= » wil Ee a A —- 2 rem : fe : } Dumbness Cured by Cold. bs \*{ |no one else in his compartment. vHe sat . tablished. The people conducted the y WK ¥ X x ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ x X X X ¥ N thinking of all that had happesed. He THE Pp JL IT gatherings as they saw fit. Songs, > A miraculous cure has just been ef- R ¥ bad heard nothing of those at home for : hortations, prayers followed or ming fected by the cold weather at Paulha- SK } 4 : . ; ii with one another, yet all without such t Auvergne. John Rougier, 54 so many months; they might all be dead. confusion as would mar the one im- quet, gne. er, W ¥ How would he have the courage to go | AM ELOQUENT SUNDAY SERMON BY pression of each meeting—the evident | years of age, an agricultural laborer, W WE to the door with this possibility? What THE REV. EDWARD NILES. preserice in power of the Holy Sh lost his speech in 1887 after a severe Pini vould he do if Jane told binr his 1 Such Shristmas time has never been : be £3 ¥ By Chive Holland. sh — iy He ei oi be i Eh g Wales, ad of drunken- attack of typhoid fever. At as rms as dead? 8 S | Subject: “Recent Religious Revivals.” Seine: de- | he was a parish school teacher an 2 st WW NZ 302 N02 NZ Ne N87 N42 hands at the thought sobbed as 22 ness, hymn singing; the theatres de e x MK MK MK KKK KKK ands at the thought, and sobbed asf yg, Wc "Ny The Rev. Edward | serted, their players stranded, religious | naturally was compelled to resign his = N the Heights of Portland i} the December mist, still undispersed by sunrise, hung thick, obliterating all traces of the prison build- ings from the roads, where several ships of the channel squadron lay at anchor, and also from the strag- gling row of houses at the base of the northwest slope. In the prison itself there was no light as yet save in the corridors, up and down which the ever-alert wardens paced monotonously to and fro. In most of the cells the prisoners slept, tired out with the previous day’s hew- ing of stone and uncongenial tasks: but in one the occupant, a man of thirty-five, good-looking in spite of prison garb, close-cropped hair, and the ravages of toil and despair, lay on his bed awake. A little more than ten years ago he had stood in the dock of a west of England city listening to a judge with a hard voice, though with kindly eyes, pronouncing sentence of fifteen years’ penal servitude. All that an eloquent counsel could do had been done for him, but to no avail. The evidence seemed conclusively damnatory, and the foreman of the jury, after an ab- sence of half an hour, answered “guilty” to the usual question with a ring of conviction in his voice. The judge’s words to Thomas Harborde fell on deaf ears. He stood stupidly gazing at a young girl sitting at the back of the court in company of a sweet-faced old lady, as though he saw nothing. At last a warder touched him on the shoulder, and the same instant a pite- ous cry of, “O, Tom! Tom! They're going to take you away from me,” rang out in the court, over which the dusk of late afternoon was creeping, grad- anally blotting out the features of those who sat at all in shadow. The prisoner turned round as though about to say something to the judge on the bench, and then, led by the warder, he van- ished down the dock stairs to the cells, to be known no longer as Thomas Har- borde, but by various numbers: At Portland convict prison as “No. 27.” The sense of innocence brought him no meed of satisfaction; it merely filled him with desperate wrath and blackest despair. In the early period of his solitary confinement he found himself sonfronted day in and out with the erushing sense of legions of hours, minutes and seconds before he could hope to be a free man—if ever he were to be one again. By good conduct— against the very thought of which he at first rebelled, refusing to accept any boon at the hands of fate—he might reduce these years to two-thirds maybe. What then, millions of seconds. each ane to him, a prisoner, an appreciable part of life; hundreds of thousands of leaden-footed minutes, each one filled with a poignant despair, must pass ere the time of release drew near. At work, under the scorching sun or in the keen air of winter, in the quarries it was all the same. These hours and minutes became embodied in the per- sons of the warders and fellow-prison- ers, in the presence of his chains. From a possibly dangerous man he became almost an inanimate machine; a mere cogwheel in the round of daily toil and prison discipline. At first he attacked the stone as though he were revenging his wrongs upon human flesh and blood; at last he tooled it with the anthinking regularity of an automaton. It takes a year or two to trample the human element out of a man of Har- borde’s type; but the effect of stone walls, silence and brutalized compan- fons, if