hould wet the bottom of the duree

a bit, to hold it from slippin'.'

'Wet your granny!' returned the cook; a retort which she probably regarded in the light of a reductio ad absurdum, and which in fact reduced John to silence.

Later on in the evening, while John was removing the teathings from the drawing-room, and brushing the crumbs from the table-cloth with an accompanying hiss, such as he was wont to encourage himself with in rubbing down Mr. Bridmain's horse, the Rev. Amos Barton drew from his pocket a thin green-covered pamphlet, and, presenting it to the Countess, said,—'You were pleased, I think, with my sermon on Christmas Day. It has been printed in "The Pulpit," and I thought you might like a copy.'

'That indeed I shall. I shall quite value the opportunity of reading that sermon. There was such depth in it!—such argument! It was not a sermon to be heard only once. I am delighted that it should become generally known, as it will be now it is printed in "The Pulpit."'

'Yes,' said Milly, innocently, 'I was so pleased with the editor's letter.' And she drew out her