#3 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 "MORNING AND NIGHT WATCHES" 
 
 
 »\
 
 WORKS BY J. F. MACDUFF, D.D. 
 
 I. 
 TALES OF THE WARRIOR KING: Life and Times 
 of David, King of Israel. Second Thousand. With 
 Eight Illustrations. Large Crown 8vo, Cloth, gilt top. 6s. 
 
 "The volume is written in a spirited style, and with a proper 
 appreciation of the opportunities which its subject affords of im- 
 proving the tale." — Scotsman. 
 
 "Dr. Macduff has produced a book which, whether viewed simply 
 as literature or as the record of a stirring and adventurous as 
 well as great career, is replete with interest." — Aberdeen Free 
 Press. 
 
 "The writing of this work was evidently most congenial to Dr. 
 Macduff. To all siud;nts of Hible History the book should be 
 specially welcome." — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 II. 
 
 THOUGHTS FOR THE QUIET HOUR. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth, js. 6d. 
 
 " Dr. Macduff has the power of tender exposition and the apti- 
 tude of sympathetic teaching." — Christian World. 
 
 III. 
 THE PILLAR IN THE NIGHT. Second Thousand. 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth. 2 s - 6rf. 
 "There is a wonderful amount of teaching." — Life and Work. 
 "Among the many books of comfort for Christian mourners we 
 do not know a better than this." — Daily Mail. 
 
 London : 
 HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27, Paternoster Row.

 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 " MORNING AND NIGHT WATCHES " 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF A LONG LIFE 
 EDITED BY HIS DAUGHTER 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY THE REV. GEORGE MATHESON, D.D 
 PORTRAIT AND EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 LONDON : 
 HODDER AND STOUGHTON 
 
 27 PATERNOSTER ROW 
 
 MDCCCXCVI
 
 Butler & Tanner, 
 
 The Selwood Printing Works. 
 
 Frome, and London.
 
 To 
 
 the Memory of 
 
 JAMES GLASSFORD Esq. of Dougalston, Advocate, 
 
 One of the Cultured Scotchmen of half a century ago 
 
 And whose friendship is recalled with gratitude 
 
 IN these pages
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 These notes of autobiography have been woven into a 
 garland by the hand of a daughter's love. That hand 
 has striven to conceal itself behind the drapery, and I 
 will not seek to lift the veil in which she has shrouded 
 her devotion. But I want to add a wreath on my own 
 account to those flowers of two continents which lie upon 
 the grave of my departed friend. 
 
 Of all the men I have known, there is none who has 
 ever so powerfully suggested to me the Bible figure of St. 
 John. It is a unique and difficult figure ; it combines 
 opposite elements. The man who rests on the Master's 
 bosom is seldom the man who sees the Apocalypse. 
 There have been gentle souls like Nathanael ; there have 
 been fiery souls like Peter ; but to have " a sea of glass 
 mingled with fire," that is a rare combination. Yet, if I 
 mistake not, it is here. The mind of Dr. Macduff was
 
 viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 essentially a mind of fixed rest. Looking at him from a 
 distance, one would say that God had placed him in the 
 hollow, that the storms of life might pass him by. He 
 lived through the greatest crisis of revolution which 
 Christianity has ever experienced ; and from morn to 
 noon, from noon to dewy eve. he kept unclouded the faith 
 of the dawn. Yet, in truth, his was no such immunity. 
 God never placed him in the hollow. He got his vision 
 in Patmos. His " Memories of Olivet " came from his 
 " Memories of Bethany." If he descended to the " Wells 
 of Baca," it was because he first went up on " Altar-stones." 
 God spoke to him as He spoke to Job, "out of the whirl- 
 wind " ; it was in the furnace that he saw one like unto 
 the Son of Man It is this which has made Dr. Macduff, 
 before all things and beyond all men, a son of consola- 
 tion. 
 
 No man ever addressed a wider public. He set up his 
 platform in the house appointed for all living — the family 
 of the afflicted. He has been called a writer for invalids, 
 and so he was ; but we are all invalids. The whole human 
 race consists of but two classes, the labouring and the
 
 INTRODUCTION j x 
 
 laden — those who do too much work, and those who are 
 unable to work at all. There are some who suffer by 
 enforced activity, and there are some who suffer by en- 
 forced repose. Dr. Macduff was the daysman that laid 
 his hands upon them both. He pointed each class to the 
 hemisphere of its incompleted nature — to a home in the 
 sweet by-and-by, where the one would find a couch, and 
 the other receive a wing. Every bird has its own note, 
 and this was his. It was a song in the night, but it was 
 a nightingale's song. He never accepted the night as the 
 birthright of man. It was to him the proof of an incom- 
 plete environment, an infallible sign that the end was not 
 yet. The clouds of sorrow were to him clouds of wit- 
 nesses, prophetic of the compensating dawn. He felt that 
 the place of the swallow's rest is but the place of man's 
 sacrificial altar ; but on that very account he sang, " We 
 surely shall be satisfied," and by the echo of that song 
 " he being dead, yet speaketh." 
 
 GEORGE MATHESON.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 I do not think any apology, such as that indicated in 
 the Introductory Chapter, is necessary. An Author whose 
 books attained in this country and in America a circu- 
 lation of three millions, and many translated into other 
 languages, may surely be regarded as one of the teachers 
 of the century. His public work has been long over, 
 but not the memory of it, nor the blessing of it. Not 
 a few who have been indebted to his writings and 
 ministry, I feel assured, will welcome the story of his 
 "Life and Friends." 
 
 There was an injunction laid upon me to use my dis- 
 cretion in the matter of selection, deletion, or addition. 
 With my best endeavours I have sought to discharge a 
 sacred trust. 
 
 A. S. M. 
 June, 1896.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PACE 
 
 Introductory ! 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 Birthplace— Boyhood— Youth 5 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 University Life and Edinburgh Celebrities ... 24 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 A Catastrophe 41 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 Divinity Professors— The Continent 46 
 
 xiii
 
 xiv CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Tour in England S3 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 Clouds— Perplexities— Licensed to Preach— Kettins . 75 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 Kettins— St. Madoes 9° 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 Glasgow . . UI 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 A Sunday at Crathie 141 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 Loch Ard— Ireland— Glasgow 151 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Congregational Work— A Beautiful Life and Beloved 
 
 Memory 170
 
 CONTENTS xv 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PACK 
 
 New Life Crisis Impending 1S8 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 Rome— Loch Ard 209 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Various— Fragments of Past and Present . . . .223 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 Subjects Small and Great 242 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 My Books 264 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 Letters and other Documents 3 01 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 A Great Sorrow 33 2
 
 xvi CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 Illness— Birthday Jottings— Lights and Shadows . . 353 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Scattered Notes— Closing Words 369 
 
 Postscript 383
 
 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 One bright July afternoon I was sitting in my summer- 
 house, weakened by an exhausting illness of many months' 
 duration, aggravated by other anxieties. The servant had 
 received instructions to deny any visitors. I wished to 
 ba alone. 
 
 A friend, whose culture as well as sympathy I had been 
 taught on other occasions to value, had managed to elude 
 the prohibition, and by another gate reached my place of 
 seclusion. 
 
 I was at first startled. He had not seen me during my 
 long time of bodily prostration, and had it been any other, 
 I would have resented the intrusion on moments sought 
 to be consecrated to Milton's " mute, expressive silence." 
 
 After the commonplaces of greeting and apology, he 
 ventured on the remark which, alike by its strangeness 
 and suddenness, took my breath away : — 
 
 " There is nothing like work — congenial, yet not very 
 exacting employment, in such a time as this. I am perhaps 
 using a liberty: but I want you to begin and write your Life ! " 
 
 I gazed with the bewilderment of scepticism. My lips 
 were at the time not in a smiling mood. But the stunning 
 proposition forced them, despite of themselves, to relax, and 
 roused me from my quiescent reverie. 
 
 " What ! " was my reply as near as I can recall, " what, 
 
 Mr. , are you serious ? My Life ! — an Autobiography ! — 
 
 never ! never ! First, let me tell you, in all brevity, I have 
 no love for such self-laudations ; let those who have, write 
 them. I know that at least many of such books are not 
 
 1 [
 
 2 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 to my liking : over-dressed, over-coloured, distorted, partial, 
 misleading ; the real suppressed, the ideal magnified. 
 
 " But this is not to what I now demur. 
 
 "What conceivable right have I to a memoir? None 
 whatever. Biographies can only be entertained and toler- 
 ated in the case of conspicuous lives. Mine has been quite 
 the reverse ; and though not altogether without its interests 
 greater and smaller, I have no vestige of claim to such an 
 honour, even if I coveted it as such, which assuredly I 
 do not." 
 
 I thought I had silenced and spiked the guns so unex- 
 pectedly unlimbered. But not so. He continued to urge 
 his cause with reasons the legitimacy of which I still sternly 
 refused to concede. Even the wonderful circulation of my 
 works, though true, was an insufficient crutch to his plea. 
 
 He specially traversed mine of " unconspicuousness," 
 by urging that every average life, if the owner of it in this 
 bustling age had leisure, would be worth telling, 1 that I 
 could not fail to have come in contact in my time with 
 persons and events that might claim recording and chroni- 
 cling. Moreover, that my pleasant hours of enviable retire- 
 ment could not be employed to better purpose than in jotting- 
 down, as occasion offered, the most salient " points" in the 
 past ; with the possibility of these being some day combined 
 in the pages of a volume. 
 
 My interlocutor was "superior" in the true sense of the 
 word, as well as kind : and he possessed the most forceful 
 of pleas in an argument. He was in earnest. 
 
 It was a relief, however, when he bade me farewell ; 
 
 that, left to myself, I might give his suggestions decent and 
 
 immediate interment. 
 
 ***** 
 
 1 It was the identical remark of Dr. Johnson, in his own categorical 
 way. His words, as near as can be recalled, were—" There is hardly 
 a man you can meet on the street, but who, from his own personal 
 reminiscences, could supply material for a fairly readable biography."
 
 INTRODUCTORY 3 
 
 A thought flashed across me as the result of his per- 
 sistence, to which the roses which hung- from the summer 
 arbour above my head seemed to nod a hesitating and 
 languid assent. 
 
 It would be of all things repellent — ludicrous — to take 
 brush in hand and paint a portrait of my poor self. But 
 from that central mathematical point, having truly " position 
 and no magnitude," might there not be, as my friend in- 
 dicated, radiations ? Could I broaden my canvas ? Could 
 others of my family and acquaintance and wide circle, not 
 a few of whom, from their singular purity of life and worth 
 of character, have claim to grateful remembrance, be in- 
 cluded in the web suggested for me to weave ? Could I 
 make myself only one of the Dramatis Personce — a sub- 
 ordinate one ? Might not a glimpse, too, be caught of some 
 contemporary figures of interest ? Might there not be 
 embodied some passing incidents and scenes of travel? 
 Best of all, might not the Church and Christianity be 
 slightly richer by the inclusion of honoured names — sacred 
 memories of the loved and lost — the speech of the dead ? 
 
 At any rate, I might but try. The narrative would never 
 see light in my own days. My verdict might be erroneous 
 or indiscreet as to the advice given to Pendeiiiiis : " You 
 should publish some of these stories, you really should." 
 " The attempt," to use the words of an older author (Tacitus), 
 " might be covered with a courteous excuse." I would 
 leave to others the alternative of publicity or cremation. 
 
 The thought, after a time of simmering and incubation, 
 took — for good or for evil — living shape. The shreds and 
 patches of a journal kept dutifully for years at a mother's 
 earnest request, aided with other jottings and stray entries, 
 longer and shorter, might serve to supply and weld the 
 links of a broken chain. 
 
 Let the farther closing observation, even though so far 
 a repetition, be made. There are many contemporaries —
 
 4 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 potentates in the realm of letters as well as in social 
 position, in every respect my superiors — whose memorials 
 (lives of inspiration I may well call them) will never be 
 written ; and for this all-sufficient reason, that in their 
 busy, engrossing, eventful careers, neither time nor oppor- 
 tunity can be commanded. That is not the case with a 
 few lowlier men, whose " publicities," owing to favoured 
 or unfavoured circumstances, have lapsed in their later 
 decades into quietness, and afforded the possibilities, at least, 
 of such monologues as the present. If I can venture to 
 appropriate to my own lot one of the most beautiful and 
 pathetic of Turner's drawings, that of the westering sun 
 over a bridge spanning the river, with the plough in the 
 foreground resting in the upturned furrows— the team 
 pacing slowly to their ended day's repose — the whole sur- 
 roundings bathed in evening light and the motto under- 
 neath " Datur Hora Quieti" — I can assuredly claim, also, 
 no more befitting emblem for myself and my volume than 
 the great artist's homely plough, and the common furrows 
 it has traced. To others, far worthier — indeed, the only 
 rightful owners — -might well be left his golden haze and 
 "brimming river." 
 
 I have at least pleasingly occupied myself in not a few 
 of these " twilight hours," recalling, in a chatty way, the 
 play of sunshine and shadow during " life's long day." 
 
 :i \ : * I shall devolve on whomsoever may possibly come to 
 revise (or, to use the formidable word " edit") these pages, 
 the entire responsibility for selection or exclusion. 
 
 One thing without any such power I can personally 
 vouch for, that nothing will be here said by me that might 
 either give offence to the living or dishonour the memory 
 of the dead. Nor do I seek in these fugitive pages (I can 
 aver with an honest heart) the praise and admiration of 
 men. I can claim nothing but indulgence.
 
 n 
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH 
 
 Well, then, let the attempt be made and begun. 
 
 Let me try, with reliable aid, pleasantly, it may be pro- 
 fitably, to fill up some leisure hours or half-hours in my now 
 waning years : that season when one delights to live much 
 on the Treasures of Memory. While recalling not a few 
 personal incidents, I shall seek, as already indicated, to give 
 all the prominence I can to the better men and women 
 known to me, — and to occurrences of general interest that 
 have accidentally come across the "■ field of vision." Yet 
 though, to use a rough and ready simile, the street I live in 
 contains thus many houses, and most of these more worth 
 visiting than my own, I am haunted with the fear, the 
 certainty, despite best efforts and resolutions, that the bell 
 of No. i may be frequently rung — perhaps chiefly and 
 of necessity — at the opening and towards the close of the 
 volume. If so, the reader must simply make generous 
 allowance and condonation. It will be better not to seek 
 any underhand way of veiling or disguising a humble per- 
 sonality, what De Quincey calls " the perpendicular pro- 
 noun." And for any startling or glaring publicities, the 
 editor, not I, must bear the blame. 
 
 Let it be said at the outset, that a record of spiritual 
 feelings and experiences (though these at times cannot well 
 be omitted, and it would not be right to omit them) will be
 
 6 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 scrupulously minimized. Anything of the kind will be 
 given or expanded only when some very exceptional reason 
 compels the treading of sacred ground. I like Clough's 
 lines, and the sentiments they enshrine : — 
 
 " O let me love my Love unto myself alone, 
 And know my knowledge to the world unknown ; 
 No witness to my vision call, 
 Beholding, unbeheld of all ; 
 And worship Thee, with Thee withdrawn apart, 
 Within the closest veil of mine own inmost heart." 
 
 I desire, notwithstanding, in whatever may be written by 
 myself or others, devoutly and reverently and publicly to 
 recognise " the God who has led me all my life long," — 
 " the memories of His great goodness.'' 
 
 No book which, however remotely, belongs to the memoir 
 class, would in these da} T s be deemed complete without the 
 conventional, and, it must be owned, the usually tame and 
 tiresome rehearsal of pedigree. This will be dismissed with 
 all brevity. As, however, the volume in the title page 
 professes to be the record of " a long life," it would be 
 hardly fair to omit all reference to its opening chapter. 
 
 Be not deterred, therefore, kindly reader, from dipping 
 into my paragraphs, by a small preliminary blast of the 
 family trumpet. 
 
 Our father's estate, our birthplace, was Bonhard, Perth- 
 shire, the flower of Scottish counties, and in the historic 
 parish of Scone. The house, in the ornamental cottage 
 style, was situated three miles from Perth, on the slopes of 
 the Sidlaw hills. I recall, not only in boyhood, but in after 
 years, the delight I had in standing by the gate of the 
 approach, which commands the whole view of the Gram- 
 pians, beginning at the extreme left with Ben Voirlich ; 
 and including Farragon, Schiehallion, Ben More, Ben-y- 
 Vrackie, etc. It always reminded me, on a miniature scale,
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH 7 
 
 of the range of Alps seen from the Superga, near Turin, 
 during a first visit to the Continent. 
 
 The following may be pardonably introduced, as it 
 appeared in a local paper. The words were spoken as 
 chairman at a dinner to the tenantry, on the occasion of 
 the marriage of my nephew, the present proprietor. The 
 (I trust not presumptuous) narrative has an interest of its 
 own, and will speak for itself. 
 
 " 1 am not one of those who would pride myself on here- 
 ditary descent, even if I could claim it, which I do not. 
 Indeed, that, in itself, is, in my eyes, a poor subject of boast, 
 if not accompanied with some sterling qualities of head and 
 heart. What I am now to tell, there is nothing to glory in, 
 although, I own, it is a story not devoid of romantic inci- 
 dent and adventure. I tell it to you, tenantry and friends, 
 because it has a moral for you. The moral is this : that 
 the humblest of you, by dint of energy and pluck, prudence 
 and thrift, may go and do likewise. The account I shall 
 try to give is from an old manuscript book now in my own 
 possession. The facts were obtained and written out by my 
 father in 1827, and committed at the time to writing. The 
 original holding of the Macduffs, many generations ago, 
 was Fandowie, in Strathbraan (between Dunkeld and 
 Amulree). My father received this narrative I have just 
 referred to from the lips of Donald Macduff, laird of Tomna- 
 grew (not a very classical name), a man ninety years of age, 
 who described to him what he called the Barony of Fan- 
 dowie, to have consisted of a house, 100 acres arable, and 
 1,400 of hill grazing, the only remains then of the dwelling 
 being a part of the west gable, the ruins of the chapel and 
 burying ground. These lands had long been occupied by 
 a sturdy race of the name of Macduff. King James (I 
 cannot now confidently affirm which monarch of that 
 name, but one of the King James's of Scotland), travelling 
 in disguise, stepped one day into the original humble home,
 
 8 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 clad in rags. His host was impressed by his appearance 
 and manners, and could not help commiserating him ; 
 surmising, indeed, that he might possibly be one of those 
 outlawed gentlemen who were skulking about the Highland 
 glens at this time. Macduff desired the beggar to rest. 
 Meanwhile he ordered a sheep from the hill to be killed, 
 and, when dressed, he asked the ragged stranger to sit 
 down with his family. The other declined, on the ground 
 that it would not be decorous for a poor man to eat with the 
 household. Macduff seized a claymore, and declared that he 
 would sever his head from his body if he did not obey. The 
 manner in which this was said induced the beggar to join 
 the family repast, of which he ate heartily. Some time 
 after, a messenger arrived from Scone Palace, ordering the 
 gudeman of Fandowie to appear there on a certain day. 
 The order was reluctantly obeyed by Macduff. On arriving 
 at the Abbey he was introduced to his Majesty, but with- 
 out discovering in the person of King James the humble 
 beggar who had experienced his kindness in Strathbraan. 
 Dinner was announced, and served in the rude splendour 
 of the times. Macduff was ordered to take his place at the 
 table. Awed by the presence of majesty, he begged to be 
 excused, as not befitting his station to be seated with 
 royalty. Scarcely had he uttered this when the witty 
 monarch, brandishing his Andrea Ferrara, as Macduff had 
 formerly done, exclaimed, ' If you don't eat, I shall sever 
 your head from your body, as you once threatened to do 
 to me under similar circumstances.' At this Macduff was 
 amazed, and, recollecting the beggar, he was convinced it 
 was the royal person before him to whom he had shown 
 Highland hospitality. He immediately lay prostrate at the 
 feet of the King. His Majesty, commanding him to rise, told 
 Macduff how much gratified he had been by the hospitable 
 entertainment at Fandowie, adding, ' What grant can I 
 give you to express my gratitude ? ' Macduff immediately
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH 9 
 
 said the honour he had received was sufficient; but if his 
 Majesty pleased to bestow upon him the mill and the hill- 
 kinds of Fandowie between the two burns, he would be 
 contented and happy through life. These grounds, being 
 in the Barony of Fandowie, were immediately declared his 
 by the King, his Majesty remarking that if Macduff had 
 asked for both sides of the Braan, they would have been 
 given to him. The Macduffs enjoyed the barony for several 
 generations ; but in consequence of one of the descendants 
 being a servitor of the Earl of Gowrie, and thus being 
 led to take part in the Gowrie conspiracy, he was tried, 
 condemned, and hanged at Perth, deprived of the barony, 
 and his family scattered, penniless and friendless, in all 
 directions. The eldest son, a little boy, wandered one 
 day to the house of Logiealmond, asking charity, when, 
 accidentally, he met some of the children of the proprietor, 
 and joined with them in some youthful game, which, how- 
 ever, in a not unusual, untoward way, terminated in blows. 
 The Laird of Logiealmond, observing the fray, and wit- 
 nessing the young Highlander victorious, asked the boy 
 his name. He answered that he was Macduff of Fandowie' s 
 son, but that, in consequence of his father's misfortunes, he 
 had been forced to beg. The laird was taken with his robust 
 and manly appearance, fold him to remain atLogie, and he 
 would be taken into his service. The boy gladly complied. 
 A few years later, by dint of careful economies, he became 
 possessed of some small means. By a dexterous piece 
 of longheadedness he went to a market at Crieff, purchased 
 largely of the cattle before the southern dealers came 
 forward, and re-sold them at a profit. Soon after, the mills 
 of Perth became vacant. Macduff asked the laird of Logie 
 to be his security as tacksman thereof. The laird refused, 
 on the score that his servant had no capital. On this the 
 young adventurer pulled out a stocking filled with various 
 coins, the savings of his industry, remarking to his
 
 io DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 master, that if he would not be his security, the stocking- 
 would. He leased the mills, and accumulated so much as to 
 be able to buy Bonhard and Mundy. These he left to his 
 only son, who purchased Springfield (or ' Pocke Mylne,' 
 as it was then called), where we are now assembled, and 
 on which some of you will remember a picturesque ruin, 
 where the present house is built. I may just here add that 
 the last of the Macduffs who held Fandowie was a man of 
 great strength and agility. There is still shown in the 
 Braan what is called ' The Baron's Leap,' a place in the 
 rocky channel of the river, which, on one occasion, when 
 pursued, he cleared at a bound. Both his pursuers and his 
 own dog — a favourite greyhound — were less fortunate ; the 
 nound fell into the river, but his master managed in time 
 to clamber down and rescue him. He was, besides, a very 
 dexterous bowman. It was said he could discharge an 
 arrow from the top of Fandowie Hill across the Braan, 
 and could put arrows into a target at an immense dis- 
 tance." 
 Wordsworth's lines may be almost literally recalled: — 
 
 " Among the hills of Athole he was born : 
 
 Where, on a small hereditary farm, 
 
 An unproductive slip of rugged ground, 
 
 His parents had their dwelling. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Many a tale 
 Traditionary, round the mountains hung, 
 And many a legend." 
 
 — w The Excursion," Book I. 
 
 I think among my father's favourite recollections of his 
 own early days, was a visit he paid to the beautiful 
 home of one of his guardians, Hector Macdonald Buchanan, 
 of Ross Priory, on the banks of Loch Lomond. What made 
 the sojourn memorable was the presence of Sir Walter 
 Scott. One boating excursion with the great minstrel
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH ti 
 
 could not readily be forgotten, when my father's name was 
 introduced into some impromptu verses, which he often 
 regretted his inability to recall. 
 
 As what follows professes in the preface to contain and 
 include many references to "good men I have known,'' 
 why should I hesitate, though it be of kith and kin, to begin 
 with, to me, the remotest figure of all, my dear old grand- 
 father on my mother's side ? Let him and his soldier son, 
 without any unwarrantable bias, have the first niche in the 
 corridor of memory. John Ross, of Balgersho, w r as also a 
 Perthshire laird, whose house commanded an extensive 
 view of Strathmore, with the same background of Gramp- 
 ians. All who knew his sterling character could speak of 
 him, and did speak of him, as " the good old country gentle- 
 man." His eldest son, also a John Ross— subsequently 
 General Sir John Ross — (from both of whom the writer of 
 these lines takes his own name), was a distinguished officer 
 of Wellington's (the Rifle Brigade). 
 
 He was engaged in active duty throughout all the 
 Peninsular War. Though he seldom broke his military 
 reticence, he occasionally detailed the retreat to Corunna, 
 and the sufferings then undergone by himself and the 
 gallant army. He was at Waterloo, and was there severely 
 wounded in the arm. The proudest afternoons of his life 
 were those when he dmed with his great chief, along with 
 the other Waterloo veterans, at Apsley House. Those were 
 always exceptional occasions when in winter evenings, in 
 the low dingy parlour of Balgersho, the old Laird unlocked 
 the drawer of his book-case, and hoisting his spectacles, 
 extracted from a box what he evidently deemed proud and 
 precious memorials. With an irrepressible sigh, yet with 
 a parent's pride, he exhibited and moralized over the 
 extracted bullet and fragment of bone— the grim trophies 
 of his son's bravery in that last fierce fight. Two minia- 
 tures of father and son, which I value, are looking down on
 
 12 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 this paper while I write. They both departed in the true 
 faith of a Christian. 1 
 
 Before leaving my grandfather, and distant boyish 
 associations with him, I must here chronicle my earliest 
 introduction to a remarkable Scotchman — one of the most 
 remarkable of his day and generation, whose name will 
 more than once occur in subsequent pages. 
 
 It was with my grandfather as a boy, almost a child, I 
 went for the first time to the house of Murray of Simprim, 
 eccentric in his ways and personnel, but altogether unique 
 in Scottish society, culture and originality, a vara avis in 
 tern's. I may here anticipate, by quoting what is said of 
 him in Dean Boyle's "Recollections." " Murray of Simprim, 
 whom I often met in my boyhood and youth, was an ex- 
 cessively clever man. He was the son of the Lord Elibank 
 who is so well known to readers of Boswell's "Johnson," 
 and had passed his life in what may be called intellectual 
 epicureanism. His duties as a country gentleman sat 
 lightly upon him, but I believe he was a kind and indul- 
 gent landlord. His wife was a Miss Murray, a descendant 
 of the famous Susanna, Countess of Eglinton. A good deal 
 of his time was spent abroad. When he visited Edinburgh, 
 it was his great pleasure to talk with his old friends on the 
 two subjects he most delighted in — the Peninsular War and 
 
 1 It may be worth while inserting in a note, as giving a peep into the 
 old world, that I remember, as a boy, my grandfather telling me the 
 earliest recollection he (then an aged man) had when little more than a 
 child, was the funeral of the head of one of the ancient families of 
 Scotland, Mercer of Aldie (Fife), as it passed at night through the streets 
 of Perth. The coffin was preceded by a number of youths, bearing 
 lighted torches, while a similar number followed with the same behind. 
 They sang, or chanted, in response, this quaint dirge : — 
 
 (Boys preceding) — " Audie's (Aldie's) dead !" 
 
 (Response following) — " He'll rise again ! " 
 
 (Preceding)—" When ? When ? " 
 
 (Following) — "At the Resurrex-i-on !" 
 
 And so they slowly paced to the Old Grey Friars ; a weird spectacle, 
 making a lasting impression on youthful memory ; a relic of medise- 
 valism out of date now.
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH 13 
 
 the career of Walter Scott " (p. 6). Scott and he were like 
 brothers, addressing one another by their Christian names. 
 He (Sir Walter) had no dearer or more intimate bosom 
 friend. That was a characteristic gathering when he, 
 Scott, and Byron met alone at Mr. Murray's in Albemarle 
 Street. 
 
