EYE HATH NOT SEEN. A SERMON ON THE SURPASSING SPLENDORS OF THE HEAVENLY HOME. Rev. Dr. Talmage Preaches a Sermon of Rare Power and Eloquence to the Bereaved and Faint Hearted--His Late Wife's Last Words--A Heavenly Song.

NEW YORK, Aug. 25.--For the bereaved and faint hearted there could be no words of stronger consolation or encouragement than those of the sermon prepared by Rev. Dr. Talmage for today. His subject was "Surpassing Splendors." With inimitable touch, he

has pictured the glories and attractions

of the world beyond the skies in a way to bring joy to believing souls and to fascinate even the thoughtless and indifferent. The text chosen was, "Eye

hath not seen nor ear heard," I Cor-

inthians, ii, 9.

"I am going to heaven! I am going to heaven! Heaven! Heaven! Heaven!"

These were the last words uttered a few

days ago by my precious wife as she ascended to be with God forever, and is it

not natural as well as Christianly appropriate that our thoughts be much directed toward the glorious residence of

which St. Paul speaks in the text I have chosen? The city of Corinth has been called the Paris of antiquity. Indeed for splen-

dor the world holds no such wonder today. It stood on an isthmus washed by two seas, the one sea bringing the commerce of Europe, the other the com-

merce of Asia. From her wharves, in

the construction of which whole kingdoms had been absorbed, war galleys with three banks of oars pushed out and confounded the navy yards of all the world. Huge handed machinery, such as modern invention cannot equal, lifted ships from the sea on one side and transported them on trucks across the isthmus and set them down in the sea on the other side. The revenue officers of the city went down through the olive groves that lined the beach to collect a tariff from all nations. The mirth of all people sported in her Isthmian games, and the beauty of all lands sat in her theaters, walked her porticoes and threw itself on the altar of her stupdenous dissipations. Column and statue and temple bewildered the beholder. There were white marble fountains into which, from apertures on thee side, there rushed waters everywhere known for health giving qualities. Around these basins, twisted into wreathes of stone, there were all the beauties of sculpture and architecture, while standing, as if to guard the costly display, was a statue of Hercules of burnished Corinthian brass. Vases of terra cotta adorned the cemeteries of the dead--vases so costly that Julius Caesar was not satisfied until he had captured them for Rome. Armed officials, the "Corinthiarii," paced up and down to see that no statue was defaced, no pedestral overthrown, no bas relief touched. From the edge of the city a hill arose, with its magnificent burden of columns and towers and temples (1,000 slaves awaiting at one shrine), and a citadel so thoroughly impregnable that Gibraltar is a heap of sand compared with it. Amid all that strength and magnificence Corinth stood and defied the world.

The Glorious Text. Oh, it was not to rustics who had never seen anything grand that St. Paul uttered this text. They had heard the best music that had come from the best instruments in all the world. They had heard songs floating from morning porticoes and melting in evening groves. They had passed their whole lives away among pictures and sculpture and architecture and Corinthian brass, which had been molded and shaped, until there was no chariot wheel in which it had not sped, and no tower in which it had not glittered, and no gateway that it had not adorned. Ah, it was a bold thing for Paul to stand there amid all that and say: "All this is nothing. These sounds that come from the temple of Neptune are not music compared with the harmony of which I speak. These waters rushing in the basin of Pyrene are not pure. These statues of Bacchus and Mercury are not exquisite. You [sic] citadel of Acrocorinthus is not strong compared with that which I offer to the poorest slave that puts down his burden at that brazen gate. You, Corinthiana, think this is a splendid city. You think you have heard all sweet sounds and seen all beautiful sights, but I tell you 'eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.'" You see my text sets forth the idea that, however exalted our ideas may be of heaven, they come far short of the reality. Some wise men have been calculating how many furlongs long and wide is heaven, and they have calculated how many inhabitants there are on the earth; how long the earth will probably stand, and then they come to this estimate--that after all the nations had been gathered in heaven there will be a room for each soul, a room 16 feet long and 15 feet wide. It would not be large enough for me. I am glad to know that no human estimate is sufficient to take the dimensions. "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard," nor arithmetic calculated.

