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“And,” he added, with a peculiar impres siveness in his voice, “ I believe that if the conditions are favorable the subject under the influence of this subtle something can be transported in spirit to a. distant place, can see and talk with a. second person, and this visit with all its incidents Will be to that second person in everything important an absolute realityâ€"so. real that he will never feel those unpleasant sensations that accom- pany what are called ghostly visitations.” J ack’s conclusions mind the earnestness of his manner were largely interesting to me, and although I instinctively inclined to the natural View of thingsâ€"EL _ View emphasized by a. calling dealing chiefly with the real affairs of this lifeâ€"-ha.d but little belief in It was Jack's year to visit me, and the time being at hand when he might be looked ior I had completed the few preparations about my bachelor belongings which his coming would make necessary, so I was not surprised when just at twilight one evening in July he came in upon me, sitting alone, in me litative mind, in my second-story flat apartments. Not surprised, I say. At the time, truly I was not. I remember the date of his coming. It was Friday night, the 12th of July, 1877, a fact which in the light of what followed I had good reason to re- member. Our greetings were as cordial as usual, our handshaking as vigorous, and our mutual inquiries about the things that had come into our lives since the last meeting were as rapidly and enthusiastically spoken as ever. My own experience for the twelve- month, commonplace and comparatively unâ€" eventful, were soon told, but what they lacked in novelty and volume was made up by the perfect avalanche of incident and ad- venture Jack had to relate of himself. He. told me that night the details of experiment after experiment he had made with the hu- man physical organisms ; how he had tested and analyzed and theorized in his endeavor to sift down, satisfactorily to himself, the grand mystery of what portion of man’s body was most closely related to his soul ; what one of the various systems in the human framework gave shape and motion and energy to the sublime thing, mind. This was his hobby. He did not spare me. He never did spare me when thus occupied. He had become accustomed to having me indulge him when on his favorite theme. In this connection he had many new interesting stories to tell about mesmerism and what he called its measureless possibilities. He re- lated how he, while in the mesmeric sleep, at the will of a person who possessed the power of putting one under its influence, had been sent, at the instance of a hired per- son, a stanger, to a far distant city where he had never been before, not at least in the ordinarily understood sense of being, and had described scenes and objects about the streets of that city accurately enough to be easily recognized by the third person, whose home it was. Several tests of this kind had been made, each time with the most ast0n~ ishing results. Jack ’s enthusiasm in this narration was only equaled by the readiness with which he came to his conclusion, that the mind of the mesmerized subject had, un- hampered by matter, time or space, been transported at the will of a designated per- son to a place chosen by that person, and being present, in that place had, of course, actually seen subjects there, and, easily enough, could tell of them ; in other minds the objects had made their impressions on that mind, and, that mind returning to its accustoined habitation, the subject’s body, could readily give an account of those impressions. Jack Templeton had been my CIOSest friend in boyhood, was my cherished com- panion in the days of our early manhood at college, and my delightful correspondent during the ten years that had gone since the close of the happy period of student life. This correspondence had not been the only communication between us, for we agreed, on the final leave-taking of our old college quarters, that visits on each other should be kept up, Jack setting aside at least two weeks in one year to be spent with me wherever I should be settled, and the year following I was to visit with him for a short season. This arrangement had been observ- ed by both with punctuality and regularity, and we became well acquainted with each other’t mode of living, occupation and sur- roundings. Jack was a physician in Green- wich, Conn. Anyone knowing him during the character-forming period of his life would have marked him for a future phy- sician. He possessed those traits of char- acter, those oddities of native disposition which mean strong individuality. He was