Two Travelers.
The hour is midnight; hushed and still
The starlight rests on mead and hill;
The world lies bathed in restful sleep,
asve only those who watch and weep,
Save only those who vigil keep,
Ad wait in woe and wait in cheer,
The death knell of the passing year.
Sweet music fills the renlius of space,
When in Jehovah's dwelling place
Two angels, clothed in glory blight,
Fling open wide the gates ot light,
From whonce a traveler,clothed in white
A baby New Year, soft, and lair—
Oomoe floating downward through tlie air.
Alone he speeds toward earthly lands,
When in his path a traveler stands;
The weary body, bent with care,
Its sinful burden scarce can tiear.
With toil the old year mounts the air,
When, struggling through the ether mild,
His glance tails on the heaven-born child.
The gray-lioard's tones are old and weak;
fis wenrtness his tongue doth speak;
" A twelvemonth since I loft the sky,
Sent lorth by Him who reigns on higli.
On earth to live, on earth to dio.
Lot I return to whence I eaico,
Bowed down with toil and sin and shame."
In dread the New Year lifts his eyes
To yon bright region of the skies:
" Not so, oh, Father, oh, not so
May bethetnte to which I go!
In lov (I'll live with men below.
Oh! 1 will bid their souls rejoice,
And beg a welcome with my voice:
' Out ot the darkness, out of night,
Springing to meet the morning light,
Leaving (ho nebulous upper world,
My tiny wings to the air unlurlod,
Out ot the ether and out of spoco,
Trusting myself to your tender giaco,
Begging u welcome sweet and fair,
Love and mercy and gentle care,
I come, tho glad New Year.
What did ye do to him who passed,
Borne away on the wintry blast T
I met a traveler old and worn,
His brow was bent and his robe was torn.
Not to me may the same late tie,
Bright and joyous and pure and tree,
Lo! trom the realms oflight above,
Bearing to mortals a Father's love,
I come, tho glad New Year,"
In joy he comes, the gentle child,
A gift trom heaven, in mercy mild;
He conies to greet the world alone,
The glad sweet New Year, not our own,
A spirit from Jehovah's throne.
Not like tho old year tnay he go,
Bowed down with weight ot mortal woe.
Oh' many a victory may he win
O'er doubt and pain, o'er grief and sin,
That not in vain his tender voice
Shall bid the soula ol men " ltejoice!"
The babe that knows no grid nor fear,
The Father's gift, the glad Now Year!
WHAT SANTA CLAUS SENT.
The week before Christmas was
dreadful dreary. In the first place,
father was away. He had been gone
almost a month, in search of work, and
we were expecting him home every day.
In the next place, the wood was most
gone, and we didn'tdare to keep a very
good fire. And it always seems dreary
in cold, snowy weather, unless you
have a good roaring fire, I think; espe
cially in a dug-out.
It was all on account of tlie grass
hoppers that we had to spend our second
winter in the dug-out. We had been
brave and patient—father said so—the
first winter. But when the grasshop
pers came and ate up all our crop, and
we bad to give up the hope of a house
for that whole year, we almost wished
we were baek in Vermont. Then, in
the third place, and lastly, as the min
ister says, we had nothing left to cat
but pumpkin. And pumpkin—though
H's very nice for pies, when you hav
milk and eggs, and pretty good (at
least, better than nothing,) for sauce,
you haven't got any lietter, and
there is nothingleft bu* the Johnny-cake
—isn't so very good for steady eating.
And there wasn t so very much of it,
wither; and if that should fail before
tatb> t came—
But mother wouldn't be gloomy. " Kat
all you want of it. I dare say father
will come before it's gone," she said.
"It's lucky I dried so much." "-And
lucky the 'hoppers didn't like pump
kins," said my elder brother. Bob, try
ing to imitate her cheerful tones.
" Bake some for supper, mother. I be
lieve I like it best baked."
" Yes, I'll bake it for supper, and you
and Lizzie shall have all the milk to eat
with it. We who are well can do with
out milk. Can't we, children P" and she
fooked round so brave and cheerful at
me and Tom and Johnny that we were
past as wining as could be to give up
mr share of the milk, now that poor
Bens, who had nothing but coarse, dry
hay and water, could only give a pint
twice a day.
80 Bob and Lizzie had all the milk
that night, and we had only a little salt
wa our pumpkin; because Lizzie wasn't
much more than a baby, and Bob was
sick ever since he broke his leg at the
taming. Boh tried to have mother take
mmt. of his milk; hut she wouldn't.
