TOUCHED AS BY FIRE. REV. DR. TALMAGE PREACHES IN NEW YORK ON THE HOLY GHOST. Another Great Throng Turned Away From the Academy of Music--The Wonderful Power of the Omnipotent Holy Ghost. Tongues of Fire. NEW YORK, March 24.--When Dr. Talmage ascended the platform of the Academy of Music this afternoon, he faced an audience quite as large as any that had assembled in the great building since those services began, while several thousand others were outside un-

able to secure seats or even standing room. He took for his subject "Tongues of Fire," the text selected being Acts xix, 2, "Have ye received the Holy Ghost?"

The word ghost, which means a soul, or spirit, has been degraded in common parlance. We talk of ghosts as baleful and frightful and in a frivolous or superstitious way. But my text speaks of a Ghost who is omnipotent and divine and everywhere present and 91 times in the New Testament called the Holy Ghost. The only time I ever heard this text preached from was in the opening days of my ministry, when a glorious old Scotch minister came up to help me in my village church. On the day of my ordination and installation he said, "If you get into the corner of a Saturday night without enough sermons for Sunday, send for me, and I will come and preach for you." The fact ought to be known that the first three years of a pastor's life are appallingly arduous. No other profession makes the twentieth part of the demand on a young man. If a secular speaker prepares one or two speeches for a political campaign, it is considered arduous. If a lecturer prepares one lecture for a year, he is thought to have done well. But a young pastor has two sermons to deliver every Sabbath before the same audience, besides all his other work, and the most of ministers never recover from the awful nervous strain of the first three years. Be sympathetic with all young ministers and withhold your criticisms.

The Holy Ghost.

My aged Scotch friend responded to my first call and came and preached from the text that I now announce. I remember nothing but the text. It was the last sermon he ever preached. On

the following Saturday he was called to his heavenly reward. But I remember just how he appeared as, leaning over the pulpit, he looked into the face of the audience, and with earnestness and pathos and electric force asked them, in the words of my text, "Have ye received the Holy Ghost?" The office of this present discourse is to open a door, to unveil a Personage, to introduce a force not sufficiently recognized. He is as great as God. He is God. The second verse of the first chapter of the Bible introduces him--Genesis i, 2, "The Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters"--that is, as an albatross or eagle spreads her wings over her young and warms them into life and teaches them to fly, so the Eternal Spirit spread his great, broad, radiant wings over this earth in its callow and unfledged state and warmed it into life and fluttered over it and set it winging its way through immensity. It is the tip top of all beautiful and sublime suggestiveness. Can you not almost see the outspread wings over the nest of young worlds? "The Spirit of God moved upon

the face of the waters."

Another appearance of the Holy Ghost was at Jerusalem during a great feast. Strangers speaking 17 different languages were present from many parts of the world. But in one house they heard what seemed like the coming of a cyclone or hurricane. It made the trees bend and the house quake. The cry was, "What is that?" And then a forked flame of fire tipped each forehead, and what with the blast of wind and the dropping fire a panic took place, until Peter explained that it was neither cyclone nor conflagration, but the brilliance and anointing and baptismal pow-

er of the Holy Ghost.

That scene was partially repeated in a forest when Rev. John Easton was preaching. There was the sound of a rushing, mighty wind, and the people looked to the sky to see if there were any signs of a storm, but it was a clear sky, yet the sound of the wind was so great that horses, frightened, broke loose from their fastenings, and the whole assembly felt that the sound was supernatural and pentecostal. Oh, what an infinite and almighty and glorious personage is the Holy Ghost! He brooded this planet into life, and now that through sin it has become a dead world he will brood it the second time into life. Perilous attempt would be a comparison between the three persons of the Godhead. They are equal, but there is some consideration which attaches itself to the third person of the Trinity, the Holy Ghost, that does not attach itself to either God the Father or God the Son. We may grieve God the Father and grieve God the Son and be forgiven, but we are directly told that there is a sin against the Holy Ghost which shall never be forgiven either in this world or in the world to come. And it is wonderful that while on the street you hear the name of God and Jesus Christ used in profanity you never hear the words Holy Ghost. This hour I speak of the Holy Ghost as Biblical interpreter, as a human constructor, as a solace for the

broken-hearted, as a preacher's re-enforcement.