drilv humorous in his ordinary conversation, candid in his intercourse with his acquaint- ances, cheerful enough on occasion, ingeni- ous in his estimate of people, not by any means brilliant, but studious and determin- ed, especially so when concerned in the in- vestigation of subjects belonging to the ob- scure and having a dash of the mysterious. To him the Greek grammar and Latin con- struction were dull plodding, but mathema- tics, and espe :ially the study of mental science and of those questions the solution of which involves an exploit into the depths of psychology, were to him a genuine plea- sure. Exploring the mysteries of the human mind was that which made up the texture of his thoughts byday and was aptto weave the fabric of his dreams by night. A trick of magic, no matter how obscure, did not interest him because there was no pretence. that its operation depended on anything but some clever mechanical contrivance or sleight of hand. Such things were lacking in that essential, the supernatural, which so absorbed his every thought. But an exhibi- tion of mesmerism filled him with wonder, for he recognized in it the manifestations of the unseen workings of the human mind, and much of his time was spent in the study of its strange phenomena. It was his claim that could mesmerism become other than the ungovernable thing it now is and be brought under the subjection of the human will, it would prove not only a mighty aid in medicine and surgery, but would very likely afford an explanation of those strange mental conditions which so puzzle the world to-day. Having a mind thus fashioned it was the most natural thing for Jack to take to medicine as a professionâ€"medicine in its broad sense, the enthusiastic study of which will gratify the thinking man in his search for light upon the intimate and intricate relation of the human body to the human soul. The ma ‘spaper field had been chosen by me as the one in which I would exploit whatever of learning and energy and deter- mination I possessed, and at this time I was engaged on EL morning daily in a. vigorous Mlclugan town. A MIDNIGHT I SHALL REMEM- BER. There it was, and the subject talked upon by Jack, or Jack ethercalized, and me, came back, with his startlianr assertion about a person in a mesmeric trance being able to communicate with an absent person, and that person to be conscious of being communicated with. So Jack in all things essential had been present with me that night. For is not the mind the conscious part, the soul, the essential thing ‘2 ‘ U“ You know my hobby, mesmerism, and you know how I ride it. ‘Vell, one night last week I mounted my hobby and took a long ride. I was away out in your country, in your town, in your very room, and I sat with you and talked with you and drank with you, and all but slept with you. To be ex- act, the night was Friday, the twelfth (lay of this month, July. Now, all this was so real to me that I want you to write me Whether on that night you remember of be ing conscious of any unusual occurrence. Did I seem to you that I was in your com- pany that night ? I want all the facts, that I may see how they will fita little theory I have lately been constructing.” Merciful Heaven! The man haan been with me at all. \Vas he dead and did his shadow come to haunt me instead of his livâ€" ing body to visit me? That would not be likely, for his letter was dated five days later than that night, and ghosts, having a way of making their presence known at the precise time their (lisembmliment takes place, are always punctual. The letter did not so far lighten up the matter. It proceeded : “ I am very sorry my professional duties and the amount of study I have laid out for this summer will tie me down at home, and I shall not be able to make you my usual visit this year. * * m A person then could not get out of that bedroom and out of the house except by coming through that door and leaving by the hall door. I remembered that when I awoke this outside door was locked and bolted as usual on the inside; this was recalled by the diifieulty in sliding back the bolt that morning. This showed that even had Jack been disposed to leave me in that shabby manner in the middle of the night, he could not have done so, not to mention that such a proceeding would be as unlocked for in the man as it would be unworthy of him. The truth remained, nevertheless, J aek Was gone. But how he had taken his departure was a deep mystery to me. Strange as it was, though, no suggestion of the super- natural then entered into my calculations, and 1 contented myself with thinking that a reasonable explanation would offer itself in time. I said nothing to anyone of the oe~ curenee, not caring to brave the doubt and ridiculethe telling of it would likely provoke. l was extremely “anxious to come to at least some plausible solution of the affair, yet the longer I sought one the more perplexed I be- came, till 1 had to conclude that the whole proceeding was a very Vivid dream. A dream it might be; but such a conclusion was exceedingly disappointing and unsatis- factory, for in dreams persons don’t grasp each other’s hands, and smoke together, and talk for hours at a time eonneetedly on a subject, especially su :h a one as occupied our attention that night. Then another cir- cumstance came to me with almost startling suddenness. The letter! 