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FORGIVENESS. I Bat in the evening cool Of the heat baked city street Musing and watching a little pair Who played on the walk at my feet. A boy, the elder, of strong, rough mold; His sister, a blossom sweet. When just in the midst of their play Came an angry cry and a blow That bruised the cheek of the little maid And caused bright tears to flow And brought from my lips quick, sharp re proof On the lad who had acted so. And he stood by, sullen and hard, While the maid soon dried her tear. He looked at her with an angry eye. She timidly drew near. “Don’t be cross, Johnny” (a little sob). “Let me fordive ’oo, dear!” And the cloud is passed and gone, And again in their play they meet, And the strong, rough boy wears a kinder mien, And brighter the maiden sweet, While a whisper has come from the heart of God To a man, a man on the street. , —English Illustrated Magazine. A MANTRAP CAB “Lost!” ' I was standing in a room of a west end (London) gambling den watching a party of about 15 players engaged in the game of rouge et noir. This night my eye had been particu larly kept upon a short, dark hairel man, evidently a foreigner. He was playing heavily. From his pocket he brought up at first single pieces of gold, then, as he lost—he had terrible luck— he placed down on the table small handfuls of sovereigns. He had just now lost £10 at a swoop. Then he pro duced a banknote and laid it down. “Excuse me, sir,” inquired the bank er, “how much do you shake?” “One hundred pounds.” “Thank you, ” remarked the banker politely. The game went on, and the cards were turned up. With an exclamation the player rose from his seat and pushed his chair back. He had lost once more. As he left the place I followed him. He walked swiftly on for a long time through the now almost deserted streets, for it was nearly 2 o’clock in the morn ing. At length he came to a house in a dismal street off the Tottenham Court road, in one of the top rooms of which there was a dim light burning, opened the door with his key and entered. I had an idea somehow that that ad dress might prove useful to me, and I was standing close to the door noting its number when the door suddenly opened qnd my man again appeared, bareheaded, ghastly pale and breathless. “Help, help!” he gasped. “She has killed herself—she is dying! I have murdered her—murdered her!” I dashed in, and, rushing up the stairs, made my way to that dimly lit room, the man following close at my heels. In it, sitting in a chair beside the fireplace, was a woman, young and pretty, but now with her face convulsed with pain. She seemed nearly uncon scious and was breathing heavily. On the floor beside her was a small, round, empty bottle. Sending him to wake up the people of the house and dispatch some one for a doctor, I had in less than five minutes administered an emetic to the girl in the shape of a strong dose of mustard and water. as see jay mere, apparently dying, the man leaned over her, sobbing, tear ing his hair and talking in Frenoh. “And that crime was all for nothing. The thousand pounds! I have gambled them away. Annette, forgive me. I thought I should make our fortune. But that scoundrel Bepan shall give me money. I will make him. ” What had Despard (that was his name) been up to? The arrival of the doctor, who saw to the girl and assured ns he would answer for her recovery, brought my stay to an end. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I had one eye all through the weary hours on Despard’s door. About 9 o’clock in the morning he came out, and, I follow ing him, made his way to a house off Leicester square. He was inside an hour, and I discovered from one of the servants that he had called upon M. Belpard, another Frenchman. Was Bel pard Bepan? I wondered. Naturally enough, I wanted to discover something about him, and letting M. Despard have a rest I transferred my attentions to his friend. Only a few minutes after Despard had left M. Belpard came out with a bag in his hand. He hailed a cab, was driven to Waterloo station, and took a first class ticket to Southampton. Unknown to him, 1 saw him off and was then driven back to his lodgings. Inquiring for M. Belpard, I said I was M. Bel