Towers Of Midnight Epub Free 138
Cherly Fleitas
On this occasion the new bishop took his seat for the first time inthe throne alloted to him. New scarlet cushions and drapery had beenprepared, with new gilt binding and new fringe. The old carvedoak-wood of the throne, ascending with its numerous grotesque pinnacleshalf-way up to the roof of the choir, had been washed, and dusted,and rubbed, and it all looked very smart. Ah! how often sittingthere, in happy early days, on those lowly benches in front of thealtar, have I whiled away the tedium of a sermon in considering howbest I might thread my way up amidst those wooden towers and climbsafely to the topmost pinnacle!
"That would be saying very little for them," said Charlotte. "I amfor Dr. Whewell myself, for I do not think that men and women areworth being repeated in such countless worlds. There may be souls inother stars, but I doubt their having any bodies attached to them.But come, Mrs. Bold, let us put our bonnets on and walk round theclose. If we are to discuss sidereal questions, we shall do so muchbetter under the towers of the cathedral than stuck in this narrowwindow."
Eleanor quietly made her companion understand that the matter wasone which she could not discuss in the present company, and then theypassed on. Charlotte said she would go a short way up the hill out ofthe town so as to look back upon the towers of the cathedral, and asEleanor leant upon Bertie's arm for assistance in the walk, she toldhim how the matter stood between her father and the bishop.
Mr. Arabin, as he sat at his open window, enjoying the deliciousmoonlight and gazing at the gray towers of the church, which stoodalmost within the rectory grounds, little dreamed that he was thesubject of so many friendly or unfriendly criticisms. Consideringhow much we are all given to discuss the characters of others, anddiscuss them often not in the strictest spirit of charity, it issingular how little we are inclined to think that others can speakill-naturedly of us, and how angry and hurt we are when proof reachesus that they have done so. It is hardly too much to say that we allof us occasionally speak of our dearest friends in a manner in whichthose dearest friends would very little like to hear themselvesmentioned, and that we nevertheless expect that our dearest friendsshall invariably speak of us as though they were blind to all ourfaults, but keenly alive to every shade of our virtues.
Mr. Slope had from his youth upwards been a firm believer in thepublic press. He had dabbled in it himself ever since he had takenhis degree, and he regarded it as the great arranger and distributorof all future British terrestrial affairs whatever. He had not yetarrived at the age, an age which sooner or later comes to most of us,which dissipates the golden dreams of youth. He delighted in theidea of wresting power from the hands of his country's magnates andplacing it in a custody which was at any rate nearer to his ownreach. Sixty thousand broadsheets dispersing themselves daily amonghis reading fellow citizens formed in his eyes a better depot forsupremacy than a throne at Windsor, a cabinet in Downing Street, oreven an assembly at Westminster. And on this subject we must notquarrel with Mr. Slope, for the feeling is too general to be met withdisrespect.
It is just now five years since we called the attention of ourreaders to the quiet city of Barchester. From that day to this, wehave in no way meddled with the affairs of that happy ecclesiasticalcommunity. Since then, an old bishop has died there, and a youngbishop has been installed; but we believe we did not do more thangive some customary record of the interesting event. Nor are we nowabout to meddle very deeply in the affairs of the diocese. If any ofthe chapter feel a qualm of conscience on reading thus far, let it bequieted. Above all, let the mind of the new bishop be at rest. Weare now not armed for war, but approach the reverend towers of theold cathedral with an olive branch in our hands.
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