WONDERS OF CEYLON.

REV. DR. TALMAGE AT THE ISLE OF PALMS. The Show Place of the Universe--The Great Preacher at the Harbor of Colombo--A Glowing Picture of a Remarkable Country--The Lesson.

BROOKLYN, Jan. 13.--In continuing his series of round the world sermons through the press Rev. Dr. Talmage today chose for his subject "Ceylon, the Isle of Palms," the text selected being, "The ships of Tarshish first" (Isa-

iah lx, 9).

The Tarshish of my text by many commentators is supposed to be the island of Ceylon, upon which the seventh sermon of the round the world series lands us. Ceylon was called by the Romans Tapobrane. John Milton called it "Golden Chersonese." Moderns have called Ceylon "the isle of palms," "the isle of flowers," the pearl drop on "the brow of India," "the isle of jewels," "the island of spice," "the show place of the universe," "the land hyacinth and ruby." In my eyes, for scenery it appeared to be a mixture of Yosemite and Yellowstone park. All Christian people want to know more of Ceylon, for they have a long while been contributing for its evangelization. As our ship from Australia approached this island there hovered over it clouds thick and black as the superstitions which have hovered here for centuries, but the morning sun was breaking through like the gospel light which is to scatter the last cloud of moral gloom. The sea lay along the coast calm as the eternal purposes of God toward all islands and continents. We swing into the harbor of Colombo, which is made by a breakwater built at vast expense. As we floated into it the water is black with boats of all sizes and manned by people of all colors, but chiefly Tamils and Cingalese.

Two Remarkable Sights. There are two things I want most to see on this island: A heathen temple with its devotees in idolatrous worship, and an audience of Cingalese addressed by a Christian missionary. The en-

tomologist may have his capture of brilliant insects, and the sportsman his tent adorned with antler of red deer and tooth of wild boar, and the painter his portfolio of gorge 3,000 feet down and of days dying on evening pillows of pur-

ple cloud etched with fire, and the botanist his camp full of orchids and crowfoots and gentians and valerian and lotus. I want most to find out the moral and religious triumphs, how many wounds have been healed, how many sorrows comforted, how many entombed nations resurrected. Sir William Baker, the famous explorer and geographer, did well for Ceylon after his eight years' residence in this island, and Professor Ernst Heckel, the professor from Jena, did well when he swept these waters and rummaged these hills and took home for future inspection the insects of this tropical air. And forever honored be such work, but let all that is sweet in rhythm and graphic on canvas and imposing in monument and immortal in memory be brought to tell the deeds of those who were heroes and heroines for Christ's sake.

Many scholars have supposed that this island of Ceylon was the original garden of Eden where the snake first appeared on reptilian mission. There are reasons for belief that this was the site where the first homestead was opened and destroyed. It is so near the equator that there are not more than 12 degrees of Fahrenheit difference all the year round. Perpetual foliage, perpetual fruit and all styles of animal life prosper. What luxuriance and abundance and superabundance of life! What styles of plumage do not the birds sport! What styles of scale do not the fishes reveal! What styles of song do not the groves have in

their libretto!

Here on the roadside and clear out on the beach of the sea stands the cocoanut tree saying: "Take my leaves for shade. Take the juice of my fruit for delectable drink. Take my saccharine for sugar. Take my fiber for the cordage of your ships. Take my oil to kindle your lamps. Take my wood to fashion your cups and pitchers. Take my leaves to thatch your roofs. Take my smooth surface on which to print your books. Take my 30,000,000 trees covering 500,000 acres and with the exportation enrich the world. I will wave in your fans and spread abroad in your umbrellas. I will vibrate in your musical instruments. I will be the scrubbing brushes on your floors."

Miracles of Nature.

Here also stands the palm tree saying: "I am at your disposal. With these arms I fed your ancestors 150 years ago, and with these same arms I will feed your descendants 150 years from now. I defy the centuries!" Here also stands the nutmeg tree saying, "I am ready to spice your beverages and enrich your puddings and with my sweet dust make insipid things palatable."

