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conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about English, Victorian, Along with the genre: New, Used & Rental Textbooks?
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conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'The Last Chronicle of Barset'
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conversations.value: What is a description for a book titled The Last Chronicle of Barset about English, Victorian, Along with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Classics?
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conversations.value: the author was a famous English writer of the Victorian age. He is notable for developing the chronicle form of fiction. He penned 60 books in his life time.
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conversations.value: Add another sentence about Along.
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conversations.value: the author was a famous English writer of the Victorian age. He is notable for developing the chronicle form of fiction. Along with historical novels, he also wrote on political, social and gender issues. He penned 60 books in his life time.
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conversations.value: What is a plot for a book titled The Last Chronicle of Barset about English, Victorian, Along with the genre: New, Used & Rental Textbooks?
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conversations.value: The Last Chronicle of Barset: The Last Chronicle of Barset concerns an indigent but learned clergyman, the Reverend Josiah Crawley, the perpetual curate of Hogglestock, who stands accused of stealing a cheque.\nThe novel is notable for the non-resolution of a plot continued from the previous novel in the series, The Small House at Allington, involving Lily Dale and Johnny Eames.\nIts main storyline features the courtship of the Rev.\nMr Crawley's daughter, Grace, and Major Henry Grantly, son of the wealthy Archdeacon Grantly.\nThe Archdeacon, although allowing that Grace is a lady, doesn't think her of high enough rank or wealth for his widowed son; his position is strengthened by the Reverend Mr Crawley's apparent crime.\nAlmost broken by poverty and trouble, the Reverend Mr Crawley hardly knows himself if he is guilty or not; fortunately, the mystery is resolved just as Major Grantly's determination and Grace Crawley's own merit force the Archdeacon to overcome his prejudice against her as a daughter-in-law.\nAs with Lucy Robarts in Framley Parsonage, the objecting parent finally invites the young lady into the family; this new connection also inspires the Dean and Archdeacon to find a new, more prosperous, post for Grace's impoverished father.\nThrough death or marriage, this final volume manages to tie up more than one thread from the beginning of the series.\nOne subplot deals with the death of mrs Proudie, the virago wife of the Bishop of Barchester, and his subsequent grief and collapse.\nmrs Proudie, upon her arrival in Barchester in Barchester Towers, had increased the tribulations of the gentle mr Harding, title character of The Warden; he dies of a peaceful old age, mourned by his family and the old men he loved and looked after as Warden.
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conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
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conversations.value: The Last Chronicle of Barset
  After a while Mrs Crawley came in, and there was much pleasant talking among them, while Henry Grantly sat happily with his love, as though waiting for Mr Crawley's return. But though he was there nearly all the morning Mr Crawley did not return. 'I think he likes the brickmakers better than anybody in all the world, except ourselves,' said Grace. 'I don't know how he will manage to get on without his friends.' Before Grace had said this, Major Grantly had told all his story, and had produced a letter from his father, addressed to Mr Crawley, of which the reader shall have a copy, although at this time the letter had not been opened. The letter was as follows:–
  This letter the archdeacon had shown to his wife, by whom it had not been very warmly approved. Nothing, Mrs Grantly had said, could be prettier than what the archdeacon had said about Grace. Mrs Crawley, no doubt, would be satisfied with that. But Mr Crawley was such a strange man! 'He will be stranger than I take him to be if he does not accept St Ewold's,' said the archdeacon. 'But in offering it,' said Mrs Grantly, 'you have not said a word of your own high opinion of his merits.' 'I have not a very high opinion of them,' said the archdeacon. 'Your father had, and I have said so. And as I have the most profound respect for your father's opinion in such a matter, I have permitted that to overcome my own hesitation.' This was pretty from the husband to the wife as it regarded her father, who had now gone from them; and, therefore, Mrs Grantly accepted it without further argument. The reader may probably feel assured that the archdeacon had never, during their joint lives, acted in any church matter upon the advice given to him by Mr Harding; and it was probably the case also that the living would have been offered to Mr Crawley, if nothing had been said by Mr Harding on the subject; but it did not become Mrs Grantly even to think of all this. The archdeacon, having made his gracious speech about her father, was not again asked to alter his letter. 'I suppose he will accept it,' said Mrs Grantly. 'I should think that he probably may,' said the archdeacon.
