glass lid.

He determined to act upon this, and lay his case before Bishop Borzoi
even without the introduction he had hoped for. Fortunately he still had
some sheets of Beagle and Company notepaper, with the engraved lettering
and Office of the General Manager embossed thereon. He was in some doubt
as to the proper formality and style of address in communicating with a
Bishop: was it "Very Reverend," or "Right Reverend"? and which of these
indicated a superior grade of reverendability? But he decided that a
masculine frankness would not be amiss. He wrote:--

VERY RIGHT REVEREND BISHOP BORZOI,

Dear Bishop:--

May one of the least of your admirers solicit an interview with your
very right reverence, to discuss matters pertaining to religion,
theology, and a possible vacancy in the Church? If there are any sees
outstanding, it would be a favour. This is very urgent. I enclose a
stamped addressed envelope.

Respectfully yours,

MR. GISSING.

A prompt reply from the Bishop's secretary granted him an appointment.

Scrupulously attired in his tail-coat and silk hat, Gissing proceeded
toward the rendezvous. To tell the truth, he was nervous: his mind
flitted uneasily among possible embarrassments. Suppose Mr. Poodle had
written to the Bishop to prejudice his application? Another, but more
absurd, idea troubled him. One of the problems in visiting the houses
of the Great (he had learned in his brief career in Big Business) is
to find the door-bell. It is usually mysteriously concealed. Suppose he
should have to peer hopelessly about the vestibule, in a shameful and
suspicious manner, until some flunky came out to chide? In the sunny
park below the Cathedral he saw nurses sitting by their puppy-carriages;
for an instant he almost envied their gross tranquillity. THEY have not
got (he said to himself) to call on a Bishop!

He was early, so he strolled for a few minutes in the park that lies
underneath that rocky scarp. On the summit, clear-surging against the
blue, the great church rode like a ship on a long ridge of sea. The
angel with a trumpet on the jut of the roof was like a valiant seaman in
the crow's nest. His agitation was calmed by this noble sight. Yes, he
said, the Church is a ship behind whose bulwarks I will find rest. She
sails an unworldly sea: her crew are exempt from earthly ambition and
fallacy.

He ran nimbly up the long steps that scale the cliff, and approached
the ep