pard’s particular friend, almost his brother. Alas, it was most unfortunate that I had missed him! I would, how ever, go to his room and write a letter to him. Shown into Belpard’s apartment, you may guess I very quickly examined it when the servant liud left me to write that letter. There was nothing particu lar in the place save a black leather bag which 1 found under the bed, a com mon black bag with a mark on the brass part of the handle, the mark of a fire. An hour later there were keen eyes at Southampton and at London on the lookout for M. Belpard, or, rather, for Bepau, for he it was. For over a week every watch was kept, every search made for that gentle man. All was in vain. M. Belpard had disappeared. Despard was still at his lodgings. I called on him one day. “M. Despard,” I suddenly asked him, “would you like to'earn £100?” “A hundred pounds!” he gasped. “It would be a godsend—a fortune! We are absolutely starving—Annette, my wife, and I.” “Then,” I said, “tell me where Bepau is. ” “You know all then?” ho almost •Jreamed. “I know a great deal,” I answered "If yon mate a clean breast of it, tell me all and help me to run down Repan, £100 is yonrs, and yon shall be held harmless. ” He paused a moment and then went on: “Repan has acted to me like a scoundrel. I’ll tell all.” Thousands of pounds are conveyed daily from the chief London banks to their branch establishments in the sub urbs or the city. A branch bank want ing cash sends a couple of clerks to the head office, the money required is placed in black leather bags, a cab (four wheeled) is hailed, the clerks enter with the treasure, and with the win dows up are driven away to their branch office. This practice has for many years past attracted the attention of gangs of clev er thieves, and thousands of pounds are often lost in transit. Shortly before my interview with Despard a sum of £5,000 in gold and £1,000 in silver had been taken. About 10 o’clock in the morning two clerks from a branch had arrived at one of the biggest central banks, and pro ducing their authority to receive the money the cash had been put into bags, a passing cab hailed, and the clerks and the cash seen safely into it. They did not arrive at the branch office. Inquiry and search were made for them, and at length the two men were found unconscious, seated in a cab, of which the driver had disappeared in a byroad off Hampstead in the north of London. The bags of money had gone, and what had occurred to them the two clerks could not say. They had ridden on with the windows of the cab up, on their way to the branch office. Then they had suddenly lost their senses. On examination it was found that the cab was a “make up” one. It be longed to no owner of cabs in London. It was a mantrap, devised for the per petration of one of the cleverest rob beries of modern times, a robbery in which it seemed we should never dis cover the actors, for weeks passed and no clew to them was found, though £500 was offered privately by the bank for their arrest. It was by that mark on the handle of the black bag in Repau’s room that I was convinced he was one of the thieves. The bag was one of the bank’s, and the mark had been placed upon it for iden tification. “I will tell you all,’’said Despard. “Repau was an acquaintance of mine. I was a mechanic. He came to me one day and said, ‘Despard, have you heard of that new machine in which they kill cats and dogs?’ I hadn’t. ‘They put them into an almost airtight box, ’ he went on, ‘and pump in poisoned air. They are dead in no time. Despard, you are poor. I have a scheme by which we may make a fortune.’ ” In a few words he laid his plot be fore him—to buy a cab, alter it so that when the windows were closed it would be almost airtight, while through a tube passing into the cab air powerfully drugged might be pumped into the vehicle by an arrangement worked by the driver’s foot. Despard set to work. In less than ten days the trap cab was upon the London streets. For three days it hovered around the bank doors. On the fourth it was engaged. xiie driver was, of course, an ac complice, ” went on Despard. “The ap paratus worked wonderfully. Before they dreamed of danger the clerks were rendered insensible by the drugged air and were being driven to Hampstead, Repau and I following. In a quiet spot the cab stopped, Bepau rushed to the door, threw it o^en, grasped the bags, sprang with them into our trap, and with the driver of the cab we all set off at full speed.” “And what became of the money?” I asked. “I had £1,000,” he answered, “the sham cab driver £400. Bepau, like a scoundrel, laid hands on the rest.” “And where is he?” I asked eagerly. Despard mournfully shook his head. “I do not know, ” he replied. He certainly did not. That reward of £500 slipped through my fingers after all, for Bepau, that clever rascal, had shown us so clean a pair of heels that we never came up with him again. I would have given much to have once more met my “very dear friend, almost brother,” M. Belpard, alias Jules Be pau.—London Sun. Trade Secrets. “Quite irrespective of the immense number of workmen who hold trade se crets of their respective employers, few people ever realize what a number of workmen there are who hold small se crets—some of them may consist mere ly of a knack of doing some particular thing in a peculiar way—of their own, and most rigidly guard these,” re marked a well known trades union official. “I could cite many remarkable cases where workmen, on account of their method of doing some one apparently simple thing, have always been at a premium with various masters, and only the other day I was talking to the head of a great decorating firm about such a man. “This firm has often, in decorating great mansions and public buildings, to carry out a certain scheme of color, and that one color has to be uniform throughout a great area of covered space. This firm had one man who, if 100 rooms had to bo painted, could in fallibly mix fresh supplies of color to the exact shade, but during its 40 years of existence the firm never had another workman who could do this. “I could name for you 100 trades where some one man effects his object with a few strokes where others labor long and patiently, but what I want to impress on the public is that workmen possess and guard far more minor trade secrets of their own than the masters ever did or do.”—Pearson’s Weekly. It was 300 years ago—1596—that Sir Walter Raleigh introduced the potato and planted it in the garden of his Irish home at Youghal. ELIOT ON ATHLETICS. Harvard's Distinguished President Outlines His Opinion of Field Sports. At a mass meeting of students held it Cambridge recently President Eliot of Harvard expressed his views and the views of the corporation of the college in regard to the athletio situation. “The corporation desires to see Har vard teams victorious, but victorious in a manner befitting sportsmen and ama teurs,” said President Eliot. Speaking for himself, the president said that he had taken part in the athletio exercises for which he was fitted when in college, and that these exercises had been of ma terial benefit to him during his later life. The value of competitive athletics lay in the victory hardly contested and won under unfavorable circumstances. The crew or the team which start under unfavorable circumstances and gradual ly work their way to the front feel that the part of the race which was distinct ly worth while was the part in which they were fighting inch by inch to over come the lead which their opponents held. ihe discouraging part of these late dual games was the fact that the Har vard team failed in the emergency to do as well as they had done in practice. The lawyer or the doctor is bound to maintain his opinion and to carry out his views in the face of opposition and to prove himself correct when all is against him. So should a team be stron gest on a field where there is not a voice to cheer them on to victory. President Eliot distinctly deprecated the support which is shown in shouting the other fellow off the field, character izing it as ungentlemanly and unsports manlike. He thought, however, that there was a great improvement in this respect over former times. He regarded the coming of Mr. Lehman to Harvard, bringing English ideas of amateur sport, as an epochmaking step in the history of American intercollegiate sport and warmly applauded the broad spirit he represents.