are unusually small in both area and population. Natural boundaries are usual in the Carolinas, Georgia and Alabama, but Mississippi has many imaginary county lines, and her counties are notched in a way to suggest that they were made with a view to the production of one of those wooden puzzle maps that are held together by the notches. Louisi-

ana, Arkansas, Tennessee and Kentucky have the characteristic rectangular

county forms with many imaginary boundary lines, though creeks and rivers are used to some extent in Kentucky and Tennessee. Florida has boundary lines of each sort, and so has Texas, save in the northwest, where natural boundaries are almost entirely disregarded. Buchel county, Tex., is a right angled triangle and perhaps the only one in the United States.

The states of the middle west have comparatively few natural county boundaries, and those immediately beyond the Mississippi almost disregard landmarks in the choice of county lines, the counties being piled mathematically tier on tier. Even the great river Platte flows across Nebraska much of its way through counties.

The Rocky mountain states, unable to disregard the stern necessities of great rivers and almost impassable mountain ranges, have accepted these natural features as county lines, though the Missouri flows through one of the North Dakota counties. Oregon and Washington have accepted mountain ranges and great rivers for county lines, and so has California, though in many cases imaginary boundaries are used.

A single county of Montana is about as large as all the New England states together save Maine. Cherry county, Neb., is nearly as large as New Jersey, and one county in Arizona territory is nearly as large as Vermont and New Hampshire. One county in Wyoming exceeds by 200 square miles the area of Vermont, and any one of 20 far western counties is almost double the area of Delaware.--New York Sun.

Jokes at the expense of severe schoolma'ams who have passed the boundary of youth are numerous and sometimes a trifle unkind, but the following will bear repeating, as it was heartily enjoyed by the teacher of whom it is told. The class in American history was up, the subject under consideration being the civil war. After some earnest discussion of causes, effects and the like a pupil arose and began to give certain astonishing information regarding a bat-

tle at which he said his uncle had been present. HIs teacher replied that the anecdote

could hardly be true, as the uncle in question was near her age, and she was not born until after the close of the war. The boy looked a little chagrined at being proved so evidently in the wrong, but after a few moments of embarrassed silence he said, with the air of one who has much the best of the situation: "Oh, but Miss W., I did not mean the Revolutionary war."--Youth's

Companion.

They Made a Deal. "Excuse me," said the seedy man, sidling up to the well dressed citizen, "if I don't mistake, you are going into the saloon to buy a drink or a cigar or

something?''

"I am going to buy myself a drink," answered the citizen, with an accent on

the pronoun.

"Oh, I didn't want to brace you for no ball. What I want you to do is to take this here nickel and ask me to have a beer with you." "I--I don't quite catch on." "I'll tell you. If I go in and drink with a fine, well fixed man, like yourself, I kin afterward stand there and stow away all the lunch I want to. If I go in lookin as I do, with my little old one nickel, I'd git throwed out before I had a chance to take more than four or five forkfuls of the beans and a sand-

wich or two."

The deal was made.--Cincinnati Tribune.

Lightning Bolts. What produces the electricity in a thunderstorm? This question, of perennial interest both to the scientific man and the ordinary inquirer, can scarcely be said to be completely and satisfactorily solved. It has, however, generally been supposed that the big drops in a thunder shower were the result of electrification, for working an electrical machine in a fog causes the minute drops to adhere together and form larger ones. But now come developments that render it probable that the big drops are not results, but causes--at least of part of the electricity manifested. When a drop splashes on a metal plate, the latter becomes electrified, and it is now believed that every such drop carries a double layer of electricity, positive and negative. On the drop these neutralize each other, but the splash dissipates one and so renders the other evident. The same thing would happen if two drops splashed against each other in the air, as must often be the case, and hence perhaps by the aggregation of millions of such splashes comes the lightning bolt that rends the oak or shatters the spire.--New York Times.

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The Origin of Sacrifice.

In primitive times the evil seemed more abundant than the good. The earth gave but sparsely its good, while the weeds and the thorns sprang up everywhere. The evil powers seemed to be

the strongest. The sun, however bene-

ficial, bears the sunstroke that blights

together with the sunbeam that fructifies. Every deity had therefore a touch of the demon in him, and religion in its first stage began rather with the propitiation of demons than with the

worship of a good god or gods. It was only at a much later stage in

man's development that the blessings became more pronounced than the curses; that the good god was separated from the evil. An Ahriman existed in the primitive mind before an Ormuzd. It may be affirmed that if early man had esteemed the powers as purely benevolent beings the world would not originally have brought a sacrifice. It was only be-

cause he recognized the malevolence in the powers that dread impelled him to

present them a propitiatory gift. The Latin poet might therefore well say that "fear was the first creator of the gods" --"Primus in orbe deos fecit timor." (See Conway, Demonology and Devil Lore, 1, p. 7).--Rev. Dr. Grossman in

Menorah.

General Logan and the Guide. Mrs. Tucker, daughter of the late General Logan, tells an amusing story of her father's experience, which he greatly enjoyed relating about himself. It was some years ago before his death during the most active period of his senatorial career. Taking advantage of a recess following an exciting debate, he strolled leisurely through the halls and corridors outside the senate chamber.

One of the newly licensed guides, mistaking him for a stranger in the city, approached and proffered his services to show him about the building. To the flow of eloquence poured forth by the guide General Logan paid not the slightest attention, completely ignoring his presence. This, however, so far from deterring the young fellow from further effort, seemed to spur him on. Following his victim until the rotunda was reached, they passed a group of veteran guides, who took in the situation at a glance.

Once of the boldest called out: "You b[?] fool, what are you wasting your time for on that old Indian? Don't you know that he has been at work here for more than 20 years?"--Washington Post.

Matches. The big headed, stumpy fusees used by smokers, and which will sizzle and keep afire in the windiest weather, are

simply common matches with a composition of the slow fire kind. The mixture in the big oval head is porous and is made of charcoal, s[?]er, powdered glass, gum and some [?] scented barks --all of it tipped with the igniting composition. These matches are dipped repeatedly until the proper amount of composition is put on the head of the short splint. The wax matches, or ves-

tas, are made by drawing cotton threads through [?]ted stearin and paraffin.

The wax hardens rapidly on the threads and is then rounded nicely by being drawn through holes in a steel plate. The wax threads are cut to the required length and are then dipped.--Chicago Record.

The four [?] of Ayer, Mass., pay a license fee of $2,500 a year each, which is believed to be the highest license ever paid in Massachusetts.

During the fiscal year ending June 30, 1892, 579,603 immigrants arrived in this country, of whom 2,081 came in violation of law and were returned to their homes. Of this number 1,763 were con-

tract laborers.

Pascal often copied composition six or eight times before allowing it to be printed. If a man wears a ring, it should always be on the third finger of the left hand. Men wear all kinds of rings except clusters, which are worn by women only.

Cardinal Richelieu was a dramatic writer of much ability. Several of his plays are included in the collections of literary works of his time.

At a recent ball in Sheffield, England, the master and mistress cutler, Mr. and Mrs. George Howson of Sheffield, revived the days of "powder and patch."

Over 500 gentlemen were present, and they all wore powdered wigs and knee breeches, the ladies also appearing in powdered hair or wigs.

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 every-

where at lower prices for the value given than any other make. Take no substitute. If your dealer cannot supply you, we can. Sold by C. A. CAMPBELL.

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.