drafty hut were the chancel of some great cathedral.

"You might wait." whispered one. "The Camerons and Seaforths may be able to come."

So we waited-a hushed and solemn waiting.

Then quietly some of them began to croon old psalm melodies and quiet hymns, waiting. And at length the others came, stepping softly into place; and with them comrades who explained that though they were of a different country and a different church belief, they yet desired to share in the act of worship preparatory to celebration. At length about one hundred and twenty-five men were there, and we began.

It was the Twenty-third Psalm, the psalm of God's shepherding, the comradeship of the Divine in the valley of the shadow, the faith and the hope of the brave. What a power was in it-what a spell of wonder, of comforting and uplifting in this land of war! They sang it very tenderly, for it spoke to them of times when they had held their mother's hands, and looked up wondering in their faces in the church at home, wondering why tears were there, as the dear old hearts remembered.

Some of them also--the tears were on their cheeks as they sang that old psalm, very precious in the homeland, very precious here

and it is a soul-shaking thing to see a strong man's tears. It was surely thus our fathers sang, in quiet places and by foreign streams, when to be true to the faith committed to them meant outcasting, exile and death.

It means a big thing still, to-day for our Empire this heart-deep singing of our soldier men.

I have never dreamed that I should see such depths of feeling for eternal things. It is not the end of things. It is resurrection and Pentecost we are passing through.

When men are face to face with the eternal, as we are here, churches and sects are as forgotten as the dust that blew last year over the remotest sandheap into the Atlantic. Brotherhood is the divine uplifting of a great imperial call, and the love of a uniting Christship binds as with a golden girdle all our hopes, our faiths and fears, and links them to the Highest.-Lachlan MacLean Watt in the Edinburgh Scotsman.

lish speaking peoples can never forget. The first words of this hymn that sings of love divine might be taken as a keynote of the whole evangelical movement. Wesley and Whitfield and their helpers went out to the unchurched multitudes, to the miners and the workmen and all those who had drifted beyond the reach of a fossilized church.

"Jesus, Lover of My Soul." This is perhaps the most popular and best loved hymn in the English language. It expresses the heart and soul of Christianity which is built up by the combination of personal and individual loyalties and enthusiasms for Christ into a working unity for witness and a transformation of the world in righteousness. In this hymn, Charles Wesley expresses the intimate communion of confidence in which the individual soul stands with its Redeemer and Lord. Wesley, who wrote this hymn, and Toplady, who wrote that other famous and beloved hymn, "Rock of Ages," were severed by sharp differences of theological views, but the Christianity of to-day passes from one hymn to the other with no sense of jar or differ ence, since both live in this air of personal loyalty to Christ.

"Soldiers of Christ, Arise." Wesley shared in a little of his brother John's hard headedness. He was brought into close contact with the difficult realities of life as experienced by the poor. He knew that a merely contemplative church was helpless for the image of God's thought. This hymn is a call to action, a trumpet blast that challenges the selfish ease of those who bear the name of Christ. The reproach of quietism has too often been thrown upon the singers of the Christian faith. The charge is contradicted by the lives of the hymn writers. Xavier, who wrote one of the great hymns of the church, was a missionary. John and Charles Wesley were missionaries to the neglected poor of England. The highest contemplative type of Christian requires and usually obtains the supplement of an active, ministering spirit.

"A Charge to Keep I Have." In witness to the responsibility of Christians, Charles Wesley struck a note of obligation which helps to complete the symphony of his Christian music. Wherever Christianity tends to become a matter of delegated responsibility, whether to the minister, the priest, the bishop or any other channel of authority from without, we need this message of personal responsibility for a wise use of our powers and opportunities. It is the completing note for the deeper and more personal traits of the Christian life. The way of closer access acquaintance with the of life with our fellow

a sympathetic Master is the way

men.

Professor Curtis, of Edinburgh, says: "The New Testaments which the Scotch soldiers carry in their reduced kits is one arti cle in their outfit which lightens their load."