Health In Heaven. I first remark that we can in this world get no idea of the health of heaven. When you were a child and you went out in the morning, how you bounded along the road or street--you had never felt sorrow or sickness! Perhaps later--perhaps in these very summer days--you felt a glow in your cheek, and a spring in your step, and an exuberance of spirits, and a clearness of eye, that made you thank God you were permitted to live. The nerves were harp strings, and the sunlight was a doxology, and the rustling leaves were the rustling of the robes of a great crowd rising up to praise the Lord. You thought that you knew what it was to be well, but there is no perfect health on earth. The diseases of past generations come down to us. The airs that float now on the earth are unlike those which floated above paradise. They are charged with impurities and distempers. The most elastic and robust health of earth, compared with that which those experience before whom the gates have been opened, is nothing but sickness and emaciation. Look at that soul standing before the throne. On earth she was a lifelong invalid. See her step now and hear her voice now! Catch if you can one breath of that celestial air. Health of all the nerves. Health of vision. Health of spirits. Immortal health. No racking cough, no sharp pleurisies, no consuming fevers, no exhausting pains, no hospitals of wounded men. Health swinging in the air. Health flowing in all the streams. Health blooming on the banks. No headaches, no sideaches, no backaches. That child that died in the agonies of croup, hear her voice now ringing in the anthem! That old man that went bowed down with the infirmities of age, see him walk now with the step of an immortal athlete--forever young again! That night when the needlewoman fainted away in the garret, a wave of the heavenly air resuscitated her forever. For everlasting years, to have neither ache nor pain nor weakness or fatigue. "Eye hath not see [sic] it, ear has not heard it."

Splendors of Heaven. I remark further that we can in this world get no just idea of the splendor of heaven. St. John tries to describe it.

He says, "The 12 gates are 12 pearls," and that "the foundations of the wall are garnished with all manner of precious stones." As we stand looking through the telescope of St. John we see

a blaze of amethyst and pearl and emer-

ald and sardonyx and chysoprasus and sapphire, a mountain of light, a cataract

of color, a sea of glass and a city like the sun.

St. John bids us look again, and we see thrones--thrones of the prophets, thrones of the patriarchs, thrones of the angels, thrones of the apostles, thrones of the martyrs, throne of Jesus, throne of God! And we turn round to see the glory, and it is--thrones! Thrones!

Thrones!

St. John bids us look again, and we see the great procession of the redeemed passing. Jesus, on a white horse, leads the march, and all the armies of salvation following on white horses. Infinite cavalcade passing, passing; empires

pressing into line, ages following ages.

Dispensation tramping on after dispensation. Glory in the track of glory. Europe, Asia, Africa and North and South America pressing into lines. Islands of the sea shoulder to shoulder. Generations before the flood following genera-

ttions after the flood, and as Jesus rises at the head of that great host and waves

his sword in signal of victory all crowns are lifted, and all ensigns flung out,

and all chimes rung, and all hallelujahs chanted, and some cry, "Glory to God most high!" and some "Hosanna to the Son of David!" and some, "Worthy

is the Lamb that was slain!" till all the

exclamations of endearment and homage in the vocabulary of heaven are exhausted, and there come up surge after surge of "Amen! Amen! Amen!"

"Eye hath not seen it; ear hath not

heard it." Skim from the summer wa-

ters the brightest sparkles, and you will get no idea of the sheen of the everlast-

ing sea. Pile up the splendors of earthly cities, and they would not make a

stepping stone by which you might mount to the city of God. Every house is a palace. Every step a triumph. Every covering of the head a coronation.

Every meal is a banquet. Every stroke from the tower is a wedding bell. Every day is a jubilee, every hour a rapture and every moment an ecstasy. "Eye hath not seen it, ear hath not heard it."

Reunions in Heaven.

