d to venture farther. He accordingly wrote the following:

"My dear father,--You tell me--and I heartily thank you--that no one
will compel me to be ordained. I knew you would not press ordination
upon me if my conscience was seriously opposed to it; I have therefore
resolved on giving up the idea, and believe that if you will continue
to allow me what you do at present, until I get my fellowship, which
should not be long, I will then cease putting you to further expense.
I will make up my mind as soon as possible what profession I will
adopt, and will let you know at once.--Your affectionate son, THEOBALD
PONTIFEX."

The remaining letter, written by return of post, must now be given. It
has the merit of brevity.

"Dear Theobald,--I have received yours. I am at a loss to conceive
its motive, but am very clear as to its effect. You shall not receive
a single sixpence from me till you come to your senses. Should you
persist in your folly and wickedness, I am happy to remember that I
have yet other children whose conduct I can depend upon to be a source
of credit and happiness to me.--Your affectionate but troubled father,
G. PONTIFEX."

I do not know the immediate sequel to the foregoing correspondence, but
it all came perfectly right in the end. Either Theobald's heart failed
him, or he interpreted the outward shove which his father gave him, as
the inward call for which I have no doubt he prayed with great
earnestness--for he was a firm believer in the efficacy of prayer. And
so am I under certain circumstances. Tennyson has said that more things
are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of, but he has wisely
refrained from saying whether they are good things or bad things. It
might perhaps be as well if the world were to dream of, or even become
wide awake to, some of the things that are being wrought by prayer. But
the question is avowedly difficult. In the end Theobald got his
fellowship by a stroke of luck very soon after taking his degree, and was
ordained in the autumn of the same year, 1825.

CHAPTER IX

Mr Allaby was rector of Crampsford, a village a few miles from Cambridge.
He, too, had taken a good degree, had got a fellowship, and in the course
of time had accepted a college living of about 400 pounds a year and a
house. His private income did not exceed 200 pounds a year. On
resigning his fellowship he married a woman a good deal