VOL. XV.

OCEAN CITY, N. J., THURSDAY, APRIL 4, 1895. NO. 1.

Ocean City Sentinel. PUBLISHED WEEKLY AT OCEAN CITY, N. J., BY R. C. ROBINSON, Editor and Proprietor. $1.00 per year, strictly in advance. $1.50 at end of year.

Restaurants. MARSHALL'S DINING ROOMS FOR LADIES AND GENTS. No. 1321 Market Street, Three Doors East of City Hall, PHILADELPHIA. STRICTLY TEMPERANCE. MEALS TO ORDER FROM 6 A. M. TO 8 P. M. Good Roast Dinners, with three Vegetables, for 25 cents. Turkey or Chicken Dinners, 35 cents. Ladies' Room up-stairs with home-like comforts. PURE SPRING WATER. OPEN ALL NIGHT.

Physicians, Druggists, Etc. DR. J. S. WAGGONER, RESIDENT Physician and Druggist,

NO. 731 ASBURY AVENUE,

OCEAN CITY, N. J. Pure Drugs, Fine Stationery, Confectionery, Etc., constantly on hand.

DR. J. E. PRYOR, PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,

Ocean City, N. J. Special attention given to diseases of the Nose and Throat, and of Children.

DR. WALTER L. YERKES,

DENTIST,

Tuckahoe, N. J. Will be in Ocean City at 656 Asbury avenue every Tuesday.

Germs Everywhere. In support of Tyndall's conclusion that germs are everywhere present in the air, Lord Rayleigh of the Royal So-

ciety writes that a solution of sulphate of soda saturated to the point of crystallization has stood without crystallizing in his experiments for 48 hours when protected from the air by glass covers,

but at once begun crystallizing as soon as exposed to the air. His infer-

ence that the air contains "germs of crystallization" will not be readily ac-

cepted by chemists not so wholly committed to the germ theory.--London Times.

The English cottagers believe that Robin Hood died on May day.

LITTLE ALL ALONEY. Little All Aloney's feet Pitter patter in the hall, And his mother runs to meet And to kiss her toddling sweet Ere perchance he fall. He is, oh, so weak and small! Yet what danger shall he fear When his mother hovereth near And he hears her cheering call, "All Aloney!"

Little All Aloney's face, It is all aglow with glee As around the romping place At a terrifying pace Lungeth, plungeth he! And that here seems to be All unconscious of our cheers, Only one dear voice he hears, Calling reassuringly, "All Aloney!"

Though his legs bend with their lead, Though his feet they seem so small That you cannot help forbode Some disastrous episode In that noisy hall, Neither threatening bump nor fall Little All Aloney fears, But with secret bravado steers Whither comes that cheery call, "All Aloney!" Ah, that in the years to come When he shares of sorrow's store, When his feet are chill and numb, When his cross is burdensome, And his heart is sore, Would that he could hear once more, The gentle voice he used to hear, Divine with mother love and cheer, Calling from yonder spirit shore, "All, all alone!" --Eugene Field.

BAKERY, 601 South Twenty-second Street. Ice Cream, Ices, Frozen Fruits and Jellies. Weddings and Evening Entertainments a Specialty. Everything to furnish the table and set free of charge. NOTHING SOLD OR DELIVERED ON SUNDAY. H. M. Sciple. J. M. Gillespie. H. P. Sayford. H. M. SCIPLE & CO., DEALERS IN Boilers and Engines, Every Size for Every Duty, DUPLEX STEAM PUMPS, Third and Arch Sts., PHILADELPHIA, PA.

WALLACE S. RISLEY, REAL ESTATE AND INSURANCE AGENT, 413 MARKET ST., CAMDEN. Properties for sale and to rent. Money to loan on Mortgage.

PETER MURDOCH, DEALER IN COAL and WOOD, Ocean City, N. J. Orders left at 806 Asbury avenue will receive prompt attention.

D. S. SAMPSON, DEALER IN Stoves, Heaters, Ranges, PUMPS, SINKS, &C., Cor. Fourth Street and West Avenue, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Tin roofer and sheet-iron worker. All kinds of Stove Casting furnished at short notice. Gasoline Stoves a specialty. All work guaranteed as represented.

C. E. EDWARDS. J. C. CURRY. DRS. EDWARDS & CURRY, DENTISTS, Room 12, Haseltine Building, Take Elevator. 1416 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa.

