Oh, not for the organization of such a wicked machinery came our Savior into the world! Not so did he teach by example! By the sea-shore he made disciples, among the rude fishermen; by the water fount he taught the maiden to draw from the well of immortality; out on the hill-top he proclaimed his mission of love and salvation. But now the money-changers are again in the temple. Civilisation has practically set at naught the maxims of Christ, and made the house of God a “den of thieves.” The modern church is the mother of more of the privations daily experienced by the poor and destitute (from which is born the Mystery of Iniquity) than any other extorting invention of Mammon. _Privations_, did we say? No. “_Privation_” (in the language of Sue) “poorly expresses that continuous and terrible destitution--the want of every thing which is necessary to clothe that life which God has given, with common comfort. _Mortification_ would more suitably express the total absence of that security which society, equitably organized, owes--yes, actually owes--to every honest laborer, inasmuch as poverty, through civilization, has deprived these of any right to that soil which God made a free legacy to all. The savage does not enjoy the benefits of civilization--but he has at least the beasts of the forest, the birds of the air, the fish of the sea, whereon to feed--and the great woods to warm and shelter him. The civilized poor man, whom civilization has disinherited of these gifts of God, has a right to demand, in return for the hard labor by which he enriches the world, a remuneration which will procure the permanent comforts of life.” [3] This mysterious paper is now in the Author’s possession. Much curiosity has been manifested to examine it, and the enterprising proprietors of the Boston Museum have recently offered a liberal amount for its purchase. The author returns his grateful acknowledgements for the flattering compliment intended for him in their note, but he is, and ever will be, unwilling that this document, (sacred, no less than singular,) containing, as it does, most wonderfully verified predictions, should be exposed to the vulgar curiosity of the mob. [4] Speaking of things suavitous, it strikes us that the following, clipped from a late number of the _Daily Mail_, is something rich in the way of squash luxuriance: “MR. ROBERT HAMILTON.--To the enterprise, tact, and discretion of this gentleman, the efficient stage-manager of the National Theatre, much of the success of this favorite establishment is to be ascribed. His well-known literary fame, and his merits as an actor, have acquired for him a deserved popularity.”