Observing that we contented ourselves with merely tasting it, he looked at us with astonishment, and inquired the reason of our not drinking.  We told him that we seldom drank ardent spirits; and I added, that as for myself, I seldom tasted even wine, but like himself, was content with the use of water.  He appeared somewhat incredulous, but told us to do exactly what we pleased, and to ask for what was agreeable to us.  We told him that we had not dined, and should be glad of some substantial refreshment.  “I am afraid,” said he, “that I have nothing in the house which will suit you; however, we will go and see.”

Thereupon he led us through a small yard at the back part of his house, which might have been called a garden, or orchard, if it had displayed either trees or flowers; but it produced nothing but grass, which was growing in luxuriance.  At one end was a large pigeon-house, which we all entered:  “for,” said the curate, “if we could find some nice delicate pigeons they would afford you an excellent dinner.”  We were, however, disappointed; for after rummaging the nests, we only found very young ones, unfitted for our purpose.  The good man became very melancholy, and said he had some misgivings that we should have to depart dinnerless.  Leaving the pigeon-house, he conducted us to a place where there were several skeps of bees, round which multitudes of the busy insects were hovering, filling the air with their music.  “Next to my fellow creatures,” said he, “there is nothing which I love so dearly as these bees; it is one of my delights to sit watching them, and listening to their murmur.”  We next went to several unfurnished rooms, fronting the yard, in one of which were hanging several flitches of bacon, beneath which he stopped, and looking up, gazed intently upon them.  We told him that if he had nothing better to offer, we should be very glad to eat some slices of this bacon, especially if some eggs were added.  “To tell the truth,” said he, “I have nothing better, and if you can content yourselves with such fare I shall be very happy; as for eggs you can have as many as you wish, and perfectly fresh, for my hens lay every day.”

So, after every thing was prepared and arranged to our satisfaction, we sat down to dine on the bacon and eggs, in a small room, not the one to which he had ushered us at first, but on the other side of the doorway.  The good curate, though he ate nothing, having taken his meal long before, sat at the head of the table, and the repast was enlivened by his chat.  “There, my friends,” said he, “where you are now seated, once sat Wellington and Crawford, after they had beat the French at Arapiles, and rescued us from the thraldom of those wicked people.  I never respected my house so much as I have done since they honoured it with their presence.  They were heroes, and one was a demigod.”  He then burst into a most eloquent panegyric of El Gran Lord, as he termed him, which I should be very