SIR WALTER RUNCIMAN, BART., M. P. of Shoreston Hall

The Border Magazine recently published sketches of two notable Scotsmen, Sir Walter Runciman, M. P., representative for Hartlepools, and his distinguished son, the Rt. Hon. Walter Runciman, President of the Board of Trade, which we take pleasure in re-printing here in a condensed form.

The career of the father has been wonderfully romantic. He was born July 6, 1847, the son of Mr. Walter Runciman, of Dunbar, and Jean Finlay. Both his grandfathers were ship-owners, but fought as "pressed" men at the Battle of the Nile. Sir Walter began life on the farm at Hemscott Hill, at the age of nine, driving carts here and there, keeping the cattle supplied with water, and cutting thistles in the fields. Then, "when twelve years of age, I left my home at three o'clock one December morning, and tramped to a seaport, where I engaged myself as cabin boy on board a sailing vessel."

He has told his sea experiences with wonderful vividness in his books, Windjammers and Sea Tramps and Looking Seaward Again, from which Mr. Robert Stewart quotes at length in his article. He had a rough experience, too. The first ship he joined hailed from Blyth, and had a skipper who by no means lived up to that port's reputation for hospitality. As a matter of fact, the captain's tyranny was so insufferable that young Runciman took his first opportunity to desert, finding for a time much more comfortable quarters and infinitely better treatment on an American vessel. He was captured, however, and brought back to punishment, inflicted with such severity that he

THE RT. HON. WALTER RUNCIMAN
President of the Board of Trade

again made an effort to escape, and this time successfully, at the Scottish seaport town of Troon.

"Tramping by night and concealed part of the way by day, this child, driven by cruelty to abandon himself to the privations of hunger and the rigour of a biting climate, in four weeks reached a large seaport on the northeast coast of England, and thus began a new era. For many years he led a chequered and eventful life, which, however, did not prevent him from rising quickly to the head of his profession. Before twentytwo years of age, he received command of a handsome sailing vessel, and at twenty-six commanded a steamer."

His autobiographical tales of the sea rank high in their delineation of the humors and hazards of the sailor life of fifty years ago. He details his adventures with the "Rock Scorpions," or smugglers of Gibraltar (and unconsciously illustrates the qualities of prompt decision and unfaltering determination, that have carried him so far on the steep and toilsome road to success). also relates incidents in the neighborhood of the Black Sea during the Russo-Turkish

war.

He

Before the famous and momentous siege of Plevna, Sir Walter had the memorable experience of a meeting with Osman Pasha, "greatest of modern Turkish commanders," as he himself describes him, whose heroic defence of Plevna against the invading hordes of Skobelev, is one of the striking episodes of history.

In command of the steamship, Coanwood,

he had many thrilling experiences, refloating a less skilful commander in a blinding snow storm. and running the mine fields and blockades of warships, in one instance being officially reported "blown to atoms."

June 25, 1889, he registered the "Moor Line," of which he is chairman and manager. The history of this line is one of the modern romances of Tyneside, and in the North everyone still speaks with the greatest wonder of how Captain Runciman, who was well known as one of the cleverest "skippers" sailing on the sea, got control of some old vessels, and managed them with such supreme ability and success that he was in command of a magnificent fleet before his older competitors had begun to recover from their astonishment at his astounding audacity. The vessels, at the beginning of the war, numbered nearly forty, from 5.000 to 8,000 tons each, and made their successful way the world over.

Sir Walter began his political career as vice-president, president and chief supporter of the Newcastle Liberal and Radical Association, and for twelve years he has been chairman of the Northern Liberal Federation. He also served on many important government committees. He bears the distinction of being the first member of Par

liament to be elected while his own son occupied a seat in the Cabinet, and to be introduced into Parliament by his own son. He was the first captain in the merchant serIvice to be created a Baronet, and the first to enter the Houses of Parliament. He is a member of the River Tyne Commission, a Justice of the Peace, and noted as a yachtsman. He married, March 26, 1869, Annie Margaret, daughter of the late John Lawson, of "Blakemoor Hall," Northumberland.

