In 1892 Hugh went to read for Orders, with Dean Vaughan, who held the
Deanery of Llandaff together with the Mastership of the Temple. The Dean
had been a successful Headmaster of Harrow, and for a time Vicar of
Doncaster. He was an Evangelical by training and temperament. My father
had a high admiration for him as a great headmaster, a profound and
accomplished scholar, and most of all as a man of deep and fervent
piety. I remember Vaughan's visits to Lambeth. He had the air, I used to
think, rather of an old-fashioned and highly-bred country clergyman than
of a headmaster and a Church dignitary. With his rather long hair,
brushed back, his large, pale face, with its meek and smiling air, and
his thin, clear, and deliberate voice, he gave the impression of a
much-disciplined, self-restrained, and chastened man. He had none of the
brisk effectiveness or mundane radiance of a successful man of affairs.
But this was a superficial view, because, if he became moved or
interested, he revealed a critical incisiveness of speech and judgment,
as well as a profound and delicate humour.

He had collected about himself an informal band of young men who read
theology under his direction. He used to give a daily lecture, but there
was no college or regular discipline. The men lived in lodgings,
attended the cathedral service, arranged their own amusements and
occupations. But Vaughan had a stimulating and magnetic effect over his
pupils, many of whom have risen to high eminence in the Church.

They were constantly invited to meals at the deanery, where Mrs.
Vaughan, a sister of Dean Stanley, and as brilliant, vivacious, and
witty a talker as her brother, kept the circle entranced and delighted
by her suggestive and humorous talk. My brother tells the story of how,
in one of the Dean's long and serious illnesses, from which he
eventually recovered, Mrs. Vaughan absented herself one day on a