weighs me down to the dust of spiritual abasement, for I can but think that if God were indeed merciful and full of loving-kindness, He would not, He could not endure the constant spectacle of man’s devilish injustice to his brother man!  I have no right to permit myself to indulge in such reflections as these, I know,—­yet they have gained such hold on me that I have latterly had serious thoughts of resigning my bishopric.  But this is a matter involving other changes in my life, on which I should like to have some long friendly talks with you, before taking any decisive step.  Your own attitude of mind towards the ‘calling and election’ you have chosen has always seemed to me so pre-eminently pure and lofty, that I should condemn ray own feelings even more than I do, were I to allow the twin forces of pessimism and despair to possess me utterly without an attempt to bring them under your sane and healthful exorcism, the more so, as you know all my personal history and life-long sorrow.  And this brings me to the main point of my letter which is, that I should much like to see you, if you can spare me two or three days of your company any time before the end of August.  Try to arrange an early visit, though I know how ill your parishioners can spare you, and how more than likely they are to grumble at your absence.  You are to be envied in having secured so much affection and confidence in the parish you control, and every day I feel more and more how wisely you have chosen your lot in that comparative obscurity, which, at one time, seemed to those who know your brilliant gifts, a waste of life and opportunity.  Of course you are not without jealous enemies,—­no true soul ever is.  Sir Morton Pippitt still occasionally sends me a spluttering note of information as to something you have, or have not done, to the church on which you have spent the greater part of your personal fortune; and Leveson, the minister at Badsworth, appears to think that I should assist him by heading a subscription list to obtain funds for the purpose of making his church as perfect a gem of architecture as yours.  Due enquiries have been made as to the nature and needs of his parishioners, and it appears that only twenty—­five adult persons on an average ever attend his ministrations, and that the building for which he pleads is a brick edifice built in 1870 and deliberately allowed to decay by disuse and neglect.  However, Sir Morton Pippitt is taking some interest in it, so I am given to understand,—­and perhaps in ‘restoring’ a modern chapel, he will be able to console himself for the ruthless manner in which you stripped off his ‘galvanised tin’ roof from your old Norman church walls!

“I am sorry to hear that the historic house of Abbot’s Manor is again inhabited, and by one who is likely to be a most undesirable neighbour to you.”