CHAPTER XXXII

A New Candidate for Ecclesiastical Honours

The dean's illness occasioned much mental turmoil in other places

besides the deanery and adjoining library, and the idea which occurred

to the meagre little prebendary about Mr. Slope did not occur to him

alone.

The bishop was sitting listlessly in his study when the news reached

him of the dean's illness. It was brought to him by Mr. Slope, who

of course was not the last person in Barchester to hear it. It was

also not slow in finding its way to Mrs. Proudie's ears. It may be

presumed that there was not just then much friendly intercourse

between these two rival claimants for his lordship's obedience.

Indeed, though living in the same house, they had not met since the

stormy interview between them in the bishop's study on the preceding

day.

On that occasion Mrs. Proudie had been defeated. That the prestige

of continual victory should have been torn from her standards was a

subject of great sorrow to that militant lady; but, though defeated,

she was not overcome. She felt that she might yet recover her lost

ground, that she might yet hurl Mr. Slope down to the dust from which

she had picked him, and force her sinning lord to sue for pardon in

sackcloth and ashes.

On that memorable day, memorable for his mutiny and rebellion against

her high behests, he had carried his way with a high hand, and had

really begun to think it possible that the days of his slavery were

counted. He had begun to hope that he was now about to enter into a

free land, a land delicious with milk which he himself might quaff

and honey which would not tantalize him by being only honey to the

eye. When Mrs. Proudie banged the door as she left his room, he felt

himself every inch a bishop. To be sure, his spirit had been a little

cowed by his chaplain's subsequent lecture, but on the whole he was

highly pleased with himself, and he flattered himself that the worst

was over. "_Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coûte_," he reflected, and

now that the first step had been so magnanimously taken, all the rest

would follow easily.

He met his wife as a matter of course at dinner, where little or

nothing was said that could ruffle the bishop's happiness. His

daughters and the servants were present and protected him.

He made one or two trifling remarks on the subject of his projected

visit to the archbishop, in order to show to all concerned that he

intended to have his own way; the very servants, perceiving the

change, transferred a little of their reverence from their mistress

to their master. All which the master perceived, and so also did the

mistress. But Mrs. Proudie bided her time.

After dinner he returned to his study, where Mr. Slope soon found

him, and there they had tea together and planned many things. For

some few minutes the bishop was really happy; but as the clock on the

chimney-piece warned him that the stilly hours of night were drawing

on, as he looked at his chamber candlestick and knew that he must

use it, his heart sank within him again. He was as a ghost, all

whose power of wandering free through these upper regions ceases at

cock-crow; or, rather, he was the opposite of the ghost, for till

cock-crow he must again be a serf. And would that be all? Could he

trust himself to come down to breakfast a free man in the morning?

He was nearly an hour later than usual when he betook himself to his

rest. Rest! What rest? However, he took a couple of glasses of sherry

and mounted the stairs. Far be it from us to follow him thither. There

are some things which no novelist, no historian, should attempt; some

few scenes in life's drama which even no poet should dare to paint.

Let that which passed between Dr. Proudie and his wife on this night

be understood to be among them.

He came down the following morning a sad and thoughtful man. He was

attenuated in appearance--one might almost say emaciated. I doubt

whether his now grizzled locks had not palpably become more grey than

on the preceding evening. At any rate he had aged materially. Years

do not make a man old gradually and at an even pace. Look through

the world and see if this is not so always, except in those

rare cases in which the human being lives and dies without joys

and without sorrows, like a vegetable. A man shall be possessed

of florid, youthful blooming health till, it matters not what

age--thirty; forty; fifty--then comes some nipping frost, some period

of agony, that robs the fibres of the body of their succulence, and

the hale and hearty man is counted among the old.

He came down and breakfasted alone; Mrs. Proudie, being indisposed,

took her coffee in her bedroom, and her daughters waited upon her

there. He ate his breakfast alone, and then, hardly knowing what he

did, he betook himself to his usual seat in his study. He tried to

solace himself with his coming visit to the archbishop. That effort

of his own free will at any rate remained to him as an enduring

triumph. But somehow, now that he had achieved it, he did not seem

to care so much about it. It was his ambition that had prompted him

to take his place at the archiepiscopal table, and his ambition was

now quite dead within him.

He was thus seated when Mr. Slope made his appearance, with

breathless impatience.

"My lord, the dean is dead."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the bishop, startled out of his apathy by

an announcement so sad and so sudden.