I remark further we can get no idea

on earth of the reunions of heaven. If you have ever been across the sea and

met a friend, or even an acquaintance,

in some strange city, you remember how your blood thrilled and how glad you were to see him. What, then, will be

our joy, after we have passed the seas of death, to meet in the bright city of the sun those from whom we have long been separated! After we have been

away from our friends 10 or 15 years, and we come upon them, we see how differently they look. The hair has turned, and wrinkles have come in their faces, and we say, "How you have changed!" But, oh, when we stand before the throne, all cares gone from the face, all marks of sorrow disappeared, and feeling the joy of that blessed land, methinks we will say to each other, with an exultation we cannot now imagine, "How you have changed!" In this world we only meet to part. It is goodby, goodby. Farwells [sic] floating in the air. We hear it at the rail car window and at the steamboat wharf. Goodby! Children lisp it, and old age answers it. Sometimes we say it in a light way, "Goodby!" And sometimes with anguish in which the soul breaks down. Goodby! Ah, that is the word that ends the thanksgiving banquet; that is the word that comes in to close the Christmas chant. Goodby! Goodby! But not so in heaven. Welcomes in the air, welcomes at the gates, welcomes at the house of many mansions--but no goodby. That group is constantly being augmented. They are going up from our circles of earth to join it--lit-tle voices to join the anthem, little hands to take hold of it in the great home circle, little feet to dance in the eternal glee, little crowns to be cast down before the feet of Jesus. Our friends are in two groups--a group this side of the river and a group on the other side of the river. Now there goes one from this to that, and another from this to that, and soon we will all be gone over. How many of your loved ones have already entered upon that blessed place! If I should take paper and pencil, do you think I could put them all down? Ah, my friends, the waves of Jordan roar so hoarsely we cannot hear the joy on the other side where their group is augmented. It is graves here and coffins and hearses here.

When a Soul Arrives. A little child's mother had died, and they comforted her. They said: "Your mother has gone to heaven. Don't cry," and the next day they went to the graveyard, and they laid the body of the mother down into ground, nad the little girl came up to the verge of the grave, and looking down at the body of her mother said, "Is this heaven?" Oh, we have no idea what heaven is. It is the grave here. It is darkness here, but there is merry making yonder. Methinks when a soul arrives some angel takes it around to show it the wonders of that blessed place. The usher angel says to the newly arrived: "These are the martyts that perished at Piedmont; these were torn to pieces at the inquisition; this is the throne of the great Jehovah; this is Jesus!" "I am going to see Jesus," said a dying negro boy. "I am going to see Jesus," and the missionary said, "You are sure you will see him?" "Oh, yes. That's what I want to go to heaven for." "But," said the missionary, "suppose that Jesus should go away from heaven, what then?" "I should follow him," said the dying negro boy. "But if Jesus went down to hell, what then?" The dying boy thought for a moment, and then he said, "Massa, where Jesus is there can be no hell!" Oh, to stand in his presence! That will be heaven! Oh, to put our hand in that hand which was wounded for us on the cross--to go around amid all the groups of the redeemed and shake hands with prophets and apostles and martyrs and with our own dear, beloved ones! That will be the great reunion. We cannot imagine it now, our loved ones seem so far away. When we are in trouble and lonesome, they don't seem to come to us. We go on the banks of the Jordan and call across to them, but they don't seem to hear. We say: "Is it well with the child? Is it well with the loved ones?" and we listen to hear if any voice comes back over the waters. None! None! Unbelief says, "They are dead and extinct forever," but, blessed be God, we have a Bible that tells us different. We open it and find that they are neither dead nor extinct; that they never were so much alive as now; that they are only waiting for our coming, and that we shall join them on the other side of the river. Oh, glorious reunion, we cannot grasp it now! "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love him."

