thousands. He bought
ship-loads of English corn and served it out in bushels; also tons of
Irish potatoes, and served them out in _kischens_. He gave orders that
the measure was to be piled as high as it would hold, and never smoothed
flat again. Yet he was himself a poor man. While he had money he spent
it. When every penny was gone he pledged his revenue in advance.
After his credit was done he begged in England for his poor people in
Man--_he_ begged for _us_ who would not have held out his hat to save his
own life! God bless him! But we repaid him. Oh yes, we repaid him.
His money he never got back, but gold is not the currency of the other
world. Prayers and blessings are the wealth that is there, and these
went up after him to the great White Throne from the swelling throats of
his people.

THE BISHOP AT COURT

Not of Bishop Wilson could it be said, as it was said of another, that
he "flattered princes in the temple of God." One day, when he was coming
to Court, Queen Caroline saw him and said to a company of Bishops and
Archbishops that surrounded her, "See, my lords, here is a Bishop who
does not come for a translation." "No, indeed, and please your Majesty,"
said Bishop Wilson, "I will not leave my wife in her old age because she
is poor." When Bishop Wilson was an old man, Cardinal Fleury sent over
to ask after his age and health, saying that they were the two oldest
and poorest Bishops in the world. At the same time he got an order that
no French privateer should ever ravage the Isle of Man. The order has
long lapsed, but I am told that to this day French seamen respect a
Manxman. It touches me to think of it that thus does the glory of this
good man's life shine on our faces still.

STORIES OF BISHOP WILSON

How his people must have loved him! Many of the stories told of him are
of rather general application, but some of them ought to be true if they
are not.

One day in the old three-cornered market-place at Ramsey a little
maiden of seven crossed his path. She was like sunshine, rosy-cheeked,
bright-eyed, bare-footed and bare-headed, and for love of her sweetness
the grey old Bishop patted her head and blest her. "God bless you, my
child; God bless you," he said. The child curtseyed and answered, "God
bless you, too, sir." "Thank you, child, thank you," the Bishop said
again; "I dare say your blessing will be as good as mine."

It was customary in those days, and indeed down to my own time, when