"He is either dead or now dying. He has had an apoplectic fit, and I

am told that there is not the slightest hope; indeed, I do not doubt

that by this time he is no more."

Bells were rung, and servants were immediately sent to inquire.

In the course of the morning the bishop, leaning on his chaplain's

arm, himself called at the deanery door. Mrs. Proudie sent to Miss

Trefoil all manner of offers of assistance. The Misses Proudie sent

also, and there was immense sympathy between the palace and the

deanery. The answer to all inquiries was unvaried. The dean was

just the same, and Sir Omicron Pie was expected down by the 9.15 P.M.

train.

And then Mr. Slope began to meditate, as others also had done, as to

who might possibly be the new dean, and it occurred to him, as it had

also occurred to others, that it might be possible that he should be

the new dean himself. And then the question as to the twelve hundred,

or fifteen hundred, or two thousand ran in his mind, as it had run

through those of the other clergymen in the cathedral library.

Whether it might be two thousand, or fifteen, or twelve hundred, it

would in any case undoubtedly be a great thing for him, if he could

get it. The gratification to his ambition would be greater even than

that of his covetousness. How glorious to out-top the archdeacon in

his own cathedral city; to sit above prebendaries and canons and have

the cathedral pulpit and all the cathedral services altogether at his

own disposal!

But it might be easier to wish for this than to obtain it. Mr.

Slope, however, was not without some means of forwarding his views,

and he at any rate did not let the grass grow under his feet. In the

first place, he thought--and not vainly--that he could count upon

what assistance the bishop could give him. He immediately changed

his views with regard to his patron; he made up his mind that if he

became dean, he would hand his lordship back again to his wife's

vassalage; and he thought it possible that his lordship might not be

sorry to rid himself of one of his mentors. Mr. Slope had also taken

some steps towards making his name known to other men in power.

There was a certain chief-commissioner of national schools, who at

the present moment was presumed to stand especially high in the

good graces of the government bigwigs, and with him Mr. Slope had

contrived to establish a sort of epistolary intimacy. He thought

that he might safely apply to Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin, and he felt

sure that if Sir Nicholas chose to exert himself, the promise of such

a piece of preferment would be had for the asking.

Then he also had the press at his bidding, or flattered himself that

he had so. "The Daily Jupiter" had taken his part in a very thorough

manner in those polemical contests of his with Mr. Arabin; he had on

more than one occasion absolutely had an interview with a gentleman

on the staff of that paper who, if not the editor, was as good as the

editor; and he had long been in the habit of writing telling letters

on all manner of ecclesiastical abuses, which he signed with his

initials, and sent to his editorial friend with private notes signed

in his own name. Indeed, he and Mr. Towers--such was the name of the

powerful gentleman of the press with whom he was connected--were

generally very amiable with each other. Mr. Slope's little productions

were always printed and occasionally commented upon; and thus, in a

small sort of way, he had become a literary celebrity. This public

life had great charms for him, though it certainly also had its

drawbacks. On one occasion, when speaking in the presence of

reporters, he had failed to uphold and praise and swear by that

special line of conduct which had been upheld and praised and sworn

by in "The Jupiter," and then he had been much surprised and at

the moment not a little irritated to find himself lacerated most

unmercifully by his old ally. He was quizzed and bespattered and made

a fool of, just as though, or rather worse than if, he had been a

constant enemy instead of a constant friend. He had hitherto not

learnt that a man who aspires to be on the staff of "The Jupiter" must

surrender all individuality. But ultimately this little castigation

had broken no bones between him and his friend Mr. Towers. Mr. Slope

was one of those who understood the world too well to show himself

angry with such a potentate as "The Jupiter." He had kissed the rod

that scourged him, and now thought that he might fairly look for his

reward. He determined that he would at once let Mr. Towers know that

he was a candidate for the place which was about to become vacant.

More than one piece of preferment had lately been given away much in

accordance with advice tendered to the government in the columns of

"The Jupiter."

But it was incumbent on Mr. Slope first to secure the bishop. He

specially felt that it behoved him to do this before the visit to the

archbishop was made. It was really quite providential that the dean

should have fallen ill just at the very nick of time. If Dr. Proudie

could be instigated to take the matter up warmly, he might manage

a good deal while staying at the archbishop's palace. Feeling this

very strongly, Mr. Slope determined to sound the bishop that very

afternoon. He was to start on the following morning to London, and

therefore not a moment could be lost with safety.

