THE late Archbishop Trench, a man of singularly vague and dreamy habits, resigned the see of Dublin on account of advancing years, and settled in London. He once went back to pay a visit to his successor, Lord Plunket. Finding himself back again in his old palace, sitting at his old dinner-table, and gazing across it at his old wife, he lapsed in memory to the days when he was master of the house, and gently remarked to Mrs. Trench, `I am afraid, my love, that we must put this cook down among our failures.'