I accompanied him; for I trusted that an opportunity might be made
for me, and that I might especially bear in on the mind of the
rector's wife the absolute necessity of Sabbath-day schools. The
rector is a Mr. Crawley. He led us on our arrival into a scene of
re d cloth, wax dolls most indelicately displayed, cushions,
antimacassars, and similar IDOLS. The Bishop's speech (I composed
it myself) you will read in the "Barchester Guardian," which I send
you. While approving the END he rebuked the MEANS, and took the
opportunity to read a much-needed lesson on JESUITRY and the
dangers of worldliness in high ecclesiastical places. Let those
wince who feel a sense of their own backslidings. When the Bishop
had ended, I determined to walk once through the bazaar just to
make sure that there were no lotteries nor games of chance--a
desecration of our MITES now too, too frequent. As I was returning
through the throng, alas! of PLEASURE-SEEKERS, and wishing that I
might scourge them out of the schoolroom, Mr. Crawley met me, in
company with a lady who desired, he said, to be presented to me.
He is a distant relation of the well-known county family, the
Crawleys, of Queen's Crawley; the present baronet, Sir Rawdon,
having recently married Miss Jane Dobbin, daughter of Colonel
Dobbin. The lady who was now introduced to me, and whose STILL
PLEASING face wears an aspect of humble devoutness, was Lady
Crawley, mother of the present baronet.

"Madam," she said, "I came here in the belief that I was
discharging a pious duty. My life, alas! has been one of sore
trial, and I only try to do good." . . .

I was going to say that I had seen her name in a score of charity
lists, and knew her as a patroness of the Destitute Orange-Girls,