The son, Rt. Hon. Walter Runciman, now President of the Board of Trade, was born in 1870, in South Shields, and trained himself for statesmanship from his college days. He was graduated from Trinity College, Cambridge, and soon afterward became a partner in Walter Runciman & Company, and managing director of the Moor Line. He entered Parliament, representing Oldham and later Dewsbury, in 1899. He was made Secretary of the Treasury in 1907; in 1908 he entered the Cabinet as President of the Board of Education; his next appointment was to the Board of Agriculture, in 1911, where he served with distinction. At the beginning of the war, on account of his competency and past experience, he was made President of the Board of Trade, which he still holds under the Coalition Government.

She said very little; she knew he was wise, and she loved him well.

"What a fair life lies before us, Agnes," he said. "We both have the pedigree of very old races and names. We also have the welfare of many and their prosperity now depends on us. Do you know, my wife, I wish now to lead a new life, with God's help and yours?"

"Oh, I am so happy," replied Agnes. "I feel it was wise to come to Bhen Lomond for a first home. Others must share your company out in the world, but I am the only one who shares this lovely solitude. This is one of the corners of Canada which keeps the memories and the silence of old, undisturbed by changes and clamor. Here we find complete repose."

"Yes." he told her. "when the massive bolts and steel locks of the low-browed arched portals are closed and fastened, in the winter months, and the oil wicks are lit in the silver sconces, the winds may moan and rave, but this place is a safe retreat."

Luxurious and elegant, it had been the best beloved retreat in winter of its present master, and it was admirably formed for its purpose.

How fully. to-day, he understood the vir

tues and beauty of the girl. now its mistress. She had associated very little with girls of her own age, and she had read no novels except those of Scott. Of love, very little had been spoken to her. She had her own ideas, but now she found they proved delu sive. Hers was a heart of gold. Her husband had the power to compel her to feel what she could not utter; this union of silence and eloquence was surely new in her life. Whenever he opened his lips to speak, his voice was sweet as the sound of the south wind to his wife. She thought it faultless; if it had a fault, in her opinion, it was its sweetness.

Deep down in the man's heart there was a thankfulness which was intense, depths she could not fathom. To her face had come that look soft and rapt, the look that comes to the faces of those who execute or listen to great music, when they feel it greatly. Some quality in his wife awoke the artistic instincts in her husband.

A drive of four miles brought them to a lodge which stood grandly on an elevation, comfortable looking to the last degree. Calvert threw the reins to the groom and sprang to the ground. The deep bay of the dogs in the kennels some distance off

seemed to give them a welcome, much to their liking. With both hands outstretched and a fond smile on his lips, her husband lifted Agnes down out of the carriage. A gentleman, about thirty years of age, came forward to welcome them, and though only the overseer, his smooth, fair brow had written there by the hand of time-weilborn. The calm smile which rested on his lips and looked from his eyes seemed to dare investigation. Mere physical beauty could not impart the indescribable charmi which this man's countenance possessed.

Raising his hat, and looking at Mrs. Cal vert, the overseer said:

"Madam, you are very welcome!"

In the hall of the Lodge, they were again welcomed by the overseer's mother, Mrs. Duffrain, a soft, gentle, delicate woman, with eyes and voice of great beauty and sweetness. With an affectionate greeting, this old lady met them. She had known and loved Mr. Calvert's mother for many years, and she had nursed his mother at the time of his birth, and as a boy he had come to her with all his boyish griefs. She had been very wise with him as a boy, and had stimulated his energies instead of repressing them. She entered into all of his sports, always listening to him as though she really understood all about them. She had often told the boy how his angel-mother had loved truth and honor, and consequently had won the boy's affection and confidence. Her own son, Reginald Duffrain, now the overseer, was younger than Calvert, and when they were boys, his mother had taught him, when he spoke and played with the young master, to do so gently, and at all times respectfully. She knew well that the boy had in his veins the o'd. good blood of Cecil Calvert, and the old hot blood of the Irish Montgomerys, and that some day he would reign as master and her son as servitor, although always in warm affection his friend. This little, fair woman and mother was skilled in the ways of nature and the changeable world.