'Did I write that letter to my sister, or was that, too, only a part of the dream? If she got my letter that would be proof clear enough that that night’s proceedings were not a dream, let them otherwise be accounted for as they might. If the letter was written while sleeping, that would be a somnambulistie feat too formidable for belief, and besides I had never been known to be a sleep-walker. I could easily find out about the letter any- way. I wrote to my sister simply asking her if she got my letter, in prompt answer to which she said she had, adding that they were all prepared for and anxiously awaiting our coming. Clearly, the letter was not a dream. Then what on earth, or above the earth or under the earth would explain that nightly visit, that unceremonious and mys- terious disappearance of J aek Templeton? It began to trouble me. A week had passed since that night, when a letter bearing the well known postmark of Greenwich was dropped through my door. It was from J ack. This is what it said : anything that could not be explained by causes we call natural and are easily under- stood, and would discredit the testimony of any person, no matter how near tome, if that testimony conflicted with what seemed to me reasonable, still Jack’s seriousness and honesty strangely impressed me that night, and I confessed to him that what could not be proved need not necessarily be doubted ; that there were likely stranger things on earth alone than were known of ; and then “'ll'll a wish to dismiss the whole subject for one more cheering I asked about some acquaintances I had in Grenwich, his home, to which inquiries he responded and in turn asked for my father’s family, who still lived on the old homestead, a few miles from the city of my residence. I replied by arranging with Jack right there for a visit together to our early home, and straightway penned a note to my sister telling of his coming, of our contemplated visithome, and that arrangements might be made for our stay for a. brief season. I sealed this letter with Jack's assent to the arrangement it con- veyed, stamped it and put it in the postal box just outside my door. The night was wearing on and bed was sug’ rested, so with many pleasant anticipa- tions of what the succeeding days had in store for us, Jack said good-night and went; to his bedroom, previous Visits having made him acquainted with my apartments. The night assed uneventfully, not even a stray rethécence of the evening’s talk interfering with the senses’ even repose. I awoke at7 o’clock, dressed, thought of the planned visit home and the many agreeable things it promised. I did not hasten to arouse Jack, considerately thinking that the fatigues of his long journey and the late hour of retiring would prepare him for it prolong- ed rest. More than an hour passed and I began to feel the need of eating, and was promising myself the full enjoyment of a breakfast with Jack for my company ; so I went to his bedroom to call him. My asA tonishment was pretty evident when opening the door Jack was not in the room, and what was stranger still, nothing it contained indicated that he had been there. The bed had not been disarranged in the least. Not a. chair or other article of furniture appar- ently had been moved from its accustomed position. Altogether there was not a. shadow of evidence that any person living had been in that room the preceding night. There were no Windows in the room and no door save the one opening into the room Where I slept. This narrative deals only with the facts of RAISED CAKEâ€"Eight cups of flour, three cups of sugar, three cups of butter, one pint of milk, one cup of yeast, the whites of three eggs, one~lia1f teaspoonful of soda. And nutmeg and raisins. Mix the flour, yeast, milk and one-half the butter; mix and let it stand over night to rise. Add the rest in the morning and mix well. Put in pans and let it rise a little while, then bake slowly. This is a very old recipe and gives a. quan- tity sufficient for three loaves. MARBLE CAKE.»