ISRAEL G. ADAMS, Real Estate AND Insurance AGENTS, Rooms 2, 4 & 6, Real Estate & Law Building, ATLANTIC CITY, N. J. Commissioners of Deeds for Pennsylvania. Money to loan on First Mortgage. Lots for sale at South Atlantic City.

Attorneys-at-Law.

MORGAN HAND, ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW Solicitor, Master and Examiner in Chancery, Supreme Court Commissioner, Notary Public,

CAPE MAY C. H., N. J. (Opposite Public Buildings.)

LAW OFFICES SCHUYLER C. WOODRULL, 310 Market St., Camden, N. J.

JONATHAN HAND, JR., Attorney-at-Law, SOLICITOR AND MASTER IN CHANCERY, Notary Public, CAPE MAY COURT HOUSE, N. J. Office opposite Public Buildings.

Contractors and Builders. S. B. SAMPSON, Contractor and Builder, No. 305 Fourth St., Ocean City, N. J.

Jobbing promptly attended to. Plans, specifications and working drawings furnished.

JOSEPH F. HAND, ARCHITECT, CONTRACTOR AND BUILDER, Ocean City, N. J. Plans, Specifications and Working Drawings furnished. Estimates given on Application. Satisfaction guaranteed. Nicholas Corson, CARPENTER AND BUILDER, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Estimates given. Plans and Specifications furnished. Buildings put up by contract or day.

Plasterers and Brick-Layers. W. STONEHILL. G. O. ADAMS.

STONEHILL & ADAMS,

Plastering, Range Setting, Brick Laying, &c. All work in mason line promptly attended to.

OCEAN CITY, N. J.

HARRY HEADLEY, OCEAN CITY HOUSE, 717 Asbury Avenue. PLASTERING, BRICKLAYING. Ornamental Work of Every Description. All kinds of cementing work and masonry promptly attended to.

Y. CORSON, DEALER IN FLOUR AND FEED, No. 721 Asbury Avenue, OCEAN CITY, N. J.

G. P. MOORE, ARCHITECT, BUILDER, AND PRACTICAL SLATER, Ocean City, N. J. Best Roofing Slate constantly on hand.

D. GALLAGHER, DEALER IN FINE FURNITURE, 43 South Second Street, PHILADELPHIA, PA. L. S. SMITH, CONTRACTOR IN Grading, Graveling and Curbing. PAINTING BY CONTRACT OR DAY. Eighth St. and Asbury Ave., OCEAN CITY, N. J. Bakers, Grocers, Etc. JACOB SCHUFF, (Successor to A. E. Mahan,) THE PIONEER BAKERY, No. 706 Asbury Avenue, OCEAN CITY, N. J. Fresh Bread, Pies and Cakes daily. Wedding Cakes a specialty. Orders delivered free of charge. Nothing delivered on Sunday.

McCLURE, HERITAGE & CO., Successors to Finnerty, McClure & Co., DRUGGISTS AND CHEMISTS 112 Market Street, Philadelphia. Dealers in Pure Drugs, Chemicals, Patent Medicines, Paints, Oils, etc.

GEO. A. BOURGEOIS & SON, Carpenters and Builders, OCEAN CITY, N. J.

Estimates given. Buildings erected by contract or day.

LEANDER S. CORSON, ARCHITECT, CONTRACTOR AND BUILDER,

Ocean City, N. J. Plans and specifications furnished. Terms reasonable. First-class work.

STEELMAN & ENGLISH,

Contractors AND Builders, Ocean City, N. J. Plans, specifications and working drawings furnished. Jobbing promptly attended to.

Plumbers, Steam Fitters, Etc.

J. T. BRYAN,

Practical Plumber and Gas Fitter

No. 1007 Ridge Ave., Philadelphia.

Circulating Boilers, Sinks, Bath Tubs, Water

Closets, Lead and Iron Pipes, Pumps, Etc., fur-

nished at short notice. Country or City Resi-

dences fitted up in the best manner. Sanitary Plumbing and drainage a specialty. Orders by

mail promptly attended to.

TREATMENT BY INHALATION! 1529 Arch St., Philad'a, Pa. For Consumption, Asthama, Bronchitis, Dyspepsia, Catarrh, Hay Fever, Headache, Debility, Rheumatism, Neuralgia, And all Chronic and Nervous Disorders. It has been in use for nearly a quarter of a century. Thousands of patients have been treated, and more than 1000 physicians have used it and recommended it. It is agreeable. There is no nauseous taste, nor aftertaste, nor sickening smell. We give below a few of the great number of testimonials which we are constantly receiving from those who have tried it, published with the express permission in writing of the patients.