When the newly wedded pair entered the house, she turned to Agnes and said: "You are very welcome, Mrs. Calvert. This little house was always a favorite rest of your husband."

"True enough." replied Calvert, with his steady eyes looking down on her so kindly, "I am greatly vour debtor. I owe you much for you taught me love of memory. trust, honor and truth, with confidence and chiv alry to defend the absent; and now I ask you to extend your true and gracious friendship to my wife." He spoke calmly and slowly, with one arm resting on the mantel, and the other about Reginald's shoulders. His wife understood the volumes expressed in those few words, so Agnes said:

"Dear Mrs. Duffrain, it will be to my advantage if you will be my friend."

Mrs. Duffrain looked at the girl-wife with a bright smile, and then let her lashes droop

over her eyes, after giving the happy pair a glance of softened interest, while she wondered if this new love of Calvert's would make him forget old friendships. Mrs. Duffrain treasured the memory and the love of the girl who slept in far-off Rathlin, among the daisies and shamrock. She wondered how any other love could have touched the heart of the man who stood by the fire. side. Agnes seemed to her very fair, but with a nature different to that of the Irish girl as summer to winter, as the sunny, unruffled lake to the deep and silent sea.

After they had partaken of lunch, they sat by the fire with Mrs. Duffrain until the horses were ready.

"Is it true, Mr. Calvert," said Mrs. Duffrain, "that you are to divide the plain and build a clachan?"

"Yes," he replied. He meant much but said little.

He

The old lady was silent, and bent her head with tears in her eyes. He stooped down and kissed her. She had been as his own mother. It was rarely that he had seen her cry, and her tears touched him deeply. realized now how entirely this new love had swept away and replaced the old affections; how wholly, but how justly, his confidences, his ambitions, his griefs and his joys had gone to another.

Reginald soon came to say that the horses were ready and that he would ride on before them to the foot of the mountain. Mrs. Dut frain held out her hand to Agnes in farewell; she resented but could not resist her. The young wife drew her husband's friend within the charmed circle of her loving power when she smiled and gave her her hand in parting, a hand white and soft, a hand to close gently but surely on the friendship worth having, and she made this friendship her very own. Her husband's eyes had a very unusual soft expression in them as they dwelt on his wife, fascinated by the charm of her good bye. His senses were yielding themselves to the power of her wisdom and tact.

I have stated before that now and then she had a look of mournfulness, and at such moments, while her lids drooped over her eyes and a shadow of sadness stole the bril liance from her face, she was even more resistless. Thoughts would, at times, arise, filling her with dread: thoughts of the fair but mournful past of her who was hushed to sleep and rest in the holiness of death. while the pure breath of a stainless love was just in its morning of life. But this short fevered sadness was but a vague, flit ting dream. His lips would often break the spell of the sadness by saying:

"My better angel," as he rested his cheek on her hair, "Heaven itself has smiled on me, sending me this pure and sacred love of yours."

As they drove slowly over the yielding mosses, the reins dropped over the horses' backs, and their speed slackened, and they spoke with lowering voices, under the leafy boughs and the tangled tendrils of the

drooping vines. The warm sun fell through the leaves of the trees, and not a lear stirred in the air, while the birds sang with subdued music. Speaking of Reginald Duf frain, Agnes said:

"Edward, that is your best male friend to whom you introduced me."

"My best, indeed, dear old fellow," replied Calvert. "His is the nature of the truest and most honorable. He has the strength of a lion and the sweetness and gentleness of a woman. He is game to the back-bone."

