I DO NOT THINK THAT, TAKING THEM all round, the Cathedral dignitaries of Broadminster can be accused of assuming a greater importance than is due to their position; but a story is told about a Canon, lately deceased, which goes far to prove that he at least did not shrink from putting forward what he believed to be a reasonable claim to distinction--relative distinction. It is said that he was in the one bookseller's shop which is still to be found in the town. It was Saturday evening, when a stranger entered and, after buying a book, inquired of the proprietor who was the best preacher in the place: he explained that he was staying over Sunday and was anxious to hear the best. This was too delicate a question for the bookseller (with a clergyman at his elbow) to answer at a moment's notice; so he thought he would do well to evade the responsibility by referring the stranger to the Canon. “This gentleman is a stranger to the town, sir,” he said, “and he wishes to know who is the best preacher. I thought that perhaps you, sir----” “I hope you will pardon me, sir,” said the stranger. “I am staying here till Monday, and I ventured to inquire who is the best preacher.” “The best preacher, sir?” said the Canon, looking up from the book which he was sampling. “The best preacher? I am the best preacher, sir: I am Canon Hillman.” The stranger was slightly startled. “Thank you very much, sir,” he said quickly. “And who do you consider the next best?” “The next best is my brother, sir, the Reverend Theophilus Hillman.” The stranger raised his hat and hurried away. This Canon Hillman had a reputation for that sort of frankness suggested by the story which I have ventured to repeat as it was told to me, and which I have no difficulty in believing, from the example I had of his manner several years ago. I was sojourning at an hotel between Nice and Beaulieu, and he appeared one night at table d'hôte dinner. It was the custom for the proprietor, who, curiously enough, did not speak or understand English, though he was a Swiss, to stand at the entrance to the _salle à manger_, bowing out his guests as they passed into the spacious lounge after dinner, and in returning his courtesy, people said a word or two in commendation of his cuisine, to which he responded with further bows. It so happened upon this particular night, however, that one or two little mistakes had occurred to mar the harmony of the repast as a whole--they were quite trifles--the _pré salé_ being underdone and a jelly not having set with that rigidity which is expected in such comestibles, but which is not always to be found in them. While we were filing out of the room I was almost immediately behind Canon Hillman, and I heard him grumbling to a man who had been at his table, but who did not seem to sympathise with him; and this went on until they had reached the bowing proprietor, when the Canon stopped.