WHERE ARE WE NOW? TO BE OPENED BY "A PROTESTANT." CHAIR TO BE TAKEN AT NINE O'CLOCK. SUPPER FROM EIGHT TILL TWELVE. BEDS. PRIVATE SITTING-ROOMS. There was a venerable looking old fellow in the chair when we entered the Discussion Forum, who lifted a pair of gold rimmed spectacles from his nose to take a look at us. This was the chairman of the meeting, and shortly after we sat down he cried out to a tall person with a short grey raglan coat who was speaking and perspiring at the same time. "Mister Chowley I will and cannot allow you, sir, to trample on the religious feelings of any man present in this harmonious meeting. We are all brothers here, sir, and the individual who disturbs our peace and quietness, should be to us all as the 'Eathen and the publican, sir." (Hear, hear.) The tall man with the raglan, who did not like to be suppressed so easily, had taken his seat for a moment much against his will, but now he arose slowly and scornfully looking around him, spoke, with one hand leaning on a chair behind him, and another hand in his breast, as follows: "Gentlemen, this his an age of science if it is an age of hanythink. Wot does my honorable and noble Roman Catholic friend wish to advance has an argument. Does he mean to tell ME, with my heyes hopen in this here blessed Nineteenth Century, which we are all so proud of, and whose blessed light is the moving cause of so much mental brilliancy--does he mean to tell me for a moment that the miracle of the transposition of water into wine at the wedding of Cana wos han hactual fact. Why gents it his altogether impossible--and no reasonable man in this Nineteenth century can for a moment believe it possible. Wot would Galileo, Kepler, Faraday or sich bright lights of the Nineteenth century say to sich stories? Why gents, there is a chemical change which would have to take place before such a translation, and this chemical transformation could not take place without the assistance of other substances. (Hear, hear.) And gents, as far as the infallibility of the Pope is concerned, why I have only to say in the words of the poet, hand I mention no names, that a piece of fat pork might stick in his gullet as soon as it would stick in mine, and that's all I think of infallibility and fat pork, with the blessed light of the nineteenth century before me." (Hear, hear.) Mr. Chowley here sat down, thoroughly satisfied with himself and auditory, who applauded him to the echo. Then a member of the Roman Catholic persuasion answered him in a long and splendid oration, which seemed to thoroughly convince every one present that the Catholic side was right, and the Protestant one a most diabolical doctrine. After each man had done his little speech, it was curious, nay amusing, to hear the adherents of either party comment upon the previous argument. "Oh! I say," said a Presbyterian, "didn't he smash the old Pope neither."