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Updated: May 31, 2025
How large is your primary class, Marjorie?" "Twenty, I think. And they are all little ladies. It seems so comical to me to hear the girls call the little ones 'Miss. Alice Dodd is younger than Prue, and Master McCosh says 'Miss Dodd' as respectfully as though she were in the senior class." "Why shouldn't he?" demanded Prue.
Those scholars who accept this view, including such thinkers as the late President McCosh, of Princeton; Dana, of Yale; such teachers as Caird, Drummond, and scores who could be named, all renowned for their Christian belief and life, find that these new views do not waste faith, but rather nourish it.
Master McCosh heard it and he said it was true." "It will make a difference, a great difference. I shall take Prue away. I must write to John to-night." "I'm so glad you have him, Aunt Prue. I'm so glad you and Prue have him." Miss Prudence knew now, herself: never before had she known how glad she was to have him; how glad she had been to have him all her life.
James McCosh, the late president of Princeton University, stories too good, I fear, to get into a biography; but the best of them, in print, would not have the snap and vigour of the poorest of them, in talk, with his own inimitable Scotch-Irish brogue to set it forth. A brogue is not a fault. It is a beauty, an heirloom, a distinction.
What an impressive funeral was his on that bright October afternoon, in 1851, when two hundred ministers gathered in that Westminster Abbey of Presbyterianism, the Princeton Cemetery! His ashes slumber beside those of Witherspoon, Davies, Hodge, McCosh and Jonathan Edwards.
Had John Knox married Mary, Queen of Scots, there would have been no Presbyterian Church, no Princeton, no Doctor McCosh, no Grover Cleveland. On March Twentieth, Fifteen Hundred Sixty-three, the banns were read between John Knox and Margaret "Stewart," or Stuart, daughter of Lord Ochiltree, and a forebear of our own Tom Ochiltree. The young lady was two months past sixteen years old.
McCosh came out, in reply, with his volume on "Positivism and Christianity." Then Positivist Societies and Liberal Clubs, one after another, were formed and some continue, whence John Elderkin, Henry Evans, James D. Bell, the writer of these lines, and not a few others commenced to ray out the new light, which never has been, and never will be extinguished.
They get money from poor old ladies, trembling on the edge of the grave, and go and tell them stories how hungry the average Chinaman is for a copy of the new testament, and paint the sad condition of a gentleman in the interior of Africa, without the work of Dr. McCosh, longing for a copy of the Princeton Review. In my judgment, it is a book that would suit a savage.
I once asked Dr. James McCosh, who was the greatest preacher he ever heard. He replied, "Of course, it was my Edinboro Professor, Dr. Chalmers, but the grandest display of eloquence I ever listened to was Dr. Alexander Duff's famous Plea for Foreign Missions, delivered before the Scottish General Assembly at a date previous to the disruption," I can say Amen to Dr.
"My twin-brother," replied Marjorie. "He doesn't look like you. He is handsome and tall." "And I am homely and stumpy," said Marjorie, good-humoredly. "No, he is not my real brother." "I don't believe in that kind." "I do," said Marjorie. "Master McCosh will give you a mark for transgressing." "Oh, I forgot!" exclaimed Marjorie; "but he is so much my brother that it is not against the rules."
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