He went into the bishop's study about five o'clock and found him

still sitting alone. It might have been supposed that he had hardly

moved since the little excitement occasioned by his walk to the

dean's door. He still wore on his face that dull, dead look of

half-unconscious suffering. He was doing nothing, reading nothing,

thinking of nothing, but simply gazing on vacancy when Mr. Slope for

the second time that day entered his room.

"Well, Slope," said he somewhat impatiently, for, to tell the truth,

he was not anxious just at present to have much conversation with Mr.

Slope.

"Your lordship will be sorry to hear that as yet the poor dean has

shown no sign of amendment."

"Oh--ah--hasn't he? Poor man! I'm sure I'm very sorry. I suppose

Sir Omicron has not arrived yet?"

"No, not till the 9.15 P.M. train."

"I wonder they didn't have a special. They say Dr. Trefoil is very

rich."

"Very rich, I believe," said Mr. Slope. "But the truth is, all the

doctors in London can do no good--no other good than to show that

every possible care has been taken. Poor Dr. Trefoil is not long for

this world, my lord."

"I suppose not--I suppose not."

"Oh, no; indeed, his best friends could not wish that he should

outlive such a shock, for his intellects cannot possibly survive it."

"Poor man! Poor man!" said the bishop.

"It will naturally be a matter of much moment to your lordship who

is to succeed him," said Mr. Slope. "It would be a great thing if

you could secure the appointment for some person of your own way

of thinking on important points. The party hostile to us are very

strong here in Barchester--much too strong."

"Yes, yes. If poor Dr. Trefoil is to go, it will be a great thing to

get a good man in his place."

"It will be everything to your lordship to get a man on whose

co-operation you can reckon. Only think what trouble we might have if

Dr. Grantly, or Dr. Hyandry, or any of that way of thinking were to

get it."

"It is not very probable that Lord ---- will give it to any of that

school; why should he?"

"No. Not probable; certainly not; but it's possible. Great interest

will probably be made. If I might venture to advise your lordship, I

would suggest that you should discuss the matter with his grace next

week. I have no doubt that your wishes, if made known and backed by

his grace, would be paramount with Lord ----."

"Well, I don't know that; Lord ---- has always been very kind to me,

very kind. But I am unwilling to interfere in such matters unless

asked. And indeed if asked, I don't know whom, at this moment, I

should recommend."

Mr. Slope, even Mr. Slope, felt at the present rather abashed. He

hardly knew how to frame his little request in language sufficiently

modest. He had recognized and acknowledged to himself the necessity

of shocking the bishop in the first instance by the temerity of his

application, and his difficulty was how best to remedy that by his

adroitness and eloquence. "I doubted myself," said he, "whether your

lordship would have anyone immediately in your eye, and it is on this

account that I venture to submit to you an idea that I have been

turning over in my own mind. If poor Dr. Trefoil must go, I really

do not see why, with your lordship's assistance, I should not hold

the preferment myself."

"You!" exclaimed the bishop in a manner that Mr. Slope could hardly

have considered complimentary.

The ice was now broken, and Mr. Slope became fluent enough. "I have

been thinking of looking for it. If your lordship will press the

matter on the archbishop, I do not doubt but I shall succeed. You

see I shall be the first to move, which is a great matter. Then I

can count upon assistance from the public press: my name is known,

I may say, somewhat favourably known, to that portion of the press

which is now most influential with the government; and I have friends

also in the government. But nevertheless it is to you, my lord,

that I look for assistance. It is from your hands that I would most

willingly receive the benefit. And, which should ever be the chief

consideration in such matters, you must know better than any other

person whatsoever what qualifications I possess."

The bishop sat for awhile dumbfounded. Mr. Slope Dean of Barchester!

The idea of such a transformation of character would never have

occurred to his own unaided intellect. At first he went on thinking

why, for what reasons, on what account, Mr. Slope should be Dean of

Barchester. But by degrees the direction of his thoughts changed,

and he began to think why, for what reasons, on what account, Mr.

Slope should not be Dean of Barchester. As far as he himself, the

bishop, was concerned, he could well spare the services of his

chaplain. That little idea of using Mr. Slope as a counterpoise

to his wife had well nigh evaporated. He had all but acknowledged

the futility of the scheme. If indeed he could have slept in his

chaplain's bedroom instead of his wife's, there might have been

something in it. But--. And thus as Mr. Slope was speaking, the

bishop began to recognize the idea that that gentleman might become

Dean of Barchester without impropriety--not moved, indeed, by Mr.

