DAYS OF PESSIMISM. REV. DR. TALMAGE DEPLORES THE MODERN TENDENCY. There Is No Place In the Life of a Christian For Gloomy Forebodings--Touch-ing Incident of Gladstone--Optimism of Christianity. NEW YORK, Jan. 27.--When Rev. Dr. Talmage came upon the stage in the Academy of Music this afternoon, he found before him an audience such as is seldom seen in any public building in America. The vast space was crowded from auditorium to topmost gallery and the aisles and corridors literally block-

ed, while many thousands who had come to hear him preach crowded Fourteenth street and Irving place, unable to gain admission. He took for his subject "The Dangers of Pessimism," the text selected being Psalm, cxvi, 11, "I said in my haste, All men are liars."

Swindled, betrayed, persecuted David, in a paroxysm of petulance and rage, thus insulted the human race. David himself falsified when he said, "All men are liars." He apologizes and says he was unusually provoked, and that he

was hasty when he hurled such universal denunciation. "I said in my haste,"

and so on. It was in him only a momen-

tary triumph of pessimism. There is ever and anon, and never more than now, a disposition abroad to distrust everybody, and because some bank employees defraud to distrust all bank employees, and because some police officers have taken bribes to believe that all

policemen take bribs, and because di-

vorce cases are in the court to believe

that most, if not all, marriage relations

are unhappy.

There are men who seem rapidly coming to adopt this creed: All men are liars, scoundrels, thieves, libertines. When a new case of perfidy comes to the surface, these people clap their hands in glee. It gives piquancy to their breakfast if the morning newspaper discloses a new exposure or a new arrest. They grow fat on vermin. They join the devils in hell in jubilation over recreancy and pollution. If some one arrested is proved innocent, it is to them a disappointment. They would rather believe evil than good. They are vultures, preferring carrion. They would like to be on a committee to find something wrong. They wish that as eyeglasses have been invented to improve the sight, and ear trumpets have been invented to help the hearing, a corresponding instrument might be invented for the nose, to bring

nearer a malodor.

Evils of Cynicism. Pessimism says of the church, "The majority of the members are hypocrites, although it is no temporal advantage to be a member of the church, and therefore there is no temptation to hypocrisy." Pessimism says that the influence of newspapers is only bad, and that they are corrupting the world, when the fact is that they are the mightiest agency for the arrest of crime and the spread of intelligence, and the printing press, secular and religious, is setting the nations free. The whole tendency of things is toward cynicism, and the gospel of Smashup. We excuse David of the text for a paroxysm of disgust, because he apologizes for it to all the centuries, but it is a deplorable fact that many have taken the attitude of perpetual distrust and anathematization. There are, we must admit, deplorable facts, and we would not hide or minify them. We are not much encouraged to find that the great work of official reform in New York city begins by a proposition to the liquor dealers to break the law by keep-

ing their saloons open on Sunday from 2 in the afternoon to 11 at night.

Never since America was discovered has there been a worse insult to sobriety and decency and religion than that proposition. That proposition is equal to saying: "Let law and order and religion have a chance on Sunday forenoons, but Sunday afternoons open all the gates to gin and alcohol and Schisdam schnapps and sour mash and Jersey lightning, and the variegated swill of breweries and drunkenness and crime. Consecrate the first half of the Sunday to God and the last half to the devil. Let the children on their way to Sunday schools in New York at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, meet the alcoholism that does more than all other causes combined to rob children of their fathers and mothers and strew the land with helpless orphanage. Surely strong drink can kill enough people and destroy enough families and sufficiently crowd the almshouses and penitentiaries in six days of the week without giving it an extra half-day for

pauperism and assassination.