Here also stands the coffee plant saying, "With the liquid boiled from my berry I stimulate the nations morning by morning." Here stands the tea plant saying, "With the liquid boiled from my leaf I soothe the world's nerves and stimulate the world's conversation evening by evening."

Here stands the cinchona saying: "I am the foe of malaria. In all climates my bitterness is the slaughter of fevers." What miracles of productiveness on these islands! Enough sugar to sweeten all the world's beverages, enough bananas to pile all the world's fruit baskets, enough rice to mix all the world's puddings, enough cocoanut to powder all the world's cakes, enough flowers to garland all the world's beauty.

But in the evening, riding through a cinnamon grove, I first tasted the leaves and bark of that condiment so valuable and delicate that transported on ships the aroma of the cinnamon is dispelled if placed near a rival bark. Of such great value is the cinnamon shrub that years ago those who injured it in Ceylon were put to death. But that which once was a jungle of cinnamon is now a park of gentlemen's residences. The long, white dwelling houses are bounded with this shrub, and all other styles of growth congregated there make a botanized garden. Doves called cinnamon doves hop among the branches, and crows, more poetically styled ravens, which never could sing, but think they can, fly across the road giving full test of their vocalizing. Birds which learned their chiming under the very caves of leaves overpower all with their grand march of the tropics. The hibiscus dapples the scene with its scarlet clusters. All shades of brown and emerald and saffron and brilliance; melons, limes, magnosteens [sic], custard apples, guavas, pineapples, jasmine so laden with aroma they have to hold fast to the wall, and begonias, gloriosas on fire and orchids so delicate other lands must keep them under conservatory, but here defiant of all weather, and flowers more or less akin to azaleas and honeysuckles, and flaxes and fuchsias and chrysanthemums and rhododendrons and foxgloves and pansies which dye the plains and mountains of Ceylon with heaven.

Wonderful Trees of Ceylon. The evening hour burns incense of all styles of aromatics. The convolvulus, blue as if the sky had fallen, and butterflies spangling the air, and arms of trees sleeved with blossoms, and rocks upholstered of moss, commingling sounds and sights and odors until eye and ear and nostril vie with each other as to which sense shall open the door to the most enchantment. A struggle between music and perfume and iridescence. Oleanders reeling in intoxication of color.

Great banyan trees that have been changing their mind for centuries, each century carrying out a new plan of growth, attracted our attention and saw us pass in the year of 1894 as they saw pass the generations of 1794 and 1694. Colombo is so thoroughly embowered in foliage that if you go into one of its towers and look down upon the city of 130,000 people you cannot see a house. Oh, the acres of Ceylon! May you live to behold the morning climbing down through their branches of the evening tipping their leaves with amber and

gold. I forgive the Buddhist for the worship of trees until they know of the God who made the trees. I wonder not that there are some trees in Ceylon called sacred. To me all trees are sacred. I wonder not that before one of them they burn camphor flowers and hang lamps around its branches and 100,000 people each year make pilgrimage to that tree. Worship something man must, and, until he hear of the only Being worthy of worship, what so elevating as a tree! What glory enthroned amid its foliage! What a majestic doxology spreads out in its branches! What a voice when the tempests pass through it! How it looks down upon the cradle and the grave of centuries! As the fruit of one tree unlawfully eaten struck the race with woe and the uplifting of another tree brings peace to the soul, let the woodman spare the tree and all nations honor it, if, through higher teaching, we do not, like the Ceylonese, worship

it! How consolatory that when we no more walk under the tree branches on

earth we may see the "tree of life which bears 12 manner of fruit and yields her fruit every month, and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations!"

A Strange Procession.

Two processions I saw in Ceylon within one hour, the first led by a Hindoo priest, a huge pot of flowers on his head, his face disfigured with holy lacerations and his unwashed followers beating as many discords from what are supposed to be musical instruments as at one time can be induced to enter the human ear. The procession halted at the door of the huts. The occupants came out and made obeisance and presented small contributions. In return therefor the priest sprinkled ashes upon the children who came forward, this evidently a form of benediction. Then the procession, led on by the priest, started again. More noise, more ashes, more genuflection. However keen one's sense of the ludicrous, he could find nothing to excite even a smile in the movements of such a procession. Meaningless, op-

pressive, squalid, filthy, sad.

