After breakfast we left the old place; many people stood weeping by the roadsides; some ventured to speak, and others only thrust their hands into the carriage windows for a hearty grasp, without saying a word.  It was indeed a sorrowful day, the remembrance of which even now makes my heart sink, though it is more than twenty-five years since.

In the evening we arrived at the house of some friends, who had kindly invited us to break our journey, and remain the night with them; and in the morning we proceeded on our way to Plymouth.  When we reached the house, we found our furniture unpacked, and distributed in the various rooms, and the table spread ready for us to take some refreshment.  The word “Welcome” was done in flowers over the door, besides many other demonstrations of kindness; but I am afraid we were all too sorrowful at the time to show our appreciation of, or to enjoy them.

We never settled in that house, and did not care to unpack anything more than necessary, or hang up the pictures or texts.

My work did not prosper here, for I found I was unequally yoked with strangers, and accordingly felt dry and wretched.  I sent my resignation of Baldhu to Bishop Phillpotts, and with it my nomination and other necessary papers, saying that I would wait on his lordship for institution on a certain day.

At the appointed time I went to him, when to my great surprise, he very calmly said he could not appoint me to that district.  I could not understand this, for as I had told him, I had only resigned conditionally, and reminded him that I had asked his permission to resign, for the purpose of taking this district.

“How can I consciously appoint or license you to anything in my diocese?” he said, looking me full in the face, and then in his courteous way he laid his commands on me to stay to luncheon, saying he would be obliged “if I would do him this honour;” he bade me walk in the garden, as he was busy, and would be occupied till luncheon.

I felt that I needed a little quiet and fresh air to get over this climax of my troubles—­out of one living, and not into another; and that with a wife, six children, and three servants, with very little to live on.  Here was a state of things!  I had plenty to occupy my thoughts and prayers.  I feared and mourned, above everything, lest God should be angry with me.  “Oh, if I could only know this is the will of God, then I should not care a fig for all the bishops on the bench, and would not ask one of them for anything!”

I was soon roused from my reverie, by the presence of Miss C. P., the Bishop’s daughter, who had come out at her father’s request to show me the garden and the view.  I had known this lady slightly for several years, and so she was not altogether a stranger to me, or I to her.  She talked so cheerfully and pleasantly, that it came to my mind, “Perhaps after all, the Bishop is only trying me.  He will not appoint me to this bare district,