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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 shoubted. 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 book. 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 quencesl I could sketch no more. Gathering up my baggage,. I preparsd, to. follow I the trail. 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 uneven steps. 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 ag nature? 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 o me. 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 .rimson. 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 senior. 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 men distracted. 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. ghted. 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 er companion. "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 verted figure. ''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 elegraph office.' The next instant he was lost in t rowd. 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 before us. "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 vay." "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. ested.- -t "If that is so, I consider it a~ piece I impertinence,"' saidsh,vrde edly.sh,vrdci ''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. on? 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 ritical. "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 >icture. "Eh-hardly I" I stamimeredi. 4 "Oiever?" "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 seated. 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 "tdown. 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 potten. - "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 ng. "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 mcquaintance. 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 inknown. 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 ds fare. "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 >Loyed Him. 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 ried. "Married! Dearl Ma'am, he'll. never be married: He loved once; he'll never again." "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 dressed. 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 rocks. 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 self?" "No; not if I can be of any use." I uttered a cry, for the speaker was Mark. "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 pluck." 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 bad been. 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 pitying despair. Winie iemained still kneeling, mo tionless..' Another and another were rescued. 'j Then farther down the beach some fishers drew out one and uttered no cry. 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 iRouth-dead! - .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 whisper: "Keep the poor lass back." Keep her back? Would It have been possible? 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 bosly. 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. tight. Was she iveeping? Was her sorrow too Oeep for 'tears? 'flad she found temporary re)let from'misery In un consoloueness? :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 aboulder., 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 gowns.1 Morpha Haettues. 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 ordinary stimulations. 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 gamn. 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