Returning to our carriage, we rode on for a few moments, and we came on another procession, a kindly lady leading groups of native children, all clean, bright, happy, laughing. They were a Christian school out for exercise. There seemed as much intelligence, refinement and happiness in that regiment of young Cingalese as you would find in the ranks of any young ladies' seminary being chaperoned on their afternoon walk through Central park, New York, or Hyde park, London. The Hindoo procession illustrated on a small scale something of what Hindooism can do for the world. The Christian procession illustrates on a small scale something of what Christianity can do for the world. But those two processions were only fragments of two great processions ever marching across our world, the procession blasted of superstition and the procession blessed of gospel light. I saw them in one afternoon in Ceylon. They are to be seen in all nations. Nothing is of more thrilling interest than the Christian achievements in this island. The Episcopal church was here the national church, but disestablishment has taken place, and since Mr. Gladstone's accomplishment of that fact in 1880 all denominations are on equal platform, and all are doing mighty work. America is second to no other nation in what has been done for Ceylon. Since 1816 she has had her religious agents in the Jaffna peninsula of Ceylon. The Spauldings, the Howlands, the Drs. Poor, the Saunders and others just as good and strong have been fighting back monsters of superstition and cruelty greater than any that ever swung the tusk or roared in the jungles. Christ or Buddha. The American missionaries in Ceylon have given special attention to medical instruction and are doing wonders in driving back the horrors of heathen surgery. Cases of suffering were formerly given over to the devil worshipers and such tortures inflicted as may not be described. The patient was trampled by the feet of the medical attendants. It is only of God's mercy that there is a living mother in Ceylon. Oh, how much Ceylon needs doctors, and the medical classes of native students under the care of those who follow the example of the late Samuel Fish Green are providing them, so that all the alleviations and kindly ministries and scientific acumen that can be found in American and English hospitals will soon bless all Ceylon. In that island are 32 American school, 210 Church of England schools, 234 Wesleyan schools, 234 Roman Catholic schools. Ah, the schools decide most everything! How suggestive the incident that came to me in Ceylon. In a school under the care of the Episcopal church two boys were converted to Christ and were to be baptized. An intelligent Buddhist boy said in the school, "Let all the boys on Buddha's side come to this part of the room and all the boys on Christ's side go to the other part of the room." All the boys except two went on Buddha's side, and when the two boys who were to be baptized were scoffed at and derided one of them yielded and retired to Buddha's side. But afterward that boy was sorry that he had yielded to the persecution, and when the day of baptism came stood up beside the boy who remained firm. Some one said to the boy who had vacillated in his choice between Buddha and Christ, "You are a coward and not fit for either side," but he replied, "I was overcome of temptation, but I repent and believe."

Then both boys were baptized, and from that time the Anglican mission moved on more and more vigorously. I will not say which of all the denominations of Christians is doing the most for the evangelization of that island, but know this--Ceylon will be taken for Christ! Sing Bishop Heber's hymn: What though the spicy breezes Blow soft over Ceylon's isle!

A College and a Temple.

