ever comes back to the old house and sees the changes,--and if
so whether he approves them."

"Approves them!" said the archdeacon.

"Well;--yes. I think he would, upon the whole. I'm sure of this: he
would not disapprove, because the new ways are changed from his ways.
He never thought himself infallible. And do you know, my dear, I am
not sure that it isn't all for the best. I sometimes think that some
of us were very idle when we were young. I was, I know."

"I worked hard enough," said the archdeacon.

"Ah, yes; you. But most of us took it very easily. Dear, dear! When
I think of it, and see how hard they work now, and remember what
pleasant times we used to have,--I don't feel sometimes quite sure."

"I believe the work was done a great deal better than it is now,"
said the archdeacon. "There wasn't so much fuss, but there was more
reality. And men were men, and clergymen were gentlemen."

"Yes;--they were gentlemen."

"Such a creature as that old woman at the palace couldn't have held
his head up among us. That's what has come from Reform. A reformed
House of Commons makes Lord Brock Prime Minister, and then your Prime
Minister makes Dr. Proudie a bishop! Well;--it will last my time, I
suppose."

"It has lasted mine,--like the wine," said Mr. Harding.

"There's one glass more, and you shall have it, sir." Then Mr. Harding
drank the last glass of the 1820 port, and they went into the
drawing-room.

On the next morning after breakfast the major went out for a walk
by himself. His father had suggested to him that he should go over
to shoot at Framley, and had offered him the use of everything the
archdeacon possessed in the way of horses, dogs, guns and carriages.
But the major would have none of these things. He would go out
and walk by himself. "He's not thinking of her; is he?" said the
archdeacon to his wife, in a whisper. "I don't know. I think he is,"
said Mrs. Grantly. "It will be so much the better for Charles, if
he does," said the archdeacon grimly; and the look of his face as
he spoke was by no means pleasant. "You will do nothing unjust,
archdeacon," said his wife. "I will do as I like with my own," said
he. And then he also went out and took a walk by himself.

That evening after dinner, there was no 1820 port, and no
recollections of old days. They were rather dull, the three of them,
as they sat together,--and dullness is always more endurable than
sadness. Old Mr. Harding went to sleep a