FOES OF CLOTHES AND CARPETS. 



ON the first chilly evening of the fall in any public place 

 where many people assemble, all diked out in their best, 

 my old friend patchouli for once meets a rival odor that 

 is more than his match. It is the clinging- perfume of 

 moth-balls. While not exactly the smoke of battle, it is 

 nevertheless the evidence of a warfare conducted strictly 

 on Chinese principles against an enemy that attacks the 

 very citadel of civilization itself, clothes. Now, concern- 

 ing the white and glistening naphthalin of which these 

 moth-balls are made there is quite a long story to tell, 

 when it all comes out, which may not be for many a long 

 day yet, seeing that the coal-tar products are a regular 

 magician's bag. Anything you may want in the drug 

 line is probably there. Naphthalin was once the second 

 greatest discouragement a gas company had to contend 

 with. It has been done away with by discontinuing the 

 process of making coal-gas out of coal. But the greatest 

 discouragement of all will probably never be done away 

 with while human nature remains as it is. I mean the 

 mental anguish inflicted upon all connected with the 



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