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 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 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 tantalise 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 flattered
himself that the worst was over. 'Ce n'est que le premier pas qui
coute', he reflected; and now that his 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; and 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 looks 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 bed-room, 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 arch-episcopal 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 Miss Proudies 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 there by the 9.15pm
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, of 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 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 big wigs, and with him Mr
Slope had contrived to establish a sort of epistolary intimacy. He
thought that he might safely apply to Sir Nicholas Fitzhiggin; 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
for.
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 the paper, who, if not the editor, was as
good as the editor; and had long been in the habit of writing
telling letters 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 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 be become
vacant. More than one place 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 in 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
out 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 the 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 signs 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 9.15pm 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 intellect 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 present rather abashed. He hardly
knew how to frame his little request in language sufficiently
modest. He had recognised 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 any one 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 that I shall succeed.
You see I shall 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, 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 a while dumfounded. 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. The 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 bed-room instead of his wife's there might have been
something in it. But---. And thus as Mr Slope as speaking, the
bishop began to recognise 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 cogitation.
'I need not say,' continued Mr Slope, 'that it would be my chief
desire to act in all matters connected with 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 not
desirable that there should be but one opinion among the
dignitaries in 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 would tell his
grace that you consider such an appointment very desirable, that
you have it much at heart with a view of putting an end to the
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 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 by the bishop promising to do as he was told. 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 Mr
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 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, 'I can hold out not 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 to handle. 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 Stanhope's; 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 the 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 and 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
the 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 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 had 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 as
an adept at letter writing, they shall be given in full.
'Palace, Barchester, Sept 185-, '(Private)
'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 dear
old Dr Trefoil has been seized with apoplexy. It is a subject of
profound grief to every one in Barchester, for he has always been
an excellent man--excellent as 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 for ever be at rest and
for ever 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 London tomorrow, 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 the certainty of falling
(for poor dear Dr Trefoil is past hope). Should Lord - first hear
it from you, that might probably bee 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.
Therefor the epistle to Mr Towers was studied, and recopied, 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:-
'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.)
'(Private)
'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 9am. 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 of 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 some one 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 her 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 this diocese, I have exerted myself 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 in
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 we intend, 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 of the most effective
member of the government. But I confess 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., '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 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?