A certain Preacher became wise to the Fact that he was not making a Hit with his Congregation. The Parishioners did not seem inclined to seek him out after services and tell him he was a Pansy. He has always tried to Expound, in a straightforward Manner, along the intellectual Plane of the aggregation who chipped in to pay his Salary. The Pew-holders could understand everything he said and they began to think the Preacher was Common. The Preacher decided that to Win and make everybody believe he was a Nobby and Boss Minister he would have to hand out a little Guff. He fixed it up Good and Plenty. On the following Sunday Morning, from his Lookout, he gave out a Text which didn't mean anything, read from either Direction. He sized up his Flock with Dreamy Eye as he voiced the Poetry and Mysticism in those familiar lines of the great Icelandic Poet, Ikon Navrojk. A Stout Woman leaned forward so as not to miss Anything. A Venerable Harness Dealer seemed to recognize the Quotation and ...
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