A NEW YEAR THOUGHT. BY ROSA GRAHAM. Once, on a New Year eve, I dreamed Great wonder moved me, and I spoke: So softly, sweet she said— And then, I woke. "Twas but a dream, Yet there arose a thought That my dream-maid an emblem was Of every dawning year, Which always fair and beautiful Whose graces we, by gentle lives, May keep as time shall pass, But which our naughty words and deeds Till all their sweetness fades away- Dear little folk, this New Year thought A CLERGYMAN'S JOKE. KISSING THE PRETTIEST LADY IN THE CARS. I was spending the night in a hotel in Freeport, Illinois. After breakfast I went into the sittingroom, where I met a pleasant, chatty, good-humored traveller, who, like myself, was waiting for the morning train from Galena. We conversed freely and pleasantly on different topics, until, seeing two ladies meet and kiss each other in the street, the conversation turned on kissing just about the time the train was approaching. Come," said he, taking up his carpet-bag, "since we are on so sweet a subject, let us have a practical application. I'll make a proposition to you. I'll agree to kiss the most beautiful lady in the cars from Galena, you being the judge, if you will kiss the next prettiest, I being the judge." This proposition staggered me a little, and I could hardly tell whether he was in earnest or in fun; but, as he would be as deeply in as I could be, so I agreed, provided he would do the first kissing, though my heart failed me somewhat as I saw his black eyes fairly dance with daring. "Yes," said he, "I'll try it first. You take the back car, and go in from the front end, where you can see the faces of the ladies, and you stand by the one you think the handsomest, and I'll come in from behind and kiss her." I had hardly stepped inside the cars, when I saw at the first glance one of the most beautiful women my eyes ever fell on; a beautiful blonde, with auburn hair, and a bright, sunny face, full of love and sweetness, and radiant and glowing as the morning. Any further search was totally unnec essary. I immediately took my stand in the aisle by her side. She was looking out of the window earnestly, as if expecting some one. The back door of the car opened, and in stepped my hotel friend. I pointed my finger at her slyly, never dreaming that he would dare to carry out his pledge; and you may imagine my horror and amazement when he stepped up quickly behind her, and, stooping over, kissed her with a relish that made my "mouth water." I expected, of course, a shriek of terror, and then a row generally, and a knock-down; but astonishment succeeded astonishment when I saw her return the kiss with compound interest. Quick as a flash he turned to me, and said: "Now, sir, it is your turn," pointing to a hideously ugly, wrinkled old woman, who sat in the seat behind. "Oh, you must excuse me-you must!" I exclaimed. "I'm sold this time. I give up. Do tell me whom you have been kissing." 66 'Well," said he, "since you are a man of so much taste and quick perception, I'll let you off." And we all burst into a hearty peal of laughter as he said, "This is my wife. I have been waiting for her. I knew that it was a safe proposition." He told the story to his wife, who looked tenfold sweeter as she heard it. Before we reached Chicago we exchanged cards, and I discovered that my genial companion was a popular Episcopalian preacher of Chicago, whose name I had frequently heard. When there, I always go to hear him, and a heartier, more eloquent preacher it is hard to find. He was then a young man; he is now well known as one of the ablest divines of the Episcopal denomination in the West. Ancient Baths. Some of these baths were for the indiscriminate service of old Romans, the Senators and the people and contained above sixteen hundred seats of marble. The walls of the lofty apartments were covered with curious mosaics. The Egyptian granite was beautifully incrusted with the precious green marble of Numidia; the perpetual stream of hot water was poured into the capacious basins through mouths of bright and glossy silver, and the meanest Roman could purchase with a small copper coin the daily enjoyment of a scene of pɔmp and luxury which might excite the envy of the kings of Asia. From these stately palaces issued a swarm of dirty and ragged plebeians, without shoes and without a mantle, who loitered away whole days in the streets or Forum to hear news and to hold disputes, and who spent the hours of the night in obscure taverns and brothels in the indulgence of gross sensuality. In Luttich, Germany, a new kind of sport has been invented. Thirty-seven cats were taken in sacks a fortnight ago to a place twenty-four miles distant from the town, and turned loose at two o'clock in the afternoon. The winner of the singular race that followed arrived at home at 6.48, and within twenty-four hours every cat had returned to its own hearthstone. WILD SWANS. the Swan will raise the nest by adding fresh material before the rising of the water near which it is placed. There are generally six or seven eggs; large, and of a dull greenish white. The young are of a light bluish grey color, and do not