—New York Herald. TIMELY TURF TIPS. Altao, 2:09%, died recently. Atlantic King, 2:09%, is to be train ed again. The young brother of Rifle, 2:11%, is a pacer. The brother to Page, 2:09%, has been named Book. Diablo, 2:09%, will race on the Montana circuit. The Terre Haute track is smooth as a silk ribbon this spring. Orrin Hickok will have a strong as sistant in George Bowerman. Coon Point Maid (3), 2:25%, has a filly by Oscar William, 2:12%. Never before have there been such grand fields in the fast pacing classes as this year. Mahlon, 2:13%, is in Bither & Con ley’s stable at the Breeders’ track, Readville, Mass. A full sister to the pacer Online, 2:04, is in training and is said to be very fast at the trotting gait. There are 24 horses entered in the 2:08 stake for pacers at the Fort Wayne grand circuit meeting. * Mart Demarest will be in the thick of the fight this season with Monopole, 2:14%, and Eager, 2:16%. Trainer Sam Robbins, although 84 years old, has a large stable in training at the Detroit grand circuit track. Cricket Hill, 2:19%, is reported as having died within the past month, and Eagle Pass, 2:22%, is also reported dead. John Dickerson has not a green one in his stable this season. Of the 11 head he is handling, 3 have records be low 2:12. Knightmare, 2:12%, has worked the Belmont park (Philadelphia) track in 2:19, which is the fastest mile of the season by a trotter yet reported. Gerald Rex, by Rex Americus and out of the dam of Robert J, a 3-year old pacer owned by the Village farm, is said to be sensationally fast. Cheating at Golf. Golf is the only first class game at which cheating is at all easy, suppos ing, of course, that the player is unac companied by a caddy, and even when accompanied by a caddy it is still quite possible to cheat. If a player, having played five strokes, says to his caddy, “That is four, is it not?” the latter will probably reply, “I think it’s five, sir.” But if the player responds, “Oh, no; I’m sure it’s only four,” the caddy will probably say no more. Possibly at the end of the match he may mention to the other caddy his opinion of the circum stance, but this will not affect the player’s reputation unless he happens to be at his own club. Even then it will take a good long time and many repeti tions of various caddies’ adverse opin ions of his arithmetical powers to throw anything like a serious doubt upon his honor. And yet what club is there which does not possess one or two mem bers of whom it is sotto voce said that if you play with them you will have to look pretty sharply after their score?— St. James Gazet.to. Bicycle Versus Horse. The feat of a Baltimore bicycler, who rode 170 miles in 12 hours and 314 miles in 24 hours, seems to show that the new motor is superior to the horse in more ways than one. It is not only insensible to fatigue, but it is superior in point of both speed and endurance. Probably the best record ever made by a horse was that of the animal ridden by Count Stahrenberg in October, 1882, which covered the distance from Vienna to Berlin, 400 miles, in 71 hours 34 minutes. This was far inferior to the 314 miles made by human muscle, with the aid of the wheel, in 24 hours. The horse can go where the bicycle can not, but, given good roads, he stands no chance with it in a race either against time or distance.—Philadelphia Ledger. DAVIS, THE BOY SPY. J A TENNESSEE HERO’S MEMORY HON ORED AT THE NASHVILLE REUNION. Daring Deed of a Young Confederate Scout. Entered the Federal Lines and Secured Valuable Documents—Captured While Making His Way to Chattanooga. [Copyright, 1S97, by American Press Asso ciation. Book rights reserved.] Hit gathering of the southern peo ple at Nashville gave the ex-Con federates an op portunity to honor the memory oi Sam Davis, the Tennessee boy who was executed ns a spy by the Federals in No vember, 1863. The story of young Davis is one of the most pathetio oi the civil war. The boy’s herolo bear ing at the last mo ment won for him the admiration of enemies. uusu ui uavis is among tne notable pieces of sculpture in the Nashville Parthe non. For some time back contributions have been pouring in to swell a fund for a monument upon the scene of his execution at Pulaski. The interest in Davis, newly awakened, has called out many