The Warden

When Eleanor laid her head on her pillow that night, her mind was anxiously intent on some plan by which she might extricate her father from his misery; and, in her warm-hearted enthusiasm, self-sacrifice was decided on as the means to be adopted. Was not so good an Agamemnon worthy of an Iphigenia? She would herself personally implore John Bold to desist from his undertaking…

Hospital challenge, reform press, daughter's plea, and London conscience trip converge on self-sacrifice as plot engine rather than courtroom climax — so plot scores 88.

Though doubt and hesitation disturbed the rest of our poor warden, no such weakness perplexed the nobler breast of his son-in-law. As the indomitable cock preparing for the combat sharpens his spurs, shakes his feathers, and erects his comb, so did the archdeacon arrange his weapons for the coming war, without misgiving and without fear.

Harding's hesitation against Grantly's combat readiness individuates both at once — Barset cast already comic and moral — so cast scores 89.

No schoolboy ever ran away from school with more precaution and more dread of detection; no convict, slipping down from a prison wall, ever feared to see the gaoler more entirely than Mr Harding did to see his son-in-law as he drove up in the pony carriage to the railway station, on the morning of his escape to London.

Twenty-one chapters; escape accelerates after dilated hospital politics, so pace scores 85.

The Rev. Septimus Harding was, a few years since, a beneficed clergyman residing in the cathedral town of ----; let us call it Barchester. Were we to name Wells or Salisbury, Exeter, Hereford, or Gloucester, it might be presumed that something personal was intended; and as this tale will refer mainly to the cathedral dignitaries of the town in question, we are anxious that no personality may be suspected.

Dashed blank town against named cathedral rivals — ironic clerical plain style inventing a map — so prose scores 90.

Let us presume that Barchester is a quiet town in the West of England, more remarkable for the beauty of its cathedral and the antiquity of its monuments than for any commercial prosperity; that the west end of Barchester is the cathedral close…

Close, hospital, and cathedral dignity mapped as a moral economy rather than industrial spectacle, so world scores 87.

Were we to name Wells or Salisbury, Exeter, Hereford, or Gloucester, it might be presumed that something personal was intended…

Comic caution invents Barchester before plot names the hospital quarrel — inviting narrator conspiracy — so hook scores 88.

The Rev. Septimus Harding was, a few years since, a beneficed clergyman residing in the cathedral town of ----; let us call it Barchester.

Church sinecure as conscience novel rather than Gothic villainy — Barsetshire invented as durable social theatre — so innov scores 91.

Our tale is now done, and it only remains to us to collect the scattered threads of our little story, and to tie them into a seemly knot. This will not be a work of labour, either to the author or to his readers; we have not to deal with many personages, or with stirring events…

Seemly knot without stirring events seals resignation as quiet justice — so ending scores 89.