assume the beautiful white plumage until maturity. The mother is very watchful over her nest and young, and in company with her mate assaults any intruder upon the premises. During the first period of their life the young Swans mount on their mother's back, and are thus carried from one place to another. If in the water, the Swan is able to sink herself so low that the young can scramble upon her back ont of the water, and if on land she helps them up by means of one leg. The food of the Swan consists mostly of vegetable substances, and the bird can be readily fattened on barley, like ordinary poultry. The young birds, called cygnets, ought not to be killed after November, as they then lose their fat, and the flesh becomes dark and tough. Sometimes the Swan will feed upon animal food, and has been seen to catch and swallow small fish, such as bleak and roach. In the spawning season the Swan is a terrible enemy to the fish, haunting all the spawning. grounds, and swallowing the eggs till it can eat no longer. The Swan will find out the spawn as it hangs on the submerged branches, and strip them of their valuable load. They will follow the carp to their breeding-grounds, and swallow their eggs by the quart, and in many cases they have almost entirely destroyed the fish which inhabited the pond or stream in which they live. Washing the Hair. It is occasionally necessary to thoroughly cleanse the hair. One or two precautions must be taken, however. Never use soap if you can avoid it; if you do, let it be the very mildest and unperfumed. Avoid so-called hair-cleansing fluids, and use rainwater, filtered. The yolks of two new-laid eggs are much to be preferred to soap; they make a beautiful lather, and when the washing is finished, and the hair thoroughly rinsed in the purest rainwater, you will find, when dry, that the gloss will not be destroyed, which an alkali never fails to do. The first water must not be very hot, only just warm, and the last perfectly cold. Dry with soft towels-but do not rub till the skin is tender-and afterward brush. Be always careful to have your brushes and combs clean and free from grease. Over 2000 murders occurred in Italy last year, and some 90,000 robberies. A good idea of the damage done to anglers by the swan may be formed from the forcible though unrefined description given by one of the piscatorial fraternity: "There never was no manner of doubt about the dreadful mischief the Swans do. They eat up the spawn of every kind of fish till they have filled out their bags, and then on to shore they go, to sleep off their tuck out, and then at it again." At such times the birds are so greedy after their feast that they can hardly be driven away, and will often show fight rather than leave the spot. The nest of the Swan, is a very large mass of reeds, rushes, and grasses set upon the bank, close to the water, in some sheltered spot. Generally the bird prefers the shore of a little island as a resting-place for its nest. Like other water-birds, NELL'S NEW YEAR'S EVE. BY S. E. CLARK. CHAPTER I. was the day before New Year, and Nell Washburne was aboard the train, en route for her married sister's home, where she had been most urgently invited to spend the holidays. Her sister was to give a party, and Nell, who always enjoyed such affairs immensely, anticipated a splendid time. "There is plenty of room; shall I assist you in? The steps are quite slippery." Nell noticed the smile lurking in the corners of his eyes, and felt like boxing his ears for daring to be amused at her. She became more embarrassed than ever, and endeavored to hide her confusion by getting out her portemonnaie to pay her fare. "Excuse me," said Harold, "are you not Miss Nell Washburne, the young lady whom Mrs. Wentworth expects this evening?" "Yes," answered Nell, in some surprise. "She could not come to meet you herself, and so deputed me the very acceptable task of looking after you," exclaimed Harold, gallantly. "Indeed," returned Nell, with an attempt at dignity that was an utter failure. "I am much obligto you, but I am quite old enough to look after myself, and will save you the trouble." "No trouble at all," he replied, with that provoking smile, as he assisted our independent heroine up the steps. As a proof of her self-sufficiency she slipped, and would have fallen had he not caught her in his While she reclines on her cushioned seat, twirling the tassel of her muff and gazing out at the whirling landscape, we will, as Captain Cuttle would say, "take an observation." It needs but a glance to assure us that she is as trim and perfect a little craft as ever sailed irresistibly into the hid-ed den recesses of rock-incrusted hearts. She was small and graceful, with an exquisitely molded, supple form and brightly beautiful face. Ringlets of golden brown peeped from beneath a jaunty fur cap, and curled about a fair open brow. Large lustrous eyes of deep azure shot bewildering glances from beneath long, jetty lashes, and the bloom of perfect health mantled on her rounded cheeks and flushed with vivid red the smiling, saucy lips. More than one masculine heart had acknowledged the power of her