gave utterance to a remark. His part in the festive ceremony was the
performance of the _beneventatio_; and although he had committed the
speech to memory, he could not help but tremble at thought of having to
repeat it before so grand a dame as the new mistress of the manor. He
always trembled whenever he began his sermons; but once fairly started,
then he became a veritable Demosthenes.

"I only hope, reverend sir," jestingly observed the vice-palatine, "that
it will not happen to you as it did to the _csokonai_, not long ago.
Some wags exchanged his sermon-book for one on cookery, and he did not
notice it until he began to read in the pulpit: 'The vinegar was--' Then
he saw that he was reading a recipe for pickled gherkins. He had the
presence of mind, however, to continue, '--was offered to the Saviour,
who said, "It is finished."' And on that text he extemporized a
discourse that astounded the entire presbytery."

"I shall manage somehow to say my speech," returned the pastor, meekly,
"if only I do not stumble over the name of the lady."

"It is a difficult name," assented the vice-palatine. "What is it? I
have already forgotten it, reverend sir."

"Katharina von Landsknechtsschild."

The vice-palatine's pointed mustaches essayed to give utterance to the
name.

"Lantz-k-nek-hisz-sild--that's asking a great deal from a body at one
time!" he concluded, in disgust at his ill success.