Dr. Burge had laid aside his knife and fork, and had launched bravely forth upon his theme. Sir Joseph moved uneasily. Things were getting serious. Our host happily interposed,—
"Very true, Doctor, all very true;—yet there is one piece of wisdom regulating the spiritual practice which now seems worth considering."
"And what is that, pray?"
"They do not recognize Fast-Day."
"Well, well," said Dr. Burge, taking the hint with the utmost good-humor, "perhaps they were not altogether wrong there; and so I will trouble Miss Prowley for a bit more of the steak, and——No, thank you, no beer for me; I am a water-drinker of twenty years' standing."
"The toast I am about to propose," observed Colonel Prowley, "may, with exceeding propriety, be drunk in water,—that is, whenever milk-and-water is not to be had:—
"Our spiritual demagogues, much weaker than our political ones, may they not be as much worse!"
"And there is one other sentiment," said good Dr. Burge, brimming over with an honest hilarity,—"a toast which I should be willing to drink in pretty strong—coffee."
"I have not forgotten that," exclaimed our host, proffering a hearty shake of the hand to the High Senior Governour and Primitive Patriarch of All Sextons,—
"Health and a long life to Sir Joseph Barley!"