THE UNPARDONABLE SIN. REV. DR. TALMAGE THINKS IT IS NOT COMMITTED TODAY. No One Now Swears by the Holy Ghost. But There Are Other Sins That In Some Respects Are Irrevocable--A Category of Awful Sins.

NEW YORK, July 14.--In his sermon

for today Rev. Dr. Talmage, who is still in the west on his annual summer tour, chose a subject which has been a fruitful theme of theological disputation for centuries past--viz., "The Unpardonable

Sin." The texts selected were: All manner of sin and blasphemy

shall be forgiven unto men, but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men. And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of Man it shall be forgiven him, but whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost it shall

not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come.--

Matthew, xii, 31, 32. He found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears. --Hebrews xii, 17.

As sometimes you gather the whole

family around the evening stand to hear some book read, so now we gather, a

great Christian family group, to study

this text, and now may one and the same lamp cast its glow on all the circle.

You see from the first passage that I read that there is a sin against the Holy

Ghost for which a man is never pardoned. Once having committed it, he is bound hand and foot for the dungeons of despair. Sermons may be preached to him, songs may be sung to him, prayers may be offered in his behalf, but all to no purpose. He is a captive for this world and a captive for the world that is to come. Do you suppose that there is any one here who has committed that sin? All sins are against the Holy Ghost, but my text speaks of one especially. It is very clear to my own mind that the sin

against the Holy Ghost was the ascribing of the works of the spirit to the agency of the devil in the time of the apostles.

Indeed the Bible distinctly tells us that. In other words, if a man had sight

given to him, or if another was raised from the dead, and some one standing

there should say, "This man got his sight by satanic power; the Holy Spirit did not do this; Beelzebub accomplished

it," or, "This man raised from the dead was raised by satanic influence," the man who said that dropped down under the curse of the text and had committed the fatal sin against the Holy Ghost. Not Possible Today. Now, I do not think it is possible in this day to commit that sin. I think it was possible only in apostolic times. But it is a very terrible thing ever to say anything against the Holy Ghost, and it is a marked fact that our race has

been marvelously kept back from that profanity. You hear a man swear by the name of the eternal God, and by the

name of Jesus Christ, but you never heard a man swear by the name of the

Holy Ghost. There are those here today who fear they are guilty of the unpardonable sin. Have you such anxiety?

Then I have to tell you positively that you have not committed that sin, because the very anxiety is a result of the movement of the gracious Spirit, and

your anxiety is proof positive, as cer-

tainly as anything that can be demonstrated in mathematics, that you have

not committed the sin that I have been

speaking of. I can look off upon this audience and feel that there is salvation for all. It is not like when they put out with those lifeboats from the Loch Earn for the Ville de Havre. They knew there was not room for all the passengers, but they were going to do as well as they could. But today we man the lifeboat of the gospel, and we cry out over the sea, "Room for all!" Oh, that the Lord Jesus Christ would this hour bring you all out of the flood of sin and plant you on the deck of the

glorious old gospel craft!

But while I have said I do not think it is possible for us to commit the particular sin spoken of in the first text I have, by reason of the second text, to call your attention to the fact that there are sins which, though they may be pardoned, are in some ways irrevocable,

and you can find no place for repentance, though you seek it carefully with tears. Esau had a birthright given him. In bolden times it meant not only temporal but spiritual blessing. One day Esau

took his birthright and traded it off for something to eat. Oh, the folly! But

let us not be too severe upon him, for some of us have committed the same

folly. After he had made the trade he

wanted to get it back. Just as though

you tomorrow morning should take all your notes and bonds and government securities and should go into a restaurant and in a fit of recklessness and hunger throw all those securities on the

counter and ask for a plate of food, mak-

ing that exchange. This was the one Esau made. He sold his birthright for a mess of pottage, and he was very sorry about it afterward, but "he found no

place for repentance, though he sought

it carefully with tears."

There is an impression in almost every man's mind that somewhere in the future there will be a chance where he can correct all his mistakes. Live as we may, if we only repent in time God will forgive us, and then all will be as well as though we had never committed sin. My discourse shall come in collision with that theory. I shall show you, my friends, as God will help me, that there is such a thing as unsuccessful repentance; that there are things done wrong that always stay wrong, and for them you may seek some place of repentance and seek it carefully, but never find it.

