a spacious hall, at one end of which hung a curtain. Advancing
towards this with silent tread, we were able to look through a slight
aperture, where the curtain fell away from the pillar, into the room
beyond. It was small and cosy, and a fire burned in the grate, before
which sat poor dear God the Father in a big arm-chair. Divested of his
godly paraphernalia, he looked old and thin, though an evil fire still
gleamed from his cavernous eyes. On a table beside him stood some
phials, one of which had seemingly just been used. God the Son stood
near, looking much younger and fresher, but time was beginning to tell
on him also. The Ghost flitted about in the form of a dove, now perching
on the Father's shoulder and now on the head of the Son.

Presently the massive bony frame of the Father was convulsed with a fit
of coughing; Jesus promptly applied a restorative from the phial, and
after a terrible struggle the cough was subdued. During this scene
the Dove fluttered violently from wall to wall. When the patient was
thoroughly restored the following conversation ensued:--

Jesus.--Are you well now, my Father?

Jehovah.--Yes, yes, well enough. Alack, how my strength wanes! Where
is the pith that filled these arms when I fought for my chosen people?
Where the fiery vigor that filled my veins when I courted your mother?

(Here the Dove fluttered and looked queer.)

Jesus.--Ah, sire, do not speak thus. You will regain your old strength.

Jehovah.--Nay, nay, and you know it. You do not even wish me to recover,
for in my weakness you exercise sovereign power and rule as you please.

Jesus.--O sire, sire!

Jehovah.--Come now, none of these demure looks. We know each other
too well. Practise before the saints if you like, but don't waste your
acting on me.

Jesus.--My dear Father, pray curb your temper. That is the very thing
the people on earth so much complain of.

Jehovah.--My dearly beloved Son, in whom I am not at all well pleased,
desist from this hypocrisy. Your temper is as bad as mine. You've shed
blood enough in your time, and need not rail at me.

Jesus.--Ah, sire, only the blood of heretics.

Jehovah.--Heretics, forsooth! They were very worthy people for the most
part, and their only crime was that they neglected you. But why should
we wrangle? We stand or fall together, and I am falling. Satan draws
most souls from earth to his place, including all the best workers and
thinkers, who are needed to sustain