stories ol his deed, and some of them contradiot pre vious conceptions of the ftSair. An at tempt is made in some quartCTfc to make a martyr of Davis as well as a hero. To this end it is asserted that when taken he was in the full uniform of a Confederate sol dier and therefore not a spy. During the war and long afterward the memory of Davis was honored on both sides of the lines, partly because of the firm bearing of the heroic youth, but ohiefly be cause he refused to save his life by betray ing those who gave him the seoret infor mation regarding affairs in the Federal camps, the possession of which constituted the essence of his crime. He was urged by his executioners to save his own life at the expense of another or others. This temptation he put aside in manly fashion and with words fitting the sublime and awful hour. Keeent contributions to the Davis litera- ' ture have cleared up what remains to many a mystery, the facts of his life preceding the dangerous trip into the enemy’s lines, j which was his undoing. Sam Davis was a Tenneessee boy, reared upon a farm which constituted part of the ' battlefield of Stone’s river. He is described by those who remember him as a hand some, manly youth. He enlisted at the age of 14 as a private in the First Tennes see infantry. After serving with the regi ment for some time and displaying daunt less courage under the most desperate cir cumstances for one so young he was placed in a company of soouts organized by one Captain Coleman. The life of a scout in Tennessee at the time when Davis entered upon that career was one filled with stirring episodes. The ourrent story is that General Bragg, while U!s army was lying at Chattanooga, Bent Davis into middle Tennessee to get infor- | mation regarding the position and strength of the Federal forces. One story is to the effect that Bragg suggested that he go in disguise, but that the boy rejected it and started dressed and armed as a Confeder ate soldier. An ex-Confederate veteran, j who claims to have been in middle Ten- ! nessee at the same time upon a similar er- ; rand, with others of Coleman’s scouts, and to have met Davis before and after the capture of the latter, states positively that Davis, while a prisoner in the Federal j camp, was dressed in a Federal overcoat ‘ which had once been blue, but had been dyed brown. He thinks that he also had on a gray jaoket underneath the coat, but is not cortain as to that. The author of the story that Davis refused to go in dis guise says that he dared his captors to exe cute him, beoause he was taken in the full uniform of a Confederate soldier and therefore not a spy. The current stories of young Davis’ ad ventures up to the time when he was cap tured are plausible and may be accepted as correct. He made his way to Nashville, and by some means seoured a drawing and data relating to the troops, which would have been very valuable if placed in the bands of the Confederate leader at Chatta nooga. It is asserted on the one hand that he obtained the information from a Federal officer whose confidence he gained. This tradition runs that the Federal exaoted a CLAD AS A CONFEDERATE SOLDIER. solemn promise from the boy that ho would never divulge the name of his informer. This last leads one to think that the whole story is pure guesswork. Federal oflieors having such information at com mand were not making confidants of va grant boys like Davis, no matter what the color of their garb, and it goes without say ing that a mo3t solemn promise of secrecy would have been osaoted—not only that, but some guarantee. This account also said that General Bragg had instructed Davis not to reveal the name of his in former, even to save his own life. If this last wero true, it is evident that Bragg sent tho boy to some person, perhaps in the Federal military service, who it was known was ready to betray his country. It is extremely improbable that any offi cer with suificient intelligence to prepare the documents found in the possession of Davis when ho was captured would have prepared them and retained them in the shape in which they wero found upon Davis' person. Ho would have used a cipher, and would not have allowed the messenger intrusted with them to dispose of them