Better Than a Concordance. The Bible is a mass of contradictions, an affirmation of impossibilities, unless the Holy Ghost helps us to understand it. The Bible says of itself that the Scripture is not for "private interpretation," but "holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost" --that is, not private interpretation, but Holy Ghost interpretation. Pile on your study table all the commentaries of the Bible--Matthew Henry and Scott and Adam Clarke and Albert Barnes and Bush and Alexander, and all the archaelogies, and all the Bible dictionaries, and all the maps of Palestine, and all the international series of Sunday school lessons. And if that is all you will not understand the deeper and grander meanings of the Bible so well as that Christian mountaineer who, Sunday morning, after having shaken down the fodder for the cattle, comes

into his cabin, takes up his well worn Bible, and with a praye

No more unreasonable would I be if I should take up the Novoe Vremya of St. Petersburg, all printed in Russian, and say, "There is no sense in this newspaper, for I cannot understand one line of all its columns," than for any man to take up the Bible, and without getting Holy Ghost illumination as to its meaning say: "This book insults my common sense. I cannot understand it. Away with the incongruity!" No one but the Holy Ghost, who inspired the Scriptures, can explain the Scriptures. Fully realize that, and you will be as enthusiastic a lover of the old book as my venerable friend who told me in Philadelphia last week that he was reading the Bible through the fifty-ninth time, and it became more attractive and thrilling every time he went through it. In the saddlebags that hung across my horse's back as I rode from Jerusalem down to the Dead sea and up to Damascus I had all the books about Palestine that I could carry, but many a man on his knees, in the privacy of his room, has had flashed upon him more vivid appreciation of the word of God than many a man who has visited all the scenes of Christ's birth, and Paul's eloquence, and Peter's imprisonment, and Joshua's prowess, and Elijah's ascension. I do not depreciate any of the helps for Bible study, but I do say that they all together come infinitely short without a direct communication from the throne of God in response to prayerful solicitation. We may find many interesting things about the Bible without especial illumination, as how many horses Solomon had in his stables, or how long was Noah's ark, or who was the only woman whose full name is given in the Scriptures, or which is the middle verse of the Bible, and all that will do you no more good than to be able to tell how many beanpoles there are in your neighbor's garden.

The learned Earl of Chatham heard the famous Mr. Cecil preach about the Holy Ghost and said to a friend on the way home from church: "I could not understand it, and do you suppose anybody understood it?" "Oh, yes," said his Christian friend, "there were uneducated women and some little children present who understood it." I warrant you that the English soldier had under supernal influence read the book, for after the battle of Inkermann was over he was found dead with his hand glued to the page of the open Bible by his own blood, and the words adhered to his hands as they buried him, "I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though dead, yet shall he live."