"Please accept my sincere gratitude for the restored life of happiness and health and usefulness that the Compound Oxygen has certainly given me. "While I was always considered a healthy child, I was known to be dyspeptic from babyhood. It was inherited. For two years I was confined almost constantly to the lounge. For more than four years I did not know a moment free from pain. All this time dyspepsia con tinued its ravages, except when temporarily relieved, and aggravated other serious disorders. "My friends and physicians thought I would never recover. To-day I am entirely cured of dyspepsia, can enjoy articles of food that I never dared use before in all my life. For the past year I have been up and going in ease and health, with sufficient vigor to take some part in domestic work of the most laborious nature. As my strength continues to improve, since leaving off Oxygen, I feel that I can conscientiously recommend the treatment, not only to cure (provided the doctors' directions are observed), but to be lasting in its beneficial effects. "MISS JAMIE MAGRUDER, "Oak Hill, Florida."

"The Oxygen Treatment you sent me for C. O. Harris, a year ago, one of my missionaries from West Africa, whose life was in jeopardy on account of lung trouble and a severe cough, he now testifies has greatly benefited him. He has entirely recovered his health, married a wife, returned to his work in Africa, and taken his wife with him. Bishop WILLIAM TAYLOR, 150 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. "Compound Oxygen.. Its Mode of Action and Results" is the title of a book of 200 pages published by Drs. Starkey & Palen, which gives to all inquirers full information as to this remarkable curative agent, and a record of surprising cures in a wide range of cases--many of them after being abandoned to die by other physicians. Will be mailed free to any address on application.

Drs. STARKEY & PALEN, 1529 Arch St., Philadelphia, Pa. 120 Sutter St., San Francisco, Cal. Please mention this paper.

FISH OR PIXIE?

It was hidden away in the chalice of the hills like a dewdrop in the folds of a burdock leaf--one of those mountain tarns of Western Ross which are roused by sunshine into distinctive beauty of their own, deadened by mist out of all individuality, so that the wandering fisherman has some excuse for being careless of names, of everything save the trout lying between the shallow and the deep. The time was June, and I had slipped away from London for three weeks' freedom ere the gathering of the gillies and the general raid of the populace on the Sassenach make the West Highlands a purgatory instead of a paradise to those who have not the purse of Fortunatus. Day after day rose cloudless, serene, in true June fashion. There was no one to hurry me, no one to hint at a light basket. As for sport, fish must feed, even in the driest weather, and sometimes, if the heat haze dimmed the water and a causeless breeze set the cotton tassels swinging, a brief half hour would come, sufficient for most men. Then the charm of the long evenings, when, though the light left the world, it lingered in the sky till dawn brought renewal, kept me in thrall and drove my cook to distraction. I had had a blank day on the bigger lochs. Even the time between 7 and half past, when the glitter goes from the waterm brought me no luck. On my way home, partly for the sake of lingering longer in the surpassing beauty of the moors, I bethought me of a blue dot, which, according to the map, should lie half a mile to the westward. I shall never forget my first sight of Loch Finaich, or Loch of the Heather, as it was called. Held in the hollow of the hills, it had two arms, one stretching west to where the moorland sloped swiftly to the sea. Thus at its farther end the shining level of water looked about as if to plunge into space, intent on quenching the fires of sunset in the sky. The other arm wound, dark and deep like a shadowed mirror, into a precipitous correi, where the snowdrifts still lay, despite the heat. There was an unearthly stillness and silence in its beauty which thrilled me through and through. A distinct desire to take refuge in the commonplace made me hurry to a strip of shingle and throw my fly where a faint shadow told of weeds below the water. The next instant I forgot everything in the knowledge that a big fish had risen short. The brown body and turkey wing lit like a thistle down again and again without response, and I was about to turn away when a circle of widening ripples told me the brute was at me once more.

Mortal angler could not resist the challenge. I threw over it, around it, to windward, to loeward of it, without success. The glare had left even the eastern shore. The sunset had faded to pearly grays and golds. It was growing late. But one more cast--by all that is tantalizing--at me again!

"Very annoying," said a voice behind me as my fly fell on the water, light, but determined.

I turned in surprise. Some ten yards off on the bank behind me a man of about 30 was leaning on a landing net, from his dress a fisher like myself, though he carried no rod.

"Very annoying," I echoed, "but I'll get the brute yet." "I doubt it. I thought so, too, but I was mistaken."