Irrevocable Mistakes. Belonging to this class of irrevocable mistakes is the folly of a misspent youth. We may look back to our college days and think how we neglected chemistry or geology or botany or mathematics. We may be sorry about it all our days. Can we ever get the discipline or the advantage that we would have had had we attended to those duties in early life? A man wakes up at 40 years of age and finds that his youth has been wasted, and he strives to get back his early advantages. Does he get them back--the days of boyhood, the days in college, the days under his father's roof? "Oh," he says, "if I could only get those times back again, how I would improve them!" My brother, you will never get them back. They are gone, gone. You may be very sorry about it, and God may forgive, so that you may at last reach heaven, but you will never get over some or the mishaps that have come to your soul as a result of your neglect of early duty. You may try to undo it; you cannot undo it. When you had a boy's arms, and a boy's eyes, and a boy's heart, you ought to have attended to those things. A man says at 50 years of age, "I do wish I could get over these habits of indolence." When did you get them? At 20 or 25 years of age. You cannot shake them off. They will hang to you the very day of your death. If a young man through a long course of evil conduct undermines his physical health and then repents of it in after life, the Lord may pardon him, but that does not bring back good physical condition. I said to a minister of the gospel one Sabbath at the close of the service, "Where are you preaching now?" "Oh," he says, "I am not preaching. I am suffering from the physical effects of early sin. I can't preach now; I am sick." A consecrated man he now is, and he mourns bitterly over early sins, but that does not arrest their bodily effects. The simple fact is that men and women often take 20 years of their life to build up influences that require all the rest of their life to break down. Talk about a man beginning life when he is 21 years of age; talk about a woman beginning life when she is 18 years of age! Ah, no! In many respects that is the time they close life. In nine cases out of ten all the questions of eternity are decided before that. Talk about a majority of men getting their fortunes between 30 and 40! They get or lose fortunes between 10 and 20. When you tell me that a man is just beginning life, I tell you he is just closing it. The next 50 years will not be of as much importance to him as the first 20.

Cannot Be Undone. Now, why do I say this? Is it for the annoyance of those who have only a baleful retrospection? You know that is not my way. I say it for the benefit of young men and women. I want them to understand that eternity is wrapped up in this hour; that the sins of youth we never get over; that you are now fashioning the mold in which your great future is to run; that a minute, instead of being 60 seconds long, is made up of everlasting ages. You can see what dignity and importance this gives to the life of all our young folks. Why, in the light of this subject life is not something to be frittered away; not something to be smirked about, not something to be danced out, but something to be weighed in the balances of eternity. Oh, young man, the sin of yesterday, the sin of tomorrow will reach over 10,000 years--aye, over the great and unending eternity. You may after awhile say: "I am very sorry. Now I have got to be 30 or 40 years of age, and I do wish I had never committed those sins." What does that amount to? God may pardon you, but undo those things you never will, you never can.

In this same category of irrevocable mistakes I put all parental neglect. We begin the education of our children too late. By the time they get to be 10 or 15 we wake up to our mistakes and try to eradicate this bad habit and change that, but it is too late. That parent who omits in the first ten years of the child's life to make an eternal impression for Christ never makes it. The child will probably go on with all the disadvantages, which might have been avoided by parental faithfulness. Now you see what a mistake that father or mother makes who puts off to late life adherence to Christ. Here is a man who at 50 years of age says to you, "I must be a Christian," and he yields his heart to God and sits in the place of prayer today a Christian. None of us can doubt it. He goes home, and he says: "Here

at 50 years of age I have given my heart to the Saviour. Now I must establish a family altar." What? Where are your children now? One in Boston, another in Cincinnati, another in New Orleans, and you, my brother, at your fiftieth year going to establish your family altar? Very well, better late than never, but alas, alas, that you did not do it 25 years ago!

Too Late.