 My child introduction to this eminent man was as 
 follows: — My grandfather and grandmother were near 
 neighbours, and were asked to Simprim one evening to 
 witness with others the performance of a ventriloquist, and 
 requested to bring their grandson — that was me— with 
 them. Though nearly seventy years have elapsed, I can 
 charge my memory with the performer's name, M. 
 Alexandre. I went to the big mansion — for big it was — full 
 of boyish wonder. I remember well the cunning French- 
 man howling up the portentously wide chimney, and the 
 responsive illusory voices. Also his kindred feats and 
 tricks in the spacious drawing-room. But I confess my 
 youthful imagination w T as more arrested by Simprim 
 himself, in his powdered hair and periwig, and the array 
 of similarly pow T dered liveried servants flitting to and fro 
 in the capacious salon. 
 
 It will be under different circumstances he will reappear 
 in my narrative. 
 
 I return from this digression to say a word about our 
 mother — I dare not pass her over. No higher testimony 
 could be paid, than that she was a like-minded daughter and 
 sister to the old Laird and his martial son. Prematurely 
 stricken with exceptionally severe sorrow — to be afterwards 
 alluded to — she was yet by nature of the stuff of which 
 heroines are made, and by grace the possessor of those 
 higher spiritual gifts, under the influence of which 
 Christian families are reared. It is not presumptuous to 
 say, that in her best days she was the mother of the 
 Gracchi, and the Monica of a different type and age,
 
 i 4 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 combined. We owe much to her generous impulses and 
 lofty ideals. God bless her ! She often used to recall a 
 trivial incident connected with my own earliest days, 
 evidently with the wish to impress it on my memory. 
 When a mere child, I was thought dying, and when as a 
 stricken parent she sought to grasp some comfort, amid 
 the signs of an early departure, my infant lips repeated 
 clearly one of the answers she had taught me in Isaac 
 Watts' catechism, a child's formulary well known eight 
 decades ago, now, perhaps, happily relegated, on account 
 of many of its statements, though not the present one, to 
 oblivion. " Yes, I hope He will forgive me if I trust in 
 His mercy, for the sake of what Jesus Christ has clone, and 
 what He hath suffered." That is surely simple, true, sound 
 theology. It comes often back to me still with a mother's 
 smile and blessing, like a strain of distant music. It is an 
 innocent yet comprehensive apothegm for age as well as 
 infancy — a multum in parvo Gospel. I should like to cling 
 to it and to repeat it on my death-bed. 
 
 Whatever else was lacking in these juvenile years a 
 love of " the beautiful " could not fail to be fostered by our 
 fair environments. Perth itself, despite the respectable 
 somnolence of later civic life, compared at least with the 
 advance and rush of sister towns ; Perth, I say — not as seen 
 by the passing traveller from the " Wormwood Scrubs" of 
 its railway station, but from almost every other point of 
 view — is a vision to be remembered. Indeed, the varied 
 scenery all around, including loved home nooks — " Dowie's 
 Den," the " Annatie Burn " — the wealth of rock, moss, and 
 lichen in the tir-woods, the glory of yellow cowslip and 
 golden gorse — these and many others, coupled with the 
 generous impulses of an Italian drawing-master of unpro- 
 nounceable name, encouraged and developed in more than 
 one of us a natural taste for pencil and palette; a taste 
 which stood in good stead during many future wanderings
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH 15 
 
 on the Continent and elsewhere, before the birth of photo- 
 graphy. 
 
 The Tay, facile princeps of British rivers, from its source 
 to the noble bridge spanning it at Perth, was an ever-new 
 inspiration. A near relative — another soldier uncle, who 
 had spent a life in military and official duty in India, and 
 who had a keen eye for the picturesque — I remember say- 
 ing, that in all his wanderings he had seen nothing more 
 lovely or impressive than when, the first time after his 
 return, he found himself in the centre of the bridge, look- 
 ing up and down ; and when, at the moment, the noted 
 chime from old St. John's, familiar in bygone days, came 
 floating to his ear, " The Corn-rigs are bonnie." 
 
 This allusion suggests the most intimate friend and 
 companion of early boyhood, Sir Charles Metcalfe Ochter- 
 lony. My uncle was the trusted confidant of his grand- 
 father, the well-known Sir David Ochterlony, whose statue 
 forms a conspicuous object in Calcutta. At Sir David's 
 request, my grandfather (of Balgersho) was appointed 
 principle executor and guardian to the grandson, who suc- 
 ceeded in childhood to the Baronetcy. We were often 
 companions for weeks together in the old home in Strath- 
 more, and he had the same free pass at our own fireside 
 in his youth — a young boy of exceeding amiability and 
 warmth of heart. The story of his grandfather's misad- 
 ventures, and ultimate success, is worth telling. He went 
 out, a poor lad, to push his fortunes in our great Depen- 
 dency. The only capital he had was in the form of a few 
 valuable letters of introduction to some influential persons, 
 who would be able and willing to launch him successfully, 
 as a young man of parts and promise, in his Indian career. 
 On landing at Calcutta, or as the vessel was nearing the 
 harbour, his first impulse was to go down to his cabin and 
 make sure of the bundle of introductions he had secreted in 
 some place of extra safety. To his horror they were gone !
 
 1 6 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 and he prosecuted with an anxious soul the unavailing; 
 search for what he really deemed, at the moment, his earthly 
 all. Utterly hopeless and desponding, he went on deck ; 
 and, with an aggravation of his despair, his eye at the 
 moment happened to light on the top of the mast — where 
 he saw a monkey, with the missing bundle in its hand, 
 deliberately opening letter by letter, tearing these in shreds, 
 and scattering them on the deck or river! But the irre- 
 parable loss really turned into gain. I forget the sequel of 
 the story — whether it was that one or more of the fellow- 
 voyagers who had been spectators of the scene, in pity for 
 the bewildered stripling, pled his cause in other influential 
 quarters. This I know — that his cause was pled effectually ; 
 and ultimately, through good fortune, as well as his own 
 abilities, the fickle, capricious ladder was climbed, and the 
 summit reached. His confreres, in his after brilliant life, 
 used to jocularly say to him, " Your crest should un- 
 doubtedly be a monke}' on the top of a mast, tearing 
 letters ! " 
 
 My first trip to the Highlands in juvenile days was with 
 his grandson and my eldest brother. No subsequent tour 
 was so memorable, being my earliest converse with glorious 
 mountain and valley. We started on three ponies, with 
 my father's faithful, but somewhat comical, servant (James), 
 who combined the offices of grieve and gamekeeper. Our 
 route was by Dunkeld and the (then) very primitive Pit- 
 lochrie and Blair Atholl. We spent a night at Pitlochrie. 
 What has reached now a hydropathic town, the resort 
 of bishops and prime ministers, was then only a Highland 
 clachan, with a modest hostelry, the resort of no bigger 
 folks than kilted and plaided drovers, but which to us was 
 palatial. It shows how we cling to youthful impressions 
 and associations, for doubtless that happy excursion is re- 
 sponsible for many other visits to the same favoured region 
 in long after years. The Pass of Killiecrankie wab often
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH 17 
 
 and again a favourite haunt, and in still later years it pos- 
 sessed the additional attraction of kind friends and beautiful 
 homes. We emerged from its birchen ravines on Strath 
 Garry, till Blair Atholl was reached. The next day found 
 us, with the geological hammer, at the Duke of Atholl' s 
 marble quarries in Glentilt. We encountered the Duke, 
 who gave us a very mild reprimand for disturbing his deer. 
 
 This trip being specially linked with the name of our old 
 companion, I record it. He and it live together. He died 
 in long after years (August, 1891). 
 
 But to return. The ancient relics of " pomp and circum- 
 stance" in our native county and city are now much 
 shorn of their splendour, since Demos has risen so defiantly 
 and successfully in this latter half-century. Not a few 
 things in social and civic life, now defunct and out of date, 
 greatly then impressed my boyish imagination. For ex- 
 ample the parade, twice each Sunday, of the Provost and 
 magistrates, preceded by the red-coated town officers with 
 their halberds, through St. John Street to the East Church. 
 These were the pre-eminent and undisputed days of " Church 
 and State." Then there was the meeting on the part of 
 these same dignitaries, in like official costume, of "His 
 Majesty's judges," at the Wicks of Baiglie, the spot made 
 classical by the exclamation of the Roman soldiers — " Ecce 
 Tiberim! Ecce Campus Martins!" If I may append an 
 aristocratic memory, also now antiquated and extinct, I 
 recall the almost feudal splendour of the old Duke of 
 Atholl's visit from time to time to the town, in coach and 
 four, with its postilions, outriders, and postriders. His 
 ancient pedigree, in his own eyes at all events, vindicated 
 his claim to these semi-royal " progresses " — the greatest 
 of the territorial magnates of Perthshire, chief of the Clan 
 Murray, and last of the petty potentates of the kingdom, 
 " Lord of Man and the Isles." There was at all events a 
 no ordinary fascination to youthful spectators. 
 
 2
 
 1 8 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 With the ecclesiastical entries that will largely occur in 
 future pages, it would hardly do to omit mention of the 
 clergymen of those early days, from whom were imbibed 
 first impressions of pulpit teaching. Dr. Esdaile, of St. 
 John's, was no orator. His sermons were off-hand, and 
 delivered in a sing-song voice ; but they were aided by a 
 commanding presence. He was a man of scholarship, 
 wide reading, and, from his bonhomie and conversation, a 
 favourite in society. He seemed, from a story he told with 
 great gusto, to be fully cognizant that the pulpit was not 
 his forte. On one occasion, in preaching on the evening of 
 the Communion Sunday for his friend Dr. Peters, of Dundee, 
 he had come quickly from the vestry, and found himself in 
 the midst of the crowd issuing from the main entrance. 
 He overheard behind him the following dialogue : — 
 
 " Wasna' that Esdaile o' Perth that was preachin' the 
 night?" 
 
 " Oh, no," was the rejoinder. " That wasna' Esdaile o' 
 Perth. Esdaile o' Perth is a clever man." 
 
 5jC 5|s ifC "7* JjC 
 
 But I pass from one, good and able in his way, to an- 
 other, better and more able still. The venue is now changed 
 to the High School and University of Edinburgh. The 
 High School of the Scottish capital had long maintained a 
 reputation since the days of Dr. Adam ; but its renown 
 was never greater than under the benignant sway of Dr. 
 Carson. No — I must recall my adjective. " Benignant " 
 was not the appropriate characteristic, at all events till you 
 came to know him. He was one of those strange, abnor- 
 mal composites, not unfrequently encountered, with an 
 apparently dual nature. He was the stern old Puritan — 
 one side made up of conservatism and absolutism. All of 
 us were ready to cross the street, when he was seen strid- 
 ing alono-, to evade his approach. But come near him,
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH 19 
 
 and get ingratiated, and we subsided into reverence and 
 love — the features relaxed, and the eye kindled. It was 
 soon, or gradually, made manifest that the suaviter in 
 modo was as conspicuous as the fortiter in re. Truth to 
 say, the fortiter was all needed. He hud a large and, 
 in some ways, an unruly constituency. In the one year 
 during which I enjoyed the privilege of being his scholar, 
 the class numbered 160 boys. Though naturally and neces- 
 sarily seldom " called up " to have our proficiency tested, 
 owing to the numbers, we never dared cross the school 
 threshold with slip-shod preparation. It was a great com- 
 plicated machine wisely guided. A few class-fellows ot 
 that year btcame either conspicuous or prosperous in their 
 subsequent walks in life. Among these I may mention 
 Dr. George Wilson, as great in medical science as he was 
 profoundly loyal to religious truth ; John Blackwood, the 
 able critic, head of the well-known house, and editor of 
 Maga ; Lord Gifford, a respected and cultured judge ; 
 and William Nelson, the dux of the class, and winner of 
 the gold medal, afterwards the senior partner of publishers 
 with now a world-wide reputation. Others need not be 
 specified who acquired for themselves name and fame in 
 the civil and military service of India, with memories of 
 heroism in the last half-century's " Story of the Great 
 Dependency." Two of them I remember specially men- 
 tioned at Sobraon and Chillianwallah. In a word, a 
 distinctly new stimulus, never forgotten, ever gladly and 
 ungrudgingly remembered, must be attributed to this 
 typical Scotchman and ruler of men — Aglionby Ross 
 Carson. Along with others, I may recall as a just tribute 
 the line which was first read in his class-room : — 
 
 " Si spiro, et placeo, si placeo, tuum est,' 
 
 It was this year I had my earliest glimpse of Monarchy. 
 This was in the person of Charles X., the day he left Holy-
 
 20 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 rood after his protracted residence there. I went with my 
 father that forenoon to Newhaven pier, where I saw the 
 thin, spare, careworn exile on his way to embark on board 
 the waiting steamer. Far more than half a century has 
 since elapsed, but that shadow of departed greatness still 
 remains a fixture in memory. He evoked that very special 
 sympathy which never fails to be claimed for those who 
 have seen " better times." 
 
 Two intermediate years were spent at a private academy 
 — not exactly " stimulating " after its predecessor, but at- 
 tendance at which was not in any material way to be re- 
 gretted. The good man at its head exercised a wholesome 
 influence in moulding religious feelings, and determining 
 subsequent life-work. As such, I gratefully include him 
 in my roll of worthies. 
 
 I may here introduce a small episode, interesting in its 
 way: — 
 
 It was at that private school I made the friendship of a 
 youth, who afterwards became, in his own walk, a dis- 
 tinguished man. In attending the mathematical class an 
 acquaintance was picked up with a thoughtful-looking boy, 
 who, despite of his poor appearance, had a kind if not 
 well-modelled countenance, with something in it of latent 
 genius. A genius, in a humble way, I discovered he was. 
 If rightly informed, some of his lowly neighbours, I think, 
 in a mining village, had discerned in the lad an early, 
 precocious talent for drawing. As this, with the years 
 of advancing foyyhood, became more pronounced, they sub- 
 scribed among themselves to allow him the advantage of 
 some " classes " in Edinburgh, beyond what a remote 
 country school could afford. I soon discovered his pro- 
 clivities : and being then myself, as ever afterwards, a 
 zealous amateur in the most fascinating of arts, I took an 
 ardent personal interest in his advancement and success. 
 His gratitude was of no ordinary kind at my being able
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH 21 
 
 to secure one or two commissions for chalk portraits at a 
 very modest remuneration. Many years had passed by — I 
 forget how many — when one day, walking along Princes 
 Street, some one tapped me on the shoulder with the 
 query, "Do you remember me?" I was obliged to plead 
 ignorance, and to acknowledge in the ordinary phrase that 
 he " had the advantage of me." I never for a moment 
 recognised the old fellow-scholar of unobtrusive mien and 
 appearance in the apparent stranger clad in unimpeach- 
 able if not resplendent fashion — far more affinity with 
 Bond Street than with a humble haunt in Edinburgh. His 
 name, however, at once settled the singular transforma- 
 tion ; and it was another illustration of the familiar phrase, 
 " Much has happened since then." 
 
 "You recollect," he said, with a twinkle of the old 
 gratitude in his eye, " what I used to do in former years. 
 You know, too, what I was glad to get for my work. If 
 you have time, and if it would not trouble you, come with 
 me to my hotel. I should like to show you what I can do 
 now." 
 
 " My hotel " sounded another unmistakable evidence of 
 promotion, and this, moreover, was no ordinary hotel, but 
 one of the best known in the city. The mystery of present 
 appearance and lodging was soon explained, when he 
 opened his portmanteau and exhibited its treasures. Yes, 
 treasures indeed. Several glorious works of art, mar- 
 vellous for their finish and beauty, their " pose " and glow 
 of colour : works such as have never since been seen in 
 miniature painting on ivory. They were portraits in what 
 would now be called large cabinet size ; and, if I can tax 
 my memory, three-quarters length. 
 
 " You remember," he remarked, with a beautiful modesty, 
 in recalling early crude efforts, " how glad I was of five 
 shillings. These bring me a hundred pounds." 
 
 This was Robert Thorburn, then, or, if not then, shortly
 
 22 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 afterwards, the Royal Academician, whose artistic powers 
 were largely recognised and eagerty sought by the English 
 aristocracy, not forgetting the Throne itself. All who have 
 read the life of the Prince Consort (and who has not?) will 
 see a grand specimen of his work, in the frontispiece, ot 
 Prince Albert in armour. Perfect in its transcript to black 
 and white, as it adorns the initial page, it conveys a 
 partial and inadequate idea, without the charm of colour, 
 of what the original was and is — a treasured possession 
 now among the Windsor sacred memories ; in this case 
 all the more cherished from its association, as being the 
 birthday gift to the Queen from her royal husband. 
 
 I, after this, lost sight of my old friend in the crowd. I 
 believe, as the penalty enacted for such exquisite but try- 
 ing work, his eyesight began to be impaired. Photo- 
 graphy, too, with its fractional cost, became a base and 
 dangerous rival to the true art of the miniature painter. 
 With few exceptions no man can be really great outside 
 his own department. Partly from necessity, partly from 
 choice, he took to oils and allegories. The result was 
 failure : recalling Hogarth's, when in advanced life he 
 migrated from comedy to Scripture subjects and monster 
 canvases. Photography may have partially or wholly suc- 
 ceeded in its portrait triumphs, and driven the old ivory 
 out of the field ; but Robert Thorburn will always re- 
 tain his niche in the British Art Temple. 
 
 I am proud, old friend, to find you in my pen gallery 
 of portraits and notables. 
 
 A kindred genius amid the roll of distinguished Scottish 
 artists may find here an appropriate place, to whom and 
 to whose studio I was kindly introduced by a congenial ac- 
 quaintance, who had learnt to appreciate, sooner than most, 
 the rare, the daring genius of David Scott. Utterly lacking 
 in the refinement of Thorburn, his grand rugged idealisms 
 have followed me with a fascination all my life. The one
 
 BIRTHPLACE. BOYHOOD. YOUTH 23 
 
 artist may be said to have had an affinity with Raphael; 
 the other recalled, though often in crude form, the splendid 
 masculine power of Michael Angelo. The largest, the very 
 largest book in my library contains Scott's daring illus- 
 trations of Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner." The first day 
 I saw him, he was working on his grotesque but striking 
 picture of Shakespeare in the Globe Theatre. This wild, 
 wilful, erratic child of genius, bold and characteristic in 
 subject, sacred as well as secular, is thus described by 
 a kindred prose-poet : — "The Ezekiel of painters, to whose 
 eye the night of abstractions was clearer than the day of 
 sensible appearances, who saw the sun standing still, who 
 felt the earth revolving, to whom every island of sem- 
 blance had fled away, and the mountains of convention- 
 alism were ' no more found,' ... an unearthly beauty 
 (like that of a morning in another planet) from its ghastly 
 grandeur." — Dr. Gilfillan.
 
 Ill 
 
 UNIVERSITY LIFE AND EDINBURGH CELEBRITIES 
 
 The University of Edinburgh had then, and more particu- 
 larly in its medical schools, attained an honourable dis- 
 tinction which has since rather increased than diminished ; 
 and the four years of its art classes and art professors 
 were not far behind in the race. Pillans, on whom Byron, 
 in his " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," had con- 
 ferred an unenviable name and notoriety, occupied the 
 chair of Latin (or, as it was ambitiously called, of " Human- 
 ity"). Dunbar, of Greek Lexicon and participle fame, was 
 not a very luminous expounder of Xenophon and Homer. 
 Sir William Hamilton, heavy and aw T kward in gait and 
 look, ruled as a metaphysical demi-god in the sphere of 
 Logic. He was deep and profound, to the embarrassment 
 of most of his students ; worshipped by the few who had 
 brains to comprehend the hardest worker in Edinburgh, 
 Avho literally, in the prosecution of his literary labours, 
 turned night into day. The keenness and continued use 
 of the sword wrought inevitable havoc on the sheath. 
 James Forbes, subsequently Principal of St. Andrew's, 
 graced with his rare culture and courtesy the chair of 
 Natural Philosophy. My elder brother was a distinguished 
 student and favourite with this (in years) most juvenile 
 of professors, yet erudite mathematician and accomplished 
 scientist. We both (brothers) listened in the crowded 
 Saturday class-room to those memorable and ingenious lec- 
 tures on his orginal "glacier-theory" (the viscous one) — 
 however that theory may have been questioned since — ■ 
 
 24
 
 UNIVERSITY LIFE AND EDINBURGH CELEBRITIES 25 
 
 also to a detailed narrativ r e of his virgin ascent of the 
 Jungfrau ; both of which afterwards appeared in more per- 
 manent form, and will always be recognised among the 
 classics alike of scientific and mountaineering literature. 
 None of us will readily forget those social gatherings in his 
 quaint old house, " The Dean," when the professor, with 
 singular native grace, did his utmost, and with success, 
 to make a winter evening alike pleasant and instructive. 
 His further personal interest and kindness may have their 
 record in a future page. John Wilson (Christopher North) 
 was the brilliant figure-head of this vessel, freighted with 
 ingenuous youth, dominating, in popularity at least, all his 
 compeers. As an expounder of moral philosophy he was 
 a failure. As Dr. Chalmers epigrammatically described 
 him in his own broad dialect, " He is more of a poyet 
 (poet) than a philosopher." Yet for all this, he was a very 
 grand type of the genus homo, with his powerful face, 
 bright complexion, kindling eye, and Jove-like mien. The 
 class delighted in his enthusiasm, and were very tolerant 
 of the scraps and jottings which guided him in many a 
 rambling, though at times eloquent, extempore prelec- 
 tion. 1 
 
 Who can forget the tattered toga virilis — indeed, the 
 neglige and abandon of the entire dress, in singular keep- 
 ing with the rush and deshabille of hap- hazard talk? But 
 there was no mistaking it — he had won and fascinated all 
 youthful hearts ; and at the occasional great academic 
 meetings oi students and assembled senatus, he was ever 
 
 1 He was himself very sensitive on these alleged shortcomings, but he 
 could pay back his objectors with interest and invective. I remember 
 that session a student had sent him a letter, expressing the private 
 opinion that his lectures were very unsatisfactory ! The professor pre- 
 faced the lecture of the day thus : — " A gentleman here present has 
 written me to say that my lectures are not up to his expectations — or 
 rather that they are failures. I shall feel obliged to that gentleman if he 
 will come, at the close of the hour, to my private room, and enlighten me 
 on the subject of moral philosophy."
 
 26 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 accorded, amid distinguished co-professors, an ovation all 
 his own. If a bit of pardonable pride and vanity be con- 
 doned, the writer of these lines remembers Wilson's com- 
 mendation of a juvenile effort of his on "the Scottish 
 Martyrs." The verses were in themselves poor and limp- 
 ing enough, with every sign of immaturity. But the 
 professor read several stanzas aloud, and his musical, sil- 
 very voice and personnel put rhythm and expression where 
 these were innocently wanting. Wilson was the accredited 
 patron of art as well as of letters, and gave great stimulus 
 to it in the " Modern Athens,"' of which, for the time being, 
 he was the Pericles. No memory of his familiar face and 
 form is more vivid than when he was hurrying Avith 
 nervous, martial step from the class down "the Mound," 
 to get a whiff of genuine refreshment from the walls of the 
 Scottish Academy. He was quick to discern and appre- 
 ciate true merit. These were the years when in Scotland 
 distinguished excellence in art was not wanting. It was 
 before the rage for southern centralization had reached 
 her, and tempted her best limners away to the Royal 
 Academy of London, and to be within range of the bloated 
 purses of millionaires. Wilson might be seen in those 
 days absorbed over the canvases of such men as Thomas 
 Duncan, George Harvey, Noel Paton, Douglas, and what I 
 remember him well calling, "the rising genius of Horatio 
 MacCulloch." The hour or half-hour, as it might be, com- 
 pleted, the final goal for the day was the inner shrine of 
 Maga, in George Street. 
 
 The list of the Art Professors would be incomplete if 
 I did not include George Moir, presiding over Rhetoric 
 and Belles Lettres. Not " Delta," but a fellow-contributor 
 to Maga, and quarterlies of equal distinction. He combined 
 with the Professorship a rapid rise at the Scottish bar ; and 
 had he lived, a place on the bench would have been assured. 
 Of all the classes during these four earlier years, this was
 
 UNIVERSITY LIFE AND EDINBURGH CELEBRITIES 27 
 
 the one most relished and enjoyed. There was under a 
 quiet, almost modest demeanour, an unmistakable power. 
 He gave a rare insight into the literature of this and other 
 countries. Thus, master of his theme, he occupied the 
 appropriate niche in the Academic Temple. Then, what is 
 always an encouraging and important factor in youthful 
 aspiration, he was eminently reliable, even to fastidiousness, 
 in the reading and criticism of his students' essays. No 
 student required to subject him to the compromising test 
 applied, it was said, with criminating results to other Pro- 
 fessors not to be named, when leaves slightly gummed 
 together were returned in the same affectionate terms of 
 intimacy. I am not ashamed to avow that I worked in this 
 class with a will, and that will was an unfeigned pleasure. 
 I was gratified, moreover, with a substantial prize recogni- 
 tion. One valued occupant of my library is the Turner 
 Edition of Milton's Works, in six volumes, handsomely 
 bound. Some years afterwards, I trembled one Sunday in 
 my own pulpit at St. Madoes, when I found the good, yet 
 formidable man seated in the minister's pew. 
 
 Edinburgh was, during that decade, a literary, legal, 
 theological focus, and maintained the celebrity of many 
 previous years. Scott indeed, the Colossus of all, had lately 
 passed away; but a brilliant coterie still survived. It 
 would take too long to give in extenso the roll of honour- 
 able and distinguished names. President Hope was at the 
 head of the College of Justice — a grenadier in height and 
 in spirit ; for my most vivid recollection of him is, not 
 seated on the senator's chair, but at the military reviews 
 in Bruntsfield Links. He was every inch a soldier by 
 nature, though not by profession ; at least beyond service 
 in the local cohort of Volunteers. I think I see him— the 
 " sacra fames " continued in old age — his tall, gaunt, mus- 
 cular figure, portentous spectacles, broad-brimmed hat, and 
 the distinctive appendage of a staff, which far exceeded the
 
 28 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 dimensions of a walking-stick, resembling, save for its 
 gold-headed top, a pastoral crook. 1 
 
 Then (adhering to the legal potentates of the day) there 
 was Lord Moncrieff, of colossal form and mind, the staunch 
 Presbyterian, and Elder of the National Church, who sat 
 regularly as member in her annual Assembly till the fierce 
 conflicts of subsequent years, which involved the legislative 
 decisions of the civil court, necessitated his withdrawal 
 from the lower, or, as some would prefer calling it, the 
 spiritual arena. There was Francis Jeffrey, of Edinburgh 
 Review celebrity, who to so many wielded, under that blue 
 cover, the sword of an avenging angel. Who can forget 
 him? As a mere youth I was impressed with his quick 
 movements and eagle eye, as after the labours of the Par- 
 liament House, I often met him on the way to lovely and 
 picturesque Craigcrook, his home in a hollow of the Cor- 
 storphine Hills ; near the city, yet in an enviable seclusion 
 of trees and meadows. How many men and women of 
 literary fame passed that gateway ! How many authors 
 and authoresses had awaited with bated breath, from the 
 shrine within, the utterances of that Delphic oracle ! To 
 add yet one more picturesque and unique figure. There 
 was Lord Cockburn, hurrying — specially on Saturday — 
 with impetuous haste to reach his home on the slope of the 
 
 1 Other notabilities of the "Parliament House" had, like him, their 
 distinct hobbies and crotchets, and would gratify them, however doubt- 
 ful the taste, at any expense. One, well known, not endowed with the 
 martial tastes of the Lord President, or, at all events, holding in a base 
 sense the decorum est pro patria morz, had the most singular of am- 
 bitions — to witness executions. 
 
 "What! are you going off to-day?" said a friend, knowing the sin- 
 gularity of his likings, and seeing him ensconced inside the old Glasgow 
 stage-coach of tardy locomotion. " I am surprised at your leaving 
 Edinburgh." 
 
 "Why so?" was the rejoinder. 
 
 "Why ! Because you are surely aware there is to be an execution 
 to-morrow morning?" 
 
 " Yes. But there are to be two in Glasgow."
 
