wistful beauty.  With him “it is far better” now, and may it be meet for Theodore to be long with you here.  I hoped to leave with you a book of my father’s on the same subject, entitled, “Comfortable Words,” but it is out of print.  If I can get a copy, I will send it you.  There are some letters of Bengel’s which, if you do not know, you will enjoy.

     I send you a note of introduction to John Ruskin, and I hope to
     hear you to-morrow in Mr. Candlish’s church.

     With much regret and best thanks, yours very truly,

     JOHN BROWN

     P.S.  I was in Glen-Garry the other week, and quite felt that look
     of nakedness, and as if it just came from the Maker’s hand; it was
     very impressive

During the closing years of the Doctor’s life he was often shadowed by fits of deep melancholy.  One day he was walking with a lady, who was also subject to depression of spirits, and he said to her:  “Tell me why I am like a Jew?” She could not answer and he replied:  “Because I am sad-you-see” Tears and mirth dwelt very closely together in his keen, fervid, sensitive spirit.  It is remarkable that one who devoted himself so assiduously to his exacting profession should have been able to master such an immense amount of miscellaneous reading, and to have won such a splendid name in literature.  It is the attribute of true genius that it can do great things easily, and can accomplish its feats in an incredibly short time.  He affirms that the immortal story of “Rab” was written in a few hours!  The precious relics of my friend that I now possess are portraits of his father and of Dr. Chalmers, and of Hugh Miller, which he presented to me, and which now adorn my study walls.

While I have always dissented from some of his theological views and utterances, I have always had an intense admiration for Dean Stanley, in whose character was blended the gentleness of a sweet girl with occasional display of the courage of a lion.  Froude once said to me:  “I wish that Stanley was a little better hater.”  My reply was:  “It is not in Stanley to hate anybody but the devil.”  My acquaintance with the Dean of Westminster dates from the summer of 1872.  The Rev. Samuel Minton, a very broad Church of England clergyman, was in the habit of inviting ministers of the Established church and non-conformists to meet at lunch parties with a view of bringing them to a better understanding.  One day I was invited by Mr. Minton to attend one of these lunch parties, and I found that day at his table, Dr. Donald Frazer, Dr. Newman Hall, Dr. Joseph Parker, Dean Stanley and Dr. Howard Wilkinson, afterwards Bishop of Truro.  Stanley felt perfectly at home among these “dissenters” and asked me to give the company some account of a remarkable discourse, which, he was told, Bishop McIlvaine, of Ohio, had recently delivered in my Lafayette Presbyterian Church, Brooklyn, on “Christian Unity.”