A Reconstructor and Solace. Next consider the Holy Ghost as a human reconstructor. We must be made over again. Christ and Nicodemus talked about it. Theologians call it regeneration. I do not care what you call it, but we have to be reconstructed by the Holy Ghost. We become new creatures, hating what we once loved and loving what we once hated. If sin were a luxury, it must become a detestation. If we preferred bad associations, we must prefer good associations. In most cases it is such a complete change that the world notices the differences and begins to ask: "What has come over that man? Whom has he been with? What has so affected him? What has ransacked his entire nature? What has turned him square about?" Take two pictures of Paul--one on the road to Damascus to kill the disciples of Christ, the other on the road to Ostin to die for Christ. Come nearer home and look at the man who found his chief delight in a low class of clubrooms, hiccoughing around a card table and then stumbling down the front steps after midnight and staggering homeward, and that same man, one week afterward, with his family on the way to a prayer meeting. What has done it? It must be something tremendous. It must be God. It must be the Holy Ghost. Notice the Holy Ghost as the solacer of broke hearts. Christ calls him the Comforter. Nothing does the world so much want as comfort. The most people have been abused, misrepresented, cheated, lied about, swindled, bereft. What is needed is a balsam for the wounds, lantern for dark roads, rescue from the maligning pursuers, a lift from the marble slap of tombstones. Life to most has been a semifailure. They have not got what they wanted. They have not reached that which they started for. Friends betray. Change of business stand loses old custom and does not bring enough custom to make up for the loss. Health becomes precarious when one most needs strong muscle and steady nerve and clear brain. Out of this audience of thousands and thousands, if I should ask all those who have been unhurt in the struggle of life to stand up, or all standing to hold up their right hands, not one would move. Oh, how much we need the Holy Ghost as comforter! He recites the sweet gospel promises to the hardly bestead. He assures of mercy mingled with the severities. He consoles with thoughts of coming release. He tells of a heaven where tear is never wept and burden is never carried and injustice is never suffered. Comfort for all the young people who are maltreated at home, or receive insufficient income, or are robbed of their schooling, or kept back from positions they earned by the putting forward of others less worthy. Comfort for all these men and women midway in the path of life, worn out with what they have already gone through, and with no brightening future. Comfort for these aged ones amid many infirmities and who feel themselves to be in the way in the home or business which themselves established with their own grit. The Holy Ghost comfort, I think, generally comes in the shape of a soliloquy. You find yourself saying to yourself: "Well, I ought not to go on this way about my mother's death. She had suffered enough. She had borne other people's burdens long enough. I am glad that father and mother are together in heaven, and they will be waiting to greet us, and it will be only a little while anyhow, and God makes no mistakes." Or you soliloquize, saying: "It is hard to lose my property. I am sure I worked hard enough for it. But God will take care of us, and, as to the children, the money might have spoiled them, and we find that those who have to struggle for themselves generally turn out, best, and it will all be well if this upsetting of our worldly resources leads us to lay up treasures in heaven." Or you soliloquize, saying: "It was hard to give up that boy when the Lord took him. I expected great things of him, and, oh, how we miss him out of the house, and there are so many things I come across that make one think of him, and he was such a splendid fellow! But then what an escape he has made from temptation and sorrows which come to all who grow up, and it is a grand thing to have him safe from all possible harm, and there are all those Bible promises for parents who have lost children, and we shall feel a drawing heavenward that we could not have otherwise experienced." And after you have said that you get that relief which comes from an outburst of tears. I do not say to you, as some say, do not cry. God pity people in trouble who have the parched eyeball and the dry eye and cannot shed a tear. That makes maniacs. To God's people tears are the dews of the night dashed with sunrise. I am so glad you can weep. But you think these things you say to yourself are only soliloquies. No, no; they are the Comforter, who is the Holy Ghost.

Help to the Preacher.

Notice also the Holy Ghost as the preacher's re-enforcement. You and I have known preachers encyclopaedic in knowledge, brilliant as an iceberg when the sun smites it, and with Chesterfieldian address and rhetorical hand uplifted with diamond big enough to dazzle an assembly and so surcharged with vocabulary that when they left this life it might be said of each of them as DeQuincey said of another that in the act of dying he committed a robbery, absconding with a valuable polyglot dictionary, yet no awakening or converting or sanctifying result, while some plain man, with humblest phraseology, has seen audiences whelmed with religious influence. It was the Holy Ghost. What a useful thing it would be if every minister would give the history of his sermons! Years ago at an outdoor meeting in the state of New York, I preached to many thousands. There had been much prayer on the grounds for a great outpouring of the Holy Ghost at that service, and the awakening power exceeded anything I ever witnessed since I began to preach, with perhaps the exception of two or three occasions. Clergymen and Christian workers by the score and hundreds expressed themselves as having been blessed during the service. That afternoon I took the train for an outdoor meeting in the state of Ohio where I was to preach on the night of the next day. As the sermon had proved so useful the day before and the theme

was fresh in my mind, I resolved to reproduce it, and did reproduce it as far as I could, but the result was nothing at all. Never had I seemed to have anything to do with a flatter failure. What

was the difference between the two serv-

ices? Some will say, "You were tired

with a long journey." No, I was not tired at all. Some will say, "The temporal circumstances in the first case were more favorable than in the last." No, they were more favorable in the last. The difference was in the power of the Holy Ghost--mightily present at the first service, not seemingly present at all at the second. I call upon the ministers of America to give the history of sermons, for I believe it will illustrate as nothing else can the truth of that Scripture, "Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord."

On the Sabbath of the dedication of one of our churches in Brooklyn at the morning service, 528 souls stood up to profess Christ. They were the converts in the Brooklyn Academy of Music where we had been worshiping. The reception of so many members--and many of them baptized by immersion--had made it an anxious service, which continued from half past 10 in the morning until half past 2 in the afternoon. From that service we went home exhausted, because there is nothing so exhausting as deep emo-

tion. A messenger was sent out to obtain a preacher for that night, but the search was unsuccessful, as all the ministers were engaged for some other place. With no preparation at all for the evening service, except the looking in Cruden's Concordance for a text and feeling almost too weary to stand up, I began the service, saying audibly while the opening song was being sung, although because of the singing no one but God heard it: "O Lord, thou knowest my insufficiency for this service! Come down in gracious power upon this people." The place was shaken with divine presence. As far as we could find out, over 400 persons were converted that night. Hear it, all young men entering the ministry; hear it, all Christian workers. It was the Holy Ghost.

