e monotony of winter
evenings with music, poetry, stories, and lectures; and though his
parish was so wide and scattered, he tried to rally support for a
village reading-room, and kept it alive for some years.

His afternoons were regularly given to parish visiting, except when
there were other definite calls upon his time. He soon came to know
every man, woman, and child in his parish. His sympathies were so wide
that he could make himself at home with every one, with none more so
than the gipsies and poachers, who shared his intimate knowledge of the
neighbouring heaths and of the practices, lawful and unlawful, by which
they could be made to supply food. He would listen to their stories,
sympathize with their troubles and speak frankly in return. There was no
condescension. One of his pupils speaks of 'the simple, delicate, deep
respect for the poor', which could be seen in his manner and his talk
among the cottagers. He could be severe enough when severity was needed,
as when he compelled a cruel farmer to kill 'a miserable horse which was
rotting alive in front of his house'; and he could deal no less
drastically with hypocrisy. When a professional beggar fell on his knees
at the Rectory gate and pretended to pray, he was at once ejected by the
Rector with every mark of indignation and contumely. But the weak and
suffering always made a special appeal to him. Though it was easy to vex
and exasperate him, he could always put away his own troubles in
presence of his own children or of any who needed his help. He had that
intense power of sympathy which enabled him to understand and reach the
heart.

From a letter to his greatest friend, Tom Hughes, written in 1851, we
get a glimpse of a day in his life--'a sorter kinder sample day'. He was
up at five to see a dying man and stayed with him till eight. He then
went out for air and exercise, fished all the morning and killed eight
fish. He went back to his invalid at three. Later he spent three hours
attending a meeting convoked by his Archdeacon about Sunday schools, and
at 10.30 he was back in his study writing to his friends.

But though he himself calls this a 'sample day', it does no justice to
one form of his activities. Most days in the year he would put away all
thought of fishing, shut himself up in his study morning and evening,
and devote himself to reading and writing. Great care was taken over his
weekly sermons. Monday was, if possible, given to rest; bu