Sacred Song. I remark again, we can in this world get no idea of the song of heaven. You know there is nothing more inspiriting than music. In the battle of Waterloo the highlanders were giving way, and Wellington found out that the bands of music had ceased playing. He sent a quick dispatch, telling them to play, with utmost spirit, a battle march. The music started, the highlanders were rallied, and they dashed on till the day was won. We appreciate the power of secular music, but do we appreciate the power of sacred song? There is nothing more inspiring to me than a whole congregation lifted up on the wave of holy melody. When we sing some of those dear old psalms and tunes, they rouse all the memories of the past. Why, some of them were cradle songs in our father's house. They are all sparkling with the morning dew of a thousand Christian Sabbaths. They were sung by brothers and sisters gone now, by voices that were aged and broken in the music, voices none the less sweet because they did tremble and break. When I hear these old songs sung, it seems as if all the old country meeting homes joined in the chorus, and Scotch kirk and sailor's Bethel and western cabins, until the whole continent lifts the doxology and the scepters of eternity beat time to the music. Away then with your starveling tunes that chill the devotions of the sanctuary and make the people sit silent when Jesus is coming to hosanna. But, my friends, if music on earth is so sweet, what will it be in heaven? They all know the tune there. Methinks the tune of heaven will be made up partly from the songs of earth, the best parts of all our hymns and tunes going to add to the song of Moses and the Lamb. All the best singers of all the ages will join it--choirs of white robed children. Choirs of patriarchs! Choirs of apostles! Morning stars clapping their cymbals! Harpers with their harps! Great anthems of God roll on, roll on! Other empires joining the harmony till the thrones are full of it and the nations all saved. Anthem shall touch anthem, chorus join chorus, and all the sweet sounds of earth and heaven be poured into the ear of Christ. David of the harp will be there. Gabriel of the trumpet will be there. Germany redeemed will pour its deep bass voice into the song, and Africa will add to the music with her matchless voices.

I wish we could anticipate that song. I wish in the closing hymns of the churches today we might catch an echo that slips from the gates. Who knows but that when the heavenly door opens today to let some soul through there may come forth the strain of the jubilant voices until we catch it? Oh, that as the song drops down from heaven it might meet half way a song coming up from earth!

Travels of a Postal Card. The Bombay Times states that a post card which, posted in Madras on the 4th of January, 1887, was delivered in Bombay a few days ago. The history is in post marks. Addressed to a firm in Mount road, Madras, the obliterating stamp is dated "Vepery, 4 Jan. '87." The next stamp bears the words, "First delivery, Mt. Road, 5 Jan. '87." The card then acquired the legend, "Not in Mt. Road," and back it went to the chief office, whose stamp it bears. A number of initials on the card and a multiplicity of postmarks indicate that it had several times been sent out after this to find an owner, and a rough hole in the center suggests the postmaster, a careful though despairing man, was eventually compelled to file the document for reference. On the 24th of April last there was evidently a "spring cleaning" in the Madras postoffice, for the card was then withdrawn from the file, and the bold

words "Try Bombay" added to the many legends on the side which is intended only for the address.

It reached Bombay on the 28th of

April, and after its long hibernation the message reached a well known firm of Bombay photographers. The eight-year-old message runs as follows: "I would be much obliged if you would take my daughter's photo on Thursday morning. I leave Madras on Friday morning."

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.

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LOW PRICES. Satisfaction Gauranteed. [sic]

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Why Dentistry Pays at the Seashore.

The number of dentists' signs on the houses and office buildings in all the Jersey seashore resorts is such as to excite wonder. As one tourist recently expressed it, "One would think the people of New York went there to have their teeth attended to." Between Seabright and Ocean Grove there are as many dentists as should expect to find occupation in a city of considerable size. "The fact is," said one of the dentists, "that not only the New Yorkers, but the Philadelphians and plenty of folks from other cities as well, do come here to have their teeth fixed. They do not know it when they arrange to go to the seaside, but they find it out when they get here, and their teeth begin to throb with pain. The reason is that the change of air, the tonic effect of the change and the active, invigorating outdoor life which the summer idlers lead strengthens and stimulates them. Their hearts work quicker and with more strength, and if there is a weak spot anywhere about them the pressure of the excited circulation calls it into notice. So it is that teeth which gave no trouble in the cities throb with pain at the seashore."--New York Sun.