Power of Good. Although we are not very jubilant over a municipal reform that opens the exercises by a doxology to rum, we have full faith in God and in the gospel which will yet sink all iniquity as the Atlantic ocean melts a flake of snow. What we want, and what I believe we will have, is a great religious awakening that will moralize and Christianize our great populations and make them superior to temptations, whether unlawful or legalized. So I see no cause for disheartenment. Pessimism is a sin, and those who yield to it cripple themselves for the war, on one side of which are all the forces of darkness, led on by Apollyon, and on the other side of which are all the forces of light, led by the Omnipotent. I risk the statement that the vast majority of people are doing the best they can. Nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand of the officials of the municipal and United States governments are honest. Out of a thousand bank presidents and cashiers, nine hundred and ninety-nine are worthy the position they occupy. Out of a thousand merchants, mechanics and professional men, nine hundred and ninety-nine are doing their duty as they understand it. Out of one thousand engineers and conductors and switchmen, nine hundred and ninety-nine are true to their responsible positions. It is seldom that people arrive at positions of responsibility until they have been tested over and over again. If the theory of the pessimists were accurate, society would long ago have gone to pieces, and civilization would have been submerged with barbarism, and the wheel of the centuries would have turned back to the dark ages. A wrong impression is made that because two men falsify their bank statements then two wrongdoers are blasoned before the world, while nothing is said in praise of the hundreds of bank clerks who have stood at their desks year in and year out until their [?] is well nigh gone, taking not a cent's worth of that which belongs to others for themselves, though with skillful stroke of pen they might have enriched themselves and build their country seats on the banks of the Hudson or the Rhine. Blame Rather Than Praise. It is a mean thing in human nature that men and women are not praised for doing well, but only excoriated when they do wrong. By divine arrangement the most of the families of the earth are at peace, and the most of those united in marriage have for each other affinity and affection. They may have occasional differences and here and there a season of pout, but the vast majority of those in the conjugal relation chose the most appropriate companionship and are happy in that relation. You hear nothing of the quietude and happiness of such homes, though nothing but death will them part. But one sound of marital discord makes the ears of a continent, and perhaps of a hemisphere, alert. The one letter that ought never to have been written printed in a newspaper makes more talk than the millions of letters that crowd the postoffices and weight down the mail carriers with expressions of honest love. Tolstoi, the great Russian author, is wrong when he prints a book for the deprecation of marriage. If your observation has put you in an attitude of deploration for the marriage state, one of two things is true in regard to you. You have either been unfortunate in your acquaintanceship, or you yourself are morally rotten. The world, not as rapid as we would like, but still with long strides, is on the way to the scenes of beatitude and felicity which the Bible depicts. The man who cannot see this is wrong, either in his heart or liver or spleen. Look at the great Bible picture gallery, where Isaiah has set up the pictures of arborescence, girdling the world with cedar and fir and pine and boxwood and the lion led by a child, and St. John's pictures of waters and trees, and white horse cavalry, and tears wiped away, and trumpets blown, and harps struck, and nations redeemed.

While there are 10,000 things I do not like, I have not seen any discouragement for the cause of God for 25 years. The kingdom is coming. The earth is preparing to put on bridal array. We need to

be getting our anthems and grand marches ready. In our hymnology we shall have more use for "Antioch" than

for "Windham," for "Ariel" than for "Naomi." Let "Hark, From the Tombs a Doleful Cry!" be submerged with "Joy to the World, the Lord Is Come!"

Really, if I thought the human race were as determined to be bad and getting worse, as the pessimists represent, I would think it was hardly worth saving. If after hundreds of years of gospelization no improvement has been made, let us give it up and go at something else besides praying and preaching. My opinion is that if we had enough faith in quick results and could go forth rightly equipped with the gospel call the battle for God and righteousness would end with this nineteenth century, and the twentieth century, only five or six years off, would begin the millennium, and Christ would reign, either in person on some throne set up between the Alleghanies and the Rockies or in the institutions of mercy and grandeur set up by his ransomed people. Discouraged work will meet with defeat. Expectant and buoyant work will gain the victory. Start out with the idea that all men are liars and scoundrels, and that everybody is as bad as he can be, and that society, and the church, and the world are on the way to demolition, and the only use you will ever be to the world will be to increase the value of lots in a cemetery. We need a more cheerful front in all our religious work. People have enough trouble already and do not want to ship another cargo of trouble in the shape of religiosity. If religion has been to you a peace, a defense, an inspiration and a joy, say so. Say it by word of mouth, by pen in your right hand, by face illumined with a divine satisfaction. If this world is ever to be taken for God, it will not be by groans, but by hallelujahs. If we could present the Christian religion as it really is, in its true attractiveness, all the people would accept it, and accept it right away. The cities, the nations would cry out: "Give us that! Give it

to us in all its holy magnetism and gra-

cious power! Put that salve on our wounds! Throw back the shutters for

that morning light! Knock off these

chains with that silver hammer! Give us Christ--his pardon, his peace, his comfort, his heaven! Give us Christ in song, Christ in sermon, Christ in book,

Christ in living example!"

