Clergy -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
She was a very pretty young lady, with bright brown eyes and hair and
rather arch features, and the gentleman she was addressing had long
found her face pleasant to look upon; but at this moment it really
seemed to him as the face of an angel. Yet he only answered with a kind
of depressed gratitude. “Thank you, Miss Hammond,” he said. “If good
wishes could procure me the living, I should have an excellent reason
for hoping. But as things are, it is not for me.”
“Pooh! pooh!” said Mrs. Hammond cheerily, “who knows?” And then, after
a few more words, they went on their way, and he turned into his rooms.
The old women were still watching. “I don’t well know who’ll get it,
Peggy,” said one, “but I be pretty sure of this, as he won’t! It isn’t
his sort as gets ’em. It’s the lord’s friends, bless you!”
So it appeared that she and Mr. Clode were of one mind on the matter.
But was that really Mr. Clode’s opinion? It was when the crow opened
its beak that it dropped the piece of cheese; and so to this day the
wise man has no chance or expectation of this or that until he gets it.
And if a patron or a patron’s solicitor has for some days had under his
paperweight a letter written in a hand that bears a strange likeness to
the wise man’s—a letter setting forth the latter’s claims and
wisdom—what of that? That is a private matter, of course.
Be that as it may, there was scarcely a person in Claversham who did
not give some time that evening, and on subsequent evenings too, to the
interesting question who was to be the new rector. The rector was a big
factor in the town-life. Girls wondered whether he would be young, and
hoped he would dance. Their mothers were sanguine that he would be
unmarried, and their fathers that he would play whist. And one
questioned whether he would buy Mr. Williams’s stock of port, and
another whether he would dine late. And some trusted that he would let
things be, and some hoped that he would cleanse the stables. And only
one thing was certain and sure and immutably fixed—that, whoever he
was, he would not be able to please everybody.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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