On Wednesdays and Fridays in Lent, when the school
attended morning service, and, in the absence of older people, occupied
the principal seats instead of their Sunday places in the gallery,
Wren's rod was frequently called into active play, and I have heard the
stick resound on the luckless head of many an offending culprit.
Let me give one closing story of him on one of those weekday mornings.
It was St. John the Evangelist's Day, and a few of us met at church for
matins. It was thought well to introduce a hymn for the festival (our
hymn book in those days was Mercer's Church Psalter and Hymn Book) and
Wren was to take charge, as usual, of the barrel-organ. My father gave
out hymn 292 at the appointed place, but only silence followed. Again
"292," and then came a voice from the west gallery, "The 283rd!" My
father did not take the hint, and again, rather unfortunately, hazarded
"Hymn 292." This was too much for our organist, who called in still
louder tones, "'Tis the 283rd I tell you!" Fortunately, we were a small
company, but matters would have been the same, I dare say, on a Sunday.
In the vestry subsequently Wren explained to my father, "You know there
are _two Johns_; the 292nd hymn belongs to John the _Baptist's_ Day;
_this_ is John the _Evangelist's_."
The confusion once over my father was much amused with the incident, and
frequently entertained friends with it afterwards, when I am bound to
say it did not lose its richness of detail.
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