struck him like bullets, and his body seemed torn apart by disjunctive conjunctions.  No, Mr. Givemfits, you are too hard.  And as to the book-critics whom you condemn, they do more for the circulation of books than any other class, especially if they denounce and caricature, for then human nature will see the book at any price.  After I had published my book on ‘The Philosophy of Civilization,’ it was so badgered by the critics and called so many hard names that my publishers could not print it fast enough to meet the demands of the curious.  Besides, what would we do without the newspaper?  With, the iron rake of the telegraph it draws the whole world to our door every morning.  The sermon that the minister preached to five hundred people on Sabbath the newspaper next day preaches to fifty thousand.  It takes the verses which the poet chimed in his small room of ten feet by six, and rings them into the ears of the continent.  The cylinder of the printing-press is to be one of the wheels of the Lord’s chariot.  The good newspapers will overcome the bad ones, and the honey-bees will outnumber the hornets.  Instead of the three or four religious newspapers that once lived on gruel and pap, sitting down once a week on some good man’s door-step to rest, thankful if not kicked off, now many of the denominations have stalwart journals that swing their scythe through the sins of the world, and are avant couriers of the Lord’s coming.”

As Dr. Butterfield concluded this sentence his face shone like a harvest moon.  We had all dropped our knives, and were looking at him.  The Young Hyson tea was having its mollifying effect on the whole company.  Mr. Givemfits had made way with his fourth cup (they were small cups, the set we use for company), and he was entirely soothed and moderated in his opinions about everything, and actually clapped his hands at Dr. Butterfield’s peroration.  Even Miss Stinger was in a glow, for she had drank large quantities of the fragrant beverage while piping hot, and in her delight she took Givemfits’ arm, and asked him if he ever meant to get married.  Miss Smiley smiled.  Then Dr. Butterfield lifted his cup, and proposed a toast which we all drank standing:  “The mission of the printing-press!  The salubrity of the climate!  The prospects ahead!  The wonders of Oolong and Young Hyson!”

CHAPTER IV.

Carlo and the freezer.

We had a jolly time at our tea-table this evening.  We had not seen our old friend for ten years.  When I heard his voice in the hall, it seemed like a snatch of “Auld Lang Syne.”  He came from Belleville, where was the first home we ever set up for ourselves.  It was a stormy evening, and we did not expect company, but we soon made way for him at the table.  Jennie was very willing to stand up at the corner; and after a fair napkin had been thrown over the place where she had dropped a speck of jelly, our friend and I began the rehearsal