Religion Exemplified.

As a system of didactics religion has

never gained one inch of progress. As a technicality it befogs more than it ir-

radiates. As a dogmatism it is an awful

failure. But as a fact,t as a re-enforce-ment, as a transfiguration, it is the mightiest thing that ever descended from the heavens or touched the earth. Exemplify it in the life of a good man or a good woman, and no one can help but like it. A city missionary visited a

house in London and found a sick and

dying boy. There was an orange lying

on his bed, and the missionary said,

"Where did you get that orange?" He said: "A man brought it to me. He

comes here often and reads the Bible to me and prays with me and brings me nice things to eat." "What is his name?" said the city missionary. "I

forget his name," said the sick boy,

"but he makes great speeches over in that great building," pointing to the parliament house of London. The missionary asked, "Was his name Mr. Gladstone?" "Oh, yes," said the boy, "that is his name--Mr. Gladstone!" Do you tell me a man can see religion like that and not like it? There is an old fashioned mother in a farmhouse. Perhaps she is somewhere in the seventies, perhaps 75 or 76. It is the early evening hour. Through spectacles No. 8 also is reading a newspaper until toward bedtime, when she takes up a well worn book, called the Bible. I know from the illumination in her face she is reading one of the thanksgiving psalms, or in Revelation the story of the 12 pearly gates. After awhile she closes the book and folds her hands and thinks over the past and seems whispering the names of her children, some of them on earth and some of them in heaven. Now a smile is on her face, and now a tear, and sometimes the smile catches the tear. The scenes of a long life come back to her. One minute she sees all the children smiling around her, with their toys and sports and strange questionings. Then she remember several of them down sick with infantile disorders. Then she sees a short grave, but over it cut in marble, "Suffer them to come to me." Then there is the wedding hour, and the neighbors in, and the promise of "I will," and the departure from the old homestead, then a scene of hard times, and scant bread and struggle. Then she thinks of a few years with gush of sunshine and flittings of dark shadows and vicissitudes.

This Is Piety.

Then she kneels down slowly, for many years have stiffened the joints, and the illnesses of a lifetime have made her less supple. Her prayer is a mixture of thanks for sustaining grace during all these years, and thanks for children good and Christian and kind, and a prayer for the wandering boy, whom she hopes to see come home before her departure.

And then her trembling lips speak of the land of reunion where she expects to meet her loved ones already translated, and after telling the Lord in very simple language how much she loves him, and trusts him, and hopes to see him soon, I hear her pronounce the quiet "Amen," and she rises up--a little more difficult than kneeling down. And then she puts her head on the pillow for the night, and the angels of safety and peace stand sentinel about that couch in the farmhouse, and her face ever and anon shows signs of dreams about the heaven she read of before retiring. In the morning the day's work has begun down stairs, and seated at the table the remark is made, "Mother must have overslept herself." And the grandchildren also notice that grandmother is absent from her usual place at the table. One of the grandchildren goes to the foot of the stairs and cries, "Grandmother!" But there is no answer. Fearing something is the matter, they go up to see, and all seems right. The spectacles and Bible on the stand, and the covers of the bed are smooth, and the face is calm, her white hair on the white pillow case like snow on snow already fallen. But her soul is gone up to look upon the things that the night before she had been reading of in the Scripture. What a transporting look on her dear old wrinkled face! She has been welcomed by the "Lamb who was slain." And her two oldest sons, having hurried upstairs, look and whisper, Henry to George, "That is religion!" George to Henry, "Yes, that is religion!"

He Dispensed Blessings.

There is a New York merchant who has been in business I should say 40 or 50 years. During an old fashioned revival of religion in boyhood he gave his

heart to God. He did not make the ghastly and infinite and everlasting mistake of sowing "wild oats," with the expectation of sowing good wheat later on. He realized the fact that the most of those who sow "wild oats" never reap any other crop. He started right and has kept right. He went down in 1857, when the banks failed, but he failed honestly and never lost his faith in God. Ups and downs--he sometimes laughs over them--but whether losing or gaining he was growing better all the time. He has been in many business ventures, but he never ventured the experiment of gaining the world and losing his soul. His name was a power both in the church and in the business

world. He has drawn more checks for

contributions to asylums and churches and schools than any one, except God, knows. He has kept many a business man from failing by lending his name

on the back of a note till the crisis was past. All heaven knows about him, for the poor woman whose rent he paid in her last days, and the man with consumption in the hospital to whom he sent flowers and the cordials just before ascension, and the people he encouraged in many ways, after they entered heaven and kept talking about it, for the immortals are neither deaf nor dumb. Well, it is about time for the old merchant himself to quit earthly residence.