"Two Vice Presidents."

I know of no two lives in all American history which have been ordered in such sharp and instructive contrast from

beginning to ending as the lives of these two men. One of them sprang from one of the proudest and most aristocratic as ablest and most powerful of the ruling families of Kentucky; the other was of an origin so humble and obscure that it could hardly be traced. One was born at the open gate of fortune, influence and opportunity; the other was born in the lap of squalid want. Both set out in life under the influence of a controlling ambition. One thirsted for glory and power and fame; the other to be emancipated from poverty and neglect. The career of Breckinridge lay along an even pathway lighted up from the outset with the encouraging smiles of influential friends and overhung with tempting prizes, which he gathered thick and fast at every step, while Wilson began the ascend of a steep and rugged mountain path alone and toiled upward without help, beset by discouragements, confronted all the way with difficulties and cheered by no light ahead or reward in sight. The vice presidency came to Breckinridge almost by force of gravity, as ripe fruit drops into a basket ready to receive it. It came to Wilson as tribute to a life of toil spent in the uplifting of downtrodden humanity. A just people has placed the cypress upon the grave of one and the laurel on the grave of the other.--Henry L. Dawes in Century.

NERVES OF SURGEONS. SUFFER STAGE FRIGHT WHEN FACING A DIFFICULT OPERATION. Two Ways In Which It Affects Them--A Young Surgeon's First Amputation. Threaded a Needle to Steady His Nerves. Operating on a Friend.

"Is there such a thing as stage fright among surgeons?" a successful New York surgeon was asked. Though the term stage fright with reference to surgery was perhaps a misnomer, the surgeon understood the question.

"Oh, yes, indeed, there is such a thing as stage fright among surgeons," he replied. "There are two kinds of stage fright, or, rather, there are two different temperaments among doctors, and the fright, although in itself perhaps the same, has a different seeming, affected as it is by the material through w hich it passes. The first si the surgeon who is anxious to perform the operation, sees no difficulties in the way and nothing but a successful termination. His rest is not disturbed by reflections upon complications which may arise. Everything is lovely until the patient is before him. Then his hand begins to shake if he meets with difficulties which he had not counted upon; his nervousness increases; he hurries, perhaps with a fatal result. In the case of this man he grows worse as he grows older, and in old age he goes all to pieces.

"There is another temperament of this order. From the time this surgeon recognizes that an operation is necessary there pass through his mind all the complications which could possibly come up, and he wonders if there are not more which he has not thought of. He is by no means sanguine of a happy result. He fears this and that and the other thing. As the hour approaches he dreads to commence his work more and more. But when he is before the subject his nervousness leaves him. He commences intelligently, reflecting upon what might arise. He does not hurry or get excited, but he is intensely interested, wholly absorbed by what he is do-

ing. I remember witnessing an operation by one of the most celebrated surgeons I ever knew. It was a most difficult operation, and the amphitheater was filled with doctors who had come to see it performed. A few moments before the surgeon was to commence he was presented by a friend to two doctors who had come from a distance to see him operate. He bowed very politely and spoke a few words. Shortly after that he commenced operating.

"The operation was of considerable length, and when it was finished the two gentlemen to whom the surgeon had been presented approached to speak a congratulatory word or two. As he did not appear to recognize them, his friend presented them again. He expressed his pleasure at meeting them without the slightest recollection that he had met them."

"Do you recall the first operation you ever performed yourself?"

