tic
sign of him deep-lettered in the hearthstone of a home; I heard it
speaking bravely from the weak lips of a friend; it is carved in the
plastic heart of many a boy. No, I do not doubt the immortalities of the
soul; in this community, which I have come to love so much, dwells more
than one of John North's immortalities--and will continue to dwell. I,
too, live more deeply because John North was here.

He was in no outward way an extraordinary man, nor was his life
eventful. He was born in this neighbourhood: I saw him lying quite still
this morning in the same sunny room of the same house where he first saw
the light of day. Here among these common hills he grew up, and save for
the few years he spent at school or in the army, he lived here all his
life long. In old neighbourhoods and especially farm neighbourhoods
people come to know one another--not clothes knowledge, or money
knowledge--but that sort of knowledge which reaches down into the hidden
springs of human character. A country community may be deceived by a
stranger, too easily deceived, but not by one of its own people. For it
is not a studied knowledge; it resembles that slow geologic uncovering
before which not even the deep buried bones of the prehistoric saurian
remain finally hidden.

I never fully realised until this morning what a supreme triumph it is,
having grown old, to merit the respect of those who know us best. Mere
greatness offers no reward to compare with it, for greatness compels
that homage which we freely bestow upon goodness. So long as I live I
shall never forget this morning. I stood in the door-yard outside of
the open window of the old doctor's home. It was soft, and warm, and
very still--a June Sunday morning. An apple tree not far off was still
in blossom, and across the road on a grassy hillside sheep fed
unconcernedly. Occasionally, from the roadway where the horses of the
countryside were waiting, I heard the clink of a bit-ring or the low
voice of some new-comer seeking a place to hitch. Not half those who
came could find room in the house: they stood uncovered among the trees.
From within, wafted through the window, came the faint odour of flowers,
and the occasional minor intonation of someone speaking--and finally our
own Scotch Preacher! I could not see him, but there lay in the cadences
of his voice a peculiar note of peacefulness, of finality. The day
before he died Dr. North had said:

"I want McAlway to conduct my