National Police Gazette - From the Morgue

   The Religious Editor was engaged in prayer yesterday morning when the first of his visitors of the day dropped in. His breath came in before him. It came through the keyhole and the cracks in the door, and suggested that some one had broken a case of gin in the hallway. When the owner of the breath followed the Religious Editor had to command Belshazzar to throw all the windows open and bring him the smelling salts.
   The stranger after carefully brushing his hat with his coat sleeve laid it in a chair--sat on it. Through the blue, alcoholic vapor of his breath he looked at the Religious Editor and smiled.
   "Morning, brother," said he.
   The Religious Editor would have said "good morning," only he was afraid to open his mouth.
   "Morning, brother," repeated the visitor.
   The Religious Editor, as a last resource, scribbled on a piece of paper:
   "I have just been attacked with vocal paralysis."
   "You don't say so, brother," remarked the stranger, sympathetically, bending forward. "Why that's jest what ailed me. It came on me one Sunday while I was preaching in Chicago, and struck me as dumb as a clam. And just because I happened to have a bottle of gin which I had bought for bathing purposes in the pulpit, they said I was drunk, and bounced me. Did you ever hear the like, now? I put it to you, as between man and man, did you ever hear the like?"
   The Religious Editor shook his head. The stranger moved his chair a little closer.
   "Now, what I came to see you about," he said, "Is this. I want to ask you a fair question."
   The Religious Editor nodded.
   "And I want a fair answer."
   Another nod.
   "Well, then, here it is: Ought a minister to drink?"
   The Religious Editor wrote:
   "Certainly."
   The stranger brightened and moved up nearer yet.
   "Now," he went on, "What ought he to drink?"
   Again the Religious Editor wrote:
   "Anything he wants."
   "But," persisted the stranger, "as there is an absurd but still common prejudice against a minister's having a bad breath when he calls on the ladies, what can he drink to obviate it?"
   The Religious Editor replied, still on paper:
   "In your case I think a quart or two of asafœtida a day would help some."
   The stranger read the reply and opened his mouth in evident surprise. At this moment Belshazzar struck a match to ignite a dozen or so of pastiles which he had brought in to purify the atmosphere.
   There was a sudden flare of blue flame, which seemed to fill the room like a fiery wind. Then came the sound of a terrific explosion.
   The stranger had blown up.
   The Religious Editor is better now, but his doctor says it is the worst case of malaria he has ever had to tackle.