â€"One egg, one cup of sugar, one cup of milk, one~half cup of bub- ter, two and one-half cups of flour, one heap- ing teaspoonful of cream-tartar, one level teaspoonful of soda. Take one-third of the mixture and add to it {L teaspoonful of sever- al kinds of spice and a tablespoonful of mo- lasses. Flavor the White part with lemon. Put it in the pan a spoonful of one kind and then one of another. CORN STARCH CAKE.-~0ne cup of butter rubbed to a cream with two cups of powder- ed sugar, three eggs, yolks and whites beaten separately, one cup of milk, one tea- spoonful of soda, two cups of flour and one- half cup of corn starch, with two teaspoon- fuls of cream of tartar sifted in it. This may be baked in small loaves 01‘ little cake tins and is very nice if eaten when fresh. CREAM PUFFS.â€"One-haif cup of butter, one cup of cold water boiled together ; while boiling add one cup of sifted flour stirring it until the mixture is smooth. \Vhen cool stir in three eggs well beaten. Butter 3. dripping pan and drop from a. spoon to form twelve cakes. DELICATE CAKE.â€"â€"â€"One cup of sugar, one cup of sweet milk, two cups of flour, the whites of two eggs; two tablespoonfuls of butter, one teaspoonful of cream-tartar, one half teaspoonful of soda, Flavor with lemon. CREAM FOR FILLISn.â€"â€"One-half pint of milk, one-half cup of sugar, one egg, one tablespoonful of flour. Flavor when cool; out a. slit in the side of each puff and fill with the cream.. As to the idea that you need to raise the dust from the carpet, that is quite true ; you want the dust out of the carpet, but you do not want it to fly all over the place. Those who object to using wet paper or tea leaves to lessen the (lust must be under the im- pression that they in some way prevent the dust from leaving the carpet, and that they simply roll over the surface of the carpet. The fact is, if you sweep with a long, light stroke, the damp leaves will prevent the fine and dust from rising by taking it to themselves. “ a thin-J nor needed is (learnt mly 171 ice 1’” \Ve are minetilnes apt to think that by get- ting things at low price; or by saving thirty cents in every dollar, we are saving money whether we are, or are not, in absolute need at the time of the article purchased. \Ve have a vague feeling, it is true, tlmtpmha] s at some future time we might more until} spare the dollar, than tlie 70 cents at tm; present time, but we have made it “ luxvgain,” and we imagine that we are safislml with bargains to be made, but the excttement (f shopping and of meeting others engaged in the same occupation is somcnimes ruinous to the exercise of common sense. \Vomzm’s bargaining is often ridiculed, and somuimes justly so, because she does not combine good judgment and common sense with the knov. - ledge of the means she possesses for future needs. To shut up every woman in a dwellingâ€" house and make of her an animated broom and dust-pan is to abuse it great many W0- men and ruin a great many houses. But though a woman may' hold in her hand a pen tipped with the fire of genius, ora hrnsh that paints her name in glory, or a chisel that carves her fame among the ever- living greatâ€"the woman who makes her home the perfect home for those who are of her family is the one that does the best thing any woman can do. \Vork and rest are the enforced conditions of life. Men must work, and home should be for than above all things a place of rest. It must be, then, a, place of bodily comforts and mental cheer. it must be a place of order and quietness. It should be a cleanly place. Scoldinfar and ill-temper and complaining spoil the spirit of any home. For a home is not a s1 bs anceâ€" a thing ; it is an essence. True housekeep- ing consists not only in cleaning things but in keeping them clean. Still, there is such a thing as keeping house too anxiously. Cleanliness that forbids freedom is an evil. There are those who will not let trees grow about their house because they shed their leaves. I know a woman who calls up the members of her family to measure their finger-prints when she detects such marks on her window glass or wood work. I knew a man who to his (lying day never stepped on a door sill, but always carefully over it, so strong did the impression remain with him of his mother’s rigid housekeeping. There are many diverse opinions about carpet sweeping. Some good house- keepers maintain thth to throw any (lamp substance on the floor to prevent dust rising is a mistake, also that every window should be open and the (lust allowed to rise and be blown outwthe more wind the better. Others, whose authority appears to me equally good, say, and I agree with them, that to sweep in'a. gale with nothing to “ lay the dust,” is to make a