Lord St. George began to throw his oil upon the waters in reference to that unfortunate chapel at Bullhampton a day or two after his interview with his father in the lawyer’s chambers. His father had found himself compelled to yield; had been driven, as it were, by the Fates, to accord to his son permission to do as his son should think best. There came to be so serious a trouble in consequence of that terrible mistake of Packer’s, that the poor old Marquis was unable to defend himself from the necessity of yielding. On that day, before he left his son at Westminster, when their roads lay into the different council-chambers of the state, he had prayed hard that the oil might not be very oily. But his son would not bate him an inch of his surrender.

“He is so utterly worthless,” the Marquis had said, pleading hard as he spoke of his enemy.

“I’m not quite sure, my lord, that you understand the man,” St. George had said. “You hate him, and no doubt he hates you.”

“Horribly!” ejaculated the Marquis.

“You intend to be as good as you know how to be to all those people at Bullhampton?”

“Indeed I do, St. George,” said the Marquis, almost with tears in his eyes.

“And I shouldn’t wonder if he did, too.”

“But look at his life,” said the Marquis.

“It isn’t always easy to look at a man’s life. We are always looking at men’s lives, and always making mistakes. The bishop thinks he is a good sort of fellow, and the bishop isn’t the man to like a debauched, unbelieving, reckless parson, who, according to your ideas, must be leading a life of open shame and profligacy. I’m inclined to think there must be a mistake.”

The unfortunate Marquis groaned deeply as he walked away to the august chamber of the Lords.

These and such like are the troubles that sit heavy on a man’s heart. If search for bread, and meat, and raiment, be set aside, then, beyond that, our happiness or misery here depends chiefly on success or failure in small things. Though a man when he turns into bed may be sure that he has unlimited thousands at his command, though all society be open to him, though he know himself to be esteemed handsome, clever, and fashionable, even though his digestion be good, and he have no doctor to deny him tobacco, champagne, or made dishes, still, if he be conscious of failure there where he has striven to succeed, even though it be in the humbling of an already humble adversary, he will stretch, and roll, and pine,—a wretched being. How happy is he who can get his fretting done for him by deputy!

Lord St. George wrote to the parson a few days after his interview with his father. He and Lord Trowbridge occupied the same house in London, and always met at breakfast; but nothing further was said between them during the remaining days in town upon the subject. Lord St. George wrote to the parson, and his father had left London for Turnover before Mr. Fenwick’s answer was received.

My dear Sir,—(Lord St. George had said,)—My father has put into my hands your letter about the dissenting chapel at Bullhampton. It seems to me, that he has made a mistake, and that you are very angry. Couldn’t we arrange this little matter without fighting? There is not a landlord in England more desirous of doing good to his tenants than my father; and I am quite willing to believe that there is not an incumbent in England more desirous of doing good to his parishioners than you. I leave London for Wiltshire on Saturday the 11th. If you will meet me I will drive over to Bullhampton on Monday the 13th.

Yours truly,

St. George.

No doubt you’ll agree with me in thinking that internecine fighting in a parish between the landlord and the clergyman cannot be for the good of the people.

Thus it was that Lord St. George began to throw his oil upon the waters.

It may be a doubt whether it should be ascribed to Mr. Fenwick as a weakness or a strength that, though he was very susceptible of anger, and though he could maintain his anger at glowing heat as long as fighting continued, it would all evaporate and leave him harmless as a dove at the first glimpse of an olive-branch. He knew this so well of himself, that it would sometimes be a regret to him in the culmination of his wrath that he would not be able to maintain it till the hour of his revenge should come. On receiving Lord St. George’s letter, he at once sat down and wrote to that nobleman, telling him that he would be happy to see him at lunch on the Monday at two o’clock. Then there came a rejoinder from Lord St. George, saying that he would be at the vicarage at the hour named.

Mrs. Fenwick was of course there to entertain the nobleman, whom she had never seen before, and during the lunch very little was said about the chapel, and not a word was said about other causes of complaint.

“That is a terrible building, Mrs. Fenwick,” Lord St. George had remarked.

“We’re getting used to it now,” Mrs. Fenwick had replied; “and Mr. Fenwick thinks it good for purposes of mortification.”

“We must see and move the sackcloth and ashes a little further off,” said his lordship.

Then they ate their lunch, and talked about the parish, and expressed a joint hope that the Grinder would be hung at Salisbury.

“Now let us go and see the corpus delicti,” said the Vicar as soon as they had drawn their chairs from the table.

The two men went out and walked round the chapel, and, finding it open, walked into it. Of course there were remarks made by both of them. It was acknowledged that it was ugly, misplaced, uncomfortable, detestable to the eye, and ear, and general feeling,—except in so far as it might suit the wants of people who were not sufficiently educated to enjoy the higher tone, and more elaborate language of the Church of England services. It was thus that they spoke to each other, quite in an ?sthetic manner.

Lord St. George had said as he entered the chapel, that it must come down as a matter of course; and the Vicar had suggested that there need be no hurry.

“They tell me that it must be removed some day,” said the Vicar, “but as I am not likely to leave the parish, nobody need start the matter for a year or two.” Lord St. George was declaring that advantage could not be taken of such a concession on Mr. Fenwick’s part, when a third person entered the building, and walked towards them with a quick step.

“Here is Mr. ............