and a row of grass-plots, alternating with paved spaces opposite the embrasures, on which cannon were once planted.  The manse faces south, and is roomy and commodious.  When Dr. Cairns moved into it, he had an elderly servant as his housekeeper, of whom he is said to have been not a little afraid; but, after a couple of years or so, his sister Janet was installed as mistress of his house; and during the remaining thirty-six years of his life she attended to his wants, looked after his health, and in a hundred prudent and quiet ways helped him in his work.

The study at Wellington Terrace is upstairs, and is a large room lighted by two windows.  One of these looks across the river, which at this point washes the base of the town walls, to the dingy village of Tweedmouth, rising towards the sidings and sheds of a busy railway-station and the Northumberland uplands beyond.  The other looks right out to sea, and when it is open, and sometimes when it is shut, “the rush and thunder of the surge” on Berwick bar or Spittal sands can be distinctly heard.  In front, the Tweed pours its waters into the North Sea under the lee of the long pier, which acts as a breakwater and shelters the entrance to the harbour.  Far away to the right, Holy Island, with the castle-crowned rock of Bamborough beyond it, are prominent objects; and at night, the Longstone light on the Outer Farne recalls the heroic rescue by Grace Darling of the shipwrecked crew of the Forfarshire.

Opposite this window stood the large bookcase in which Dr. Cairns’s library was housed.  The books composing the library were neither very numerous, very select, nor in very good condition.  Although he was a voracious reader, it must be admitted that Dr. Cairns took little pride in his books.  It was a matter of utter indifference to him whether he read a favourite author in a good edition or in a cheap one.  The volumes of German philosophy and theology, of which he had a fair stock, remained unbound in their original sober livery, and when any of them threatened to fall to pieces he was content to tie them together with string or to get his sister to fasten them with paste.  One or two treasures he had, such as a first edition of Bacon’s Instauratio Magna, a first edition of Butler’s Analogy, and a Stephens Greek Testament; also a complete set of the Delphin Classics, handsomely bound, and some College prizes.  These, with the Benedictine edition of Augustine, folio editions of Athanasius, Chrysostom, and other Fathers, some odd volumes of Migne, and a considerable number of books on Reformation and Secession theology, formed the most noteworthy elements in his collection.  He added later a very complete set of the writings of the English Deists, and the works of Voltaire, Rousseau, and Renan.  Side by side with these was what came to be a vast accumulation of rubbish, consisting of presentation copies of books on all subjects which his anxious conscience persuaded