"Curates indeed!" said the archdeacon. "It's too good for a bishop, unless one of the right sort."
"Your father used to say those things, but with him the poorer the guest the better the cheer. When he had a few clergymen round him, how he loved to make them happy!"
"Never talked shop to them,—did he?" said the archdeacon.
"Not after dinner, at any rate. Goodness gracious, when one thinks of it! Do you remember how we used to play cards?"
"Every night regularly;—threepenny points, and sixpence on the rubber," said the archdeacon.
"Dear, dear! How things are changed! And I remember when the clergymen did more of the dancing in Barchester than all the other young men in the city put together."
"And a good set they were;—gentlemen every one of them. It's well that some of them don't dance now;—that is, for the girls' sake."
"I sometimes sit and wonder," said Mr. Harding, "whether your father's spirit ever comes back to the old house and sees the changes,—and if so whether he approves them."
"Approves them!" said the archdeacon.
"Well;—yes. I think he would, upon the whole. I'm sure of this: he would not disapprove, because the new ways are changed from his ways. He never thought himself infallible. And do you know, my dear, I am not sure that it isn't all for the best. I sometimes think that some of us were very idle when we were young. I was, I know."
"I worked hard enough," said the archdeacon.
"Ah, yes; you. But most of us took it very easily. Dear, dear! When I think of it, and see how hard they work now, and remember what pleasant times we used to have,—I don't feel sometimes quite sure."
"I believe the work was done a great deal better than it is now," said the archdeacon. "There wasn't so much fuss, but there was more reality. And men were men, and clergymen were gentlemen."
"Yes;—they were gentlemen."
"Such a creature as that old woman at the palace couldn't have held his head up among us. That's what has come from Reform. A reformed House of Commons makes Lord Brock Prime Minister, and then your Prime Minister makes Dr. Proudie a bishop! Well;—it will last my time, I suppose."
"It has lasted mine,—like the wine," said Mr. Harding.
"There's one glass more, and you shall have it, sir." Then Mr. Harding drank the last glass of the 1820 port, and they went into the drawing-room.