Nobody complained—not a word—we '
shmid have been ashamed to; only I
■rambled some to old Bess, the cow,
n know, when I was pulling down
■ay for her. I suppose Fm not hardly
as brave as the rest of'em. At any rate,
I often grumble to Bess, when things
ate hard; and I told her that time that
thm was no fun at all in living on
Mrmplfn is a miserable dug-out, and
I wasn't going to stand it. At least I
wouldn't, if I had any boots to get away
in. And I tried hard to think what I
eon Id do.
But L didn't see as there was any
thing The neighbors were ago id way ;
off, and as poor as we were. All but old
Mother Cripsey, and she was too cross
sad too stingy to live. No use to go
war her.
when I went in. and was crouch
lag Uown before the fire to get my fln
frr* warni. mother said:
"William, I think somebody ought
fin over and see if Mother Crispey
as* as anything this cold weather. I
fcaow it isn't pleasant for you to go
there, but it would ease my mind to
now she wasn t freezing or starving."
" How can I go, mother, with no
boots but these?" and I held up my
light foot. There was a strip of flannel
lied round it to keep the solo from flnp
back and forth every time I stepped.
iind to cover a big hole that let theßnow
in.
"You might wear Bob's best one,
perhaps. It in better than that. Can't
lie, Bob P"
"Certain," said Bob, without raising
his head or looking at me. * Bob oouldn t
help being gloomy, because lie was sick
and pumpkin didn't agree witli hint;
but lie didn't like to have us take any
notice of it, bo we didn't. I said:
" Well, I s'posed I eould go. The only
thanks I should get would be to have
my head snapped off and get called a
beggar, and asked what I expected to
by coming." But I was tired of
eing cooped i p at home, and should lie
glad of a wa.lc, if I eould only have
something to walk in. So Bob let me
have his lioot. and I started. It was
about half a mile and off the road; so |
had to make my own path, and the snow
was pretty deep. But the sun shone
bright and I rather liked the fun of
breaking a track. I saw a smoke in
Mother Cripsey's chimney as I came
near, so I knew she was all right. You
see it wasn't as if she had boon poor,
for she was the richest one for miles
around, only she was most too stingy to
keep herself alive. She cut her own
wood and carried her own grain to the
mill, and there was nothing to be afraid
of; only, as she would live there all
alone, so far from neighbors, mother
thought she might fall sick, or get hurt,
or something, and nobody find it out till
she suffered. So we had to go over once
in a while. But all we got in return was
hard words and sneers. Mother often
went herself, in pleasant weather. I
guess she was rather pleasanter to her.
At any rate, mother didn't seem to think
tier a bad sort of a woman. But, then,
mother always thinks better of folks
than they deserve.
I broke a path up to the door, and
there she was. An old black hood pulled
down over her eyes, and a nightcap
ruffle, and some kind of yellow-gray
hair sticking out under the edge of it,
round her red, bony face, redder and
bonier than ever. Iler short striped
petticoat came down just below the top
of a pair of men's boots She looked
like a Jezebel, or a witch of Kndor,
more than like a woman. But I went
up to her, and took off my hat, and said
" Good-morning," as polite as you
please. I like to be rather politer than
common to her; it makes her so scorn
ful.
"Well! wlt dc you want o' me?
S'pos'n you . a., out o' breadstuff!
she began.
" I didn't say we were allout ma'am!"
I interrupted her, though that wasn't
polite, I know. I had to speak pretty
loud and fast, or she wouldn't have
stopped to listen to me. " I came be
cause mother was afraid you might need
somebody to cut wood or something,
now that the snow is so deep. She
lookedsharp at me while I said so much;
but'thonshe turned back to the wood
pile and began to chop in away that
made the chips fly, I tell you. I sup
pose that was to show me how easy she
eould cut her wood herself. After slie
had worked that way awhile she turned
round and put down her axe and said :
"Come in, will ycP" So I went in and
sat down by the tiro.
"I s'pose ycr mar thought I had
hands like hern, that's jest tit for knit
tin' and darnin' socks, and wanted n
man to do such dreadful hard work a
euttin' wood enough to keep niy own
fire agoin'. So she sent you along,
hey?"
" It's no use to remember and repeat
all the hard words Mother Cripsey said
to me that day. She was more insulting
than ever, accusing me of every kind of
| a mean motive in coming to inquire for
I her. I had a great mind to tell her
just what I thought of her; and I would
hut for the thought of how mother
would feel if I got downright angry and
sauced a gray-lieaded old woman as, I
do think, she deserved. But I held in
my temper and just denied all her
shameful charges. I swallowed all the
hard words I eould well stand, and then
took rather a hasty leave and started for
home.