 UNIVERSITY LIFE AND EDINBURGH CELEBRITIES 29 
 
 Pentlands, and where the gravity of the judge was ex- 
 changed for the wild vivacity and hilarity of the 
 schoolboy. I remember, immediately after reading his 
 charming " Memoirs," making a special pilgrimage to this 
 ideal home, where I was able to realize, now his rambles 
 over the adjoining green hill, now his " Tityre tit pat id a" 
 etc., etc. He, too, was a typical Scotchman, whose idiosyn- 
 crasies will save him from oblivion. His love of country 
 was as great as Sir Walter's, though unsung. It is hardly 
 worth recording, but, as a boy, I had a strange, weird 
 pleasure in going often to the Parliament House — speci- 
 ally when the whole judges were in session. The semi- 
 circle of wig and ermine — embodiments of the " majesty 
 of justice " — somehow singularly impressed and fascinated 
 me, and the vision to this day lingers. Conspicuous is 
 the venerable Lord President, with his goggle spectacles; 
 Cockburn, with his dome-like head; and Jeffrey, with 
 the aforesaid eagle eye. To visit the adjoining great 
 Parliament " Hall " — the rendezvous of distinguished 
 counsel and the promenade of young briefless barristers 
 — was always irresistible. The wits of the Parliament 
 House were unrivalled in those days. Facile priuceps 
 was " Peter," afterwards Lord Robertson. There was 
 always a group gathered round to drink in his fun and 
 frolic. The best of his bon mots and witticisms are too 
 well known and remembered to be repeated, though they 
 all sound poor and tame without the set-off of the man 
 himself, the flexible contortions of his face, and the living 
 tones of his voice. One small specimen I can give, from 
 being present in my student days at a private gathering 
 where he was. It was at the time of the General Assembly, 
 several years before the disruption storm had burst. A 
 well-known citizen had kindly invited me to this huge 
 supper-party of ladies and gentlemen, in which was in- 
 cluded many of the members of the Ecclesiastical Court.
 
 30 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 It happened to be the evening in which an exciting case 
 had occupied the " Fathers and Brethren " all day. It was 
 a disputed settlement in a parish, the want, in Scottish 
 phrase, of a unanimous "call" of the presentee to the 
 parish of Dron, in Perthshire. The name and case were 
 in the thoughts of the majority of those present. Robertson 
 was noted as a singer of amusing extemporised rhapsodies. 
 I believe his melody was singularly deficient. On this oc- 
 casion his host asked him for a song. The request was 
 rapturously, indeed unanimously, applauded. The song did 
 not come; but he received the request with the following 
 response, and then sat down: "Ladies and gentlemen, I 
 am really astonished, after the proceedings of the General 
 Assembly to-day, that there should be such a harmonious 
 'call to Drone!" 
 
 How often it is that a constellation of genius appears 
 simultaneously in the literary firmament ! It was notably 
 so at present. Theology had its brilliant galaxy as well as 
 Jurisprudence. Personally — and specially with my future 
 profession in view — I counted it a rare privilege that 
 potentates were conspicuous also, alike in pulpit and 
 Church court. The Sunday teaching was, week by week, 
 looked forward to with delight. The ministry I most 
 regularly enjoyed was that in the High Church of Edin- 
 burgh, now St. Giles' Cathedral, then a gloomy enough 
 structure, with the one deaf precentor doing the duty of 
 modern choir and organ, and who as frequently misled as 
 led the congregation in music of Psalm and " paraphrase." 
 But the pulpit redeemed the shortcomings of what an old 
 beadle of an adjoining church profanely termed the " pre- 
 leeminaries." Dr. Gordon and Dr. James Buchanan were 
 colleagues. The former's appearance, voice, and manner 
 were in themselves a sermon — solemn, dignified, impressive 
 — only marred and mangled by what would be now an 
 obsolete fashion on either side of the Tweed — the copious
 
 UNIVERSITY LIFE AND EDINBURGH CELEBRITIES 31 
 
 use of the snuff-box at the close of the often stirring 
 peroration. 1 
 
 Buchanan was equally impressive, more thoughtful and 
 scholarly ; quiet and unimpassioned ; exhausting every 
 subject he treated (so far as half an hour would admit) as 
 I have never heard before or since. Dr. Candlish wielded 
 his subtle analytic power in the fashionable congregation 
 of St. George's. Interesting in the pulpit, he was, above 
 all, unrivalled in debate. Without vouching for the 
 soundness or unsoundness of his views, I feel assured that 
 no deliberative assembly, from the House of Commons up- 
 wards or downwards, ever listened to such a whirlwind of 
 declamatory power. And it was not the mere fervour of 
 passion or platitude. Every "count" was reasoned out 
 with consummate ability, and he never once halted or 
 faltered in the delivery of his prolonged and complicated 
 sentences. He was, in one sense, " in presence weak and in 
 speech contemptible." An abnormal head on abnormal 
 shoulders was still further compromised by a squeaking 
 voice and an unpleasant burr. But, despite of Socratic 
 unattractiveness, he was a man born to plead and born to 
 rule. He could hold, without stint of time or patience, his 
 audience spell-bound. He was the cleverest and most 
 brilliant by far of the " disruption " celebrities. 
 
 Dr. Muir, of St. Stephen's, was another devoted minister 
 of high-toned character, and to me a most kind friend. 
 Dean Boyle in his "Recollections" thus speaks of him: 
 " The whole atmosphere of the household was calm and 
 
 1 Gordon's predecessor was the venerable and patriarchal Principal 
 Baird. He was more distinguished for geniality and philanthropy than 
 for pulpit gifts and graces. None knew this better than himself, and he 
 did not grudge the greater popularity and acceptance of his junior 
 colleague. The story is told of the good man, that a stranger one Sun- 
 day accosted him at his own church door with the question, " Who is the 
 principal preacher here?" To which he replied, "If you come in the 
 forenoon, you will hear the Principal preach ; if you come in the after- 
 noon, you will hear the principal preacher."
 
 32 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 peaceful. He was a man of great dignity of manner, and 
 his simple reverence in conducting family prayer made a 
 deep impression. There was a gentle manliness, if I may 
 so call it, about him. He managed his great parish and 
 congregation for years with wonderful fidelity and suc- 
 cess" (p. 30). The Dean vividly recalls one breakfast he 
 had at Dr. Muir's. I have the happy memory of many 
 breakfasts, luncheons, and dinners in the house of this true 
 "father in God." 
 
 Dr. Guthrie had the most crowded of pews and passages 
 in Old Grey Friars. What a mesmeric influence, to be 
 sure, that true though rugged genius exercised, alike among 
 the learned and unlearned, who enjoyed the privilege of his 
 oratory and pathos ! I stole every now and then from the 
 accustomed fold to have my emotions roused — I may add, 
 my memory stored, and, I trust, heart and life made better 
 — with these astounding revelations of pulpit dynamics. 
 He was not learned. Indeed, of learning and culture, in 
 the true sense of the word, he was singularly destitute. He 
 had little more than a smattering of science, as little as, 
 I know from experience, he had of French and German, 
 to say nothing of Latin and Greek. But he was by birth 
 a Demosthenes. In figure he was gaunt and unwieldy ; 
 raven locks most unkempt ; a hat ever innocent of the 
 brush, not to descend to lower latitudes ; dialect the 
 broadest Doric of his native unlovely Forfarshire. Yet 
 a face looked out from all these detracting accessories in 
 which intellectual force, keenest sympathy, and genial 
 humour alternately played. He lived some centuries too 
 late ; for he was the ideal Covenanter all over, and, indeed, 
 boasted of martyr blood in his veins. My first introduction, 
 as a student, to his private house was at once disarmed of 
 everything formidable when, asking me to take a chair at 
 che fireside of his study, he assumed the tranquillizing atti- 
 tude of a long, lank leg and foot on each side of the
 
 UNIVERSITY LIFE AND EDINBURGH CELEBRITIES 33 
 
 chimney-piece. So commenced an acquaintanceship which, 
 despite other untoward sequences, was always genial. A 
 note which I had preserved as a testimony of his friendli- 
 ness and regard will be included in a future chapter. 
 
 It was in the great annual gatherings in the " Music 
 Hall " that the champion of Ragged Schools, which he 
 was well known to be, was seen and heard at his best. 
 The music of that voice, in its transition from grave to gaj^, 
 still lingers. In him there never seemed any incongruity 
 in the seria mixta jocis. He managed with singular skill 
 and adroitness the many-stringed instrument (I speak of 
 the audience) on which he played. I recall one great 
 meeting at the time when, during the sitting of Assem- 
 bly, all Edinburgh was in fever-heat over the impend- 
 ing Church crisis. The Earl of Dalhousie — the future 
 great Marquis and Proconsul of India — had, as a represen- 
 tative elder, just made on the floor of the house (I was 
 there and heard it) an eloquent and vehement protest 
 against what he deemed the suicidal vote of the previous 
 day. He wound up his stirring words by declaring that the 
 majority, by their antagonism to the carrying out of the 
 declared law of the land, had " rung the knell of the Church 
 of Scotland." Guthrie's whole soul was roused by this 
 prophet and prophecy of evil. He treated with scorn the 
 insinuation that his country's Church should fall. He 
 wound up a long and characteristic speech in the wonted 
 flexibility of voice — now melting into pathos, now rising 
 into vehement climax — with the words, as nearly as I can 
 remember them (for I was an auditor there also): "We 
 have been told that ' the knell of the Church of Scotland 
 has been rung.' Ring the knell of the Church of Scotland ! 
 The flax has not been sown ;, the rope has not been spun ; 
 the ore has not been dug ; the bell has not been cast that 
 will ring the knell of " The conclusion of the sen- 
 tence was drowned in an applauding hurricane. His 
 
 3
 
 34 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 pathos in the pulpit was infectious — deeply moving and 
 melting. "Where are you bound for?" said a friend to 
 the late Lord Cockburn, as he was seen hastening up " the 
 Mound " one Sunday forenoon. " I am gaun," was the 
 reply, " to hae a greet wi' Guthrie." The Doctor, in 
 addition to his famous " Plea for Ragged Schools," pub- 
 lished, now and then, a volume of those rare discourses 
 which had entranced so many with their luscious, perhaps 
 some would say too luscious, and grandiloquent illustra- 
 tions. They had an enormous sale, from which he pro- 
 fited largely. His earliest was a series of sermons from 
 the Book of Ezekiel. He was fond of travel, and, with his 
 limited stipend and family responsibilities, it was matter of 
 wonder how he was able to cope with the expense of these 
 Continental outings. " How, Doctor, do you manage to 
 go?" Answer, " On the wings of Ezekiel." From what 
 I have already said, it will be believed that the power of 
 the man's personality was greater far than that of his 
 pen. 1 
 
 Of the many Scottish orators I have heard, taking him 
 all in all, Guthrie, along with Dr. Duff, the Indian 
 missionary, with a very different rush and avalanche of 
 stirring appeal, were the greatest. 
 
 No ! I must reserve, for the last, one conspicuously 
 
 1 I may here put in a note a recollection, which has just flashed across 
 me, as to the ever-ready adaptation of his drollery to circumstances. At 
 a meeting (I really forget when or where) he was making an appeal on a 
 purely Scottish object to the world-wide patriotism of his fellow-country- 
 men, and thus he began : ' I was going along a street in the west end of 
 Edinburgh some time ago, when a lad with a creel in his arm lifted out 
 of it a handful of shrimps ; and knowing me and my north -country 
 likings, supported his anxiety for me to become a purchaser with the 
 recommendation, ' Fine Scotch shrimps, sir ! fine Scotch shrimps ! ' 
 
 " ' Scotch shrimps ! you young rascal ; there is no such thing here.' 
 
 " ' They are Scotch shrimps,' was the persistent rejoinder. ' See how 
 they all stick to one another.' " 
 
 The success of this prologue, and delivered as he alone could do it, 
 was immediate. 
 
 See " In Memoriam," lines on Dr. Guthrie, chap, xviii.
 
 UNIVERSITY LIFE AND EDINBURGH CELEBRITIES 35 
 
 greater. That one, I need hardly say, was Dr. Chalmers, 
 my revered and beloved Professor of Divinity for three 
 subsequent years. It would be difficult to define and 
 measure by any ordinary test or analysis the secret of the 
 influence of this wonderful man, with his stolid counte- 
 nance, his dreamy, lack-lustre eye ; his heavy, clumsy gait, 
 helped by a familiar pilgrim-staff. Let the reader, how- 
 ever, imagine what must have been the mesmeric power of 
 this Scottish Boanerges, when on one occasion a whole 
 congregation, under the irresistible spell, in the midst of a 
 sermon in Glasgow, sprung to their feet, and owned thus 
 the triumph of one marvellous human soul and voice ! I 
 have often heard him in Presbytery and General Assembly 
 as another " nascitur non fit " of men. He had a singular 
 deficiency in the art of extempore utterance. He was much 
 dependent on those notes — shorthand hieroglyphics — of 
 which he was the alone interpreter. But voice, manner, 
 earnestness, enthusiasm, even pilgrim-staff, and spectacles, 
 and broad dialect, and the eye, abjuring for the time its 
 dreaminess, all came to his aid. He had many compeers, 
 but to him, without a dissentient voice, was conceded the 
 chief niche in the Scottish Temple of clerical fame. He 
 used to speak with humorous contempt of " pulpiteers " ; 
 but in the best sense of the ambiguous word he dominated 
 them all. 1 Perhaps the most memorable of his pulpit 
 appearances I can recall, was at the Sunday opening of the 
 new, and then suburban, "Dean Church" in Edinburgh. 
 The day was a red letter one in the scientific world. For 
 on that same afternoon was to take place a total eclipse of 
 
 1 Amid a host of testimonies to his supremacy as a preacher, take an 
 extract from a letter to himself from one of the greatest of pulpit orators 
 — Robert Hall : " The attention which your sermons have excited is 
 probably unequalled in modern literature : and it must be a delightful 
 reflection that you are advancing the cause of religion in innumerable 
 multitudes of your fellow-creatures, whose faces you will never behold till 
 the last day."
 
 36 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 the sun. The text had little connection with this solar 
 marvel. It was rather on the theme which above all 
 others, whether in the heavens or the earth, was dearest to 
 the heart of Chalmers. " And the common people heard 
 him gladly." Near the pulpit sat, as an admiring listener, 
 Professor James Forbes. He was drawn, doubtless, among 
 the crowd, partly from his reverence for the Father of his 
 Senatns ) partly also from some expectation of reference to 
 the impending natural phenomenon. For he well knew, 
 as we all did, that Chalmers in his earlier days, and 
 specially in his Fife Manse, had been an enthusiastic 
 amateur in astronomy, an enthusiasm which had after- 
 wards an escape-valve in his famous " Glasgow Astro- 
 nomical Sermons," of all his numerous published works the 
 likeliest to live. Nor was the Dean audience, on the 
 occasion referred to, disappointed. The inevitable " col- 
 lection," at the close of the service, had first to be made, 
 and for this purpose the crowded, wedged-in passages had 
 to be cleared. The Christian Philosopher and Scientist, 
 however, was not to be baffled or cheated of his contem- 
 plated secular addenda. In his blunt, improvised way, he 
 called out to the retiring crowd who were clearing a way 
 for " the ladles " :— 
 
 " My friends, I want you all to come back again, as I 
 have something to speak about before the congregation is 
 dispersed." 
 
 Back, at his bidding, came the refluent wave. Enough 
 to say, we were all of us the better prepared, a couple of 
 hours after, for the use of our pieces of smoked glass, and 
 for a more intelligent contemplation of the marvel. He 
 dwelt specially and admiringly, if I remember rightly, on 
 the triumph of the astronomer in registering and predict- 
 ing, with such unfailing accuracy, the minute, the second, 
 for the commencement and close of the celestial occurrence. 
 I may, a few pages further on, be tempted to revert to
 
 UNIVERSITY LIFE AND EDINBURGH CELEBRITIES 37 
 
 Chalmers' magnetic influence as a Professor. Suffice it to 
 observe that this supremely human, unconventional man 
 derived much of his power from his own faith in the trans- 
 forming inlluences of the Gospel of Jesus Christ to solve 
 the great social and economic problems of the age. In 
 width of view he was a cosmopolitan. As Norman Macleod 
 said of him, "he belongs to Christendom," or with a still 
 finer touch, at the time of his death, while others were 
 indulging in vapid platitudes regarding the great man 
 just departed, the same kindred genius in a single quaint 
 thought spoke of his unresting spirit going up straight to 
 the Throne of Heaven and asking: "Any more worlds to 
 evangelise ? " 
 
 While on the theme of Edinburgh Ecclesiastics, I may 
 note in a sentence, that what in after years developed into 
 the " Broad Church," "rationalistic theology," "advanced 
 school," or whatever it may be called, was in these days 
 completely unknown. The Scottish perfervidum took other 
 directions. Colenso's books and confounding theories ; 
 Renan's dangerous though fascinating idylls were un- 
 born. Darwin and evolution were also a future revela- 
 tion. Some small volumes, among which " Vestiges of 
 Creation" was the main aggressor, stirred a ripple on the 
 waters, only to resume the conservative calm in press and 
 pulpit. Old Scottish traditions — creed and ritual — were 
 lovingly cherished. The Church "standards" were as 
 passionately clung to by all Presbyterian sections as the 
 Anglican clings to his Prayer-Book. In the eyes of many, 
 their authority — -their "inspiration" — was on a par with 
 the Bible. Indeed, more than one D.D. of reverence and 
 repute might be credited with the alleged saying, that the 
 original draft of the "Confession of Faith," and "The 
 Larger and Shorter Catechisms " were the special parch- 
 ments which St. Paul wished Timothy to bring with him 
 from Troas !
 
 38 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 These were the times when, like other youth, I was 
 deep in the fascination of Sir Walter Scott's novels ; and 
 " Guy Mannering," with its dramatis persona, exercised a 
 special bewitchment. Imagine my innocent delight when 
 a kind military man, a major in Her Majesty's service and 
 a laird of Tweedside, invited me to dinner to meet Dominie 
 Sampson] It was only too delightful. But there, to be sure, 
 he was, — " Geordie Thomson," and no mistake, wooden 
 leg and all, thudding in somewhat restless fashion along 
 the drawing-room floor preliminary to the " anticipated 
 feast"; the same wooden appendage, I could not help re- 
 calling, which had beat time in the ball-room at Abbotsford 
 on the occasion of the heir's marriage festivities. I could 
 well understand how the Wizard of the North was drawn 
 to so unique a personation, giving him a memory all the 
 world over ; and to one word in the English vocabulary 
 ("prodigious"!) a specially enduring fame. It is well 
 known that Thomson was, owing, I daresay, much to this 
 bodily misfortune, one of the unsuccessful aspirants to the 
 Scottish pulpit, although this did not prevent him, at all 
 events in his earlier days, from officiating from time to 
 time as a preacher. On one occasion (I haA^e the story 
 from one of my oldest and most reliable friends) the wooden 
 leg, or stick, proved a difficulty, — in the literal sense of the 
 word an impediment. He found himself, one Sunday, about 
 to ascend a very high pulpit by a very straight, narrow 
 stair. As any one knows, such a wooden protuberance, 
 and specially in the case of one of Thomson's stalwart 
 dimensions, in order to be workable required to describe a 
 semicircle, or ellipse. This was incompatible with the 
 width and railing of the stair in question. The Dominie 
 soon, and in the only way practicable, solved the difficulty 
 coram the congregation. He sat down on the lower step, 
 unscrewed the wooden substitute, got up the ascent as best 
 he could manage, carrying the wooden difficulty with him ;
 
 UNIVERSITY LIFE AND EDINBURGH CELEBRITIES 39 
 
 then, rescrewing it in the pulpit, and conscious of a 
 material and moral triumph over difficulties, he proceeded 
 with the service. 1 
 
 I have sought, in rather rambling fashion, to record a 
 few of my own reminiscences of Edinburgh society in my 
 youthful days, and especially of its literati (I do not in- 
 clude the Dominie !). It would surely be unchivalrous to 
 omit the mention of any gifted female stars among these 
 male " first magnitudes." The firmament is now crowded 
 with quite a bright and distinguished galaxy of authoresses. 
 It was different in these earlier decades. I can, indeed, 
 recall no one save the familiar face and figure of Miss 
 Catherine Sinclair, whose novels created a little stir all 
 their own in the West End circles. She was one of the 
 seven daughters of as sturdy a patriot as Scotland ever 
 had — Sir John Sinclair, of Ulbster. This " sept " of ladies 
 were abnormally tall — said to be seven feet each. So that 
 the Baronet Father used to boast of forty-nine feet of 
 daughters, while the pavement in front of his house in 
 George Street rejoiced in the name of " The Giant's Cause- 
 way." But they were all as good as they were "great." 
 
 I was gratified, and have not to this day forgotten, the 
 kindness of an Edinburgh physician inviting me in my 
 student days to meet — and that all alone — at dinner the 
 venerable poet James Montgomery, some of whose verses, 
 sacred and secular, will live with the English language. 
 His patriarchal appearance and rich flow of talk retain 
 strong hold on my recollection. I have often recalled how 
 his singularly Christian mind was led, somehow or other, 
 
 1 I cannot recall any such specific allusions on the occasion of meeting 
 him at aforesaid dinner. But here are Sir Walter's own words in one of 
 his " familiar letters " : " George Thomson said grace yesterday, and 
 gave us it like a tether, not forgetting something about the dominion 
 which was given us over the fowls of the air and beasts of the field, which 
 was a kind of apology for the business of the day " (the Abbotsford hunt). 
 — " Scott's Familiar Letters," vol. ii. p. 220.
 
 4Q DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 in course of varied conversation, to dwell on that sublime 
 passage in the seventh chapter of Revelation . the multi- 
 tude "clothed in white robes, and palms in their hands." 
 He invested the whole vision of the "Eagle Evangelist" 
 with a graphic beauty and power, which the touch of 
 devout genius alone could give. 
 
 About the same time I was privileged to hear speak, as 
 chairman, Thomas Campbell, of the " Pleasures of Hope." 
 They were both distinguished men and poets. But there is 
 no doubt who laid most hold upon me ; though I knew the 
 latter's best lyrics and battle-songs, also " Gertrude of 
 Wyoming," almost by heart. 
 
 I may just here append — though the transition is an 
 abrupt one — that the devotional book most serviceable to 
 me at this time, and for which partiality was long main- 
 tained, was " Doddridge's Rise and Progress " : a quicken- 
 ing treatise, not so well known and appreciated now as it 
 ought to be. 
 
 J
 
 IV 
 
 A CATASTROPHE 
 
 Among the roll-call of " the good," which this volume pro- 
 fesses to be, a very tender name and history must here find 
 a place. 
 
 It was at the end of the four years' study at the art 
 classes of the University, that the first great crisis of our 
 family life occurred. A calamity too painful save on the 
 rarest occasions to be recalled, involved with many sad 
 accompaniments, the loss of a beloved sister at the age of 
 twelve years. The event at the time created a great sen- 
 sation : though like many similar appalling incidents, it has 
 long ago passed into the land of forgetfulness. The circum- 
 stances, to me and mine ever fresh and tragical, were these. 
 In returning as was our wont, from our summer and autumn 
 home in Perthshire, we were in the habit of taking so many 
 seats, outside and in the public coach which reached Edin- 
 burgh by the Firth of Forth at Queensferry, now spanned 
 by the great engineering triumph of the century. The 
 steamer had safely crossed ; and the empty conveyance 
 with the four horses was waiting at the south pier for the 
 passengers. My father and some of my brothers were 
 standing by, while my mother along with an old and faith- 
 ful nurse and the dear child had taken their places inside 
 the coach. No strapper unfortunately (culpably) was at 
 the horses' heads. Some sheep which came bounding out 
 of the steamer startled the team. Before any help could 
 be rendered, they took fright, and plunged over the pier 
 into the sea, dragging the coach with them. Both nurse 
 
 41
 
 42 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 and daughter were drowned — the dear mother making a 
 miraculous escape : indeed in that frightful imprisonment, 
 only getting breath, as she stood up by the opened window, 
 in the undulation of the waves. Our broken-hearted father, 
 who saw the pride of his life perishing before his eyes 
 without the possibility of rescue, I believe never recovered 
 the stroke ; he died three years after. An indelible memory 
 of my own was going next night after the calamity to see 
 the driver of the coach. I had heard he was in an agon}^ 
 of distress. It was quite the case. I found with difficulty 
 his poor lodging. He was in bed, literally tossing in 
 anguish. 
 
 It would not be right to dismiss this terrible episode with- 
 out reference to a most gracious Providence ; let me call it 
 rather by its right name, a singular work of grace, in re- 
 lation to the sister whom I have well called " Beloved." 
 Say what scoffing and sceptic lips may, our Heavenly Father 
 has often His own means and seasons of preparation for the 
 supreme hour. It was so in the present case. In several 
 of my future published volumes the somewhat singular 
 expression occurs (it had its first use now), " He trans- 
 figured her before He glorified her." These specially re- 
 markable closing experiences of a life replete with love 
 and goodness are too sacred to be transcribed here. My 
 mother retained a full narrative of them to the last among 
 her most cherished treasures. 
 
 How in such times and incidents the very face and aspect 
 of outer nature fixes itself in the memory ! The evening of 
 the day preceding her departure was one of those which 
 Scotland, with her long " gloamin'," claims as her own. As 
 the sun was sinking, the azure of the sky w r as unbroken by 
 a cloud. To one who in eye and heart had a keen sense of 
 the beautiful, golden patches of light relieved the sombre 
 outline of the distant Grampian range. The harvest fields, 
 then waving with plenty, had in the forenoon presented a
 
 A CATASTROPHE 43 
 
 scene of animation ; but the labourers had now gone home, 
 and left silence behind them. There was a parable in that 
 sunset which the morrow was too sadly to interpret. 
 
 " There was a soul on eve autumnal sailing, 
 
 Beyond the earth's dark bars, 
 Toward the land of sunset never paling, 
 
 Towards heaven's sea of stars : 
 Behind there was a wake of billows tossing; 
 
 Before, a glory lay ; 
 O happy soul ! with all sail set, just crossing 
 
 Into the far away. 
 The glooms and gleams, the calmness and the strife 
 Were death behind thee and before thee LIFE ! " 
 
 The morning was busied with arrangements for her 
 journey. I never saw her more. Impressive and solemnizing 
 was it that in opening the little bag she clutched in her dead 
 hand, the only book discovered in it was one entitled, " Pre- 
 paration for Death," which she had procured three days 
 before at the Perthshire Tract Society. 
 
 Here are the few words which closed the sermon of her 
 esteemed Edinburgh clergyman (Tolbooth), who knew her 
 w T ell and prized her worth. It was his own first appearance 
 in his pulpit after a protracted illness. 
 
 " Since I last addressed you death has been busy, and not 
 a few endeared to us by cherished ties have left vacant 
 places in these pews. Some of the aged, some of the 
 vigorous and strong have been cut down; and even the 
 lambs of Christ's flock have not escaped. There are two 
 who stand united and associated by contrast and similarity 
 who have been taken away. The one an aged parent a 
 considerable time ago removed, more than three score and 
 ten years old ; living to God, and adorning the doctrine of 
 God her Saviour in all things. The other a child, scarce 
 mid-way between infancy and womanhood, arrested in the 
 bloom of health while on her way to an earthly home, and
 
 44 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 translated in the twinkling of an eye to her Father's house. 
 As it respects the one, she was cut off as a shock of corn in 
 its season ; the other, as respects the love and hope with all 
 the concomitant graces of God, died an hundred years old." 
 
 Her grave is in the family burying-ground, under an old 
 archway, in the historic Greyfriars churchyard of Edin- 
 burgh. 
 
 Can it be wondered at, that ever since that sad date and 
 catastrophe, I have had an unconquerable dislike to the sea ? 
 Others I know glory and delight in it. Its melancholy 
 monotonous moanings revive always to me a dismal 
 memory. I can understand well the feeling of Mrs. Barrett 
 Browning after the mournful fate of her companion-brother 
 in the bay at Torquay. Writing to Miss Mitford, she says, 
 " The sea beating on the shore sounded to me as a dirge." 
 