"Indeed I remember it very well I was in a hospital where there were 3,500 beds and 33 surgeons in charge. I was one of the young assistant surgeons. If an operation was necessary in any of the wards, it was our duty to report it to the surgeon in charge, who then performed the operation if he chose. I reported to my surgeon the necessity of an amputation of a great toe. The surgeon came and looked at the man and concurred with my opinion that an amputation was necessary. I was directed to get everything ready for the operation. 'Then,' said the surgeon, 'I will come and operate if I can. If not, you go on and perform the operation yourself.' "I told my young associates of the order, and they said: 'Well, you go on and get ready, but he won't come. You will have to do the operation yourself.' And that was the way it turned out. The operation was to be at 2 o'clock. All the night before I was rehearsing what I intended to do in my mind and dreaming of it in my sleep. The next day I could not eat my luncheon. My hands and feet were cold. When it came time to commence the operation, I could

only steady my nerves by threading needles. I said: 'Give me the needles to thread. I am very particular about my thread.' I took a needle and commenced poking at the eye. In a few seconds my hand obeyed my will and became as

steady as I could wish. I performed the operation successfully. After that I went on performing a great many operations, but it was years before I could take a 1 o'clock luncheon if I had to operate at 2 o'clock.

"From the conscientious scientific man apprehension never departs, for he knows that it is impossible to foresee all things. And then, again, he takes in his hands a holy human life. If an actor accentuates the wrong word or halts in his lines, the worst thing that can come is a slight damage to his reputation. If a minister preaches heterodox doctrines, the worst that can happen to him is a trial for heresy. But if the surgeon in a dangerous operation makes but the slightest mistake it may result in death, for which there is no remedy. Many and many a time on the night previous to a serious operation have I awakened myself from an anxious, troubled sleep by performing the operation in my dreams. It is also very much more trying to a surgeon to operate on a friend than on a stranger. It is hard to tell in this case who is more to be pitied, the surgeon or the patient. I think the longer a man operates the less certain he is of the outcome of any operation. A frail little woman that one would almost say a breath of wind would blow away will survive the most painful and dangerous operation where a rough, stocky and iron built peasant worker that one would think could survive almost any possible operation will die from something which is not, as a rule, considered dangerous."--New York Sun.

THE FISH'S BALLOON. A Mystery That Scientists Have Not Yet Been Able to Solve.

Naturalists long ago studied the composition of the gas contained in the swimming bladder of fishes and discovered that it consists of the principal constituents of the air--namely, oxygen, nitrogen and carbonic acid. But these constituents are not mingled in the fish's balloon in the same proportions as they are in the atmosphere, and besides their proportions do not remain always the same in the fish. Sometimes the bladder contains hardly any oxygen; at others oxygen constitutes nine tenths of the whole contents. The variation in the quantity of oxygen is somewhat mysterious, and naturalists have offered several different suggestions as to the cause of it. Some think the fish may be able to control the quantity of oxygen in its bladder by its own will. Bior, a distinguished French naturalist, thought he had solved the problem by discovering that the proportion of oxygen was larger in fish that lived at great depths and smaller in those that lived near the surface of the sea.

But quite recently new observations made from the Prince of Monaco's yacht, Princess Alice, seem to prove that Biot was mistaken, and that the deep dwelling fish carry no more oxygen in proportion than do those living in shallow water. Some of the fish whose swimming bladders were examined by the naturalists on the Princess Alice came from a depth of no less than a mile.

They were compared with fish which seldom descend below 200 feet in depth and with others which prefer a depth of about 500 or 600 feet, and all had nearly the same proportion of oxygen to aid them in swimming.

The variations mentioned above seem therefore to depend upon some other cause than the depth of the fish's dwelling place. It is these unsettled questions that offer to young naturalists some of their most brilliant opportunities for distinction. It is a great mistake to suppose that there does not remain a plenty of room for discovery in science.--Youth's Companion.

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A TOLSTOI ANECDOTE. How the Author Treated a Publisher Who Did Not Know Him.

The following characteristic little story of that eccentric genius, Count Leo Tolstoi, is communicated to our Odessa correspondent by a Moscow journalist.

After completing one of his recent short works the count went in search of a new publisher. He appeared one forenoon in the publishing office of a magazine where he was personally unknown. He was dressed after the manner of a better class mauzhik, and the chief of the establishment, probably given to judging from appearances, was not over politce or patient in listening to the count's request to have his sketch published, at the same time taking the manuscript from his pocket.