In the Second Reformed church of Somerville, N. J., in my boyhood days, Mr. Osborne, the evangelist, came to hold a special service. I see him now as he stood in the pulpit. Before he announced his text and before he had uttered a word of his sermon strong men wept aloud, and it was like the day of judgment. It was the Holy Ghost.

A Wonderful Power. In 1857 the electric telegraph bore strange messages. One of them read, "My dear parents will rejoice to hear that I have found peace with God." Another read, "Dear Mother, the work continues, and I, too, have been converted." Another read, "At last faith and peace." In Vermont a religious meeting was singing the hymn, "Waiting and Watching For Me." The song rolled out on the night air, and a man halted and said, "I wonder if there will be any one waiting and watching for me?" It started him heavenward. What was it? The Holy Ghost. In that 1857 Jaynes' hall, Philadelphia, and Fulton street prayer meeting, New York, telegraphed each other the number of souls saved and the rising of the devotional tides. Noonday prayer meetings were held in all the cities. Ships came into harbor, captain and all the sailors saved on that voyage. Police and fire departments met in their rooms for divine worship. At Albany the legislature of the state of New York assembled in the rooms of the court of appeals for religious services. Congressional union prayer meeting was opened at Washington. From whence came the power. From the Holy Ghost. That power shook New York. That power shook America. That power shook the Atlantic ocean. That power shook the earth. That power could take this entire audience into the peace of the gospel quicker than you could lift your eyes heavenward. Come, Holy Ghost! Come, Holy Ghost! He has come! He is here! I feel him in my heart. There are thousands who feel him in their hearts, convicting some, saving some, sanctifying some.

The difference in evangelist usefulness is not so much a difference in bran, in scholarship or elocutionary gifts as in Holy Ghost power. You will not have much surprise at the extraordinary career of Charles G. Finney as a soul winner, if you know that soon after his conversion he had this experience of the Paraclete. He says:

"As I turned and was about to take a seat by the fire I received a baptism of the Holy Ghost. Without any expectation of it, without ever having the thought in my mind that there was any such thing for me, without any recollection that I had ever heard and the thing mentioned by any person in the world, the Holy Ghost descended upon me in a manner that seemed to go through me, body and soul. Indeed, it seemed to come in waves and waves of liquid love, for I could not express it in any other way. It seemed like the very breath of God. I can recollect distinctly that it seemed to fan me like immense wings. No words can express the wonderful love that was shed abroad in my heart. I wept aloud with joy and love. These waves came over me and over me and over me, one after the other until, I recall I cried out, 'I shall die, if these waves continue to pass over me.' I said, 'Lord, I cannot bear any more.'"

Now, my hearers, let 500 of us, whether clerical or lay workers, get such a divine visitation as that, and we could take this world for God before the clock of the next century strikes 1.

A Tongue of Fire. How many marked instances of Holy Ghost power! When a black trumpeter took his place in Whitefield's audience proposing to blow the trumpet at a certain point in the services and put everything into derision, somehow he could not get the trumpet to his lips, and at the close of the meeting he sought out the preacher and asked for his prayers.

It was the Holy Ghost. What was the matter with Hedley Vicars, the memorable soldier, when he sat with his Bible before him in a tent, and his deriding comrades came in and jeered, say-

ing, "Turned Methodist, eh?" And another said: "You hypocrite! Bad as you were I never thought you would come to this, old fellow." And then he became the soldier evangelist, and where a soldier in another regiment hundreds of miles away telegraphed his spiritual anxieties to Hedley Vicars, saying, "What shall I do?" Vicars telegraphed as thrilling a message as ever went over the wires, "Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved."