 I have expanded, perhaps more than was needful, re- 
 ferences to a lovely life and early death, because these 
 exercised above everything else the most quickening in- 
 fluences on my own spirit and that of others. It was alto- 
 gether the momentous event — the crisis hour of young 
 existence. The " force " was abiding. 
 
 It may not be out of place here to append, that at this 
 time (a year or two before and a year or two afterwards) 
 I was much interested in Sunday School teaching : especially 
 in the large and flourishing school connected with St. 
 Stephen's Church. A great attraction was the brotherhood 
 of teachers there — some conspicuous alike for goodness, 
 worth and culture. 1 The neighbourhood was poor, but 
 not abjectly so. Indeed, those instructed contrasted plea- 
 santly with my previous experiences in the slums and 
 " closes " of the High Street, where similar assemblages 
 
 1 Among these was Mr. Samuel Halkett, the well-known linguist, 
 who afterwards, in order to enable him to carry on his studies, obtained 
 the position of librarian of the Advocates' Library.
 
 A CATASTROPHE 45 
 
 were tumultuous and unruly; often indeed in a state of 
 riotous mutiny. It is quite worth recording (in somewhat 
 sad accord with the previous pages), that in my class of 
 young boys in St. Stephen's (within a dozen altogether), 
 there was one of peculiarly thoughtful countenance and 
 inquiring intelligence, though he had not yet entered on 
 his teens. This fascinating youth became afterwards one 
 of the most brilliant and best-known scholars in Oxford — 
 George Luke. His father kept a small shop in a third-rate 
 street close by, affording however to give his son a sub- 
 stantial education ; and a bursary at one of the Universities 
 (I presume, Glasgow) afterwards lifted him to the posi- 
 tion he adorned, when a sudden and lamentable catastrophe 
 (drowned by an accident) put an end to a life and work of 
 highest value. Dean Stanley, in the Abbey, pronounced 
 one of his touching panegyrics on the death of his favourite 
 pupil. Another of his friends and fellow-students, Pro- 
 fessor Nichol, of Glasgow, thus speaks of him {Good Words, 
 1 89 1) : " Our great scholar was George Rankine Luke, at 
 once the purest and most commanding spirit among his 
 contemporaries, whose drowning in the Isis, in 1852, hurried 
 from Christ Church, Oxford, one who might have been 
 one of her most illustrious Deans."
 
 V 
 
 DIVINITY PROFESSORS. THE CONTINENT 
 
 The public sympathy, as already noted, in the bereavement 
 spoken of in the last chapter was deep and universal. But I 
 often like to recall particularly that of Dr. Chalmers, when, 
 little more than a month after, he enrolled my name among 
 the students of the Divinity Hall. I always deemed it 
 the reason of much tender consideration received ever after 
 at the hands of one who was as lovable and good as he 
 was intellectually great. Others would have been reticent 
 on so deep a sorrow. But it seemed to be a characteristic 
 of this Great-Heart — that he could never meet his young 
 student in private, without some direct or indirect reference 
 to the association connected with their first interview. 
 
 Without detracting by one iota from my devotion for 
 this grandest (ecclesiastical) personality of the age, it is, 
 nevertheless, my deliberate verdict that Dr. Chalmers was 
 greater in pulpit and church court than in the Divinity 
 chair. He was not erudite. He was far from conversant, 
 in a scholarly sense, with Greek exegesis and systematic 
 theology. Add to this, the literary stores and resources 
 that might have been made available for the course of 
 lectures, had already been somewhat unfortunately used up 
 —incorporated in his published volumes on " Natural Theo- 
 logy " and " The Evidences." He was becoming, moreover, 
 dangerously absorbed, to the injury of his work and re- 
 putation as a Professor, in Church politics. He was the 
 leader alike of " Highland " and " Lowland " hosts in " the 
 Ten Years' Conflict " , a prominence in the ranks of battle 
 
 46
 
 DIVINITY PROFESSORS. THE CONTINENT 47 
 
 thrust upon him, which he would willingly have delegated 
 to others. But these others knew his value — that his name 
 was a tower of strength to their cause. His one, his great 
 forte, as the leader of ingenuous youth, was his enthusi- 
 asm. He was the man of all others to kindle the torch. 
 One of Oxford's ripest scholars was asked why he always 
 went to hear the late Bishop Fraser, of Manchester, when 
 he came to preach in the University (Dr. Fraser having 
 no pretension to learning). The reply was, " We go to 
 hear Fraser, not for information but for inspiration. He is 
 an inspiring many This was eminently descriptive of 
 Chalmers. It was his contagious " enthusiasm for human- 
 ity " that invested him in the eyes of students, as well as 
 congregations, broad Scotland over, classes and masses 
 alike, with the admiring reverence assigned to one of the 
 old prophets of Israel. Let me recall the genial evenings 
 in the well-known house in Inverleith Row, with their 
 memories of converse and song; yes, even though the 
 worthy man's own equivocal verdict on music was, that 
 " he liked it as well as any other din." But the din he 
 bore with philosophic composure, for the sake of those who 
 had a different estimate. " I think, Doctor, it is time to have 
 prayers now," said a foolish fellow, in my hearing, who 
 ventured thus to regulate the proceedings of one of these 
 evenings. His host administered the most gentle of re- 
 taliations on this impertinent breach of good manners : 
 "We'll have the music first, Mr. Doubleday." He was 
 ever tolerant in his criticism on the wordy and inflated 
 sermons of his students which he was doomed to read. In 
 these, as may be supposed, redundant adjectives and 
 pedantic phrases often largely preponderated. Truth to 
 say, however, he was the last to exercise severity on these 
 sins ; for he was himself a conspicuous culprit. His 
 magnificent verbiage often expanded into the ridiculous. 
 It was the infirmity of a noble mind, the impossibility of
 
 48 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 saying simple things simply. A clerical friend, so I was told 
 once asked him to address a small week-day meeting com- 
 posed mainly of illiterate folk in a country parish in the 
 neighbourhood of my own. The former was fully alive to 
 the short-comings, or rather large-comings, of his distin- 
 guished visitor ; that in all likelihood, if he failed to give 
 him a previous caution, he would perplex the primitive 
 audience with big words, and soar to regions beyond their 
 comprehension. Nor had he been mistaken. For the open- 
 ing sentence, telling them in his own way the needful hint 
 of their pastor, was to the following effect : " My friends, 
 I have been asked, to-night, to avoid in my address to you 
 the technical nomenclature of scholastic theology." * 
 
 In speaking of the Divinity Hall, in connection with the 
 future work of the ministry, it may be well here to inter- 
 sperse a reference to the Students' Missionary Association, 
 which met every Saturday morning in Dr. Chalmers' room 
 in the University. This was by no means confined to 
 candidates for the Church, but was considerably attended 
 by students from the art classes. It was another of the 
 formative and stimulating " forces " of these eventful days. 
 I can recall many members who have left their mark either 
 in memory, or in public life, or in the mission field. There 
 was James Halley — the most distinguished scholar of his 
 day in Glasgow college, who was the fellow-student of the 
 great and good Archbishop, and proudly known as " the 
 man who beat Tait." There wasHewitson — the Edinburgh 
 
 1 There was something unique in his dialect of broad Doric, coupled 
 with the peculiar brogue of Fife. I may recall an incident. He knew 
 my weakness for art ; and one day summoned me into his private room 
 in college, entrusting me with getting subscriptions to secure, for the 
 theological library, a copy of David Robert's well-known volume of 
 coloured illustrations " Egypt and Palestine." (It was just out.) He 
 headed the list with his two guineas ; and was as enthusiastic on this 
 small as on much larger matters. He was greatly pleased with the 
 alacrity of the response on the part of other subscribers. " I have a 
 great veillie (value) for the work."
 
 DIVINITY PROFESSORS. THE CONTINENT 49 
 
 Medallist, whose almost angelic countenance and saintlv 
 speech none can forget who were familiar with them. 1 
 There was the cultured and warm-hearted. James Hamilton, 
 afterwards of Regent Square Church, in London. There 
 was Andrew Bonar, afterwards of Glasgow, an outstanding 
 Hebraist ; there was Edwards of Breslau ; Murray Mitchell, 
 Braidwood, and Fraser — all known names since, in the 
 India Mission Field ; Campbell, now in Australia ; Muir 
 of Dalmeny, and Playfair of Abercorn: a noble band of 
 brothers who had unfurled their banner with the motto, 
 "The field is the world." 
 
 The other two Divinity Professors were Dr. Brunton, a 
 gentlemanly and courteous Rabbi of the old school who 
 imparted to us a smattering of unpointed Hebrew; and 
 Dr. Welsh, who subsequently, as Moderator, led that long 
 file of conscientious martyrs from St. Andrews to Canonmills. 
 and constituted then and there the first General Assembly 
 of the Free Church of Scotland. The latter, the Professor 
 of Church History, was cultured ; his lectures learned and 
 edifying. From him I received the first impulse to many 
 pleasant subsequent travels — travels which, during all my 
 life, formed a supreme enjoyment, enabling me to make 
 the acquaintance of " all sorts and conditions " of countries 
 as well as "of men," — opening a new library to me, and 
 this to an extent with which few of my contemporaries 
 were favoured. 
 
 It was appropriate to a Professor of Church History to 
 suggest a pilgrimage to the Vvaldensian Valleys — the home 
 of the Vaudois and of the ancient Vaudois Church. An 
 interest had been, comparatively recently, excited in these 
 by the published volumes of Dr. Gilly, Vicar of Norham. 
 This interest was first created by his life of Felix Neff, the 
 
 1 Along subsequent tribute :— " Heard of Mr. Hewetsoirs death. How 
 blessed are they who walk with God ! I feel as if few of such 'were 
 now left. What a consciousness there was in him of the realised 
 presence of God !" — " Diary and Letters of Dr. A. Bonar? p. 147 (1893). 
 
 4
 
 50 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 self-sacrificing " apostle " among the villages and Alps of 
 Dauphine ; and a larger work on the church of the adjoin- 
 ing Italian valleys. A most congenial and life-long friend, 
 David Playfair, subsequently minister of the beautiful 
 parish of Abercorn, agreed to be my companion in a three 
 months' ramble. Our central point was to be these afore- 
 mentioned valleys, but radiating elsewhere at sweet will 
 in our abundant leisure — to use an expression of Dr. 
 Chalmers — " abandoning ourselves to miscellaneous im- 
 pulses." 
 
 Let me insert a pleasant outset reminiscence. I had 
 reached London alone on an early week of June, and had 
 gone one day, between five and six o'clock, to Hyde Park, 
 to see the " fashionables" in their afternoon drive. While 
 sauntering in the crowd, I heard behind me a familiar 
 voice. It was, to my surprise, that of Professor Forbes. 
 To this hour I remember how he accosted me : — 
 
 " So you are come to see the most astonishing sight in 
 Europe." " Yes," he continued, "I have been in most of 
 the great cities of the Continent. There is much of same- 
 ness in their remarkable objects — I mean buildings — their 
 churches, cathedrals, and monuments. But this before us 
 is absolutely unique. Elsewhere you can see nothing like 
 it, — the assemblage of wealth and aristocracy." 
 
 " But," he broke off, spying some symbols of travelling, 
 " where are you going? " 
 
 " With a friend to have a continental tour of three 
 months; and," I added, "our special object is to visit the 
 Waldensian Valleys. Do you happen to know them ? " 
 
 "Oh! yes," he said, "the Valleys of Savoy. I know 
 them well : very familiar ground to me. And how are 
 you to occupy yourselves before and after ? " 
 
 My reply was that, with this as our specific object, our 
 route was in other respects somewhat undefined. We were 
 to be guided by circumstances.
 
 DIVINITY PROFESSORS. THE CONTINENT 51 
 
 " Come and breakfast with me in my lodgings to-morrow ; 
 and if you will allow me, I shall make out a full route for 
 you, and give you some hints that may be serviceable." 
 
 To breakfast I accordingly went, and immediately there- 
 after, with exceeding kindness, he wrote out eight pages 
 of directions. These were kept sacredly in my pocket 
 throughout our journeyings ; every line and suggestion 
 were scrupulously followed from first to last without devia- 
 tion. I retain to this day as a valued relic the thumbed 
 and tattered " Itinerary," which served very essentially 
 to make our tour a complete one. He was still engrossed 
 with his " glacier theory"; and in giving circumstantials 
 about Chamounix he exacted, as his only payment, to take 
 note of some experiments in the Mer de Glace on the way 
 to the "Javelin" — a debt, I fear, we were able very poorly 
 to discharge. Was it to brace for the Continent that the 
 same good friend took me with him in the evening to the 
 House of Lords, where I was very fortunate in hearing 
 Lord Melbourne, Lord Lyndhurst, the Duke of Wellington, 
 Lord Duncannon, Normanby, Brougham, and the Bishops 
 of Winchester and Lichfield. 
 
 Our travelling arrangements were soon completed, and 
 passports secured. We had been supplied with a few im- 
 portant letters of introduction. Conspicuous among these 
 was one from Dr. Gilly to his Waldensian friends, itself a 
 passport, as we afterwards found, to every commune of the 
 Vaudois — also one from a University friend, Mr. Giraud 
 (medical student), a descendant of the Waldensian historian 
 Leger. I provided myself with a journal-book, which was 
 faithfully kept and copiously illustrated in my own rough, 
 inartistic way, with pen and ink drawings. The ponderous 
 volume — all the time a pocket companion— added not a little 
 to the fatigue of formidable pedestrian feats. But I had 
 no cause afterwards to lament being for the time thus 
 sorely handicapped. It enabled me often, in after years,
 
 52 DR. /. R. MACDUFF 
 
 to re-traverse in thought many a delightful day and 
 hour. 1 
 
 One other addendum pertinent to this chapter. A portion 
 of the Valleys was visited, thirty-three years after, in com- 
 pany with my wife, daughter, and niece, on our return 
 from Rome. My earlier delightful impressions of the beauty 
 and grandeur of the scenery were by no means lessened 
 owing to the time that had intervened. One spot, which 
 we had previously omitted, we were enabled on this latter 
 occasion to visit — one of their famous Vaudois strongholds 
 — thePra del Tor. It was approached by the "Ille Angulus," 2 
 the Val Angrogna ; and as we neared it, birches, as lovely 
 as the familiar ones in Killiecrankie, wept and waved in 
 the picturesque gorge. A beautiful little modern church, 
 mainly designed by a relative of my own, now crowns the 
 classic rock. The return that evening, though made on 
 the backs of rough horses, will not readily be forgotten. 
 The ladies of my party were much amused at more than 
 one detour I made, from the mule-path, to select a site for 
 a permanent future home on one of the exquisite knolls 
 of Angrogna ! It was really at the time with me no idle 
 frolic. A very little domestic encouragement would have 
 converted the fond dream into a reality. But prose, I 
 feel well assured, happily got the better of poetry ; though 
 I am not sorry in these fugitive lines to write this " In 
 Memoriam." 
 
 1 The localities visited on this occasion, and associated with the heroic 
 struggles of the Vaudois, are described in the little tale written after 
 returning home — -"The Exiles of Lucerna." Though the writer's earliest 
 attempt at authorship, it gives a graphic enough rendering of these 
 historical scenes. — Ed. 
 
 2 " Ille terrarum raihi praeter omnes 
 Angulus ridat." — Hor. Ode t ii. 6.
 
 VI 
 
 1841 
 
 TOUR IN ENGLAND 
 
 It is the well-known saying of Dr. Johnson, that " the 
 most charming thing in the world is to loll in a post- 
 chaise." 
 
 I was about to have this luxury, and more than this. 
 Let me tell how : 
 
 One of the most cultured and delightful men of the Sir 
 Walter Scott era — a friend of Sir Walter's, of Murray of 
 Simprim, et hoc genus oinue ; a member of the Scottish 
 Bar, a litterateur and man of ample and independent for- 
 tune, became by a happy accident my most kind and ever 
 afterwards faithful friend — my Maecenas, — Mr. Glassford of 
 Dugalston. He was quite in advanced life, dressed like 
 a bishop, in superfine black, minus the apron, with black 
 irreproachable gaiters, and a cut-away coat, also with 
 an approximation to the clerical order. He was em- 
 phatically in appearance and manner of the old school 
 of polished gentlemen, a nature and breeding incapable of 
 discourtesy; and though exceeding the Psalmist's life- 
 limit, mentally vigorous as in his best days, with re- 
 tentive memory and full of ready repartee. He had mixed 
 with the best social life of Scotland ; and though still 
 enjoying the survival of troops of friends, he had reached 
 the period when quietude was acceptable, and he lived 
 in Edinburgh in leisured retirement. He was in the habit 
 of spending a long annual holiday, generally in England • 
 
 5 '3
 
 54 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 and a lovely boy of nine or ten years of age, whom he had 
 adopted, accompanied him in this yearly ramble. He 
 asked a mutual friend t if he knew of any young man who 
 would not be disinclined to take a seat with him in his 
 travelling carriage, and who would at the same time share 
 with him the very small responsibilities connected with 
 supervising his young protege. The friend I speak of — a 
 near estimable neighbour — was kind enough to mention my 
 name, and I must ever owe him (alas ! now in memory) a 
 debt of gratitude for one of the greatest treats of my life, 
 afterwards a very storehouse of memories — all delightful. 
 
 Mr. G at once informed me that it really mattered to 
 
 him little in what directions he went, save a few visits here 
 and there he wished to pay, so that with his better counsel 
 on scenes new to me, but all familiar to him, a long and di- 
 versified journey through England from north to south was 
 planned out, subject to modification or expansion as we 
 
 proceeded. Mr. G had his private servant, along with 
 
 whom the " young charge" invariably occupied the rumble, 
 leaving his " grandfather " (as he called him) and myself 
 to enjoy Dr. Johnson's ne phis ultra. I must not forget 
 that really and in truth he very much arranged and 
 carried out his programme to permit indulgence in my 
 then favourite recreation — a recreation which the photo- 
 graphy of modern days has unhappily superseded — pencil- 
 drawing. The dear old man left me in possession of many 
 an hour with my " B.B's." and " H.H's." and "H.B's.", 
 taking a kindly interest in these recorded reminiscences, 
 both in their progress and completion. They survive to 
 this hour, and are often pleasantly scanned, more for his 
 sake than for their own value. The travelling carriage — 
 rather a ponderous one — was transported in the same 
 steamer with ourselves from Greenock to Liverpool on 
 August 10. I shall never forget that early forenoon, 
 when the forest of masts disclosed themselves from our
 
 TOUR IN ENGLAND 55 
 
 landing-place on the Mersey. It so happened that on my 
 mother's death, letters written from time to time on this 
 expedition, in themselves of the most hurried and fugitive 
 kind (mere journal-jottings never destined to survive one 
 hour, not to speak of half a century), were found to have 
 b^en preserved, and were returned to me. From them I 
 may venture to cull a number of extracts. These regions 
 have greatly changed within half a century, and some of 
 the changes it may not be uninteresting to note. Many a 
 rural scene then, is a "loud, stunning tide" now. While in 
 other things 
 
 *&' 
 
 " Our little systems have their day ; 
 
 They have their day and cease to be." 
 
 Familiar to many, to most, the localities here visited and 
 described doubtless are. But in the matter of scenery 
 I always think the old adage can never be applied — 
 " Familiarity breeds contempt." I for one like, indeed 
 with an ever fresh relish, to re-traverse in thought places 
 endeared by recollection. Whatever is worth seeing can 
 never be vulgarised by repetition, either of visit or de- 
 scription. It has " infinite variety," like the charm of 
 Desdemona, which " custom can never stale." Let the 
 reader then forgive the innocent pratings and impressions 
 of a young pilgrim, telling in the simplest of words how 
 " merrie England " looked half a century ago. 
 
 Among the various sights explored in Liverpool, the one 
 of all others which seems to have made the liveliest im- 
 pression is doubtless well known. Here are my youthful 
 lucubrations : 
 
 " The Exchange and the noble monument to Nelson. 
 The latter is a triumph of art — I believe Westmacott is the 
 sculptor. The principal figure in the group is of course 
 the great naval hero, one of his feet planted on a cannon, 
 the other trampling on a vanquished enemy. He is himself
 
 56 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 just in the act of falling, with his eye uplifted to Victory, 
 and receiving from her a wreath-of laurel. The hand of 
 Death— a muffled figure at his side — is grasping his heart. 
 The four models of captives, bound in chains, surrounding 
 the pedestal, form perhaps the finest part of the design. 
 Could any life and death be more impressively told ? " 
 
 " Thursday morning. — After visiting the cemetery, we 
 crossed the Mersey by steam to Birkenhead, and thence 
 posted through a beautiful country to Parkgate, on the 
 Cheshire coast, and on the estuary of the Dee. Called on 
 General Beck with, brother to Sir Sidney Beckwith, one of 
 our uncle's fellow-officers in the Rifle Brigade. The Park- 
 gate member of the martial family is a veteran of eighty, 
 yet astir every morning at five o'clock for his ride. After 
 sitting with him for a time, we were ushered up to the 
 drawing-room, where we found Mrs. Beckwith, her three 
 daughters, and an only son, the latter just about to join the 
 old Brigade." 
 
 " Saturday. — This morning after breakfast we posted to 
 Chester, a distance of twelve miles, through a richly culti- 
 vated part of Cheshire. Chester is almost, if not altogether, 
 the most ancient city in England, originally built by the 
 Romans. I enjoyed much its old walls, which are tolerably 
 entire. The arcades are still more singular remains of 
 antiquity." Cathedral, etc., etc., are then described. "An 
 hour and a half was all the time we could afford at this 
 interesting place, and our drive was continued to Holywell, 
 a distance of seventeen miles. The busy little town owes 
 its existence to a spring which drives several large mills. 
 The remains of some carving, belonging originally to a 
 singular Catholic chapel, still surrounds the fountain. It 
 was long supposed to contain an infallible cure for many 
 diseases, and the crutches of the devotees may still be seen 
 suspended from the roof, like those we saw in the Notre 
 Dame in Lyons, as votive offerings for signal deliverance.
 
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 TOUR IN ENGLAND 57 
 
 Posted in the evening to St. Asaph (twelve miles). The 
 summit above Holywell commands a noble prospect of the 
 meadows of Cheshire and Lancashire — the mountains of 
 Wales to our right— in front, the estuary of the Dee and the 
 Mersey, with Liverpool. To our left the slopes of Flintshire, 
 terminated about a mile from us by the blue waters of the 
 Irish Sea with the cliffs of the Isle of Man. Here we en- 
 countered Lord Willoughby D'Eresby and party, in a couple 
 of coaches, returning from his seat in Wales. The country 
 assumed a more pastoral, but not less pleasing form. We 
 skirted considerable commons stocked with donkeys, pigs, 
 and geese. The national dress and manners, too, of Wales 
 began to appear. The people in passing, men and women, 
 made their obeisance. The latter convey their commodities, 
 of whatever kind, in tin pitchers on their heads, and yet 
 their curtseying did not seem to disturb equilibrium. Many 
 of them were arrayed in sombre mantles with broad- 
 brimmed men's hats. . . . Spent Sunday at St. Asaph, 
 and attended two cathedral services." 
 
 " Monday, 16.— Started before breakfast for Abergele. 
 A mile beyond, we passed the imposing castle of Squire 
 Hasketh (Grwych), and reached Conway after a farther ride 
 of twelve miles, — its castle a true relic of feudal grandeur. 
 It was the first time I opened my portfolio for sketches, and 
 find in Conway a magnificent subject. With the exception 
 of Heidelberg, the finest ruin I ever saw. The singular old 
 town was fortified by one of the Edwards, and the remains 
 are very perfect. The poorer inhabitants appear in a 
 wretched condition. We visited a hovel with a single bed, 
 occupied in rotation by eight individuals of the family ! 
 Delightful boating in Conway Bay — the banks beautifully 
 wooded. At one o'clock started for Bangor. The road 
 lay by the sea, with Great Orme's Head on our right ; be- 
 fore us the long coast of Anglesea. Passed the base of Pen- 
 maen-Mawr, rising 1,590 feet above the level of the sea ; its
 
 58 DR. /. R. MACDUFF 
 
 flanks covered with debris of slates and limestone. From 
 a gentle eminence behind the town is commanded a view 
 of Lord Penrhyn's grounds and castle, with the higher 
 mountains of Wales for a background. After dinner were 
 entertained with a specimen of the Welsh harp ; but the old 
 minstrels are fast dying out. 
 
 " One long quiet day was pleasantly occupied with a 
 sunset sketch of Penrhyn Castle, and a careful one of Pen- 
 maen-Mawr, with Great Orme's Head in the distance, and 
 the tower of cathedral in the wooded foreground. As a 
 composition, no scene could be more perfect. After a fore- 
 noon spent at Beaumaris, the Menai Bridge, etc., Ave drove 
 to Carnarvon, a ride of twelve miles. The castle is inferior 
 to Conway in boldness of situation; but the remains are 
 more extensive, and, of course, claimed a careful transcript 
 to Bristol-board. Here slates — the staple of the country — 
 are to be found everywhere. Lord Penrhyn, who is in- 
 debted for his fortune and magnificent abode to the revenue 
 from his slate quarries, has even many of his bedsteads 
 constructed of slate. In passing along the road we have 
 slate houses, and fences, and palings. Slates are ' thick as 
 leaves in Vallombrosa.' 
 
 " Retracing our way by the delightful road to Conway, 
 we continued through the valley of the same name, passing 
 Llanrwst, Lord Willoughby's fine park and demesne. We 
 found the inn in a state of hubbub, in consequence of 
 being rent-day, when the Lord of the Manor was collect- 
 ing his annual dues with the wonted hilarity of such 
 occasions. 
 
 " After tolerable night's-quarters, we posted — a journey 
 of thirty-four miles — to Llangollen, pausing first for a 
 couple of hours at the solitary inn of Carnevgie. We had 
 for lunch the dish of the country — more palatable than 
 wholesome — ' a Welsh rare-bit ' ; then one other change of 
 horses at Corwen, where we were again enlivened by the
 
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 TOUR IN ENGLAND 59 
 
 ' last of all the bards.' Llangollen (or, as it is pronounced in 
 Welsh, ' Thlangothlen ') is situated on the Dee; not, per- 
 haps, the ideal village suggested by our old friend, ' the 
 Miller.' After dinner I ascended a hill, commanding a fine 
 view of Shropshire. The remains of a tower are on the 
 top. Through a ruined arch (making the old crumbling 
 stones my picture-frame) I took a sketch of the extensive 
 plains — the Welsh lowlands. , . . On Sunday Mr. 
 
 G and I went to the parish church and listened, you 
 
 may imagine with what profit, to a Welsh sermon and ser- 
 vices ; for there was not even the redeeming quality with 
 which a Highlander tried once to reconcile me to a Gaelic 
 service in Arran, that ' I would hear the same psalm- 
 tunes.' Between sermons I went, amid torrents of rain, to 
 the parish Sunday school. What a scene ! A regiment of 
 boys, varying from twelve to eighteen years of age, were 
 ranged (literally) in military order round the room. A 
 little man in the shape of schoolmaster, or rather drill- 
 sergeant, stood in the centre of his troop, with a weapon 
 resembling a policeman's bludgeon in his hand — a some- 
 what objectionable rod of correction, even on a week-day, 
 but to which, at least I think, he might have allowed re- 
 spite now. But this was no day of rest to it. The phalanx 
 stood in evident bodily terror of the cudgel till their 
 teacher's back was turned ; but whenever such opportunity 
 occurred, they gave sundry significant demonstrations, 
 with tongue and finger, as to the estimate they put upon 
 him and his instructions. And what were these ? Why, 
 nothing but this : A by itself, A — e — i — — u — y ! ! ! Each 
 had his spelling book, and a considerable time was spent 
 in mangling and torturing the letters of the alphabet. 
 Here ended the first lesson ! But only the first. The clumsy 
 squadron once more were summoned to 'Attention ! ' ' Stand 
 at ease ! ' and so forth. With barrack- yard precision they 
 went through their various evolutions, and the aforesaid
 
 60 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 weapon was ready if a finger happened to be out of place, 
 or a foot out of its angle of inclination. But I need not 
 prolong. I made my bows and returned, under deep con- 
 viction of the necessity of a Sunday-school reform in the 
 parish of Llangollen. In the afternoon we returned to 
 church, and heard the vicar preach in English." 
 