Slope's eloquence, for he did not follow the tenor of his speech, but

led thereto by his own cogitations.

"I need not say," continued Mr. Slope, "that it would be my chief

desire to act in all matters connected with the cathedral as far as

possible in accordance with your views. I know your lordship so well

(and I hope you know me well enough to have the same feelings) that I

am satisfied that my being in that position would add materially to

your own comfort, and enable you to extend the sphere of your useful

influence. As I said before, it is most desirable that there should

be but one opinion among the dignitaries of the same diocese. I

doubt much whether I would accept such an appointment in any diocese

in which I should be constrained to differ much from the bishop. In

this case there would be a delightful uniformity of opinion."

Mr. Slope perfectly well perceived that the bishop did not follow a

word that he said, but nevertheless he went on talking. He knew it

was necessary that Dr. Proudie should recover from his surprise,

and he knew also that he must give him the opportunity of appearing

to have been persuaded by argument. So he went on and produced a

multitude of fitting reasons all tending to show that no one on

earth could make so good a Dean of Barchester as himself, that the

government and the public would assuredly coincide in desiring that

he, Mr. Slope, should be Dean of Barchester, but that for high

considerations of ecclesiastical polity it would be especially

desirable that this piece of preferment should be so bestowed through

the instrumentality of the bishop of the diocese.

"But I really don't know what I could do in the matter," said the

bishop.

"If you would mention it to the archbishop; if you could tell his

grace that you consider such an appointment very desirable, that you

have it much at heart with a view to putting an end to schism in the

diocese; if you did this with your usual energy, you would probably

find no difficulty in inducing his grace to promise that he would

mention it to Lord ----. Of course you would let the archbishop

know that I am not looking for the preferment solely through his

intervention; that you do not exactly require him to ask it as a

favour; that you expect that I shall get it through other sources,

as is indeed the case; but that you are very anxious that his grace

should express his approval of such an arrangement to Lord ----."

It ended in the bishop promising to do as he was bid. Not that he

so promised without a stipulation. "About that hospital," he said

in the middle of the conference. "I was never so troubled in my

life"--which was about the truth. "You haven't spoken to Mr. Harding

since I saw you?"

Mr. Slope assured his patron that he had not.

"Ah well, then--I think upon the whole it will be better to let

Quiverful have it. It has been half-promised to him, and he has

a large family and is very poor. I think on the whole it will be

better to make out the nomination for Mr. Quiverful."

"But, my lord," said Mr. Slope, still thinking that he was bound to

make a fight for his own view on this matter, and remembering that it

still behoved him to maintain his lately acquired supremacy over Mrs.

Proudie, lest he should fail in his views regarding the deanery,

"but, my lord, I am really much afraid--"

"Remember, Mr. Slope," said the bishop, "I can hold out no sort of

hope to you in this matter of succeeding poor Dr. Trefoil. I will

certainly speak to the archbishop, as you wish it, but I cannot

think--"

"Well, my lord," said Mr. Slope, fully understanding the bishop and

in his turn interrupting him, "perhaps your lordship is right about

Mr. Quiverful. I have no doubt I can easily arrange matters with Mr.

Harding, and I will make out the nomination for your signature as you

direct."

"Yes, Slope, I think that will be best; and you may be sure that any

little that I can do to forward your views shall be done."

And so they parted.

Mr. Slope had now much business on his hands. He had to make his

daily visit to the signora. This common prudence should have now

induced him to omit, but he was infatuated, and could not bring

himself to be commonly prudent. He determined therefore that he

would drink tea at the Stanhopes', and he determined also, or thought

that he determined, that having done so he would go thither no more.

He had also to arrange his matters with Mrs. Bold. He was of opinion

that Eleanor would grace the deanery as perfectly as she would the

chaplain's cottage, and he thought, moreover, that Eleanor's fortune

would excellently repair any dilapidations and curtailments in

the dean's stipend which might have been made by that ruthless

ecclesiastical commission.

Touching Mrs. Bold his hopes now soared high. Mr. Slope was one of

that numerous multitude of swains who think that all is fair in love,

and he had accordingly not refrained from using the services of Mrs.

Bold's own maid. From her he had learnt much of what had taken place

at Plumstead--not exactly with truth, for "the own maid" had not been

able to divine the exact truth, but with some sort of similitude to

it. He had been told that the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly and Mr.

