In the debates, he presided always as judge. The lowest class was the jury; and he gave the subjects, and appointed the leaders, on either side, the rest taking their own sides. That this gave dignity, control, interest and improvement, more than an ordinary College debating society, can have, can easily be imagined. They were hard fought battles, lasting over two Saturdays sometimes. And they had more than half their life and point, from being fought, under his Generalship. Not one of us ever entered, with fresher interest into them, indeed into every branch of these classes, than he. When the debate was closed, the jury gave the verdict, as to which side had been best sustained. And after that, he summed up the whole, and gave his decision, on the actual merits of the question. These English classes were the gem of the College course; the pleasantest class in the week; to almost all of us, the very pleasantest hour of Saturday. I am sure the picture of his fresh, bright, genial face, the remembrance of the humour and point and life, he threw over what ceased to be work, can never be forgotten by any of us. He had classes at the College, beside this, in History, the History of Literature and Philosophy, in Constitutional and International Law. And most delightful of all, were the Senior recitations to him, in Criticisms of Shakspeare, and in the "de Arte Poetica." Indeed, all the recitations to him were the combination and culmination of the rest. Every week, we wrote abstracts of his Sunday morning's sermon; which secured our attention; and fixed his invaluable round of teaching, in our minds. There was nothing that we studied, which he did not refresh, and use in his department. He made a dish, whose dainty flavour lingers still, with all the dashes of its countless compounds; a bouquet, whose fragrance is ever fresh, mingling the sweetness of a thousand flowers.

That he was as full of interest, and acceptance with his daughters, I have always heard. One of them, who shows the benefit of his teaching, writes thus of it. "How can my feeble pen ever describe that class; the scene of our beloved Bishop's untiring labour; a labour no less important, for not being known to the world at large.

Memory brings the whole, vividly before me. How bright he looked, when he came into the Saloon. The sight of the morning glow upon his cheek, was enough to refresh us. But, the loving glance, which he sent round, warmed each heart and made us all resolve to do our best. We forgot that he was a Bishop there, in the one thought that he was our father. And, when the round of duty had begun, we felt that he was our teacher, a great teacher.

He forgot every thing else, in the work before him. Into that, he threw his whole soul. One would have thought that

he had no other duty. Our compositions must, often, have wearied him, with their dulness; yet he, never, showed it. From the care, he took in the analysis and criticism of each, one might have thought, that they were fully equal to the productions of his own ready pen. The importance, which he attached to all that we wrote, made us realize the necessity of attention and earnest effort.

Ah! What a teacher he was. How intuitively he knew every disposition, and the exact progress, which each pupil was making. He saw the good and bad, in every character; and used that knowledge, with consummate skill. He always said the right thing, to the right person, at the right time. The gentle rebuke; can we ever forget it? The word of encouragement to the timid; how good it was!

His criticism was able, exact, but it had no sting. How he would urge it upon us, to say no more, no less, than we meant, and to draw from the pure Saxon source of our language.

His fertility of invention was matchless. He was constantly devising new exercises, to call every faculty into action. The origin of words was a favorite theme. The analysis of poetry was another. He made us familiar with the beauties of the poets, from Chaucer down to Browning. At home, every where, in the field of English Literature; he delighted to point us to paths' untrodden by us, and incite us to explore them. Truly he inspired, while he instructed. Every thing was interesting, when he told it. How his eye would sparkle, when something would remind him, of a strain of poetry, heard, long before; and he would repeat it to us, as only a poet could.

We never ceased to wonder, at the variety of the subjects which he gave us, to write about. Nothing was forgotten. These gave him scope so ample, in teaching, that few topics were likely to be brought up, in the course of other recitations, about which, we would not know something, learned in the Composition Class.

He used to say, that to teach that class was "heart-work," with him. Truly it was done, as only "heart-work" could be done. Words cannot tell the good, which he did, in that sphere, alone. Many of his pupils, naturally gifted, are now accomplished writers. The high-toned sentiment and finished grace, of their letters, perpetuate his influence. Those of us, not so gifted, feel a debt of gratitude, which we can only slightly repay, by using our one talent well.

He not only strengthened our minds, but he moulded our morals; by the influence which he seemed to exert, unconsciously, on all who came near him. Highly did we prize his mark of approval, in the familiar red ink, at the bottom of the page. It was better than gold; for we loved him, so much.

The ease which we felt, in his presence, was only not greater than our reverence for him.

I can never say all, that I think, of his teaching. But this I do believe; that even, if he had not been the great Bishop, of his day, his wonderful power, as a teacher, would have enabled him to wield an influence, hardly less mighty.

The daughters of the Hall have much to be thankful for. Happy am I, that I can call myself one of them."

And another writes, who, though not of the class, was for many years, in it. "The Bishop's Composition Class! I wish I could picture it to you, just as it was. It is ten years or more, since he first graciously invited me, to go in, on Saturday morning. The girls, fresh from their Autumnal vacation, rose and greeted their beloved teacher and Bishop, with happy smiles and affectionate words; and, he, as heartily, replied, 'Good morning, children.' All round the long tables, on the benches, about the room, they sat with work in hand. And, pretty work they did, and much, in the snatches of time, allowed for fancy work, at St. Mary's. I dwell upon this picture, for it is peculiar to the Composition Classes at St. Mary's Hall: the hands employed, while thought is busy. That class was a domestic scene, and, yet, each, in turn, of the sixty and more, rose as alphabetically called, and read her piece, before the Bishop.'