 " Monday morning, at ten o'clock, started for Shrews- 
 bury, a distance of thirty-two miles. Our route lay through 
 a much richer and more fertile country. Among many 
 objects of interest passed, the principal were a magnificent 
 aqueduct erected across the valley, about four miles from 
 Llangollen, for the Ellesmere Canal ; near this, too, is the 
 princely seat of Sir Williams Wynn, of Wynstead Abbey, 
 one of the many potentates of Wales. Passing Oswestry, 
 we came in sight of the Severn and the spires of Shrews- 
 bury. The country around is well-wooded, and contains 
 many fine seats. 
 
 " Nothing to me is more novel or more delightful than 
 driving alongside the picturesque ' commons ' I lately 
 spoke of, with their glory of gorse and bracken, inter- 
 spersed with spiral juniper-trees, occasionally with little 
 ponds and lakelets. A similar fresh feature are the obese 
 and comfortable-looking geese, strutting about in alder- 
 manic fashion at their sweet will, with apparently no one 
 to dispute their rights save the less pretentious ducks 
 dabbling in pools which seem their own peculiar freehold. 
 Even the highways and sideways, with their broadsward, 
 are a revolt against the penurious ways of Scotland. 
 There is a generous margin of territory alike for geese and 
 donkeys, the latter munching vigorously the ineradicable 
 thistle and straggling trails of bramble. Hedges too are 
 left in natural, uncultured fashion, studded with polled 
 elms or oaks. In these little bits of unkempt wilderness 
 there are also, what here and there comes upon one with 
 surprise, and are certainly more peculiar to the south side
 
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 TOUR IN ENGLAND 61 
 
 of the Tweed — gipsy encampments. In driving — as we did 
 now and then— in twilight, what can be more poetical than 
 the gipsy-tent, its kettle swung on strong transverse poles 
 (describing an isosceles triangle) , the sparsely clothed 
 children in silhouette by the lighted fire ; the smoke curling 
 heavenwards in most artistic fashion ? Such ' nocturnes ' 
 are simply charming, and, like distance, ' lend enchant- 
 ment to the view.' " 
 
 " Tuesday. — This morning started at half-past nine, in- 
 tending to go no farther than Wolverhampton, a distance 
 of thirty-three miles. Nothing of much variety occurred. 
 The country was rich, and the farmers busy with their 
 harvests. The corn seems here to be generally cut with 
 scythes ; the sickle, at all events, a rare implement. Nothing 
 can be more beautiful or lively than to see five or six men, 
 in their white smock frocks, ranged in a line with the 
 scythes in their hands, mowing down the crops. Post- 
 ing along leisurely to Birmingham, we were — a new 
 experience — enveloped in clouds of smoke. Immense iron 
 furnaces blazing all around, and tapering chimneys vomit- 
 ing forth their pollutions — Vulcan's Workshop ! " 
 
 " Wednesday. — Reached private hotel in Albemarle Street, 
 London." 
 
 " Thursday. — Set out on the ordinary sight-seeing. . , . 
 I must not forget that in the evening I went to a quiet 
 service in Regent Square Church, where my old friend 
 James (Dr.) Hamilton had a weekly meeting. He gave 
 me a warm welcome at the close, and wished me to come 
 and visit him." 
 
 "Norfolk Hotel, Brighton, August 31. — From the veran- 
 dah in front of our sitting-room the sea view is attractive, 
 with pleasure, and fishing boats, and bright waves, to say 
 nothing of the nearer busy life, from the liveried carriages 
 on the Esplanade, to the goat-cart and saddled donkey ; 
 while pedestrians enjoy comfortable benches where they
 
 62 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 can cast anchor and scan a book, or ' the company,' or the 
 English Channel, as they please. Moonlight, too, at present 
 in perfection ; have seen nothing like it since the north of 
 Italy. George IV., of pious memory, and his pavilion have 
 been the making of this ' London out of season.' The 
 latter is a cumbrous imitation of the oriental style ; a con- 
 glomerate of mosque and pagoda ; or rather, in plain prose, 
 a compound of punch-bowls, flower-pots, and pepper-boxes, 
 buried in the centre of the town — a monument of royal 
 folly." 
 
 5jC ijC 5fC JjC 5J* 
 
 " Since I last wrote, here is the programme we adhered 
 to without deviation. The night before leaving London, 
 
 E being out at dinner, Mr. G wished to give me a 
 
 genuine specimen of the London coffee house of the olden 
 time, such as was familiar to Goldsmith and his less im- 
 pecunious confreres. The only remnants of these once 
 fashionable resorts are to be found in Covent Garden, 
 greatly superseded however now by the ' chop-house ' of 
 the East and the clubs of the West End. We made our 
 way to the best relic of former bou vivant glory (' the Bed- 
 ford,' I think), daily frequented during his life by the late 
 Duke. It savours strongly yet of the old school of coffee- 
 house wits, with its antique spoons and glasses, the portly 
 waiter with his knee-breeches and black silk stockings, 
 white waistcoat, blue coat, and yellow buttons. It was a 
 glimpse of old London worth seeing for once, before it is 
 numbered with the past." 1 
 
 " Saturday morning, at nine o'clock, we were en route for 
 this town (Brighton). Though the railway has been opened 
 
 1 Fifty years after writing the above, I came upon the following" from 
 Montague Williams's clever book, "Round London." "At the north- 
 west corner of Covent Garden was ' Evans ' — that famous place for men 
 of wit and fashion, where, before clubs were known, it is stated that as 
 many as nine Dukes have dined in one evening " (p. 289). Could I have 
 mistaken the name ? Possibly.
 
 TOUR IN ENGLAND 63 
 
 throughout, Mr. G consults pleasure, not economy, and 
 
 we posted down all the way (sixty or seventy miles). Let 
 me say, our equipage was 'cattled' with steeds that still 
 maintain their long reputation on the Brighton turnpike. 
 Stage-coaches, with their noted ' whips,' are even now plen- 
 tiful, and despite of the competing railway, will likely die 
 a slow death. We reached 'the Norfolk' about five o'clock. 
 When the carriage drove up and ' the bishop ' stepped out, 
 mine host descried high game, or thought that he had done 
 so. Rather he imagined that by a public avowal of his 
 conclusions he would both flatter and ingratiate himself. 
 But he greatly mistook his customer and his own intended 
 
 compliment. For, when he addressed Mr. G as ' my 
 
 lord,' a flush in my dear old friend's face betrayed the 
 wish of his heart to give him retribution on the spur of 
 the moment. The unconcealed silent displeasure was too 
 visible, and he was annoyed no more during our stay with 
 ecclesiastical or other titles! 
 
 " Sunday. — Excellent Church of England services. On 
 
 Monday Mr. G rested, while I and my young friend 
 
 had a most enjoyable boating and fishing expedition in the 
 channel. Our craft was admirably manned — not only ex- 
 perienced boatmen, but experienced fishermen. The result 
 being, after a few hours, to land on the beach quantities of 
 whiting, bream, mackerel, dog-fish, and though last, not 
 least, enormous eels." 
 
 "Wednesday, Sept. 1. — Visited the remarkable 'dip' in 
 the downs, called ' The Devil's Dyke.' To me the finest 
 part was the view from a northern summit of the valley. 
 I had my sketching materials, but the idea of embodying 
 five or six counties on half a foot square of Bristol-board 
 was too preposterous. Then, I confess any other scenery 
 around Brighton is ' stale, flat, and unprofitable,' generally 
 speaking, treeless. The one only ' grandly picturesque ' 
 thing we have encountered was next day — a thunderstorm,
 
 64 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 and no mistake ! converting that meek-looking sea of the 
 past week into foaming artillery, greatly disturbative of 
 night's rest ; and to-day it continues unabated. Thus, how- 
 ever, allowing finishing touches for drawings; specially 
 
 an elaborate one of the 'Pavilion,' which Mr. G ■ has 
 
 asked me to give to one of his Brighton friends. After tea, 
 when the candles are brought in, we all three sit round the 
 table with Milton, and have a famous hour and a half of 
 him." 
 
 "Jermyn Street, London. — Once more in the metropolis, 
 and continuing to enjoy these three things — fine weather, 
 kind friends, and excellent health. 
 
 " As Mr. G was anxious that I should see Arundel 
 
 and Pet worth, we made a considerable detour on our way 
 hither. Reached Arundel to an early dinner. We then 
 inspected thoroughly the princely residence of the Duke of 
 Norfolk. The elegant modern mansion is in juxtaposition 
 with a fine ivy-grown relic of an ancient castle, or ' keep,' 
 the best subject I have yet had for my portfolio. We drove 
 leisurely in the evening through the Sussex Downs to 
 Petworth, the seat of the Earl of Egremont a generous 
 patron of the fine arts. I enjoyed this choice gallery much : 
 indeed, got confused among the Murillos, Titians, Claudes, 
 and Cuyps, etc. Next morning, getting up on my own 
 hook early, I was fortunate in seeing the stud of race horses 
 having their airing and canter in the spacious park. 
 
 " Started in the forenoon of Thursday for Windsor. 
 After a journey of forty miles through a rich country, we 
 reached the royal city to dinner. In the evening strolled 
 about the castle, and enjoyed the extensive prospect : in the 
 centre of which the spire of Stoke Pogis is discernible — 
 the reputed scene of Gray's ' Elegy.' 
 
 " Next day drove to Sunning Hill, six or seven miles from 
 Windsor. First several miles through the park, with noble 
 avenues and ' groups.' Oaks, of amazing corpulence, and,
 
 TOUR IN ENGLAND 65 
 
 from their age, twisted and tortured into fantastic shapes. 
 We were kindly received at her home in the forest by Mrs. 
 
 C , an old lady of ninety, aunt to Mr. G , aunt also 
 
 to Sir George Murray, of Ochtertyre, of Perthshire member- 
 ship celebrity, cousin-german as well as brother-in-law to 
 
 Mr. G . He has also a residence close by. Miss M , 
 
 of D , resides with her friend. She instantly claimed 
 
 acquaintance with me through my grandfather and grand- 
 mother, about whom she made kind inquiries. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bonar, of Kimmerghane, arrived same forenoon, to 
 spend some days. A very pleasant evening, and next 
 morning, after breakfast, Mr. Bonar and I set off together, 
 on a quiet stroll to the Belvedere, a castellated edifice 
 erected by George IV., commanding a fine view of Wind- 
 sor Park. We encountered a Scotchman in charge, as 
 ' keeper,' who seemed to hail two countrymen with un- 
 mixed satisfaction. We returned by Virginia Water, with 
 its pavilion, frigates, modernised ruins, waterfall, etc. — 
 some few more expensive toys and redundancies of ' Royal 
 George.' " 
 
 I leave my rambling letters and journalizings to insert a 
 " memory," under this delightful roof. All the world now 
 knows the name of Laurence Oliphant, of " Piccadilly " and 
 •'Blackwood" fame, "Gilead and the Jordan," and many 
 eminently readable books with their stirring incidents of 
 flood and field. He was then only a boy — quite a youth, I 
 think, of twelve — in Ceylon. The aged lady of the house, 
 herself a relative, had been enlisted, with his uncle, Major 
 Oliphant, of Wimbledon, in the task of procuring for him 
 an English or Scotch tutor. I blush while I write it, that 
 I was now approached on this subject ! It was, without 
 hesitation, courteously declined ; but, if accepted, it would 
 have been a magnificent example of what the Psalmist 
 speaks of " wiser than all his teachers." When more than 
 a quarter of a century afterwards I met him at dinner in 
 
 5
 
 66 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Glasgow, I was much tempted to tell him of the escape 
 both he and I made ; but my courage failed me. 
 
 "We posted next evening, by Hounslow and Ken- 
 sington, to 36, Jermyn Street, a very central and quiet 
 part of London. Yesterday (Sunday) attended Harrington 
 Evans 1 Church. Greatly impressed by the service. There 
 was, throughout, from first to last, a tone of deep solemnity 
 and earnestness — ' The house of God and the gate of 
 heaven.' It seemed a somewhat violent transition from 
 the enjoyment of this Sunday calm to be spectators, from 
 our windows at night, of a London fire. The blaze was 
 very awful and grand, and several firemen have been 
 sufferers." 
 
 " Tuesday Morning. — Mr. G rested in London ; while 
 
 E , G , and I, started by Great Western Railway 
 
 for Bristol. 120 miles in four and a half hours! Our 
 object in going to the western capital was to see two 
 
 very estimable families, old friends of Mr. G 's. The 
 
 one we visited, same evening: the C 's. They inter- 
 ested me much. It was the first time I found myself in a 
 circle of rigid Quakers. But they wore the irreproachable 
 1 drab ' to great advantage, and even the personal pronouns 
 had a primitive ring about them, more especially as they 
 came from the lips of a dear old patriarch with silvery 
 locks. Penn's memory will lose nothing by this visit. 
 
 Next morning we breakfasted with Dr. and Mrs. B , w r ho 
 
 have a choice residence at West Mall, in the immediate 
 vicinity of the ' cliffs,' — the Kyles of Bute not so very much 
 in miniature, across which a gigantic suspension bridge is 
 projected. The span of the ' Menai ' is greater, but not so 
 the elevation. The immense buttresses are built on the 
 opposite rocks, and form a striking feature. In the course 
 
 of the forenoon returned to the C 's, and the aged 
 
 father and ' Friend ' accompanied me to Ratcliff Church, 
 with its fine old monuments ; the altar-piece and some
 
 TOUR IN ENGLAND 67 
 
 minor paintings are the works of Hogarth. Next morning 
 I rose early, and enjoyed an ante-breakfast walk along the 
 picturesque banks of the Avon, the length of ' Cook's 
 Folly,' a tower perched on the top of a hill commanding 
 a splendid view of the Bristol Channel and mountains of 
 South Wales. At midday we again took the Great Wes- 
 tern, and returned to London to dinner." . . . 
 
 " Sunday. — Spent pleasantly with Christian friends at 
 Hampstead. Having narrated my recent Welsh experiences 
 of Sunday-schools, it was proposed that I should go and see 
 how these things are managed in more advanced England. 
 I am certain they were not aware of the very ' abnormal ' 
 specimen I went, all alone, to visit. The school was a con- 
 siderable one ; but it was innocent of separate classes, by 
 which alone justice can be done to a rather difficult, if not 
 unruly, constituency. The conductor of the school had it, in 
 the present instance, all to himself. He indulged in a most 
 unprofitable preachment to this gathering of small urchins 
 in front of him. The Bible lesson for the evening was the 
 history of Joseph. I think — conscious of the presence of a 
 stranger — he deemed it, perhaps, needful to surrender plain- 
 ness and modesty of diction. At all events, here was the 
 exordium : ' It would require the glowing tints of a Titian, or 
 the pencil of a Michael Angelo, to do justice to this in- 
 imitable Bible story.' I went away thanking God there 
 was such a thing as simplicity and — common-sense ! " 
 
 " Monday Evening.— I made an ineffectual attempt to get 
 into the House of Commons, but was rewarded by a sight of 
 the ' Iron Duke.' He passed on horseback, looking hale 
 and vigorous, dispensing on all sides the well-known 
 military salute with the two forefingers. Dined with 
 hospitable friends of Mr. G 's in St. James' Street." 
 
 " Tuesday.- — Availed ourselves of the London and North 
 Western as far as Rugby (83 miles), where post-horses were 
 awaiting to take us on to Dunchurch, a compact little
 
 68 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 place in Warwickshire. The greater part is the property 
 of Lord John Scott, whose estate here yields £12,000 
 per annum." 
 
 " Wednesday. — Drove five or six miles farther to visit 
 
 the Rev. and his sisters at the parsonage of Frankton 
 
 — a good specimen of a rural English village. The even- 
 ing brought us ten miles farther to Warwick — another 
 divergement for my gratification — passing on the way 
 through Leamington. Relays of invalids we encountered 
 in bath chairs or carriages, on the turnpike road. I could 
 not wait a night before making the most, as an industrious 
 limner, of the unrivalled castle of Warwick, rising abruptly 
 and gracefully from the river Avon ; though it was next 
 morning before we inspected its interior. What rare 
 treasures of painting, sculpture, and every kind of antique ! 
 I am sure that the equestrian Vandyke portrait of Charles 
 I. at the end of the corridor will haunt me all my life ; 
 also one of Ignatius Loyola. The gardens and park are in 
 splendid keeping with this palatial fortress of the Middle 
 Ages. The well-known Warwick vase is interesting in its 
 own way ; but what impressed me more were the vener- 
 able cedars of Lebanon. Picturesque, even beyond these, 
 were some old pensioned servants of the castle — each with 
 a long white wand — gliding like spectres through the 
 glades of the forest. Fine, too, are the monuments, in the 
 adjoining parish church, of these English chiefs, ' pano- 
 plied ' like those of Roslin, recumbent in stone and marble." 
 
 " Thursday. — Drove twenty miles to Birmingham ; from 
 that, sixteen to Lichfield, mainly to see Chantry's ' Sleeping 
 Children.' To-morrow to Derby." 
 
 "Saturday. — I can but refer now, and no more, to Mat- 
 lock, and the glorious drive to Haddon Hall, with its 
 terraced gardens and whole air of the mediaeval. Then 
 on to princely Chatsworth, lavish with modern adornments, 
 even to the colossal attempt at artificial rocks on the way to
 
 TOUR IN ENGLAND 69 
 
 the garden. Gigantic they are; but poor, puny, out-of- 
 place things, in eontrast with nature's wwartificial ones in 
 the cliffs close by : ' Heaven's easy, artless, unencumbered 
 plan.' But Chatsworth is a grand conception altogether 
 of aristocratic splendour, in which England stands alone, as 
 compared with France, Italy and Germany. 
 
 " Went by Rotherham and its smoky environs to York, 
 where we appropriately spent Sunday, attending two ser- 
 vices in the Minster. Yes, finer and grander still than 
 Chatsworth, and with a far higher appeal to soul and 
 heart. But the sensuousness — call it by a milder name — 
 the pomp and voluptuousness of the ritual is too much 
 for one, brought up to the chime of Scotch village and 
 town bells and bald simplicity of worship. Like most good 
 things in the world, might there not be a Via Media — 
 the lowlier service brightened with some borrowed rays 
 from the higher? " 
 
 "Harrowgate, Tuesday Afternoon— The novelty of the 
 scene here has induced us to prolong our stay. It is a 
 singular life for these poor faded and jaded voluptuaries, 
 who crowd the table of ' The Ordinary ' at (what most of 
 them must very sincerely hate) an ' Early Dinner.' There 
 is an old judge of the Scotch Court of Session. He seems 
 transgressing the hard-and-fast rules laid down for vale- 
 tudinarians. But that is no business of mine. In the 
 evening we go on to Ripon." 
 
 " Wednesday. — Once more Mr. G was bent on indulg- 
 ing me, and I do not wonder that he pronounced Fountains 
 Abbey irresistible. Melrose is nothing to this. What trea- 
 sures, to be sure, there are, in all nooks and corners of 
 England, rendering very unnecessary the pilgrimage to 
 1 foreign parts,' to revel among relics of the past ! I had 
 ample time kindly given for a careful sketch ; and I tried 
 to do my best." 
 
 " Thursday, Durham. — I need not describe it. But again
 
 70 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 pencil and drawing-paper were well employed in taking 
 in the cathedral, and castle crowning the height, with the 
 graceful bridge and river for a foreground. 
 
 " Friday. — Alnwick, with the aid of the railway, was our 
 next stage. Another of the ' Stately Homes of England.' 
 As I was struck by Arundel and Windsor and Warwick, 
 so here ; the castle abuts on the town. The ' Chief,' the 
 Lord of the Manor — uncrowned king or princeling — -had 
 (and has) all his retainers around him in close proximity. 
 Doubtless, in former times, there was more of clannish 
 feeling and fealty than is consistent with the social dis- 
 parities of the nineteenth century. The park stretches 
 nobly, by a gentle slope, down from the eastern front of 
 
 the castle." 
 
 ***** 
 
 And so, by gentle stages, the Tweed was crossed. We 
 were once more in familiar Scotland, with its national 
 tongue and ways, broad Doric and unconventional man- 
 ners. Yes, I gave kindly sympathetic welcome to the 
 familiar old brogue ; appreciating also (while admiring the 
 polished courtesies of the southern kingdom) the shrewd, 
 deliberate, matter-of-fact ways of " the Land of my Sires." 
 
 " Saturday Night. — Here I write Finis on an ever-de- 
 lightful and memorable journey. Passing through Dunbar 
 and Haddington, we hailed, this afternoon, Arthur's Seat, 
 and the old home overlooking it. I may well write under- 
 neath, with allowable emotion, the name of James Glassford, 
 of Dugalston." 
 
 " Haec olim meminisse juvabit." 
 
 " He was too true and noble to bear being spoken of as 
 either " good " or " great." But he was both, and must have 
 his name and memory in my small Temple of Fame. 
 
 As I began this chapter with Dr. Johnson, let me end 
 it with a sentence from Mr. Ruskin : " The poor, modern
 
 TOUR IN ENGLAND 71 
 
 slaves and simpletons, who let themselves be dragged like 
 
 cattle or felled timber through the countries they imagine 
 
 themselves visiting, can have no conception whatever of 
 
 the complex joys and ingenious hopes connected with the 
 
 choice and arrangement of t/ie travelling carriage of old 
 
 times." 
 
 ***** 
 
 It was a somewhat trying transition from all this to 
 " Presbytery examinations," and the reading of the for- 
 midable tomes of Divinity prescribed. Hitherto, these 
 days of physical and intellectual freedom had screened the 
 " skeleton in the closet," and kept forebodings in abeyance. 
 But coming events were casting their portentous shadows 
 before them; and there was no evading theological 
 treatises, Church History volumes, and Hebrew lexicons. 
 It was a leap, all at once, from idleness to hard study. 
 These clerical examinations are always a trial of no 
 ordinary magnitude, though the dread forecast and anti- 
 cipation are the worst of it. After disturbed nights and 
 unstrung nerves, we were ushered into the presence of the 
 Metropolitan Conclave, who I now really believe were 
 not without their own trepidations and conscious short- 
 comings in the presence of youths who had the advantage 
 of being fresh off the irons. Some of these " Dei major inn 
 gentium " tried to look learned, and in more than one 
 case tried to be exacting. I can never forget one kind, but 
 amusing exception, though his face and figure cannot be 
 reproduced. It was old Dr. Gilchrist, Minister of the 
 Canongate parish. A man of kindliest heart, he at least 
 fully understood and sympathised with the " all-overish- 
 ness" of students just referred to. I saw well it was his 
 wish and effort to put us at our ease, and in good nature 
 with our examiners. When the book from the iEneid 
 was given out, beginning " Omnes conticuere," he struck in 
 and prefaced the ordeal thus : " There was a lad (laad) that
 
 72 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 translated this ( Omnes conticuere,' ' All the county 
 Kerry boys.' " 
 
 The strained nerves relaxed considerably. 
 
 One other preparation I had for my future work, while 
 still an unfledged probationer ; but nothing, in its way, could 
 have been better fitted to ensure compliance with the apostle's 
 exhortation, " Endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus 
 Christ." My esteemed friend, Dr. John Hunter, minister 
 of " the Tron," asked me to take charge as missionary of 
 some big houses, or " lands," as they were called, in his 
 parish. It was a group of those (the nomenclature has for 
 the moment vanished) confronting John Knox's historical 
 house in the Canongate : a sad and solemn initiation into 
 all that was poverty-stricken, repulsive, degrading — I 
 might even say perilous. St. Giles and Whitechapel — 
 the slums and scums of London — could bear no comparison 
 with these rookeries. Add to all, at the time of my " in- 
 cumbency" — if I may use the big word — there was an 
 epidemic of smallpox. The sight haunts me to this day : 
 on beds, or all that stood for beds, I saw conglomerates of 
 flesh in which humanity was scarcely discernible. What a 
 contrast with the previous months of luxury and enjoy- 
 ment ! equally so with the Elysian fields that were, ere 
 long, in God's good providence, to be mine. 
 
 I have said, in the opening pages of this volume, that I 
 shall studiously avoid any obtrusive reference to " spiritual 
 experiences." I must, I think, make one exception here. 
 
 I believe very few have not to record some high tide, 
 or tides, in their religious history — solemn crisis-hours of 
 existence which leave an enduring mark, or, at all events, 
 memory behind them— these, too, locked up inviolably, like 
 the sacred vessels of old, in the heart-sanctuary. From 
 causes it is unnecessary to speak of, certainly among these 
 the gracious result of my bereavement in the death of my
 
 TOUR IN ENGLAND 73 
 
 sister, aided by the stimulating counsels and influences of 
 " deeply taught " college companions, I was led, neither 
 slowly nor suddenly, but gradually, to a change of inner 
 being. I would not by any means use the conventional 
 term " conversion," which I dislike ; but it was simply a 
 "deepening of the spiritual life" — a more vivid sense of 
 the unseen and eternal — and the aim, at all events, after 
 " a closer walk with God." All this was to others an un- 
 divulged secret. Even my dear mother knew nothing of it; 
 although, from my silent and pensive ways, I feel sure she 
 suspected the existence of some mental conflict, or rather 
 some peaceful transformation. I knew and valued, as 
 never before or since, the power of prayer, the soothing- 
 influence of meditation on higher themes, and the realized 
 presence of the Saviour. In the morning, before the day's 
 work and study began, I often enjoyed a long, solitary walk 
 along the public road leading to Portobello, and I still 
 retain most happy recollections of its silent prayers and 
 resolutions. Alas ! that the bloom of the hot-house fruit in 
 these fervent weeks or months was too often soiled and 
 blemished with less genial contacts. It was not until forty 
 years later, under very different circumstances, that a 
 similar spiritual awakening was experienced by me. This 
 latter occurred in the shape of a bright and realistic dream 
 — truly a vision from the spirit-land — most remarkable in its 
 way, which left a very hallowed impress at the time, and 
 the memory of which will always be profoundly sacred, 
 solemn, stimulating. I had gone alone, simply to see one 
 of the great Paris Exhibitions ; my tiny bedroom in the 
 hotel — tiny, because of the rush of visitors — lives vividly 
 to this hour like a sacred shrine. 
 
 I group these two together, long separated as they are by 
 time, and so different in their environments. But they 
 stand out alone, as the twin basis of a rainbow arc, span- 
 ning my earlier and later life. Peniel and Mahanaim. I
 
 74 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 have many other " Waymarks of the Pilgrimage " to re- 
 cord ; but these two have a place all their own. At times, 
 when depressed, downcast, often with good reason for deep 
 despondency, the earlier of the two rises up specially before 
 me, coupled with the words of Him who, amid our stum- 
 blings and faintings and waywardness, "fainteth not, 
 neither is weary." " I remember thee, the kindness of thy 
 youth, the love of thine espousals, when thou wentest after 
 Me in the wilderness" (Jer. ii. 2).
 
 VII 
 
 CLOUDS. PERPLEXITIES. LICENSED TO PREACH. 
 
 KETTINS 
 
 I had now, in November, fairly begun my last session in 
 the Divinity Hall. 
 