What power was being felt? It was the Holy Ghost. And what more appropriate? For the Holy Ghost is a "tongue of fire," and the electricity that flies along the wires is a tongue of fire. And that reminds me of what I might do

now. From the place where I stand on this platform there are invisible wires or

lines of influence stretching to every heart in all the seats on the main floor and up into the boxes and galleries, and there are other innumerable wires or lines of influence reaching out from

this place into the vast beyond and across continents and under the seas, for

in my recent journey around the world I did not find a country where I had not been preaching this gospel for many

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years through the printing press. So as a telegraph operator sits or stands at a given point and sends messages in all

directions, and you only hear the click, click, click of the electric apparatus, but the telegraphs go on their errand, God

help me now to touch the right key and send the right message along the right

help me now to touch the right key and send the right message along the right wires to the right places. Who shall I

first call up? To whom shall I send the

message? I guess I will send the first to

all the tired, wherever they are, for there are so many tired souls. Here

goes the Christly message, "Come unto me, all ye who are weary, and I will give you rest."

Witnesses For the Truth.

Who next shall I call up? I guess the next message will be to the fatherless

and widows, and here goes God's message: "Leave thy fatherless children. I will preserve them alive, and let thy

widows trust in me." Who next shall I

call up? I guess my next message will be to those who have buried members of

their own families, and here it goes:

"The trumpets shall sound, and the dead shall rise." Who next shall I call up? I guess the next message will go to

those who think themselves too bad to be saved. Here it goes, "Let the wicked

forsake his way and the unrighteous

man his thoughts, and let him return

unto the Lord, who will have mercy, and unto our God, who will abundant-

ly pardon." Who next shall I call up? I guess it will be those who may think I have not yet touched their case. Here it goes, "Whosoever, whosoever, whosoever will let him come."

And now may God turn on all the electric power into this gospel battery f or the last tremendous message, so that it may thrill through this assemblage and through all the earth. Just six words will compose the message, and I touch the key of this gospel battery just six times and the message has gone! Away! Away it flies! And the message is, "Have ye received the Holy Ghost?" --that is, do you feel his power? Has he enabled you to sorrow over a wasted life, and take full pardon from the crucified Christ, and turned your face toward the wide open gates of a welcoming heaven? We appeal to thee, O Holy Ghost, who didst turn the Philippian jailer and Saul of Tarsus and Lydia of Thyatira and helped John Bunyan out of darkness when, as he describes it, "Down fell I as a bird short from the top of the tree, into fearful despair, but was relieved by the comfortable word, 'The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin,'" and helped John Newton, when standing at the helm of the ship in a midnight hurricane, and mightier than the waves that swept the decks came over him the memory of his blasphemous and licentious life, and he cried out, "My mother's God--have mercy on me!" and helped one nearer home, even me, De Witt Talmage, at about 18 years of age, that Sunday night in the lovely village of Blawenburg, N. J., when I could not sleep because the questions of eternal destiny seized hold of me, and has helped me ever since to use as most expressive of my own feeling: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound That saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now I'm found; Was blind, but now I see. Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come. 'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home.

Marion Crawford's Rapid Writing. "I was told the other day," I said, "that you wrote 'The Three Fates' in seven days."

"No," he replied. "That would have been a physical impossibility. As a matter of fact, I was not very well and spent a whole summer writing it from time to time. One of my stories, however, 'Marzio's Crucifix,' which is not

a long novel, I wrote in ten days in its original form as it appeared serially. Afterward two chapters were added for

book publication. 'The Tale of a Lonely

Parish' I wrote in 24 days--one chapter

a day, of about 5,000 words. Both of

those stories were easy to write, because I was perfectly familiar with the background of each. I had once studied sil-

ver carving with a skilled workman, and the idea suggested itself to me to write a story about an atheist who should put his life and soul into the carving of a crucifix. With that for a motive, the story wrote itself. In the case of 'The Lonely Parish,' I found myself with a promise unredeemed, given to my publishers, for a novel at a certain date, as I had already sold the novel which I intended for them to a magazine for serial publication. So I looked around in my memory for some spot which was so thoroughly familiar that I need not invent details, but simply call them up from my memory. I immediately thought of the village of Hatfield Regis in Hartfordshire, where I was sent as a pupil to a clergyman. I lifted that village bodily out of my memory and put it into my story, even to the extent of certain real names and localities."--Robert Bridges in McClure's Magazine.

