eves that each
man must use the method best suited to himself. There have been
effective preachers both of written and extempore sermons. The question
of memory came up, and the Bishop said: "I learnt something of this
from the biography of Chancellor Bird, of Lincoln, who said, 'The memory
is very sensitive of distrust; if you trust it, it seldom fails you.' I
have tested this more than once. On one occasion I was preaching at St.
Paul's. When I got into the pulpit I thought I could not remember the
number of the verse of my text. I knew the chapter, and opened my Bible
there, but could not see it. People began to move about, but I hazarded
a guess, and fortunately it was right."

I learnt yet another example of this whilst in Ripon, though not from
the Bishop. He was preaching at Bradford one Sunday morning two years
ago. One of his many dramatic movements knocked his book from the pulpit
cushion. It was just in the middle of the sermon. He never so much as
glanced at the fallen volume, and my informant said he had never heard
the Bishop more eloquent.

"You ask me if I advocate the preaching of other men's sermons," said
his lordship, repeating my question. "There is one thing about it. It
behoves every man to advocate the simplest honesty. If any cleric
exchange his sermon with another, let him say from the pulpit, 'I'm
going to give you So-and-so's sermon to-day.'"

We talked on, being joined by Mr. Harry Carpenter--the Bishop's eldest
son--who frankly declared himself to be a happy, recently-called
barrister, and just now lecturing for the University extension movement.
We said "Good-night."

When I reached my room I sat down by the fire and remembered that the
Bishop was fond of his joke. He has a name--William Boyd Carpenter--the
latter of which is capable of a very merry conversion. The story is told
how, before being appointed to the See of Ripon, he once married a young
couple with the assurance that he was not only a Carpenter but a Joiner.
Only a few months ago he was about to lay the foundation stone of a new
vicarage. The architect handed him the trowel, etc., inviting him to
become "an operative mason for a few moments."

[Illustration: THE DINING-ROOM.

_From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]

"I would rather remain a working Carpenter," was the witty reply.

I stirred my fire, and amongst the flickering embers I could almost see
the faces of a happy pair at Christ Church, Lancaster Gate. The Bishop