for the Additional Clergy Society. It wrung four annas from
me--but it was a terrible wrench. I would not go through it again to
have every living graduate of St. Bees and Durham disgorged on our
coral strand.

From my saying this do not suppose that I am Mr. Whitley Stokes, or
Babu Keshub Chundra Sen. I am a Churchman, beneath the surface, though
a pellicle of inquiry may have supervened. I am not with the party of
the Bishop, nor yet am I with Sir J.S., or Sir A.C. I abide in the
Limbo of Vanity, as a temporary arrangement, to study the seamy side
of Indian politics and morality, to examine misbegotten wars and
reforms with the scalpel, Stars of India with the spectroscope, and to
enjoy the society of half-a-dozen amusing people to whom the Empire of
India is but a wheel of fortune.

I like the recognised relations between the Archdeacon and women. They
are more than avuncular and less than cousinly; they are tender
without being romantic, and confiding without being burdensome. He has
the private _entree_ at _chhoti hazri_, or early breakfast; he sees
loose and flowing robes that are only for esoteric disciples; he has
the private _entree_ at five o'clock tea and hears plans for the
evening campaign openly discussed. He is quite behind the scenes. He
hears the earliest whispers of engagements and flirtations. He can
give a stone to the Press Commissioner in the gossip handicap, and win
in a canter. You cannot tell him anything he does not know already.

Whenever the Government of India has a merrymaking, he is out on the
trail. At Delhi he was in the thick of the mummery, beaming on
barbaric princes and paynim princesses, blessing banners, blessing
trumpeters, blessing proclamations, blessing champagne and truffles,
blessing pretty girls, and blessing the conjunction of planets that
had placed his lines in such pleasant places. His tight little cob,
his perfect riding kit, his flowing beard, and his pleasant smile were
the admiration of all the Begums and Nabobs that had come to the fair.
The Government of India took such delight in him that they gave him a
gold medal and a book.

With the inferior clergy the Archdeacon is not at his ease. He cannot
respect the little ginger-bread gods of doctrine they make for
themselves; he cannot worship at their hill altars; their hocus-pocus
and their crystallised phraseology fall dissonantly on his ear; their
talk of chasubles and stoles, eastern attitude, and all the rest