tors, and his kindness extended to his horses, cats and dogs; when his dog, Camp, died, he excused himself from attending a dinner "on account of the death of an old friend." He was an elder in the Presbyterian Church, and a regular attendant. On his death-bed, he asked his son-in-law, Lockhart to bring "the book." "What book?" asked Lockhart. "There is only one book," was the answer. He loved the Bible above all books. His dying advice to Lockhart was: "Be a good man, my dear,

be virtuous, be religious, be a good man." He passed away in the presence of all his children.

"He sleeps," says one, "with Lockhart at his feet, where the sound of the Border waters fills the roofless aisles of the Abbey of Dryburgh."

Carlyle said of him: "No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of time. Adieu, Sir Walter, pride of Scotchmen, take our proud and sad farewell."

The Gift of Rest

When our souls are tired, when the weariness is in the heart, when our spiritual powers are faint, then fretfulness begins to disturb us, and sooner or later we become very bored by the garish fullness of an unsatisfying world. But now, mark you, this Jesus promises rest, and like everything else about Jesus, the promise is fundamental and supreme. He claims to get behind and beneath all our secondary disquietudes, all our lesser hungers and appetites, and to make His way to the profoundest and innermost need. "I will give you rest! I will come among your secret aches and pains! I will visit the deep weariness which tries to hide itself from the common gaze, and I will smooth out the deadly wrinkles from the countenance of the soul! I will give you rest and peace!" Who else has spoken in this wise? Others have sung about rest but they have never offered it. One surpassingly sweet singer of Israel sang to disquieted souls in his day, but what he said of rest was only the song of a guide, it was not the song of the fountain. For this is how he sang, “O rest in the Lord!" Never did he say, "O come and rest in me!" The poet, William Watson, says of the greater poet, Wordsworth, "Thou hadst for weary feet the gift of rest." But where did Wordsworth ever say, "Come unto me, ye tired souls with weary feet, and I will give you rest?" No, all other singers whose theme is the gift of rest are only counselors. They are gracious and helpful guides; they give hints about the road; they show you the way to the springs; but they never call to the pilgrim to stay with them as if now the pilgrim had found the fountain. No, this is their tone,-"Go on, foot-sore pilgrim, go on to such and such a bourne and you will find a hostel for the night!" But hearken to our Saviour, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest! Ye need not go any further! Let me deal with the malady of your deepest weariness! When the soul is fainting I have unfailing cordials! When the heart is bruised I have unfailing balms! When the soul is feverish with disquietude I have the cool secret of heavenly peace. Come unto me, and I will give you rest!" (Extract from Dr. Jowett's sermon of Sunday morning, October 22.)

Martin Luther in his autobiography said: "I have one preacher that I love better than any other upon earth; it is my little tame robin, which preaches to me daily. I put his crumbs on my window-sill, especially at night. He hops to the sill when he wants his supply, and takes as much as he desires to satisfy his need. From thence he always hops on to a little tree close by, and lifts up his voice to God, and sings his carol of praise and gratitude, tucks his little head under his wing and goes fast asleep, and leaves tomorrow to look after itself. He is the best preacher I have on earth."-Dumb Animals.

The Puritan Stock

The two outstanding characteristics of the Pilgrims were their spiritual vision and their moral dynamic. We might fittingly symbolize their life by mountain and river. They had mountainous country in their life, lofty towering uplands, the home of vision and of mystery; and they had mighty rivers in their life, strong and irresistible currents of moral energy and decision. These were the two God was the fountain of their life. They emphases in their character. Their fear of feared God, and they feared nothing else. They prostrated their souls before God, and their wills became like well-tempered swords for use in the sternest fight. They were "poor in spirit," and therefore had spirit enough to defy "the world, the flesh and the devil."

Let us, then, first think about their spiritual vision. They endured as "seeing him who is invisible." No other word than just the word "seeing" is adequate to express their assurance of the reality and presence of God. In the Old and New Testaments the physical senses are always employed to declare the vivid perceptions of the saints. Here it is the sense of sight: "In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord." Here it is the sense of taste: "O taste and see how gracious the Lord is." Here it is the sense of hearing: "I heard the voice of the Lord God saying unto me." Here it is the sense of touch: "Feeling after him if haply they might find him." In all these days do Scriptural men and women use the physical senses to express the clear, firm impact of the Eternal upon their souls. And nothing but these words can fittingly say what the Puritans experienced in their soul communion with the Lord. They saw Him; they heard Him; they tasted Him; they felt Him. The King of kings was more real to them than the king upon the English throne. Their vision was so immediate that their confidence was sure.