When I was in Charmouni, Switzerland, I saw in the window of one of the shops a picture that impressed my mind very much. It was a picture of an accident that occurred on the side of one of the Swiss mountains. A company of travelers, with guides, went up some very steep places--places which but few travelers attempted to go up. They were, as all travelers are there, fastened together with cords at the waist, so that if one slipped the rope would hold him, the rope fastened to the others. Passing along the most dangerous point, one of the guides slipped, and they all started down the precipice. But after awhile one more muscular than the rest struck his heels into the ice and stopped, but the rope broke, and down, hundreds and thousands of feet, the rest went. And so I see whole families bound together by ties of affection and in many cases walking on slippery places of worldliness and sin. The father knows it, and the mother knows it, and they are bound all together. After awhile they begin to slide down steeper and steeper, and the father becomes alarmed, and he stops, planting his feet on the "rock of ages." He stops, but the rope breaks, and those who were once tied fast to him by moral and spiritual influences go over the precipice. Oh, there is such a thing as coming to Christ soon enough to save ourselves, but not soon enough to save others. How many parents wake up in the latter part of life to find out the mistake! The parent says, "I have been too lenient," or I "have been too severe in the discipline of my children. If I had the little ones around me again, how different I would do!" You will never have them around again. The work is done; the bent to the character is given; the eternity is decided. I say this to young parents, those who are 25 or 30 or 35 years of age--have the family altar tonight. How do you suppose that father felt as he leaned over the couch of his dying child, and the expiring son said to him: "Father, you have been very good to me. You have given me a fine education, and you have placed me in a fine social position, you have done everything for me in a worldly sense; but, father, you never told me how to die. Now I am dying, and I am afraid." Unkindness to the Departed. In this category of irrevocable mistakes I place also the unkindnesses done the departed. When I was a boy, my mother used to say to me sometimes, "De Witt, you will be sorry for that when I am gone." And I remember just how she looked, sitting there with cap and spectacles and the old Bible in her lap, and she never said a truer thing than that, for I have often been sorry since. While we have our friends with us we say unguarded things that wound the feelings of those to whom we ought to give nothing but kindness. Perhaps the parent, without inquiring into the matter, boxes the child's ears. The little one, who has fallen in the street, comes in covered with dust, and as though the first disaster were not enough she whips it. After awhile the child is taken, or the parent is taken, or the companion is taken, and those who are left say: "Oh, if we could only get back those unkind words, those unkind deeds! If we could only recall them!" But you cannot get them back. You might bow down over the grave of that loved one and cry and cry and cry. The white lips would make no answer. The stars shall be plucked out of their sockets, but those influences shall not be torn away. The world shall die, but there are some wrongs immortal. The moral of which is, take care of your friends while you have them. Spare the scolding. Be economical of satire. Shut up in a dark cave from which they shall never swarm forth all the words that have a sting in them. You will wish you had some day--very soon you will, perhaps tomorrow. Oh, yes. While with a firm hand you administer parental discipline also administer it very gently, lest some day there be a little slab in the cemetery and on it chiseled, "Our Willie," or "Our Charlie," and though you bow down prone in the grave and seek a place of repentance and seek it carefully with tears, you cannot find it. There is another sin that I place in the class of irrevocable mistakes, and that is lost opportunities of getting good. I never come to a Saturday night but I can see during that week that I have missed opportunities of getting good. I never come to my birthday but I can see that I have wasted many chances of getting better. I never go home on Sabbath from the discussion of a religious theme without feeling that I might have done it in