slow, is none the less sure. . Dnly in his case he became an automa- ton instead of an animal. : Through the long December night, while the mist enshrouded Portland and restricted the range of lights at the Bill to half a mile or less, and while the sirens resounded from the light- house gallery almost continuously, an- swered faintly by others from vessels far out at sea, or booming harshly from others near at hand, Harborde lay awake reckoning the weeks, days. hours and minutes which comprised the remaining two years of his term. He had just dropped off into a half- sleeping condition when his cell door opened, and instead of the hard face of the warder come to tell him to tidy ap, he saw the governor and chaplain, with the warder in the background. What could it mean? He sprang up, rubbing his eyes, and almost before he knew what was happening the gov- ernor had told him in a few words that he had received the Queen’s par- don, and then proceeded to read the same. What did it all mean? No other thought germinated in his dulled brain. Free! Free to go where he willed! Free to walk out of the jail gates! Never to return within the stone walls which had shut him in from the outside world, as surely as though no other world than that con- tained within them existed. The prison bell clanged, startling fim into a state of wakefulness. The governor had finished reading the of- ficial-looking paper, and with the con- clusion of the formal part of his duty he added a few words of congratula- tion. Harborde seemed to have no comprehension of their meaning. He remained standing in the centre of the narrow cell speechless. At last the chaplain made him understand the im- port of the document which had just been read over to him. “free! Free! It is impossible,” he exclaimed, and then he threw himself on the bed in an agony of joy. The clanging of the bell afresh, the slam- ming of doors, the echoing of footsteps down the resounding corridors, recalled him to a sense of his position. A warder entered with a suit of clothes. With trembling fingers he removed his prison garb; worn, soiled with weather and labor and intolerable. The trousers felt chilly after the thick, tight-fitting knickerbockers, and rough, thick worsted stockings. The oat seemed to fit him nowhere. With one look round his cell, on the walls of which he had done innumerable calculations to keep himself from insanity bred by the terrible silence and sense of loneliness, “No. 27” now no longer a mere figure, a machine, but a human being, stepped into the corridor. There was a breakfast for him such as he had not tasted for nine long years, but he had no appetite. The one idea now possessing his mind was home, escape whilst the governor was willing for him to depart. He swal- lowed a few mouthfuls, drank a few gulps of cocoa, and then with the al- lowance money in his pocket hurried to the gateway. He was free. Free to go wherever he liked. Free to start for home as fast as steam could carry him. Free to stretch out his “arms to the placid gray-blue waters of Western Bay now denuded of their mantle of fog and sparkling in the sunshine. Free to breathe the pure air uncontaminated by companions criminal and vicious. But the waters, the hillside, the lovely stretch of verdant country extended before his eyes, had no charm for him save that they spelt freedom. Behind him lay the prison house, the flagstaff from which no ensign of dread fluttered to tell of his escape. Before him lay freedom. He rushed down the road, waving his arms with the reawakened instincts of a boy escaping from school, obliv- ious alike to the sympathetic gaze of women he passed, and the half-con- temptuous remarks of the men. He dashed into the bleak, shabby little rail- way station, only to learn that there was no train for an hour. Already his limbs, unused to such riotous move- ments and still feeling the lag of the chain. had begun to fail him, making the half-jocular suggestion of the soli- tary reporter, that he should “take a little exercise and walk to Weymouth,” out of the question.. : “T’11 have to wait,” was all he could think of to say. “Doin’ time ain't altogether exhil- arating’ or strengthenin’ work,” the porter remarked. Harborde nodded his head. yet longed to tell him he was an innocent man. The porter, however, had van- ished, to return in a few moments with a paper. “Here, mate,” he exclaimed, with rough kindness. “You won’t know all yesterday's news, I'll go bail.” At last his eye caught a small para- graph stowed away at the bottom of the third column on page six of the paper. He read and reread it over and over again. “Her Majesty, the Queen, has been graciously pleased to pardon Thomas Harborde, who was convicted of forgery at the Winchester assizes some ten years ago, and tho is now -ompleting his sentence of fifteen years’ penal servitude at Portland. Harborde will be released this morning. The step has been taken in consequence of the dying confession of a man at Bristol.” Nothing more! Now he knew why he had been released. And so death had taken Edward Tilwell out of the hands of justice. It was hardly fair of death. The porter came up whistling to tell him the train would start in ten min- utes. He got up, thrust the paper into the man’s hands, and pointed to the paragraph. “That's me.” “You Thomas Harborde?’ exclaimed the man. “Then all I've got to say is it's a hanged shame the Queen didn't send a coach-and-six for you. Let's have your hand, man, to wish yen good luck. Got a missis? Xo? So much the better; poor soul. if you had. it would cut her up terrible.” “No,” sald HBarborde, as though speaking to himself, “I was to have been married; but that's years ago now, and I'm an old man.” “01d!” interjected the porter, ‘“vou’re no more than :five-and-thirty, I'll go bail. You do look older, to be sure. But wait till you've been out a bit, you'll soon rub off them lines and look a bit more uppish.” The engine at the end of the short train of carriages relegated to the Portland line after becoming too thor- oughly out of date for even the Somer- set and Dorset local service between Weymouth and Dorchester, gave a thin, wintry squeak, and Harborde, in a fever of apprehension lest it shonld start without him, tumbled into the first carriage that came handy, ticket- less. The porter came to the door. “You've cot no ticket. Here, give me a shilling, and I'll get it for you. Book to Wey- mouth?” “Yes,” said Harborde, his pocket for the money. “Now you're all right,” the porter ex- claimed, returning a couple of minutes later: ‘here’s the ticket and the change. No. thanks; you'll want all you've got. Good-bye, mate, and good luck.” With a bump and a groan the train moved out of the station and ambled along the line running at the back of Chesil Beach at the rate of eight or ten miles an hour. Harborde was one of half a dozen passengers, but there was fumbling in only a strong man can sob inthe corner of a carriage. With a great jerk the train pulled up at the station, and Har- borde got out. His feliow-travelers regarded him with curiosity because his friend, the porter, had told every one of them who he was when he ex- amined their tickets, inveighing bit- terly the while against the caustic humot of pardoning an innocent. man. Harborde noticed nothing of this. He inquired of a porter the next train on to the junction for Applebury, and then discovered that he was both hun- gry and faint for want of food. He went out into the slippery, muddy street at the back of the house ‘on the Parade, and at length found a quiet little eating house, where he was served with a meal by a girl who had a pitying eye, after consultation with her superior in command. At 3 o'clock he was again on his way in the train, in the company this time of other fel- low creatures, who one and all regard- ed him with a feeling akin to that with which they would have submitted to the company of a dangerous animal. Harborde noticed it after a time, and putting his hand to his head suddenly made the discovery that his hair was noticeably short. After this he real- ized that he was a marked man, and no longer wondered why the lady opposite drew her warm plaid dress away from his” feet, and the other lady with two children sidled as far from him as pos- sible, and asked the guard to find her seats in another carriage at the next station. He was innocent, but how could he explain it to them? If they could but know how he had suffered surely they would weep. He hadn’t the paper with him; even if he had perhaps they would not believe that he and the Thomas Harborde mentioned in the paragraph were one and the same. Two men got in where the lady with the children got out. They each of them threw him a glance, shrugged their shoulders and then became immersed in their papers. It was quite dark when Applebury was reached and Harborde, luggage- less, speedily passed out of the station without being recognized. There seemed little alteration in the place. Several of the shops—now gay with Christmas goods and finery—in the main street now had large plate-glass windows in place of more countrified fronts, but were otherwise much as fifteen years ago. For a moment he stood confused, staring up and down the street, regarded by the passers-by with curiosity. Then he remembered that he would have to go along the street, past the grocer’s whose window projected a yard into the footpath, turn down the by-street, and then again turning take the road leading to his home. : In ten minutes he reached the garden gate. He bad run part of the way, and now he could not make up his mind to go up the drive to the door. What if they were all dead? He grew