[The Reverend Arthur Warrington rebukes his wife, Martha Warrington,
upon a trivial account.]
The Red Farm, Baldon, Suffolk,
Sunday within the Octave of All Saints.
Dear Martha,--Your continued stay with my cousins at Cambridge does
not seem a great compliment to your husband. John is a very estimable
man, it is true; but I ask you if it is discreet or prudent that a
clergyman’s wife should associate with one who is not ashamed to
attend the horse races at Newmarket, and has declared from a public
platform that the Anti-Field Sports’ League is a society of
charlatans.
I had expected you to return and tell me more of this dreadful affair
in which our cousin Henry is implicated. Is it kind to protract my
anxieties? If it indeed be true that his unhappy wife has fled, then I
think that the future need give us little anxiety. I say, God forbid
that any harm should have overtaken the poor creature; but the human
destinies are not in our hands, and we must humbly bow to them. To-day
I wrote to Mr. Frogg, suggesting that we had some right to an
inventory of the property. The great house at Fawlands, now let to
Lord Lesborough, contains priceless furniture bought by Henry’s
father, my uncle, and of this a valuation should be made. It is
possible that by judicious economy and some practice of
self-denial--in which I shall invite your cordial help--we might be
able to live there ourselves when the present tenancy is terminated.
But I shall permit no worldly ambitions to hamper my sacred calling,
and in this course I must be guided by the Bishop. There is a See to
be founded presently at Bury St. Edmunds, and there should be four
residentiary canonries as a minimum. Here your brother’s influence
with the Lord Chancellor may help us, and I should not hesitate to
give a series of dinners in London to promote so worthy an aim. After
all, rich men owe something to society, to do their duty in that state
into which they were born; and we should be strangely forgetful of our
privileges if we were merely to husband this money which the Lord has
put into our keeping.
Would you not like to be a canon’s wife, Martha? Remember that a
Deanery may lie beyond, or even a Bishopric. I will not permit myself
to think of these things. To-morrow I should have an answer from Mr.
Frogg, and also, I hope, a letter announcing your return. These
sporting people, surely, are no fit companions for a clergyman’s wife!
Your devoted husband,
Arthur.