 In a former chapter I have spoken of one — the earliest 
 crisis of my existence. But another — one of a very different 
 kind — in my April day of cloud and sunshine, was now at 
 hand. The time was nearing when the three and a half 
 years of theological study would be completed, and when, 
 according to the term used by the Church of Scotland I 
 should be " licensed to preach the Gospel" ; in other words, 
 when the all-momentous occupation of life would be com- 
 menced. The trial I refer to was not personal or domestic, 
 but ecclesiastical. Happy for those who knew, and know, 
 nothing of what were too familiarly known then as " Non- 
 Intrusion times," and the "Disruption Controversy." I need 
 not refer to this occasion of most bitter strife and unhappy 
 alienation wide Scotland over. I do not scruple to say that, 
 had I foreseen all, I would have sought to serve God away 
 from party Shibboleth and recrimination in some other 
 profession, and thereby escaped many malign and unworthy 
 thoughts, words, and deeds, painful to all, but crushing to a 
 sensitive spirit. I was not one ofa" judicial turn of mind " ; 
 few could be less so. On a question of rival and conflicting 
 jurisdictions, quite incapable of pronouncing. All my sym- 
 pathies (strange had it not been so) were with the men (the 
 majority) headed and guided by Dr. Chalmers. But their 
 
 75
 
 76 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 noble impulses seemed to rest on impossible theories, and 
 the results justified my determination. I was one of the 
 crowd who listened in breathless silence in St. George's 
 Church, Edinburgh, to Chalmers' impressive sermon preced- 
 ing the final conference. He preached from the text : "Unto 
 the upright ariseth light in the darkness." But it failed to 
 solve my perplexities. In the misery of halting between 
 two opinions, or rather making selection as to the way of 
 duty, two potent forces were brought to bear, and decided 
 me. The strong verdict came from two advisers on whose 
 counsel I had good reason to lean with unwavering con- 
 fidence. Both, Christian men of the highest type, and of 
 clear and vigorous judgment ; related to me as uncle and 
 elder brother. My uncle — Mr. Ross, of Woodside — though 
 most retiring in his ways, was a man of singularly self- 
 sacrificing character: active in works of Christian benefi- 
 cence, and in his private habits of rare — I might well say 
 rarest — spiritual devotion, one of those whose elevated tone 
 could not fail to exercise a marked influence on his family 
 circle, as was undoubtedly the present case. The elder 
 brother, known to a wider circle, was one of still more dis- 
 tinguished parts — unquestioned ability, who lived a life, 
 public and private, of Christian consecration. Marble 
 busts, both in the Church of Scotland's " Hall " in Edin- 
 burgh, in the committee-room of the " County Buildings " 
 of his own Perthshire, and in other institutions, attest the 
 position to which he afterwards attained, and the respect he 
 won both civilly and ecclesiastically. My esteem for him 
 almost amounted to reverence, as will be recorded more 
 at length in a future chapter. 
 
 I deferred largely to their enlightened Christian judgment, 
 to say, in the words of the Master they faithfully served, 
 " Cast your net on the right side of the ship." 
 
 But to return. Months of the unhappy internecine war 
 of Church parties fled past, in the midst of which I had to
 
 CLOUDS. PERPLEXITIES. LICENSED TO PREACH 77 
 
 lament the sudden departure of a loving father. I would 
 have been glad had he seen my life- vessel launched, 
 even amid the environing storms. But a Higher Will 
 had ordered it otherwise. 
 
 In the course of the year 1842 I was licensed as a Proba- 
 tioner by the Presbytery of Perth, and preached my first 
 sermon in the Parish Church of Coupar Angus. 
 
 [Among the letters and papers already spoken of, care- 
 fully preserved and tabulated by his dear mother and con- 
 signed to him at her death, I find the following, written by 
 her brother, Mr. Ross, of Woodside, already referred to. I 
 venture without scruple to insert his words of commen- 
 dation, simply because I know they may be accepted and 
 prized for their worth and sincerity. — Ed.] 
 
 "My dear M , 
 
 " I cannot resist writing you two lines, just to say 
 
 that we were highly gratified with J 's first appearance 
 
 yesterday forenoon. His text was, ' The unsearchable 
 riches of Christ,' and he handled the precious subject most 
 satisfactorily. 
 
 " The M s of L and W and the K family 
 
 were all there, and seemed to be much pleased ; but what 
 I consider of far greater importance, ' the common people 
 heard him gladly.' I humbly hope and trust that this may 
 be the begining of a course precious to God and man. 
 
 " Believe me, 
 
 " Ever your most affectionate 
 
 "T. R." 
 
 One summer day a year and a half before, I was stretched 
 on a wooded bank overlooking the Forth, in company with 
 two college friends and aspirants to the ministry. Our 
 conversation, as is not uncommon in youth, turned on the 
 possibilities of the future: and not unnaturally with three 
 unfledged pastors (Southey gives the more portentous figure
 
 78 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 " unfledged eagles ") the idea suggested itself ot naming 
 any particular parish in Scotland for which each of us 
 would have an individual and distinct preference. Perhaps 
 it was an idle enough, though innocent, musing. I forget 
 the selection made by my companions. I was not long in 
 announcing my own. This day-dream, in the good pro- 
 vidence of God, turned out to be singularly prophetic. Eye 
 and heart wandered to enchanted ground well known to me, 
 for it was within walking distance of my grandfather's 
 home — Balgersho. By a happy combination of circum- 
 stances, this haunt of memory became my own, and towards 
 the end of the year I was presented by the Crown to the 
 rural parish of Kettins, in Forfarshire. This rarely lovely 
 spot is throughout and undisguisedly described in my 
 "Parish of Taxwood." I was ordained, in that time of con- 
 flict and disorder, by a commission of ministers appointed 
 by the General Assembly. Robert Murray MacCheyne, of 
 Dundee, was one of those who laid his hand on my head. 
 So I can claim the best of all " Apostolic Succession." 
 
 The beauty of the manse and village and the immediate 
 surroundings were, half a century ago, altogether unique, 
 before either thatched roof or patriarchal elms and beeches 
 were tampered with. To the charm of outer nature was 
 added, in a remarkable degree, an important element, and 
 one not always found conjoined with the other — that of the' 
 villagers themselves. Any who are curious to have a 
 veritable word-photograph of these, will find it in the afore- 
 said " Parish of Taxwood," chapter vi., entitled "Some of 
 the Neighbour Cottagers." 
 
 An elderly minister — my immediate predecessor — was a 
 perfect gentleman in all his ways, and much respected as 
 such ; but his increasing years and failing health naturally 
 gave me the opportunity for fresh organizations and active 
 parish work. The people, rich and poor, rallied around me ; 
 and but for those untoward Church questions, the future
 
 CLOUDS. PERPLEXITIES. LICENSED TO PREACH 79 
 
 would have been unclouded. I was introduced by my friend 
 Dr. Craik, then of Scone, afterwards of Glasgow, on the 
 first day and the first Sunday of 1843. 
 
 I trust I may say, without ostentation, that I entered 
 on my new and momentous duties under a deep feeling 
 of responsibility, and sought to baptize my work with 
 earnest prayer for the Divine guidance and blessing. 
 The church itself was an average specimen of the 
 ecclesiastical fabrics of the day : a parallelogram with 
 galleries, the front one in uncomfortable proximity to 
 the pulpit. With so many small resident heritors and 
 well-to-do farmers, I often wondered that their own 
 comfort, as well as that of the people, was not more 
 studied. In winter the cold was formidable indeed. No 
 wonder, with the two opposite porchless entrances, 
 under which I have seen the snow drifting. A stove, 
 or stoves, were an unheard-of luxury in these days, 
 and the much-enduring worshippers had to make the 
 best of one long service. I think I see now the old men 
 in their homespun, and the old women in their tartan 
 shawls and "subachs," seated, some on the score of 
 deafness, on the pulpit stairs: not disdaining to imitate 
 the sterner sex in the square "fads" 1 below, where the 
 snuff-mull circumnavigated freely and staved off drow- 
 siness. But I can vouch for the bulk being most in- 
 terested and attentive hearers. " Devout women not a 
 few " (the aged cottagers) delighted and surprised me 
 often during the week with their intelligent resume of 
 the Sunday's sermon, not at all abashed to point out, in 
 their own respectful way, any departure from the old 
 Boston theology. 
 
 In the end of May of that same year the crash of 
 Disruption came. I have often spoken of the feelings 
 
 doubtless a corruption of " folds " — high-backed square enclosures. 
 Not a bad name in connection with the pastor and his flock.
 
 80 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 with which, on the subsequent Sunday, I entered the 
 pulpit, under the painful impression that more than half 
 of Scotland's ablest and most devoted ministers had their 
 churches and their pulpits closed and vacant, and for 
 conscience sake had surrendered their earthly all. Their 
 martyrdom was hard to bear, but not harder than that 
 of those subjected to cruel insinuations which could only 
 be endured in silence. That first and memorably sad 
 Sunday was brightened, during the singing of the first 
 Psalm, by the entrance of my uncle into church, though 
 his habitual place of worship was in the adjoining 
 parish. The text preached from was Isaiah xxvi. 20: 
 " Come, My people, enter thou into thy chambers and shut 
 thy doors about thee : hide thyself as it were for a 
 little moment, until the indignation be overpast." 
 
 The Disruption made little difference in the parish, and 
 none in the fulness of church attendance. 
 
 [The Editor may be forgiven the insertion here of another 
 note which has similarly survived, written by the same 
 interested relative.] 
 
 " WOODSIDE, 
 
 "26th June, 1843. 
 
 "My dear M , 
 
 "About a year ago I could not resist writing } r ou a few 
 lines after J— — 's first sermon; and I feel a similar impulse 
 to-day, after an equally interesting occasion — his first Com- 
 munion Sabbath. We have all great cause to bless God 
 for the grace and strength which were so largely given 
 him from above, and which enabled him to go through all 
 his solemn and important duties in such a very delightful 
 way. Some of the things he said I have found very pre- 
 cious to my own soul, and I have no doubt that many other 
 persons who were present could bear a like testimony. 
 The congregation was very numerous, and everything was 
 conducted in the most satisfactory manner.
 
 CLOUDS. PERPLEXITIES. LICENSED TO PREACH 8r 
 
 " It was a sweet sight to see our worthy mother seated 
 
 beside J at the second table, and you may believe what 
 
 a day of refreshing it was to her altogether. 
 " With kindest love to all, 
 
 " Ever your most affectionate 
 
 "T. R." 
 
 In these years immediately following the " Disruption,"' 
 I had several tempting charges in the Church offered for 
 my acceptance ; but the sundering of a tie so recently 
 formed at Kettins seemed impossible, even had I not 
 wisely resolved, after the terrific crash, to accept no parish 
 vacated by predisruption clergymen. Even had this latter 
 not swayed and determined me, I knew that my motives 
 would have been misconstrued had I responded to these 
 overtures of advancement. 
 
 Nor must I omit here to recall a passing incident. In 
 my first summer in the Manse, Mr. Glassford gave me the 
 pleasure of a visit. I was surrounded with all the modest 
 comforts of a clerical life : garden, glebe, minister's man, 
 and substantial housemaid. Add to these a very present- 
 able phaeton — the gift of a relative — so that I was able in 
 my own small way to return, by drives to the best scenery 
 around, the many boons of a larger kind the good gentle- 
 man had lavishly bestowed on me. The village green, 
 burn, and cottages were his special delight. 
 
 I need not further recount nor rehearse the crowded 
 incidents of these happy years: the Sunday services, the 
 weekly expository meetings in the school-house, whither 
 the interested folks resorted in the long and cold winter 
 nights — many of them, lantern in hand, from a distance. 
 Who is more of a king than the minister of a Scotch 
 parish ? l 
 
 1 It was — I presume still is— the habit in the Scottish "system," as 
 compared to the English, for the clergyman not only to visit faithfully in 
 a friendly way all his parishioners throughout the year (in agricultural 
 
 6
 
 82 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Let me not forget or omit that my youthful inexperience 
 was aided and guided by a man, himself humble and un- 
 pretending, but a power all the parish over; fairly skilled 
 in ecclesiastical procedure, who could draft a minute at the 
 Heritors' biennial meeting as adroitly as he could construe 
 a Latin verse or solve a problem in Euclid — Mr. James 
 Gibb, parish schoolmaster. He was not prepossessing in 
 appearance, nor outwardly indicated the possession of much 
 mental vigour ; yet he was unquestionably endowed with 
 a versatility of talent. Moreover, he had the not rare 
 ambition of amassing money, which he managed by his 
 economy, and still more by his shrewdness, to gratify. 
 The eking out of the school salary was at first accom- 
 plished by land-surveying, at which he was an adept. His 
 capabilities in this respect were recognised, and, I fear, not 
 to the benefit of school hours nor the interests of the rising 
 generation, but encouraged by lairds and farmers, far and 
 near. By-and-by he broadened his canvas, or rather, I 
 should say, took a stronger and more adventurous flight. 
 Without knowing a word of French — his dialect the 
 broadest of broad Doric — he yet contrived to make, in his 
 summer vacation, a yearly pilgrimage (of all places) to 
 Paris, for the purchase of French clocks and watches, 
 which, on his return home, he succeeded in vending, at 
 
 districts when the farm work is slackest), but to hold a regular service 
 either in each house individually, or at a cluster of adjoining cottages, in 
 the biggest room of the group. When there is a large farmhouse, the 
 owner gathers in his lowlier dependants. The service consists of a 
 prayer and short exposition of Scripture, with an address suited to the 
 circumstances of those present. Not only so, but in these earlier days, 
 a regular system of catechising was alike invited and expected— that, too, 
 embracing not only children and adults, but fathers and mothers. In 
 some cases it may have invested the minister's visit with awe and trepi- 
 dation ; but on the whole, when wisely practised, the custom was a 
 wholesome one, and established a sort of "family life" between the 
 pastor and his flock. 
 
 I question, however, if such ministerial prerogatives would be encour- 
 aged on the English side of the Border.
 
 CLOUDS. PERPLEXITIES. LICENSED TO PREACH 83 
 
 ample profits, to ready and not unwilling purchasers. The 
 result of other outlays, economies, and successful invest- 
 ments was, that when he died an old man, he had accumu- 
 lated for his relatives the comfortable total of ten thousand 
 pounds — a feat doubtless quite unique in the experience of 
 the Scottish, I presume I may add, the British "Dominie." 
 All this I record as a tribute to rare independence, thrift, 
 and sagacity — with, in its way, a dash of rude but real 
 genius. Worthy old man! You were a good and true 
 friend to your young pastor ; and though he has not your 
 photograph among his celebrities, he has a grateful mental 
 one that will not readily fade. 1 
 
 Other lowlier officials were not less personalities in their 
 way. "Willie Simmons" was precentor, occupying a 
 small enclosure of his own immediately under the pulpit. 
 As is the way of the world, though wonderfully unskilled 
 alike in the theory and practice of the divine art of music, 
 Willie was strongly impressed with the reverse. In his own 
 estimation he was facile princeps among the same vocal 
 brotherhood in adjoining parishes. Unfortunately for him- 
 self, Willie had strong proclivities in the direction of al- 
 cohol, which alternated, during the week, with his Sunday 
 services. In returning along the highway on these secular 
 days to his home, he was in the habit of carrying on ima- 
 ginary conversations with the aforesaid rival precentors, 
 as to their skill and renown, too lengthy for quotation. 
 These professional talks, I need hardly say, invariably 
 ended in a verdict on his own distinct superiority. The 
 climax generally was: " Wha then is the best o' ye a'? 
 Willie Simmons." 
 
 By dint of a modest bribe he was, by-and-by, prevailed 
 
 1 The Sunday after his return from one of these visits to Paris, he was 
 overheard thus addressing his class of lumbering youths in the Sabbath 
 school, then held in church : "Noo, I could tell ye a great deal aboot my 
 Pairis trip. But that widna be Sawbath crack."
 
 84 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 upon to surrender the dignities of office. Congregational 
 psalmody was in these days at its lowest ebb. The "Hymn 
 Book" — the greatest ecclesiastical improvement of the last 
 half century — was then undreamt of. The metrical ver- 
 sion of the Psalms, with the appended " Paraphrases," 
 were alone in use. As it was the singular custom for the 
 precentor to give out line by line, for the benefit (I presume) 
 of those who could not read, there were often awkward 
 assertions made, when these were disjoined from the pre- 
 ceding or following context. As, e.g., in an early verse 
 of the 50th Psalm, when the glaring contradiction was 
 shouted : — 
 
 " Be silent, but speak out ! " 
 
 Forbid that I should say a word derogatory to the metrical 
 rendering of our Psalms, when they received the approval 
 of so good a judge as Sir Walter Scott. This he pronounced 
 more than once. And on his death-bed — when at his re- 
 quest a psalm was read — the dying man remarked : " No, 
 that is the prose version; give me the metre." 
 
 That the service of praise, however, is now in many 
 ways mightily improved cannot be doubted. 
 
 A figure of a very different kind here rises up before me 
 in the far distance — Lord Hallyburton of Pitcur. He was 
 the largest heritor in the parish, and on his decease was 
 survived by his widow, one of the gracious ladies of the 
 old school, with a manner peculiarly affable — a fast and 
 faithful friend, subsidizing me ever and anon with money 
 to provide coals and kindred comforts for the poor. It is 
 not, however, regarding either of these I would now speak, 
 but rather of a very old, confidential Italian servant of 
 theirs — Louis— who had been brought when a youth, in 
 long-gone years, by the enterprising travellers from Milan, 
 and never afterwards left them. He was tall, slim, with 
 an irreproachable black wig, carrying" the burden of be- 
 tween eighty and ninety years with consummate grace and
 
 CLOUDS. PERPLEXITIES. LICENSED TO PREACH 85 
 
 courtesy —truly a goodly specimen of the naturalized Briton. 
 Roman Catholic as he was, he always most deferentially 
 recognised my ecclesiastical position. I had many a friendly 
 chat with him in his little sanctum in the big house, and, 
 though never inside a Protestant church, he sent for me on 
 his death-bed. In the decay of nature, when his once stal- 
 wart form was laid prostrate, memory in a most touching 
 way showed the first and most serious failure, "the chinks 
 which time hath made." For he was then in imagination 
 often wandering on the streets of Milan, and the tuneful 
 music of his native land and language seemed almost en- 
 tirely to supersede the long-familiar English tongue. Dear 
 old man ! in my subsequent visits to the Lombard capital 
 I used often to think of you. 
 
 To sum up all this heterogeneous palaver on my " Sweet 
 Auburn, loveliest village of the plain," I hope I am humbly 
 warranted to say that six years of ministerial success and 
 
 blessing were given to me in this tiny, idyllic world. 
 * * 7f -x- * 
 
 In the very midst of these sunny skies, one very dark 
 trial dashed my happiness to the ground, and broke sud- 
 denly life's young dream of bliss, leaving me a widower at 
 the age of twenty-eight. 
 
 The following lines w r ere written the first Sunday evening 
 I was alone in the silent " Manse " : — 
 
 " Shall the dust praise Thee ? Shall it declare Thy truth ?"— Ps. xxx. 8. 
 "To what purpose is this waste?" — Matt. xxvi. 8. 
 
 Oh ! " to what purpose is this waste ? " 
 The words kept ringing in my ear, 
 As with a trembling hand I placed 
 A green wreath on her early bier. 
 
 It was not in life's winter time 
 
 These blooming buds were wrenched away; 
 
 But in the blaze of summer's prime, 
 
 " Her sun went down ere yet 'twas day."
 
 86 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 The aged in God's acre lie, 
 Their names are on its tombstones traced ; 
 But why should early promise die ? 
 Say " to what purpose is this waste ? " 
 
 Fondly I prized that lovely mind, 
 Where all was gentle, sweet, and mild, 
 A thousand fragrant flowers entwined 
 The earth-bower of a sainted child. 
 
 Forth sped the doom, " Return to dust" ; 
 In the cold grave my treasure lies ; 
 Was I a traitor to my trust, 
 Forgetting not to idolize ? 
 
 Oh ! "to what purpose is this waste ?" 
 Last week I heard the ringing laugh ; 
 To-day through anguished tears are traced 
 The letters of her epitaph. 
 
 I miss her footsteps at my door, 
 
 I miss her seated by my chair, 
 
 I miss her in the corridor, 
 
 When gathering at the hour of prayer. 
 
 I miss her as the bell's sweet tone 
 Is ringing in the Sabbath feast : 
 In the draped pew I kneel alone, 
 The music of her voice has ceased. 
 
 I miss her at the sunset glow, 
 When seated by the greenwood tree; 
 I miss her wheresoe'er I go, 
 For she was all in all to me. 
 
 Last week I stood beside her tomb. 
 The churchyard's silent walk I paced ; 
 And echo answered through the gloom, 
 " Lord, to what purpose is this waste ? " 
 
 ***** 
 Hush these presumptuous thoughts: refrain 
 From judging with unseemly haste, 
 In His own time God will explain 
 His purpose in this seeming "waste."
 
 CLOUDS. PERPLEXITIES. LICENSED TO PREACH 87 
 
 Oh, mourn not that in early prime 
 They are removed whom He hath given; 
 He rings this early morning chime 
 To bring His loved ones safe to heaven. 
 
 Better the lamb with fleece unstained 
 Thus early taken from the flock : 
 Better the flower thus plucked untrained, 
 And saved the wintry tempest shock. 
 
 The orb which seems to disappear 
 Behind earth's dull horizon-rim, 
 Shines in a better hemisphere 
 In the bright world of Seraphim. 
 
 Though from this lonely heart, too soon, 
 The blossom dropped ere yet full blown, 
 I thank Him who bestowed the boon, 
 I bless Him for the transient loan. 
 
 Wipe then the eye that anguished weeps 
 O'er ties thus early, rudely torn : 
 " The damsel is not dead, but sleeps," 
 I'll meet her in the heavenly morn. 
 
 Then will the Lord no more conceal 
 
 The way that cannot now be traced ; 
 
 In His own light He will reveal 
 
 The " PURPOSE " of this seeming " waste." 
 
 E'en now as wakeful memory flings 
 These saddening shades, methinks I hear 
 The rustle of her angel wings, 
 And words are whispered in mine ear, — 
 
 " Check the vain wish," she seems to say, 
 " That would me from my bliss recall : 
 We meet in yonder realms of day, 
 To keep Eternal Festival ! " 
 
 " He asked life of Thee, and Thou gavest a long life : even for ever 
 and ever." — Ps. xxi. 4, Prayer Book Version. 
 
 My solitude was sweetened and gladdened by the presence 
 and love, for long months together, of two of the most
 
 •88 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 unselfish and devoted of human kind. They cannot be 
 rewarded by me — their recompense is on high. They were 
 beautiful examples of that religious life and profession 
 which is alike a being and a doing. There are mothers and 
 daughters, as well as "sons of consolation," in the Christian 
 Church. 
 
 It was in the year 1846 or 1847 — I cannot now recall 
 which — that I received the first of many subsequent invita- 
 tions to preach special sermons for " Societies " and " Mis- 
 sionary Schemes " in Edinburgh, Glasgow, Dundee, Perth, 
 and Aberdeen. 
 
 One of these u objects " has for long had a celebrity all 
 its own, — and I regarded it as a marked honour and distinc- 
 tion for so young a man to be selected as preacher for the 
 year, — "The Glasgow Society for the Sons of the Clergy." 
 The sermon was then invariably delivered on a week-day 
 afternoon in St. George's Church, followed by the inevitable 
 social gathering of the evening in the Queen's Hotel. The 
 late Principal Macfarlane and Dr. Hill, in proposing my 
 health at the banquet, kindly complimented me on securing 
 the largest collection obtained for many years. 
 
 While preaching in Glasgow on this occasion I stayed in 
 the hospitable home of John Smith, LL.D., of Crutherland, 
 the publisher not only of Dr. Chalmers' " Astronomical 
 Discourses" and other sermons, but the favoured friend 
 who had accompanied the great man to his unparalleled 
 ovations in London, when the orator took the Metropolis by 
 storm, or, in the words of the older Wilberforce, " When all 
 the world is wild about him." As Dr. Smith and he, after 
 the "astonishing displays," had travelled home leisurely and 
 luxuriously together in a post-chaise, mine host had much to 
 tell me of his distinguished companion. Personally I never 
 saw Dr. Chalmers after this but once ; that was in the 
 house of his life-long, almost adoring friend, the rarely 
 good and rarelv cultured Miss Margaret Davidson, of Edin-
 
 CLOUDS. PERPLEXITIES. LICENSED TO PREACH So 
 
 burgh. I told him of my recent meeting with his quondam 
 ally. He was unaltered in his kindness, though the fatal 
 crash had come which dislocated so many hallowed and 
 revered friendships. I take final leave of him here in the 
 words in which Carlyle, in one of his own unique sentences, 
 describes the character of Luther : — " Unsubduable granite, 
 piercing far and wide into the heavens ; yet in the cleft of 
 it, fountains, green beautiful valleys with flowers." * 
 
 1 Among the heroes and heroines of this volume, let me introduce the 
 name of the lady of whom I have just spoken with a cursory reference. 
 In a speech of mine, reported in the Courant of a much later date, 
 delivered in the Hopetoun Rooms, Edinburgh, on the occasion of the 
 annual meeting of the Ladies' Association for the Advancement of Female 
 Education in India, I find the following allusion, which was cordially 
 responded to by the audience : — 
 
 "The Ladies' Association is here met, after twenty-five years' probation, 
 with its eye undimmed and its natural force unabated. If I might be per- 
 mitted an allusion, it is to an active and unwearied member now no more. 
 I never can think of this Society save in connection with one who, I am 
 sure, will always be remembered as its foster-mother — one who combined, 
 as I have seldom or ever known, masculine intellect with childlike faith 
 and indomitable energy. I refer to my kind and venerated friend, the 
 late Miss Davidson. She, in conjunction with a sisterhood of kindred 
 spirits, others of whom have been recently called away, brought 'the fire 
 and the wood,' — in other words, the prayers and the means, — and has not 
 God made good His part in the sure word of promise, and provided the 
 lamb for the burnt-offering?" 
 
 I have named her above in connection with Dr. Chalmers. There was 
 a singular and amusing similarity in their faces. They seemed cast in 
 the same mould, the element of conscious Doric strength preponderating. 
 This was singularly aided by the broad vernacular common to both.
 
 VIII 
 
 KETT1NS. ST. MADOES 
 
 An important and quite unsought-for change was now im- 
 pending. 
 
 The desirable parish of St. Madoes, in the Presbytery of 
 Perth, had become vacant after a twenty years' incum- 
 bency. Sir John Richardson, of Pitfour — a relative on my 
 mother's side — was patron , and, out of a hundred appli- 
 cants, he very kindly honoured me by making me the first 
 offer. 
 
 I had never yet personally known him ; but, by a curious 
 coincidence, I had been asked to meet him at dinner in my 
 neighbourhood, at the mansion of Murray of Simprim (the 
 friend and contemporary of Sir Walter Scott and Mr. 
 Glassford, previously spoken of). As I spent the night, we 
 got fairly well acquainted ; and the result was, that in a 
 few days he proposed to make that acquaintance a per- 
 manent one — or, rather, to deepen it into friendship. 1 
 
 1 This was not the first time I had dined and spent the night in this 
 unique house and household of Arthurstone. Mr. Murray could do no- 
 thing, and be nothing, without being original. His family worship in the 
 morning was unlike anything I ever saw before or since. A huge 
 gathering of servants was assembled in a room adjoining the dining- 
 room. The service occupied exactly one minute ! It consisted of the 
 Lord's Prayer (all standing), and no more. The very singularity and 
 brevity made it impressive. It accomplished the end of all family wor- 
 ship — the public recognition of God in the household— while the formula 
 was indisputably best of all. 
 
 Mr. Murray, when I saw him in the earliest days of my youth, retained 
 one survival of the past in his powdered hair, which had now de- 
 
 90
 
 KETTINS. ST. MADOES 91 
 
 I own I have at times regarded with doubt and distrust 
 the determination I came to — to leave a sphere so en- 
 deared to me, and where the affections of a primitive people 
 were so strong and unmistakable ; but reasons of a sacred 
 and imperative kind were beneath the surface, and, with a 
 sad, misgiving heart, I bade farewell. The dear Kettins 
 folk were most sympathetic, and followed me with affec- 
 tionate interest. Some amusing incidents and words 
 mingled with more pathetic ones. Let me give two speci- 
 mens. The parishioners, out of their impoverished means, 
 had presented me a year before with a really handsome 
 and costly silver service, in which a massive teapot figured 
 conspicuously. I met, the day after my announcement of 
 leaving, one of the worthiest of the small peasant farmers 
 — John Watson by name, and a genuine Scotchman by 
 nature. In kindliest of good humour, he accosted me in 
 his broadest Doric, with words, however, more honest than 
 complimentary : " If we had kent, sir, ye were gawn to 
 leave us, ye widna hae got your teapat." 
 
