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Show HIS NEW RELIGION. A physician sat one evening in a Washington hotel entertaining a choice group of friends with tales of the far east. In the edge of the group sat a man from Pennsylvania, who had come over from Pottsville on some government govern-ment contracting business. He was all ears and eagerness. His name was Sts.uss. Finally the restraint became too intense, and he broke loose. "Toctor," said he, "what is dot new relichun I hears off apout China? My wife has got it ferry bad, und I don'd understand it." "Tell me the name," said the doctor. "Is it Mohammedanism, Buddhism, Shintoism, Tauism, Confucianism, or what?" "No, it is no isms; but der name is lite a tramp's migrashun of der soul, aind it?" "Oh, you doubtless mean transmigration transmigra-tion of the soul." "Yah, dat's it. Yust dell me about dot." "Certainly. Transmigration of the soul Is a very pretty poetic doctrine of metempsychosis .which our friends of the TheosophicaT society have borrowed from the far east" "Here, here, toctor, tell me vot dot means so I can understand what you vas talking aboud." "All right, I will tell you in plain language. - Take yourself, for instance. You live to the allotted age of three score years and ten. and then you pass away. .Your soul goes into'the body of a bird, a canary; we'll say, and from our gilded cage you fill a lady's boudoir with melody, living a life of luxury and fed from the dainty fingers of beauty beau-ty "t . "Oh, dot is peautiful, peautiful. I like dot." "And then you die again and your soul goes into a lovely flower in a garden, gar-den, and you fill the air with fragrance, and delight the eye with your exquisite color and delicacy of petals " "Ah, dot is fine! I like dot relichun." relich-un." "As I was saying when you interrupted inter-rupted me, you live the life of a flower, flow-er, until one day a donkey gets into the garden, and, attracted by your loveliness, he eats you, and your soul parses into the donkey " "Yah, yah." "When some former acquaintance comes along, strokes your long ears, and says: 'Why. Strauss, is it you! How little you have changed! ". |