makes that remark to the Master; the only difference is, that he makes it
in the nineteenth instead of the first century.

Is there a choir in Mr. T.'s church? And does it ever occur that they
have no better manners than to sing that hymn which is so suggestive of
labourers and mechanics:

"Son of the Carpenter! receive
This humble work of mine?"

Now, can it be possible that in a handful of centuries the Christian
character has fallen away from an imposing heroism that scorned even the
stake, the cross, and the axe, to a poor little effeminacy that withers
and wilts under an unsavoury smell? We are not prepared to believe so,
the reverend Doctor and his friend to the contrary notwithstanding.






A COUPLE OF SAD EXPERIENCES

When I published a squib recently in which I said I was going to edit an
Agricultural Department in this magazine, I certainly did not desire to
deceive anybody. I had not the remotest desire to play upon any one's
confidence with a practical joke, for he is a pitiful creature indeed who
will degrade the dignity of his humanity to the contriving of the witless
inventions that go by that name. I purposely wrote the thing as absurdly
and as extravagantly as it could be written, in order to be sure and not