“They were singing Tutti, and insensibly quickening the pace; I heard Trackers absently mutter something about the Dean and his uncle--‘_of course the Dean went to the funeral_’--and then even he joined in the chase: “hailstones,” and they danced on the floor; “hot thunderbolts” that rumbled and scorched; “furiousness of His wrath, anger, displeasure, and trouble”; and “the prophets blazoned on the panes” rattled, and the old fabric swam before my eyes, and I clutched at the rail for safety: there came a sudden roar, like an advancing earthquake, and the pestilence smote the first-born of Egypt, so that the tower shook, and then, without warning, we slipped into the smooth waters of G: “He led them forth like sheep”; Israel sat in shady places by the water side in the Promised Land, playing on the harmonic flute, and--Trackers, half turning his head, said: “‘_And they found he’d married his cook, and left her the money._’ But I was leaning over the rail and crying like a girl at her first play.” “Look here, rector,” I interposed, “I must catch the 6.30.” And I fled. * * * * * Poor old Chaunters! We were not to have many more meetings. The next year, on my arrival at the rectory, I was warned that there was something special in store for me, and in due course the secret was revealed. Some old friend had bequeathed to him two dozen of 1847 port, and a bottle had been decanted with extraordinary care. I own I find it difficult to drink port in the afternoon, but such nectar could not come at a wrong time. The Rector was with difficulty induced to join me: he would have just one glass to see whether it had “suffered by translation”; and just another glass because he wouldn’t see me again for a whole year; and the merest drop more to drink Church and Queen, because we had forgotten that ceremony. As I was going away he charged me to remember that the ’47 was to be kept for me: “no one else came to see the old man,” and with his gout he couldn’t touch it himself: so long as the old man lasted there was a bottle for me. Alas for good intentions! Next October, when I came to the rectory, the Rector had had the gout, and the port was gone. It was not on that account, but because of the increase of work which necessitated devolution of the smaller schools to the sub-inspectors, that in the following year I had to delegate the inspection of Chaunters’ school to my senior colleague. But I charged him to deal gently with the old man; to lunch with him; to tell him about the anthems at the cathedral; and specially to be careful to introduce into his conversation such fragments of Latin as would give it a scholarly flavour without straining his host’s classical memory; and to this end we compiled a list of phrases, such as _bona fide_, _in situ_, _in statu quo_, _timeo Danaos_, _festina lente_, _profanum vulgus_, and others which I forget.