As it is toward evening, he shuts the safe, puts the roll of newspapers in his pocket, thinking that the family may like to read them after he gets home. He folds up a $5 bill and gives it to the boy to carry to one of the car men who got his leg broken and may be in deed of a little money; puts a stamp on a letter to his grandson at college, a letter with good advice, and an inclosure to make the holidays happy, then looks around the store or office and says to the clerks, "Good evening," and starts for home, stopping on the way at a door to ask how his old friend, a deacon in the same church, is getting on since his last bad attack of vertigo. He enters his own home, and that is his last evening on earth. He does not say much. No last words are necessary. His whole life has been a testimony for God and righteousness. More people would like to attend his obsequies than any house or church would hold. The officiating clergyman begins his remarks by quoting from the psalmist, "Help, Lord, for the godly man ceaseth, for the faithful fall from among the children of men." Every hour in heaven for all the million years of eternity that old merchant will see the results of his earthly beneficence and fidelity, while on the street where he did business, and in the orphan asylum in which he was a director, and in the church of which he was an officer, whenever his geniality and beneficence and goodness are referred to, bank director will say to bank director, and merchant to merchant, and neighbor to neighbor, and Christian to Christian: "That is religion. Yes, that is religion."

Saved From Degradation.

There is a man seated or standing very near you. Do not look at him, for it might be unnecessary embarrassment. Only a few minutes ago he came down off the steps of as happy a home as there is in this or any other city. Fifteen years ago, by reason of his dissipated habits, his home was a horror to wife and children. What that woman went through with in order to preserve respectability and hide her husband's disgrace is a tragedy which it would require a Shakespeare or Victor Hugo to write out in five tremendous acts. Shall I tell it? He struck her! Yes, the one who at the altar he had taken with vows so solemn they made the orange blossoms tremble! He struck her! He made the beautiful holidays "a reign of horror." Instead of his supporting her, she supported him. The children had often heard him speak the name of God, but never in prayer--only in profanity. It was the saddest thing on earth that I can think of--a destroyed house! Walking along the street one day an impersonation at the door of a Young Men's Christian association, "Meeting For Men Only."

He went in, hardly knowing why he did so, and sat down by the door, and a young man was in broken voice and poor grammar telling how the Lord had saved him from a dissipated life, and the man back by the door said to himself, "Why cannot I have the Lord do the same thing for me?" and he put his hands, all a tremble, over his bleated face and said: "O God, I want that! I must have that!" and God said, "You shall have it, and you have it now!" And the man came out and went home a changed man, and though the children at first shrank back, and looked to the mother and began to cry with fright they soon saw that the father was a changed man. That home was turned from "Paradise Lost" to "Paradise Regained." The wife sings all day long at her work, for she is so happy, and the children rush out into the hall at the first rattle of the father's key in the door latch to welcome him with caresses and questions of, "What have you brought me?" They have family prayers. They are altogether on the road to heaven, and when the journey of life is over they will live forever in each other's companionship.

Two of their darling children are there already, waiting for father and mother to come up. What changed that man? What reconstructed that home? What took that wife, who was a slave of fear and drudgery, and made her a queen on a throne of affection? I hear a whispering all through this assemblage. I know what you are saying: "That's religion! Yes, that's religion!" My Lord and my God, give us more of it!

Why, my hearers from all parts of the earth, do you not get this bright and beautiful and radiant and blissful and triumphant thing for yourselves, then go home telling all your neighbors on the Pacific, or in Nova Scotia, or in Louisiana, or Maine, or Brazil, or England, or Italy, or any part of the round world, that they may have it too. Have it for the asking! Have it now! Mind you, I do not start from the pessimistic standpoint that David did when he got mad and said in his haste, "All men are liars!" or from the creed of others that every man is as bad as he can be. I rather think from your looks that you are doing about as well as you can in the circumstances which you are placed, but I want to invite you up into the heights of safety and satisfaction and holiness, as much higher than those which the world affords as Everest, the highest mountain in all the earth, is higher than your front doorstep.

