be introduced to him, for I was an enthusiastic admirer of his hymns,
and I had a personal affection for his brother, Andrew, the author of
the delightful "Life of M'Cheyne." Although Horatius had won his
world-wide fame as a composer of hymns, he was, at that time, stoutly
opposed to the use of anything but the old Scotch version of the Psalms
in church worship. During my address to the Assembly I said: "We
Presbyterians in America sing the good old psalms of David." At this
point Dr. Bonar led in a round of applause, and then I continued: "We
also sing the Gospel of Jesus Christ as versified by Watts, Wesley,
Cowper, Toplady and _your own Horatius Bonar!"_ There was a burst of
laughter, and then I rather mischievously added: "My own people have the
privilege, not accorded to my brother's congregation, of singing his
magnificent hymns." By this time the whole house came down in a perfect
roar, and the confused blush on Bonar's face puzzled us--whether it was
on account of the compliment, or on account of his own inconsistency.
However, before his death he consented to have his own congregation sing
his own hymns, although it is said that two pragmatical elders rose and
strode indignantly down the aisle of the church.

In August, 1889, when I was on a visit to Chillingham Castle, Lady
Tankerville said to me: "Our dear Bonar is dead." I left the next day
for Edinburgh and reached there in time to bear an humble part in the
funeral services. On the day of his obsequies there was a tremendous
downpour, which reminded me of the story of the Scotchman, who, on
arriving in Australia, met one of his countrymen, who said to him: "Hae
ye joost come fra Scotland and _is it rainin' yet_?" But in spite of the
storm the Morningside Church, by the entrance to the Grange Cemetery,
was well filled by a representative assembly. The service was confined
to the reading of the Scriptures, to two prayers and the singing of
Bonar's beautiful hymn, the last verse of which is