a more successful way. How is it with you? If you take a certain number of bushels of wheat and scatter them over a certain number of acres of land, you expect a harvest in proportion to the amount of seed scattered. And I ask you now, Have the sheaves of moral and spiritual harvest corresponded with the advantages given? How has it been with you? You may make resolutions for the future, but past opportunities are gone. In the long procession of future years all those past moments will march, but the archangel's trumpet that wakes the dead will not wake up for you one of those privileges. Esau has sold his birthright, and there is not wealth enough in the treasure houses of heaven to buy it back again. What does that mean? It means that if you are going to get any advantage out of this Sabbath day you will have to get it before the hand wheels around on the clock to 12 tonight. It means that every moment of our life has two wings, and that it does not fly like a hawk in circles, but in a straight line from eternity to eternity. It means that, though other chariots may break down or drag heavily, this one never drops the brake and never ceases to run. It means that while at other feasts the cup may be passed to us and we may reject it, and yet after awhile take it, the cupbearers to this feast never give us but one chance at the chalice, and rejecting that we shall "find no place for repentance, though we seek it carefully with tears." There is one more class of sins that I put in this category of irrevocable sins that is lost opportunities of usefulness. Your business partner is a proud man. In ordinary circumstances say to him, "Believe in Christ," and he will say, "You mind your business and I'll mind mine." But there has been affliction in the household. His heart is tender. He is looking around for sympathy and solace. Now is your time. Speak, speak, or forever hold your peace. There is a time in farm life when you plant the corn and when you sow the seed. Let that go by, and the farmer will wring his hands while other husbandmen are gathering the sheaves. You are in a religious meeting, and there is an opportunity for you to speak a word for Christ. You say, "I must do it." Your cheek flushes with embarrassment. You rise half way, but you cower before men whose breath is in their nostrils, and you sag back, and the opportunity is gone, and all eternity will feel the effect of your silence. Try to get back that opportunity! You cannot find it. You might as well try to find the fleece that Gideon watched, or take in your hand the dew that came down on the locks of the Bethlehem shepherds, or to find the plume of the first robin that went across paradise. It is gone--it is gone forever. When an opportunity for personal repentance or of doing good passes away, you may hunt for it; you cannot find it. You may fish for it; it will not take the hook. You may dig for it; you cannot bring it up. Remember that there are wrongs and sins that can never be corrected; that our privileges fly not in circles, but in a straight line; that the lightnings have not as swift feet as our privileges when they are gone, and let an opportunity of salvation go by us an inch--the one hundredth part of an inch, the millionth part of an inch--no man can overtake it. Fire winged seraphim cannot come up with it. The eternal God himself cannot catch it. I stand before those who have a glorious birthright. Esau's was not so rich as yours. Sell it once, and you sell it forever. I remember the story of the lad on the Arctic some years ago--the lad Stewart Holland. A vessel crashed into the Arctic in the time of a fog, and it was found that the ship must go down. Some of the passengers got off in the lifeboats, some got off on rafts, but 300 went down to the bottom. During all those hours of calamity Stewart Holland stood at the signal gun and it sounded across the sea--boom, boom! The helmsman forsook his place; the engineer was gone, and some fainted, and some prayed, and some blasphemed, and the powder was gone, and they could no more set off the signal gun. The lad broke in the magazine and brought out more powder, and again the gun boomed over the sea. Oh, my friends, tossed on the rough seas of life some have taken the warning, have gone off in the lifeboat, and they are safe, but others are not making any attempt to escape. So I stand at this signal gun of the gospel, sounding the alarm, beware, beware! "Now is the accepted time. Now is the day of salvation." Hear it that your soul may live.

