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 my childhood at Totteridge. As a boy at Coombe Bank, Christopher Wordsworth, late Bishop of Lincoln, and Charles Wordsworth, Bishop of St. Andrews, were my playfellows. I frankly admit I was very mischievous. The two Wordsworths and I conceived the wicked intention of robbing the vinery. The door was always kept locked, and there was nothing for it but to enter through the roof. There was a dinner party that day and there were no grapes. This is probably the only case on record where three future Bishops were guilty of larceny. Were we punished? No, we were discreet. We gave ourselves up, and were forgiven.

"I was always fond of riding, shooting, boating, and cricketing. I well remember that with the first shot from my gun I killed a hare. That shot was nearly the means of preventing me from ever becoming eighty-three. My father's gamekeeper was with me at the time, and he was a very tall, heavy fellow, with a tremendous hand. When he saw the hare fall, he brought that same huge hand down on my back with all his might, and a hearty 'Well done, master Henry!' His enthusiasm nearly knocked me out of the world. My shooting inclinations, however, once nearly ruined the family coach—in those days, you know, we used to have great cumbersome, uncomfortable vehicles. I had a battery of cannons, and my first target was the coach-house-door. One of these formidable weapons carried a fairly weighty bullet. Well, I hit the door—the bullet went clean through, and nearly smashed the panel of the coach.

"I went to Harrow when I was fourteen, and remained there four years. I fear I can tell you but little about my cricketing days. I wish I could say that 'our side' won, but, alas! in the three matches I played in against Eton and Winchester at Lords we were beaten every time. I certainly scored some runs, but their total is forgotten. Then, as a boy, I was very fond of wood-carving, and the principal articles of home manufacture were boats. I made many of them, and as a lad they used to constitute my birthday present to my youthful companions. After I had reached manhood I found my stock of small river craft unexhausted, so I would give them away to my friends as small mementos of my boating days."

Just then the Cardinal had to reply to a letter brought in. He never uses a writing table, but pens his missives on a pad resting on his knee, a practice he has followed for the last fifteen years. He has even written them with the notepaper placed in the palm of his hand. A few notes of his wonderful career are jotted down. From Harrow he went to Oxford.

The Cardinal became a Catholic in 1851, previous to which he had been Rector of Lavington and Graffham, in Sussex, since