that is the devil, or prince and principle of sin.  And our Lord has achieved this also, for he put away sin by the sacrifice of himself; but this sacrifice can only really profit us when it is reproduced in us—­when we, as branches of the true Vine, live by the sap of the root, which sap is filial trust, the only principle which can sacrifice self, because the only principle which can enable us to commit ourselves unreservedly into the hands of God for guidance and for disposal.  We are thus put right by trust, justified or put right by faith in the loving fatherly righteous purpose of God towards us.

Dear George Dundas’s death has taken from me my chief social support in Edinburgh.  I was fourteen years his senior, but I had known and loved him from his childhood.  Our mothers were sisters, and thus we had the same family ties and traditions.  I think of him now in connection with that verse, “to those who by patient continuance in well-doing,” etc.

     And now farewell.  Let us seek to live by the faith of the Son
     of God—­his filial trust I suppose, which I so much
     need.—­Ever truly and gratefully yours,

     T. ERSKINE.

* * * * *

The three following letters hardly help on the story of the Dean’s life, but I could not pass them when they came into my hands.

The writer is Adam Sedgwick, the well-known Cambridge Professor and Philosopher.  In another capacity he was still better known.  He was tutor and vice-master of Trinity, and in his time an outside stranger of any education, even a half-educated Scot, dropping into Cambridge society, found a reception to be remembered.  Take for choice one of their peculiar festivals—­Trinity Sunday comes to my mind—­the stranger partook of the splendid feast in that princely hall of Trinity, where the massive college plate was arrayed and the old college customs of welcome used, not from affectation, but kindly reverence.  When the dinner was over, the large party of Doctors and Fellows, with hundreds of the noble youth of England, all in surplice, moved to the chapel, all joining with reverence in the august service of the church, and later, they and their guests, or as many as could be held, crossed to the Combination Room, where Sedgwick filled the chair, and led the conversation, not to glorify himself, not to display his own powers, which were great, but to let his guests know among whom they were placed—­philosophers, first men of science, first scholars, leaders in all kinds of learning, meeting in a noble equality, proud to meet under his presidency—­that I take to be the highest triumph of civilised hospitality.  At the time of these letters the philosopher is old, but vigorous in mind, and even gay at the age of eighty-eight.

The death of Bishop Terrot called forth the following letter from the venerable Professor:—­