if not the editor, was as good as the editor; and had long been in the habit of writing telling letters with his initials, and sent to his editorial friend with private notes signed in his own name. Indeed, he and Mr Towers—such was the name of the powerful gentleman of the press with whom he was connected—were generally very amiable with each other. Mr Slope’s little productions were always printed and occasionally commented upon; and thus, in a small sort of way, he had become a literary celebrity. This public life had great charms for him, though it certainly also had its drawbacks. On one occasion, when speaking in the presence of reporters, he had failed to uphold and praise and swear by that special line of conduct which had been upheld and praised and sworn by in the Jupiter, and then he had been much surprised and at the moment not a little irritated to find himself lacerated most unmercifully by his old ally. He was quizzed and bespattered and made a fool of, just as though, or rather than if, he had been a constant enemy instead of a constant friend. He had hitherto not learnt that a man who aspires to be on the staff of the Jupiter must surrender all individuality. But ultimately this little castigation had broken no bones between him and his friend Mr Towers. Mr Slope was one of those who understood the world too well to show himself angry with such a potentate as the Jupiter. He had kissed the rod that scourged him, and now thought that he might fairly look for his reward. He determined that he would at once let Mr Towers know that he was a candidate for the place which was about to be become vacant. More than one place of preferment had lately been given away much in accordance with advice tendered to the government in the columns of the Jupiter.

But it was in incumbent on Mr Slope first to secure the bishop. He specially felt that it behoved him to do this before the visit to the archbishop was made. It was really quite providential that the dean should have fallen ill just at the very nick of time. If Dr Proudie could be instigated to take the matter up warmly, he might manage a good deal while staying at the archbishop’s palace. Feeling this very strongly Mr Slope determined to sound the bishop out that very afternoon. He was to start on the following morning to London, and therefore not a moment could be lost with safety.

He went into the bishop’s study about five o’clock, and found him still sitting alone. It might have been supposed that he had hardly moved since the little excitement occasioned by the walk to the dean’s door. He still wore on his face that dull dead look of half unconscious suffering. He was doing nothing, reading nothing, thinking of nothing, but simply gazing on vacancy when Mr Slope for the second time that day entered his room.

‘Well, Slope,’ said he, somewhat impatiently; for, to tell the truth, he was not anxious just at present to have much conversation with Mr Slope.

‘Your lordship will be sorry to hear that as yet the poor dean has shown no signs of amendment.’

‘Oh—ah—hasn’t he? Poor man! I’m sure I’m very sorry. I suppose Sir Omicron has not arrived yet?’

‘No; not till the 9.15pm train.’

‘I wonder they didn’t have a special. They say Dr Trefoil is very rich.’

‘Very rich, I believe,’ said Mr Slope. ‘But the truth is, all the doctors in London can do no good; no other good than to show that every possible care has been taken. Poor Dr Trefoil is not long for this world, my lord.’

‘I suppose not—I suppose not.’

‘Oh no; indeed, his best friends could not wish that he should outlive such a shock, for his intellect cannot possibly survive it.’

‘Poor man, poor man!’ said the bishop.