6 Oct. 1918
Sunday in a Presbyterian country, one of the most restful and enjoyable days of my leave. To church in the morning. The regular minister was away ill through too much war work. The one taking his work was old and rather ancient yet with a considerable amount of Scottish fire. The church was built to please Rev. John Brown King McIntyre the father of Andy. A great brass plate shines on the wall in his memory. It is built of reddish sand stone with a tall spire and beautiful coloured windows. Within the greatest part of the walls are oak paneling in natural colour. The upper part of the wall is the dull pink of the sandstone. A lovely church, quiet, sober tints and rich storied windows. There are no decorations besides. In the window over the altar the highest figure is the Christ on the cross which surprises you in the church of the children of the Covenants. Still it is Presbyterian not more so though than St. Andrews of Kingston.
In the afternoon I took a hurried run in the back streets to see the poorer sections. Later tea and dinner followed by an evening about the fire looking over their family treasures and heir looms. Two china plates belonging to the old Dowager Empress looted from her palace at the time of the riots and given the McIntyre’s by some officer friend, ancient china vases three hundred years old, marvellous china dishes of priceless value, a snap shot copy of the famous pictures of Italy, a book of etchings by D.G. Cameron who is considered to be an artist in this line, snap shots from the Alps taken by some one of the family etc. etc. Everything explained by Miss McIntyre whom her mother teased about being on Old Maid. With regard to the latter she took it seriously and explained she had followed her fancies into the clear untroubled plains of lonely bliss. Quiet confidentially one had proposed to her after a week’s acquaintance and she had been bewildered and shocked. Her knowledge of things is clear and she is very good and entertaining. Later there was family worship conducted by Andy I had conferred upon me the privilege of picking a hymn. Miss McI played and sang Peace, Perfect Peace and the rest of us without a hymn book hummed a ragged assistance. The Old Lady recalled old days and it was very fine indeed about the hearth fire of this grand old widow of a minister of the Kirk of Scotland. We talked until eleven and retired and I with a keen sense of enjoyment. I felt that I had been in company with the great and best things of life.