in a loose manner. Some of the documents wore in his coat, others in one of his boots, and tho most important of ull in his saddle sent. The most reasonable explanation is that tho uatiers were hastily caught up and dis posed of while he was making an efforts to get away without discovery. While on his way south from Nashville with the doouments in his possession Davis passed through the region oocupied by troops un der command of General G. M. Dodge. He made himself known to Tennesseeans who were zealous Confederates. The last night of his freedom was passed at the house of a man who had two sons in the Confeder ate army. It is said that a negro belong ing to the household carried to General Dodge’s headquarters word that there was a suspicious character secreted on the place i by his master. Tho house was surrounded by Federal troops. Davis attempted to es cape, but ran right into the arms of bis enemies. When taken to Federal headquarters, the hidden documents were discovered, and tho general tried to persuade the boy to tell how he obtained them and to enlighten him as to his position. He told him that he was oharged with being a spy, and that it would help his cause if he would reveal the source of bis information. The scene between the general and the spy captive was oharacteristio for such an occasion. “I took him to my private office, ” said Gen eral Dodge, “and I told him it was a very seri ous charge brought against him; that he was a spy, and from what I found upon his person he had accurate information in regard to ray army, and I must know where he obtained it. I told him he was a young man and did not seem to realize the danger he was in. Up to that time he said nothing, but then he replied in a most respectful and dignified manner: “ ‘General Dodge. I know the danger of my situation, and I amVvilling to take the conse quences. ’ “I asked him then to give the name of the person from whom he got the information; that I knew it must be some one near head quarters who had given him the plans of the Federal army. He replied: ‘ ‘ ‘I know that I will have to die, but I will not tell where I got the information, and there is no power on earth that can make me tell. You are doing your duty as a soldier, and I am doing mine. If I.have to die, 1 do so feel ing that I am doing my duty to God and my oountry.' “ ‘I pleaded with and urged him with all the power I possessed to give me some chance tc save his life, for I discovered that he was a RAN INTO THE ARMS OF HIS ENEMIES, most admirable young fellow, with the highest character and strictest integrity. He then said: ‘It is useless to talk to me. I do not intend to do it. You can court martial me, but I will not betray the trust reposed in me. ’ “He thanked me for the interest I had taken in him, and I sent him back to prison. I im mediately called a court martial to try him.” Various accounts of Davis’ last moments are given. All of them agree that he was several times offered a chance to save his life by betraying his confederate. The day before his death he wrote a letter to his mother, simply stating that he was to be executed by the Federals and that he did not fear to die. There was not a word of his martyrdom, and the mass of the evi dence relating to this period shows that he was one who had accepted the fate accord ed him by the laws of war, and that he bad determined to face it in a worthy man ner. While he stood upon the scaffold a last message arrived from General Dodge, promising him that the sentence of the court martial, that he be banged, should be revoked, providing he would reveal the name of the one who had furnished the documents found upon his person. His answer was in keeping with his bearing all through the ordeal. Said he: "If I had a thousand lives, I would lose them all here before I would betray my friends or the confidence of my informer. ” He then said, “I am ready.” The most remarkable of the stories re cently brought to light, yet one whioh seems the most reasonable of all, is to the effect that Davis’ confederate was a negro boy attached to General Dodge’s headquar ters. This view of it lifts his deed into the very heights of sublimity. It is hardly credible that General Bragg would have sent such