To a fisherman the confession of failure in a rival is never disheartening. I put a little more skill in to my cast, that was all.

"It has been a beautiful day, hasn't it?" went on the voice behind, just as the fish stirred again. "As fine a midsummer eve as I remember. By the way, do the folk about here tell tales of the dangers of St. John's even, as they

used to do?"

"No," I replied shortly, for I was rapidly losing my temper over that devil of a fish, "but I can imagine it. Pixies, fairies and all that bosh." "Just so. All that bosh." Something in his tone made me pause. "Well, it is bosh, isn't it?" I echoed

"Doubtless, and yet"--he paused in his turn--"how are you to know that the big fish yonder which is tempting you to linger here--on St. John's eve, mark you--is not a pixie?"

The conceit amused me. Besides the brute might think better of its ways after a rest. I laid aside my rod, took out my pipe and leaned against the bank on which my new acquaintance had seated himself.

"Because it isn't," I said stolidly.

"Nevertheless it is a thing that is absolutely incapable of proof save by experience, and if the experience means death and silence"--"It is not much use to the world naturally," laughed I. "None. Unless you admit the possibility of ghosts."

"No go either. Ghosts never are useful. The bad ones don't care, I suppose, and the good ones are too happy." I heard a faint sigh behind me and looked up. Then he smiled. It was a charming face--refined with a touch of humor in it. "Let us imagine a Laedicean ghost, then. Say, a fellow like you or I--no harm perhaps, not much good either--a bit of a drone, eh? Can't you imagine such a one pursued, when the game is over, with a wish to have played a

stronger hand? I can. I can imagine him coming--say, to a faraway spot like this--to a loch where life ended for him perhaps, to lay his hand on some one's shoulder, as I lay my hand on yours, and say: 'Fish no more! It is a pixie luring you to death!' Ah, I am a good actor, you see. I have made you start."

It was true. Something in tone and

touch had sent a shiver through me. I

forgot the big fish in a sudden desire for home and rest, not to say dinner.

"A very good actor," I assented, be-

ginning to reel up as he rose. "Do you

come my way?"

"No, my road lies yonder." He point-

ed to where the western wedge of light

was fast darkening.

"Ah, the inn at Corriebuie, I suppose. Well, goodby. I may meet you here

again some day."

"Scarcely," he answered, with a

smile.

"Then elsewhere. The world is

small."

"Very--what we know of it." "True. For all I know, I may be parting from a real friend," I replied gayly. "You may have saved me from a pixie or a five pounder. Which is it?" "Let us say from infatuation. That is certain. Goodby." A boggle in my cast claimed my attention, and when I looked up he had disappeared behind the rocky promontory between the two arms of the loch. As I turned to go my eye caught a glitter in the shingle at my feet. It was a gold signet ring which I remembered remarking on the stranger's hand as he laid it on my shoulder. I ran after him, shouting as I ran, finally making my way to a bit of rising ground, whence I could command the declivity leading to Corriebuie inn. He was not to be seen. As I came back for my rod a faint circle of light showed on the darkening water. The big fish was still rising, and I hurried away, half afraid of being beguiled into trying conclusions with it. Next day being Sunday, I walked over to Corriebuie in order to return the ring to its owner. My friend of Loch Finaich was not there, nor did the ring itself give me any clow, for the design on it had been much scratched and worn as if by water. The world, however, as we agreed, is small, and partly on the chance that in the motley crowd of London I might come across its owner and partly from a strange fascination for the memory of my five minute friend, I took to wearing the ring constantly until a sense of possession and an odd, unaccountable affection for it grew up in me, and I felt I should be sorry to have it taken from me. In the November following I was on my way to join a yacht, bound for the Mediterranean at Plymouth. Immersed in a book, I scarcely noticed the advent of another traveler into the smoking carriage in which I was seated until I saw him searching vainly in his pockets for a match. Naturally I offered him my cigar. As I held it out he started so violently as almost to knock it out of my hand. "I beg your pardon," he said courteously, "but the ring you wear aroused a painful memory. A very dear friend of mine had one somewhat familiar." "A friend! Was he by any chance in Scotland this summer?" My companion shook his head and looked out of the window. "No. He joined the majority years ago. A terrible loss to the regiment. One of those fellows good all round. Crack shot, splendid rider, A1 fisherman and so keen!" He paused. "It cost him his life in the end," he went on. "I was in India at the time, so I don't know the ins and outs of it. But it was at some place in Western Ross. He went out fishing one day and never returned. A simple thing to say, but only God knows what happened." So inthralled had I been by his unexpected words that I had failed to notice the train was stopping, and before I realized what he was about the stranger was on the platform of a roadside station. My gesture of dismay must have been construed by him as a farewell, for he raised his hat. The express was already in motion. I craned from the window to catch the name of the station, but before I realized I was on the wrong side of all hope of that claw was gone. Three hours after I had left England. Subsequently inquiries in Ross-shire elicited the fact that an Englishman had been lost in the neighborhood years before, but not even a legend connected his disappearance with Loch Finaich. The ring is still one my finger. I have a great affection for it, and if its owner were to appear I should feel lost without it, for it has taught me many things, but not to settle the great question: "Was it a five pounder, or was it a pixie?"--London Sketch.

