ng hand to the weak and falling ones who came across his path.
Never merely an optimist, he yet lived and died in the full, simple
faith that--

"God's in his heaven,
All's right with the world."

Socially, Reed was the life and soul of any party of friends. There
were certain American student-songs which he was wont to sing with a
quiet and inimitable drollery, very refreshing to hear, and which those
who heard them are not likely readily to forget. His love of music was
part of his nature. His reposeful, wooing touch on the piano or organ,
either when he was extemporising or when he interpreted one of the
masters, expressed the inner working of his own gentle spirit. Whether
in his own family, or among friends, or in the midst of his Foundry
workmen, he was universally beloved.

A true, loyal, and friendly spirit like his was sure to have "troops of
friends." To three friends in Highgate he wrote, during his last sad
visit to Ireland, the following beautiful letter. Mrs Reed was at the
moment detained in Highgate, nursing their eldest boy, who was ill.

"Westoncrofts, Ballymoney, _October 6, 1893_.

"Talbot, the exile, unto the faithful assembled at the hour of evening
service at H---; to H--- the beloved banker, and S--- our brother, and
H--- our joyous counsellor, and all and sundry, greeting: peace be with
you! Know, brethren, that I am with you in the spirit; neither is there
any chair in which I would not sit, nor pipe I would not smoke, nor
drink I would not drink, so as I might be one with you, and hear your
voices. In good sooth, I would travel far to catch the wisdom that
droppeth from the lips of H---, or sit among the philosophers with S---,
or laugh with the great laugh of H---. I would do all this, and more
also, could I make one with you around the familiar hearth.

"Yet know, brethren, that I shall come presently, and strictly demand an
account of what is said and done, what mighty problems are solved, what
joys are discovered, what tribulations are endured, in my absence.

"Meanwhile, I would have you to know that I am here, not without my
teachers, for I read daily in the great missal of Nature, writ by the
scribe Autumn in letters of crimson and gold; also in the trim pages of
the gathered fields, with borders of wood-cut; also in the ample folios
of ocean, with its wide margins of surf and sand. These be my masters,
set forth in a print not hard to read, yet not so easy, methink