AN ENGLISH CASUAL. WHERE TRAMPS GET FOOD AND LODGING FOR WORK. Josiah Flynt and a Companion Wind Up a Study of Tramp Life In England by a Visit to a "Spike" Meeting With a Great Friend of Mark Twain.

Josiah Flynt, who has given interesting studies on tramp life in Germany and in this country, has extended his investigations to England. He writes a paper entitled, "Two Tramps In England" in Century. He and his companion, a German student, completed a tour through the provinces with an experience in a "casual" at Notting Hill, London. Mr. Flynt writes: We appeared at the door of the ward about half past 7 in the evening. A little window was raised, and I stepped forward to state my business. Unconsciously I leaned against the sill of the window, which offended the inspector in charge considerably. "What is your name?" he thundered. Still leaning on the sill, I gave him my name honestly enough. He then remarked to some person inside that we were not accustomed to such places evidently, and called out, "Stand back, will you!" Back I stood. He cried out again, "Take off your hat!" My hat came off instanter. Still again: "You come in here as if you was a m[?]onary. You're not. You're a casual." I was as meek as could well be. Ryborg was itching to grab the inspector with his long arms. The next question was as to where we had slept the night before. "Straw stack," I replied. "None of your impudence! You slept out. Why don't you say so? Have you got any money?" "A hap'enny, sir." "Hand it in." In it went. Then I had to tell my trade, which was that of a sailor, and naturally the next question was as to where I was bound. "To Ameriky, sir, if I can ever get there." "You're goin to tramp it, aren't you?" "Yes, sir; that's my intention." But for the life of me I could not see how I was to reach America that way. I was so frightened that I would have told him anything he wanted. When he was through with us, a kind hearted attendant took us in hand, gave us some gruel and bread, a bath, clean night shirts, and then a cell apiece, in which we slept very well. As there were only four inmates that morning we were needed for the cleaning up, and so escaped stone breaking, which I dreaded exceedingly, and were put at various light occupations--or rather I was. Ryborg was the victim of his strength. Our breakfast consisted of the same dish as our supper of the night before. I was soon busy as general fireman, scrubber, knife cleaner, coal carrier, dish washer and helper of my sister sufferer, Mrs. Murphy, as she washed her task of towels and shirts. At noon we had pea soup and bread. I enjoyed it, but Ryborg did not. The poor fellow was feeling badly. He had had to scrub nearly 20 cells, and the bending over incident to such a feat had nearly broken his back. At dinner he said plaintively, "Flynt, I want to go home." "So do I," I replied, "but I fancy we're wanted here till tomorrow morning." This proved to be the case, but he felt better in the afternoon and got through comfortably, wheeling nearly a ton of stone from some of the cells to the general pile. He earned his "keep," if ever any poor prisoner did. I fear I was more shiftless, for about the middle of the afternoon the attendant who was with me at the furnace said, "You might as well rest. Just keep your eye on the fires, that's all." It was kind of him, and as I had at least earned my pea soup and gruel I took his advice. He was kinder to me, I think, because I gave him a corncob pipe which he had to take away from me the night before. During the day he had asked me several questions about it, and I said, "It's a very decent sort of pipe--coolinlike, you know." "Doesn't Mark Twain always smoke one o' them pipes?" said he. "Blest if I know," said I, "but I can well think it." "I'm a great friend of Mark Twain," he pursued, "an I'm a-thinkin o' gettin one o' them pipes, jest out of respect for him."

"Well," said I, "permit me in the

name of your respect to present you with my pipe. Besides you've got it anyhow." He thanked me profusely, and promised to keep it forever. Later in the

day he reported it to be just as I had said, "sort o' coolin like." And he was a good friend to me all the rest of my stay in the Notting Hill station.

On Wednesday morning we were turned loose with our two ha'pennies. We were both so happy that we decided to get off the road that very day.

We had been tramps for three weeks and had walked most of this time fully 15 miles a day. So we looked up my friend at the Temple, and in a few hours

were respectable again. That same day I took my tramp clothes out to the casual

ward and presented them to my friend the attendant. I had told him the day before that I expected to get new "togs" soon, and he had put in a plea for my old ones. Good luck to him and them.

THAT DOG NAPOLEON. HE GREW UP WITH HIS YOUNG MASTER, WHO WAS FOND OF HIM. Did Some Things Like All Dogs and Other Things Besides--How He Frightened Aunt Chesterfield and Earned a Quarter For His Owner.

I paid a man $2 for him when he was a little pup--the dog, I mean--and he told me--the man did--that if I would treat him kindly and give him plenty of corn bread--give the dog--he would guarantee--the man would--that he would grow up--the dog would grow up--to be an honor to him--to the man. Napoleon got to be the largest dog and did it in the quickest manner of any dog I ever knew. I wore long curls at that time, I remember, into which boys used to cast burs, which hurt me a good deal, especially when Napoleon would take his claws and try to run them through my locks, although the locks never opened in that way. They were combination locks, I supposed, and I didn't yet have my letters in my head to set the combination on. He also grew very strong, Napoleon did, so that I found it difficult to keep him at home unless I tied him, and even then it bothered me if another dog happened to be going by. Catching sight of that dog, Napoleon would utter a glad cry and bound over the fence, utterly unmindful of the rope or me at the other end of it. Down the street he would prance, giving vent to short barks and drawing the attention of people after him, also myself. Neighbors coming to the windows used to marvel at the black and white streak we made in passing by. Sometimes I wouldn't get home till long after mealtime, which in those days was quite a detriment to me, though not to Napoleon, whose appetite soon became celebrated throughout the whole town, for when he couldn't get a pair of rubbers or a fur muff to slake the gnawings of hunger he would go out and collect the loaves of brown bread that bakers had left upon the adjacent stoops. I wouldn't like to print the things that people used to say about him at such times. We grew up together--at least Napoleon did, for he had two feet the start of me. We were inseparable. Neighbors said they never saw anything more so, but that was chiefly because I couldn't

get the rope unfastened in time.