  So Grace, knowing what was the purport of the letter, sat with it between her fingers, while her lover sat beside her, full of various plans for the future. This was his first lover's present to her – and what a present it was! Comfort, and happiness, and a pleasant home for all her family. 'St Ewold's isn't the best house in the world,' said the major, 'because it is old, and what I call piecemeal; but it is very pretty, and certainly nice.' 'That is just the sort of parsonage that I dream about,' said Jane. 'And the garden is pleasant with old trees,' said the major. 'I always dream about old trees,' said Jane, 'only I'm afraid I'm too old myself to be let to climb up them now.' Mrs Crawley said very little, but sat with her eyes full of tears. Was it possible that, at last, before the world had closed upon her, she was to enjoy something again of the comforts which she had known in her early years, and to be again surrounded by those decencies of life which of late had been almost banished from her home by poverty!
  Their various plans for the future – for the immediate future – were very startling. Grace was to go over at once to Plumstead, whither Edith had been already transferred from Cosby Lodge. That was all very well; there was nothing very startling or impracticable in that. The Framley ladies, having none of those doubts as to what was coming which had for a while perplexed Grace herself, had taken little liberties with her wardrobe, which enabled such a visit to be made without overwhelming difficulties. But the major was equally eager – or at any rate equally imperious – in his requisition for a visit from Mr and Mrs Crawley themselves to Plumstead rectory. Mrs Crawley did not dare to put forward the plain unadorned reasons against it, as Mr Crawley had done when discussing the subject of a visit to the deanery. Nor could she quite venture to explain that she feared that the archdeacon and her husband would hardly mix well together in society. With whom, indeed, was it possible that her husband should mix well, after his long and hardly-tried seclusion? She could only plead that both her husband and herself were so little used to going out that she feared – she feared – she feared she knew not what. 'We'll get over all that,' said the major, almost contemptuously. 'It is only the first plunge that is disagreeable.' Perhaps the major did not know how very disagreeable a first plunge may be!
  At two o'clock Henry Grantly got up to go. 'I should very much like to have seen him, but I fear I cannot wait longer. As it is, the patience of my horse has been surprising.' Then Grace walked out with him to the gate and put her hand upon his bridle as he mounted, and thought how wonderful was the power of Fortune, that the goddess should have sent so gallant a gentleman to be her lord and her lover. 'I declare I don't quite believe it even yet,' she said, in the letter which she wrote to Lily Dale that night.
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conversations.value: What is three more paragraphs?
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conversations.value: But at last Mr Crawley condescended to accept St Ewold's. 'Reverend and dear sir,' he said in his letter. 'For the personal benevolence of the offer made to me in your letter of the — instant, I beg to tender you my most grateful thanks; as also for your generous kindness to me, in telling me of the high praise bestowed upon me by a gentleman who is now no more – whose character I have esteemed and whose good opinion I value. There is, methinks, something inexpressibly dear to me in the recorded praise of the dead. For the further instance of the friendship of the Dean of Barchester, I am also thankful.
  At this time Grace was at the parsonage in a seventh heaven of happiness. The archdeacon was never rough to her, nor did he make any of his harsh remarks about her father in her presence. Before her St Ewold's was spoken of as the home that was to belong to the Crawleys for the next twenty years. Mrs Grantly was very loving with her, lavishing upon her pretty presents, and words that were prettier than the presents. Grace's life had hitherto been so destitute of those prettinesses and softnesses which can hardly be had without money though money alone will not purchase them, that it seemed to her now that the heavens rained graciousness upon her. It was not that the archdeacon's watch, or her lover's chain, or Mrs Grantly's locket, or the little toy from Italy which Mrs Arabin brought to her from the treasures of the deanery, filled her heart with undue exaltation. It was not that she revelled in her new delights of silver and gold and shining gems; but that the silver and gold and shining gems were constant indications to her that things had changed, not only for her, but for her father and mother, and brother and sister. She felt now more sure than ever that she could not have enjoyed her love had she accepted her lover while the disgrace of the accusation against her father remained. But now – having waited till that had passed away, everything was a new happiness to her.
  At last it was settled that Mr and Mrs Crawley were to come to Plumstead – and they came. It would be too long to tell now how gradually had come about that changed state of things which made such a visit possible. Mr Crawley had at first declared that such a thing was quite out of the question. If St Ewold's was to depend upon it St Ewold's must be given up. And I think that it would have been impossible for him to go direct from Hogglestock to Plumstead. But it fell out after this wise.
