Rudolph Schiller Walton was for many years my Sunday School teacher to whom I owe a debt of gratitude, though when I grew up and could think for myself and read the Bible in the original tongues and draw upon the resources of scholarship, I frankly disagreed with him upon some questions of church policy and the attitude of Christians toward that critical scholarship which produced under Luther and Calvin one great Reformation, and is yet to produce, by God's blessing and purpose, a still greater one. Foreseeing easily in the early eighties what many Presbyterian laymen could not then see, that before many years the substance of the truth, as held in cumulative unanimity by scholars, would be accepted by the Presbyterian Church as it has been in these years 1902 and 1903, I could afford to wait until we should see eye to eye. I knew him first as a teacher of a large class of unusually wriggly and often badly behaved boys. They were such real boys that I, with a touch of Pharasaism, believed them to be much worse, in every way, than those who made up our class, which, for a time, was taught by Mr. Charles Painter, a bookbinder. When Mr. Walton in 1860, took his class out of the main school room into the separate southwest corner room, I entered as one of his scholars. In the afternoons we went through Old Testament history getting pretty well through the period covered by the Book of Kings and Chronicles. To this hour these parts of Holy Scripture are as vivid to me as Durer's pictures, because of Rudolph S. Walton's teaching. We studied the Bible itself, and not lesson helps. One reason to-day why there is such a gulf between the Sunday School and the pulpit, and why the average scholar and even teacher is so apt to be scared at the "higher criticism"--even if indeed he knows what it is--is because he is fed, not on the Divine Word itself, but on those dilutions of it, and those plates of hash called lesson helps. Instead of the pure milk and meat of the Gospel, even the teachers stuff themselves with pre-digested food and machine-prepared aliment of all sorts. For years while Mr. Walton lived, I often dropped in at Wanamaker's Grand Depot at Thirteenth and Market (1876-1896), when in Philadelphia, and always enjoyed his pleasant welcome and a handshake. He sold hats for a living, but his calling was to serve Christ. If ever a man loved his fellow men and wanted to do them good, it was Rudolph S. Walton. As a benefactor, dispenser of cheer and sunshine, helper of all good causes, and a citizen of renown, his name will live. He died in 1902, at the age of seventy-four, leaving his fortune to help his fellow men.