It was Napoleon's appetite that ultimately accomplished his ruin, just as it has many another man's. Aunt and Un-

cle Chesterfield came to visit us that fall. They lived at Jay Corners, and really ought never to have gone any-

where else, but there they were, getting out of the stage at our front gate, and what could we do? I heard my father say that to mother as they stood looking out of the window together. Uncle Chesterfield wasn't really our uncle, you understand, but just an old friend of fa-

ther's--I don't know how old, but he

looked every day of it, and more. We called him uncle because he appeared

that way. Aunt Chesterfield had tic douloureux, which used to cause her to

make up the awfulest faces. I realize now that it was from pain, but at that

age I used to laugh, whereupon she said

I was a wicked boy. She also had a brown wig and rheumatism. Uncle Chesterfield didn't have anything but just warts--I think I counted 70--and Aunt Chesterfield. But I heard father tell mother that was enough. Mother put them into the spare chamber, where the old fashioned canvas bottom bed was with the white valance. There were also some green worsted lamp mats on the bureau. We all said good night, father wound up the clock and everybody went to bed. I was always a sound sleeper as a boy, so you must know that Aunt Chesterfield had to shriek pretty loud to get me out, but she did it, and could have fetched me, I think, if I had been dead. I got right up and ran into the spare chamber before anybody could stop me. Aunt Chesterfield was sitting in the middle of the bed in a white flannel night gown. I didn't know her at first, because her mouth was wide open, shrieking, and her face twisted with tic douloureux, and the whitest, shiniest head you ever saw, which I remembered with copious locks of brown. But I saw how that was in a minute, for there was Napoleon over in the corner with a brown wig in his mouth, which he was tossing and worrying and carrying on dreadfully. Uncle Chesterfield you couldn't see at first, but by and by you found him with his legs stuck through the arms of a rocking chair, and every time he moved Napoleon would growl, not being acquainted with Uncle Chesterfield, and he was almost scared to death. They took the stage back to Jay Corners the very next day. Mother was dreadfully shocked, but I noticed that father didn't get excited. "I wonder who let that dog up stairs?" he said musingly after the stage was gone. I intended to say that I didn't know, but I got to stammering and mixed myself up, and before I realized what I was doing I blurted the truth right out and said that I did. Father gave me a quarter. I didn't know what for, but I supposed at the time that it was for telling the truth. "But the dog must go," he added. "His appetite is growing too indiscriminative." So we sold him to a man who kept a farm, and who soon afterward shot him for biting a calf on the legs. Napoleon used to do that to book canvassers when he was with us, and nobody found any fault with him, but on a farm it is different.--W. O. Fuller, Jr., in Rockland Tribune.

R. B. STITES & CO., DEALERS IN Pine, Cedar and Hemlock BUILDING LUMBER.

Siding, Flooring, Window Frames, Sash, Doors, Blinds, Mouldings, Brackets, Turnings, Shingles, Pickets,

Lath, Lime, Cement.

A full supply constantly on hand, and under cover. Orders left at No. 759 Asbury avenue will receive immediate despatch by Telephone.

Lumber Yard and Office: Cor. 12th St. & West Ave., OCEAN CITY, N. J.

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 pro-

hibited by deed.

Every lover of Temperance

and Morals should combine to help us.

Water Supply, Railroad, Steamboats, And all other Modern Conveniences.

Not Sharp Enough.

"Why, Madge, that was a splendid [?] to cut him."

"I know it, but I was too dull to take advantage of it."--Detroit Tribune.

Routed the Bull.

A lumberman attached to John

Crane's camp, up beyond the Katahdin Iron works in Maine, was tramping across to a pond late one November evening when he ran upon a bull moose.

