prayers which were held there every morning, and in particular his own brief exposition of the second lesson for the day--brief, masterly, scholarly, yet so simply put as to come home to the most unlearned.

'With this memory goes another, my meeting him at his own well-beloved Eton, when by what I cannot but consider a fortunate chance it fell to him to unveil the monument of Bishop William of Waynflete, the first headmaster and second provost of Eton, and founder of Magdalen. He performed the ceremony with happy grace, notwithstanding that the canvas covering refused to fall when he pulled the string, and that the string broke, and a man and a ladder had to complete the process. In college he made a charming little pronouncement on the foundation days of Eton, touching off with terse but delicate language the character of Henry VI. and of Waynflete. I always wish I had kept notes of the speech, which seemed to me a model of its kind.

'Most vividly of all, perhaps, do I remember the impressiveness with which he gave the Benediction at the special service in the school chapel.

'My last meeting with him was at the funeral of the Bishop of Winchester, Dr. Thorold. After the service a stately and beautiful ceremony, but by reason of the numbers attending necessarily not short-and after he had disrobed, I met him and walked with him to the Deanery. Escorted by his old and dear friend the Dean, formerly one of his chaplains, he went all over the beautiful garden and interesting outbuildings, climbing, I remember, up some ladder steps into a medieval loft to see an old timber roof, which filled him with pleasure, and

on which he delivered one of his delightful, instructive, yet absolutely unpedantic, little disquisitions. In the drawing-room I left him, full of sympathy and friendship, full of interest in what he had seen, full of vitality, full of anticipation of his autumn holiday, in Italy and Switzerland, from which he never returned. I never saw him again, but I shall never forget him-his beautiful and inspiring personality or cease to cherish his memory; not if I should live to be as old as he was then.'

374

CHAPTER VII

Last Days-Visit to Winchester-Journey to Italy-Death at BasleMemorials.

THE intense cold of the winter of 1894-5 had no visible effect upon the Bishop's health and strength. He went hither and thither through it all as usual about his diocese, and to London for Convocation. In starting for a round of confirmations at the beginning of March he grazed his leg badly by slipping on the step of his carriage, but he went on with his work for three days, at the end of which the wound was so painful that he was persuaded to consult a doctor in Brighton, who immediately ordered him to bed, where he remained for a fortnight in the house of his friends, Mr. and Mrs. Boothby. In no very long time the wound was healed, to the astonishment of the doctors, and the Bishop was going about his duties as before. While he himself seemed to be impervious to the effects of weather, he was constantly exhorting friends who were advanced in age, although younger than himself, to be cautious. Pray respect your years,' he wrote on February 19, 1895, to Canon Borrer, the Rector of Hurst, and remember that you are not so able to withstand cold and subtle air

as you were validus juventâ'; and again in a letter to the same on May 9: 'I am sorry you have been caught by that treacherous blast. I was in the East at Sedlescombe after the grand meeting at Brighton-for which God be thanked-and I really thought there must be snow. The sound of cuckoo and nightingale sounded as a mockery. But now all is genial, and I hope you feel the good effect.'

The 'grand meeting at Brighton' here referred to was held to protest against the measure recently proposed to Parliament for the disestablishment of the Church in Wales. The entry in his diary on the following day records that he paid a 'surprise visit to the school at Sedlescombe very orderly and good.'

In addition to all his active work up and down the diocese there was, of course, the constant correspondence to be carried on which is one of the heaviest burdens of the Bishop's office, especially on his return home. Most of Bishop Durnford's letters were written with his own hand, and in the year 1895, the last of his life, he notes in his diary having written as many as fifteen in one morning. His handwriting when he wrote slowly and took special pains was of a good scholarly type, but, partly from the pressure on his time, partly perhaps from defect of eyesight, it became extremely illegible, although the deterioration was not particularly marked in the last few years of his life. An exceptionally legible letter to his old friend, Bishop Claughton, drew forth the following humorous reply:

My dear Cicestr.,-You cannot think what a pleasure it was to me to see your well-known handwriting again; but before I say anything about myself, I have a question to ask you touching this Did you take extra

same manual act' of yours. ordinary pains in consideration of my infirmity and probable blindness, or is your handwriting really improved? For the first time for many years I have read a letter of yours from end to end without a single stumble. I think you must have been condescending to my weakness, like the clergy who come to see me and evidently suppose that as I am retiring I must be deaf.

The last time that I saw the Bishop was at Winchester on July 29, 1895, just ten weeks before he died. He came to attend the funeral of Bishop Thorold. He travelled from Chichester in the morning, arriving at Winchester about noon. It was the first time that he had visited the Deanery, and with his usual keen interest and thoroughness he inspected every part of the beautiful old house and garden. The service in the cathedral and at the grave was necessarily long, but after it was ended he went all round the Deanery garden (an extensive one) again, with his friend the President of Magdalen, and ascended to the loft over the stables to see the beautiful fourteenth-century timber roof; that building having been part of the hall in which, in monastic times, the pilgrims who visited the shrine of St. Swithun were lodged. After tea, and of course much talk, he set out about five o'clock on his return journey of two hours to Chichester, not having shown the slightest symptom of fatigue.

Nevertheless the end was approaching. For