The little village of Stevensonville, situated on the northern suburb of our town line, lies in about 38° north latitude, and about 25° west longitude from Greenwich. Stevensonville is named in honor of Mr. Peter Stevenson, the founder of the place, and has the finest building in the town, which has several more. Besides him are Mr. Nathan Williams, a dealer in lumber and saw mill supplies, Mrs. Walls, who keeps a general merchandise store, and several parties of note with whom we had no immediate acquaintance. As Union Street north divides Stevensonville from the river line, there are a few houses to the east of Union Street that may not, it is thought, be included in the village. There are two roads leading from Milton and connecting with the village, both running through it and going either to Ellendale or to Drawbridge. The Milton telephone system stops of the east end of the town. The children of the place have the enjoyment of the Milton public schools. There’s no general mechanical business engaged in by the citizens, they be more of an agricultural mind, and have their truck patches, raising their own vegetables, hogs, horses and other cattle. It is about impossible for the writer do justice in his description of Stevensonville, on account of the reticence of the inhabitants, who have so often been imposed upon by insurance agents, sewing machine agents and others, that they are naturally loth to being questioned. Mr. Stevenson, after whom we have named the pretty place, has had, however, been quite communicative, and always answers any question of information that we may have asked him. We often walk out on Sunday morning to enjoy the exuberance of nature and admire this growing little place, and these walks, in summer and winter, autumn or spring, are enjoyed, as there is always something around the town to be enjoyed besides the society of the inhabitants. Eagle are generally at home on these days, particularly Mr. Stephenson and Mrs. Williams. We should have mentioned that a few families of the colored race are citizens, but they are of the best quality, owning their properties and enjoying life without fuss or feud toward the whites. At no distant day this beautiful suburban village will be incorporated with Milton, doubtless, and when this shall have been done our town will receive a valuable acquisition of property and of population.

The Broadkiln racetrack Company has located its tract on the farm of Jehu Clendaniel, opposite the Glendale farm, the beautiful residence of Mr. John ponder, near town.

Joshua Bailey of Mulberry Street has removed his property further back, and is raising a story on the porch. He will also build a front porch.

Harry Brian, formerly of Centreville, is the efficient agent of the Queen Anne’s Railroad Company who succeeds Josiah Culver at the Milton station.

Miss Amy Palmer, the popular “hello girl” at the Milton exchange, improves its appearance by confinement to her duties. At this season, even down, her cheeks are like unto the roses.

There are many girls now fishing in the Broadkiln and on the waters of the beautiful Lake Fanganzyki. Some of them never caught a sunfish, and perhaps never will. But Jones has. Why don’t Jones helped ease amateur anglers, or angleresses, which is it? Echo answers, “Why!”

There are now three naphtha launches on the Broadkiln. One of them belongs to the “Big Store Steam Yacht Company, another to Captain E. N. Lofland, and the other to Dr. John Wiltbank. There are many other boats of various conditions and sizes.

Mr. Anderson, of the river factory, says he has purchased more tomatoes today that he did the whole of last season, and commenced a week later.

Rev. George Hines, of the M. P. Church of this town is conducting extra meetings at the tabernacle in Lewes, and is assisted by the Rev. Nichols, of Dover.

Elisabeth J. Connell is visiting her son in Philadelphia for the first time in 18 years.

Mary Neil, of Philadelphia, and six children, after a visit of five weeks to her sister, Mrs. Ida Hayes, returned to her home on Thursday, per steamer.

The item that appeared last week in the Milton Times entitled, “D. A. C. Up a Tree,” is partially true, but mostly false. “The facts about Clement Carr” as the monkey follow: At noon one day last week, having finished my dinner, I took a seat on the back porch to enjoy a smoke. The rest of the family were in the dining room at the table. I sat facing the summer kitchen, the door which was open. I was thinking of something, I now know not what, when suddenly I looked toward the door. There was a rag mat on the floor within the door. There was a hole in this mat, and around the hole the texture was of a grayish color. The hole was raised up considerably and something was protruding from a working its mouth. Now, as I have never seen but one cat stand on its hind feet to eat, cat never presented itself to me, but naturally monkey. I seized a broom and went to the dining room and said: “There’s a monkey in the kitchen.” “It’s Jester’s monkey,” said one of the girls, and grabbing hold of me and she called me into the room, shutting the screen door. “Go after Mrs. Jester,” said one, and someone went. Mrs. Jester’s daughter came but got into the dining room, saying “The monkey is at home.” I looked out. My monkey had disappeared, and on investigation I found our Maltese cat curled up on the floor near the mat. This, I suppose, was my monkey. In regard to climbing a tree to get away from the supposed monkey, I think I know too much about the natural history to do that. Mr. Monkey would have me just whenever he wanted me. Mr. Jester’s monkey has a particular penchant for our boy Leroi. He pays him a visit whenever he can get loose, running along on the fence or on the ground. He has bitten Leroi two or three times, but if Leroi sees the monkey in time he don’t get a chance to bite him, for the boy can run faster than the monkey. In regard to “D. A. C.” not loving a joke, the first time I saw Mr. Jester on the street I hallooed: “Is your monkey at home?” “Ha, ha, ha,” said Mr. Chester. Likewise the first time I saw Mrs. Maggie thereafter, said I: “Is your monkey at home?” “The monkey appears to like your house,” said Mrs. Maggie. And this is all about the monkey, alias cat.

The Union Republican Club admitted 29 new members on Friday evening, and all will meet weekly, on Wednesday and Saturday evenings hereafter, until the 1^st of October, when it will meet nightly. The officers are: president, J. .Clarence Lank; first Vice-President, N. H. Williams; second Vice-President, S. J. Harrington; secretary, Harry S. Robinson.

Joseph Morgan was kicked on the nasal organ on Friday and seriously hurt.

Bishop Coleman preached at the P. E. Church on Sunday, both morning and evening.

On Sunday, J. M. Lank of the Trust Company Bank, while walking on the mill dam scared a little bird into the water. The fledgling went under the bridge, flopping its little wings in the water. To redeem an error inadvertently committed, Mr. Lank took off coat, cuffs and hat, got down under the bridge, caught the little bird, put it upon dry land, and let it go. A very commendable act, we think.

Mrs. Carrie Johnson has returned from Philadelphia with a full stock of millinery goods.

Twilight services have been discontinued at both churches. The evening services now begin at 7.30.

George Prettyman died at his house in Cave Neck on Monday of gastritis, aged 61 years, seven months and 18 days. Funeral at M. E. Church in Milton, on Tuesday afternoon, the Rev. Stevens, of Harbeson, officiating, assisted by the Rev. George Hines, and interment in the M. E. Cemetery. S. J. Wilson & Son, funeral directors.

Andrew J. Pettyjohn, a veteran of the Civil War, died at the home of Edward Bailey on Monday, aged 86 years. Funeral services were conducted at his late home on Wednesday by the Rev. L. T. Corkran, and interment made at Sand Hill Cemetery. J. .R. Atkins funeral director.