"'Is there anything stronger than fire?'
"'Yes, water, for it quenches fire.'
"'Is there anything stronger than water?'
"'Yes, wind, for it puts water in motion.'
"'O, our Sustainer, is there anything in Thy creation stronger than wind?'
"'Yes, a good man giving alms: if he give with his right hand and conceal it from his left he overcomes all things.'"
The wrong train
I may here relate an unaccountable blunder I committed when on my way to do a little service for the Bishop at Bradford. At that time there were two express trains to the North, one from Euston, the other from King's Cross; both started at 1.30. Full of thought, I drove to Euston instead of to King's Cross. When I asked for a ticket there was some delay; at last it was given to me with the name of my destination written upon it in ink. I thought it strange that tickets for so important a place should be out of print, but took my seat in the train; and it was only when well beyond Rugby that I realised what I had done. Eventually, after hurried, anxious talk with the authorities at Stafford, I got out at Stockport. There, in great excitement, I ordered a special train and telegraphed home to allay anxiety. Some difficulties about the special were overcome by earnest appeals to disregard cost, as I was prepared to pay anything demanded of me, for never in my life had I failed to keep an appointment with the public, and should have been doubly distressed at breaking an engagement in which I was doing the work without any question of a fee. Eventually I reached Bradford five minutes before the time fixed for the entertainment. To add to my troubles, the confusion had driven out of my head the name of the hall where I was to appear. Fortunately, one of the flymen on the station rank remembered it, and drove me quickly to its doors as the audience was pouring in. After inquiry at an hotel hard by—the same hotel in which a few years later Irving stumbled in the hall and then fell dead—I found the Bishop. He had telegraphed to London for the cause of my absence, and, receiving no explanation, had settled to fill my place by giving his lecture on Dante; but on my appearance he drove to the hall, asked for a short delay, explained the reason, and then returned to fetch me. I dressed as if by magic, swallowed some soup, and, appearing on the platform only fifteen minutes late, was greeted with great warmth. I had never felt so pleased to face my audience.
The Bishop of Ripon, like myself, was born in the year 1841, and, like myself, was proud to belong to that fine "vintage."