indulgent to his daughters, whom he idolized, ever patient with his
parishioners, and awake--though not widely awake--to the
responsibilities of his calling. The world had been too comfortable for
him, and also too narrow; so that he had sunk into idleness. The world
had given him much to eat and drink, but it had given him little to do,
and thus he had gradually fallen away from his early purposes, till his
energy hardly sufficed for the doing of that little. His living gave him
eight hundred a year; his wife's fortune nearly doubled that. He had
married early, and had got his living early, and had been very
prosperous. But he was not a happy man. He knew that he had put off the
day of action till the power of action had passed away from him. His
library was well furnished, but he rarely read much else than novels and
poetry; and of late years the reading even of poetry had given way to
the reading of novels. Till within ten years of the hour of which I
speak, he had been a hunting parson--not hunting loudly, but following
his sport as it is followed by moderate sportsmen. Then there had come a
new bishop, and the new bishop had sent for him--nay, finally had come
to him, and had lectured him with blatant authority. "My lord," said the
parson of Clavering, plucking up something of his past energy, as the
color rose to his face, "I think you are wrong in this. I think you are
especially wrong to interfere with me in this way on your first coming
among us. You feel it to be your duty no doubt; but to me it seems that
you mistake your duty. But as the matter is simply one of my own
pleasure, I shall give it up." After that Mr. Clavering hunted no more,
and never spoke a good word to any one of the bishop of his diocese. For
myself, I think it as well that clergymen should not hunt; but had I
been the parson of Clavering, I should, under those circumstances, have
hunted double.

Mr. Clavering hunted no more, and probably smoked a greater number of