is. Surely the Lord himself might take pity on his old rival, and
assist him out of this miserable plight.

Old Nick is now used to frighten children with, and by-and-bye he may
be employed like the old garden-god to frighten away the crows. Even his
scriptural reputation cannot save him from such a fate, for the Bible
itself is falling into disbelief and contempt, and his adventures from
Genesis to Revelation are become a subject of merriment. Talking to Mrs.
Eve about apples in the form of a serpent; whispering in David's ear
that a census would be a good thing, while Jehovah whispers a similar
suggestion on the other side; asking Jesus to turn pebbles into penny
loaves, lugging him through the air, perching him on a pinnacle, setting
him on the top of a mountain whence both squinted round the globe, and
playing for forty days and nights that preposterous pantomime of the
temptation in the desert; getting miraculously multiplied, bewildering
a herd of swine, and driving them into a watery grave; letting seven of
himself occupy one lady called Magdalen, and others inhabit the bodies
of lunatics; going about like a roaring lion, and then appearing in
the new part of a dragon who lashes the stars with his tail; all
these metamorphoses are ineffably ludicrous, and calculated to excite
inextinguishable laughter. His one serious appearance in the history of
Job is overwhelmed by this multitude of comic situations.

Poor Old Nick is on his last legs and cannot last much longer. May his
end be peace! That is the least we can wish him. And when he is dead,
let us hope he will receive a decent burial. Those to whom he has been
the best friend should follow him to the grave. His obsequies, in that
case, would be graced by the presence of all the clergy, and the Burial
Service might be read by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Fancy them,
burying their dear departed brother the Devil, in the sure and certain
hope of a glorious resurrection!

FIRE!!!

Do not be alarmed, dear reader; there is no need to rush out into the
street, like poor old Lot flying from the doomed Cities of the Plain.
Sit down and take it easy. Let your fire-insurance policy slumber in
its nest. Lean back in your chair, stretch out your legs, and prepare
to receive another dose of Free-thought physic--worth a guinea a bottle.
So! Are you ready? Very well then, let us begin.

What would man be without fire? Would he not be a perfect barbarian? His
very f