dirty, suifocating business of one that is otherwise not 1111- plezisant. The fact seems to me that the dust so raised will only be blown out as far as it lies in the course of the wind, the rest will lodge on the walls and every part that may intercept it ; and unless there is a. win- dow directly opposite the one from which the wind comes, thele can be no blowing of the dust out at all 3 it will not go out against the wind, it will rather be blown back. it. There age, of course, real Md pmfitable, A writer in an exchange asks whether we always distinguish between false and true economy in siroyping. She says: Is in neulle ‘ to Utteramniu the old saying that a very extraordinary personal experience. If the explanation given of his visit by my guest of thannight, based upon the narrowly understood operations of mesmerism, is not sufficient, let him who, with a c‘earer View, has traversed further into the arcane of the mystical, advance his theory of J ack Temple ton‘s strange visit. WUMAX ‘s 1 ‘ARI'LT SWEEPIXG. “(NISEIIOLIL SUGAR A.\‘D SPICE. BARGAINS. T WORK. So long as he lived she could marry no other man; when he died she became a. widow for life. The Hindo child-widow is looked upon (LS a thing apart and ac- oursed, bearing the penalty in this world for sins which she has committed in a. past existence. Her hair is cut short or her head is shaved altogether; she exchanges her pretty childish clothes for the widow’s coarse and often squalid garment; she is forbidden to take part in any Village festival or family gathering ; the very sight of her is regarded as an ill omen. Her natural Woman’s instincts are starved into inanition Aged Brahmanvs of good family still go about the country marrying, for a pecuniary consideration, female infants whom they sometimes never see again Within the memory of men still living this abominable practice \ a flourishing trade. A Kulin Brahman, perhaps white-haired, half blind, and decrepit, went the round of his beat each spring, going through the ceremony of mar- riage with such female infants as Were offer- ed, and pocketing his fee, and perhaps never returned to the child’s house. should be given in marriage, and go through the ceremony 9f the Seven Steps, which completes the religious rite. It is essential for the honor of a. Hindoo family of good caste that it should contain no unmarried daughter of mature years. The existence of such a. daughter is not only a. social disgrace, but a religious crime. “’hen, therefore, a female infant is born, the first idea in her father’s mind is not one of pleasure, nm‘peylmps regret, but simply how to find a husband for her. It is not; necessary that she should become a wife in our sense of the word. It suffices that she his, however, is a very mild statement of the ruse. For it must be remembered that the cruelty of enforced widowhood in India is aggravated by the circumstance that a vast number of widows have only been WIVGS in name. In Bengal 271 Hin» doo girls out of every 1,000 between the ages of five and ten are married, and no fewer than 666 are returned as married be- tween the ages of ten and fourteen. This applies fo the general Hindoo population. But among the higher castes, who enforce the celibacy of their widows, the proportion is much higher. Practically every Hindoo girl of good taste is either awife or a widow before she reaches the age of fourteen. In thousands, indeed in hundreds of thousands of cases the child has never known what it is to be a wife. There are over 20,000,000 of widows in India, and 2,000,000 of them belong to castes who practice child marriage {ind insist on he celibacy of their widows. These cus- toms are not enforced with equal rigor in all parts of India nor among all the castes who follow them. But, broadly speaking, there are about 2,000,000 Indian women of good family Who are condemned to a. life of penance or of shame. The recent telegram announcing Lord Dui‘i'erin‘s decision regarding: Hindoo widow marriages receives emphasis from the out- bursts of fanatical hostility which are agita- ting Northern India. The decision arrived at is characteristic alike of the statesman who now presides over India and of the new point of View from which the Indian government regards questions of internal reform. Lord Duffel"- in expresses a genuine sympathy for the party of progress, but he does not allow his sympathy to blind him to the grave political difficulties of the case. “The day's are terrible long an’ slow, An’ she‘s growin’ wus in each ; And now she’s jest a slippin‘ Clear away out 0\' our reach. Every night when I kiss her. Tx'yiu’ hard not to cry, She says in a way that kills me,â€" ‘ Be better in mornin’flbye l’ And into her