charms, but love's arrows had thus far fallen harmlessly around her, and she was much inclined to be sceptical concerning that grand passion of which she read so much. Time enough in which to learn the lesson, however-she was only seventeen. Twilight had fallen when the train glided into the city of A, but Nell's journey did not end there. Her sister lived in a thriving village several miles from town, and the rest of the way was to be traversed in an omnibus that made morning and evening trips between the two places. This conveyance did not belong to a public house, but was the property of Mr. Harold Ellsworth, a gentleman residing in the village. A hired man usually drove the vehicle, but Harold himself often acted as Jehu, and on this particular New Year's Eve, he had been pacing up and down the platform for some time, waiting for the arrival of the train, by which he expected several passengers. He was a remarkably handsome man, possessing a tall and well proportioned figure, clearly cut, regular features, a ruddy, weather-browned complexion, eloquent dark eyes, jet black curling hair and moustache. His face wore a frank, genial expression that stamped him a true-hearted man, and prepossessed every one in his favor. He was closing the door of the omnibus when a clear, sweet voice said: "Have you room for another passenger, sir." Harold turned, and his face lighted with admiration as his gaze encountered the fair speaker. Nell was disconcerted. She thought she had made an egregious blunder in taking this handsome gentleman for an omnibus driver, and began to stammer an apology, her face crimson with blushes. arms. "Oh, dear," she ejaculated, "was there ever such an awkward person as I? I shall have to take back what I said and thank you for saving me a fall." "I am only too glad to have been of some service," returned Harold, laughing. Her The vehicle was soon filled, and started on its way. The night promised to be dark and stormy. They had not gone far, when the lamps went out. and as they would not burn when relighted, the passengers were wrapped in total gloom. Nell sat in one of the corners farthest from the door. cheeks still burned, and her eyes almost shone through the dusk. She was highly indignant with herself, for appearing "so ridiculous," as she phrased it, and knew Mr. Ellsworth thought her "silly." She had heard his name mentioned, and knew him to be the neighbor of whom she had often heard her sister speak in the highest terms. Nell had not divined the motive in these expressions of esteem, and was blissfully unconscious of the fact that her manoeuvring sister had planned this new year's party for the purpose of furthering a long cherished wish. Nell soon forgot her grievance, but not its cause. She had met her beau ideal and lost her heart at last, though she did not know it. Long she mused on his handsome face and splendid black eyes, and caught herself wondering with a pang if he were married. Then she closed her eyes, and rested her head comfortably back in the corner, oblivious of the busy hum of voices around her. She did not intend to sleep, but she had been wakeful the night before, and now occupied a very easy position, and, as the omnibus glided smoothly along, she soon lost herself in the land of dreams. In an hour Lakeville was reached, and Harold drew up before the small village inn. A sleepy man came out with a lantern, the feeble rays of which only rendered it visible. The passengers "I-I beg your pardon, I thought-" poured out of the omnibus, and Harold handed "You thought correctly," interrupted Harold. down the luggage. He then looked through the crowd for Nell, and, seeing a young lady whom, in the gloom, he thought to be her, and at the same time observing that George Wentworth was making his way toward her, he drove around the corner imagining that all was right. He had not far to go, and soon horses, omnibus, and all were in the barn, and every thing locked up for the night. He hurried to get through, for he was anxious to make his appearance in Mrs. Wentworth's parlors, where he hoped to get better acquainted with the young beauty who had captivated him. So in a short time his toilette was made, and he was on his way there. CHAPTER II. "Has not come!" mented her anxiety. Suspense became unbearable, and she was about to hasten to the inn, when George and Harold entered with Nell's trunk, but no Nell. The first glance corroborated Mrs. Wentworth's fears. "Where is Nell?" she demanded, pale with alarm. "Do not be frightened," said Harold, re-assuringly. "They have not seen her at the inn, but I do not think there is any cause for alarm. She has evidently started to come alone, thinking she knew the way perfectly, and in the darkness has taken the wrong direction. But she cannot go far without discovering her mistake and stopping at some house to be set right. Meanwhile, some of us men will form parties of three or four each, and Harold Ellsworth repeated the words and gazed go in search of her, so that, if she does not come at Mrs. Wentworth in amazement. 