much more serious Fall.

Princhester was industrial and unashamed. It was a countryside savagely
invaded by forges and mine shafts and gaunt black things. It was scarred
and impeded and discoloured. Even before that invasion, when the heather
was not in flower it must have been a black country. Its people were
dour uncandid individuals, who slanted their heads and knitted their
brows to look at you. Occasionally one saw woods brown and blistered by
the gases from chemical works. Here and there remained old rectories,
closely reminiscent of the dear old home at Otteringham, jostled and
elbowed and overshadowed by horrible iron cylinders belching smoke and
flame. The fine old abbey church of Princhester, which was the cathedral
of the new diocese, looked when first he saw it like a lady Abbess who
had taken to drink and slept in a coal truck. She minced apologetically
upon the market-place; the parvenu Town Hall patronized and protected
her as if she were a poor relation....

The old aristocracy of the countryside was unpicturesquely decayed. The
branch of the Walshinghams, Lady Ella's cousins, who lived near Pringle,
was poor, proud and ignoble. And extremely unpopular. The rich people
of the country were self-made and inclined to nonconformity, the
working-people were not strictly speaking a "poor," they were highly
paid, badly housed, and deeply resentful. They went in vast droves to
football matches, and did not care a rap if it rained. The prevailing
wind was sarcastic. To come here from London was to come from
atmospheric blue-greys to ashen-greys, from smoke and soft smut to grime
and black grimness.

The bishop had been charmed by the historical associations of
Princhester when first the see was put before his mind. His realization
of his diocese was a profound shock.

Only one hint had he had of what was coming. He had met during
his season of congratulations Lord Gatling dining unusually at the
Athenaeum. Lord Gatling and he did not talk frequently, but on this
occasion the great racing peer came over to him. "You will feel like a
cherub in a stokehole," Lord Gatling had said....

"They used to heave lumps of slag at old Hood's gaiters," said Lord
Gatling.

"In London a bishop's a lord and a lark and nobody minds him," said Lord
Gatling, "but Princhester is different. It isn't used to bishops....
Well,--I hope you'll get to like 'em."

(3)

Trouble began with a fearful row about the position of the b