sick at the very idea. There was a light in his mother’s room, which was at the front of the house. What if she was ill—perhaps dying? At last his legs carried him up the drive which swept around the little front.lawn in a semi-circle. He heard the bell tinkle shrilly at the back of the house. Tha sound seemed like home. All at oncd he remembered how, years ago, he banged it with a long-handled broom till it jangled against its fellow on either side. The door opened. A flood of light streamed out on to the gravel. It was a strange face, and the face sent an icy shock to his heart. Tar outside himself he heard a voice he did not recognize as his own asking if Dr Harborde were in. A year seemed to pass before the servant said: “No.” adding, “did you wish to see him par- ticular?” “Yes.” “He'll be in in balf an hour.” “Is—is Mrs. Harborde in? Is she alive?’ said the man at the door, throwing the words at her when once his tonfue consented to frame them. “Why, Lor’ bless me, yes! ~Come, none of that.” } But it was no use. The man she had just noticed had suspiciously short hair and a strange, wild-looking face, had pushed past her, thrown open the sittine-room door, stumbled into it and thrown his arms around a sweet-faced old lady who rose in aiarm at his sud- den entrance. “My son! my son?’ rang out through the house. p? “Mother! mother! The girl stood rooted to the spot, then she ran to Jane, and the two of them came out into the passage. In the sitting-room with its pink-shaded lamp a woman was seated kissing every line on her son's face—every line that the long years had written. And he stroked the hair that still lay thick, though white, in a coil at the back ~* Ler head. Suddenly the man started up. “Jess?” he asked, huskily. - Some one who had lain, half-stunned with joy, in a wicker chair well out of the range of the lamp-light, camd into his vision. “Jess!” he cried. folding her in his arms whilst the room swam round, “my Jess!’ “Tom!” came the answer. “But I am old,” said he; “so old.” “And I also, with the sadness and loneliness of waiting. But now—now I am young again.” The voice of the elder woman broké the silence after a moment: “For thi¢ my son was dead and is alive again.” And they began to be merry.—Black and White, . Niles, pastor of the White (Bushwick Avenue Reformed) Church, preached Sunday on “The Recent Religious Re- 'vivals.” The text was from II. Samuel v:24: “When thou hearest the sound of marching in the tops of the mulberry trees, then thou shalt bestir thyself; for then is Jehovah gone out before thee to smite the host of the Philis- tines.” Mr. Niles said: David and his little kingdom were sore beset by the enemy. Former vic- tories had only brought them tempo- rary relief. Many of the troops were discouraged. Very likely some advised patching up terms of peace with the Philistines which would stop the per- petual conflict, even if much would needs be yielded. It was a crisis, and David did the best thing possible. He inquired of Jehovah. The reply of the oracle was a strange one. The order was not to go openly against the foe, but to equip his forces, and, thor- oughly prepared for attack, put them in ambush opposite a grove of mul- berry trees. Then, when the sound of an angel army was heard rustling over the tops of those branches, to bestir himself, and, according to the account in Chronicles, go out to battle. How thrilling the promise which followed the direction, “for then Jehovah is gone out before thee to smite the host of the Philistines.” He did as he was told. Jehovah led the way, the Israelites followed. Both smiting together won the battle. David had faith to adopt God's plan of at- tack. His faith was manifested by his works. The result was glorious peace. Preparation. Expectation. Realiza- tion. These three words tell the story. I believe this tale from the Old Book is full of lessons to us. Certainly we are hemmed in by influences threaten- ing most dangerously our spiritual in- dependence. The work of the churches in Brooklyn is not going forward as it should. Defensive tactics are too much in evidence. Many in our ranks are seeking after compromise with evil, the abandon- ment of our spiritual integrity, accom- modation to the demands of the world. The times are desperate and earnest souls have followed the example of the Shepherd King, inquiring of Jehovah what shall be done. The answer has come, in no uncer- tain tones. Equip yourselves with shields of faith, swords of the Spirit, breastplates of righteousness, helmets of salvation. Omit no preparation. Expect great things. When thou hear- est the sound ¢f heavenly allies march- ing, bestir thyself. Strike, ‘for I, Je- hovah, am with you.” Christians nave been hearing such messages for months. Sermons, pray- er meeting talks, Sunday-school in- struction have laid ever deepening em- phasis on the necessity of being alert to the help from heaven which will warrant the command, “Go forward.” Now I believe it has come. As one of the captains of the sacramental army I repeat the order, “Forward, march!’ During the past week my desk was strewed with clippings from both re- ligious and daily papers telling of the “sound of marching in the tops of the mulberry trees.” “Gypsy Smith!” It is an outlandish name. But it tells of a man who suc- ceeded where Rhodes, Kruger, Milner and all the other “statesmen” signally failed. From London comes the echo of the angel's footsteps, forcing back its sin, shame and poverty that the churches, charging shoulder to shoulder, may carry in triumph the cross of Christ to the very darkmost heart of that me- tropolis of Christendom and Satan. With thrilling distinctness I hear the reverberations of the marching in Liv- :erpool. Almost incredulous I ask, “Can it be, in this twentieth century, when we have been so often assured that re- vivalism is dead, that the greatest com- mercial centre of the greatest commer- cial nation of the world is stirred as never before in its history by the story of Jesus?” “Yes,” comes the answer from many witnesses. Policemen have strangely few calls to take people to the station- houses and are bringing them instead to gospel meetings, wrestling with them in prayer, rejoicing with them in salvation. One hundred and fifty street car conductors are bound to- gether in a praying band. Messenger boys and brokers in the Stock Ex- change talk with each other of God and join together in prayer. The very whistling on the streets is of gospel hymns. Twelve thousand people night after night pack the Tour- nament Hall to hear and “give their testimonies, led by a recently notorious prize fighter and gambler. Nearly 5000 have publicly given their hearts to Christ in that one city and 57.000 in England since our American evangelists, Torrey and Alexander, De- gan their meetings in England. The sound of marching on the top of the mulberry trees has been so loud in Wales that even our daily papers this side of the Atlantic have heard, and found place to record it in their col- umns. In a little Welsh town, eight miles fram the nearest railroad, a Christian Endeavor meeting was being held a few months back. The leader urged upon those present to tell their own spiritual experience, when a four- teen-year-old girl, who had never taken any part before, startled every one by rising with beaming face. “0, I love Jesus with all my heart,” were her only words. The effect was electric. One after another testified to the great- ness of their sins and the infinitely greater greatness of Christ's pardon. The religious contagion spread to other villages in fast widening circles. Evan Roberts, once a ringleader in de- paucnery, had recently given up coal mining to study for the ministry, and came home for a little rest. He was inspired by the changed life of his town to proclaim the gospel with a power unheard of in a theological stu- dent. Scores came to him for advice, whom he led to the cross. His services were asked for here, there and another place. Wherever he went the way had been prepared by faithful effort. No halls were large. enough to accommo- date the crowds, and the meetings were held out of doors in many places. Every Sunday-school, every Christian Endeavor meeting became a revival meeting. The preachers were dis-es- conversation the prevailing topic, sa- loons with no patrons. The revival is distinctively ethical, confirmed enemies of years standing reconciled in the meetings, old and forgotten debts remembered and paid, the baneful effects of the great strike disappearing as master and workman labor together in bringing to the anx- ious bench the unsaved or as they seek together for light and peace. “It is the most remarkable spiritual upheav- al this generation has witnessed. I believe it is destined to leave a perma- nent mark on the history of our coun- try. It seems to be rocking-Welsh life like a great earthquake,” says Lloyd Georgey a member of Parliament. Over 34,000 people are already enrolled as converts, and the movement shows no sign of abatement. “Will this revival marching of God’s army cause Ameri- cans to bestir themselves? Is it not the sign from God that we go out to battle?” Such was the query that came to a minister of the Reformed Church in Schenectady. He rallied the Christian forces of that city. and their first on- slaught was successful beyond what they had faith te expect. That city is full of men and women to-day who have made their peace with God, of those who are asking, “What must I do to be saved?’ and, equally important, of those who have already found an answer to the question, “What can I do for others,” and are doing it. Practically every church in the:place has been stirred as never be-- fore in this generation. From the economically and politi cally distracted State of Colorado I hear the tramp, tramp of marching! not now of deported miners, nor of armed troops quelling riots. It is the tread of God's messengers, their feet shod with the preparation of the Gos- pel of Peace. The level-headed business men of Denver declared over and over a few weeks back that, whatever might be done elsewhere, a revival there was in- conceivable. What did I read in the paper a week ago yesterday? Five hundred business houses closed for two hours thatemployersand employed might attend prayer meetings! The public schools, the municipal buildings sHut because of the revival. The State Legislature, more interested in Jesus Christ than in deciding who should be the Governor, church in a body on a Friday! Al- ready new Christians are numbered by the thousands and hundreds of people who had kept their church letters in their trunks have presented them and renewed their Christian work. Are not such sounds of marching of angel’s footsteps in South Africa, in London, in Liverpool, through the length and breadth of Wales, ip Schenectady, in Denver, in many places, signals that we should bestir ourselves and go down with them to the attack? I can interpret these glo rious facts in no other way. Other places have been freed from the thralldom of indifference to things spiritual. Why should not we? Is there any reason why the work should not commence now, quickening the fro- zen, illumining the darkened, lifting all up to a higher plane of thought, giving juster conceptions of responsi- bility, causing us to act with wiser re. gard for the glory of God and the wel- fare of souls? The only reason lies in ourselves. ‘Who votes against a revival? The Christian who prays not for it, who works not for it. When I see a vacant seat in the prayer meeting or church, when I see a class in Sunday-school left without a teacher, a healthy church member who is not also a work- er, I say: “There is a vote against a revival.” How do you vote? Yes? Then all you need to do is to use the means. The first is self-examination. Am I, as a professed Christian, a bright and shining example of the ben- efits of being a Christian? The second means is prayer. Begin your first conscious moment of the day with a “God, pour out Thy spirit on the white church.” Pray during the day, though your feet may be walking and your eyes are open. A certain place in the dome of the Capitol is called the whispering gal- lery because a word, even though only whispered there, is distinguishable in the farther corner of the rotunda. The various meetings for prayer in. this sanctuary are the whispering galleries where are most quickly heard the sound of the marching in the tops of the mulberry trees. The third means is joy. According to our faith it be done to us. The Holy Spirit never failed to come where He was confidently expected. The simple, uninterrupted joy of Evan Roberts is a striking phase of his spiritual power. So far as equipment is concerned, our preparation for the sound of marching in the tops of.the mulberry trees is complete. Because we have heard it in so many directions and our expectations have become Teallzallons, “shall we go out to battle?” “God has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts cf men be- fore His judgment seat. O be swift, my soul, to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on.” A Sermon For Women. The chief matron of the Chicago po- lice department preachcs a powerful total abstinence sermon when she says: “Of all the ten or twelve th-usand un- fortunate girls and wrecked women arrested every year in Chicago, among those who tell their woes to me, nine- ty-nine out of every hundred attribute their downfall to tke first g.ass of wine or champagne, taken generally with a male companior, always for good fel- lowship’s sake. The first giass is the beginning of the end and here you see what the end is. When a woman once begins to drink, even in = social way, ber future is threatened with either moral weakness or utter ruin.” The Inevitable Christ. One person we cannot avoid—the ine evitable Christ; one dilemma we must face, “What shall 1 do with Jesus which is called Christ?’—Ian Mac- laren. adjourning to attend position and seek other work. The other day on going to work as usual he was suddenly seized with faintness owing to the extreme cold, and would have frozen to death had not some passerby come to his assist- ance, and restored him to conscious- ness. It was then found, to the great surprise of everyone, that he had re- gained his power of speech. The doctors of the district have for- warded a report of this extraordinary case -to the faculty in Paris.