They were, at the beginning of the term, after a week's notice, called upon for a letter. This, like all the Bishop's teaching, was in the most simple and practical way, possible, to attain the end. A letter, any child can write, especially, when, far from home. How glad she is to give vent to her pent up affections. Their first pieces then, were, from the heart. And, such as followed were, since they might be on subjects of their own choice. After this all were; the lesson of earnestness being already learned. There was a reality about every thing done for the Bishop. He was himself too earnest to allow any, about him, to dawdle. The letters being handed in, the first day, on the following Saturday, they were the groundwork of the criticisms and suggestions as to letters. If any poor girl had written hers carelessly, or only to fill up her sheet, she had to think, now, as she saw it written out on the blackboard, after her miserable spelling had put the class to the trouble of going, one by one, to write her "unfortunate words," correctly, and where every one could see them.

After their letters, and a piece upon subjects of their own choice, half a dozen themes were announced, each successive fortnight. One, a historic subject, another, a proverb, or a religious subject from the Christian year; a local theme of the day: a romantic or descriptive subject; as, "Flowers by the Wayside," "A Dream ;" and, finally, one of the most matter

of-fact kind, "A Pencil," "A Needle," "Chalk," "A shocking bad cold." It was really surprising to hear the ingenious manner, by which they would contrive to invest with interest, so dull a subject as "A Blackboard." By the way, the free use of a blackboard, in this exercise, was peculiar to Bishop Doane. It is true the first time Mary W- was called to the board, to write, the chalk was strangely at fault. Either it made no mark, it scratched, was too large, or too small. But, the gentle, encouraging, loving tones of the teacher, soon, took all terror from the implements, and inspired the writer with power to wield her chalk at will. A cluster of disjointed sentences, is written out for every eye to see, that all may work together, to give the true place to each; to weed out superfluous expressions; to unravel the tangled web of words. Here a foreign word gives place to a monosyllabic Saxon; there a would-be member of a sentence is lopped off: the whole is cleared up, "tightened up;" and the pauses are inserted, according to the most logical rules. It may be the "parenthetic comma, the "adverbial," the comma of "ellipsis," or of "specification; " while the "comma of impertinence" is rejected. Then follows a study of the words as to their origin. All Greek and Latin terms are traced to their roots, and their original meaning. And, how much, often, was learned by the attentive pupil, in the analysis of a single word, as, for example, in the word Constantinople. How living the words became; and how real the impression upon all. I remember, when once the historical theme was Charles I. of England. One, from early education, prejudiced against him, read a very beautiful piece, admired by all; yet, no one the less believed him a martyr. Another, more Catholic, in her early training, took the opposite view. But, it was not carefully written. Her sentences were so obscure that almost any meaning might be taken from them. This gave rise to one of the most able criticisms ever listened to. The whole history of the times, in all its aspects, passed in review. Had all, then said, been printed, it would of itself, display the majestic simplicity and profound learning of this great man, and wonderful teacher.

The influence of these invaluable exercises, soon told upon the intellectual habits of the young writers. They became selfeducators. They wrote thoughtfully, feelingly, and in a little while, beautifully. On hearing their pieces, as strangers did at the graduating, the impression at first was that they were downright plagiarisms. And, still, they were, often, so specific, local, simple, that one, upon second thought, knew that they were not "tags.”

And, when he selected a piece of poetry, to be written as an exercise, how living it became so happy the selection; so

like inspiration the reading. It was a feast to me, whenever I could attend. And, how holy was its influence. No sacred names were put on the board; no passage of Scripture, without the most reverent cautions as to all use of the sacred text. One felt, when the exercise took a religious turn, that the Godlike was speaking: that more than a Plato, an Aristotle, or a Seneca was there. Their wisdom was joined with the eloquence of blessed Paul. You saw a patriot after the stamp of Washington; a friend of woman, her truest, best friend, because he never contemned or flattered her. Shall we see his like again? Not in a Composition Class. So, the dear girls felt. Though their returned essays might be scarred with an abundance of red ink marks, they acknowledged their necessity. And, then, the word of encouragement at the end, "very good," "an excellent piece," repaid with interest, all the toil, all the chagrin. I said my first visit to the class was more than ten years since. It was my happiness to be there at one of the Bishop's last classes. He was as fresh, as faithful, as enthusiastic as at the first. Although, for more than twenty years he had taught and laboured for children and women, all the toil, and trial, and disappointment incident to these weary years, never abated a jot from his manly vigour. It is not strange then that his sudden departure seems like a translation. He knew "no diminution of physical strength or intellectual vigour." Happy they who had such a teacher, they who received instruction from the friend of children, the friend of woman, 'THE FOUNDER OF ST. MARY'S HALL.""

The Theological Class met him every Wednesday evening. One of them said the Bidding Prayer, and the Litany; and one preached. Once a month, the full evening service was read, and the preaching was without notes. It was a serious and difficult thing, to preach or lecture before him. But he was always a kind critic. He never looked on our level, from his own height. But he came down to us, to help us up. Returning from the Chapel, to one of the recitation rooms, after the criticisms, in which he, and the other clergy present took part, the blackboard came into requisition, again. Half a dozen texts had been given out, the week before. We were each one to take one of these, write it out in Greek on the board, and put under it an analysis in heads.*

* These are some of his substitutions for ours.

St. Matthew xiii. 33, the Parable of the leaven.

I. Man is naturally not acceptable to God.

II. To become so, he needs something from without.
III. This extraneous principle must be incorporated.
IV. The process is gradual.

V. It changes the nature.

VI. The change must be entire.

VOL. 1.-5