 Jenny Smith was still less unsparing, and more out- 
 spoken. She was one of the most picturesque of the rare 
 groups of old villagers — a snub nose, distended nostrils, 
 and a dropping front tooth that gave character to her 
 whole personality. She had an eye radiant with goodness, 
 as good she was ; but when rising to the occasion, as in 
 
 generated into a black-brown wig. But that could not interfere with his 
 nervous vivacity, the wealth of his stored mind, and its fund of anecdote. 
 The first occasion on which, in Kettins times, I dined with this interest- 
 ing man, I was all alone, with the exception of his scientist son-in-law, 
 Lord Talbot de Malahide. Lord Talbot retired with the ladies after 
 dinner, leaving the singular old literate with me. There was no difficulty 
 in conversation, especially when we discovered our mutual liking for 
 Ruskin's first volume of "Modern Painters," which had taken the aesthetic 
 world by storm. I cannot now recall his comments on this "thunder- 
 bolt from the blue," but it may be imagined they were racy enough, and 
 well worth preserving. I had fortunately already received a gift of that 
 (till this hour) prized work, and was able, though with a very unequal 
 combatant, to hold my own.
 
 92 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 the present case, it could belie its better self. I can never 
 forget the day when, on the opposite side of the village 
 green, she stood with uplifted finger, every muscle in her 
 withered arm distended in provocation. Seeing me at my 
 gate, she loudly delivered this anathema for the benefit of 
 the Kettins public (I was doubtless included, but it was 
 the patron who in her eyes was the modern Ahitophel, 
 and therefore came in for the larger share of the male- 
 diction) : "May the counsels of Aheetophel be timed into 
 fullishness ! " 
 
 The people of Scotland in these older decades of the cen- 
 tury were at times inclined to be superstitious, and I am 
 not sure that the more obtuse of the Kettins folk were 
 exempt from the infirmity. At all events, some incidents, 
 which occurred in immediate conjunction with my depar- 
 ture, were not permitted to pass without comment. A 
 neighbouring clergyman was occupying my pulpit, and 
 had " given out," as the phrase goes, a metre psalm, when, 
 to my dismay, I noted an awkward pause on the part of 
 the precentor. But this was soon explained, for no pre- 
 centor was there. On the spur of the moment, I rose and 
 took possession of the vacant " desk." I did my very best, 
 for the first and last time, to " lead the congregation," com- 
 mencing the most familiar tune that presented itself at the 
 moment. I confess to feeling a passing glow of pride and 
 gratification that my efforts were, as I thought, fairly suc- 
 cessful. A man in the gallery, however, who rightly or 
 wrongly supposed he could lay claim to more alike of the 
 theory and practice of music than his pastor, strode down 
 the back stairs, and without much ado fairly dispossessed 
 me. The congregation had bravely reached the end of the 
 third line — but he was dissatisfied with what he deemed an 
 abortive attempt, and, getting hold of the big psalm book, 
 started afresh on the lines of a more elaborate tune. I re- 
 tired discomfited ! A second catastrophe followed during
 
 KETTINS. ST. MA DOES 93 
 
 the sermon, when a large portion of the ceiling-plaster fell 
 (fortunately where the seats were empty) on one of the 
 galleries ; while, before the second service commenced, a 
 sudden cessation of the " call to prayer," which had been 
 ringing lustily, was succeeded by an ominous silence, 
 broken by the voice of David Small, the old beadle, at my 
 study door. He evidently feared we should surmise that 
 some fatal mishap had befallen the metal of the familiar 
 bell, so he gave the reassuring intelligence: "Sir, it's juist 
 the tow (the rope) ! " 
 
 This conjunction of ecclesiastical disasters was, however, 
 too much for the more lively imaginations, and suspected 
 of having some mysterious connection with the translation 
 of "the munister." 
 
 Before settling down at my new home, a week was very 
 pleasantly spent with my two brothers, who accompanied 
 me in my own dogcart to some of the best-known scenery 
 of Perthshire, Aberdeenshire, and Kincardineshire. There 
 is a delightful independence in this method of locomotion. 
 You have no provoking contretemps and uncertainties, no 
 timetables to consult, no late trains to ruffle equanimity; 
 your only pliant and pliable dictator is your own sweet 
 will ; under no constraint to follow the dusty highway ; 
 and if you have a kind friend here and there to relieve the 
 monotony, so much the better. Quiet nooks of loveliness 
 can only thus be reached and relished. The start was 
 not made on the day usually selected for a minister's 
 "outing" — a Monday. But there was a professional 
 reason. I had been appointed by the Presbytery to fulfil 
 duty, during a vacancy, in the small chapel of Persie — a 
 solitary spot in the green wilds of Glenshee. We passed 
 the night at the "Brig of Cally Inn," a place happily 
 associated to me with my dear father's grouse-shooting 
 days. After the primitive service in church, we met at 
 dinner round the hospitable board of my kind aged friend,
 
 94 DR. J. R. MACDUhF 
 
 Miss Rattray of Dalrulzion — a delightfully simple survivor 
 of other times, who, in her Highland hospitalities, acted the 
 part of Lydia to all members of the black cloth in these 
 latitudes. 
 
 I need not dwell on the further stages of our journey 
 — across from the Spittal to the forests of Mar, and the 
 heights and depths of Ben Muichdhui, or as we followed 
 the Dee in its glorious course to the now well-known Bal- 
 later, where we spent the night. The district had not as 
 yet inherited imperial fame. Diverging from the public 
 highway, we purposed next day an early start, in order to 
 cross by a wild and unfrequented road to Fettercairn. Our 
 purpose was singularly thwarted by an exceptional occur- 
 rence. A great muster was to take place in the afternoon, 
 in order to welcome the venerable Marquis of Huntly back 
 to his feudal castle and estates, after an absence of pro- 
 longed years. The picturesque home of " the Gordon " 
 happened to be situated on the very road we were travers- 
 ing. The way was thronged with members of the clan, 
 young and old, and holiday-seekers like ourselves. By an 
 access of extraordinary folly, the penalty of which was 
 duly paid, we were induced to follow the crowd of con- 
 veyances and pedestrians, till we pulled up close to the 
 castle entrance, amid waving pennons and shrieks of bag- 
 pipe. To witness these gay festivities on so auspicious an 
 occasion was natural and innocent enough ; but several 
 factors we had not taken into consideration, including pre- 
 cipitous roads; "weeping skies," already impending; the 
 absence of moonlight; and, worst of all, of more prosaic 
 but serviceable luminaries — our carriage lamps, which 
 before leaving home were regarded as useless impedi- 
 menta. 
 
 When the festivities were over, and " the clock tolled the 
 hour for retiring," we were unpleasantly reminded by the 
 wildest of confronting skies, at what cost we had paid our
 
 KETTINS. ST. MA DOES 95 
 
 tribute of welcome to the chief of the neighbouring glens. 
 We had driven but a few miles when the clou is gathered, 
 and the inevitable rain descended; while, on reaching 
 what might be supposed the summit of the pass, the lower- 
 ing twilight was very soon succeeded by a darkness that 
 might be felt. No house, nor inn, nor fragment of " Cla- 
 chan " was visible. Never were the words "benighted," 
 "belated," more emphasized. To advance or retreat was 
 alike impossible. There was nothing for it but to pass the 
 night in patience, under the "buckets of heaven" and 
 pitchy sky, till the morning broke. 
 
 I personally determined on an expedient, which dire ex- 
 tremity alone seemed to justify. Leaving my companions 
 in charge of horse and dogcart, with the butt end of the 
 whip I made my adventurous way along the heather, never 
 dreaming at the time of the perils, which the morning re- 
 vealed, in the shape of rock and bog and tarn, developing 
 here and there into a shallow precipice, with an inky pool of 
 unknown depth at its base. The effort was, however, re- 
 warded. I had only gone a short distance when, to my joy, 
 I descried a light — a light evidently in a cottage window, 
 and not far off. To that tiny Pharos I directed my steps, 
 my approach being heralded by a chorus from collies and 
 pointers, in every note of the canine gamut. It turned out 
 to be the lodge of Lord Inverury's keeper, and the only 
 dwelling between Deeside and Fettercairn. The guardian 
 of grouse was most kind and sympathetic, despite this 
 rude midnight invasion of his domestic peace, and ere the 
 early hours of the morning both horse and travellers were 
 housed as comfortably as circumstances would admit. 
 The strangest part of the incident, perhaps, was this : the 
 worthy keeper and his wife told us that, by quite an un- 
 accountable omission on their part, they had gone to bed 
 and to sleep, leaving the candle burning on the little window- 
 sill — the first time in their lives such a mistake had occurred.
 
 96 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 But it was a godsend to us — a veritable providence. Had 
 the extinguisher done its ordinary duty, ours would have 
 been a sorry fate that night. 
 
 In the morning we surveyed our midnight battlefield, as 
 the soldier does the traces of the fray, with mingled awe 
 and gratitude to the Giver of all mercies. Others would 
 call it "good luck." I have a higher and better name 
 for it. The only member that suffered in the escapade 
 was the belated and, I fear, ungroomed horse. A small 
 penalty, in the shape of a fee to a veterinary surgeon, had 
 to be paid when we reached the Manse. 
 
 While speaking of Deeside, I may here advert to a visit I 
 paid in a subsequent year to those same regions, with leisure, 
 which we had not on the former occasion, to inspect the 
 granite city of the North and its environs. Having ex- 
 plored the Dee, I thought I should like, if I could do no 
 more, at least to see the mouth of the Don and its famous 
 " Brig." The names of these rivers — specially as regards 
 the nomenclature of sex or gender — are a perplexity. The 
 estuary of this " Sister river," as I would presume to call it, 
 is some two or three miles north of the Dee, both discharg- 
 ing their waters into the German Ocean. While on the 
 bridge I got into conversation with a working-man, and 
 the talk naturally turned, in a complimentary way on my 
 part, to the two great fluvial features of the district. He 
 thus pursued and endorsed the parable: " Ou, ai. Hes a 
 fine river, the Don ; but Shes a fine river, too, the Dee." 
 What the diversity of epithet meant, this arbitrary change 
 from the sterner to the softer sex, I did not care to inquire. 
 We speak of " Father Nile." I have even heard " Father 
 Tay " whispered in a poem. But I was unprepared for this 
 conjugal bond uniting the two noble Aberdeenshire streams. 
 According to the epigram of a clever humorist, may not 
 our Transatlantic friends possibly be responsible for the 
 above countryman's division of honours?
 
 KETTINS. ST. MADOES 97 
 
 " In England, rivers all are males ; 
 
 For instance, ' Father Thames.' 
 Whoever to Columbia sails 
 
 Finds mademoiselles or dames. 
 Yes, there the softer sex presides, 
 
 Aquatic I assure ye, 
 And Misses Sippi rolls her tides, 
 
 Responsive to Miss Souri ! " 
 
 But to chane,e the scene to the banks of the still nobler 
 Tay. 
 
 St. Madoes — my new home — had a peculiar type of 
 beauty. Quite a delightful garden in front, a glebe of 
 twenty-five acres and a rocky-ridged, wooded hill beyond. 
 I was moreover surrounded with much that was congenial. 
 One element of doubtful desirableness in the new sphere 
 was its peculiar limitations — only a mile square, and 
 nothing which could be called a village. " I fancy," said 
 I to the old minister's man (one of the most characteristic 
 of his class), — "I fancy r William, I shall be able to visit 
 through the entire parish in six weeks?" 
 
 " Sax weeks ! A wee mament some after-nune ! " 
 
 Making allowance for hyperbole, it was in truth one ©f 
 the sinecures of the Church, and I could only have been 
 justified in remaining, by other congenial work in due time 
 unfolding itself. This proved to be the case,, for my ample 
 leisure in the Perthshire Manse, otherwise I fear likely to 
 become a " Castle of Indolence," gave commencement to 
 the exceptional feature in my after-life and ministry — 
 Authorship. As is doubtless usually the case with authors, 
 even those worthier of the name, I had not the remotest 
 idea or forecast of such a destiny. What gave it form 
 and impulse was this. The idea struck me that it would be 
 a pleasant thing to send to the head of each family in my 
 former parish some printed souvenir, in the form of a tract 
 or small book. Moreover, I thought it might be well to 
 cast the same in the shape of a few words for daily read- 
 
 7
 
 98 DR. /. R. MACDUFF 
 
 ing. This was the origin of " The Faithful Promiser" (a 
 "Love-letter" as one of the villagers spoke of it), the 
 speedy and almost immediate sale of which, extending to 
 hundreds of thousands, almost frightened me. That little 
 volume seemed at once to point to what I afterwards called 
 my special niche in the temple, and with, I am not arro- 
 gant in saying, an instinctive love of work, 1 obeyed the 
 call. Though an utter stranger, I must always refer 
 warmly and gratefully to a kind response I at once re- 
 ceived from the well-known religious publisher of his day 
 in London, Mr. Nisbet, of Berners Street, the founder of the 
 house, to which, though occasionally diverging to other 
 firms, I hope to remain loyally attached. The " Morning 
 and Night Watches " (the circulation of which by this time 
 may be reckoned at half a million) was the first to follow, 
 with an equal, indeed more marked success. Some week- 
 day lectures given in the parish schoolroom, aided by a 
 huge map of my own drawing, were the foundation of the 
 volume subsequently published — " Footsteps of St. Paul " — 
 though in this I tried carefully to disclaim originality, 
 simply putting the researches of others into a simple, read- 
 able form for youth. The volume has had, like its pre- 
 decessors, a remarkable circulation. Other smaller efforts 
 were written and published, such as "The Woodcutter of 
 Lebanon " ; while some of a larger growth were laid out 
 and planned, to be kept in retentis. 
 
 These larger publications suggest the least of all — a 
 tract. It would not be worth mentioning, save in con- 
 nection with the interest I had in a work associated with 
 its fugitive pages. Both in my former and present parish, 
 and in 'he districts around, what is and was well known in 
 Scotland by the name of the " bothy system," had an evil 
 reputation. In common with many others I was deeply 
 pained by the existing condition of the farm-labourers, 
 specially that of the young lads, say from eighteen to
 
 KETTINS. ST. MA DOES 99 
 
 twenty-five years of age, who often herded together, it is no 
 exaggeration to say, in a state of semi-savagery — animalism. 
 Their homes — or all that passed for homes — were a blot on 
 a civilized land and age. These consisted for the most part 
 of one repulsive tenement, simply a barn, with rafters and 
 clay floor and rude furniture of form and kist, a grim 
 counterpart to the slums of our great cities. The prime 
 mover in this urgent social reform was the Rev. Mr. Stewart, 
 minister of Oatlaw, with whom I corresponded. Neither 
 landlord nor farmer was in most cases to be visited with 
 blame ; for these wild youths resented interference with 
 their independent life and ways, absolutely preferring 
 haunts sometimes fit only for cattle, to the decencies and 
 amenities of existence. Thanks to the Scotch village school, 
 most of them were able to read, though there were excep- 
 tions of the crudest ignorance ; and ignorance was not in 
 their case " the mother of devotion." The one outlet of this 
 dreary existence, from year's end to year's end, was the 
 annual or biennial " fair," with its drunkenness, profanity, 
 and vice. I began my small crusade against such unmiti- 
 gated degradation, first by visits and appeals, made as 
 indirectly and adroitly as I could, to the better natures of 
 the lads. Then by means of a very elementary library, 
 where suitable books were provided, and weekly in my own 
 kitchen, doled out by me on loan. (The personal attendance 
 and supervision I found of importance.) Further, as just 
 referred to, I ventured to write what I called " A Tract for 
 Bothy Lads," which had a very encouraging circulation in 
 the quarters it was needed. The whole Carse of Gowrie, 
 in which St. Madoes was situated, an Arcadia in other 
 respects, had, I grieve to say, a wicked pre-eminence in these 
 grovelling haunts. The better class of landlords joined at 
 that time with the clergy in an attempt at all events at 
 amelioration. Lord Kinnaird, full of zeal for all social 
 improvement, was especially conspicuous in the present
 
 ioo DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 effort Mainly under his auspices and influence, evening 
 gatherings were held in the various parishes around, where 
 farmers and their ploughmen were invited to meet in the 
 schoolroom to discuss the possibilities of elevating a 
 neglected, demoralised class, and removing a reproach on 
 our Christianity. That good was done there cannot be a 
 doubt. Night-schools were instituted, " registers " opened, 
 better " goods and chattels " provided, and the moral ele- 
 ment in the " feeing markets " introduced, where character 
 was taken into calculation, instead of the old ignoble appeal 
 only to bone and muscle. It is to be feared much has still 
 to be done in the cleansing of the Augean stable, and that 
 the elementary task continues urgent of convincing these 
 true descendants of Boeotia that, even in the small matter of 
 library and book-lending, lairds and farmers and ministers 
 may be credited with being capable of unselfish motives, 
 and having the good of the young rustics alone at heart. 
 What could you make of the retort — " We are no hired to 
 work your work and read your books too!" But there 
 were nuggets of gold also, as I can testify, in the somewhat 
 unpromising mine — young fellows who came to find that 
 work and books were not incompatible. My able, and 
 some of them more experienced brother ministers, were 
 most zealous, while my sympathies were rarely drawn out 
 as they were in this cause, with the one regret that I had not 
 done, or could not do more. I retain to this day specially 
 pleasant remembrances of the kindness, in connection with 
 the movement, received from Lord and Lady Kinnaird at 
 their beautiful " Priory." 
 
 This autumn, in company with my two brothers, I again 
 took a long-purposed holiday in the classic country of " the 
 Tweed," commencing with Peebles, and terminating at the 
 mouth of that noble river at Berwick. I know nothing 
 finer or more interesting. There is a total lack of grand 
 scenery. My native Grampians would look with disdain on
 
 KETTJNS. ST. MADOES 101 
 
 the formal, unpicturesquc Eildons and Cheviots. But quiet, 
 sylvan beauty, historic memories, and the glamour which 
 Sir Walter has thrown around, give it a niche all its own. 
 It was largely a pedestrian excursion, and one evening, in 
 an absolute downpour of rain, we found ourselves, drenched 
 and w r eary, drying our saturated garments, as best we could, 
 at the kitchen fire of the little inn on the braes of Yarrow 
 skirting St. Mary's Loch. The obliging innkeeper deplored 
 that he had no parlour of any sort to offer, as the only 
 room of the kind was already occupied by a gentleman and 
 his wife, volunteering at the same time to ask the latter if 
 they w r ould not object to our company. They at once gave 
 a courteous assent. After much pleasant talk on scenery 
 and art, the gentleman offered us, on retiring to bed, his 
 guide-book of the surrounding country. Amazed were Ave, 
 on reaching our rooms, to read on the fly-leaf the name of a 
 distinguished English artist, who for the present may re- 
 main incog., as he will be mentioned in a future chapter. 
 He was pleased next morning to hear from me that, only a 
 few weeks previously, he had drawn on wood a frontispiece 
 for the aforesaid "Woodcutter of Lebanon," the forerunner 
 of others in future years to follow. He kindly opened his 
 own portfolio of " gems," which live to this day in the eyes 
 of all who appreciate "high art." That same forenoon, 
 under more genial skies, we skirted Newark Castle and the 
 "birchen bowers" of its poet, concluding with the Lion's 
 den itself. As the attendant showed us through the rooms, 
 and told us he was the last personal servant of Sir Walter 
 — not in figurative speech, but conspicuous reality — a big 
 tear stood in the eye and rolled down the cheek of this ulti- 
 mas Romanorum. Melrose Abbey of course — that poem in 
 stone — we reverently visited, and then the absolutely ideal 
 poet's grave at Dry burgh. Not long before I had seen the 
 portentous mausoleum in the park at Hamilton Palace, where 
 the old duke lies in his Egyptian sarcophagus. What was
 
 io2 DR J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 the one, costing its fabulous thousands, compared to the 
 romance in stone and lime upon which we now gazed, the 
 crumbling but exquisitely proportioned arch under which is 
 gathered (hard by the murmurs of his own Tweed) the dust 
 dearest to Scotland — the dust of the man who in one sense 
 made Scotland ; at all events haloed it with his genius as 
 no other could do. A respected friend and relative, one of 
 the pastors of " sweet Teviot Dale," welcomed me to his 
 manse, and kindly drove me, first by its " silver tide " and 
 " wild and willowed shore," then to spots of beauty and 
 renown all around. Kelso and Floors Castle impressed me. 
 Next morning found me almost at break of day, pencil in 
 hand, sketching Norham's " castled steep " from the brink 
 of the Tweed below ; a sketch I afterwards extended in oil 
 on a large canvas, and which has hung in my drawing- 
 room ever since. The castle is a mere ruin ; but there is a 
 glorious breadth about it for artistic purposes, and I happily 
 was in good time to catch the golden effect of morning on 
 the highest wall of the keep, perhaps the remains of the 
 Donjon in Sir Walter's opening stanza in " Marmion." I 
 finished off this fluvial excursion with Berwick and its 
 antiquated walls. 
 
 O ye votaries of Continental travel — worshippers 01 
 Rhine and Rhone, Arno and Tiber, and Danube — do keep 
 in reserve a bit of your enthusiasm, in all the length of 
 its sinuous course, for 
 
 " Tweed's fair river broad and steep 
 And Cheviot's mountains lone." 
 
 In a later year we completed what we were then unable 
 to overtake, a visit to the contiguous St. Mary's Lake, 
 including the historic hostelry of Tibbie Shiels. Tibbie 
 was there herself in all her individuality, to dispense her 
 frugal but very substantial hospitalities. I at once won 
 heart and tongue by telling her I had been a pupil of
 
 KETTINS. ST. MA DOES 103 
 
 Professor Wilson's. Her eye kindled at the name, and she 
 insisted on my carrying away some small trophy (I forget 
 now in what shape), to keep green our visit to the pisca- 
 torial haunt of the great Christopher and his merry 
 confreres. 
 
 I maybe somewhat chronologically at fault; that matters 
 slightly. But about this time, when paying a visit to my 
 mother in Edinburgh, I made the acquaintance of a man 
 whose name is familiar to all Scottish theologians of the 
 last half-century — Mr. Erskine, of Linlathen. The object of 
 his call was to put in my offer the parochial charge, then 
 vacant, of Mains and Strathmartine, where his property 
 and residence were. However out of harmony I might 
 have been with some of his more pronounced views (for 
 he was, in Scotland at all events, the "pioneer" of the 
 "advanced school"), it would have been a singular 
 privilege to enjoy the friendship and fellowship of one ot 
 the most godly men of the age — an Enoch in his day and 
 generation. The genial and accomplished author of " Rab 
 and his Friends" had, as will be seen in the "Recollections," 
 little less than a passionate esteem for him, and delight in 
 his goodness. "The wonderful old man," Dean Boyle calls 
 him, " who exercised so much influence in Scotland." 
 ("Recollections," p. 81). Dean Stanley says, as quoted in 
 his life (II. 392), "To hold brief converse with Erskine of 
 Linlathen was to have one's conversation in heaven." This 
 was not the verdict of the more strictly " religious " only. 
 Such as Carlyle, and his equally distinguished wife, who 
 were in the habit of sharing his hospitality, regarded him 
 with nothing short of admiring reverence. "Of Thomas 
 Erskine," says their biographer, " wiiom they both loved, 
 Mrs. Carlyle said, ' He always soothes me, for he looks so 
 serene, as if he had found peace.' " It so happened that the 
 very week after declining his kind proposal, I chanced to 
 be a fellow-passenger with him in the steamer from
 
 *o4 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Dundee to Edinburgh. It was in the Fife pre-railway 
 days. The voyage was eminently long and tedious ; but he 
 broke it with his genial, elevated talk, which I can never 
 forget, bordering though at times it did on the mystical — 
 but suffused with the central theme of his creed and his 
 life — the divine love of God. Who that ever saw or heard 
 can forget that benign face and plaintive voice ? One who 
 lived to love and to be loved. There was nothing pre- 
 possessing or " patrician " about him otherwise. All his 
 goodness was enveloped in the quaintest cut-away attire 
 of the country laird ; as if the market-place was more 
 familiar to him than the courts of the Temple. 
 
 Mr. Erskine affords a favourable specimen of the highest 
 art (yes, "art " I must call it) in religion, that of imbuing 
 current conversation with lofty principle — the spirit of 
 Christianity. This, though I do not by any means say only, 
 can best be seen in the case of the high-bred cultivated 
 gentleman. " Cant " is an ugly, repulsive word, represent- 
 ing an ugly and repulsive thing, which repels all sensitive 
 and high-minded souls. But nothing is more beautiful, 
 because most rare, than the ability, in social intercourse, to 
 interweave unobtrusively, cultured and interesting talk, 
 with a lofty and unmistakable Christian spirit. The finest 
 specimen of this that ever presented itself to me was when 
 asked by my friend, Colonel Macdonald, of St. Martin's, to 
 meet and spend the night with Canon (then Mr.) Carus, of 
 Cambridge. From his well-stored mind he brought out 
 treasures new and old. He had learning, repartee, and 
 fund of anecdote. But all was exalted and transfigured by 
 something higher. There was the golden thread running- 
 through the warp and woof of common life. I ceased to 
 wonder at the testimony borne by one of the dearest 
 friends I ever had — a B.A. of Cambridge. His deep, 
 spiritual nature had been moulded and fostered there. His 
 eye was wont either to glow or to moisten as he spoke of
 
 KETTINS. ST. MA DOES 105 
 
 the elevating and devout influence of " Carus of Cam- 
 bridge." Hundreds had the same tale to tell. 
 
 About a year and a half after my settlement, I married 
 
 a second time, L S , from first to last (thirty-eight 
 
 years) a happy union, one that greatly contributed to the 
 serenity of my life. The truthfulness of the estimate will 
 be recognised and endorsed by all who knew her. i( Doing 
 justly; loving mercy; walking humbly." Even in my 
 literary work I reliably leant on her taste and accuracy. 
 
 Her father was a man greatly respected by all who knew 
 him — a wide circle. There were two who in boyhood and 
 youth were often, in holiday time, inmates of his hospitable 
 abode, and of both of whom in his later years he was com- 
 mendably proud. The one was John Lawrence, afterwards 
 Lord' Lawrence. His father, General Lawrence, had been 
 
 all his life Mr. S 's intimate friend — indeed, more a 
 
 brother than a friend — and the families were linked in 
 closest intimacy. The gallant sons had generally left for 
 their Indian fortune and fame from my wife's home in 
 Chelsea. 1 On Lord Lawrence's last visit to the daughters 
 of his old friend (his latest honours upon him, but his own 
 sun fast "westering"), he looked up at the familiar portrait 
 in the dining-room, and said, with a tear in his eye, " My 
 more than father." 
 
 The other youth, to whom I think Mr. S had been 
 
 made guardian, was of a very different school and type ; 
 but in another department equally distinguished — Connop 
 Thirlwall, afterwards Bishop of St. David's. The old man 
 was equally interested in this prodigy, for prodigy he was, 
 and was never reluctant to show a manuscript book of his 
 young protege's, containing essays and literary papers, 
 written when the latter had barely escaped from child- 
 hood. 
 
 1 See earlier chapters in " Life of Lord Lawrence," by Bosworth 
 Smith.
 
 106 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 So much for (to me) an interesting digression. 
 
 The years thus slipped quietly along in this small otium 
 cum dignitate. My elder brother's home and property — my 
 native place — was within an easy drive. Patron and people 
 of the parish were alike kind and friendly. On two 
 occasions during my incumbency the former went to reside 
 for some considerable time on the Continent, and during his 
 absence let Pitfour Castle. One of its occupants was Lord 
 Panmure, better known as Fox Maule ; afterwards Earl of 
 Dalhousie, and Minister of War during the most trying 
 time of the Crimean Campaign, in which he did much 
 to redeem the incompetence of others in that disastrous 
 struggle. He was much too committed a "Free Church- 
 man" to enter the place of worship of one of the 
 "residuaries." But I shared his hospitalities, and am 
 not sorry to record the special respect I entertained for 
 his sister, afterwards Lady Catherine Maule. There are 
 enough and to spare in the " upper ten thousand " who 
 are somewhat above the humbler ways of a Scottish pastor 
 and manse ; and who, even while accessible, render them- 
 selves disagreeable with patronising airs and dubious 
 friendship. But I have always said and felt, that the 
 most winning and delightful specimens of feminine 
 human-kind are those, in whom high-breeding and family 
 are combined with simple, genuine, unaffected courtesy ; 
 no veneer, but reality. Such was this neighbour for 
 the time being. We enjoyed much, long walks with her 
 and her nieces in the hills and slopes around, and when 
 I saw, years after, her death in the obituary, I mourned 
 a cherished friendship. 
 