Pigeon Shooting a Disgrace. The one act of my life which fills me with the most acute regret is that in early years I gave a silver cigar case to be shot for at Hurlingham by the lords and commons. My excuse, if it can be called one, is that I did not think. It is the cause of much unconscious cruelty. It is an act of which I am now poignantly ashamed. When later on a wounded bird fluttered down to die beneath a cedar tree by which I was seated, I realized the full horror of that disgusting sport, and I never again entered the inclosure of the club. Unhappily English example has since those days made such shooting popular and fashionable throughout Europe. Not a word can be said in its favor or defense. It is mean, cowardly, barbarous and contemptible. A bluerock is a clever and handsome creature. I kept some once in a large inclosure to paint from and was struck as I watched them by their brightness, vivacity and intelligent communication with each other. The dancing and the posturing of the males in courtship are delightfully droll. I have seen a male pigeon waltz round and round many times, raising his crest and flapping his wings and advance to his ladylove with mincing graces in a slow gavotte, bowing low at intervals, while she made believe not even to see him. And these interesting creatures are thrown pellmell into hampers and sacks, with broken legs and wing feathers torn out, and after long, racking journeys, half suffocated and tortured by thirst, become targets for the crack shots of an aristocratic society.--Onida in Nineteenth Cen-

tury.

Curiosities About Bells.

The history of bells is one of the most curious and interesting chapters in the record of inventions. They were first heard about the year 400 A. D., before which time rattles were universally used. In the year 610 bells were first introduced into the western part of Europe, at the city of Sens, in Spain. In the last year their ringing is said to have so frightened the soldiers of King Clotaire of France that they were glad to be permitted to leave the Spanish territory with their lives. In the year 960 the first bells in England were hung at the Coryland abbey. The oldest bell in America, that belonging to the African Methodists at Haleyville, N. J., was cast in Spain in the year 1402 and first did service on the historic old Alhambra. Queen Isabella presented it to Christopher Columbus, and he brought it to the western world upon the occasion of his first voyage. It was first placed in the chapel of the cathedral at Carthagene, New Granada, in the year 1502. In the year 1697, when that city was besieged and captured by the French, the old bell fell to the officers of the ship La Rochelle, who took it as a part of their portion of the plunder. La Rochelle was wrecked on one of the West Indies, and years afterward Captain Newell of the bark Ezra H. Fisk purchased the bell, which, with other articles, was saved from the wreck, and took it to Haleyville.--St. Louis Repub-

lic.

WHAT IS POETRY? It Is Music In the Cathedral of the Human Heart.

Poetry is music in the cathedral of the heart. Deep in the human breast there towers an old structure. It stands apart from the beaten paths of the mind in a silent, hidden valley. The ordinary thoughts and passions hurry past the portal and know it not. They have not learned the "open sesame." Ego himself, ruler of the kingdom of the intellect, does not know the sacred spot. It is the mission of his life to find it, and having once found it he cannot remember the route by which he journeyed. He cannot return to it at will. Fate guards the way and rarely grants an entrance, yet every man at some time of his life happens upon it, and the fortunate reach it often. Though they are blindfolded by the way, their eager feet learn to treat the labyrinth. They are the poets of mankind, whose fancy gives

sight to their feet.

At some unexpected moment a fair guide points the way, the doors swing

open, and a man enters the cathedral of his heart. Sometimes it is a strain of

music of searching, thrilling sweetness that points the way, Sometimes it is a royal sunset. Sometimes it is a rapt and self forgetting prayer. Sometimes it is the hand of love, but oftenest it is gaunt sorrow. It is a stately temple. Its dome is as broad as the heavens, toward which the many fingered spires point. Its windows make of each sunbeam a rainbow. Its aisles are silent. Its priest is peace. With hushed heart and reverential step man enters and is at rest. All that is material of him he leaves behind. Quiet and beauty possess his soul, and he floats in an inspiring dream. He listens, and now for the first time falls on his intent ear an occasional note in the har-

mony of the universe.

