enthusiastic and congenial circle of intimate friends. With all these things, with health and wit and lightheartedness and a sense of duty, and a love of things fair and pure, and personal charm and beauty, he was well equipped for happiness-happiness of which he experienced much in his life, though I think seldom consciously.

For Prince Lee he had an almost romantic attachment. He was never tired of talking of his teaching. In the first place Lee had a marvellous memory, seldom using a book in school, and being able to repeat page after page of Thucydides without a mistake. The consequence of this was that all his scholars who resolved to be not only like him but exactly like him, learnt immense portions of the classics by heart. My father, whose memory, though lively, can never have been accurate, learnt as many as five or six books of Virgil by heart, and could for many years repeat them continuously. The great delight of the boys was, however, the Greek Testament teaching, into which Lee threw himself with such remarkable energy, that he would often keep his First Class long after the appointed hour and yet never provoke a murmur. Lee had been Craven Scholar, Fellow of Trinity, and an assistant of Arnold's at Rugby. He was the son of a former Secretary of the Royal Society. Besides being a classical scholar he was a widely read and cultivated man, and not only illustrated his teaching with quotations from Wordsworth and Walter Scott, but heaped scorn upon boys who could not appreciate or identify an English quotation.

Lee's teaching was of the old-fashioned kind, and consisted in very close analysis of words and the defining of what are called "shades of meaning" or "nuances." Without intentional irreverence, it may be said that words in Lee's hands became like the "portmanteau" words in Alice in Wonderland, stuffed full of divers senses,-fuller indeed

than the original author ever intended. That however mattered little, as long as the result was intense intellectual enjoyment and interest on the part of the pupils. Such teaching of course is apt to lose sight of the fact that the best word-artists use words instinctively rather than deliberately. Lee's teaching might have turned out an ingenious stylist like Tacitus or Thucydides, a writer observant and compressed, but would never have produced the simple lucidity of Virgil or Homer. But the result was fruitful. In the case of Bishop Westcott it left traces in the ingenious, almost fanciful pressing of words that made him, it is reported, say to the evangelist who asked him whether he was saved, "Do you mean owdeis, owhóμενος οι σεσωσμένος?” On Bishop Lightfoot, a man of harder and more strictly logical mind, the results were admirable. In my father, so far as regarded written expression, the results were not altogether fortunate. As a young man he wrote a most elaborate uneasy English, and in his later years he wrote a style which must be called crabbed and bewildering. He tried to pack the sense of a sentence into an epithet and had a curious love for strained and fanciful words. He sacrificed structure to preciosity and lucidity to ornament. The result was that my father's most deliberate style was like that of Tacitus or Thucydides, full of points and overcharged with matter -"sense" enough to furnish a dozen sermons out of one— not uninteresting to read, though not alluring, and claiming the reader's attention rather than enchaining it; his best sermons and addresses are those written under some pressure; when he preached or spoke extempore, the thought expanded naturally in simple and telling language, but when he delivered orally what he had written carefully the effect was stilted, because of the compression and excision he had employed.

Lee had a great personal fascination; everything about him was idealised; he suffered from ill-health, and the boys used to gaze at him with wonder as he taught with pale brow and kindling eye, often knowing that he had not tasted food that day and that he was in constant pain. But besides being most inspiringly taught in school, the promising boys were often invited to his house, and to hear him talk about books or turn over portfolios of engravings was a treat that they coveted and long remembered. His system was to stimulate intellectual tastes, and to leave the boys with a great deal of leisure time to pursue any subject that attracted them; the best boys were not sacrificed to the mediocre and unintellectual. Lee was exactly in his right place as a schoolmaster; he had the intense desire to impart information at all times and places; but he had the schoolmaster's impatience of correction, and was not fitted to deal with independent minds. Severity, not out of place in a schoolmaster, is a bad outfit for a leader of men. Lee was not, it must be confessed, a successful Bishop, and it is to be regretted that he ever accepted the Bishopric of Manchester-pressed on him by the strong wish of the Prince Consort-which he held until his death.

My father's reverence for Lee was reverence as for a character almost divine; I shall never forget how in 1877, in Cornwall, when we were being entertained by a leading clergyman of the diocese, our host said to my father genially at dinner, "By the way, Bishop, you were under Lee at Birmingham, were you not?" "Yes, indeed," said my father, all in a glow. Then followed a highly disparaging criticism. There was a silence, and my father grew quite white-then he said to his host, "You can hardly expect me to agree to that, when I owe to him all that I was or am or ever shall be." Our host tried

to qualify the expression: but my father was completely upset, and hardly said a word for the rest of the evening. As we went to bed he said to me, "Lee was the greatest man I have ever come within the influence of—the greatest and the best-you see how people are misunderstood."

After Bishop Lee's death a memorial sermon by my father, entitled after its text CAATTICEI,-"the Trumpet shall sound"-was printed with some biographical notes by J. F. Wickenden and other former pupils.

In this sermon, my father thus speaks of Prince Lee :"The boy, who, with all a boy's faults, tendencies, fancies, indolent and dangerous inclinations, came under his influence, was first spell-bound by what he heard and saw, and then it began to have a strange effect on him. It awoke first a craving for the intellectual as against the selfish; then the intellectual itself began to seem unsatisfying for all its beauty and for all its wisdom: he began to long for the spiritual, and to his surprise here, too, he found himself understood, and met and upraised.

"Let me be more definite. Never less and seldom more than twenty-five boys were at one time under his influence as his own proud scholars at the head of his school. For about ten years at Birmingham they came to him and left him in even flow: their intercourse with him was hourly, and their loyalty absolute. The love of him was always at the height; they were bound together by it then and ever since it was the perfectness of affection for him which has made so many of them seek his own profession. And how was it established? Whatever gentleness, whatever courtesy, whatever strictest honour he showed to the greatest, was paid to these boys in fullest measure, and on them he lavished all his stores; for them he took the poets, Latin and Greek, and read them like no pedant; he wrought out with exquisite taste and truth the pictures

that were in words, and more, the touch of feeling, the pathos, the moral greatness, but above all things, again and again let me say it, the very truth.

"And then for them the life of Athens was lived over again-for them the very art of Athens rose vividly as in a vision, and linked itself with endless illustration to the arts of later date. And this was a new means of winning, and purifying, and exalting. To him that art only was precious which was true to nature and the inner truth: that which was merely imitative he scorned as he did that which was merely gorgeous. Through all these helps and stages the language of the princes of human speech, above all the difficult language and intricate thought of the greatest of historians, grew absolutely into life, as he would not only first draw out the very inmost sense of every letter, and then illuminate it by later lights of history and experience, but would many a time break out in his very language and make him felt as familiarly as a contemporary author. And yet the chief power lay in the method: it was not so much the teaching he infused as the ardour he aroused, as the truth-seeking spirit he created, in those who were worthy."

And again:

"This one thing is the first and last they learned of him, that the personal friendship of Jesus Christ our Lord was that gift which God was incarnate to bestow on every man who sought it.

"And the second thing to which he turned ever more and more with a trust more full of awe, and yet ever more full of resolute confidence, was the thought that that Personal Friend would come again to judge the world.

"It is a boyish recollection, dear to many, how-reading with them the Greek Testament, and expounding with his own most lucid and yet thrilling forms of expression, in