TWO TYPICAL AMERICANS. Lincoln and Jackson, Who Were Both Men of the People. A writer whose essay on Lincoln and Washington was recently published repeats an assertion often made that Lincoln was the "first typical American" among our presidents. It is said that Washington represented the tradition and the habits thought of a class above the rest in cultivation--an assertion that need not now be discussed. It is certainly true that Mr. Lincoln's life realized in a large measure the aspiration of the masses of his countrymen. He was in his instincts a man of the "plain people"--of the people whose axes and rifles conquered the continent. He did not know this himself. It was always a delusion of his that he was a Whig--a member of the "gentleman's party"--and as long as he lived the facile, suave and elegant, though humbly born, Henry Clay was his model of the statesman. But his sympathies were never really with the Whigs. He was always drawn away from them toward that radical democracy of which Andrew Jackson was the great exponent in America. The same causes which produced Jackson made Lincoln. The west came into national politics with Jackson and at once revolutionized America. The regime of the colonial gentlemen of Virginia and Massachusetts ended there and then, never to be revived. The attempt to re-establish it was made repeatedly until another great revolution came with Lincoln. Jackson was in every sense a man of the people. He was Scotch-Irish--that is to say, Anglo Saxon to the core. He had no "Norman blood." He was "Jack's-son," the descendant of some Saxon sort of the fourteenth century who was not of enough importance to be worth a patronymic. The humbleness of his origin and of his earlier years could not have been surpassed. He was a product of the log cabin with puncheon floor and clapboard roof, and his sympathies, like Lincoln's, were always with the masses of "plain people." The two men, so much alike in many things, were radically different in a point of vital importance. Jackson represented the military spirit in its extreme. Lincoln was a thorough civilian. In this respect he is surpassed if at all only by Jefferson. The pride of military glory was hateful to Jefferson while to Lincoln it was only ludicrous.

It is hard to guess now whether the future will rank the son of the Kentucky peasant above the son of the Virginia yeoman. But it can hardly be said that Jefferson was the typical American. He had exceptional advantages, which take him out of the class to which Lincoln and Jackson belong. That class is not extinct in America. It has Lincolns and Jacksons in it still, waiting to be developed by circumstances. And it is hard to tell which of the two is the more numerous.--New York World.

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BILL LET GO OF THE MULE'S EAR. But Not Until He'd Added a Chapter to the History of the War.

In the rotunda of the Auditorium hotel recently several veterans of the war were seated around in a circle telling some of their experiences. One of them related the following incident: "Our regiment was in camp at Harper's Ferry, and one bright morning a comrade and I secured permission to visit a farmhouse some distance away, where we knew there was some poultry. We rode horses and had some money in our pockets to purchase the chickens and turkeys we desired, for on this occasion we had made up our minds to forego foraging, but later circumstances arose that made it necessary for us to forget our good resolutions. Turning our horses into a grassfield which was but a short distance from the house, we left them to graze at will. On reaching the house we met the farmer on an old fashioned porch that ran the whole front of the quaint farmhouse. I told the farmer that we had come to buy some of the poultry, at which his southern blood began to boil. He swore he'd rather see every chicken and turkey on the place rot before he would sell them to any d----d Yankee for a thousand times what they were worth.

"That settled it with us. We could not stand such an insult and went straightaway to the barn, where a fine lot of fowls were pecking grain. It did not take us long to tie the legs of a goodly number of chickens and turkeys. As I was in the act of tying up the legs of a proud gobbler I looked up, and to my dismay we saw coming up the lane a small company of Confederate cavalry. I took in the situation at a glance. I knew we had not time to reach our horses, and to escape on foot was impossible. In the barnyard were two fine, sleek mules. Throwing my string of fowls over the back of one and jumping astride the animal, I shouted to Bill--that was the first name of my comrade--to follow my example. He did so, and I took the lead for the camp. The mule that I was on had taken but a few jumps when I heard Bill shout: "Holy smoke! He's balked, Jim." I looked around, and sure enough the mule had balked. The Confederates were close at hand, and I shouted back to Bill: "Crawl on his neck, Bill, and chew his ear." Bill lost no time in trying the experiment. He got the end of the animal's long ear into his mouth and began operations. The mule gave a squeal, like that of a stuck pig, and rushed madly after its mate, which I was riding on, for dear life. Suddenly I saw something loom up and rush past me. It was Bill and his mule. Bill's teeth were imbedded in the animal's ear, and blood trickled down the side of its head. Bill was all humped upon the back of his mad steed and presented a most ludicrous sight. The turkeys flopped their wings, and the chickens made a terrible

clatter, which only served to make the mule go faster. I heard the Confederates behind us laugh. They fired at us, but we were not hit. I am sure that they could not have hit Bill, for he was being carried along at a great speed.