Among the first places I visited was a Buddhist college, about 100 men studying to become priests gathered around the teachers. Stepping into the building where the high priest was instructing the class, we were apologetic and told him we were Americans and would like to see his mode of teaching if he had no objections, whereupon he began, doubled up as he was on a lounge, with his right hand playing with his foot. In his left hand he held a package of bamboo leaves on which were written the words of the lesson, each student holding a similar package of bamboo leaves. The high priest first read, and then one of his students read. A group of as finely formed young men as I ever saw surrounded the venerable instructor. The last word of each sentence was intoned. There was in the whole scene an earnestness which impressed me. Not able to understand a word of what was said, there is a look of language and intonation that is the same among all races. That the Buddhists have full faith in their religion no one can doubt. That is, in their opinion, the way to heaven. What Mohammed is to the Mohammedan and what Christ is to the Christian Buddha is to the Buddhist. We waited for a pause in the recitation, and then expressing our thanks retired. Nearby is a Buddhist temple, on the altar of which before the image of Buddha are offerings of flowers. As night was coming on we came up to a Hindoo temple. First we were prohibited going further than the outside steps, but we gradually advanced until we could see all that was going on inside. The worshipers were making obeisance. The tamtams were wildly beaten, and shrill pipes were blown, and several other instruments were in full bang and blare, and there was an indescribable hubbub and the most laborious style of worship I had ever seen or heard. The dim lights, and the jargon, and the glooms, and the flitting figures mingled for eye and ear a horror which it is difficult to shake off. All this was only suggestive of what would there transpire after the toilers of the day had ceased work and had time to appear at the temple. That such things should be supposed to please the Lord or have any power to console or help the worshipers is only another mystery of mysteries. But we came away saddened with the spectacle, a sadness which did not leave us until we arrived at a place where a Christian missionary was preaching in the street to a group of natives. Underneath Ceylon. I had that morning expressed a wish to witness such a scene, and here it was. Standing on an elevation, the good man was addressing the crowd. All was attention and silence and reverence. A religion of relief and joy was being commended, and the dusky faces were illumined with the sentiments of pacification and re-enforcement. It was the rose of Sharon after walking among nettles. It was the morning light after a thick darkness. It was the gospel after

Hindooism.

But passing up and down the streets of Ceylon you find all styles of people within five minutes--Afghans, Kaffirs, Portuguese, Moormen, Dutch, English, Scotch, Irish, American--all classes, all dialects, all manners and customs, all styles of salaam. The most interesting thing on earth is the human race, and specimens of all branches of it confront you in Ceylon. The island of the present is a quiet and inconspicuous affair compared with what it once was. The dead cities of Ceylon were larger and more imposing than are the living cities.

On this island are dead New Yorks and dead Pekings and dead Edinburghs and dead Londons. Ever and anon at the stroke of the archaeologist's hammer the tomb of some great municipality flies

open, and there are other buried cities that will yet respond to the explorer's pickax.

The Pompeii and Herculaneum underneath Italy are small compared with the Pompeiis and Herculaneums underneath Ceylon. Yonder is an exhumed city which was founded 500 years before Christ, standing in pomp and splendor for 1,200 years. Stairways up which 60 men might pass side by side. Carved pillars, some of them fallen, some of them aslant, some of them erect. Phidiases and Christopher Wrens never heard of here performed the marvels of sculpture and architecture. Aisles through which royal processions marched. Archers under which kings were carried. City with reservoir 20 miles in circumference. Extemporized lakes that did their cooling and refreshing for 12 centuries. Ruins more suggestive than Melrose and Kenilworth. Ceylonian Karnaks and Luxors.

Ruins retaining much of grandeur though wars bombarded them, and time put his chisel on every block, and more than all, vegetation put its anchors and pries and wrenches in all the crevices. Dagobas, or places where relics of saints or deities are kept--dagobas 400 feet high and their fallen [?] buying precious things, for the sight of which modern curiosity has digged and blasted in vain. Procession of elephants in imitation, wrought into lustrous marble. Troops of horses in full run. Shrines, chapels, cathedrals wrecked on the mountain side. Stairs of moonstone. Exquisite [?] rolling up more mysteries than will ever be unrolled. Over 16 square mile the ruins of one city strewn. Thronerooms on which at different times sat the kings, reigning in authority they inherited. Walls that witnessed coronations, assassinations, subjugations, triumphs. Altars at which millions bowed ages before the orchestras celestial awoke the shepherds with midnight overture.

The Life of Cities.

