gathered around the table, on which stood a lovely bouquet. We were commenting on the variety and beauty of the flowers; no two exactly alike, though all so fair. One of our number was a young minister, who had preached that evening. Father noticed our group, and placing his hand gently on the shoulder of Mr. C., pointed to the flowers in his own quiet, impressive manner, and repeated, with a voice tremulous with emotion, "Even Solomon in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these."
He was very fond of birds, and especially loved to watch the humming-bird. He always seemed surprised to see the little creature so swift and so small. The frequent call in the early summer, "Father, here is a humming-bird," seldom failed to attract his attention, even in his busiest moments. He never tired of telling us of the sweet singing birds of Wales, and he would always become animated in describing the variety and richness of their songs. The memory of the mounting and singing of the lark in the early morning, seemed to fill his soul with wonder and joy, even to his latest days. When in Wrexham, he had a goldfinch, of which he often spoke with peculiar tenderness, and he never forgot or lost his affection for this innocent pet of his college days.
Father had naturally a quick temper, as is often the case with such sensitive natures; but grace held it well under control. At one time, during a very warm discussion, he felt his honor assailed, and addressing his opponent, with his hand clenched, but not raised, he said, excitedly, "Do you say that I told a falsehood?" The brother minister who tells the story
