ends, I would repeat
the confession, which, by the grace of God, time only confirms:
'_In Te, Domine, speravi; non confundar in aeternum_.'"

CHAPTER XI

THE END OF THE DAY

In May 1891 the report of an inquiry which had been instituted in the
previous year into the working of the United Presbyterian College was
submitted to the Synod. The portion of it which referred to Principal
Cairns's department, and which was enthusiastically approved,
concluded as follows: "The Committee would only add that the whole
present inquiry has deepened its sense of the immense value of the
services of Dr. Cairns to the College, both as Professor and as
Principal, and expresses the hope that he may be long spared to adorn
the institution of which he is the honoured head, and the Church of
which he is so distinguished a representative." The hope thus
expressed was not to be fulfilled.

The specially heavy work of the preceding session--the session in
which, as already described, he had undertaken part of the work of
the Church History class in addition to the full tale of his own--had
overtaxed his strength, and, acting on the advice of Dr. Maclagan and
his Edinburgh medical adviser, he had cancelled all his engagements
for the summer. Almost immediately after the close of the Synod an old
ailment which he had contracted by over-exertion during a holiday tour
in Wales reappeared, and yielded only partially to surgical treatment.
But he maintained his cheerfulness, and neither he nor his friends had
any thought that his work was done. In the month of July he paid a
visit to his brother David at Stitchel. He had opened his brother's
new church there thirteen years before, and it had come to be a
standing engagement, looked forward to by very many in the district,
that he should conduct special services every year on the anniversary
of that occasion. But these annual visits were very brief, and they
were broken into not only by the duties of the Sunday, but by the
hospitalities usual in country manses at such times. This time,
however, there were no anniversary sermons to be preached; he had
come for rest, and there was no need for him to hasten his departure.
The weather was lovely, and so were the views over the wide valley
of the Tweed to the distant Cheviots. He would sit for hours
reading under the great elm-tree in the garden amid the scents of
the summer flowers. "I have come in to tell you," he said one day
to his siste