Through the picket line of our regiment and on through the camp went Bill's mule, the fowls bobbing up and down at every jump. As soon as I knew we were out of reach of the enemy I gathered all of my lung power and shouted:

"Let go the mule's ear, Bill; we're safe!"

Bill heard me and let go. He finally

succeeded in stopping the mule, whose

sides went in and out like a big bel-

lows. An examination showed Bill had chewed over half the mule's ear off. Bill allowed it was the toughest bit of meat he had ever tackled, but that night he got square on roast turkey and chick-

en. We lost two of the best horses in

our army.--Chicago Tribune.

Wolf Dog Trains In the North. "One of the novel sights at Edmondtown, N. W. T.," said H. H. Schaefer of Moncton, N. B., "was a dog train

which arrived from the north. There

were 160 teams, four dogs to a team,

each drawing a sledge holding about 500 weight of furs. The drivers and at-

tendants of these dogs were Indians and half breeds. They had traveled about

300 miles in a little over a week.

"These dogs are known as 'huskies,' a cross between the gray wolf of Canada and the ordinary dog, and their average weight is 100 pounds. They are big, fierce looking brutes, a dirty white color and as savage as their ancestors, the wolves, which they greatly resemble. These animals, despite the heavy loads they haul and the long distances they make each day--nearly 50 miles--are fed only one whitefish each day weighing not more than a pound and a half. This food is given them in the evening at the end of a day's journey, and they devour the food ravenously. Meat cannot be given them, as it makes them wild and fierce. During my stay at Edmondton one of these brutes escaped from the pack and ran amuck through the town, snapping at everybody and everything it passed, and it created a reign of terror before it was recaptured. These dogs, when broken, are valued at $25 to $50 each, according to size and strength."--Chicago Times.

A [?] Pearl. J. W. [?] of Robertson, Ky., has found a pearl on which is the perfect outline of a man's hand. Seen through a microscope even the veins appear. It is valued by experts at $150.

Not Interested. Professor Longnail--It has been demonstrated beyond question that this island is [?]. M[?] Sty[?]--Oh, well, we've got a yacht!--London Tit-Bits.

The Secret of Wealth. Twynne--People who are always [?] seem to think that the way to get rich is to make dollars go farther. Triplett--Isn't that the right way? Twynn--No. [?] of wealth is [?].--[?]

A [?] nervous headache, [?] of the [?]. It is most effective when [?] the part and rubbed for a few minutes.

Dog Eat Dog.

The street fakir was stationed on the corner of East and Mission streets yes-

terday with a machine that an investor could spin around and "if it stops at a

watch yer get the watch, but if it don't yer sure of a smoke." Such was the language of the fakir. A man stood by and watched things for a few minutes. He saw several cigars given to speculators, but the bright steel index never stopped on the watch or the revolver. He carried a very stout cane.

Going up to the turntable he stood abreast of the watch and held his heavy cane fairly up and down. He put down

a nickel, gave the index a twist, and to

the surprise of all it stopped right over the watch. The crowd cheered and jeered, and the fakir tried to look as if he liked it. After depositing the watch in his pocket the stranger edged around the table till he stood abreast of the re-

volver. The cane was again held straight

up and down, and another nickel was

thrown on the table. The index was sent flying around, and it stopped right

over the revolver. The crowd was too surprised to cheer any more, and before the fakir had recovered his composure the stranger walked off.

An officer from one of the ships near by had watched the whole proceeding, and going after the stranger asked permission to see the cane. The stranger handed it to the sailor who found it weighed eight or nine pounds. It was a powerful magnet. "It was one of the cleverest cases of dog eat dog that I ever saw," said the navigator.--San Francisco Examiner.

Ethics of [?] Trading. Chief [?] in making a charge [?] certain weight of responsibility from the shoulders of [?]. He said that in [?] to use a certain amount of "trader's talk," in which the buyer is to believe at his own risk. "The law cannot shield a man [?] for everything he may say in [?]," said Judge Peters, "it [?] expects the buyer [?], and if he [?] the [?] he must [?] to [?].-[?] Journal.

[?] Impaired. Hogan--[?] black [?]. Grogan--[?] the other letter. Hogan--How [?]? Grogan--Of [?]--see him.--New York Herald.

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.

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. 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.