it cleared God from the responsibility of a darned mean bit of work. Whence some have inferred the heresy that God is the creator of only a part of the universe; but I frankly confess that in my own opinion the reply was merely a playful sarcasm. The most decided heresy which has come under my own observation was developed in the course of a chat between two miners in a lager-beer saloon and billiard-hall; into the which, it need scarcely be remarked, I was myself solely driven by the fierce determination to carry out my inquiries thoroughly. Bill was smoking, Dick was chewing; and they stood up together, at rather rapidly decreasing intervals, for drinks of such “fine old Bourbon” rye whiskey as bears the honorable popular title of rot-gut. The frequency with which the drinking of alcoholic liquors leads to impassioned and elevated discussion of great problems in politics, history, dog-breeding, horse-racing, moral philosophy, religion, and kindred important subjects, seems to furnish a strong and hitherto neglected argument against tee-totalism. There are countless men who can only be stimulated to a lively and outspoken interest in intellectual questions by a series of convivial glasses and meditative whiffs. If such men really take any interest in such questions at other times, it remains deplorably latent, not exercising its legitimate influence on the public opinion of the world. Our two boys were discussing theology; and having had many drinks, grappled with the doctrine of the triune God. “Wall,” said Bill, “I can’t make out that trinity consam, that three’s one and one’s three outfit.” Whereto Dick: “Is that so? Then you wam’t rigged out for a philosopher, Bill. Look here,” pulling forth his revolver, an action which caused a slight stir in the saloon, till the other boys saw that he didn’t mean business; “look here, I’ll soon fix it up for you. Here’s six chambers, but it’s only one pistol, with one heft and one barrel; the heft for us to catch hold of, the barrel to kill our enemy. Wall, God a’mighty’s jest made hisself a three-shooter, while he remains one God; but the Devil, he’s only a single-shot deringer: so God can have three fires at the Devil for one the Devil can have at him. Now can’t you figure it out?” “Wall,” said Bill, evidently staggered by the revolver, and feeling, if possible, increased respect for that instrument on finding it could be brought to bear toward settlement of even such a difficulty as the present; “Wall, that pans out better than I thought it could: but to come down to the bedrock, either God’s a poor mean shot or his piece carries darned light; for I reckon the Devil makes better play with his one chamber than God with his three.” “Maybe,” replied Dick, with calm candor, strangely indifferent to the appalling prospects this theory held out for our universe; “some of them pesky little things jest shoot peas that rile the other fellow without much hurting him, and then, by