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But a novel which in its main parts is bad cannot, in truth, be redeemed by the vitality of subordinate characters. This work was finished while I was at Washington in the spring of 1868, and on the day after I finished it, I commenced The Vicar of Bullhampton, a novel which I wrote for Messrs. Bradbury & Evans.
There were subjects enough for conversation, as the period was one of great excitement in Bullhampton. "What did you think of our chapel?" asked Mrs. Fenwick. "I had no idea it was so big." "Why, they are not going to leave us a single soul to go to church. Mr. Puddleham means to make a clean sweep of the parish." "You don't mean to say that any have left you?" "Well; none as yet," replied Mrs.
Parson John had no doubt tried them himself in early life, and had found how far they were efficacious for his own happiness. But young women were so apt to want too much of the excitement! A young man at Bullhampton was not enough without another young man at Loring.
If these men were prowling about Bullhampton it was certainly his duty to have them arrested if possible, and to prevent probable depredations, for his neighbours' sake as well as for his own. Nor would he be justified in neglecting this duty with the object of saving Sam Brattle.
When a fortnight had passed, Miss Marrable was aware that Mary had not herself written to her friend at Bullhampton; and though she felt herself to be shy of the subject, though she entertained a repugnance to make any communication based on a hope that Mary might after a while receive her old lover graciously, for time must of course be needed before such grace could be accorded, she did write a few lines to Mrs.
"And now, my lord, let me ask you," said he, in conclusion, "whether you deem this a proper man to have the care of souls in the large and important parish of Bullhampton." The bishop felt himself to be very much bullied. He had no doubt whatsoever about his parson.
"We must feel about it, connected as we are with the parish," said the Marquis. "But I don't think we shall do any good by going into a parochial quarrel." "It was the very best bit of land for the purpose in all Bullhampton," said the Marquis. "I made particular inquiry, and there can be no doubt of that. Though I particularly dislike that Mr. Fenwick, it was not done to injure him."
Neither the mother nor the younger woman knew where was to be found, at the present moment, that hero of adventure who was called the Grinder, and all the police of Wiltshire began to fear that they were about to be outwitted. "You never were at Bullhampton with your husband, I suppose?" asked Mr. Toffy. "Never," said the supposed Grinder's wife; "but what does it matter to you where I was?"
It was very easy to bring the conversation round to the affairs of Bullhampton, as Sam was still in prison, and Janet's letters were full of the mystery which shrouded the murder of Mr. Trumbull. "By the bye," said she, "I have something to tell you about Mr. Gilmore." "Tell away," said he, as he turned the cigar round in his mouth, to complete the lighting of the edges in the wind.
No doubt many guesses as to the cause of this were made throughout his establishment, and some of them, probably, very near the truth. But, for the Fenwicks there was no need of guessing. Gilmore had been told that Mary Lowther was coming to Bullhampton in the early summer, and had at once thrown off the cloak of his sadness. He had asked no further questions; Mrs.
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