When Lieutenant Skinner in 1832 discovered the site of some of these cities, he found congregated in them undisturbed assemblages of leopards, porcupines, flamingoes and pelicans; reptiles sunning themselves on the altars, prima donnas rendering ornithological chant from deserted musical halls. One king restored much of the grandeur, rebuilt 1,500 residences, but ruin soon resumed its scepter. But all is down--the spires down, the pillars down, the tablets down, the glory of splendid arches down. What killed these cities? Who slew the New York and London of the year 500 B. C.? Was it unhealthed with a host of plagues? Was it foreign armies laying siege? Was it whole generations weakened by their own vices? Mystery sits amid the monoliths and brickdust, finger on lip in eternal silence, while the centuries guess and guess in vain. We simply know that genius planned these cities, and immense populations inhabited them. An eminent writer estimates that a pile of bricks in one ruin of Ceylon would be enough to build a wall ten feet high from Edinburgh to London. Sixteen hundred pillars with carved capitals are standing sentinel for ten miles. You can judge somewhat of the size of the cities by the reservoirs that were required to slack their thirst, judging the size of the city from the size of the cup out of which it drank. Cities crowded with inhabitants--not like American or English cities, but packed together as only barbaric tribes can pack them. But their knell was sounded, their light went out. Giant trees are the only royal family now occupying those palaces. The growl of wild beasts where once the guffaw of wassail ascended. Anurajahpura and Pollonarna will never be rebuilded. Let all the living cities of the earth take warning. Cities are human, having a time to be born and a time to die. No more certainly have they a cradle than a grave. A last judgment is appointed for individuals, but cities have their last judgment in this world. They bless, they curse, they worship, they blaspheme, they suffer, they are rewarded, they are overthrown. Something to Ponder Over. Preposterous! says some one, to think that any of our American or European cities which have stood so long can ever come through vice to extinction. But New York and London have not stood as long as those Ceylonese cities stood. Where is the throne outside of Ceylon on which 165 successive kings reigned for a lifetime. Cities and nations that have lived far longer than our present cities or nation have been sepulchered. Let all the great municipalities of this and other lands ponder. It is as true now as when the psalmist wrote it and as true of cities and nations as of individuals, "The Lord knoweth the way of the righteous, but the way of the ungodly shall perish."

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Tea.

In 1660 Mr. Garway, the first London tea dealer, sold at from 15s to 50s

per pound, and it was valuable enough

in 1664 for the East India company to

make a present of two pounds of tea to

Catharine, queen of Charles II. By 1725 the price had fallen to from 12s to 30s. It was kept up partly by an import duty of 5 shillings on the pound, but mainly by the export duty levied in China. These duties were the great difficulty in the early trade with the Chinese empire. At one time an addi-

tional 10 per cent was added.

The Canton merchants petitioned against this, and in 1735 the emperor agreed to take it off, but he said merchants must come to bear this act of grace read on their knees. However, they all met together and resolved "on their honor not to submit to this slavish posture," and the emperor was apparently obliged to give in.--Good Words.

SHIPS BUILT IN A CRATER. Then Lowered Hundreds of Feet to Reach the Sea. It is extremely difficult to tell a lie. Falsifying is as easy as to roll down a greased plane. But a sublime lie, in which one hand touches the stars and the other dives down through the earth and comes out to the other side, that requires genius. I remember my youthful days having immense respect for George because he could not tell a lie. As I advanced I found that to do so he would have required the brilliancy of Hamilton, the astuteness of Robert Morris and the cleverness of Franklin--which he did not have--but was simply the well shaped marble Washington we know today. The difficulty consists in the face that truth no longer continues herself to her proper realm of probability. She takes to herself such unlimitable bounds that the most brazen cymbaled lie possible to be conceived, dreamed or manufactured has metaphorically, physically and spiritually to take a back seat. I am led to these reflections by some remarks of my friend, Captain Ebenezer Luffhard. It seems truly said that the world has changed so much that a man can no longer tell a lie without its being detected as the truth. We were speaking of the launching of ships. "Do you know," said the captain, "that down in the Caribbean islands people build ships up on top of an old volcano? Yes, sir, a thousan feet 'bove see level. Yes, sir, Dutchmen. An they launch 'em too."

