hold a bazaar on a large scale. Personally, I prefer direct subscriptions, but there is this to be said for a bazaar; it employs numbers who are eager to work for the Church, but have little in the way of money to give, and it promotes social intercourse amongst all classes of parishioners. We sent home for saleable things which cannot be purchased here, in addition to local contributions, and the result was most successful, though the bazaar closed with a curious incident. A large hall in the Mechanic's Institute was rented for a fortnight for it, and the precaution taken to insure the goods; the bazaar was closed, but a number of things not sold were still in the hall, when a fire broke out, and, hurrying down to it, I was greeted by a voice in the crowded street: "Behold God's judgment on Church Bazaars!" and then the prompt rejoinder from another voice: "You're wrong there, they're insured up to the hilt!" The result was that we received full value for what was burnt, but had to endure many a jibe at our smart way of doing business.
Most parishes, I imagine, have their parochial critic. We have one who takes a chair at the end of the nave, and comments on the sermon, at times, in more than a whisper. Lately, we have had a fortnight's mission, conducted by Dean Bromby, Dean of Hobart, and, after one of his sermons, the critic waylaid him in the porch, and said, "Now, Mr. Dean, we have a chance of hearing the Gospel; we gets lots from him (pointing to myself), but not the Gospel." "Indeed," said the Dean, "that's very serious; won't you come in to the parsonage and discuss it with us?" "I'll come, fast enough," he said, "and you'll hear some plain truth." However, he found the Dean too much for
