himself
again on the bishop's cob!

Up to Saturday evening Mr. Crawley did the work of the parish, and on
the Saturday evening he made an address to his parishioners from his
pulpit. He had given notice among the brickmakers and labourers that
he wished to say a few words to them in the schoolroom; but the
farmers also heard of this and came with their wives and daughters,
and all the brickmakers came, and most of the labourers were
there, so that there was no room for them in the schoolhouse. The
congregation was much larger than was customary even in the church.
"They will come," he said to his wife, "to hear a ruined man declare
his own ruin, but they will not come to hear the word of God."
When it was found that the persons assembled were too many for the
school-room, the meeting was adjourned to the church, and Mr. Crawley
was forced to get into his pulpit. He said a short prayer, and then
he began his story.

[Illustration: "They will come to hear a ruined man
declare his own ruin."]

His story as he told it then shall not be repeated now, as the same
story has been told too often already in these pages. Surely it was a
singular story for a parish clergyman to tell himself in so solemn a
manner. That he had applied the cheque to his own purposes, and was
unable to account for the possession of it, was certain. He did not
know when or how he had got it. Speaking to them then in God's house
he told them that. He was to be tried by a jury, and all he could
do was to tell the jury the same. He would not expect the jury to
believe him. The jury would, of course, believe only that which was
proved to them. But he did expect his old friends at Hogglestock,
who had known him so long, to take his word as true. That there was
no sufficient excuse for his conduct, even in his own sight, this,
his voluntary resignation of his parish, was, he said, sufficient
evidence. Then he explained to them, as clearly as he was able, what
the bishop had done, what the commission had done, and what he had
done himself. That he spoke no word of Mrs. Proudie to that audience
need hardly be mentioned here. "And now, dearest friends, I leave
you," he said, with that weighty solemnity which was so peculiar to
the man, and which he was able to make singularly impressive even on
such a congregation as that of Hogglestock, "and I trust that the
heavy but pleasing burden of the charge which I have had over you may
fall into hands better fi