May this
discipline be blessed to you, and to the dear children!
I have much to tell you of Barchester. The light worldly tone of
some families in this place (I will not mention the Grantleys nor
the Arabins) has been checked, I hope, by one of those accidents
which surely, surely, are not to be considered accidents alone!
You know how strong is my objection to fancy fairs or bazaars, too
often rather scenes of giddy merriment than exhibitions of genuine
Christian feeling. Yet by means of one of these (how strangely are
things ordered!) a happy change, I trust, is being brought about in
our midst.
You have heard of Hogglestock, though you may never have visited
that benighted and outlying parish. Indeed, I was never there
myself till last week, when Tom felt it his duty (though woefully
misdirected, to my mind, but we are fallible creatures) to go and
open a bazaar in that place for the restoration of the church. {6}
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.
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