"Halloo! there's the door-bell! there's a great big trunk dumped down in the entry! 'Is Mrs. Legare at home?' _M-r-s._ Legare?! I like _that_, now! Have I been in love a whole week with M-R-S. Legare? Never mind, _may be_ she's a _widow_! Tramp, tramp, come those masculine feet up stairs--(handsome fellow, too!) N-e-b-u-c-h-a-d-n-ezzar! If I ever heard a kiss in my life, I heard one then! I won't stand it!--it's an invasion of my rights. I'll listen at the door, as I am a sinner! 'My dear husband!!!'--p-h-e-w! What right have sea-captains on shore, I'd like to know? Confound it all! Well, I always _knew_ women weren't worth thinking of; a set of deceitful little monkeys; changeable as a rainbow, superficial as parrots, as full of tricks as a conjuror, stubborn as mules, vain as peacocks, noisy as magpies, and full of the 'old Harry' _all_ the time! There's 'Delilah,' now; didn't _she_ take the 'strength' out of Sampson?--and weren't 'Sisera' and 'Judith' born _fiends_? And didn't the little minx of an Herodias dance John the Baptist's head off? Didn't Sarah 'raise _Cain_' with Abraham, till he packed Hagar off? Then there was----(well, the least said about HER, the better!) but didn't Eve, the _foremother_ of the whole concern, _have one talk too many with the old 'serpent_?' OF course; (she didn't do _nothing else_!!) Glad I never set _my_ young affections on _any_ of 'em! Where's my cigar-case! How tormented hot this room is!"
"Oh, walk in, Mr. Jones, walk in; a minister's time isn't of much account. He ought to expect to be always ready to see his parishioners. What's the use of having a minister, if you can't use him? Never mind scattering his thoughts to the four winds, just as he gets them glowingly concentrated on some sublime subject; that's a trifle. He's been through college, hasn't he? Then he ought to know a thing or two; and be able to take up the thread of his argument where he laid it down; else where's the almighty difference between him and a layman? If he can't make a practical use of his Greek and Latin and Theology, he had better strip off his black coat, _unshake_ his 'right hand of fellowship,' and throw up his commission. Take a seat, Mr. Jones; talk to him about your crops; make him plough over a dozen imaginary fields with you; he ought to be able to make a quick transit from 'predestination' to potatoes. Why, just think of the man's salary--_and you helping to pay it_! Nebuchadnezzar! haven't you hired him, soul and body? He don't belong to himself at all, except when he's asleep. Mind and give him a little wholesome advice before you leave; inquire how many pounds of tea he uses per week, and ask him how he came to be so unclerical as to take a ride on horseback the other day; and how much the hostler charged him for the animal, and whether he went on a gallop, or a canter, or an orthodox trot? Let him know, very decidedly, that ministers are not expected to have nerves, or head-aches, or side-aches, or heart aches. If they get weary writing (which they've no business to,) let them go down cellar and chop some wood. As to relaxation suggestive of beautiful thoughts, which a gallop on a fleet horse through the country might furnish, where the sweet air fans the aching temples caressingly, where fields of golden grain wave in the glad sunlight, where the blended beauty of sky and sea, and rock and river, and hill and valley, send a thrill of pleasure through every inlet of the soul--pshaw! that's all transcendental nonsense, fit only for green boarding-school girls and silly scribbling women,--a minister ought to be above such things, and have a heart as tough as the doctrine of election. He ought to be a regular theological sledge-hammer, always sharpened up, and ready to do execution without any unnecessary glitter. That's it!