would certainly offend many; he had no claims to being a preacher
although he was extraordinarily well acquainted with the writings
of the Early Fathers. (What on earth had that to do with the
question, I wondered.) On the other hand he had generally been
considered a good visitor and was fond of walking (he meant to
call on distant parishioners, but did not say so).

Then followed a page and a half on the evils of the existing
system of the presentation to livings by private persons, ending
with the suggestion that I had probably committed a sin in buying
this particular advowson in order to increase my local authority,
that is, if I had bought it, a point on which he was ignorant.
Finally he informed me that as he had to christen a sick baby
five miles away on a certain moor and it was too wet for him to
ride his bicycle, he must stop. And he stopped.

There was, however, a P.S. to the letter, which ran as follows:

"Someone told me that you were dead a few years ago, and of
course it may be another man of the same name who owns Fulcombe.
If so, no doubt the Post Office will send back this letter."

That was his only allusion to my humble self in all those
diffuse pages. It was a long while since I had received an
epistle which made me laugh so much, and of course I gave him the
living by return of post, and even informed him that I would
increase its stipend to a sum which I considered suitable to the
position.

About ten days later I received another letter from Bastin