laces, and a hat that has been "done over" four or five
times, and so weak that the first sharp wind that whistles round the corner
blows him into glory. The inertness you complain of in the ministry starts
early. Do you suppose that if Paul had spent seven years in a cheap
boarding house, and the years after in a poorly-supplied parsonage, he
would have made Felix tremble? No! The first glance of the Roman procurator
would have made him apologize for intrusion.

Do not think that all your eight-hundred-dollar minister needs is a
Christmas present of an elegantly-bound copy of "Calvin's Institutes." He
is sound already on the doctrine of election, and it is a poor consolation
if in this way you remind him that he has been foreordained to starve to
death. Keep your minister on artichokes and purslain, and he will be fit to
preach nothing but funeral sermons from the text "All flesh is grass."
While feeling most of all our need of the life that comes from above, let
us not ignore the fact that many of the clergy to-day need more gymnastics,
more fresh air, more nutritious food. Prayer cannot do the work of
beefsteak. You cannot keep a hot fire in the furnace with poor fuel and the
damper turned.

CHAPTER X.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN OLD PAIR OF SCISSORS.

I was born in Sheffield, England, at the close of the last century, and
was, like all those who study Brown's Shorter Catechism, made out of dust.
My father was killed at Herculaneum at the time of the accident there, and
buried with other scissors and knives and hooks and swords. On my mother's
side I am descended from a pair of shears that came to England during the
Roman invasion. My cousin hung to the belt of a duchess. My uncle belonged
to Hampton Court, and used to trim the king's hair. I came to the United
States while the grandfathers of the present generation of children were
boys.

When I was young I was a gay fellow--indeed, what might have been called "a
perfect blade." I look old and rusty hanging here on the nail, but take me
down, and though my voice is a little squeaky with old age, I can tell you
a pretty tale. I am sharper than I look. Old scissors know more than you
think. They say I am a little garrulous, and perhaps I may tell things I
ought not.

I helped your grandmother prepare for her wedding. I cut out and fitted all
the apparel of that happy day. I hear her scold the young folks now for
being so dressy, but I can tell you she was once