f evangelization." He is a disciple, and
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 mislead hurried or heedless readers: for I spoke of
launching a triumphal barge upon a desert, and planting a tree of
prosperity in a mine--a tree whose fragrance should slake the thirst of
the naked, and whose branches should spread abroad till they washed the
chorea of, etc., etc. I thought that manifest lunacy like that would
protect the reader. But to make assurance absolute, and show that I did
not and could not seriously mean to attempt an Agricultural Department,
I stated distinctly in my postscript that I did not know anything about
Agriculture. But alas! right there is where I made my worst mistake--for
that remark seems to have recommended my proposed Agriculture more than
anything else. It lets a little light in on me, and I fancy I perceive
that the farmers feel a little bored, sometimes, by the oracular
profundity of agricultural editors who "know it all." In fact, one of my
correspondents suggests this (for that unhappy squib has deluged me with
letters about potatoes, and cabbages, and hominy, and vermicelli, and
maccaroni, and all the other fruits, cereals, and vegetables that ever
grew on earth; and if I get do