Harding and Mr. Arabin had all quarrelled with "missus" for having

received a letter from Mr. Slope; that "missus" had positively

refused to give the letter up; that she had received from the

archdeacon the option of giving up either Mr. Slope and his letter,

or else the society of Plumstead Rectory; and that "missus" had

declared, with much indignation, that "she didn't care a straw for

the society of Plumstead Rectory," and that she wouldn't give up Mr.

Slope for any of them.

Considering the source from whence this came, it was not quite so

untrue as might have been expected. It showed pretty plainly what

had been the nature of the conversation in the servants' hall; and,

coupled as it was with the certainty of Eleanor's sudden return, it

appeared to Mr. Slope to be so far worthy of credit as to justify him

in thinking that the fair widow would in all human probability accept

his offer.

All this work was therefore to be done. It was desirable, he

thought, that he should make his offer before it was known that

Mr. Quiverful was finally appointed to the hospital. In his letter

to Eleanor he had plainly declared that Mr. Harding was to have the

appointment. It would be very difficult to explain this away, and

were he to write another letter to Eleanor, telling the truth and

throwing the blame on the bishop, it would naturally injure him in

her estimation. He determined therefore to let that matter disclose

itself as it would, and to lose no time in throwing himself at her

feet.

Then he had to solicit the assistance of Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin and

Mr. Towers, and he went directly from the bishop's presence to

compose his letters to those gentlemen. As Mr. Slope was esteemed an

adept at letter writing, they shall be given in full.

(Private) Palace, Barchester, Sept. 185--

MY DEAR SIR NICHOLAS,

I hope that the intercourse which has been between us will

preclude you from regarding my present application as an

intrusion. You cannot, I imagine, have yet heard that poor

old Dr. Trefoil has been seized with apoplexy. It is a

subject of profound grief to everyone in Barchester, for

he has always been an excellent man--excellent as a man

and as a clergyman. He is, however, full of years, and

his life could not under any circumstances have been much

longer spared. You may probably have known him.

There is, it appears, no probable chance of his recovery.

Sir Omicron Pie is, I believe, at present with him. At

any rate the medical men here have declared that one or

two days more must limit the tether of his mortal coil.

I sincerely trust that his soul may wing its flight to

that haven where it may forever be at rest and forever be

happy.

The bishop has been speaking to me about the preferment,

and he is anxious that it should be conferred on me. I

confess that I can hardly venture, at my age, to look

for such advancement, but I am so far encouraged by his

lordship that I believe I shall be induced to do so.

His lordship goes to ---- to-morrow and is intent on

mentioning the subject to the archbishop.

I know well how deservedly great is your weight with

the present government. In any matter touching church

preferment you would of course be listened to. Now that

the matter has been put into my head, I am of course

anxious to be successful. If you can assist me by your

good word, you will confer on me one additional favour.

I had better add, that Lord ---- cannot as yet know of

this piece of preferment having fallen in, or rather of

its certainty of falling (for poor dear Dr. Trefoil is

past hope). Should Lord ---- first hear it from you, that

might probably be thought to give you a fair claim to

express your opinion.

Of course our grand object is that we should all be of

one opinion in church matters. This is most desirable at

Barchester; it is this that makes our good bishop so

anxious about it. You may probably think it expedient to

point this out to Lord ---- if it shall be in your power

to oblige me by mentioning the subject to his lordship.

Believe me,

My dear Sir Nicholas,

Your most faithful servant,

OBADIAH SLOPE

His letter to Mr. Towers was written in quite a different strain.

Mr. Slope conceived that he completely understood the difference in

character and position of the two men whom he addressed. He knew

that for such a man as Sir Nicholas Fitzwhiggin a little flummery was

necessary, and that it might be of the easy, everyday description.

Accordingly his letter to Sir Nicholas was written, _currente calamo_,

with very little trouble. But to such a man as Mr. Towers it was not

so easy to write a letter that should be effective and yet not

offensive, that should carry its point without undue interference.

It was not difficult to flatter Dr. Proudie or Sir Nicholas

Fitzwhiggin, but very difficult to flatter Mr. Towers without letting

the flattery declare itself. This, however, had to be done.

Moreover, this letter must, in appearance at least, be written

without effort, and be fluent, unconstrained, and demonstrative of no

doubt or fear on the part of the writer. Therefore the epistle to

Mr. Towers was studied, and re-copied, and elaborated at the cost of

so many minutes that Mr. Slope had hardly time to dress himself and

reach Dr. Stanhope's that evening.

