“Ah! you answer with a sneer; you are materialistic and infidel.”

“Stop, Doctor!  Let me make a bargain with you.  If you won’t call me names, I won’t call you names.  You are not in the pulpit now, and you have no right to domineer over me.”

“But what do you say to all these signs and wonders which I have mentioned?”

“What do you say to the Rochester knockings and the Stratford mysteries and the Mormon miracles?”

“All deceptions, or works of the Devil,” affirmed the Doctor, without a moment’s hesitation.

“Excuse me for smiling,” I replied “It is pleasant to observe what a quick spirit you have for discerning the true wonders from the false.”

“You will see, you will see,” he answered, and relapsed into a grave silence.

We reached New Haven and took rooms at the New Haven Hotel.  I had anticipated a little nap before going out on our expedition; but I had not made allowance for the proselyting zeal of Dispensationists.  My poor bewildered friend Potter uttered something which he sincerely meant to be a prayer, but which sounded to me painfully like blasphemy.  Next they sang a queer hymn of theirs in discordant chorus.  After that, Mr. Riley rolled up his sleeves and his eyes, flung his arms about, wept and shrieked unknown tongues for twenty minutes.  Then the butcher, the baker, and candlestick-maker had a combined convulsion on the floor, rolling over each other and upsetting furniture.  By this time the hotel was roused and the landlord made us a call.

“What the Old Harry are you about?” he demanded, angrily.  “Don’t you know it’s after midnight?”

“We are holding a Dispensary,” said Mr. Riley, solemnly.

“Well, I’ll dispense with your company, if you don’t stop it,” returned mine host.  “There’s a nervous lady in the next room, and you’ve worried her into fits.”

“Let me see her,” cried the Doctor, eagerly.  “It may be that the power of our faith is upon her.  Which is her door?”

“You’re drunk, Sir,” returned the landlord, severely.  “Keep quiet now, or I’ll have you put to bed by the porters.”

So saying, he shut the door and went muttering down-stairs.  This untoward incident put an end to our exercises.  A whispered palaver on Dispensationism followed, during which I tilted my chair back against the wall and stole a pleasant little nap.

It was about half past one when the Doctor shook me up and said, “It is time.”  We slipped down-stairs in our stockinged feet, got the front-door open without awakening the porter, shut it carefully after us, and put on our boots outside.  Mr. Riley immediately started up College Street, which, as all the world is aware, runs northerly to the Canal Railroad, where it changes to Prospect Street and goes off in a half-wild state up country.  At the end of College Street we left the city behind us, struck the rail-track, forsook that presently for a desert sort of road known