Mrs. Proudie, wife of the Bishop of Barchester, admits Mrs. Quiverful
into her confidence. Mrs. Proudie first takes pleasure in a new and
pious acquaintance, Lady Crawley (_née_ Sharp), but afterwards discovers
the true character of this insidious and dangerous woman.
The Palace, Barchester, July 17.
DEAR LETITIA,—The appearance of mumps in a small family of fourteen like
yours, is indeed one of those dispensations which teach us how mysterious
are the ways! But I need not tell you to be most careful about cold,
which greatly adds to the virulence of the complaint, and it is difficult
for you, in lodgings at Brighton, to keep a watchful eye on so many at
once. May this discipline be blessed to you, and to the dear children!
I have much to tell you of Barchester. The light worldly tone of some
families in this place (I will not mention the Grantleys nor the Arabins)
has been checked, I hope, by one of those accidents which surely, surely,
are not to be considered accidents alone! You know how strong is my
objection to fancy fairs or bazaars, too often rather scenes of giddy
merriment than exhibitions of genuine Christian feeling. Yet by means of
one of these (how strangely are things ordered!) a happy change, I trust,
is being brought about in our midst.
You have heard of Hogglestock, though you may never have visited that
benighted and outlying parish. Indeed, I was never there myself till
last week, when Tom felt it his duty (though woefully misdirected, to my
mind, but we are fallible creatures) to go and open a bazaar in that
place for the restoration of the church. {56} I accompanied him; for I
trusted that an opportunity might be made for me, and that I might
especially bear in on the mind of the rector’s wife the absolute
necessity of Sabbath-day schools. The rector is a Mr. Crawley. He led
us on our arrival into a scene of red cloth, wax dolls most indelicately
displayed, cushions, antimacassars, and similar _idols_. The Bishop’s
speech (I composed it myself) you will read in the “Barchester Guardian,”
which I send you. While approving the _end_ he rebuked the _means_, and
took the opportunity to read a much-needed lesson on _Jesuitry_ and the
dangers of worldliness in high ecclesiastical places. Let those wince
who feel a sense of their own backslidings. When the Bishop had ended, I
determined to walk once through the bazaar just to make sure that there
were no lotteries nor games of chance—a desecration of our _mites_ now
too, too frequent. As I was returning through the throng, alas! of
_pleasure-seekers_, and wishing that I might scourge them out of the
schoolroom, Mr. Crawley met me, in company with a lady who desired, he
said, to be presented to me. He is a distant relation of the well-known
county family, the Crawleys, of Queen’s Crawley; the present baronet, Sir
Rawdon, having recently married Miss Jane Dobbin, daughter of Colonel
Dobbin. The lady who was now introduced to me, and whose _still
pleasing_ face wears an aspect of humble devoutness, was Lady Crawley,
mother of the present baronet.
“Madam,” she said, “I came here in the belief that I was discharging a
pious duty. My life, alas! has been one of sore trial, and I only try to
do good.” . . .
I was going to say that I had seen her name in a score of charity lists,
and knew her as a patroness of the Destitute Orange-Girls, the Neglected
Washerwomen, and the Distressed Muffin-Men. But she shook her head; and
then, looking up at me with eyes like a _saint’s_ (if our _privileges_
permitted us to believe in these fabulous beings of the Romish
superstition), she said, “Ah, no! I have always been in the wrong. The
beautiful address of the Bishop of Barchester has awakened me, and
convinced me that the _path_ does not lie through Fancy Fairs. I have to
begin again. Who shall guide me?”
I trust I am not subject to vanity; but the news that I (for I composed
the Charge, as I may almost call it) had been the instrument of so
affecting a change did not fail to please me. I thanked Lady Crawley,
and expressed my deep interest in her altered convictions. Finally she
promised to come on a visit to us at the Palace (she usually resides at
Bath or Cheltenham), and has been three days an inmate. Never have I met
a more singular example of what the Truth can do for one who, as she
admits, was long ago a worldling. “I have seen the vanity of it,” she
tells me, with tears in her eyes; and from her example I expect an
_awakening_ among our worldlings. They will follow the path of a
_titled_ person. Tom is much interested in his _convert_, as he thinks
her. Not to _me_ be the glory!—Your assured friend,