corner in Chicago, vigorously puffing a big cigar. A good man approached him, and said:
"Do you realize the waste of smoking? How many cigars do you smoke a day?"
The smoker estimated the number at fifteen, and said he had been smoking at least twenty years.
"Had you saved that money," the good man said, "you might have owned that sky-scraper," pointing to a big building across the street.
"Do you smoke?" the smoker asked the good man.
"Certainly not," was the indignant answer.
"Do you own that sky-scraper?"
"No."
"Well," replied the smoker, puffing complacently on his cigar, "I do."
Sunday, February 2.—This has been as fine a day
as I have ever experienced on a ship. As a rule, the
weather is better far out at sea than near land. Yesterday
the passengers were confined to their rooms, and
everywhere one might hear them trying to get rid of that
last meal, but today they are all on deck. It is a polite
and agreeable company, and the ship is fine, but I still
dislike the sea. I don't care much for close contact
with a lot of people, however polite and agreeable they
may be. It is pleasant enough to be in a crowd for an
hour or two, and note human characteristics, but four
or five days of it is too much. . . . From the time
you start on a trip until you return, you have the same
things to eat. Bills of fare on ships are exactly alike,