A smile went around the circle which made the glasses jump on the table. It was an incredulous smile. "But, by the 'tarnal eels, I've seen 'em. A lot of Dutchmen. Live in a crater. Thousan feet up. An so steep you have to go up steps cut in the rock to get to it. An they build ships there in the crater of a volcano. An whats' more, not a stick of timber grows on the blasted place." "Now, cap," ventured one of his hearers. "Far be it from me to say a gentl'man an old skipper like myself ain't confinin hisself to the truth. An I've he'rd tell of folk 'long the bay of Fundy buildin ships way off in the woods noways nigh the water. But thar tide rises 60 feet an launches them ships as slick as though they was built in a shipyard. But, dash my skin, if I ever he'rd of a tide risin a thousan feet. How do they launch them ere boats?"

"Lower 'em down the rocks clear into deep water. I'm a son of a sea cook if I haven't seen them Dutchmen lower 'em down--thousan feet."

I chuckled over one of the captain's best. What was my disgust to subsequently find in "Down the Lands," by William Agnew Paton, page 29, that the name of this remarkable spot is Saba, a small Dutch island rising out of the sea in sheer wells of rock, that the inhabitants really live 1,000 feet up in the air in the crater of an extinct volcano. Mr. Paton says in his very interesting book: "The people of Saba are celebrated throughout the Caribbean islands for the fishing boats they build in a crater--the oddest places imaginable for a shipyard. When the boats are ready to be launched, they are lowered down the overhanging precipices into the sea. There is no timber growing on the island, no beach from which to launch a boat when it is build, no harbor to shelter one when launched, and yet these Dutch West Indians profit by their trade of shipbuilding and cruise all about the Caribbean archipelago in the stanch, seaworthy craft they construct in the hollow of a crater on the top of their mountain colony." Alas, the captain had but told us the truth. Let us charitably conclude that he thought the story so improbable that it would answer as well as a lie.--Philadelphia Times.

Paganini and the Cabman.

Here is a story of Paganini. Once when in Paris he jumped into a cab and ordered the driver to take him quickly to the theater, where an impatient audience was waiting to hear him perform

a famous piece of music on one string

of his violin.

"What's the fare?" he inquired.

"For you, sir," said the driver. "10 francs."

"You jest," laughed the great violinist. "Not so. You charge as much for a place at your concert." Paganini was silent for a moment and then, with a complacent glance at the overreaching cabman, said, handing him a decent fare, "I'll pay you 10 francs when you drive me on one wheel."--Montreal Star.

Venturing Into Matrimony.

If a young couple be sure enough of their own ability to shape their lives according to their actual means in venturing into matrimony they are blessed indeed, writes Mrs. Burton Harrison in The Ladies' Home Journal. This is so rarely the case that a young man now holds back to let 30 find him in possession of sufficient income to pay his house-

hold bills before he dares assume the

privilege of a wife.

There can be no reason against a girl marrying young if circumstances insure to her a reasonable protection against the disheartening apparition of poverty shivering behind the lamps and silver bonbon dishes of her wedding presents.

Wellington's Funeral. In the funeral procession of the Duke of Wellington 12 horses drew the car. These were covered from eyes to fetlocks in housings of black velvet, with black ostrich plumes upon their heads. The duke's funeral was modeled upon the precedent of that of John Monk, first duke of Albemarle, the only change in the trappings of the horses being that the animals were only plumed on the head, instead of carrying a second plume on the crupper, which, as the tail was hidden by the velvet clothing, had rather a ludicrous appearance. But in the funeral of the Duke of Albemarle led

horses formed an important part of the

procession.

"Mourning horses," as they were called, draped in black cloth and plumed, were distributed at intervals in the cortege. The "chief mourning horse" followed the standard of England. The funeral car was also followed by a cream colored "horse of honor," with crimson comparisons. In the Duke of Wellington's funeral procession the only led

horse was his charger, not Copenhagen,

but the animal which he was in the habit of riding in his last years. Yet the riderless steed, pacing behind its master's bier, awakened the emotions of the gazing thousands with an appeal more potent and direct than that of all the accumulated pomp which preceded it.--Saturday Review.

