“Do not be afraid, father; it will not be necessary to establish either a quarantine or a lazaretto on our account.”

“Besides, any of the boys,” said Mrs. Becker, “that acquire the habit, will, by so doing, voluntarily banish themselves from my levees.”

“It is an extraordinary habit that, smoking,” observed Mrs. Wolston.

“Yes,” said Becker; “and what makes the habit more singular is, that it holds out no allurements to seduce its votaries.  Generally, the path to vice, or to a bad habit, is strewn with roses that hide their thorns, but such is not the case with smoking; in order to acquire this habit, a variety of disagreeable difficulties have to be overcome, and a considerable amount of disgust and sickness must be borne before the stomach is tutored to withstand the nauseous fumes.”

“In point of fact,” observed Wolston, “if, instead of being made part and parcel of the appliances of a fashionable man, cigars and meershaums were classed in the pharmacopoeia with emetics and cataplasms, there is not a human being but would bemoan his fate if compelled to undergo a dose.”

“Just so,” added Becker; “the great and sole attraction of tobacco to young people consists in its being to them a forbidden thing; the apple of Eve is of all time—­it hangs from every tree, and takes myriads of shapes.  If I had the honor of being principal of a college I should no more think of forbidding the pupils to use tobacco than I should think of commanding them not to use the birch for purposes of self-chastisement.”

“Perhaps you would be quite right.”

“Instead of lecturing them on the pernicious effects of tobacco, I should hang up a pipe of punishment in the class-room, and oblige offending pupils to inhale a fixed number of whiffs proportionate to the gravity of their delinquency.”

“An excellent idea,” observed Wolston; “for it is often only necessary to show some things in a different light in order to give them a new aspect and value.  This puts me in mind of an illustration in point; these two girls, when children, were the parties concerned, and I will relate the circumstance to you.”

“In that case,” said Mary, “I shall go and feed the fowls.”

“And I,” said Sophia, “must go and water the flowers.”

“Oh, then,” cried Jack laughing, “it is another doll story, is it?”

“No, Master Jack, it is not a doll story; and, besides, we girls were no bigger at the time than that.”

On saying this Sophia placed her two hands about a foot and a half from the floor and then the two girls vanished.

“When Mary was about six years old,” began Wolston, “a slight rash threatened to develope itself, and the doctor ordered a small blister to be applied to one of her arms.  Now, there was likely to be some difficulty about getting her to submit quietly to this operation, so, after an instant’s reflection, I called both her and her sister, and told them that the most diligent of the two should have a vesicatory put on her arm at night.  ‘Oh,’ cried both the girls quite delighted, ’it will be me, papa, I shall be so good.  Mamma, mamma—­such a treat—­papa has promised us a vesicatory for to-night!’”