66 'No," said Nell's sister, wondering at his astonishment," and I am really disappointed; I did so want Nell to be here this evening. She wrote that she would surely come to-day, if not before." "But you must be, you certainly are mistaken. She did come," asserted Harold with considerable emphasis. "I brought a young lady from the depot, who was either your sister or some one answering to the same description, of the same name, and, coming to your house; I saw her among the other passengers over at the crossing, and George was going directly towards her when I drove around the corner." "Then she must have been suddenly spirited away," exclaimed Mr. Wentworth incredulously; "I certainly saw nothing of her, and I could not well have missed her had she been there." "Yes you could," said Harold, "for there was an unusual crowd, and it was barely possible to distinguish one person from another in the dark ness. "Yes," put in Mrs. Wentworth, "of course that was the way of it. George, how could you be so careless? The poor child is undoubtedly over at the inn now, waiting for us. Hurry right along and bring her home." "I will go," said George; "but I doubt if Nell is there; she has been here before, you know, and I think she would have come such a short distance alone sooner than wait ten minutes. However, we can quickly ascertain. Come with me, Harold." Harold was willing enough, and the two went out together. Agnes Wentworth stood for a moment in the doorway, gazing out into the impenetrable gloom, through which clouds of snow-flakes were madly whirling. "How dark it is!" she murmured with an anxious thrill in her voice. "The wind is rising and it is snowing hard. I hope Nell has not started to come alone, for a wild storm is at hand, and in this pitchy darkness she might take the wrong road and wander far out of the way." Here a party of arriving guests claimed her attention, and she welcomed them cordially. A long time passed, and George and Harold did not return with Nell. Agnes was sure something had happened and went to the door again and again. The increasing storm and intense darkness only aug herself, we will certainly bring her." The masculine guests immediately offered their assistance, and all who could procure lanterns hastened away to do so. George Wentworth, who was now convinced of his oversight and blamed himself deeply for it, endeavored to relieve his wife's evident distress, assuring her that Nell could be in no danger and would soon be found. "She is in peril of her life!" exclaimed Agnes, as a furious blast of wind shrieked by, hurling snow and hail against the window panes. "Oh! to think of Nell lost on this dark night, in such a fearful storm! The wind and snow will soon exhaust her strength, and she may perish before assistance can reach her." "Agnes," implored George, "do not torture yourself with such unreasonable fears. You forget that Nell would be guided by the light from some house and seek refuge therein." Instead of accomplishing their object his words caused a thought to flash through Mrs. Wentworth's mind that blanched her face to the hue of death. "George! Harold!" she cried sharply, "hasten down to the lake. Oh, for Heaven's sake hurry, hurry! The ice is not strong, and, if she has taken that road, the light from Richard's windows will invite her to destruction." The startled looks of the company showed that Mrs. Wentworth's wild alarm was not groundless. By this time the men were prepared for the search, and they hastened out into the storm. The women did their best to re-assure Agnes; but their efforts signally failed. Nearly frantic, she paced up and down the room, silently praying for her sister's safety, while they all listened to the howling tempest without, and waited with pale, expectant faces. On arriving at the crossing the men divided into parties, each party taking a different road. Harold, with George and several others, took the one of which Agnes had spoken as fraught with such great danger to her sister's wandering steps. This road ran north and south through the village; but a short distance north of the crossing it turned in an easterly direction, and the bend bordered the small lake from which the village derived its name. The first house north of the crossing was Harold's, and there was no other between it and Mr. Richard's, which stood farther on beyond the bend, fronting the lake. All was dark within the Ellsworth dwelling, but lights were gleaming across the lake, like wreckers' beacons, from the windows of Richard's house. No fence divided the lake from the highway, while a late thaw had weakened the ice, and as all alike was blotted from view in snow and darkness, there was nothing to warn a stranger that danger and death lay in the apparent path to safety. Fully realizing the fearful peril that menaced the girl if she had strayed that way, the men hastened on, flashing the light of their lanterns in all directions and calling out continually. The storm raged furiously, snow fell in blinding clouds, and it was difficult to make headway against the buffeting wind. They were a little way beyond Harold's place when they suddenly paused and gazed at each other for one brief second, consternation and horror depicted on