’Twas a feast to true believers—’twas a blight on contradiction— To hear one just from Calvary talk about the crucifixion; ’Twas a damper on those fellows who pretended they could doubt it, To have a man who’d been there stand and tell ’em all about it! Why every foot of Scripture, whose location used to stump us, Was now regularly laid out with the different points o’ compass; When he undertook a subject, in what nat’ral lines he’d draw it! He would paint it out so honest that it seemed as if you saw it. And the way he went for Europe! oh, the way he scampered through it! Not a mountain but he clim’ it—not a city but he knew it; There wasn’t any subject to explain, in all creation, But he could go to Europe, and bring back an illustration! So we crowded out to hear him, quite instructed and delighted; ’Twas a picture-show, a lecture, and a sermon—all united; And my wife would rub her glasses, and serenely pet her Test’ment, And whisper, “That ere ticket was a splendid good investment.” * * * * * Now, after six months’ travel, we was most of us all ready To settle down a little, so’s to live more staid and steady; To develop home resources, with no foreign cares to fret us, Using house-made faith more frequent; but our parson wouldn’t let us! To view the same old scenery, time and time again he’d call us— Over rivers, plains, and mountains he would any minute haul us; He slighted our soul-sorrows, and our spirits’ aches and ailings, To get the cargo ready for his regular Sunday sailings! Why, he’d take us off a-touring, in all spiritual weather, Till we at last got home-sick and sea-sick all together! And “I wish to all that’s peaceful,” said one free-expressioned brother, “That the Lord had made one cont’nent, an’ then never made another!” * * * * * Sometimes, indeed, he’d take us into old, familiar places, And pull along quite nat’ral, in the good old Gospel traces: But soon my wife would shudder, just as if a chill had got her, Whispering, “Oh, my goodness gracious! he’s a-takin’ to the water!” And it wasn’t the same old comfort, when he called around to see us; On some branch of foreign travel he was sure at last to tree us; All unconscious of his error, he would sweetly patronise us, And with oft-repeated stories still endeavours to surprise us. * * * * * And the sinners got to laughing; and that finally galled and stung us, To ask him, wouldn’t he kindly once more settle down among us? Didn’t he think that more home produce would improve our soul’s digestions? They appointed me committee-man to go and ask the questions. I found him in his garden, trim an’ buoyant as a feather; He shook my hand, exclaiming, “This is quite Italian weather! How it ’minds me of the evenings when, your distant-hearts caressing,