On the way, as I climbed over a fence,
I saw something like feathers sticking
out of the snow. I went for it. and
pulled out a quail, that had been buried
and frozen stiff.
"That's for Bob's dinner!" I said,
with joy, and thrust my hand down
into the snow to hunt for mc.ro.
" Here's for Lizzie!" I said, as I pulled
out another. And down I dived again.
" Here's for mother! And here's for
Tom and Johnny!" as three more came j
to the surface in quick succession.
"And here's for me!" I almost screamed,
as a rather anxious search brought up
another. I still dug about in tlie snow,
and pretty soon I found one more. " For
father, surely!" I said.
Then I eould find no more, and sat
down to rub my aching fingers. When
f had got them warm, I pulled a hit of
board from the fence and dug the snow
bank all over thoroughly, and found
lour more.
"A dinner fit for a king! A dinner
fit for a king!" I cried out loud, <.s I
looked at the plump beauties lying be
fore me. I found a bit of string in my
pockets, and tied them all together and
slung them over my shoudler.
Didn't mother's eyes shine when I
came into the house with those quails!
That was " a dinner as was a dinner,"
as Bob said. Of course, we had to go
back to pumpkin again next day. Nev
ertheless, the change was deligutftil and
made the week a good deal less trying.
Christmas day wns Saturday, you
know.
Thursday morning mother said: "It
looks like more snow. I hope father
will get here before it storms again."
She was a little pale that morning—poor
mother!—though she spoke juat as cheer
ful as ever. I knew and Bob knew the
pumpkin wouldn't Inst till Christmas
Kve. But nobody talked about that.
It began to snow at nightfall. I bad
cut up the last stick of wood, and it was
piled up inside the fireplace. We had a
stove in front of the fireplace and the
pipe ran into the mde stone chimney.
It snowed all night, I suppose. When
we wak d in the morning no light came
in at the little square of window. I
knew it wns morning because the clock
struck eight just after I waked. We had ;
got in the way of sleeping very late
mornings to save the fire. I could just
see where the window waa. I called to
mother.
In the day time there was but one
room in lite dug-out; but at night a
curtain was diawn across one end that
divided off a corner that was called
mother's bedroom.
She answered: "Yes, William. I'm
awake."
" We're snowed in, I guess, mother ."
"It looks like it," she said. " Build
the fire and I will come out directly."
I got up and dressed myself. Hob
waked while I was dressing and asked
me what I wns getting up in tlie night
for. I told him it was morning, butwc
were snowed in. So he got up, too.
I went to the door to see if I could
open it. It opened easy enough; but a
bauk of snow was all there was to be
seen. I believe I turned white. I know
I shook as people do with the ague.
Ten sticks of wood for fuel, one-half a
candle for ligtit and atsiut pumpkin
enougli for two meals. These were our
resources; and we were snowed in.
Mother came out. She was paler than
yesterday, but calm and brave as ever.
" Let's have a tire, boys, quickly, and
we will have breakfast soon. I feel sure
father will eotuc to-day."
She lighted our one piece of candle.
I couldn t speak. There was a great
lump in my throat. My shaking hands
would hardly lay the sticks for the fire.
Mother put the pumpkins on to warm.
It was all cooked now. We had only to
warm it up. Then she brought out a
little handful of cloves, that she said
she had found hidden away in one of her
trunks. She put them on the table in a
Silt-dish. " May lie somebody will like
them for a relish," said she, smiling. I
wished she wouldn't smile. After
breakfast she read the Bible rather
longer than usual. After prayers Tom
and I washed the dishes, as we often
did, while she put the room in order.
When all was done, she put out the
! light. " I can knit as well in the dark,"
' she said; "and I am going to tell you a
! story, so you will not care." She told
| us a great many stories that day.
| I didn't see why I couldn't lie as
brave as Tom. He told jokes and rid
dles, and helped ever so much to keep
| the little ones amused. But my heart
| was like a lump of lead, ami 1 couldn't
I seem to do or say a thing to keep the
! rest brightened up or cheer poor mother.
| Yet Tom knew how bod things were,
iust as well as I did. Bob kept his face
bidden a good deal of the time when
there was light; but when he did show
i it lie looked as if the last day was come.
; But then Bob was sii k, a: d I wasn't,
j l'oor Bess lowed for her food anil
; water. We were sorry for her; but
couldn't help her. We lighted the candle
again at dinner. We didn't have very
good appetites. There was enough
j pumpkin left. o Lizzie had her supper.
She went to sleep early, in my lap; it
was so still. The stillness wns almost
as bad as the darkness
And now it was Christmas eve. But
1 nobody said anything about hanging up
! stockings. Tile little ones bad not been
reminded that to-night was the time for
that; an/, we older ones were thinking
too much about tire and food and to
morrow, even to speak of it.
"Christmas will brintr father, I am
sure," said mother, after Lizzie wns
laid in her lied. " And now hadn't my
little Johnny l>ettcr be undressed?
Morning will seem to come sooner if lie
huts bis eyes early."
"Me wants my supper first," said
Johnnie.
"The pumpkin is all gone. But, if
Johnnie is brave and patient, 1 think
(Jod will send him some breakfast."
" Does He know the pumpkin is all
fjone?" said Johnnie, with a quivering
ip- „
"\<-s. I told Him. He will take
care that we have some breakfast. I
asked Him to," said mother, cheerfully
and confidently. I wondered if she
n-ally felt so sure. I didn't.
"But the snow is al: up over the
door, so nolaaiy can't get in," Johnnie
j said.
"God can find a man who can shovel
j away the snow. I gu<-*s He will send
papa home to do it," mother said.
"I'm awful hungry!" said Johnnie,
mournfully. And then. in a quick,
glad tone: "Oh! I shouldn't wonder if
He sent some bread! Ma. did you ask
for pumpkin or for bread?"
" r'or bread, dear. I think it will be
bread."
"Oh! then I'll go to bed quick."
He submitted to bo undressed, and
when hi* head was on the pillow lie
squeezed Ills eyelids closed together, de
termined to sleep, that morning might
conic sooner. He bad to speak once
more. "ButtT on it! Hid you ask for
butter on it. ma?"
"I r.-ked for some meat. A piece ol
mcnt woit'd bo good witli bread.
Wouldn't it, Johnnie?"
"Yes; but I'd ha' asked for buttor.
too." said Johnnie, and suicided again.
"We hnd better go to lied before
the room gets cold," mother said, as
we sat crouching around the few glow
ing coals that the last stick of wood hnd
! left.
! " Mother, how can you bo so brave
and quiet?" said Bob. bitterly, with a
sound that was almost like a sob.
"Ifuuli, dear! Be brave and quiet
yourself a little longer. God hasn't for
gotten us. Are you so very hungry?"
"It isn't that. I've often iieen hun
grier when I've been off in the woodson 1
a tramp. I don't seem to feel any ap
petite; but to-morrow—"
"' Take no thought for the morrow.'i
Let us, at least, try to obey that precept
for this one night. Go to your la d with .
a qniet heart, as I shall go to mine. I
There is a glad Christmas in store for i
us yet." So we went to bed—if not '
! with quiet hearts, at least with a glim
mer of hope, awakened by mother's
I strong faith. But we did not sleep.
The eloek struck right. There was a
sound on the roof. We started up to
i listen. Yes, surely there was some one
stepping above our heads. " It's
j father!" was our glad cry. We were
outol bed in an instant, and beside the
old chimney, which was the only outlet
for our voices.
"Father! Father! Are you there?"
we called. But do voice onswerrd. In
stead there WM a , queer sound, aj of
something rubbing and shuffling down
the chimney.
" Santa Claus, for certain!" said Tom.
Well, it seemed as if it was. First
there came a long, narrow hag, covered
with Boot and sane*. It fell at our feet:
but before we could pick it up a plump
round package followed it and bounced
into the middle of the floor. A sec
ond, like it, rolled along after, undo
ing Itaelf and showing a loaf of brown
bread. Then came a shape leas package,
with a bone sticking out, which Bob
caught at, exclaiming, joytullv: " Dried
lieef. Hurrah!"
Wc kept calling, " Father! Why don't
you speak, father'" at intervals; bill
got no answer. But we were sure St
wns he, and with joyous laughter wel
comed the bundles a* they came down
the chimney. A few potatoes, a lew
Limine, a little aoft'oican package of tea,
i and then the shower of good things was
over.
But there wna no voice yet. and the
sound of retiring footitteps left us look-
I Ing in each other's face with amazement.
"It Isn't father after all!" tnid
mother, with a great deal of disppolnt
| m'-nl in her tones. "He would never
i have gone off so, without spenking a
: word."
I We fell to eating. wßh a keer gflbb,
Slices of brown broad and dried beef
disappeared rapidly. Johllßit WIUI,
awakened to have liin share; and we'
would have waked Lizzie, too, but
niotlier said " No."
"Too bad. The last spark of fire is
out, or you would have a cup of tea,
Mara lie. I said.
"Nevermind! This is an earnest of
better thing:*. We shall have wood to
morrow. Father will come. You will
see. How thankful I am for this sun
ply. And who could have brought it?"
She said these last words over again
and again, as did we all. I do think I,
for one, wns really thankful to God that
night.
At last we got to bed again —sooner
than we should, I suppose; but the
cold drove us there. Hut sleep did not
come to me soon. Wonder and joy kept
me awake. Was there really a Santa
Claus, then? I, a boy fourteen years
old, could hardly help believing it. We
bad not a neighbor, that I eould think
of, who was rieli enough to give us such
a bountiful Christmas present.
Father came early next day, bringing
money that lie had earned,%nl more—a
letter from grandma, enclosing a cheek
for a hundred dollars. She said it was
her Christmas present, and another like
it should come in the spring, to help
build that house. She had luui a wind,
fall, and we should enjoy our share of
it at once. It was a joyful Christmas.
Mother was right, as she generallv is.
Our crops were good this year, and our
Christmas of the following year did not
find us in a dug-out.
Mother found out afterward that it
was really Mother Cropsoy herself, and
nobody else, that put those things down
our chimney Christmas eve. She never
would have done such a thing for any
body but mother, though, 1 am sure.
She thinks there is nolw>dy like our
mother. And I guess I think so, too.
A Woman's Life Work.
Miss Nancy N. Clough died in En
field. N. 11., recently, aged eighty years
and three? months. The story of the
life of this woman, says a writer in the
Boston Journal, seems more like ro
| mance than reality. It may well be
I called romance in real life. She was
j the oldest of a family of ten children,
five of whom are still living. While
; she was vet young her father's farm in
!En field became heavily encumbered,
and was likely to l>e sold under the
| hammer; his health, too, was broken
I down, and the future of that family np-
I neared well-nigh hopeless. Nancy,
I foreseeing the disastrous consequences
j threatening the future, resolved to save
i the dear home, and went to work with
| heroic energy to carry the resolution
I into eff> rt. She enlisted her brother
! Tlieopliilus, next younger than herself,
| in the lnudabie enterprise, who cordi
; ally seconded her efforts and gave his
efficient aid.
learning of the factories that find
j just started in Lowell, Mass., she left
';oin e, and went to that city to find r
muneraliv work. S]ie entered one of
the factories as an humble operative,
but wrought with such energy and
skill a* to accomplish more work than
1 two ordinary operatives, receiving
more than double pay. Every leisure
moment outside of the mills was also
faithfully employed to the same end. As
1 her younger sisters and brothers came
* to a suitable age she summoned their
icady help, while she was the ruling:
j directing genius and moviug power in
| the undertaking.
The result was, that, after some years
I of persistent efforts, the mortgage was
i iifted from the farm, and the old home
was free from every claim that others
| held upon it. Then she derided that
1 the house must be nbuilt and refur
nished. and the grounds beautified, and
when all was done, the brave girl went
back to the borne of her childhood,
with three sisters and one brother, to
pass lic remainder of their days.
The Indians ns Farmers.
In bis annual report to the secretary
of the interior. Commissioner Hoyt
stab's that during the past year there has
been among many trilies a marked nd
vanee toward civilization. Tliesubstan
tial result* of Indian form labor during
the year IH79are given as follows:
By Indians, exclusive of the five civi
lized tribes of the Indian Territory:
Nutnlier seres broken 27.131
Numlwtr n< res cnltivnled 157,0.56
Number bushels when! raised 328.637
Number bushels corn raiml 643 286
Nutnlier bushels oels ami Imrley nuse.l 189,064
.Nutnlier bushels vegetables raised.. . 390,698
Tons hay eut . 48,333
By the five civilized tribes:
Number seres cultivated. 273,000
Itushels wheat raise.l 666,400
Bushels corn raised 2,016,000
Bushels oals snd barley raised 200 009
liushela vegetable* raise.! 336,700 ,
Tons hay cul 176 600 ,
The commissioner says that the only
sure way to make Indians advance in
civilization, under the best conditions
to promote their welfare, is to give < ach
head of a family one hundred and sixty i
acres of land, and to each unmarried
adult eighty acres, and to issue patents
for the same, making the allotments
inalienable snd free from taxation for
twenty-five years; also that from all ex
cept the five rivilized tribes there has
lreen a call for such allotment of land,
and a largely increased desire for houses,
agricultural implements, wagons, civi
lized dress, etc., etc.
Trusting a Hoy.
(hiring the session ol the late Episco
pal convention in Boston, the bishop of
f-ouisiana, in crossing the commons,
met a boy whose face he fancied, and
calling to liim, asked him if he had any
thing to do just then, to which lie said
no. " Are you a good hoy?" The little
fellow scratched nis head and replied:
"I am not a very good boy. I cuss a
little sometimes." That candid answer
inspired the bishop with confidence, and
he then said, after giving his name and
address: " I want you to go to a certain
place and get a bundle for me and bring
it to my liotel. There will be a charge
of 98; here is the money to pay it, and
half a dollar which you will keep tor
doing the errand." On his return to
the hotel, the bishop's friends laughed
at him for his credulity, telling him
that lie would never see the boy or the
bundle or the money again; but in half
an hour the young chap returned,
bringing the bundle and a receipted bill
for $8 60, the bishop having made a
slight mistake as to the amount that
was due. " How did you manage to
pav the extra half dollar?" he inauired.
" I took the money you gave me lor the
job. I knew that you would make it
all right." And 'all right" it was
made, and I have n,, doubt that the con
fidence that was reposed in that boy will
do him good as long as he lircz. —Buhop
Clark.
Effects of Opium Smoking.
The British consul at Chefoo. In re
porting on the opium trade, give# the
following account of nn experiment in
opium-smoking tried by hiuiHeif.
During my residence in China 1 have
spent much time in visiting the opium
shops of the large towns and small vil
lages in many parts of the empire, and in
conversation with the customers. J was
surprised at the large numbers who told
me that their first motive for smoking
was *to check the spitting of blood, to
which they had become subject. In the
end of ladng attacked with a severe
fever, which left me so weak that I gave
up hopes of recovery, I felt justified in
trying upon myself the experiment of
immoderate opium-smoking. The fol
lowing were the results: I. Tempta
tion to excess greater than in the case of
alcohol. 2. Excessive stimulation of
the memory. 3. Utter indifference to
cares and anxieties. 4. I only had one
opium vision, and that was after ten
hours'hard smoking without intermis
sion. The vision was of a pleasurable
kind; the curtains of my couch ex
tended,and I fancied I saw "The Temp
est," acted by real Ark Is and l'rosperos.
j 5. A few months'exeessivesmoking pro
! duced the craving, or opiomania. 0. I
; suddenly gave up the habit, and Buffered
I severe physical pain for three days, ami
I discomfort recurring at irregular pcri
: ods for over two years. The pain and
discomfort were not accotnoanicd by
| mental depression. Some of these effects
, may have been due to individual idio
jsyncrasies; but, from tlie study of my
; own and other cases I am inclined to
believe: i. That the temptation to ex
j cess is greater in the case of opium than
in that of alcohol. Hut here it must lie
i remarked that opium-smok ng is, neces
sarily, a solitary enjoyment, and drink
ing asocial one. The smoker, too, has
to go deliberately to work ; lie lias to
lie down, light Ins opium-lamp, frizzle
the opium, place the lump of Opium
| outside his pipe carefully so that the pipe
may draw, fix the lamp in a position so
j that he can keep his pipe just over the
llame of the lauip all the time ho is
smoking; in fact, go through long and
tedious processes. A man cannot,
therefore,- IK? surprised into an excess of
opium as lie can into an excess of alco
i hoi. Lastly, opium is not adulterated,
and no artificial craving is created by
poison, such as potato spirt, strychnine,
and sulphuric acid, with which the
| drink of our poor is drugged. 2. It is
possible that the long-continued course
, ol excessive opium-smoking might in
pair the intellectual faculties and blunt
the moral sensibilities. 3. It is proba
ble that cxc< ssive smoking impairs fer
tility, but the numerous cases I have
known of immoderate smokers having
large families doe# not conlirin this view.
•I. It is undeniable that many families
are reduced from comfort to penury by
their bread-winners spending an undue
portion of their earnings in opium: aiso,
i that in a few isolated eases, poor smok
ers resort to theft to enable them to in
dulge in the pleasure. But the same
may be said of any other habit of seif
i indulgence. 5. 'I hat many individuals
suffer in health from exc-ess is Incontro
i vertible, but the number of these is not
|so great as is imagined. The denouncers
. of tiie drug are apt to tie under the influ
ence of.a single idea or, to speak in vul
| gar parlance, get "opium on the brain."
and whenever they sec a person unwell
who is an opium-smoker, at once at
tribute hi# illness to his opimn-smoking,
j post > tor, ergo premier hoc. On tlic other
1 hand, it is equally incontrovertible that
' thousands of hard-working people are
! indebted to opium-smoking for the con
tinuance of lives agreeable to themselves
j and useful to society. . That the physi
cal difficulty in (m aking off the habit
jis greater than in dipsomania. The ar
gument that those who use n commodity
as a medicine and harmless luxury
j should not be deprived of it because
weaker brethren abuse it is stronger in
; the ease of opium than in that of alcohol,
i No one i# maddened by smoking oniuni
j to crimes of violence, nor does the habit
of smoking opium increase the criminal
returns or swell the number of prison
inmates.
Do It Well.
I Whatever you do, do it well. A job
slighted, because it is apparently unim
portant, leads to habituai negligence,
that men degenerate insensibly in their
workmen
J " That is a good rough job, said an old
I man in our hearing, recently, and he
! meant that it was a piece of work not
elegant in itself, but strongly made and
j well put together.
Training the hand and eye to do work
well leads individuals to form correct
habits in other respects, and a good
workman is, in most rnse#. a good citi
zen. For one need hope to rise above
i Ids present situation who suffers small
things to pass by unimproved, or who
neglects, speaking, to
pick up a cent becnusc it is not a dollar.
Rome of the wisest isw-makcrs, the
best statesmen, the most gifted artists,
the most merciful judges.tlie most ingen
ious mechanics, rose from the great
mass.
A rival of a certain lawyer sought to
humilate him puhiicly by saying: "You
blacked my father's boots once. "Yes,"
replied the lawyer unabashed, " and I
did it we!!." And because of his doing
even mean tilings well, he row to
greater.
Take heart, all who toil! all youths in
humble situations, a)] in adverse cir
cumstance, and those who labor unap
preciated. If it be put to drive the
plow, strive to do it well; If it be but
to wax threads, wax it well; if only to
cut bolts, make good ones; or to blow
the bellows, keep the iron hot. ft is
attention to business that lifts the feet
nigher up on the ladder.
Rays the good book; " Reest thou a
man diligent in his business, he shall
stand before kings; he shall not stand
before mean men."
A Remedy that was not Adopted.
" Can you cure my eyes?" said a man
to I)r. Brown.
"Yes," said the doctor, "if you
follow my prescription."
"Oh, certainly, doctor,''said the pa
tient; "I wil do anything to have niy
eyes cured. Wlmt is your remedy,
doctor?"
" You must steal a horse," said the
doctor, verv solierly.
"Rleal a horse, doctor!" said the pa
tient in amaze ucnl. "Ilow will that
cure my eyes?"
" Y'ou will he sent toßtate prison for
live years, where you could not get
whiskey, and during your incarceration
your eyes would get well," said the
doctor.
The patient looked somewhat incredn
loua. hut lie did not adopt the doctor's
remedy.,
A Carton* employment.
The person who, alone in N< w v ,
makes a specialty of attending t/I ,T k
linger nails, lives j n handsome -maro
on Twenty-third street, near ," 7-*
theatre, there a Hun repoV find
her, in a large and richly furnishr-d p, r
lor. but a small portion of which u{\L
a green silken screen and near* wi
dow, was set f „ r the p r;u . ti ,.
lier profession. Behind that screen , 1
a small table were displayed
gleaming scissors of odd shape* hriri.t
ivory-handled knives and file*, hoxe*,
cosmetics and polishing powders, l*./
th-s of perfume, and an infinity of'other
tools and materials for the trcatrner
upon correct principles of art, of th< "
ger nails. The manicure herself,
on a low stool in the window, W*A •
large, fine-looking woman, v< ry tastr
fuliy dressed, apt of tongue and d ft 't
hand while plying her novel craft. J
fore her stood a luxuri _>us arm-chair for
the person to be operated upon.
"Yes." laid she, looking up plea*,
antly, "I was the first, and I h< !i< v <
still the only, manicure in this country
It is wonderful to rnc that there .ip not
more here to practeie the art j n
France manicures ar as common as bar
hers in New York, and there should be
enough demand for tli'-ir acrvi<7
bring them into equal request here. \,
a mark of refinement, of good br<
i careful keeping and beautifying of '•>*;
! finger nails is as essential as the can- 0 f
! the teeth. Perhaps it is even more
! for taking care or the t<-eth is in largi
part a matter of selfish interest toth
I owner ol the teeth, but in caring for
i the finger nails we do so out of cowbd.
' era'.ion for decency, love of th<- Is-auti
ful, and regard for the f. eling* <,f thou
; witii whom we ar< brought in contact
; Nails, you kow, will not ache, , v <-n
i though they may IK? in permanent
. mourning, bitten as ragged a* tL< h!gi
ft fa saw, and fringed with fravd euti
| cle and liang nails. I'crhap* tL:.t i- why
so many people neglect th'in. itut I
, cannot complain. When I started j tl
business, two years ago, I waited gome
; flays IK* fore my first < ustomer e arm —a
! lady, wlio paid me a dollar for nutting
her nails in order— and now I Lave hj
much as I can attend to, as many a
twelve, fourteen, and f\n sixtctn i
day, and as each cm takes an av< r .-<• of
I three-quarter# ftfan hour, mv hand?-an
: kept prettv busy all day long A grea
numlier of my customers are regular.
That is, instead of coming in for an o
! caskmal fixing up of their nail*, a? &
j man goes into a strange hsrlsr shop for
a sliave, they take regular course* of
j treatment, for three month-at atim<.
i coming to mo once a wis k
" Those wlio thus artistically beautify
| tlieir digit* AN <>f the very IK it Ml <k
society. They arc ladies of tie LiyL*
: families, gentlemen of the most aristo
cratic clul>#, bankers, broker-, .n . nur
chants. I know of but on< po.itifian
among tliem.
" My principal customer* r.r< adi'-s cf
wealth and refinement. All tie m<m
■ biT# of four of the wealthiest funilii - of
New York, from tlie children u; to the
i grandparents, come to me once a week.
i One of those families lias Is- n \f ry tin
-1 fortunate in its nails. 1 have hadtn
! euro them of almost every blemish, do
feet and bad habit possihif. hut at last,
I am iiarpy to say. iiave got th m in
beautiful condition."
" Wliat do you mean by b!< n.isl. *
defects and bad habit*
"Blemishes include discolor tions,
white spots and opacity: brittle and
bad-growing nails arc defective, and
1 among the many had habit- ar punch
ing at the matrix at the ba*c of the nail
until it is rough and raised in an un
sightly and often painful manner, as
tlint practice is a prolific cause of bans
nails; bitintr the naiis. which causa
j them to have rough edge* and ugly
shape; tearing and clipping the tin k
] ened cuticle at the sideg of tie na;i.
i with sharp insti -anient# which should
I never be used for that pun AH
I these things I cure; and no matter bow
j unsightly the nails may be. I > ui punr
! an tee giving them, in a reasonable time,
beauty of form nnd color. After they
are once put in good condition it is not
difficult to keep tlicm o Tic serve ■*
of the manicure are not neeesaary
ottener than on e a w•<* k. although some
ladies come to me regularly twit*
every week. Asa rule, those who arc
most can ful of their nail* and visit m?
off en o#t are the very ones wlio are most
likely to unblusliingly rob nic of the
credit of my work Vy claiming it for
tliemselves. ' What lieautiful naiis you
liave! Y'ou must have been to the
manicure,' snys one lady to another,
wlio lias just left my house. 'Oh, dear,
not I have no occasion to go to UK
manicure. My nails grow natura ly
that way,' replies the dear. ard<*
creature. But Iha*e my consolation in
my aerviee of the beautiful—and my
dollar and a half. It is not true, you
know, that nails grow beautiful and per
fect naturally. At least. I have never
seen any that did. Nature is not to or
trusted implicitly tor the fashioning of
the human form divine as you may
have suspected if you liave ever contem
plated a lot of sea bathers."
What Hi Mistook for a Dog.
A voting man wlio had recently ar
rived from the Flast was engagi-d at the
United Rtates fish-hatching establish
ment on McCloud river. One day lart
week he took a row boat and pulled up
the river a short distance, crossed to the
opposite side, and prepared to go a*horr
Just as he was stepping out of the bosU
the young man looked up on the bank
over his head, and saw what lie thought
was a large mastiff do*. "Rome ol
those Indians have stolen him.
thought to himself, "and I wio take
him home with me." Climbing the
trail with difficulty, he was soon fsce to
face with his mastiff. He whistled; ana
snapped his thumb and fingers, ooax
ingfy, but instead of taking his advance*
kindly, the animal uttered a low growl,
and oscillating his tail from side to snie.
prepared to go for that young m*"-
The latter, now terribly alarmed, started
for his boat, tumbling headlong down
the hill, and just managed to get into his
craft and push it into the stream a# an
immense speciment of the California lion
landed upon the shore. Of course, trie
lion would not nke tfl the wst.r. so ihe
young man was safe; but he says ne
shall oe car fill how he makes overtures
to strange dogs in a strange country
after this, lie was entirely unarnie-l at
the time, and after he got Into his boat
heard the growls of another in the busli,
showing that evidently there was a po
of the " creatures."— IbriMmi Orrpomoa-
Courtship, says an exchange, is not
run by the rule of three. But nffr
courtship It la run by ten; the woman
one, the man naught.— Omtgo Timet.