yes, my friends!--the world and Human Nature generally will find him better, wiser, more generous, more charitable, more everything that is pleasant, beautiful, and truthful! Will it not be so? Yes, indeed it will be so! We know it will be so, for we were all ‘good’ men! I myself was a ‘good’ man--once!” “Ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA! Ha-ha-ha-ha!” And like twisting boughs of trees in a storm, the goblins swayed and rocked themselves to and fro, convulsed with laughter. “I say I was a ‘good’ man!” repeated the demon preacher, leaning down over the edge of the green pulpit, and rolling its goggle eyes at its audience, particularly at the shuddering McNason--“Good in the sense that you and I and our Human brother understand goodness! I wore a top-hat----” “Ha-ha!” “_And_ a frock-coat----” “Ha-ha!” “And I went to Church every Sunday----” “Ha-ha-HA!” “I took round the collection-plate----” “Ha-ha!” “And I always put a sixpence into it myself--never less--never more!” “Ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA!” “When any poor man asked me to help him, and said he had a large family to keep, I told him he shouldn’t have a large family----” “Ha-ha-ha!” “I never sacrificed my own comfort or convenience at any time on any account, and I never parted with a penny I thought it better to keep! I was a most respectable man!” “Hoo-roo-oo! Hoo-roo!” “Now, my friends, I will ask you in the spirit of One Timothy Two to consider the interesting subject of my discourse,--our dear Human brother! He, too, is most respectable! He is even more than respectable, for he is a millionaire! And not only a millionaire, but a multi-millionaire! He is all Money! Oh, my friends, how good it is to be all Money! All Money and no Heart! Heart is never respectable--it is always a scoundrel! Always trusting the wrong people, loving the worst sinners, and making a fool of itself in business! Oh yes, my friends, Heart is desperately wicked! But our dear Human brother has none of it. Let us congratulate him! Especially at this time of year,--this dreary, melancholy, grumbling-time--when all the world’s tiresome little children want holiday treats, and all the tradesmen send in their bills,--this wretched, stupid, depressing season when even WE are made uncomfortable----” “Hoo-oo-oo! Hoo-roo!” And now the Goblins beat their paunches desperately and instead of laughing, began to weep. One cadaverous-looking creature took off its woman’s hat, large as an extra large lamp-shade, and shed tears into it as though it were a bucket. “Ah--ee!--ah--ee!” it sobbed--“How I do hate the compliments of the season! I always did! When I was a Human, I always had to tip my butler and my coachman on what they called Boxing Day! They expected it,--the Brutes! Ah--ee!--ah--ee! Such bitter, bitter memories!” Other wailings and groanings of a similar nature arose in chorus, and even Josiah McNason’s own particular companion goblin moaned and blubbered.