The Redeemer.

Here he comes now. Who is it? I might be alarmed and afraid if I had not seen him before and heard his voice.

I thought he would come before I got through with this sermon. Stand back and make way for him. He comes with scars all around his forehead; scars in the center of both hands stretched out to greet you; scars on the instep of both the feet with which he advances; scars on the breast under which throbs the great heart of sympathy which feels for you. I announce him. I introduce him to you Jesus of Bethlehem and Olivet and Golgotha. Why comest thou hither this winter day, thou of the springtime and summery heavens! He answers: To give all this audience pardon for guilt, condolence for grief, whole regiments of help for day of little and eternal life for the dead! What response shall I give him? Iny our behalf and in my own behalf I hail him with the ascription: "Unto him who hath loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen."

JOHN BROWER, Painter and Glazier.

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THE JAM TRADE. Gladstone's Wisdom in Advising the Farmers to Cultivate Fruit. A few years ago, when Mr. Gladstone, in one of his charming bucolic orations at Hawarden, recommended the British farmer to turn his attention to fruit cultivation and the making of jam, his advice was received with a good deal of cheap and ignorant ridicule. As usual, the ex-premier has proved a good deal wiser than his critics, and those who gave ear to his counsel in this instance have had no reason to regret their confidence. In an interview a famous

provider says:

"The motive that induced me to take up the jam trade was my knowledge of the fact that within late years the demand for preserves had been steadily in-

creasing, while that for butter has, no

doubt in consequence, shown a tendency rather to decline than otherwise. Catering as I do for some 300,000 daily customers, I have naturally good opportunity of knowing what the public want

in the matter of provisions.

"Jam has a great future before it. The people are using it more and more largely every year, and, in my opinion, they are doing wisely, for what could be cheaper and at the same time healthier than a good jam made from sound English fruit? "I attribute the superiority of English fruit to the nature of the soil and to the fact that the fruit ripens more gradually in our climate than in countries where there is more continuous and powerful sunshine. The slower the ripening process the better is the flavor of the fruit. "You may not perhaps be aware that strawberries grown in the northern parts of Scotland are vastly superior in all respects to those grown in southern England, without doubt because they take longer to mature. Australian jams are being pushed largely in India and elsewhere and may very probably come over here before long to compete with our home produce. "In Ireland there is a magnificent future for the fruit growing industry if only its opportunities were turned to account. Even now most of the blackberries that come to the English markets are grown in Ireland. But there are enormous possibilities there of which no one has yet taken advantage. Properly worked, its fruit trade might yet do much to insure Ireland's commercial prosperity."--Westminster Gazette.

A PEACHBLOW VASE. A MYSTERY OF SEVERAL YEARS SEEMS TO BE CLEARED UP. A Matter That Has Long Been of Unusual Interest to Art Collectors--Brayton Ives Tells Queer Facts About the Vase and Conditions of His Purchase.

The Peachblow vase is in this city. That is the verdict of an amateur Sherlock Holmes, who sets about the elucidation of the profound mystery surrounding this celebrated piece of porcelain for which $18,000 was paid when it was sold at auction in this city some eight years ago. Moreover, it seems apparent from what this amateur detective has discovered that, while the famous Peachblow vase belongs to Mr. Brayton Ives and is now in his house on Thirty-forth street, even Mr. Ives himself is still mystified about some things concerning it.

Mr. Ives did not pay $18,000 for the Peachblow vase, and yet Mr. Moss, brother-in-law of Mrs. Mary Jane Morgan and the executor of her estate, affirms that that enormous sum was paid into the estate for the vase after the auction sale.

Nobody can tell who it is that is out of pocket because of the mystery surrounding the Peachblow, but it is certain that somebody for a reason best known to himself paid out several thousand dollars and has concealed his identity up to this date. Mr. Brayton Ives appears to be as much mystified as everybody else.

But now that Mr. William T. Walters of Baltimore is dead and a promise of secrecy made by Mr. Ives at the time the vase came into his possession has been fulfilled, he has consented to disclose some facts not hitherto known in connection with the mystery. "The vase which is now in my possession," said Mr. Ives, "was bought by me from the American Art association, which had conducted the sale of the Morgan collection. From the outset there was something very mysterious about it. I was given to understand that I was to see something very rare and precious, but that I would have to promise to keep it quiet and not tell anybody about it for a certain length of time. Then when my curiosity and interest had been fully aroused I was conducted alone into a shaded apartment. After the doors had been locked and my companion had looked under the table to be sure there was no one concealed there, a safe was opened cautiously, and this vase was taken out from under its coverings. It looked to me like the Peachblow, which had vanished so mysteriously."