fathnr’s grizzled beard The little red fingm‘s cling, While her husky whispered tenderness Tears from a rock would wring, ‘ ‘ Baby is»â€"suâ€"â€"â€"~sickâ€"â€"â€"papa~â€" Butâ€"~d0n‘t~â€"~want you to cry ;” The little hands fall on the coverleti- “ Beâ€"â€"betturâ€" -â€" inâ€"~â€"â€"â€"mornin’â€"â€" And night around bah}; is falling, Settling down (lurk and dense: Does God need their darling,r in heaven That he must carry her hem-e? I prayed, with tears in my voice As the Corporal solemnly knelt With grief such as never before Ills great warm heart had felt. “The first night that she took it, when her little cheeks grew red, When she kisde good night to papa, And went away to bedrâ€" Sez she, ‘ ’Tis headarhe, papa, Be better in mo ‘nin’â€"h\‘P;" An’ somethin’ in how she said it Jest made me want to cry. “But the. mornin’ brought the fever, And her little hands were hot, An’ thepretcy red uv her little rheeks Grew into R. crimson spot. But she laid there jest tcz patient Ez ever a woman could, Takin’ whatever we give her Better'n :1. grown woman would. She can’t get thro’ the night, parson, So I want 3 o to come a‘n’ pray, And talk with mother a littleâ€" Yuu’tl know jest. what to say ;â€"« Not that the baby needs it, Nor that we mike any (complaint That God seems to think He‘s needin' The smile uv the little saint.” I walked along with the Corporal To the door of lllS humble home, To \\ hich the silent messenger Before me had also come, And if he had been a titled prince, I would not have been honored more Then I was with his heartfelt, welcome To his lowly (cottage door. Night fails again in the cottage ; They move in silence and dread Around the room where the baby Lies panting upon her bed. “ Does baby know pupa, darling 'I’ And she moves her lit‘ le face With answer that shows she knows him ; But scarce a visible trace Of her wonderful infantile beauty Remains as it; was betore The unseen, silent messenger [lad waited at the door. “Papaâ€"kissâ€"-baby ;~~I‘s soâ€"tircd.’ The man hows low his face, And two swollen hands are lifted In baby’s lust embrace. Oh I frivolous men and women! Do you know that, round you, and nigh,â€" like from the humble and haughty Goeth up evermore the cry : “My child, my precious, my darling, How ran I let you die '2” Oh I hear ye the white lips whisperâ€" “ You can’t help the baby, parson, But still I want ye to go Down an’ look in upon her, An‘ read :m’ pray, \ou know. Only last week she V s shipin’ ‘round A pullin’ my whislngls ‘u’ hair, A (:lilnbiu’ 11pm thy table Into her little high chair. “ Beâ€"â€"'1 Chilfi Widows in India. Better in the Morning. BY REV. LB XDFR 8. (10A)? »bette r- »morf1in’â€"â€"â€"-â€" hye.’ rmornin’â€"-â€"â€"bx‘e 1" At the present writing there is a. large amount of diphtheritie croup, so called, in different localities 0f the country, and in some places this form of disease is specially fatal. Now I venture to assert that in every case these children are excessive egg or p0- tato eaters, or continuous milk drinkers, and the condition of the child’s body when under the influence of this class of food, or when the body is built up of these foods, is the very condition most favorable for these diseases to become specially fatztl.~â€"Dr. Keith. “ Hmvmuch for two grains of sulphate of zinc ‘1” queried the boy of the druggist. “ Twenty-five cents.” “ But my father is a. doctor.” “ O ! \Vel], I must make a. hun- dred peI cent. profit on such things, any- way. Give me two cents."â€"Detr0it Free) Press. ‘Excesses of any kind of food are greatly detrimental to the mental and physical wel- fare of the child. llut when tllCSU excesses are of certain cl sus of fowl which are ab- solutely indigeslille, :uul “llit‘l; are given to the exclusionof ]’:i’0p(;1‘ fz-mi, the matter become“: almost criminal. Thus, in the case of children under three years of at ., pota- toes are absolutely destructive to tlm healthy condition of the child. One of the reasons for this fact is because the liver of a child is much larger in proportion to its size than a grown person’s liver, and it has not the :zupability ofilig, sting the starch. It is as- serted that a. child who is fed on potatoes in excess -:,Ln never have good teeth, their be- ing no change from starch into bone or ivory, while the child fed 011 nuts or soups, oatmeal or corn meal has always good teeth. A Do Potatoes, then, cause diplnlmria? Not an all. lint mark you this. fact, as long as diphtherizuas a disease, hats been known to the medical \\ orld, just so long is it recorded that stalch caters had the diphâ€" ‘hez'izL. Even as far back as 400 years be- fore Christ, ‘uhe Egyptian throat disease was known and recorded, 11111.1 it does not re- quire any stretch nf [he inmgixmdon to place: the throat disease and barley-bread eaters in the same 012: \Ve can also find cor- roborative evidence in modern life, as only a. few years have elapsed since 200,000 barley-enters (lied zu‘»:1m(l()<lcs,:~::u from a. ma.