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The Perpetual Curate By: Margaret Oliphant (1828-1897) |
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THE
PERPETUAL CURATE MRS OLIPHANT
ALLA PADRONA MIA;
ED A TE, SORELLA CARISSIMA!
CONSOLATRICI GENTILLISSIME
DELLA DESOLATA.
CHAPTER I.
Carlingford is, as is well known, essentially a quiet place. There is
no trade in the town, properly so called. To be sure, there are two or
three small counting houses at the other end of George Street, in that
ambitious pile called Gresham Chambers; but the owners of these places
of business live, as a general rule, in villas, either detached or
semi detached, in the North end, the new quarter, which, as everybody
knows, is a region totally unrepresented in society. In Carlingford
proper there is no trade, no manufactures, no anything in particular,
except very pleasant parties and a superior class of people a very
superior class of people, indeed, to anything one expects to meet
with in a country town, which is not even a county town, nor the seat
of any particular interest. It is the boast of the place that it has no
particular interest not even a public school: for no reason in the
world but because they like it, have so many nice people collected
together in those pretty houses in Grange Lane which is, of course, a
very much higher tribute to the town than if any special inducement had
led them there. But in every community some centre of life is necessary.
This point, round which everything circles, is, in Carlingford, found in
the clergy. They are the administrators of the commonwealth, the only
people who have defined and compulsory duties to give a sharp outline to
life. Somehow this touch of necessity and business seems needful even
in the most refined society: a man who is obliged to be somewhere at a
certain hour, to do something at a certain time, and whose public duties
are not volunteer proceedings, but indispensable work, has a certain
position of command among a leisurely and unoccupied community, not to
say that it is a public boon to have some one whom everybody knows and
can talk of. The minister in Salem Chapel was everything in his little
world. That respectable connection would not have hung together half so
closely but for this perpetual subject of discussion, criticism, and
patronage; and, to compare great things with small, society in Carlingford
recognised in some degree the same human want. An enterprising or
non enterprising rector made all the difference in the world in Grange
Lane; and in the absence of a rector that counted for anything (and poor
Mr Proctor was of no earthly use, as everybody knows), it followed, as a
natural consequence, that a great deal of the interest and influence of
the position fell into the hands of the Curate of St Roque's. But that position was one full of difficulties, as any one acquainted
with the real state of affairs must see in a moment. Mr Wentworth's
circumstances were, on the whole, as delicate and critical as can be
imagined, both as respected his standing in Carlingford and the place
he held in his own family not to speak of certain other personal
matters which were still more troublesome and vexatious. These last of
course were of his own bringing on; for if a young man chooses to fall
in love when he has next to nothing to live upon, trouble is sure to
follow. He had quite enough on his hands otherwise without that
crowning complication. When Mr Wentworth first came to Carlingford,
it was in the days of Mr Bury, the Evangelical rector his last
days, when he had no longer his old vigour, and was very glad of
"assistance," as he said, in his public and parish work. Mr Bury had a
friendship of old standing with the Miss Wentworths of Skelmersdale,
Mr Francis Wentworth's aunts; and it was a long time before the old
Rector's eyes were opened to the astounding fact, that the nephew of
these precious and chosen women held "views" of the most dangerous
complexion, and indeed was as near Rome as a strong and lofty
conviction of the really superior catholicity of the Anglican Church
would permit him to be... Continue reading book >>
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