"One moment, please," said the amateur Sherlock Holmes, "how long after the Peachblow was sold for $18,000 to Mr. Walters, as Mr. Sutton alleged, did this occur?"

"From nine months to a year afterward," said Mr. Ives. "I bought the vase which was exhibited to me, but I said nothing about it for a long time. I kept it locked in my house. Before I got it I had to promise not to speak about it for a specified time, but that time has elapsed."

"How much did you pay for the vase?" "That I am not at liberty to state," said Mr. Ives. "When I bought it, I made two promises, one that I should not say anything about it for a specified time, the other that I should never disclose the purchase price."

"What is at the bottom of all this mystery?"

"I am unable to guess," answered Mr. Brayton Ives. "Whether or not the vase I bought was the Peachblow vase, there was no reason that I am aware of why the facts should be concealed."

Mr. Ives admitted that the price he paid for the vase was considerably less

than $18,000, and as an example of oriental porcelain he considered it worth what he paid for it. He said that during the years the vase had been in his possession many things had come to his knowledge about the Peachblow, and that at times he doubted whether the vase in his possession was in reality that famous little mug. It seems that when the vase was sold to him under the mysterious circumstances described there was no guarantee that it was the Peachblow vase, and that the comparatively small price at which it was offered tended to prove that they were not identical. On the other hand, there are those who assert that Mr. Ives believed he was buying the Peachblow vase, and was at any rate willing to take a "flier" on that assumption. The facts which he has subsequently learned seem to prove beyond any question that he did in reality buy the famous vase, and that his investment was a judicious one.

"Here is one fact," said Mr. Ives

when discussing the pros and cons. "There is a lady in this city who is a friend of Mrs. Moir, who was the sister of Mrs. Morgan. This lady frequently visited the house of Mrs. Morgan, and there she saw and handled the Peachblow vase many times, examining it carefully. Upon one occasion when visiting my house she saw the vase now in my possession and exclaimed: 'I have handled that vase many times. It is the Peachblow!' A careful examination made by her only confirmed this opinion."

"The death of Mr. Walters, together with the examination of his collections, have cleared up some of the mystery which surrounds this subject," said Mr. Ives. "It is now pretty well established that he never had the Peachblow vase."--New York World.

LOTS OF BIG GAME IN OREGON. Bear and Panthers Galore and Deer In Many Thousands.

It would pay some one who is fond of sport and equal to descriptive writing of sporting matters to take a tour through the mountains and hills of southern Oregon and hear the stories told of hunters who are residents there. The elk are not abundant, though some are found in the mountains. The grizzly bear used to be thereabouts, and in a recent visit to Umpqua I listened to recitals of old time adventures when the grizzly figured as a holy terror. One story was of 18 shots poured into brain before he was overcome. The cinnamon bear is yet found, and the black bear is common.

The bear stories are not always of serious encounters, but partake of the ludicrous at times. Some 30 years ago I had a sudden encounter with a modest looking black bear who stood up and looked at me awhile when I was prospecting alone among the Blue mountains up Powder river. The bear was surprised to see me and seemed to wonder what I was about in his dominions. The meeting was quite unexpected on my part as well, for I had lost no bear and had no especial desire to find one. I had not even a gun along to point at him; so, with a conservative tendency, I turned and ran far away, and not finding any disturbance nor hearing anything coming took a look astern, but saw no bear. Stopping to take a breath, I noticed something black waddling away, and sure enough there was my bear, running faster one way than I could the other. Since then I have doubted the moral courage of ordinary bears to face an ordinary white man, and taken on probation many bear stories--even some I have written myself. There are bears among the mountains of Rogue river and the Umpqua, and the stories I hear very often coincide with my own experience. Bears are not often dangerous unless you aggravate them, and 10 times out of 11 will fold their tents like the Arab and as silently steal away--if you stand and look at them. But the bears are there all the same, and if any of your readers have lost any such stock there is the place to go look for them. The Cascades and the hill ranges that fill the interval, with the coast ranges that come down to the very surf line of the Pacific, constitute an almost unexplored wilderness, where the wild animals roam undisturbed. When the hunting season is on, game can be found in great quantity. Woodchoppers on a few miles of the road in Cow Creek canyon are said to have killed 850 deer last season, using the hindquarters only. The agent of the Southern Pacific at one point has a couple of hounds, as well as a mongrel that runs down game and makes a specialty of chasing rabbits. It is said in the early mornings of early autumn he can look through the windows of the station house and often see the antlers of a buck ranging over the hill point that crowns the scene. He never falls when he chooses and will go up the hills half a mile to start a deer. Very often his dogs will scout one and start him down the run. The cougar is not infrequent, as the flock owner knows to his sorrow. Sheep run through the hilly wilds and take their chances for life. At present save your sympathies for the mutton, for it is hunted much more by bears and panthers than men hunt wild beasts. All this region of the Umpqua has been a great sheep run, but the low price of wool and mutton comes hard on the flock owner, so it hardly pays him to watch his flocks. The panther is not often aggressive unless it be against domestic animals. It is fond of veal and rather prefers it to the best Southdown mutton; so calves suffer, and small pigs also become victims.

