good deal of the grit that makes a man a hero or
a saint."

"I retract my remark unreservedly," said my curate; "it was unjust and
unfair. It is curious that I have never yet made an unkind remark but I
met with prompt punishment."

"You may not be a great theologian nor a deep thinker," said I, "but no
man ever uttered a more profound saying. God may ignore our petty
rebellions against Himself; but when we, little mites, sit in
contemptuous judgment on one another, He cannot keep His hands from us!
And so, _festina lente! festina lente!_ It is wholesome advice, given in
many languages."

"Is the accent on the _festina_ or the _lente_, Father?" he said
demurely.

I looked at him.

"Because," he said, "I have been doing things lately that sometimes seem
inopportune,--that concert for example, and--"

"They are all right," I said, "but _lente! lente!!_"

"And that little interview with the chapel woman,--I felt I could have
done better--?"

"It is all right," I repeated, "but _lente! lente!!_"

"And I think we must stop those little children from saying the
Rosary--"

This time I looked at him quite steadily. He was imperturbable and
sphinx-like.

"Good evening," I said. "Come up after dinner and let us have a chat
about that line in the 'Odes' we were speaking about."

I went homewards slowly, and, as I went, the thought would obtrude
itself, how far I had recovered my lost authority, and succeeded in
satisfying that insatiable monster called Public Opinion. For my curate
had been reading for me a story by some American author, in which the
narrative ended in a problem whether a lady or a tiger would emerge from
a cage under certain circumstances; and hence, a conundrum was puzzling
the world,--the tiger or the lady, which? And my conundrum was, Had I
lectured my curate, or had my curate lectured me? I am trying to solve
the problem to this day.

CHAPTER X

OVER THE WALNUTS, AND THE ----

Father Letheby did come up, and we had one of those pleasant meetings on
which my memory dwells with gratitude. I hope he thinks of them
tenderly, too; for I believe he gave more pleasure and edification than
he received. We old men are garrulous, and rather laudatory of the past
than enthusiastic about the present. And this must needs chafe the
nerves of those whose eyes are always turned toward the sanguine future.
Well, this evening we had the famous epilogue of the Third Book of the
Odes of Horace for d