Jim upon this leaned back, kicked up his heels, and laughed aloud. "I could help you there," he said. "I do the literary for three religious newspapers now. These solemn old Dons are so busy about their tweedle-dums and tweedle-dees of justification and election, baptism and church government, that they don't know anything about current literature, and get us fellows to write their book notices. I rather think that they'd stare if they should read some of the books that we puff up. I tell you, Christy's Minstrels are nothing to it. Think of it, Hal,--the solemn _Holy Sentinel_ with a laudatory criticism of Dante Rosetti's "Jenny" in it--and the _Trumpet of Zion_ with a commendatory notice of Georges Sand's novels." Here Jim laughed with a fresh impulse. "You see the dear, good souls are altogether too pious to know anything about it, and so we liberalize the papers, and the publishers make us a little consideration for getting their books started in religious circles." "Well, Jim," said I, "I want to just ask you, do you think this sort of thing is right?" "Bless your soul now!" said Jim, "if you are going to begin with that, here in New York, where are you going to end--'Where do you 'spect to die when you go to?'--as the old darkey said." "Well," said I, "would you like to have Dante Rosetti's "_Jenny_" put into the hands of _your_ sister or younger brother, recommended by a religious newspaper?" "Well, to tell the truth, Hal, I didn't write those notices. Bill Jones wrote them. Bill's up to anything. You know every person in England and this country have praised Dante Rosetti, and particularly "Jenny," and religious papers may as well be out of the world as out of fashion,--and so mother she bought a copy for a Christmas present to sister Nell. And I tell you if I didn't get a going over about it!"