picked it up and threw it over his shoulder, saying: "Is there any grace 

 of orders in this garment, John?" "Not now," said the Bishop. 



That reminds me of a somewhat similar repartee made to my Grand- 

 father by Miss Lottie Shields (afterwards Mrs. Bayard Stockton, a most 

 delightful person) . Going out of his front gate one sleety day in winter, 

 he found the brick sidewalk a glare of ice. Miss Shields, who was passing, 

 slipped and fell almost at his feet. As he helped her up, he said: "Ah, 

 Lottie! the wicked stand in slippery places." "I see they do, Sir," was the 

 swift retort. I don't remember the date of this episode as clearly as I 

 recall the glee with which the old gentleman recounted it to us at the 

 dinner table. 



Part of the Christmas vacation I spent with the Osborn family in New 

 York, as I also did in the following year, 1877. The events of the two 

 visits are inextricably mixed in my memory. In one of them I was tor- 

 mented by a toothache which was still "going strong," when Mrs. 

 Osborn took us to hear Handel's Messiah. The music so enthralled me 

 that, incredible as it may seem, I quite forgot the toothache. I have often 

 heard the oratorio since then, in England, in Germany, and in this 

 country and always with profound emotion, but that first hearing 

 remains a unique experience. Part of this effect was, I think, due to the 

 singing of Miss Anna Drasdil, who took the contralto parts; her 

 beautiful voice, deep and sincere feeling, her stately and gracious presence 

 were all so perfectly fitted to the music, that I have never since been so 

 thrilled by it; the reverberations of that night are still with me. 



In the period of which I am writing there was an evil custom known 

 as "Chapel Stage Speaking." Each Senior had to write an original speech 

 and deUver it on the pulpit platform of the Old Chapel to as much of the 

 public as might wish to attend. Every Saturday the speakers came on in 

 batches of twelve or fifteen, until the whole class had performed. Being 

 extremely busy, I neglected this oration until the last possible moment 

 and then scrambled together something in praise of Puritanism. This 

 neglect very nearly cooked my goose, when the question of my appoint- 

 ment to an instructorship came up three or four years later. Dr. McCosh 

 was much displeased and took me to task; by way of excuse, I said: 

 "Why! Doctor, I wrote that speech in twenty minutes." "So I should 

 imagine, Sir!" was the annihilating rejoinder. My Mother had come to 

 hear me speak and, thinking the performance a feeble one, made no 

 secret of her opinion. It was long before I heard the end of that unlucky 

 oration. 



[52;] 



