I had now no doubt but that a place, if I would accept it, would incontinently be bestowed on me; and it was almost painful to think that my future plans were of an opposite kind. Yet, why opposite? Churchmen were not prohibited the circle of politics. My station would be honourable, for they would not think of offering me trifles. And why not step from the treasury bench to the bench of bishops? Let but the love of the state and the love of the church be there, and neither seat would suffer contamination.
A revolution of fortune was certainly at hand: what it was I could not accurately foresee, but that it would be highly favourable no man in his senses could have the least doubt: such was my creed.
The very next day I received a note from the bishop, inviting me to partake of a family dinner, with him and his niece. So it is! And so true is the proverb: it never rains but it pours! Good fortune absolutely persecuted me! Honours fell so thick at my feet that I had not time to stoop and pick them up! In the present humour of things, I knew not whether I might not be invited, before the morrow came, to dine with a party of prime ministers, and be elected their president.
Mean time however I thought proper to accept the bishop's invitation; and, as nothing better did actually intervene, when the hour came I kept my appointment.
Being there, the footman led me up to the drawing-room; in which were a lady, who curtsying told me the bishop would soon be down, and the Dean of ——, another rosy gilled son of the church. I have often asked myself—'Why are butchers, tallow-chandlers, cook-maids, and church dignitaries so inclined to be fat?' but I could never satisfactorily resolve the question.
His lordship soon made his appearance; and, having first paid his obedience to the dean, he took the lady by the hand, and presenting her to me said—'This, Mr. Trevor, is my niece; who I dare say will be glad to be acquainted with you.' Bows, curtsies, and acknowledgments of honours conferred, were things of course.
Miss Wilmot, that was the lady's name, Miss Wilmot and I made attempts to entertain each other. Her person was tall, her shape taper, her complexion delicate, and her demeanour easy. Her remarks were not profound, but they were delivered without pretension. She was more inclined to let the conversation die away than to sustain it by that flux of tongue, which afflicted the ear at the house of the Ellis's. Her countenance was strongly marked with melancholy; and a languid endeavour to please seemed to have been the result of study, and to have grown into habit.
Our attention was soon called to another quarter. 'Dinner! dinner! gentlemen,' exclaimed the right reverend father. 'Come, come; we must not let the dinner get cold! Do any thing rather than spoil my dinner! I cannot forgive that.'
Away we went. When a bishop has the happiness to be ready for his dinner, his dinner is sure to be ready for him. Hunger three times a day is the blessing he would first pray for. No remiss cooks, no delays for politeness sake there. Nor is there any occasion: scandal itself cannot tax the clergy with want of punctuality, at the hour of dinner.
We sat down. The lady carved. There were three of us, for she ate little. But, heaven bless me! she had work enough! It was like boys fighting, one down and the other come on! I might wonder about the fattening of butchers and tallow-chandlers as I pleased, but the last part of my wonder was over. I was no mean demolisher of pudding and pie-crust myself; but lord! I was an infant. 'You don't eat, Mr. Trevor!' said the lady. 'You don't eat, Mr. Trevor!' said the dean. 'You don't eat, Mr. Trevor!' blubbered the bishop. Yet never had I been so gorged since the first night at Oxford; and scarcely then.