"It isn't in the family, either, that the selfishness of the habit is most apparent. I don't believe, other things being equal, there is any other class of men who show such a disregard in public for other people's comfort as tobacco users do. A man would be considered a rowdy or a boor who should wilfully spatter mud on the clothing of a lady as she passed him on the sidewalk. But a lady to whom tobacco fumes are more offensive than mud, can hardly walk the streets in these days, but that men who call themselves gentlemen--and who _are_ gentlemen in most other respects--blow their cigar smoke into her face at almost every step. Smokers drive non-smokers out of the gentlemen's cabins on the ferry-boats, and the gentlemen's waiting-rooms in railway stations, monopolizing these rooms as coolly as if only _they_ had any rights in them. I can't explain such phenomena except on the theory that tobacco befogs the moral sense, and makes men specially selfish." The Major's train came in just then, and as he took my hand to say good-by, its smoking-car drew his parting shot: "See there! Did you ever reflect how the tobacco habit levies its taxes on everybody? The railway company furnishes an extra seat to every smoker, which, in the nature of the case, must be paid for by an extra charge on the tickets of all the passengers. What a stir it would raise, if the legislature should attempt to furnish luxuries to any special class, at public cost, in this way. How we'd vote them down! I vote against _this_ thing by throwing away my cigar!" WHAT TO MIND. _Mind your tongue!_ Don't let it speak An angry, an unkind, A cruel, or a wicked word; Don't let it, boys--now, mind! _Mind eyes and ears!_ Don't ever look At wicked books or boys. From wicked pictures turn away-- All sinful acts despise. _And mind your lips!_ Tobacco stains; Strong drink, too, keep away; And let no bad words pass your lips-- Mind everything you say. _Mind hands and feet!_ Don't let them do A single wicked thing; Don't steal or strike, don't kick or fight, Don't walk in paths of sin. THE LITTLE SISTERS "You were not here yesterday," said the gentle teacher of the little village school, as she placed her hand kindly on the curly head of one of her pupils. It was recess time, but the little girl addressed had not gone to frolic away the ten minutes, not even left her seat, but sat absorbed in what seemed a fruitless attempt to make herself mistress of an example in long division. Her face and neck crimsoned at the remark of her teacher, but looking up, she seemed somewhat reassured by the kind glance that met her, and answered, "No, ma'am, I was not, but sister Nellie was." "I remember there was a little girl who called herself Nellie Gray, came in yesterday, but I did not know she was your sister. But why did you not come? You seem to like to study very much."