â€" lignant form of (lif 1tl’xcria. This insensihl perspiration alone passing into the lungs is suflicicnt to make a fetid breath and accelerate the pulse. \Vhen this insensible perspiration is comhined with a clogged, starchy or albuminous condition we look at the quality of food which the child has eaten. If the food is varied and digestible the 11111:", liver and kidneys throw it ntf with tolerable ease. But if the food has been in excessive amounts of albumen casein or starch, the excess cannot be chum: :1 by the internal economy, and the deposited excesses in the cellular tissueit of the lungs causes the spasm ‘ztlled croup. lf the excess is especially starchy, as of potatoes, the excess of starch is throv. n out upon the mucous lining of the throat, and the: doctor, “Poll€Xfill'll1h‘fd0fl, pronounces thu cane diphtheria. Eggs are composed principally of albumen. Albumen in ex; 1s capable of forming the exuess of fibrin in the body of the child. In this condition the child takes cold, the insensibie perspiration is retained in the body, the fibrin settles or is depositâ€" ed in the cells:: of the lungs, the larynx and thebrun:hial tubes, and the sudden con~ traction of these cells from cold, and, in Janet, the sudden contraction of the entire breathing apparatus, is the spasm of eroup. Ur, if the child has been an excessive eater of eggs the albmntn of, the body in excess, and this ElellIl'an setting on the cells of the lungs produces :L case of true croup. Or to state: the case (lillerently, the child. takes about pounds of food and excreth 2* pounds of nlfittl'lll daily. Let us suppose that the child’s food is composed principally of albumen of eggs. When the body gets cold and inseneihle perspiration is clogged, this excwss of albumen is thrown in upon the lung , liver and kidneys, to be carried oll' by these org-ins instead of passing out through tliesl; It is evident thth half a. pound of ex" mntci‘igil must be daily thrown out or 1 / uincd. If the little one’s cold ((-rztiiiues ful'l' (hin the child has two pounds of dead mutter (insensi‘ole perspira- tion) in its; body, and as long as the cold continues the insensile perspimtion :iecuzmh mtes. Diseases of Children. “Untiltwo months ago,” says Dr. Keith, “I had never seen a. well marked case of membraneous eroup arising in any child who was not an habitual egg eater. Of course, anything which will give an excess of fibrin in the body may produce this disease. I have known multitudes of instances where spasmodic ci‘oup was caused directly from the hearty supper of crackers and milk, and 0 ;Id feet ngoing to bed. And I have known children who were fed upon a daily «lieu of milk and potatoes who were constantly subject to spasmodic croup, but I have never known of a child who wus‘ fed on out» meal mush, or cornmeal mush, or gruel, for supper M ho “"(la subject to croup 1’ Does milk and crackers cause croup ? Certainly not. But the milk in cxcuss pre- disposes the body to a. condition “here a. sudden chill brought un the attack. in the case of the oatmeal or cornmeal caur the. subject was not predisposed Lowaml croup, and thc sudden chill could imc ]n'oduce Group. The common mind and the average: mother imagine that croupcomes from cold. But this is notha‘lf Li'ue. Millions of child- ren havr a cold, but not a tithe of them suf» fer from Group. Let us make this clear. A child of five years excretes from the bowels say (to make it round numbers) sixteen ounces; from the kidneys, twelve unnees ; from the skin (inâ€" sensible perspiratum), eight cunces. Not cuunting the solid matter excreted or thrown off) through the lungs, there is 21 pounds that are eaten and drunk by the five-year-old child daily. Iii/iced, if the child is growing rapidly he must eat and drink about 2% pounds to cover the increase of weight and \i'astes. Now if the food is 'aried, that is, if the child is fed upon soup, mush and milk, ripe fruit and a, rensnnable amount of Wheaten oatmeal, 0r cornmeal bread, mush, and grnels, it is safe to assert that it never' will and never mm have spasmodic or mem- braneons croup, no master how many colds it may catch. " ut suypose the child is fed; upon a daily diet of eggs. by constant lasts, sometimes prolonged for seventy-two hours. Amid the genial and brightly-cvloured life of the Hindoo family she flits about disarrayed, silent, shunned, disfiguredain some parts of India a hide- ously bald objectâ€"forbidden all joy and all hope.