That dog spends about half his elegant leisure in devouring the cold victuals of compassion, and the other half in running after the bricks of which he is the provocation and we are the target.  Within the last six years we employed as editors upon the unhappy journal which it was intended that this article should redeem, no less than sixteen pickpockets, hoping they would steal him; but with an acute intelligence of which their writing conveyed but an imperfect idea, they shunned the glittering bait, as one walks to windward of the deadly upas tree.  We have given him away to friends until we haven’t a friend left; we have offered him at auction-sales, and been ourselves knocked down; we have decoyed him into strange places and abandoned him, until we are poor from the payment of unpromised rewards.  In the character of a charitable donation he has been driven from the door of every orphan asylum, foundling hospital, and reform school in the State.  Not a week passes but we forfeit exemplary damages for inciting him to fall foul of passing gentlemen, in the vain hope of getting him slain.

If any one would wish to purchase a cheap dog, we would sell this beast.

....  A religious journal published in the Far West says that Brothers Dong, Gong, and Tong are Chinese converts to its church.  There is a fine religious nasality about these names that is strongly suggestive of the pulpit in the palmy days of the Puritans.

By the way, we should dearly love to know how to baptize a Chinaman.  We have a shrewd suspicion that it is done as the Mongolian laundryman dampens our linen:  by taking the mouth full of water and spouting it over the convert’s head in a fine spray.  If so, it follows that the pastor having most “cheek” is best qualified for cleansing the pagan soul.

An important question arises here.  Suppose Dong, Gong, and Tong to have been baptized in this way, who pronounced that efficacious formula, “I baptize thee in the name,” etc.?  Clearly the parson, with his mouth full of water, could not have done so at the instant of baptism, and if the sentence was spoken by any other person it was a falsehood.  It must therefore have been spoken either before the minister distended his cheeks, or after he had exhausted them.  In either case, according to the learned Dr. Sicklewit, the ceremony is utterly null and void of effect. (Study of Baptism, vol. ix., ch. cxix. vi. p. 627, line 13 from bottom.)

Possibly, however, D., G. and T. were not baptized in this way.  Then how the devil were they baptized?-and why?

....  Henry Wolfe, of Kentucky, aged one hundred and eight years, who had never been sick in his life, lay down one fine day and sawed his neck asunder with a razor.  Henry did not believe in self-slaughter; he despised it.  It was Henry’s opinion that as God had placed us here we should stay until it was His pleasure to remove us.  That is also our opinion, and the opinion of all other good Christians who would like to die but are afraid to do it.  It will be observed that Henry could not claim originality of opinion.