"Oh," said the publisher, "I really cannot be bothered. It is no use my looking at your sketch. We have hundreds of such things in hand and have really no time to deal with yours, even though you were in a position to guarantee the cost, which I very much doubt."

Tolstoi slowly rolled up his manuscript, and replacing it in his pocket observed: "I must be laboring under some misapprehension. I have been told that the public likes to read what I write." "The public likes to read what you write!" exclaimed the publisher, closely scrutinizing him. "Who are you? What is your name?" "My name is Leo Tolstoi." The astonished and abashed publisher was instantly on the other side of the counter, expressing the most profuse apologies and entreating the count to do him the distinguished honor of permitting him to publish the sketch. Tolstoi quietly buttoned up his coat with the manuscript in his breast pockert, saying: "You have no time, you say, having so many hundreds of these things in hand. I must find a publisher who has time, and one who will not require a guarantee. Dasvidanya!" And the count walked off in his usual nonchalant manner. --London News.

A Wonderful New Lighthouse Burner. The Irish Royal society has recently

been experimenting with a new burner designed especially for use on light-

house lamps, which has twice the

illuminating power of any burner now in use. It is calculated that this burner,

in connection with a specially devised system of lenses, can be made to transmit a light equal to about 8,000,000 candle power, which far exceeds any lamp now in use.

Why He Shook the Child. A man riding in a Broad street omnibus the other day, with a small child in his arms, was the object of many frowns from the other passengers, because he persisted in vigorously shaking the little one on account of her crying. The shakings he gave the child did not appear to have any effect except to make her cry the harder. The women in the bus glared at the man, and said mean things about him to each other. The men looked over the tops of their papers occasionally and swore inaudibly. The father wore a worried look, and the baby continued to cry. Occasionally it would stop, and its head would nod sleepily. Then the father would shake the youngster vigorously, waking it up and starting its tears afresh. Finally a woman, who had been nervously watching the unnatural father, walked over and asked him why he was maltreating the youngster. "Why," said he, "I've got to shake her to keep her awake. She swallowed some kind of drug, and if she goes to sleep she'll die." Just then the bus stopped at Broad and Thompson, and the father and child got off and entered the Children's hospital.--Philadelphia Record.

A Photographic Bullet.

A bullet provided with a tiny photo-

graphic outfit of its own is the late invention of a German named Herr Nee-

sen. In carrying out this ingenious idea

Professor Neesen has provided a bullet which carries a miniature photographic

plate. This plate, which is very sensitive, is slipped into a slit in the bullet in such a manner as to receive its light through a pinhole in the conic or forward end of the muslin. In this manner

a gyrating line is traced on the plate which is a complete record of the bul-

let's oscillations from the moment it leaves the nozzle of the gun until the

impact with the target.--St. Louis Re-

public.

What can be more foolish than to

think all this rare fabric of heaven and earth could come by chance, when all

the skill of art is not able to make an oyster?--Jeremy Taylor.

Shy Great Men. Mrs. Julia Ward Howe tells two new anecdotes of this shyness of literary men--one of Hawthorne, of whom such anecdotes are common, and the other of Irving. Irving, she says, attempted to make a speech at a dinner given to Charles Dickens, but after mumbling a few words indistinctly he remarked, "I can't go on," and sat down. Of Hawthorne's timidity she had a glimpse, while calling with her husband on Mrs. Hawthorne in Concord. While they were in the parlor they saw a [?] man come down the stairs, and Mrs. Hawthorne called out: "Husband, husband! Dr. Howe and Mrs. Howe are here." Hawthorne bolted across the hall and out the door without even looking into the parlor.

Positively No Credit. "I trust," began the surly customer argumentatively. "I don't," responded the grocer derisively. Somehow the conversation [?] after that.--Albany [?].

A Mésalliance. She--So the count's relatives consider it a mésalliance? He--Decidedly. The girl has only a quarter of a million, and the count owes three times as much as that.--London Tit-Bits.

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.

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.

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.