The subtleties of theological controversy he left to minds less active than his own.

His creed was one of works rather than of words, and whatever he was doing he did it with his whole heart.

Whether he was lunching at the Mausoleum Club with one of his church wardens, or playing the flute--which he played as only the episcopal clergy can play it--accompanied on the harp by one of the fairest of the ladies of his choir, or whether he was dancing the new episcopal tango with the younger daughters of the elder parishioners, he threw himself into it with all his might.

He could drink tea more gracefully and play tennis better than any clergyman on this side of the Atlantic.

He could stand beside the white stone font of St.Asaph's in his long white surplice holding a white-robed infant, worth half a million dollars, looking as beautifully innocent as the child itself, and drawing from every matron of the congregation with unmarried daughters the despairing cry, "What a pity that he has no children of his own!" Equally sound was his theology.