"Verily the Lord scattereth!" was the exclamation of the Reverend Jonas Fleetword, as he passed from one to another of the apartments of Cecil Place, seeking for some one with whom to hold converse, yet finding none. Sir Willmott Burrell was abroad, even at an hour so early; Lady Frances Cromwell closeted with Constantia; Sir Robert Cecil particularly engaged; even Barbara Iverk was not to be found--and the poor preacher had but little chance of either a breakfast or a gossip, or, as he termed it, "a commune." In the course of his wanderings, however, he at length encountered Solomon Grundy, puffing and courtesying under the weight of a huge pasty he was conveying, by a prodigious effort, to the buttery. "Ah, Solomon, my friend," said Fleetword, "of a truth it is a pleasant thing to see thee." "You mean that you behold something pleasant with me," retorted the cook; "and of a verity, your reverence----" "You must not call me reverence; it is one of the designations of the beast;--my voice is raised against it--against the horned beast." "This was a horned beast once," again replied Solomon, observing that the preacher's eye was fixed upon the pasty; "nature may be changed by cookery. It hath lost all the sinful qualities that you talk about, and hath become most savoury and nourishing food: doth it resemble the change that, you say, takes place in the spirit?" "We must not so mingle profane and sacred things," murmured Fleetword, placing his forefinger upon the tempting dish, with a longing and eager look; for he had walked far and was fasting. "Is this one of the baked meats thou art preparing for the coming festival?" "What festival?" inquired the cook, surlily: "I know of no festival. Of a surety, have I laboured in my calling, to furnish forth something worthy of this house; yet, from what I hear, there will be few at this wedding to profit by my skill. I little thought to see our dear young lady so wedded." "Solomon, feasting is foolishness; it savoureth of the mammon of unrighteousness: yet was Nimrod a mighty hunter before the Lord, and Isaac loved seethed kid. Couldst thou extract a morsel of meat from that compound, for of a truth I am an hungered?" "What! spoil my garnishing!" exclaimed Grundy, "look at the frosting of that horn, and the device, the two doves--see'st thou not the doves?" "Yea; but methinks thou mightest take away a portion, without injury to the goodly fabric.--Behold!" and the Reverend Jonas lifted, with the cook's long knife (which he snatched in unbecoming haste from the girdle), the paste of the edge of the gigantic pie, and stole a weighty slice of the venison from beneath. "Ah, ah!" grinned Solomon, evidently pleased at the distinction bestowed upon his compost. "Is it not passing good? But you taste not of the gravy--the gravy!" "It is unseemly to dispose one's heart towards such luxuries; though the saints stand in need of food no less than the young ravens--only it should be in moderation."