Mr. Barns rolled towards his seat; placed himself upon it, and as he settled in it, seemed to spread with his own weight. He made a sort of grunt, intended for the morning salutation; then, stretching forward his arms, a certain protuberance of chest and abdomen, not permitting a nearer approach of the rest of the person to the table, he touched lightly, with the fore-finger and thumb of both hands, the cover; when, finding that he was in no danger of burning himself, he raised it. His countenance had begun to fall a little on finding the cover cold; but now, aghast, his under jaw hung on his double chin; while the tongue, spread and slighted protruded, rested on the under-lip; for, lo!--the plate contained but atmospheric air, and Mr. Barns was not used to feed on the camelion. He clapped down the cover, which, during his first astonishment, he had held suspended; and, leaning back in his chair, said, in a surly tone;--"Come, come, gentlemen; this making a jest of your chaplain, and that on Sunday morning too, is not very becoming, let me tell you! What must this gentleman, who is a stranger, think of such behaviour? I am very good-natured, sir, you must know," he added, looking towards our hero, "and these gentlemen presume upon it." Edmund bowed assent. "I hope, Mr. Barns," said the claret-faced gentleman, by name Warburton, "you mean to make your sermon to-day at least one minute the shorter, for this extempore lecture. Ten minutes, you know--we never listen after ten minutes; but promise, on the faith of a true divine, that you will not this day exceed nine minutes, and you shall have the real broil, that the steward is keeping hot without." Mr. Barns' countenance became less severe, when he heard that there actually was a real broil! "Nonsense! nonsense!" he said; "but, there, call for the broil, or it will be too much done: a broil is not worth a farthing without the red gravy in it!" The broil was called for accordingly. "You are a man of honour, Barns," continued Warburton; "remember the conditions: the sermon is not to exceed nine minutes this morning, or ten on any future occasion." "I don't know that I shall preach at all to-day," said Barns. "Not preach at all!" echoed the gentleman with the high nose, making his eyes rounder than before. "But, why? but, why?" demanded various voices. "I don't think the day will suit," said Barns, taking his eye from the door for a moment, to glance it at the windows. "You are always too timid of the weather, Mr. Barns," observed Mr. Elliot, the long-faced gentleman: "a moderate sermon, such as Warburton spoke of, no man can object to. Those things, in my opinion, should not be entirely neglected, were it but for the sake of example to the youngsters and ship's company."