—London Chronicle. FITS permanently cured. No fits or nervous- ness after first day’s use of Dr. Kline's Grea NerveRestorer, $2trial bottleand treatise free Dr. R. H. KuiNg, Ltd. 931 Arch St., Phila., Pa. Japan imports wool from many of the European countries. Use Allen’s Foot-Fasa, It is the only cure for Swollen, Smartine, Tired, Aching, Hot. Sweating Feet,Corns and Bunions. Ask for Allen’s Foot-Ease, anowder . to be shaken into the shoez. Cures while vou walk. At all Druggists and Shoe Stores, 25¢. Don’t accept any substitute. Sample sent Free. Address, Allen S. Olmsted, LeRoy, N.Y There are 252,436 miles of ccean cable in operation. A Guaranteed Cure For Piles, Ttehing, Blind, Bleeding or Protrmding Piles. Drugeists will refund money if Pazo Ointment fails to cure in 6 to 14 days. 50e. The exportation of cattle from Mexico to Cuba is increasing. Mrs. Winslow's Boothing Syrup for children teething, soften the gums, reduces inflamma~ tion,allays pain,cures wind colic,25¢c.a bottle. There are 12,655 graduates of the Yale University living. Piso’s Cure for Consumptionis an infantile medicine for coughs and colds.—N. . BauvEL, Ocean Grove, N. J., Feb. 17, 1900. Graham County jail at Clifton, A. T., is the strongest jail in the world. The massed navies of the world in- clude 560 battleships, 471 cruisers, 1,255 gunboats and 1,000 torpedo craft. } Salzer’s Home Builder Corn, So named because 50 acres produced so heavily, that its proceeds built a lovely home. See Salzer’s oatlog, Yielded in Ind. 157 bu., Ohio 160 bu., Tenn. 198 bu., and in Mich. 220 bu. per acre. You can beat this record in 1905. DYE WHAT DO-"YOU THINK OF THESE YIELDS? 120 bu. Beardless Barley per acre. 310 bu. Salzer’s New National Oats per A. 80 bu. Salzer Speltz and Macaroni Wheat. 1,000 bu. Pedigree Potatoes per acre. 14 tons of rich Billiou Dollar Grass Hay. 60,000 lbs. Victoria Rape for sheep—per A. 160,000 lbs. Teosinte, the fodder wonder. 54,000 lbs. Salzer’s Superior Fodder Corn —rich, juicy fodder, per A. Now such yields you can have in 1905, if you will plant my seeds. JUST SEND THIS NOTICE AND 10¢ in stamps to John A. Salzer Seed Co,, La Crosse is., and receive their great cata- log and lots of farm seed samples. [A.C.L.] Leaders Also Punished. In the monastaries of Thibet, which are also the schools, failure in exam- ination, as well as breaches in disci- pline and manners, is punished by flogging, and the tutors are flogged, too, as being responsible for their pu- pils’ deficiencies. YELLOW CRUST ON BABY ‘Would Crack Open and Scab Causing Ter- rible Itching—Cured by Cuticura. “Our baby had a yellow crust on his head which I could not keep away. When I thought I had succeeded in getting his head clear, it would start again by the crown of his head, crack and scale, and cause terrible itching. I then got Cuticura Soap and Ointment, washing the scalp with the soap and then applying the Oint- ment. A few treatments made a com- plete cure. I have advised many mothers to use Cuticura, when 1 have been asked about the same ailment of their babies. Mrs. John Boyce, Pine Brush, N. Y.” Return of Pendant Earrings. Custer setting for earrings such as emeralds surrounded by pearls, or by diamonds, are at present the correct thing among stage women and others who like pronbunced effects. These earrings are made up in the same forms as the jeweled buttons now in vogue in velvet frocks. Pendant earrings in old-fashioned silver and gold with added seitings of gems are being displayed by some ox the oriental shops, while antique shops offer their quaintest in ear- rings. If the rage for costumes of certain periods should continue jew- elers predict that the pendant ear- rings, much bejeweled, may return.— Jewelers’ Circular Weekly. HAD TO GIVE UP. Suffered Agonies From Kidney Disorders Until Cured by Doan’s Kidney Pills. George W. Renoff, of 1953 North Philadelphia, Pa., a ==] man of good rep- ll ing, writes: “Five | utationand stand- years ago I was § suffering so with \\il my back and kid- Ng neys that I often f had to lay off. all The kidney secre- 4 tions were unnat- { ural my legs and af stomach were rENorr. Bwollen, and I had no appetite. When doctors failed to help me I began using Doan’s Kid- ney Pills and improved until my back was strong and my appetite returned. During the four years since I stopped using them I have enjoyed excelient health. The cure was permanent.” (Signed) GEORGE W. RENOFF. A TRIAL FREE — Address Foster- Milburn Co., Buffalo, N. Y. For sale by all dealers. Price 50 cents. Eleventh street, eR i + 2 Ll R.» - a a WEY RRS seco Simson Rr RR Ry A, S Now women’s ning to sooner linings | will mal it is oc interlini ming; pe of anoth medallio tern. ‘While with bl versed : such co lace is d monize ° delphia Wheth inspired aux Ca And, wi of the la it makes And it It has one who ida. 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Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers