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r1 1 WE K L 'DT I N ,' 7,,t W 1 Nt O Q S. C ., A P R IL 21 1 88 E T BE D 1 4
A Bad Spell. t
She went about with look benign,
And hung her clothes upon the lign,
Then called her husband in to digu
He spoke to her in accents rough.
He disparaged the garden stough
He was a man of manners grough.
He said she knew he lated lamb
The dinner was the merest shamb;
Why didn't she prepare some hamb?
She looked at him and muttered pughI
And asked, "What can a woman dugh
To please a cranky man 'like yugh?"
Was she a woman to sit dumb
While he came in with aspect glumb?
She would not stand it, not by suwnb.
His judgment of good food she doubted,
His grounds of oriticiam she scoubted- i
Half mad with rage these words abe
Then with a look of pain and worry, t
The wife arose and in great florry,
Went to'her mother's in a horry.
MY FAIR UNKNOWN.
The quaint, old-fashioned little town
of Tpeal is one of t he quaintest places
on the Kentish coast. 't'rue, it pos
sesses a tiny stone jetty, at the extrem
ity of which a beacon flashes through
the night, but no gay promenaders pace
its asphalted parade, no cockney chil
dren disport themselves upon its beaeh,
and the burnt-cork minstrel is there a
genius almost unknown.
Here I found myself three summers
ago whilst on a sketching tour. I had
"done" the town, washed in the sea
in every mood, smeared, sketched,
-daubed, and spattered until there was
not a stick or stone in the place that
had not found its way into my sketch
On the last day of my stay I saun
tered down to the beach- with the lazy
gait of a man who has done his duty,
my camp-stool under my arm, pny box
of tools in my hand-not that I set out
with any distinct purpose of using the
same, for I had exhausted the sea and
my own capacity, but simply for the
sake of couanionship. I confess I
was growing a trifle lonesome. Nature
sometimes bored me.
As I stiolled along, reflecting with
satisfaction that I would leave the
field with a clear conscience and empty a
paint-tubes, a rook lying in a peculiar
position struck my fancy, and I stopped
to sketch It.
Iunfaldet.myUWhqtiwp-siol. ndi t
set -, hobithe hard,level sand. I
The tide was low, but the stool stood I
unevenly, and, glancing down to ascer- i
tain the cause, I ;saw that one leg i
tilted down into a foot-print; and, I
lookiDg.ahe d, I noticed that the foot
prints wbit on. and on, zigzag, along a
the beach, disappearing in the distance a
-narrow, dainty footprints-a woman's
Feelings akin to those experienced a
by Robinson Crusoe rushed over me as i
I gazed. Remember that I had been
for several weeks in this out-of-the-way
place without another human soul with I
whom. to commune, except my land- a
lady, and our communings were mostly a
of a sordid nature; and here were deli- a
cate prints of a personality that might i
lead to the most delightful conse
I could sketch no more. Gathering
up my baggage,. I preparsd, to. follow I
I am sorpewhat of a philosophic turn 1
of mind, and as I walked along I lapsed
into a train of thought worthy the I
great Darwin himself.
In the first place, I measured with I
my eye the length of the slender foot- a
prints, and calculating by the proper
proportions that the foot should be as
long as the distance from the wrist to
the elbow, I concluded, about five feet
five-a good height for a woman.
'That it was a woman I knew by the' I
*frlnge-like marks where here and
there the long dress blade Its delicate I
trail. Then she milst be slender for
such a narrow foot to support her
weight; besides, the footmarks were I
lightly pressed into the sand. They
were rather far apart. She took long I
steps for a woman, and nothing gives
more grace to a walk, to my mind. I
detest theHe tottering, tripping women.
With the astuteness of a detect-ive 1 1
noticed that the distance betweerd each I
two of the points was of equal length;<
that Indicated alertness and the poisei
*of elastic strengkth, for a dreamy woman .i
would have walked all over the beach,
and a weak woman would have taken
All along beside the footprints were
other marks, which, after close Inspec
tion, I knew to be punctured by the
end of a parasol. Another good feat
ure, for it showed that the unknown
female whom I was tracking was not
over-careful of her complexion, .and
argued a commendable absence of
vanity, and a corresponding presence
of good sense, Blut, alas! the imprint
of the heel was exceedingly small, and
more sharply cut into the sand than
the toe, making the unmistakable Imn
pression of the Firench heel.' So my
fair unknown wyas a damsel of civiiz.
tion--a slave to fashion, possibly.
As I pursued the tiall round the
point att Walmer Cstle It turned in to
the white glistening beach above high
water mark, and there I disdbvered
impressions In tile toft. sand as if.
chiselled in stone; the square mould of
a b,ook, small-a novel; there were the
lines of a garmnent, i.nd the lonig,
straight ime where the umbrella or
p)araEOl had lain, each neat fold of Bilk
reproduced perfectly, and the marks at
the handle where fingers had clutched
it-Ion g, fine marks-a delicate hand.
From this I knew she had stopped to
put down her book and parasol-she
did not throw tl.em down, therefore
she must be gentle .-and then she must
have stood there and gazed out at the
sea for a long timo.
hnw did I knnw ths?' wrom thae
wo footprints, side by side, pohting
eaward, and bum% deep in the band.
the must be thoughtful, a little sad
rhioh always follows; and here she had
Att a bunch of wild flowers, which she
aust have plucked in the fields on her
ray. Tq wanded in fields, to pick
lowers as you go .are these not evi- e
,enies of refinement and a beauty-by- t
I could not help breathing a hope
hat she was neither-old nor plain. I
ok up the simple bouquet; it was
imp, but showed every indication of
eing recently plucked. She could not U
e far away.
In my enthusiasm I darted forward,
nd started back as if I had been shot.
chore, written on the sand in clear,
old letters, was a name-"Constance."
So now, on circumstantial evidence# t
had betore me a picture of a being
hat I had never seen, and of whose
xistence I had not known until this
lay. I could almost imagine) that
'Constance" walked before me,press
ng footprints in the sand, a tall, slen
ler girl, with a graceful walk, stylishly t
ressed, and swinging a dainty parasol;
put, alas! with her back always turned
Was my fair unknown pretty? That
he was strong, sensible, thoughtful
nd refined, I had guessed; but the
>aramount question still remained
inansWered-was she pretty?
I had walked for some distance under
he cliffs towards Dover, when, lot a
lash of color caught my eve. Could it
>e a bird of brilliant plumage, or a
hild dressed in red, or a young lady
vith a crimson hat? It- was the latter!
She reclined upon the beach, her
iead resting upon a little bank of sand;
nd, as I neared her, I noticed a para
wl and novel. Constancel
I hesitated as to what I should do.
should I pass her, and thus turn my
)ack upon those artistic little footprints
or ever? No; I could not do that,
I slackened my pace, and politely
efrained from gazing.too rudely until
almost -reached her, when I turned to
iave a full look at her face.
Judge my disappointment, however, 1
rhen I found that the pretty crimson I
iailor-hat, with its poppies and plush, I
was tilted over the face, obscuring it
ompletelyl I stopped short and gazed
it her, and I was seized with an intense c
lesire to snatch off the hat, and un
nask the face at whatever cost. But 1
could not nerve myself to do it. I
My unknown appeared fast asleep. J
NVhat If she should be '~11San p
taringrom unaerte w ..
iat? There was something awful in E
,his thought; and though I am not a I
oward, I coilfess I quailed before the
nere idea of two staring, glaring eyes I
n ambush under the hat.
After contemplating such a desper- I
6te -onsl1ught, it seemed quite tame 1
mnd civil, cluite delicate and unobtru
live, when I quietly unfurled my camp- r
tool, ana sat down and sketched her 1
is she lay, washing her in grays and
Scarcely had I finished, when a sudden I
)anic seized me. What If she should
wake and come out from under the I
iat like-a hideous vision? I shuddered I
it the thought, and, bundling my paints
nto the box, caught up mny stool and
inrried away, retracing my footsteps I
md hers, reflecting ruefully that though I
[ had seen her in the flesh, I knew no
nore than I did before.
The problem as to her age and
)eauty alas! was still unsolved.
Twelve months later I had painted
we pictures, which 1 Intended to send I
n to the Academy. One of them I
ad designated "Day Dreams." It was,
is you will have guessed, an exact re
>roduction of the fair one whose foot
teps I had traced along the sands at C
Jeal. The central figure was that of a e
ashlonably-dressed young lady reclin
ng at full length upon the golden sand, C
er hat pulled down over her race to s
hmide it from the sun. She was asleep,
ndulging in day dreams, while the pale r
~reen waves sIghed softly upon the
hingle, and the white sails of a yacht i
'elieved the broad expanse of blue. t
My friends generally said that' the'
icture was fantastical, but they 'all 1
rophesled it would be a succese; and ]
ome art critics, whose acquaintance 2
had made, thought well of it. My t
riend and college chum, Jack Barrett,
hough an artist himself, was ecstati- t
al over it. What sport he and I had s
n our studIo about It. We always
poke of it as "Drealy Constance,"
nd we made a hundred guesses at
hat sort of facial expression was under '
he sailor hat..
The first of May had come and gone.
WLy pictures had been accepted, and, I
vlhat is more imilortant, "Day Dreams"'
ras hung oli the line.
Walking leisurely about among the
brongs of people, lisa hands claspedt
ehind his back, and trying to look
ike one of the crowd of commonplace <
roung men who had .not a picture ac
iepted, Was myself. For the greater
part of the first week I couhA not~ help
ianging about my pictures and listen-<
ng to Whbat thie publie Said about them.
One day as 1 was standing in the I
vostible, just on the point of leaving,
Scarriage drove up, -and. from it I
shghted a young lady, accccompaniedi
by a gentleman perhaps~ ten yeairs her
As they were passing I caught the
words "Day Dreams," and turned to
tear what they would say about it.
The face of the gentleman struck me
as having a resemblance to some one I
had seen befoze, and the lady was very
beautiful-Just the sort of creature4
whose grace and beaut y would .drive
In the crowd at the entrance IJlost
them but mnaking my way to where
y ,rhngI foun4 them before
it. ,a was evidently no loyer of
rirt, for hie was staring about the room
in an absent minded, manner; 'bat the
lady, was b.,njIing foryvard intehtdy,
writh her' ee fiel Opn tn canvass In
manner uias causeu 1ue w reei go.
I was just noting certatn points in
or girlish figure-for, of course, her
ack was turned' to me, and I could
ot see her face--noting casually that
he was tall, slender, and graceful,
vith a certain piquant dash about hqr
tylish dress, when a man whom I took
o be a clerk stepped quickly up, aad
vhispered something into the ear.of
"Oh, yes; I'll be there immediatelyfV
e responded; and turning to the leld "
aid: "Constance, I must run away (h."'
matter of business. Don't move fro .
his place until I"return, so that I sh
now where to find you."
He was walking quickly past me
vhen I touched him on the shoulder.
"Why, Musgrave, old fellow, can )t
e you?" I cried, for I remembered in
moment where I had seen his- fae
efore. We had studied together
'aris. "Can I do anything for, yog,
r--" I glanced toward the still
''Good heavens, Ray, who'd ha
nought of meeting you?" said h
urriedly. "Thanks, -yes; I'm call
way on an important matter; intr -
uce yourself. I'll be back again,in
ew minutes. Want to run to t
The next instant he was lost in t
By her motionless attitude and qix
lance I saw at once that the lady b
iot heard a word of our conversatfd
nd was quite unconscious of her
ort's departure. I stepped up to h
ide, but before I could speak she w
aying in a half whisper: "I nov
ieard of anything so strange in
Ife. The beach down at Deal, don
rou see? I know it's the beach, thou
t's horribly badly painted; and-o
lear! it really cannot be, but-" a
raned her neck and took a lo
riew-"yes, I am positive of it!
rught to know my own clothes,
>wn Indian bracelet, the crimson ha*
lon't you remember it?-and the law
Iress. And that book-one of Mi
3raddon's-and parasol. I ilsh t'
siat were not so far down over the fa
hough, I should llkcto-knbw whent
t is intended for me, or-"
"Pardon me, madam," I said.
She turned upon me swiftly, and
xpected to be snubbed,- but I was no
"Pardon me, but Mr. Musgrave h
,een called away for a few momepta
>usiness, and has left you in my charg
. am an old friend of his-a achl
uppose I must remain. here until he
eturns, or 1 shall never find him in tpe
rowd." Giving me.a searching glande,
he added: "Do you mind waiting?"
Mind waiting! I Would not have
ninded waiting an eternity with her;
mut I didn't tell her so.
I smiled, said someth"-- civil, and
sked her opinion upon bhe picture
"Well, to tell you the truth," said
he, blushing, ["I really thought I
ecognized myself in it."
"Indeed!" I glanced critically at
be picture, as if I had- never seen it
efore. "Not a bad painting, by the
"No, not very," she replied; "but I
eel certain the beach is intended f
hat between Dover and Deal. An
a for the dress and hat, why, I fee'
Lite sure they are mine."
"Did you ever pose for a picture,
hen?" I asked.
"Posefora picture in that outrageous
ashion? I should think not."
"Possibly you may have been asleep
vhen. some one trespasped," I sug.
"If that is so, I consider it a~ piece
I impertinence,"' saidsh,vrde
''All these artist fellows hiave no
onscience. They think the world was
cade for them alone,1' I replied.
She bent over and looked in the cor
Oer of the picture..
"Ray," she sidi-"Harold Rlay!"
vhile I started, and,; grew pale and
cery in one moment, and felt that
'Ray"~ most be branded upon my fore- 1
cad. "I don't like the sound of it.
tay-,7Rayl I can juset imagine him.1
L. little man in valvet #eoat and big,1
road-brimmed hat. 17ght
I asIc you frankly,.could I tell her at 1
bis moment that I was the guilty per.
No, 1 must prit in a fe* woriis in
avor of poor IHarold Ray fitet.
"Ah! Did you say Rat?" I asked.
Why, Harold Rlay-yea yes--why,
ic's a great friend of minel"'I
"Oh, I. beg your pardon if I have
aId anything rude of youir friend,"
aid she,"' peanetiliously, not at all au
! she were sorry, though. "Blut don't
on think yourself that It was a'little
oo-well, presuming of hint?" - 1
I pulled my moustache and -looked
"Well, I grant you that it was hardly
faqir thing,-and all -that, you know,"
said, with candor; "but you must
onsider the circumstances, the inter
nality of the place-the temptation, so ~
o speak, If you knew flay I em sure
you would never acouse hini of imper
in9909. ie 'is. certaig,y xot' A r~Qe,
ilud-ahd he' reveres the r ss*."
She was gazing dreamily at the pick''
ure, "and when I paused:she 80Iillid
iot at all disapprovinilly, and mu:
nured: "Oh, goron-piray go onl Tel
ne more about him."
"Well, ther'e Isn't anything Viore
oll," I said, feeling myself fairly hi, 1
orner, for I really could not sound mn
wn trumpet any longer.
"Is he-handsome?" she~ aske.!,. w
notichalant air, stili gazing at
"Eh-hardly I" I stamimeredi. 4
"No; decidedly not. Has a lit
atent, but that is all."
4'Not handsomne, and not clever,".
epeated, with a laugh. "Why, the
sihat; le-th,a la inteetinge ate..,
"Only an - artist with an ideal," I
egan, half-lightly, half in earnest; "a!
ioung fellow who is tracking foot.
)rints to the sea, and wondering where
hey are going to lead him; a poor
ireature whose fate is marked by a
,rimson sailor hat. which he can't
)luck up the courage to lift. In short,
were I to toll my friend that I had at
ast seen the original of his mysterious
Iketch he would be beside himself.
Were I to hold out the promise that he.
night enjoy the same privilege, he.
would be in .the proverbial seventh
leaven; and did he meet you he would
"I felt a hearty slap upon my back,
md beerd Jack Barrett cry out! "Ray,
)ld fellow, let me congratulate you!
You deserve your luck! 'Dreamy
Jonstance' Is a grand success. The
arl of Slhoppy has called at the studio
his morning, and offered to buy it."
"Barrett," I said, as he desperately
)ressed my hand, "another time, old
ellow. . This lady-"
Jack saw for the first time that he
was looking over the shoulder of a lady,
who turned and met his gaze with eyes
iparkling with rage, I 'suppose poor
Barrett had never had a woman look
it him like that before. He assured
ne afterwards that be shc ad never
are atut the experience 'being rei
I managed to bustle him off, gnd
hen, for a moment, I wished myself
tnywhere rather than in the Academy,
tanding like a culprit, with my eyes
ffudenly I heard a pretty little
au*h, and looking up I saw Upnatance
wai holding her catalogue up to her
race, While her eyes laughed over the
top.. I had burst into a loud laugh
lsq; but Just as I was: enjoying 'the
lun 'I was confronted by' Musgrave,
whose very exstence I own I, had for
"Oh, there is your-Ahl' I began.
I could not bring' myself' to say
"hueban'd," so Onished. the sentence
With a silent epithet.
"Brother," she said, turning a pair
;laughing eyes full upon me. .
Addressimg her brother, she said:
Io you know, Charley, I am afraid Il
iave mortally ofended Mr. Ray, who
s -a friend of yours, I understand. I
Lihd no idea it was he who painted
'Day Dreams, and I have been criticis
Lng it before his. very face."
"Oh; do npt mention it, Miss Mus
ravo- I must apologize for my impu
e isketchi ouw se
, i .
"Of course I will; only I hope you
will forget all the harsh things I said
tbout the man in a velvet coat and 'a
31g, flopping hat," she replied, laugh
"We will make a mutual apology, id
he hope that our acquaintance, which
was begun so strangely, will ripen intd
riendship," I said.
The facts of the case were explained
o Musgrave, who, when we had in=
shed, said: "Never mind, Conny; Ray
md Barrett shall dine with us to-night.
[ know them both as the best of fel:
owe, and I am delighted to renew thei
Before the bright days of spring cam$
round again Constance and I werd
oarried, -Jack- Barrett acting in the
iapaoity of best man.
When the Academy opened again I
ound I had another picture on th
ine. It was the portrait of my fait
Sometimes the Big Bill Dodge Fals.
The other day, as one of the conduc,
ors on a Worcester street car was taki
ng hik fares, a man sitting in one cor
ecr Qf the car complacently handed out
$20 bill. It was an bld game; one
hat Is often tried. The conductord
~re udually ready for such things, buts
his time change was short and the man
f the patent register had just rung in
fare on himself when a drummer,
Landing on the rear platform, said i,
nuess I can bI'eak that $20 for yeu.".
['he 1'ace of the big bill man fell in a'
noment as the drummer handed over i'
ot of small bills to the conductor. Hlis;
neanness was useless. Hie h)ad to pay
"That's a slim game," said the drum
ner to another passenger, shortly after-'
yard. "I never see it tried but I want
o break it up, If possible. A short
ime'ago I was ridIng on the cars, neat
3ridgeport, Conn., when I saw the con
Lltor comae up to a man whlo sat in
rent of me for his fare. The fellow,
anded him a $100 bill... H~is fare wag
hirty-six cents. 'The conductor was
igold friend of mine. He came alongi
o me and said: 'I guess I'm stuck
prank.' 'Perhaps I can help you out,1'
answered. I happened to have with
no 131 silver dollars, and I counted out
00. If you ever saw a pleaseui mani it
vas that conductor. HIe went. back'to
lhe sharper, gave him sixty-four cents
hango, and then gave himn ninety-nine
artwheels. .. The fellow swvore and
breatened, argued and1( pleaded; it was
o use. - Th ,conductor had his fare
nd hie had" change. It's a mean
rick, and nothing plIeases me better
hani to see it:fail.
IA P6et?8 Itevenge.
"When the poet Sheffel was staying In
taly for, the bousi ~ f hi halth he re
elieat & iet fth fkt4In Ger
nany--anj unf 1nk et. ontaining
ething btt the ;words: "1 -am well.
ViUh kind regards. . Yours, etc."
k~nnoyed at having to pay double post
e for such an, insignificant piece 'of
a, theis poet deterlidi ed to serve his
X$ut e Pi'6Qr lla large stone
en weight, packed it in a~ box
.seat it to his correspondent, '''Car
e cQllect;" The latter, in the be
thatsth$'cnt#nt,of ,the parcel were!
abIe7'gIddly p.d 'th heavy charge
r. rmage,.opened,the box, and found,
y hortor, notiiglfat at 'Ordlnary
Evan's Sweethoar; or, How She
1 seemA an odd answer for a
golden-haired child to give when we
desed her name.
"1 am Evan Routh's sweetheart."
She was only the child of his early
love, and he was so fond of her that
she had received that nickname.
Oddly enough we found ourselves
in Llylworth fifteen years from that
time, and we asked if Evan were mar
"Married! Dearl Ma'am, he'll.
never be married: He loved once; he'll
"And Winle? Is she still as pretty?
Is she married?"
"Pretty I She's just beautiful,
ma'amI Her vpother was nothing to
her; for she is go good and sweet and
true. Married! Oh, no; she's had
lovers enongh ror any girl to plck
from, but she refuses them all."
That evening, however, a sudden
and fearful tempest broke over Llyl
worth. No one could sleep. Those
who were in bed got up again and
Mark and I went down to the shore,
for the sea was a sight to behold.
Among the crowd 1 saw Evan Routh,
and Winie.leaning on his arm, while
-he protected her from the fierce wind.
Bronzed, weather-beaten and hand
some, he looked certainly more like her
father. They didn't look like lovers.
Suddenly, through the gloom and
under driving wrack, there appeared
an object which made every woman
utter a cry and every man sharply
draw his breath. It was a ship-a
-doomed ship-being driven on the
Soon she showed signals of distress,
seeking help from the auore.
One man alone answered the appeal
-- Evan Routh.
Striding forward, facing round to the
others, lie cried:
- 'Lads, who's ready - of you to go
with me to try to saye yonder ship?
Think, mates, , there may be women
and children on board!"
There was silence.
"What!" he cried, "is there not a
man among you? Am I to go by my
"No; not if I can be of any use."
I uttered a cry, for the speaker was
"Thank you, sir," replied Evan
Itouth. "You've got th" courage, but
not the skill. You're not used to tfe'
ni1 bo-,in the way. -"Hut
you've shamed these fellows Into
Tliree or four had stepped for
ward, and soon they began to run
the boat down.
The ship had been hurled upon the
reefs with an a*il crash. There was
a momentary mountain of foam. When'
it cleared away the ship had gone-not
a vestige remained In view.
What of the boat?
We looked back to the spot where it
It was not there!
We waited for it to start up from i
the dark trough of: some billow.
It never cme!
"She's gonel" ejaculated the crowd.
I locked toward Winie; her stony
face was still turned .to the sea, but 1
she had dropDed on her kpees.
The men were down at the marge,
with ropes ready to rush In and try to
save any of the unfortunate men who
might be washed up alive.
The women ran to and fro scream- 1
ing, crying, beating their .handa in
Winie iemained still kneeling, mo
Another and another were rescued. 'j
Then farther down the beach some
fishers drew out one and uttered no
Mark could not stay me; I felt ex
cited, mad! I hastened to.the spots. Oh, '
Hleavent there he lay-handsome, calm,'I
as in sleep-the man who had so tI
bravely risked his life for others-Evan
.The men in their hearts' deeD sympa
thy could utter no sound. But some- t
how the truth ws divined; and others I
formed a ring around.
Abruptly there was a movement, a1
"Keep the poor lass back."
Keep her back? Would It have been
Winie had guessed ~who lay thete.
Her hair looseead-tossed by the wind;
her beaudcovered ;her fektures stony,
but no* zid *with grief 'an agon)y
that o4dutter ino. Bount4! she brOke :
her . a rough,' arid looked "tpon the
One loW appallina cry, piercing
every heart,.bioke ftomn her lips. bhe
sank on hk,1need, then dropped over
the dead fishbr,',her' face on his wet
breast, her' atms about him tight.
Was she iveeping? Was her sorrow
too Oeep for 'tears? 'flad she found
temporary re)let from'misery In un
:4 spadee v 'aited. Then a woman
ther, stooping, gently raised
3 ear Iat take copidort. Tbe
L6e b doneV If man ever wenit
tov glfor he died trying to
m ie itade ind tesistance uttered
mnOord. Her arms.lubg hlbp, her
hegt tell h ack .ont the' woman's
Te'wotnan uttered~a qry 'of terror.
*4 javen be mierclful to us!" She ex
claimaed; "the li*au is deadP'
It wAs true.
Winie's heart. full of a pure and holy
leve,'had broken,tor the man whoan
her iotheit bad 'Oroelly jilted.
--Venetiaiegreen and traq~ r
coliibined'In some of the news tlr
Watch a morphia habitue deprived
nf the drug. The frd slight uneasi
ness and sense of disconiort gradually
passes into extreme restlessness accom
panied by the most profound depres.
sion; the stomach becomes so irritable
that nothing can be retained, and there
is a nausea and distressing sensation of
emptiness and sinking. The whole
nervous system, which has been work
ing so long under a deadening weight,
abuses Its liberty and runs absolute
riot; a breath of air, which would bring
relief to an ordinary sufferer, is painful
to him; so sensitive is the akin, that a
touch distresses, and even the eye and
sar are incapable of tolerating the most
To these troubles is added sleepless
ness; the patient can not get a mo
ment's rest; or, if he should close his
eyes In sleep, horrIble droams' and an
indefinable terror takes possession of
liim, and makes him dread that condi
tion which others look to for consola
tion and relief. Incapacity to take
food, prolonged sleeplessness, constant
sneezing, yawnipg and vomiting, pain
ful acuteness of all - his senses, and
other troubles sink the sufferer inte a
condition of prostration and desp Air,
only to be relieved by morphia.
Whq, then, can wonder if the wretch
yields again to the drug which has so
long enslaved him? Hovering between
a longing to be free and a feeling of
incapacity to endure his agonies, he
asks reproachfully whether it is true
that science has discovered no means
of relief, no substitute for morphia,
which may be given him until the
storm be past. No. we have no means
it our disposal which will do more
than alleviate these sufferings. and if
the morphia habitue will be freed he
must place himself under such control
as can prevent his giving way under
the trial, as he almost inevitably will if
left to himself.
But severe as the ordeal is, he has
this consolation and this great induce
ment'to submit to it-namely, that it
is short. A few days will see him
through the woret, ahd although he
may not be comfortable for a week or
two, his discomfort is endurable and
becomes less and less, until it gradu
ally passes in ease and health.
- A Olotes-Basket Craib.
Thel iicest kind of crib for a new
DO 1jby ju'a elothe-basket I Get the
argct size of wicker clothes-basket-a
square.one with handles at each end.,
I1ave a small hair mattress made to fit
tlue bottom of .it, as hair is much more'
wholesome to sleep on than feathers,!
lut for a sudden emergency any OrdiJ
eary pillow will answer the purpose.1
rhis kind of crib has many advantages.1
[t can be put in a closet when not In
ase; it can be lifted into another room
ithout disturbing the baby's sleep, if
its mother should want to receive guests
aefore she is well enough to leave her
room ; it is very convenient in moving
;o the country for the summer, as it
,an be packed.with baby's clothes cov
red with the bath rubber sheet an tied
.arefully across with a rope ; and on ar
ival-the baby. wearied and tired- .
,here need be no waiting till the porter'
3arries -up the heavy crib, as any one
,an carry up the basket; and tlere is
io screwing together, but simply take,
)ff the rubber sheet and there baby has
ts bed ready, and nurse cail attend to
)tier things. In going aurols the ocean
t is invaluable as, resting (h its broad
ase on the floor no pitchi.ig or rolling
f the ship will be abl to upset it.
WhIen baby gets too old f,o use it, It can'
etire to its natural hom;n--the laundry'
-and there be made useful for the rest
>f its (lays.
I make mine not only useful but
muite ornamenital by covering it inid(l
and out wvith either blue or pink piaperi
umuslin, over which I draw in fokls somei
hin (lotted Swiss, sewing it carefully'
end tightly, through the bottom wherel
lie coarse stitches will be hklden by the.
nattress ; now from the outside edge of,
lhe top I hang a ruffle of cheap cottonj
ace1 covering thme stitchmes made by sow-:
nmg it on by a row of quilled satin rib-:
ion in color to match the paper'muslin,'
nd I have a very pretty and cheap crib.
L'he mattress can be kept till needed
How we Grew.
'l'he United States has a population
f at least 02,000,000 at this moment.
L'his makes it second in this particular
mnong the great civilized nations of the
World. Keeping in view the ratioo
rrowth of the countries named between
ecent census periods,- there are to-day
bhout 88,000,000 inhabitants in Euro
>aan Russia, 47,000,000 in Germany,
[0,000,000 in Austro-lIungary, 38,000,'
100 .in. France, 37,000,000 In Great
BIritain and Ireland, 80,000,000 inItaly!
md 17,000,000 in' ipain.
The popula$ion on none of the other
ountries in Europe reaches 10,000,000
-Turkey's inhabitants outside or
Asia aggyegating scarcely half that
Igure. Rusilia alope of the~ great pow,
urs of Christendom exceeds .the United
3tates in population. Even Russia
isust soon be left in.the rear. Oni July
L, 1890, when th4next national enum
sration takes lae the United States
wil have 170000 .inhabitants, It
will haVe 96,bo 00In'the year 1900
md 124000,000 n.1910. This coOdpu
ation-is based on.t1l gyerage growth
>f thme country .p h century.
Imployingali,1 ises, that
hation before1 4pped to
iecond place, ta taking
Forty yeaif States
itood sixth i*V Juato
mmopg the oIfi~ ) of. the
globe and twent 0 stood
lith. Twinth e atte san