a messenger as Davis to treat with an emissary in the Federal camps. He would have been more likely to place the matter in the hands of a trained spy, preferably a woman, or else have had the telltale documents forwarded by some of the civilians, who enjoyed great privileges inside the Federal lines. The whole affair shows that while Davis was very brave, he lacked the cunning of age and experience. At any rate, his stoioal silence was mar velous, and his name will go down to pos terity—not as a Confederate spy, but as an American boy hero. George l. Kilmer. Not Much of a Watch. A young man who had brokon his $10 watch stood before the counter of a watch maker’s shop In Chestnut street a few days ago, and when the watchmaker had tho parts of his watch spread out before him the young man ventured to caution him not to lose any. The veteran horolo gist gazed at him in disdain. “I supposo you think this is a complicated watch,” ho said, “ but it is a little one horse affair, with scarcely 50 parts. Last week I han dled a watch that was a watch. It was a minute repeater, counted ono-flfth seconds and told tho days of the month. So finely adjusted was it that it skipped 31 on all the 30 day months, and once every 4 years it counted 39 days for February. There were very noarly 500 parts to that watch. The owner paid $600 for it, and as it has to be cleaned once a year at a cost of $35 ho pays a tax of $3 a month for the privi lege of carrying it. Now, your little tin nSair only”— But tho young man moved out of the store, remarking that he would call for it on Wednesday.—Philadelphia Kecord. A Martyr to Swelldom. Nonie—That Miss Van Dough noarly killed herself yesterday drinking dye. Laura—What did she mean? Suicide? Nonie—No; sho was trying to turn her blood blue.—Pittsburg Nows. Pyramid Builders Cannibals. Egypt’s pyramid builders were canni bals, according to Mr. Flinders Petrie’s assertion. Ho has found bonos, picked olean and separately wrapped up, in many tombs. HUMPHREYS’ CURES No. 1 Fever, Congestion. No. 2 Worms. No. 3 Infants’ Diseases. No. 4 Diarrhea. No. 7 Coughs & Colds. No. 9 Headache. No. lO Dyspepsia, Indigestion. No. 11 Delayed Periods. No. 1 2 Leuchorrea. No. 13 Croup. No. 14 Skin Diseases. No. 13 Rheumatism. No. 1 9 Catarrh. No. 27 Kidney Diseases. No. 34 Sore Throat. No. 77 Grip & Hay Fever. Dr, Humphreys’ Homeopathic Manual ol Diseases at your Druggists or Mailed Free. Sold by druggists, or sent on receipt ot 2Bcts., BOcts or $1. Humphreys’ Med. Co., Cor. William and John Sts., New York. WEST JERSEY & SEASHORE R. R, On and after July 1, 1897. Trains leave BRIDGETON as follows. For Philadelphia and way station8, 6.45, 8.00, 9.06 a. m., 12.05 noon, 3.00 and 5.00 p. m, On Sunday, 7.15 a. m., and 5.18 p. m. For Salem and Quinton Branches, via Elmer, 9.09 a. m„ 3.00 p. m., week days. For Sea Isle City and Ocean City, 8.00 a. m„ 3.01” p. m., Sundays 7.25 a. m. For Cape May, 8,00 a. m., and 3.00 p. m. Sunday 7.15 a. m. For Atlantic City, 8.00 a. m„ and 3.00 p. m. Sunday 7.15 a. m., 5.18 p. m. For Millville and way stations, 8.00 a. m., 12.06. noon, 3.00 and 5.00 p. m., week-days. Sundays 7.15 a. m., and 5.18 p. m. For Maurice River and points on the Maurice River Branch. 8.00 a. m., and 3.00 p. m., week-days. Sundays, 5.18 p. m. Returning trains leave Philadelphia for Bridge ton, 6.20, 8.20 a. m., 12.00 noon, 3.30, 5.00 and 6.00 p. m. On Sundays, 7.10 a. m., 5.40 p. m. CONNECTING RAILROAD. Trains leave Vineland for Millville, 8.10,9.35,9.54, 10.05 a.m., 1.35, 4.13, 5.11, 5.55, 6.39 and 7.59 pe m. On Sunday S.5S, 9.18, 9.45, a, m., 7.16 p. m. For Cape May, leave Vineland^S.lO, 9.35, and 9.54? a. m., 4.43 and 5.55 p. m. week-days. Sundays, 8.58, 9.18 a. m. 1.34 and 4.53 p. m., week-days. Sundays, 9.30 and 9.58^a. ro Leave Broad street station, Philadelphia, r un rusivv i uruv. Express week-days. 3.20, 4.05, 4.50, 5.15, 6.50, .33, 8.20, 833, 9.50 10.21 (Dinmg Car), 11.00, a. m., 12.00 noon, 12.35 (Limited 1.00 and 4.22 p. m„. Dining Cars), 1.40, 2.30, (Dining Car) 3.20, 3.50, 4.00, 5.00, 5.56. (Dining Car) 6.00, 7.02, 7.43, 10.00 p. m., 12.01 night. Sundays, 3.20, 4.05,4.50,5.15,8.20, S.33P. 9.50, 10.21, (Dining Car) 11.35, a. m., 12.35, 1.05 (Dining Car) 2.30, (Dining Car), 