Here is another experience of the same period while I was pursuing
the same exalted purpose: I arrived in a little town in Eastern
Ontario, and found to my horror that I was billed to "appear" in
a church. I was supposed to give readings from my works, and my
books are supposed to be of a humorous character. A church hardly
seemed the right place to get funny in. I explained my difficulty
to the pastor of the church, a very solemn looking man. He nodded
his head, slowly and gravely, as he grasped my difficulty. "I see,"
he said, "I see, but I think that I can introduce you to our people
in such a way as to make that right."

When the time came, he led me up on to the pulpit platform of the
church, just beside and below the pulpit itself, with a reading desk
and a big bible and a shaded light beside it. It was a big church, and
the audience, sitting in half darkness, as is customary during a
sermon, reached away back into the gloom. The place was packed full
and absolutely quiet. Then the chairman spoke:

"Dear friends," he said, "I want you to understand that it will be
all right to laugh tonight. Let me hear you laugh heartily, laugh
right out, just as much as ever you want to, because" (and here
his voice assumed the deep sepulchral tones of the preacher),-"when
we think of the noble object for which the professor appears
to-night, we may be assured that the Lord will forgive any one who
will laugh at the professor."

I am sorry to say, however, that none of the audience, even with
the plenary absolution in advance, were inclined to take a chance
on it.