The hills also abound in birds. The

Mongolian pheasant has not yet become very numerous here, but will no doubt in time. It is my impression that it prefers civilization and the vicinity of wheat fields, but it should do well in these everlasting hills. At Eugene I saw a hunter come to town with a string of pheasants he had shot in two hours not far from town--half a dozen or more. It will be a fine thing to fill these southern wilds with those beautiful birds, and there is any amount of room for them there. The ordinary grouse, the drumming pheasant and the quail are found here. I have seen coveys of quail cross the road and run over the hills as of old, when this was all a primeval wilderness. If any spot invites the sportsman with promise of game, it must be in these southern hills of western Oregon.--Portland Oregonian.

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]

Equal to the Occasion. A Yorkshire farmer, having a horse to sell at a fair, sent it to an army contractor. Meeting him at the same fair the fellow [?] walked up to the farmer and said indignantly: "The horse I bought of you was a thorough fraud. It was no use for the army." The dealer was [?], but replied, "Well, try [?]." --Philadelphia Record.

Gold [?] Ural mountains in 1745.

A Horn Curiosity.

Our old school textbook told us that "all horns are not bones," and this is certainly true as far as the horn of the

rhinoceros is concerned. That curious

protuberance is nothing less than a collection or amalgamation of hairs, so

interwoven and agglutinated that under

the microscope it appears to be of com-

position similar to the pith of a corn-

stalk, except that the hairs are not so

widely separated by the material that

binds them together.

In olden times royalty employed rhinoceros horns for drinking cups, the notion being that poison put into them would show itself by bubbling. There

may have been a grain of truth in this, for it is known that the ancient poisons

were all acids, and these would certainly decompose the horny structure of the

cup very rapidly.--St. Louis Republic.

Huntingdon.

Few persons know that Huntingdon, Pa., was named in honor of the Countess of Huntingdon, an eighteenth century great lady who did much for the University of Pennsylvania. Provost William Smith of the university founded that little city in 1777, and gracefully honored the university's patron by naming the new settlement.--Philadelphia Inquirer.

Ribbon For an Evening Waist. An effective garniture for an evening waist is made of white satin ribbon, embroidered with tiny gilt spangles, interspersed with an occasional spangle of rose hued glass. The ribbon should be about an inch wide. Two rows serve for the stack collar, two for the belt, and a single row is brought from each side of the collar in front and passed around under the arms and carried down to the waist behind the back and tucked into the belt.--Chicago Herald. Tusks of the mammoth have been found of a length of 9 feet, measured along the curve.

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.

Pascal often copied composition six or eight times before allowing it to be printed.

W. L. DOUGLAS $3 SHOE IS THE BEST. FIT FOR A KING. $5. CORDOVAN, FRENCH & ENAMELLED CALF. $4. $3.50 FINE CALF & KANGAROO. $3.50 POLICE, 3 SOLES. $2.50 $2. WORKINGMEN'S EXTRA FINE. $2. $1.75 BOYS' SCHOOL SHOES. LADIES $3. $2.50 $2. $1.75 BEST DONGOLA. SEND FOR CATALOGUE. W. L. DOUGLAS, BROCKTON, MASS. 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.

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.