Now, of what sort was their vision of the invisible God? Do we know enough about them to be able to answer the question? Yes, I think we do. The predominant characteristic of their conception of God was his holiness. The more I read Puritan literature, the more deeply I am impressed with their awe-inspiring sense of the holiness of God. If you open their great books at random, and just read the title lines of the chapters, you will feel that your mind is translated to the contemplation of vast and soul-subduing themes. It was in contemplations such as these that the souls of the Puritans found their strength. DR. J. H. JOWETT.

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John Reid, a notable Scot and one of the veteran business men of New York, died October 7, 1916, at his late residence, Yonkers, New York, after a lingering illness. Mr. Reid was born in Dunfermline, Scotland, October 14, 1840, son of Andrew Reid and Helen Arnot. He came to America in 1866, shortly afterward securing employment with the J. L. Mott Iron Works, with which firm he was connected, for fifty years and for nearly forty years its general manager. The success of this great industry is largely due to his energy and personality. He was also a trustee and a director of the Central Foundry Company, the Central Iron and Coal Company, the Trenton Fire Clay and Porcelain Company, and the New York Life Insurance Company.

Mr. Reid was of a social nature and gathered around him many loyal friends. He bore the distinction of being one of the greatest exponents of Scottish song in America. He was an enthusiastic collector of Scottish music and compiled a valuable and interesting volume of the popular and classic songs of the "Land o' Cakes." He possessed a splendid voice and rare power of interpretation and feeling, and his rendering of the songs and ballads of his native

land was a treat to hear. For many years no St. Andrew's celebration nor Burns' anniversary in New York was considered complete without a song from Mr. Reid. His singing of "Scots Wha Hae" was masterful.

Mr. Reid was the first to introduce golf into America. An account of these beginnings, which resulted in the founding of the famous St. Andrew's Golf Club, Westchester County, N. Y., in 1888, appeared in the April, 1916, CALEDONIAN. In honor of his services to the club, of which he was president for many years, a fine portrait of Mr. Reid, in full golf attire, adorns the dining-room of the clubhouse. Mr. Reid also took a keen interest in the St. Andrew's and Burns' Societies, New York, of both of which he was twice president. He was a member of the Engineers' Club, Fulton Club and the Society of British Schools and Universities. Some of these organizations have passed resolutions in recognition of his life and services.

Mr. Reid married, October 28, 1876, Elizabeth E. Mudge, daughter of Daniel C. Mudge, of Volcano, Va. There were three sons and two daughters, Ellen M. (Mrs. Alex. Halliday), Jean A., John, Archie M. and Andrew (deceased).

Editor CALEDONIAN :

Returning from a six months' tour in the United States, my daughter and I, as we approach the old country again, look back with pleasure upon our experiences in carrying the songs of the Hebrides so far afield. Put to the test, coming as strangers to a strange land, these songs have proved that they are not merely quaint, archaic survivals having peculiar and perhaps fascinating local color and character, but, while racial records, yet strike to the roots of all life, wherever and whenever found.

It would give pleasure to all Scots, as it did to us, to see the eager response of all cultured Americans to this Celtic Lore, for it was mainly to purely American audiences that we sang; we did not find many Scots folk at our recitals. To be sure, we came out in the first instance at the invitation of the Macdowell Club, a purely American institution, and through their medium got in touch with American musiclovers elsewhere. But we hope to come out at the invitation of the Scots some day.

The melodies, so long unknown to the Scots of the mainland themselves, are very fascinating, and most haunting after one or two hearings. Indeed, up in the Catskills, where we spent a delightful week or two in the exclusive community of Twilight Park, the melodies took such a hold of the visitors that they hummed them even in their bedrooms after retiring for the night.

But not only the melodies attracted and impressed the Americans. Kenneth MacLeod, of Eigg, our poet collaborator, has written such beautiful Anglo-Celtic lyrics (after the original Gaelic) to many of the airs that these will live to his words as so many lowland airs do to the original or touched up lyrics of Burns. You had a long article in your August number of the CALEDONIAN which was a translation from Kenneth Macleod's Gaelic prose; but he is our poet-litterateur alike in Gaelic and in English, and Scots will

typically Hebridean, it follows that Robert Louis must have had the Island-Celtic blood in his veins.

Many a time at our recitals in the States, we have been asked to give the words of Kenneth MacLeod's "Peat-Fire Smooring Prayer," but this we have had to refuse, as they are not yet published, but are to appear in our forthcoming second volume of Songs of the Hebrides. It is indeed to hasten the publication of this volume that I am now returning to London. Some of the songs to be included in it we sang in America for the first time; many of the fifty songs it is to contain have not yet been heard at all. Kenneth MacLeod and myself have both worked at the translations and adaptations, and I have again provided the harmonious setting, except in the case of four or five, which have been treated in a most sympathetic manner by Granville Bantock, the Anglo-Scottish orchestral tone-poet.