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conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'It now only remains for me to gather together a few loose strings, and tie them together in a knot, so that my work may not become untwisted'.
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conversations.value: It now only remains for me to gather together a few loose strings, and tie them together in a knot, so that my work may not become untwisted. Early in July, Henry Grantly and Grace Crawley were married in the parish church of Plumstead – a great impropriety, as to which neither Archdeacon Grantly nor Mr Crawley could be got to assent for a long time, but which was at last carried, not simply by a union of Mrs Grantly and Mrs Crawley, nor even by the assistance of Mrs Arabin, but by the strong intervention of old Lady Lufton herself. 'Of course Miss Crawley ought to be married from St Ewold's vicarage; but when the furniture has only been half got in, how is it possible?' When Lady Lufton thus spoke, the archdeacon gave way, and Mr Crawley hadn't a leg to stand upon. Henry Grantly had not an opinion upon the matter. He told his father that he expected that they would marry him among them, and that that would be enough for him. As for Grace, nobody even thought of asking her; and I doubt whether she would have heard anything about the contest, had not some tidings of it reached her from her lover. Married they were at Plumstead – and the breakfast was given with all that luxuriance of plenty which was so dear to the archdeacon's mind. Mr Crawley was the officiating priest. With his hands dropping before him, folded humbly, he told the archdeacon – when that Plumstead question had been finally settled in opposition to his wishes – that he would fain himself perform the ceremony by which his dearest daughter would be bound to her marriage duties. 'And who else should?' said the archdeacon. Mr Crawley muttered that he had not known how far his reverend brother might have been willing to waive his rights. But the archdeacon, who was in high good-humour – having just bestowed a little pony carriage on his new daughter-in-law – only laughed at him; and, if the rumour which was handed about the families be true, the archdeacon, before the interview was over, had poked Mr Crawley in the ribs. Mr Crawley married them; but the archdeacon assisted – and the dean gave away the bride. The Rev. Charles Grantly was there also; and as there was, as a matter of course, a cloud of curates floating in the distance, Henry Grantly was perhaps to be excused for declaring to his wife, when the pair had escaped, that surely no couple had ever been so tightly buckled since marriage had first become a Church ceremony.
  Soon after that, Mr and Mrs Crawley became quiet at St Ewold's, and, as I think, contented. Her happiness began very quickly. Though she had been greatly broken by her troubles, the first sight she had of her husband in his new long frock-coat went far to restore her, and while he was declaring himself to be a cock so daubed with mud as to be incapable of crowing, she was congratulating herself on seeing her husband once more clothed as became his position. And they were lucky, too, as regarded the squire's house; for Mr Thorne was old, and quiet, and old-fashioned; and Miss Thorne was older, and though she was not exactly quiet, she was very old-fashioned indeed. So that there grew to be a pleasant friendship between Miss Thorne and Mrs Crawley.
  Johnny Eames, when last I heard of him, was still a bachelor, and, as I think, likely to remain so. At last he had utterly thrown over Sir Raffle Buffle, declaring to his friends that the special duties of private secretaryship were not exactly to his taste. 'You get so sick at the thirteenth private note,' he said, 'that you find yourself unable to carry on the humbug any farther.' But he did not leave his office. 'I'm the head of a room, you know,' he told Lady Julia De Guest; 'and there's nothing to trouble me – and a fellow, you know, ought to have something to do.' Lady Julia told him, with a great deal of energy, that she would never forgive him if he gave up his office. After that eventful night when he escaped ignominiously from the house of Lady Demolines under the protection of the policeman's lantern, he did hear more than once from Porchester Terrace, and from allies employed by the enemy who was there resident. 'My cousin, the serjeant' proved to be a myth. Johnny found out all about that Serjeant Runter, who was distantly connected, indeed, with the late husband of Lady Demolines, but had always persistently declined to have any intercourse whatever with her ladyship. For the serjeant was a rising man, and Lady Demolines was not exactly progressing in the world. Johnny heard nothing from the serjeant; but from Madalina he got letter after letter. In the first she asked him not to think too much of the little joke that had occurred. In the second she described the vehemence of her love. In her third the bitterness of her wrath. Her fourth simply invited him to come and dine in Porchester Terrace. Her fifth was the outpouring of injured innocence. And then came letters from an attorney. Johnny answered not a word to any of them, and gradually the letters were discontinued. Within six months of the receipt of the last, he was delighted by reading among the marriages in the newspapers a notice that Peter Bangles, Esq., of the firm Burton and Bangles, wine merchants, of Hook Court, had been united to Madalina, daughter of the late Sir Confucius Demolines, at the church of Peter the Martyr. 'Most appropriate,' said Johnny, as he read the notice to Conway Dalrymple, who was then back from his wedding tour; 'for most assuredly there will be now another Peter the Martyr.'
