Dr. Watson is a tall, straight, square-shouldered, deep-chested man of middle age, with a large, compact, round, and well-balanced head, thinly thatched with brown and grayish hair, well-moulded refined features that bear the impress of kindly shrewdness, intellectual sagacity, and spiritual clearness, tempered, too, with a mingled sense of keen humor and grave dignity. The eyes are open, fine, and clear in expression, and thoughtful and observant to a controlling degree. He is sometimes called an Englishman, because he happened to be born in the county of Essex; but he himself says: “I am a pure Highlander. My mother was a Maclaren, and came from Loch Tay and spoke the Gaelic tongue. My father was born at Braemar, and Gaelic was the language of my paternal grandfather.” His father was a Free Church elder, and his mother a woman of strong religious character and great spirituality. He is himself a typical Scotch Highlander in appearance, with every movement indicating alertness and force. His voice is excellent, because its tones express the feeling to be conveyed. It is skilfully used, with fine inflections and tonal shadings that give emphasis and delicacy to his delivery. The doctor’s mobile mouth easily lends itself to vocal changes. He is not an orator in the usual sense of the word, but he is a speaker who readily holds an audience to the last moment. No one leaves while he speaks, and that is the finest test. One day Horace Greeley, Henry Ward Beecher, and I were passing through Bridgeport. Mr. Greeley remarked: “This is Bridgeport. I had a successful lecture here once.” Mr. Beecher said: “Greeley, what do you call a successful lecture?” “Oh, more people stayed in than went out.” Dr. Watson’s ten weeks were filled almost beyond belief. Yet his parting sermon at Plymouth Church was as fresh in matter and manner as when he began at New Haven with his famous Yale lectures on preaching given before the Divinity School. In physique and in his mental spirit Dr. Watson recalls Mr. Beecher very distinctly. A broad sympathy with their fellows is their common inheritance. The rejoicing love of nature belongs to both lives. Dr. Watson illustrates, as Mr. Beecher did, in book, sermon, lecture, social intercourse, that he sees the best in all men, feels their moods, holds charity with errors, and joys with service, is touched by pathos and becomes tender with suffering. Dr. Watson brought a wholesome manhood as well as a gracious mind to the work he did, and has left a memory that all who heard him will continue to enjoy. America is richer by his visit, and he himself carried away the delight of sympathetic and genial associations. It is probable that Dr. Watson, or “Ian Maclaren,” as he is more commonly called, would still have been nothing more than the pastor of a well to-do congregation in Liverpool if it had not been for one man.