“I see,” said I, “I have not made myself sufficiently intelligible,” and I then proceeded to explain who and what I was, and where Grubbington-in-the-Clay was situated. After a great deal of talking I succeeded in making all clear, and the deacon then manifested great interest in the state of the Church in the remote province of Britain. He was anxious to know to what extent the persecutions raged there. I explained that it had greatly abated,—the only instance I could recall was a circumstance attributable rather to mischievousness than to malice—it was as follows:—Betsy Jane, that is my wife, has a favourite donkey on which she occasionally perambulates the parish, carrying the baby with her. A bad miller’s boy one day shortly before my lapse, put a bunch of sting-nettles under the brute’s tail. Neddy kicked frantically, as might have been expected, and precipitated Betsy Jane and the baby over his head. Providentially neither were hurt, though Jane’s gown was so torn as to necessitate the purchase of a new one. Laurence then enquired whether the Christians were able to assemble for the celebration of the Divine Mysteries in sacred buildings without interference. I said in reply that no impediment was placed in the way of the public recital of “Dearly Beloved,” or the attendance of the faithful on the administration of their clergy. His enquiries were next directed to the subject of the clergy. “Were the priests holy and blameless in life?” “Capital fellows, never better!” then after a pause, “A little hot-headed and rash perhaps, here and there,” alluding mentally to the advanced ritualists. “Given to hospitality?” “Very much so, no end of croquet parties in the summer.” “Devoted to fasting?” “Well, ahem! not much; but the fact of the climate of England must be taken into consideration, and the delicacy of digestion prevalent among the clergy.” “Eminent in good works?” “Very much so, very,—there’s Betsy Jane (my wife) who is indefatigable in visiting the poor and in attending the schools.” “How many Bishops are there in Britain?” “Twenty-eight, besides a few stragglers from the colonies come home to beg, or who have relinquished their sees to take Simeonite-trust livings.” “You seemed not to understand the sacerdotal vestments,” said Laurence, “have you no distinguishing marks of a priest in your remote land?” “Distinguishing marks. Oh, of course!” “What may they be?” he asked. “Why, let me see—collars.” “Yes.” “Whiskers.” “Yes.” “Well, and then the regular sacerdotal apparel of bands, and cassock, and surplice, and stole, and hood, and all that sort of thing.” “And the Bishops?”