  Before the summer was over Conway Dalrymple had been married to Clara Van Siever, and by a singular arrangement of circumstances had married her with the full approval of old Mrs Van. Mr Musselboro – whose name I hope has not been altogether forgotten, though the part played by him has been subordinate – had opposed Dalrymple in the efforts made by the artist to get something out of Broughton's estate for the benefit of the widow. From circumstances of which Dalrymple learned the particulars with the aid of an attorney, it seemed to him that certain facts were wilfully kept in the dark by Musselboro, and he went with his complaint to Mrs Van Siever, declaring that he would bring the whole affair into court, unless all the workings of the firm were made clear to him. Mrs Van was very insolent to him – and even turned him out of the house. But, nevertheless, she did not allow Mr Musselboro to escape. Whoever was to be left in the dark she did not wish to be there herself – and it began to dawn upon her that her dear Mr Musselboro was deceiving her. Then she sent for Dalrymple, and without a word of apology for her former conduct, put him upon the right track. As he was pushing his inquiries and working heaven and earth for the unfortunate widow – as to whom he swore daily that when this matter was settled he would never see her again, so terrible was she to him with her mock affection and pretended hysterics, and false moralities – he was told one day that she had gone off with Mr Musselboro! Mr Musselboro, finding that this was the surest plan of obtaining for himself the little business in Hook Court, married the widow of his late partner, and is at this moment probably carrying on a law-suit with Mrs Van. For the law-suit Conway Dalrymple cared nothing. When the quarrel had become hot between Mrs Van and her late myrmidon, Clara fell into Conway's hands without opposition; and, let the law-suit go as it may, there will be enough left of Mrs Van's money to make the house of Mr and Mrs Conway Dalrymple very comfortable. The picture of Jael and Sisera was stitched up without any difficulty, and I daresay most of my readers will remember it hanging on the walls of the exhibition.
  Before I take my leave of the diocese of Barchester for ever, which I purpose to do in the succeeding paragraph, I desire to be allowed to say one word of apology for myself, in answer to those who have accused me – always without bitterness, and generally with tenderness – of having forgotten, in writing of clergymen, the first and most prominent characteristic of the ordinary English clergyman's life. I have described many clergymen, they say, but have spoken of them all as though their professional duties, their high calling, their daily workings for the good of those around them, were matters of no moment, either to me, or in my opinion, to themselves. I would plead, in answer to this, that my object has been to paint the social and not the professional lives of clergymen; and that I have been led to do so firstly, by a feeling that as no men affect more strongly, by their own character, the society of those around than do country clergymen, so, therefore, their social habits have been worth the labour necessary for painting them; and secondly, by a feeling that though I, as a novelist, may feel myself entitled to write of clergymen out of their pulpits, as I may also write of lawyers and doctors, I have no such liberty to write of them in their pulpits. When I have done so, if I have done so, I have so far transgressed. There are those who have told me that I have made all my clergymen bad, and none good. I must venture to hint to such judges that they have taught their eyes to love a colouring higher than nature justifies. We are, most of us, apt to love Raphael's madonnas better than Rembrandt's matrons. But, though we do so, we know that Rembrandt's matrons existed; but we have a strong belief that no such woman as Raphael painted ever did exist. In that he painted, as he may be surmised to have done, for pious purposes – at least for Church purposes – Raphael was justified; but had he painted so for family portraiture he would have been false. Had I written an epic about clergymen, I would have taken St Paul for my model; but describing, as I have endeavoured to do, such clergymen as I see around me, I could not venture to be transcendental. For myself I can only say that I shall always be happy to sit, when allowed to do so, at the table of Archdeacon Grantly, to walk through the High Street of Barchester arm in arm with Mr Robarts of Framley, and to stand alone and shed a tear beneath the modest black stone in the north transept of the cathedral on which is inscribed the name of Septimus Harding.