The lumberman had no rifle, so he yelled and waved his arms, expecting that the broad antlered bull would dash fear stricken down the mountain. But it didn't. It rushed for the lumberman. He dodged about a tree and dropped his ax. For ten minutes he dodged, half scared to death. Then he climbed the tree.

The bull butted the tree with its antlers until it swayed to and fro, and then walked away a few yards and rested.

The lumberman yelled some more. When he could yell no longer, he set his wits to work. Just above him was a dead limb. He broke it off, and as the bull advanced again he set the wood afire and dropped it on the bull's back. With a

bellow it ran down the mountain. The half frozen lumberman made a line for camp.--New York World.

Robert Collyer's Father.

And now about my father, writes the Rev. Robert Collyer, D. D., in The Ladies' Home Journal. I think still he was as good a smith as I have ever known, a man who would forge no lie in iron or steel, with soft, steadfast brown eyes, strong and sinewy arms to labor and never sick a day I can remember, always at his work until he fell dead that day with the hammer in his hand. Blacksmiths, I think, are usually silent men. The old Beechers were,

as I have heard, who were of this craft, silent men who left the pent up speech to their sons and grandsons. This was my father also. He was a silent man, while

both father and mother were as free from contagious and infectious as the sound oaks are and the stars, so that the microbes, when they came in the dreadful form of fevers, found nothing in them for prey.

A Rope Barometer.

In the office of the Des Moines Register is the best barometer in the state. It consists of an ordinary rope attached to the carrier box between the first and fourth floors, making it nearly 60 feet long. This rope is wonderfully sensitive to changes in the atmosphere. At least 24 hours before the average rain it be-

gins to tighten by the absorption of moisture. Its predictions nearly always come true.

Appeased.

He (just introduced)--What a very ugly man that gentleman near the piano is, Mrs. Hobson. Mrs. Hobson--Why, that is Mr. Hobson.

He (equal to the occasion)--Oh, indeed! How true it is, Mrs. Hobson, that the ugly men always get the prettiest wives.--London Answers.

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]

ALBERT GILBERT. MARK LAKE. GILBERT & LAKE, House & Sign Painters. STORE AND SHOP: 609 ASBURY AVENUE.

A full stock of paints and painters' supplies always on hand. Give us a call before purchasing elsewhere.

Work done by the day or contract. Jobbing promptly attended to. Estimates cheerfully given. Guarantee to do first-class work and use the best material.

English Tramps and Their Babies.

On arriving at York we went at once to Warmgate, the kiphouse district, and picked out the filthiest one we could find. The inmates were principally in pairs. Each moocher had his July (wife), and each little kid had his little Moll (sister). These children are the very offspring of the road, and they remind me very much of monkeys. Yet one has to feel sorry for them, since they did not ask for life and yet are compelled to see its meanest and dirtiest side. Their mothers love them when they are not drunk, and when they are their fathers have to play mothers, if they are not drunk themselves. Never in my life have I seen a more serio comic situation than in that York kiphouse, where two tramps were rocking their babies to sleep. Moochers--bohemians of the bohemians--fondling their babies! I should far sooner have looked for a New York hobo in clergyman's robes. But tramping with children and babies is a fad in English vagabondage.--Josiah Flynt in June Century.

JOHN BROWER, Painter and Glazier. DEALER IN Lewis Bros. Pure White Lead, Linseed Oil and Colors. First Quality Hard Oil and Varnishes. Roberts' Fire and Water Proof Paints. Pure Metallic Paints for Tin and Shingle Roofs (and no other should be used where rain water is caught for family use). All brands of Ready Mixed Paints. Window Glass of all kinds and patterns. Reference given. STORE ON ASBURY AVE OCEAN CITY, N. J.

J. N. JOHNSON, PLUMBER, STEAM AND GAS FITTER. Repairing a specialty. Bath Tubs and Plumbers' Supplies. 730 Asbury Avenue.

SMITH & THORN, 846 Asbury Avenue, PLUMBING & DRAINAGE. All kinds of Pump, Sink, Drivewell Points and Plumbing Material constantly on hand. All kinds of Jobbing in our line promptly attended to. Best of Material used. Experienced workmen constantly on hand.

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 Ass'on, 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.

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.