every face; for, during a lull in the tempest, there came to their hearing a sharp cry of terror. "Good heavens! she has wandered upon the ice and broken through!" burst from the ashy lips of George Wentworth. Then, like the wind, they bounded on. They ran around the margin of the lake, casting the light of their lanterns over the snow-covered ice. A couple of rods from the shore a large hole was discovered. Harold Ellsworth rushed upon the ice; but it cracked and broke beneath his feet, and he was dragged back by his companions. They could find no footprints, but this gave them no hope, for their own were obliterated almost as soon as made. Though almost certain that Nell had met her death in the cold, dark waters of the lake, the men did not give over the search until late in the night. At last, wearied, disheartened, and horror-stricken, they abandoned the fruitless work and retired to their homes. Not many closed their eyes in Lakeville that night or enjoyed that New Year's Eve. They thought of the bright young life brought to an end in such a terrible manner. The wind moaned sadly through the trees, and the dead lily stems in the lake sang a wild miserere over the lifeless form below. CHAPTER III. NEW YEAR'S morning dawned gloriously. Not a cloud was in the sky, and the surface of the snow glistened in the rays of the rising sun. With a heavy heart Harold Ellsworth took his way towards the barn. He had felt more than a passing interest in the lovely girl whom he had met but the evening before, and her supposed terrible fate had filled him with horror and pain. He unlocked the door, pushed it back, and stood rooted to the spot utterly amazed, utterly confounded. Could be believe the evidence of his senses, or was this some vision that would soon fade away? No, it was the real and living presence of Miss Nell Washburne. There she stood in a stream of mellow sunshine, her graceful form drawn haughtily erect, her cheeks glowing with indignation and her eyes flashing fire. "Well," she said, at last, "when you have done staring at me, perhaps you will condescend to let me know; but as I do not wish to encroach longer upon your hospitality, please accept my thanks for a night's lodging, and allow me to pass." Her scornful, ringing words broke the spell, Harold comprehended all, and, as he gazed at Nell, standing before him with the bearing of an insulted queen, sundry bits of hay clinging to her garments, her hat all awry, yet looking more beautiful than ever in her righteous wrath, his keen sense of the ludicrous could not be resisted, and he burst into a merry laugh. This was the last straw that broke the camel's back. Nell's outraged feelings could bear no more. With the quickness of a flash, she snatched a horse-whip from its receptacle, and laid it with all her passionate strength, over his broad shoulders, exclaiming, "How dare you laugh at me, after locking me in a barn over night with horses and nearly frightening me to death!" Thick and fast fell the blows, emphasizing every word. But Harold only laughed the louder. At last he caught his panting, exhausted chastiser by both hands, and held her firmly. And with that beautiful, glowing face, that saucy, rose-bud mouth so near, the temptation was irresistible; and, regardless of her flashing, defiant eyes, he bent down and kissed her, crying "A kiss for a blow, you know." "Oh, you wretch!" gasped Nell, struggling for breath and liberty. Harold released her, and, bounding past him, Nell beheld her brother-in-law coming up the path, his face a picture of joyous amazement. Not many minutes elapsed before Mrs. Wentworth clasped her sister in her arms, with a joy too great for words. On awakening in the omnibus, the night before, Nell had been utterly bewildered to find.it stationary, herself the only occupant, and all dark and silent around her. When at last a solution of the mystery dawned upon her, she had groped her way out of the vehicle and to the door, where she endeavored to attract attention by beating a loud tattoo upon it with a stick, which her foot had come in contact with, and calling out. This frightened the horses, which, not being used to this sort of nocturna! proceeding, in turn frightened Nell nearly to death by raising a sudden clamor, too. It was then she had given utterance to those sharp cries of terror that had so misled the searchers. Not daring to make any more signals of distress, lest the horses should break loose, she had beaten a precipitate retreat into the omnibus, and sat down in the gloom, momentarily expecting some one to her release. What a plight for a girl to be in, who had come eighty miles to attend a New Year's party! She sat, hour after hour, listening to the storm without, wondering what her sister thought of her absence, and why some one did not come to her deliverance. At last, utterly weary of waiting, she had fallen fast asleep, wrapped in her warm shawl. When evening came, Mrs. Wentworth's rooms were filled with a gay and happy throng, aud the New Year's party was a success after all. Arrayed in a cloudmisty tulle, gracefully looped over a flounced bae silk, and caught up with sprigs of |