86 MEMOIR OF 



" I told 'ee so, Jack ; I know'd he'd come," 

 he said to Russell the first time he met him 

 after that event. " But there, he's never likely 

 to come again ; the air of Knowstone's too 

 keen for him, I reckon." 



Though an athlete in intellect, the bishop, 

 according to Russell, was no match for Froude 

 in those minor tactics, the success of which 

 depended on manoeuvre and finesse ; in that 

 line he could have beaten Machiavelli himself. 

 His lordship, it is said, met Froude one day 

 with a greyhound, commonly known in Devon- 

 shire as "a long-dog," walking by his side: 

 ''And pray, Mr. Froude," said the bishop, with 

 a courteous, but restrained air, " what manner 

 of dog may you call that?" 



" Oh ! that's what we call a lang-dog, my 

 lord ; and if yen was on'y to shak' yeur appern 

 to un, he'd go like a dart." 



The idea of that dignified and ceremonious 

 prelate shaking his apron, like an old woman, 

 to frighten the dog, is so ludicrous that, if it 

 did not beget even in his eye a twinkle of 

 mirth, he must have struggled hard to 

 restrain it. 



Russell's anecdotes of Froude would fill a 

 volume ; but to produce a tithe of them in 

 these pages would be to give the latter undue 

 prominence in the present memoir. Besides, 

 however pointed anecdotes may be if told by 