4.00 (Limited 4.22 Dining Car), 5.20, 5.56 (Dining Car), 6.35, 7.02, 7.43,10.00 p. m., 12.01 night. Express for Boston, witnout change, 11.00 a. m. week days, and 7.43 p. m., daily. WASHINGTON AND THE SOUTE. For Baltimore and Washington, 3.50, 7.20, 8.32 10.20, 11.23 a. m., 12.09, (12.31 Lim. Dining Car), 1.12, 3.18, 4.41, (5.19 Congressional Limited, Dining Car), 6.17, 6.56 (Dining Car), 7.31 (Dining Car) p. m., and 12.05 night, week-days. Sundays, 3.50,7.20,9.12, 11.23 a. m., 12.09, 1.12, 4.41, (5.16 Congressional Limited, Dining Car), 6.55 (Dining Car), 7.31, (Dining Car), p. m., and 12.05 night. Bridgeton City Office, No. 54 East Commerce St 0. Tickets sold to all points. Baggage checked from * residence to destination. A. O. DAYTON, Superintendent J. R. Wood, Gen. Pass. Agent. CENTRAL R. R. OF NEW JERSEY. NEW JERSEY SOUTHERN DIVISION. Anthractie Coal used exclusively, insuring cleanlf ness and comfort. Time Table in Effect July 22, 1891 LEAVE BRIDGETON VIA. (ALL RAIL ROUTE. 7.65 a. m., 3,5S p. m.. for New York, Newark, Elizabeth, South Ambov, Red Bank, Toma River, Waretown, Barnegat, Whiting, etc. Leave Bridgeton via Sandy Hook Route at 7.55 a. m. 10.27 a. m., 6.28 p. m., for Bayside and inter mediate stations. FOR PHILADELPHIA ATLANTIC CITY, BAL TIMORE, WASHINGTON AND ALL POINTS SOUTH OR WEST. Leave Bridgeton, 7.55 a. m., 3.68 p. m. Above trains connect for all points on the Atlan tic City Railroad. RETURNING. For Bridgeton, Vineland, intermediate stations etc. Leave New York from foot of Liberty street, via (All Rail Route), 4.30 a. m„ and 1.30 p. m. Leave New York from (All Rail Route) Whitehall street at 1.25 p. m. Leave New York via. Sandy Hook Route from Pier 8, N. R, foot of Rector St., at 4.30 a. m. (1.00 p. m. Leave Philadelphia, Pier 8, Delaware River, 8.00 a. m., and 4.16 p. m. Leave Bayside 7.10 a. m., 3.15 p. m. CUMBERLAND & MAURICE RIVER BRANCH. Trains leave East Bridgeton for Port Norris at 10.26 a. m. and 6.28 p. m. Leave Port Norris for East Bridgeton at 7.00 a. m., and 3.06 p. m. Through tickets to all points at lowest rates may be had on application in advance to the ticket agenl at the station. J.H. OLHAUSEN, H. F BALDWIN, _Gen’l. Supt. Gen’l PasB. Agt. Bridgeton and Millville Traction Co. tflMB TABLE, Schedule in Effect July 1st, 1897. BRIDGETON AND MILLVILLE LINE. Leave Bridgeton,front of Hotel Cumberland at 6.00 T.00, 8.06, 8.66, 10.10. 11.00, a. m., 13.10, 1.00, 3.00, 3.00, 4.00, 6,00, 6.05, 7.00, 8.00, 9.00, 10.00 p. m. On Saturdays only, 10,60 p. m. Leave Millville from Main St Bridge at 6.60, 8.06. 8.66, 10.10,11.00, a. m„ 12.10, 1.00, 2.00, 3.00, 4.00, . 6.00, 6.05, 7.06, 8.00, 9.00, 10.00, 10.60, p. m. On Saturdays only, 11.40 p. m. Cars of the Millville Traction Company leave West Jersey and Seashore Railroad Station from 6.60, a. m„ to 6.00 p. m„ and connect with thi Company’s cars at Spruce Street Junction. The running time between Bridgeton and Millville is 50 minutes and this schedule is so arranged tha» connection can be made with all trains on the West Jersey and Seashore Railroad from Millville to Philadelphia, Vineland, Cape May, Atlantic City, Sea Isle, Ocean City ana other seashore points, and all points on the Maurice River Branch. Baggage and express car leaves Bridgeton 8.06 a. m. and 12.10 p. m.; leaves Millville 10.10 a. m. and 2.00 p. m. daily, except Sunday. For trains on Cumberland ana Maurice River Railroad, cars leave Bridgeton at 7.36 and 10.10 a, m., and 6.06 p. m. A special car will connect with northbound p. m. train. SUNDAY SCHEDULE. Leave Bridgeton, 7.2o, 8.30,10.10 a, m„ 13.00, 3.00, 4.00, 6.00, 7.00, 8.00, 9.00,10.10 p. m. Leave Millville, 8.30, 9.20, 11.00 a. m., 1.00, 5.00, 7.06, 8.00, 9.00, 10.10, 11.00 p. m. L. H. ROBBINSON, Supt. When Youre’ Blind You’ll See \Vhat a mistake you made in not taking car of your eyes when you had them. If they pain you, call on mo: I will examine them without charge and tell yon to correct the trouble witji the least expense and the great > est certainty. C. A. LOIMGSTRETH, Market St.. PHILADELPHIA. A Chance to Make Money! Salary and expenses paid, or Commission il preferred, salesmen wanted everywhere. No experience needed, Address, stating age, W. L. McKAY & C0„ «w Box C, Geneva, N .