Half lost in distance, he hears the chorus of the morning stars, the birds, the waterfall, the trees. He feels a beauty and a purpose in the universe the mind cannot conceive. He feels above, about, within him a majestic kingdom to which his soul is kin. Almost he grasps the secret of creation. For one swift instant exaltation draws aside the dark, impenetrable curtain that has led skeptic man. "There is the end." He sees beyond a marvel too great for his still human mind. It passes, but it leaves with him awe, peace, hope. He feels that somewhere there is a celestial key that makes of the puzzle of life a kingdom where all is harmony, perfection, satisfaction. The great organ of his soul, turned into speech by the master hand of beauty, bursts into melody.

And this is poetry.--Exchange.

A Cat's Caprices. Cats are the most obstinately capricious in their fancies about their beds of any domestic creature. They will follow a particular rug or shawl from room to room, if it be removed, in order to sleep on it, or insist on the use of one chair until they get their way, and then, for some reason, take a fancy to another. The cleanliest of all animals, anything newly washed or very fresh and bright strikes them as just the thing for a bed. Nicely aired newspaper lying on the floor or in a chair or

linen fresh from the wash is almost irresistible.

The writer was once much surprised, when passing through a large shipbuilding yard, to see a cat fast asleep, lying, it seemed, on a muddy path. But the spot which the cat had selected for its couch was one at which a hot steam pipe passed under the road, and the mud was there baked into a warm, dry cake, which made not only a clean but an artificially heated sleeping place. But the oddest taste in beds developed by a cat was that entertained by a very highly bred gray Angora, which was justly petted and admired by the family in which it lived. For some months it would only sleep in our upon a hat, if such could be found, ladies' hats being preferred. If it could discover one with the inside uppermost, it would be inside it. If not, such was its love for this form of couch it would curl itself around the brim, and with its long, furry tail and pliant body made a fine winter trimming to a summer hat.--

Spectator.

When a prince of the Austrian royal family dies, his horse follows the funeral, covered with a black cloth and lame in one hoof. The lameness is produced by driving a nail through the horseshoe. This is the sign of the deepest mourning.

A MORMON PUZZLE. The System of Naming Streets in Salt Lake City Is Confusing. In Salt Lake City they name streets as nowhere else on earth. For general confusion to a newcomer no other system equals it. In the long run it has its advantages, for it not only guides you to any street with pomp and ceremony, but it sharpens your hearing and encourages mental concentration. The street system of Salt Lake originates at Temple square, wherein stand the tabernacle, the general assembly hall and the temple which was 36 years in building. A wall 10 or 12 feet high incloses the

square. The streets passing it were named East Temple, South Temple, West Temple and North Temple respectively.

East Temple street is the principal business thoroughfare of the city, and its name has been changed to Main street. The first street south of and parallel to South Temple street is named First South street. East of Main street is East First South street; west of Main street it is West First South street. The numbering of the houses begins at Main street and runs each way, every house number having an E or a W appended, as 320E. Proceeding south each street that crosses Main is numbered in rotation, Second South, Third South, and so on, all being further divided into East and West. The same plan is followed north, east and west of the temple, and at a certain crossing the streets running north and south are divided for numbering, and each wing is given its prefix of North or South. When you start out to find a number on East Fifth South street the same number on South Fifth East won't do at all, and if you are trying to find your way from a remote place on North Twelfth West street to an indefinite number on East Sixth South, between South Eighth East and South Ninth East, you would do well to start before dark and keep perfectly sober. Boxing the compost is child's play by comparison.--Kansas City Star. Big and Costly Keys. The keys to the iron gates which are placed at either end of the corridor in the Philadelphia city hall, whose council chambers are to be, are marvels of strength and workmanship. The New York manufacturer claimed that each key cost $16 and occupied the time of a skilled workman for a week. They are made of steel, entirely hand wrought, and the designs are artistic and complicated. The locks on the gates are unusually powerful, and it is explained that the councilmen feared that lobby-

ists might secure an entrance to the chambers. The bolts run up and down, from the door to the ceiling, and nothing short of a dynamite charge or a battering ram could induce them to give way.