Toward Duffrain, Calvert bore a deep attachment, the attachment of a nature that gives both love and friendship very rarely, but when it does give either, gives instantly and trustingly, a friendship closer than brotherhood. Still this "David and Jonathon" never spoke of their friendship, but the bond was close and firmly riven as a clasp of steel. They relied on each other as men seldom do.

The shadows were slanting across the spot where they halted to view the scene spread out before them. They were alone. shrouded and sheltered by the dim solitude of the forest, no eyes to see, no ears to hear. no voices to whisper. The low trembling words of his wife, the touch of her soft hand, the sight of her upraised, loving face and fond eyes compelled this man of the world to good. as nothing on earth couid have done. He put his hand upon his breast, as he did at the marriage-altar, and silently asked for strength and guidance. Society had taught this man to be calm and cour teous when fiercest thoughts are within. To be tranquil and unmoved with strong passions is usually strong self-control.

Among the trees of the forest they prave, their thoughts far from creeds, beseeching in earnestness for those they loved and those for whom they wished to consecrate new homes in their clachan far over the western sea. All nature spoke of love, fully blessed with beauty and peace. The dark. green chestnut boughs were bent downward with the weight of their own beauty. The rich glow of the luxurious sun lay on the earth. a luxury all the more intense for the uncertainty of its tenure. All about and around them nature was dressed in beauty. As they stood viewing the splendor of the scene before them. Calvert said:

"To my right lies a bluff towards the ocean which my own mother called 'Irishowen Head,' This spot will at all times retain this name. To my left lie green stretching meadows amidst rich forest land: they are yours to name, and on which to lav out our clachan."

Then Duffrain came forward with Fergu son, saying:

"Donald. you are a Highlander, hand Madam the spade." Mrs Calvert then placed her foot on the spade which Fergu son placed into position, saying:

"I christen our clachan 'Bhen-Varden'." Chapter XXIII

Mr. Calvert felt the strings of his life

harp swept by the impulse of a south wind, bringing him survivals of yesterdays. Not

all at once could the voices of his past be rooted out; they to-day made echo through waste places; not all at once could forms of the past that lived in him die. These remained as memories of yesterdays; they waited the expansion of the clachan and of this new life to clear them away. His was not a placid nature; he realized that the forces of the natural world are not sufficient to make a man good. To realize this, his heart had come fresh from the storm. Το a city of habitation he was led by a very rough way. He surely had heard the roar

of the breakers and the crash of the timbers; that was the education adapted to him.

The breezes cleansed the air, raising his heart from its ruins, and to-day his prayer was, "Let me be wise." To him the answer came clearly and distinctly. He had been like a steed that had lost its rider. He attained his position of peace through

storm and stress.

God had now given Edward Calvert a wife with a tender heart, a heart of love. She had come out of the circle of family life with evidences that the ties of family and home were most dear, the home was to her a sanctuary; and this man wanted an imitation of the old-time home, and still the old home to remain dear to her heart. Her love was the latest and best gift Edward Calvert had received. She had given him her whole heart, her unrestrained heart. The value of this gift cannot be too strongly emphasized.

He had this day undertaken to live up to her level, even through the crucifixion of his own nature, and he resolved from the outset not to be ashamed to lean on a woman's arm. Her good influence will color every sphere through which they will move. Together they will find abundant material for reflection and abundant sources of suggestion.

To Edward Calvert came a premonition of Mrs. Macrae's early removal, and the building of the clachan he felt would please her. This gift marked his favor, and was a token of his love for his wife and her people. The thought was animated by his love for them and her. His tenderness of thought touched them all very much, and she realized how he was learning to love her. This token confirmed his love, tested by future remem brance, and he would sustain that test. The test of his love for her kindred was sight in absence. He felt the power of their presence even when that presence was no longer with them. He felt impelled by their influence when their actual presence was withdrawn. They were a motive in his life when he ceased to be in direct touch with them.

Mr. Calvert knew that his wife had indeed received into her soul a duplicate of her mother and grandmother's image-a posses sion of their kindred nature. He would