possible. I could wish that there were
occasions on which a bishop might assemble his clergy, and preach to
them sermons adapted to their use."

"What do you call a bishop's charge, then?"

"It is usually in the printed form that I have received it," said Mr
Crawley.

"I think we have quite enough of that kind of thing," said the
archdeacon.

"He is a man whose conversation is not pleasing to me," Mr. Crawley
said to his wife that night.

"Do not judge of him too quickly, Josiah," his wife said. "There
is so much of good in him! He is kind, and generous, and I think
affectionate."

"But he is of the earth, earthy. When you and the other ladies had
retired, the conversation at first fell on the habits and value
of--foxes. I have been informed that in these parts the fox is
greatly prized, as without a fox to run before the dogs, that
scampering over the country which is called hunting, and which
delights by the quickness and perhaps by the peril of the exercise,
is not relished by the riders. Of the wisdom or taste herein
displayed by the hunters of the day I say nothing. But it seemed to
me that in talking of foxes Dr. Grantly was master of his subject.
Thence the topic glided to the duties of a bishop and to questions
of preaching, as to which Dr. Grantly was not slow in offering his
opinion. But I thought that I would rather have heard him talk about
the foxes for a week together." She said nothing more to him, knowing
well how useless it was to attempt to turn him by any argument.
To her thinking the kindness of the archdeacon to them personally
demanded some indulgence in the expression, and even in the
formation, of an opinion, respecting his clerical peculiarities.

On the next day, however, Mr. Crawley, having been summoned by the
archdeacon into the library for a little private conversation, found
that he got on better with him. How the archdeacon conquered him may
perhaps be best described by a further narration of what Mr. Crawley
said to his wife. "I told him that in regard to money matters, as he
called them, I had nothing to say. I only trusted that his son was
aware that my daughter had no money, and never would have any. 'My
dear Crawley,' the archdeacon said,--for of late there seems to have
grown up in the world a habit of greater familiarity than that which
I think did prevail when last I moved much among men,--'my dear
Crawley, I have enough for both.' 'I would we stood on more equal
ground