But what was it, what could it be, and what was
to be done to get rid of it? These were the anxious questions that were
asked right and left, as regarded the serious nuisance, without the
fates graciously acceding any reply. But yet one thing seemed to be
generally agreed, and that was, that it did come, and must come, somehow
or other, out of the vaults from beneath the church. But then, as the
pious and hypocritical Mr. Butterwick, who lived opposite, said--

"How could that be, when it was satisfactorily proved by the present
books that nobody had been buried in the vaults for some time, and
therefore it was a very odd thing that dead people, after leaving off
smelling and being disagreeable, should all of a sudden burst out again
in that line, and be twice as bad as ever they were at first." And on Wednesdays sometimes, too, when pious people were not satisfied
with the Sunday's devotion, but began again in the middle of the week,
that stench was positively terrific. Indeed, so bad was it, that some of
the congregation were forced to leave, and have been seen to slink into
Bell-yard, where Lovett's pie-shop was situated, and then and there
solace themselves with a pork or a veal pie, in order that their mouths
and noses should be full of a delightful and agreeable flavour, instead
of one most peculiarly and decidedly the reverse. At last there was a
confirmation to be held at St. Dunstan's church, and a great concourse
of persons assembled, for a sermon was to be preached by the bishop
after the confirmation; and a very great fuss indeed was to be made
about really nobody knew exactly what. Preparations, as newspapers say,
upon an extensive scale, and regardless of expense, were made for the
purpose of adding lustre to the ceremony, and surprising the bishop,
when he came, with a good idea that the people who attended St.
Dunstan's church were somebodies, and really worth confirming. The
confirmation was to take place at twelve o'clock, and the bells ushered
in the morning with their most pious tones, for it was not every day
that the authorities of St. Dunstan succeeded in catching a bishop, and
when they did so, they were determined to make the most of him. And the
numerous authorities, including churchwardens, and even the very beadle,
were in an uncommon fluster, and running about, and impeding each other,
as authorities always do upon public occasions. But, to those who only
look to the surface of things, and who came to admire what was grand and
magnificent in the preparations, the beadle certainly carried away the
palm, for that functionary was attired in a completely new cocked hat
and coat, and certainly looked very splendid and showy upon the
occasion. Moreover, that beadle had been well and judiciously selected,
and the parish authorities made no secret of it, when there was an
election for beadle, that they threw all their influence into the scale
of that candidate who happened to be the biggest, and consequently, who
was calculated to wear the official costume with an air that no smaller
man could have possibly aspired to on any account. At half-past eleven
o'clock the bishop made his gracious appearance, and was duly ushered
into the vestry, where there was a comfortable fire, and on the table in
which, likewise, were certain cold chickens and bottles of rare wines;
for confirming a number of people, and preaching a sermon besides, was
considered no joke, and might, for all they knew, be provocative of a
great appetite in the bishop. And with what a bland and courtly air the
bishop smiled as he ascended the steps of St. Dunstan's Church. How
affable he was to the churchwardens, and he actually smiled upon a poor
miserable charity boy, who, his eyes glaring wide open, and his muffin
cap in his hand, was taking his first stare at a real live bishop. To be
sure, the beadle knocked him down directly the bishop had passed, for
having the presumption to look at such a great personage, but then that
was to be expected fully and completely, and only proved that the
proverb, which permits a cat to look at a king, is not equally
applicable to charity boys and bishops. When the bishop got to the
vestry, some very complimentary words were uttered to him by the usual
officiating clergyman, but, somehow or other, the bland smile had left
the lips of the great personage, and, interrupting the vicar in the
midst of a fine flowing speech, he said--

"That's all very well, but what a terrible stink there is here!" The churchwardens gave a groan, for they had flattered themselves that
perhaps the bishop would not notice the dreadful smell, or that, if he
did, he would think it was accidental, and say nothing about it; but
now, when he really did mention it, they found all their hopes scattered
to the winds, and that it was necessary to say something. "Is this horrid charnel-house sort of smell always here?" "I am afraid it is," said one of the churchwardens. "Afraid!" said the bishop, "surely you know; you seem to me to have a
nose." "Yes," said the churchwarden, in great confusion, "I have that honour,
and I have the pleasure of informing you, my Lord Bishop--I mean I have
the honour of informing you that this smell is always here." The bishop sniffed several times, and then he said--

"It is very dreadful; and I hope that by the next time I come to St.
Dunstan's, you will have the pleasure and the honour, both, of informing
me that it has gone away." The churchwarden bowed, and got into an extreme corner, saying to
himself--

"This is the bishop's last visit here, and I don't wonder at it, for, as
if out of pure spite, the smell is ten times worse than ever to-day." And so it was, for it seemed to come up through all the crevices of the
flooring of the church, with a power and perseverance that was
positively dreadful. The people coughed, and held their handkerchiefs to their noses,
remarking to each other--

"Isn't it dreadful?--did you ever know the smell in St. Dunstan's so bad
before," and everybody agreed that they never had known it anything like
so bad, for that it was positively awful--and so indeed it was. The anxiety of the bishop to get away was quite manifest, and, if he
could have decently taken his departure without confirming anybody at
all, there is no doubt but that he would have willingly done so, and
left all the congregation to die and be--something or another. But this
he could not do, but he could cut it short, and he did so. The people
found themselves confirmed before they almost knew where they were, and
the bishop would not go into the vestry again on any account, but
hurried down the steps of the church, and into his carriage, with the
greatest precipitation in the world, thus proving that holiness is no
proof against a most abominable stench.