in the rooms had not
taken a bath since 1827.

At this hotel the proprietor would take a guest's napkin to wipe his
nose, and the barefooted, waiter girl would slip up on the rare-done
fried egg spilled on the dining-room floor, and wipe the yolk off her
dress on a guest's linen coat tail. That is all we want of a hotel in
that place.

Not many months ago there was a meeting of ministers in Wisconsin, and
after the holy work in which they were engaged had been done up to the
satisfaction of all, a citizen of the place where the conference was
held invited a large number of them to a collation at his house. After
supper a dozen of them adjourned to a room up stairs to have a quiet
smoke, as ministers sometimes do, when they got to talking about old
times, when they attended school and were boys together, and _The Sun_
man, who was present, disguised as a preacher, came to the conclusion
that ministers were rather human than otherwise when they are young.

One two-hundred pound delegate with a cigar between his fingers, blew
the smoke out of the mouth which but a few hours before was uttering a
supplication to the Most High to make us all good, punched a thin elder
in the ribs with his thumb and said: "Jim, do you remember the time
we carried the cow and calf up into the recitation room?" For a moment
"Jim" was inclined to stand on his dignity, and he looked pained, until
they all began to laugh, when he looked around to see if any worldly
person was present, and satisfying himself that we were all truly good,
he said: "You bet your life I remember it. I have got a scar on my shin
now where that d--blessed cow hooked me," and he began to roll up his
trousers leg to show the scar. They told him they would take his word,
and he pulled down his pants and said:

"Well, you see I was detailed to attend to the calf, and I carried the
calf up stairs, assisted by Bill Smith--who is now preaching in Chicago;
got a soft thing, five thousand a year, and a parsonage furnished, and
keeps a team, and if one of those horses is not a trotter then I am no
judge of horse flesh or of Bill, and if he don't put on an old driving
coat and go out on the road occasionally and catch on for a race with
some worldly-minded man, then I am another. You hear me--well, I never
knew a calf was so heavy, and had so many hind legs. Kick! Why, bless
your old alabaster heart, that calf walked all over me, from Genesis to
Revelations. And say, we didn't