satisfaction in being listened to, Mr. Slope ought to have been
gratified. I have reason to think that he was gratified, and that he
left the pulpit with the conviction that he had done what he intended
to do when he entered it.

On this occasion the new bishop took his seat for the first time
in the throne alloted to him. New scarlet cushions and drapery had
been prepared, with new gilt binding and new fringe. The old carved
oak-wood of the throne, ascending with its numerous grotesque
pinnacles half-way up to the roof of the choir, had been washed,
and dusted, and rubbed, and it all looked very smart. Ah! how often
sitting there, in happy early days, on those lowly benches in front
of the altar, have I whiled away the tedium of a sermon in considering
how best I might thread my way up amidst those wooden towers and climb
safely to the topmost pinnacle!

All Barchester went to hear Mr. Slope; either for that or to gaze
at the new bishop. All the best bonnets of the city were there, and
moreover all the best glossy clerical hats. Not a stall but had its
fitting occupant, for though some of the prebendaries might be away
in Italy or elsewhere, their places were filled by brethren who
flocked into Barchester on the occasion. The dean was there, a heavy
old man, now too old, indeed, to attend frequently in his place, and
so was the archdeacon. So also were the chancellor, the treasurer,
the precentor, sundry canons and minor canons, and every lay member
of the choir, prepared to sing the new bishop in with due melody and
harmonious expression of sacred welcome.

The service was certainly very well performed. Such was always the
case at Barchester, as the musical education of the choir had been