A Misleading Sign.

She was a guileless, innocent thing,

and as she passed a sign which read "Gloves cleaned and repaired" she

thought of something all of a sudden and went into the shop.

"I believe you clean and repair gloves

here, don't you," she said to the clerk. "Yes, miss," he replied. "Well, I have one at home that I'll send down to you. It doesn't need cleaning very much, but I want it repaired. I've lost the mate to it." Then she retired, and the clerk is waiting and wondering how he will get square with that sign.--Exchange.

ODDS AND ENDS.

There's a veteran of the late war in Nevada, Mo., who wants a pension, but has forgotten what regiment he served in. The governor of New Zealand was recently compelled to pay a fine of 5 shillings at Christchurch because his coachman drove too fast while going

through the streets.

The reported discovery of a wonderful deserted city in a remote and almost inaccessible section of Sierre Madre mountains, Mexico, has been verified by Maurice Lentow and a party of explor-

ers.

A Russian cavalry colonel has been executed at Odessa for betraying mili-

tary secrets to a general on the staff of a foreign power. He had received an

annual payment of 24,000 francs for two years as an informer.

The Prince of Wales is the owner of one of the worst alum districts in London. He refuses to purify it. There are 16 other slums, and the city council estimates that to renovate and purify them would cost $10,000,000.

Charles M. Ffoulke of Washington intends to present 12 of his tapestries, representing scenes in the life of Christ, to the Episcopal cathedral which is to be erected in that city. They have been in a Roman palace ever since they were made until Mr. Ffoulke purchased them a few years ago.

The Power of Suggestion.

The full significance of suggestibility is apparent when we remember that

teaching, preaching, acting, public speaking and pleading are forms of suggestion, says Professor E. W. Scripture of Yale university. The freaks of hyp-

notism are performed by suggestion.

The faith cures and miraculous effects of the grotto of Lourdes are benevolent suggestions. The ceremonials of our churches are suggestions bringing us into a religious frame of mind. The manipulations of the spiritualists and

the monotonous blackness of a funeral are all forms of suggestion. How shall we develop the children so as to produce in them minds well balanced in respect to suggestion? Is this not as important a task as learning to do percentage of to parse a sentence? Here is a field where the educator must dig for facts.

To Grate a Lemon. The grating of a lemon appears to be a simple operation, and it seems that any

person would know how to do it, but this is not the case. The whole of the

oil, which contains the flavor and fra-

grance, is at the surface, is in the yellow portion of the rind, therefore only this should be taken off. The spongy white

part underneath is bitter and will cause milk or cream to curdle and besides contains no particle of lemon flavor. A lemon should be grated evenly, beginning at the end and working round it. A well grated lemon should be the same shape as before, but white in appearance, for while guarding against grating too deeply care must be taken to remove all the yellow surface.

Now flowers unfold their beauties to the sun, and blushing kiss the beam he sends to wake them.--Sheridan.

Professor G[?]le says that at their present rate of erosion the British Isles will be reduced to the sea level with the surrounding ocean by the end of the year 3,500,000. No cause for alarm, sure.

Attar of rose is constantly growing more costly. A small quantity about eight teaspoonfuls costs from $10 to

$15. The peasants who produce it in Bulgaria have largely given up raising grain to raise roses.

At the close of the confirmation of a large number of young women recently the bishop of Boston presented each with a half blown American Beauty rose.

In 1895 Japan is to have a parliament of religions in [?], in [?] with the [?] of the establishment of that city is [?]

of the empire.

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LADIES $3. $2.50 $2. $1.75 BEST DONGOLA.

SEND FOR CATALOGUE. W. L. DOUGLAS, BROCKTON, MASS. Over One Million People wear the W. L. Douglas $3 & $4 Shoes All our shoes are equally satisfactory. They give the best value for the money. They equal custom shoes in style and fit. Their wearing qualities are unsurpassed. The prices are uniform--stamped on sole. From $1 to $3 saved over other makes. If your dealer cannot supply you we can. Sold by C. A. CAMPBELL.

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.