When dispatched, it ran as follows:--

(Private.) Barchester. Sept. 185--

(He purposely omitted any allusion to the "palace," thinking that Mr.

Towers might not like it. A great man, he remembered, had been once

much condemned for dating a letter from Windsor Castle.)

MY DEAR SIR,

We were all a good deal shocked here this morning by

hearing that poor old Dean Trefoil had been stricken with

apoplexy. The fit took him about 9 A.M. I am writing now

to save the post, and he is still alive, but past all hope

or possibility, I believe, of living. Sir Omicron Pie

is here, or will be very shortly, but all that even Sir

Omicron can do is to ratify the sentence of his less

distinguished brethren that nothing can be done. Poor

Dr. Trefoil's race on this side the grave is run. I do

not know whether you knew him. He was a good, quiet,

charitable man, of the old school, of course, as any

clergyman over seventy years of age must necessarily be.

But I do not write merely with the object of sending you

such news as this: doubtless someone of your Mercuries

will have seen and heard and reported so much; I write, as

you usually do yourself, rather with a view to the future

than to the past.

Rumour is already rife here as to Dr. Trefoil's successor,

and among those named as possible future deans your humble

servant is, I believe, not the least frequently spoken

of; in short, I am looking for the preferment. You may

probably know that since Bishop Proudie came to the

diocese I have exerted myself here a good deal and, I may

certainly say, not without some success. He and I are

nearly always of the same opinion on points of doctrine

as well as church discipline, and therefore I have had,

as his confidential chaplain, very much in my own hands;

but I confess to you that I have a higher ambition than to

remain the chaplain of any bishop.

There are no positions in which more energy is now needed

than those of our deans. The whole of our enormous

cathedral establishments have been allowed to go to

sleep--nay, they are all but dead and ready for the

sepulchre! And yet of what prodigious moment they might be

made if, as was intended, they were so managed as to lead

the way and show an example for all our parochial clergy!

The bishop here is most anxious for my success; indeed, he

goes to-morrow to press the matter on the archbishop. I

believe also I may count on the support of at least one

most effective member of the government. But I confess

that the support of "The Jupiter," if I be thought worthy

of it, would be more gratifying to me than any other;

more gratifying if by it I should be successful, and more

gratifying also if, although so supported, I should be

unsuccessful.

The time has, in fact, come in which no government can

venture to fill up the high places of the Church in

defiance of the public press. The age of honourable

bishops and noble deans has gone by, and any clergyman

however humbly born can now hope for success if his

industry, talent, and character be sufficient to call

forth the manifest opinion of the public in his favour.

At the present moment we all feel that any counsel

given in such matters by "The Jupiter" has the greatest

weight--is, indeed, generally followed; and we feel

also--I am speaking of clergymen of my own age and

standing--that it should be so. There can be no patron

less interested than "The Jupiter," and none that more

thoroughly understands the wants of the people.

I am sure you will not suspect me of asking from you any

support which the paper with which you are connected

cannot conscientiously give me. My object in writing is to

let you know that I am a candidate for the appointment. It

is for you to judge whether or no you can assist my views.

I should not, of course, have written to you on such a

matter had I not believed (and I have had good reason so

to believe) that "The Jupiter" approves of my views on

ecclesiastical polity.

The bishop expresses a fear that I may be considered too

young for such a station, my age being thirty-six. I

cannot think that at the present day any hesitation need

be felt on such a point. The public has lost its love for

antiquated servants. If a man will ever be fit to do good

work, he will be fit at thirty-six years of age.

Believe me very faithfully yours,

OBADIAH SLOPE

T. TOWERS, ESQ.,

---- Court,

Middle Temple.

Having thus exerted himself, Mr. Slope posted his letters and passed

the remainder of the evening at the feet of his mistress.

Mr. Slope will be accused of deceit in his mode of canvassing. It

will be said that he lied in the application he made to each of his

three patrons. I believe it must be owned that he did so. He could

not hesitate on account of his youth and yet be quite assured that

he was not too young. He could not count chiefly on the bishop's

support and chiefly also on that of the newspaper. He did not

think that the bishop was going to ---- to press the matter on the

archbishop. It must be owned that in his canvassing Mr. Slope was as

false as he well could be.

Let it, however, be asked of those who are conversant with such

matters, whether he was more false than men usually are on such

occasions. We English gentlemen hate the name of a lie, but how

often do we find public men who believe each other's words?