 The kindness and hospitality of others in Perthshire 
 merit being recorded. Summer visits I recall with 
 special pleasure, and that more than once to the Vale of 
 Athole. First to beautiful Faskally (Mr. and Mrs. 
 Butter), and then to, I think, the most beautiful spot in
 
 KETTINS. ST. MA DOES 107 
 
 Scotland, a couple of miles up the glen, where resided 
 my venerable friend- — and I may call her relative— Mrs. 
 Hay, with her two step-daughters. Killiecrankie Cottage, 
 known to all, and admired by all who have seen the 
 charm of that unrivalled ''Pass," is perched like a bird's 
 nest in the centre of the western slope ; and if we 
 substitute for Sir Walter's " Yarrow," the other historic 
 name, we have the home set among birchen bowers. 
 From its drawing-room windows you command the 
 other side of the pass, with the Garry tumbling on in 
 its haste to meet the equally tumultuous Tummel ; while 
 towering in the distance are the two magnificent Ben y 
 Glos. The kind hearts within, were in harmony with 
 the attractions around. One treasured memorial Mrs. Hay 
 was wont to show me with great pleasure — the Bible 
 belonging to the great Marquis of Argyle, and which he 
 used before his execution. The undoubted piety of the 
 " Maccallum Mohr " of his day is singularly evidenced by 
 the number of passages and verses marked, some of 
 them double-marked, by his own hand. 
 
 Amongst many pleasant visits paid to Lord and Lady 
 Kinnaird, at Rossie Priory, I am here reminded of one 
 of special interest. 
 
 I there spent two days with that eminent scientist and 
 Christian philosopher — Sir David Brewster ; an honour 
 to his native Scotland, and a pillar of the Christian 
 faith. He must be grouped with another, from whom I 
 received personal and family kindness, never to be for- 
 gotten, and for which no fee or reward would be 
 accepte.1 ; an equally distinguished man in his life of 
 rare skill and philanthropy — Sir James Simpson. He 
 was associated as much with archaeology as anaesthetics, 
 specially in the direction of Runic monuments. Regard- 
 ing one of these in my own churchyard, he made me 
 sorely ashamed of my ignorance. Such acquaintances —
 
 10S DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 friendships I am not entitled to call them — one remem- 
 bers with special pride and satisfaction. 
 
 Nobility of rank is in itself a poor thing set side by 
 side with the nobility of intellect or the wealth of good- 
 ness. But when all three are combined, the triplet is 
 complete. This recalls another Perthshire name ere the 
 curtain falls on my native county, with the tria jwicta 
 in uno, carrying with it pleasant memories. 
 
 " Kind hearts are more than coronets, 
 And simple faith than Norman blood." 
 
 The gifted Editor of "Sir Walter Scott's Journal," in 
 words better than I can employ, says: "Mary Campbell, 
 Lady Ruthven, held relations more or less close with 
 nearly every one famous in art and literature, during 
 the greater part of the nineteenth century . . . She 
 had among her correspondents some of the most brilliant 
 men of her day. Those who were privileged to share in 
 the refined hospitality of Winton, never forgot either the 
 picturesque old house (the supposed Ravenswood Castle of 
 "The Bride of Lammermoor "), or the venerable mistress 
 as she sat of an evening in her unique drawing-room, 
 the walls of which were adorned with pictures of 
 Grecian temple and landscape, her own handiwork in 
 days long gone by, when she was styled by her friends 
 'Queen of Athens.' Her conversation after she was 
 ninety was fresh and vigorous. . . . Her splendid 
 memory enabled her to while away many a sleepless 
 hour by repeating long passages from the Bible or 
 Milton. The former, she had so much in her heart, that 
 it was scarcely possible to believe she was not reading 
 from the book" (vol. ii. pp. 39 - 1 )- lt was not at 
 Winton, nor in the decrepitude of age that I knew her 
 but in the brightness and strength of her days, at her 
 Perthshire home— Freeland — with its wonderful lime
 
 KETTINS. ST. MADOES 109 
 
 avenue, and where her drawing-room was decorated 
 with the same trophies of her own brush above alluded 
 to. The writer from whom I have just quoted, adds: 
 " Above all, was her truly divine gift of charity, the 
 practical application of which, in her every-day life, was 
 only bounded by her means." In this earlier home, and 
 its ideal adjoining village, she was, in the best sense of 
 the word, the mother of her people ; making it her 
 pleasure to minister to their well-being, whether in sick- 
 ness or health. She sometimes astonished them by what 
 might be deemed unseasonable vigilance. Once, dining 
 and spending the night, I was startled by an early 
 knock at my door with a cup of coffee, and a message 
 from her ladyship, that she would be waiting for me 
 at half-past seven to go and see some villagers. The 
 round was duly accomplished! 
 
 The lowly parishioners of St. Madoes were nice in 
 their way, and with many of them there was a mutual 
 bond of strong attachment ; though, taking them all 
 in all, lacking the same primitive interest as those on 
 the other side of the Sidlaws. Let one among several 
 such, and one too of the poorest, be taken as a 
 characteristic specimen. This was Jean Hutchison, of 
 Inchyra village, a little outlying hamlet on the borders 
 of the parish. " Old Jean," by which soubriquet she was 
 known to her neighbours, was profoundly deaf. Doomed 
 to this infirmity, she was unconscious of noises (includ- 
 ing those for which she was herself responsible). The 
 nervous banging of chairs, upsetting of footstools and 
 other such furniture on the occasion of the minister's 
 visit, was alike amusing and disconcerting. She was 
 a good old soul, illustrating in her own very humble 
 way the apostolic averment, that " godliness with con- 
 tentment is great gain." She sought at least, even in 
 minutest particulars, to live out the Christian life, and
 
 no DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 act in conformity with Gospel principles. She was 
 satisfied with the smallest earnings ; but she had a New 
 Testament principle here too. All in ignorance of the 
 value of the Roman denarius, she made it a point to be 
 worker and bread-winner to the amount she deemed 
 prescribed in the parable of "a penny a day." The 
 Scottish penny was to her the equivalent of the Gospel 
 one ; and with that, honestly won, she was satisfied. I 
 have told the story in " Taxwood," but it will bear, in fresh 
 words, repetition. Unwitting alike of sounds and of thin 
 wall-partitions, her morning and evening petitions being 
 moreover replete with intercession, many of the neigh- 
 bours' faults and failings were circumstantially enumer- 
 ated and pled for with stentorian lungs, in homely 
 phrase, "without mincing matters." It was an additional 
 peculiarity, that whether petition, intercession, or thanks- 
 giving, her utterances were twice repeated. Her minister 
 came off more triumphantly than others. He was in the 
 habit on his rare visits of supplementing the " penny a 
 day " with a piece of silver. The benefaction was not 
 suffered to be forgotten in the comprehensive evening 
 prayer; the neighbours, of course, through the slim lath 
 and plaster, were initiated into the secret: — "Lord, bless 
 the munister. He gede me half a croon. He gede me 
 half a croon! "
 
 IX 
 
 GLASGOW 
 
 But the time had now come for another and very different 
 sphere. 
 
 One morning at breakfast, I was startled by a private 
 letter from Dr. Norman Macleod, telling me of a very hand- 
 some church in the course of erection in the west end of 
 Glasgow, and sounding me as to whether I would be in- 
 clined to entertain an offer to become its first incumbent. 
 I had had more than one similar overture made in regard 
 to other places. Among these an urgent letter from Dr. 
 dimming, of Crown Court, as to a West End Church in 
 London. This new proposal, nevertheless, could not be so 
 readily dismissed as the others. I knew well that it could 
 not be without a struggle that I should leave a pleasant 
 and congenial sphere, and plunge into the work and respon- 
 sibilities of a city charge. Utterly unsought, however, in 
 the Providence of God, a door of wider — much wider — use- 
 fulness was opened. Could I — dare I refuse ? An affirma- 
 tive answer, after prayerful consideration, and consultation 
 with friends, was given. I had certainly no cause to regret 
 the decision. On the completion of the new church — which 
 I always thought unrivalled in the beauty of its interior 
 — I was received with open arms by the elite of the West 
 End of the mercantile capital, whether connected with the 
 Church of Scotland or otherwise. 
 
 I must not omit to recall a conversation, not of sacred, 
 
 but of secular interest, on the afternoon of my " induction " 
 
 to my new charge, when welcomed and feted at the Queen's 
 
 in
 
 H2 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Hotel by a very large gathering of both clergymen and 
 laymen. Being the " guest," I was placed at table next the 
 venerable head of the University — Principal Macfarlane, 
 who conjoined with his collegiate honours the dignity of 
 minister of the High Church, now the magnificent cathedral. 
 These were the days when pluralities still lingered. He 
 was one greatly respected. Mentally strong and vigorous, 
 and even in his advanced age the very soul of high breeding 
 and courtesy. Before coming to Glasgow, he was minister 
 of Drymen, in Dumbartonshire. Among his heritors or 
 neighbours was Macdonald Buchanan, of Ross Priory, a 
 house, as mentioned in the opening pages of this book, fre- 
 quently honoured by the presence of Sir Walter Scott. The 
 story he circumstantially related to me was this. " One 
 day," he said (I quote his words as nearly as I can recall), 
 " the conversation at the dinner table took the shape of 
 describing some of the neighbouring villages and localities. 
 Sir Walter was much interested, but seemed rather struck 
 at hearing, that in the midst of all that picturesque scenery, 
 there were some little towns, or ' clachans,' as they were 
 called, very poor, treeless, barren and uninteresting. ' I 
 will give you, Mr. Scott,' remarked Dr. Macfarlane, address- 
 ing the yet zmbaroneted poet, ' an example. It is the village 
 of Buckly vie, not far off, and the following old metrical lines 
 faithfully describe it : — 
 
 " ' The Baron O Bucklyvie, 
 The foul fiend drive ye, 
 And aa' to pieces rive ye 
 For biggin sic a toiin, 
 Where there's neither horse meat, nor man's meat, 
 Nor a chair to sit doiin.' 
 
 "When the ladies rose to go to the drawing-room, Sir 
 Walter tapped me on the shoulder : — 
 
 " ' Mr. Macfarlane, will you come to the window and re- 
 peat me those lines you gave us at dinner ? '
 
 GLASGOW 113 
 
 " I did so. I felt sure at the time he had some object in 
 his request, and that was soon revealed. The author of 
 4 Waverley ' was still 'the great unknown? But, a few 
 months afterwards," continued the Principal, "' Rob Roy ' 
 was published. Turning to one of the later chapters I was 
 at once struck by its motto. It was the lines I had repeated, 
 and which were jotted down in pencil in the window recess 
 at Ross. Though I kept the matter to myself, feeling in 
 honour bound to do so, I never from that moment had the 
 slightest doubt who was the man in the mask. The author 
 stood at once revealed and convicted." 
 
 But to return from this digression. 
 
 In the course of a few months the new church was not 
 only filled, but filled to overflowing. Our early recollec- 
 tions in the afternoon are of forms that were brought in 
 by the door-keepers to supplement the filled seats. There 
 being no galleries, the 1,100 who occupied the area of the 
 church seemed a dense mass of human beings. The style 
 of the building was in strong harmony with my aesthetic 
 tastes ; and ere long the beautifully proportioned windows 
 were filled with stained glass — principally supplied by 
 Wailes, of Newcastle, to the value of £1,000, while, some 
 years after, an equally high-class organ was introduced. 
 I have no room to recount all the encouragements of 
 this new position, — the kindness and approval of friends, 
 lay and clerical, — entailing, however, a good deal of the 
 tear and wear (and specially in the way of platform work) 
 which came afterwards to tell disastrously. At this time 
 the degree of D.D. was sent to me from America. I felt 
 the honour all the greater as coming from the University 
 of New York. A year subsequently the same was conferred 
 on me by the Senatus of Glasgow College. 
 
 Another event, which I always too evidently deemed a life- 
 crisis, here suddenly supervened. I had not been more than 
 two years in this interesting and encouraging new church, 
 
 8
 
 ,, 4 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 with all its fresh organizations, both among old and young, 
 in full activity, when, in response to a memorial from the 
 Kirk Session, I received, through Sir George Grey, an offer 
 from the Crown, of the cathedral of Glasgow, then vacant 
 owing to the death of Principal Macfarlane. None of my 
 
 friends, none save L and A , nor even they fully, 
 
 knew the struggle undergone at the time, and the tender con- 
 flict which followed afterwards. All my counsellors were 
 kind and sympathetic — none more so than Dr. Macleod. 
 But each seemed to shrink from the difficulty and responsi- 
 bility of advising, and the momentous decision remained 
 with myself. Dr. Macleod strongly inclined to acceptance. 
 The dignity of the position was unquestionably great, none 
 more so in the Church of Scotland. But it was not the 
 honour that weighed with me. Of that I had enough where 
 I was. But right or wrong (on this I cannot pronounce), I 
 had always, with the consciousness of many shortcomings 
 for such a position, a strong feeling of one faculty or talent 
 — which if I do possess it has lain dormant to this hour — viz., 
 the power of preaching simply and effectively to the masses 
 of the poor. This I would have dearly liked, and would 
 have had in very ample opportunity in the High Church 
 Parish. For the moment many schemes, never to take 
 shape, floated before me, of large halls, and iron rooms, and 
 social meetings, in the expenses of which the ample income 
 derived from my books alone would have had a congenial 
 outlet. The die, however, was otherwise cast. The seeming 
 discourtesy and dishonour of abandoning a newly formed 
 and loving congregation, determined a final declinature. 
 It was none the less, however, of its kind a trial, never re- 
 verted to toothers, but which, notwithstanding, I bore about 
 with me as one of the painful uncertainties in the path of 
 duty. I see and own now that I was wisely guided. " In 
 all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy 
 paths."
 
 GLASGOW 115 
 
 Some time about this date, the first well-known Sir 
 Edward Bulwer Lytton had been chosen Lord Rector of 
 the University ; the University not as it now is, dominating 
 the noble slope of Gilmour Hill at the fashionable West 
 End, but the dingy old building, " cribbed, cabined, and con- 
 lined " in the odoriferous High Street. I found myself and 
 other clerical brethren one forenoon packed in a dense 
 crowd in the " Common Hall," eager to hear the great 
 orator. Despite of a seamed and shattered face, an attenu- 
 ated body, and a chronic deafness, I was charmed alike with 
 his eloquent words and graceful delivery. The music lingers 
 to this day. It was long indeed before he could be indulged 
 with a hearing, and until the surging and noisy students 
 would be propitiated, and charmed with the favete Unguis. 
 The old Principal was roused to something like fever- 
 heat. He felt his dignity insulted and compromised in a 
 Demosthenic presence, and in vain attempted, with clenched 
 fist, to act the part of Canute. But once the steam was 
 blown off, the silence and decorum were retained to the 
 last. The novelist retired in a hurricane of applause, which 
 the perferuidum of the Scotch nature can best accord. 
 
 I was peculiarly happy in my new clerical connections 
 in Glasgow, and that too alike with Churchmen and Dis- 
 senters. My old, my oldest friend, Dr. Craik, of St. George's, 
 had once more introduced me to my new flock, as he had 
 done twelve years before at Kettins. He continued to the 
 last my life-long ally, and I shared with another most faith- 
 ful friend, Dr. Ritchie, of Longforgun, the sorrowful duty of 
 preaching his funeral sermon. I prized much the warm 
 friendship of Dr. Jamieson, of St. Paul's, perhaps the ablest 
 scholar — certainly the best Hebraist in the Presbytery — 
 always accessible and reliable. The venerable Dr. Smith, 
 of Cathcart, was the true gentleman all over, the Nestor of 
 the court, and facile pr biceps in Church law and business 
 matters. Dr. Charteris was altogether a later importation.
 
 n6 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 But in the rare qualities of a man, a Christian, and a pastor, 
 he had no peer. It would be invidious to name others when 
 all were cordial. But I must reserve two, or it may be 
 three paragraphs. One of these is for my dear old 'vene- 
 rated friend, Dr. John Muir, of St. James, a member of 
 what might be called " the old school," intensely ori- 
 ginal, rich in the exposition of Evangelical truths, in 
 his own homely way the prince of preachers. He was 
 at war — and no quarter given — with all new-fangled 
 methods and doctrines ; as I heard him state in his own 
 quaint diction to a crowded and fashionable congregation 
 in London : " People are not content now, as the Israelites 
 were, to have the manna sent down ready cooked from 
 heaven, but they must have it served up with onions, 
 and leeks, and garlic." I was privileged to see and pray 
 with this " good and faithful servant " on his death-bed. 
 1 have mentioned in a former chapter the verse selected 
 in my country church on that sad, solemn, never-to-be- 
 forgotten Sunday which followed the Disruption. The 
 congregation of St. James felt assured that their worthy 
 pastor (Dr. Muir), who remained in the National Church 
 (and indeed regarded the attitude of the outgoing brethren 
 as the blunder of innocent and deluded men), would select 
 as his text something out of the way, quite in harmony 
 with the singularities of his life and character. But 
 they were hardly prepared for the surprise when he 
 announced the subject of his discourse — 2 Sam. xv. n : 
 " And with Absalom went two hundred men out of Jeru- 
 salem, that were called ; and they went in their simplicity, 
 and they knew not any thing"! 
 
 Dr. Gillan, of St. John's, is not to be forgotten in this 
 clerical roll of " good men." He was an indomitable 
 worker alike in pulpit, parish, and platform, and over- 
 flowing with ready and genial wit. His impromptus were 
 remarkable, and never missed fire.
 
 GLASCOIV n 7 
 
 " Can you toll mo," said a Cockney fellow-voyager, 
 curious in astronomical questions, one bright, starry night, 
 as they were contemplating- together the heavens on the 
 dock of a London and Loith steamer; "can you toll mo," 
 said this interlocutor, " what is a dog-star ? " 
 
 " I do not know," replied the other, " unless it be a sky 
 terrier." 
 
 His predecessor in his country Manse had left in the 
 Doctor's custody all his written sermons. The former, 
 afraid that they would suffer from the dampness of the 
 press in which they had been stored, requested Gillan to 
 take a look at them, and see they were not suffering from 
 these climatic conditions. The reply was, " I am glad to 
 tell you they are as dry as ever.'" 
 
 Dr. Norman Macleod, his unique personality, popularity, 
 and influence, I shall recur to in an after page. He was 
 head and shoulders above all. As his intimate friend, Dr. 
 Watson, truly said, " He was the most many-sided of men." 
 His were amazingly captivating powers both in public and 
 private — the sympathetic pastor, the brilliant conversa- 
 tionalist, the eloquent orator. He recalls to me the happy, 
 complimentary saying of Frederica Bremer, when an 
 accomplished friend was apologising for intruding upon 
 her at a time of bodily weakness, "Oh, no! you did not 
 tire me ; and yet you might. / forgot you were so many.'" 
 Dr. Macleod had this multiplied power, this cipher or 
 ciphers, added to the unit in no ordinary degree — " a host 
 in himself! " As the highest lady in the land remarked to 
 Dean Stanley on his death, — "And he was so big." Yes, 
 "so big," and yet he was not formidable. Between his 
 warmth of heart, his earnest spirit, and ever -ready 
 pleasantries, you were at ease at once. This last feature in 
 his many-sidedness was a very remarkable one. His wit 
 was spontaneous, irrepressible ; like his laugh, it bubbled 
 over in spite of him. But, as is ever the case in the true,
 
 n8 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 genuine article, it cannot be reproduced second-hand. What 
 has been said of a great German was equally true of him. 
 " He was essentially spirit uel, with the light, delicate wit 
 of another age ; that subtle essence which evaporates in 
 transmission, evanescent and inimitable, that can neither 
 be plagiarised or preserved." What a wonderful vitality 
 in this noble, manifold influence ! He possessed it and 
 exercised it, alike over the working man, at the table of 
 the Glasgow Croesus, over the Queen in her Crathie Kirk 
 and Highland home. Speaking of working men, he took 
 me, one night I was dining alone with him, into his study, 
 to see and hear a deputation of shipwrights, carpenters, 
 and others from Kelvinhaugh. The play of light and 
 shade was admirable. The many-chorded soul was all in 
 tune. The men felt in a few minutes in sympathy with 
 him, and he with them. Homer was not wrong in speak- 
 ing of " Kings of Men " ; and this was one of them. Dean 
 Stanley's name for him was " The Bishop." 
 
 Here are a few words spoken of another, but how true of 
 him. u There is always a certain cachet about great men. 
 They speak of common life more largely and generously 
 than common men do ; they regard the world with a 
 manlier countenance, and see its real features more fairly 
 than the timid shufflers, who only dare to look up at life 
 through blinkers, or to have an opinion where there is a 
 crowd to back it " (" English Humorists "). 
 
 But there was an " Archbishop " in the family, though 
 little known in comparison with his more distinguished 
 son. " Old Dr. Macleod," as he was familiarly called, 
 minister of the Gaelic Church in Glasgow, was truly no 
 common man. Captivating in manners and speech as was 
 Dr. Norman, junr., he was not superior in these respects to 
 " the old man eloquent." He would have been picked out, 
 conspicuous in face and figure, among a thousand — with his 
 genial expression, kindling eye, and silvery hair ; while
 
 GLASGOW 119 
 
 the fascination of voice and language was increased be- 
 cause 
 
 " Upon his speech there hung 
 The accents of the mountain tongue." 
 
 He was wonderful in his tact in public speaking; none 
 could better feel the pulse of his audience even to the last. 
 I was on the platform in the City Hall at a crowded meet- 
 ing to celebrate his jubilee. The powers of former days 
 were manifestly failing ; and, in a word, he got rather 
 muddled in a long discursive speech which came unavoid- 
 ably to tax the patience of his hearers. There were be- 
 ginning to be evident, indeed audible, signs of impatience, 
 yet he had something more he was very anxious to say. 
 His son (Dr. Norman) was seated next him, but refrained 
 from the slightest filial interference by word or sign. The 
 old man, however, with his unfailing resources, was equal 
 to the occasion. The sudden idea which inspired him was 
 inimitable, and it was inimitably carried out. He thus 
 addressed the unconscious minister of the Barony at his 
 side: "I .say, Norman, if you pull my coat tails again, I 
 shall speak for half an hour. If you let them alone, I shall 
 be done in five minutes." This little piece of extempore 
 device, it need not be said, had the desired effect. It was 
 received with appreciative hilarity, and he was heard to the 
 end in respectful and good-humoured silence. I adjourned, 
 w r ith a favoured few, after all was over, for some small 
 hospitalities in his house ; and he was seen at his best 
 when the anxieties and jubilations of the day were fairly 
 over. 
 
 At the request of his son, I preached in the Barony, the 
 Sunday after his death, what may be called a funeral 
 sermon. 
 
 I may here advert to a pleasant feature in my Sunday 
 services in Sandyford. During the six years I was at St. 
 Madoes, I preached regularly once a month a " sermon to
 
 120 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 children." These were ranged in front of the pulpit, while 
 parents and others of maturer age occupied the other 
 portions of the church. The success in the country ser- 
 vice was so obvious that I ventured to continue it in the 
 city of the West, with this difference, that, as I could not 
 well disturb the seat arrangements by having an exclusive 
 "diet of worship " for my young hearers, I often ingrafted 
 a few words — say of ten minutes' length — at the close ot 
 the ordinary sermon. This was the first of my " innova- 
 tions," and one from which there was no dissent. A chil- 
 dren's service of some kind I would warmly commend to all 
 pastors and teachers. I now vividly recall the noblest of 
 such I ever heard, though not of yesterday, preached in 
 presence of a thousand children, by that patriarch of 
 missionaries, Dr. Robert Moffat. Voice and action com- 
 bined to vivify the thrilling tales of his African experiences, 
 and were very telling to adults in the galleries, as well as 
 to the two thousand ears and eyes directly in front of the 
 preacher. 
 A summer holiday of several weeks' duration was spent 
 
 with my wife and friend (Miss A ) in the old favourite 
 
 haunts of the Continent — France, Switzerland, and Italy. It 
 need not be rehearsed. The Munster Thai, or Val Moutier, 
 was new to me. It involved a long but very charming 
 day, starting from the " Trois Rois," at Basle, at 4 a.m. 
 For miles on miles a narrow gorge, hemmed in by magnifi- 
 cent crags on either side. Sunday was spent at Interlaken. 
 One always likes to encounter, casually, distinguished men 
 who have made a mark on the learning, science, or litera- 
 ture of the age. One such, whose name and familiar text- 
 book was well known to me in the Natural Philosophy 
 class in my Alma Mater, revealed here his impressive 
 presence and countenance. It was Dr. Whewell, of Cam- 
 bridge. He was an imperial potentate all over. In the 
 words of a competent judge, " Whewell ruled a noble
 
 GLASGOW 121 
 
 generation." We encountered him first on Saturday, very 
 much out of place, superintending, in the sweltering heat, 
 the descent of boxes and portmanteaux from the lumbering 
 " diligence." But next day better revealed that wonderful 
 physique in the church at Inter laken. No one could fail to 
 be arrested by the almost " abnormal " head, with the most 
 massive of brows, and locks of silver depending over his 
 collar. To this hour I have the singular solemnity and 
 devotion of the Patriarch of Cambridge vividly before me, 
 as it were yesterday, when that head was bowed in rever- 
 ence as he partook of the Holy Communion. 
 
 It was pleasant to be able to add this unique personality 
 to my gallery of mental portraits. Yes, I had seen the 
 great " Wheel-well," as the bookseller opposite the College 
 gates invariably called the author of the dynamic text- 
 book. 
 
 Italy was approached by the noblest of Swiss passes — the 
 Splugen. I have seen them all save the Stelvio, and while 
 the Simplon, St. Gothard, even Cenis, possess (or, rather, 
 possessed) features of sublimity and grandeur all their 
 own, the Splugen, especially its Swiss side of the Via 
 Mala, must have the crown assigned to it. Who can ever 
 forget these sheer depths, as you look from the wonder- 
 fully engineered road down into the gorges through which 
 the Rhine is rushing towards its great leap at Schaff- 
 hausen, and the drapery of forest towering to the sky-line 
 above ! 
 
 It was a first, but not the last visit to Venice. But being 
 the first, the freshness was great of canal, and lagoon, and 
 gondola ; grand piazza and duomo ; add to these, nooks and 
 corners seldom explored, because incompatible with the 
 haste and hurry of the stereotyped visitor. On our way 
 thither we could not resist an anniversary. We paused at 
 Dezansano, on the shores of the Lago di Garda, despite of 
 warning as to the shortcomings, or rather, as we found
 
 122 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 them, the miseries of the inn. But it happened that on 
 that very date a year ago, the battle of Solferino had been 
 fought ; and we deemed the day would be most appro- 
 priately spent on the field of contest. The landlord was 
 honest enough to forewarn us that our start was too late in 
 the afternoon to bring us back before darkness had set in, 
 the distance being considerable ; but, nothing daunted, 
 we took a carriage and pair, instructing the driver not 
 to follow the average pace of vetturini. We explored at 
 tolerable leisure the scene of this conflict of giants, and 
 climbed to the top of the hill, where one of the fiercest 
 struggles took place. Kind nature had wonderfully 
 bound up and covered wounds and wrecks. Had we not 
 been told the contrary, we could hardly believe that 
 that peaceful spot, with its renewed fences and sweet 
 cornfields, had, so shortly before, been the scene of wild 
 havoc. Gaps in the tower-walls, and the displacement of 
 some stone "dykes," seemed alone to identify a spot now 
 historical. Our host of Dezansano, let me add, was right 
 in his prognostications. The sun had set, the stars were 
 twinkling, and the frogs croaking, long before we had 
 reached our night's quarters. It was not the darkness 
 which gave us concern, but the unpleasant recollection of 
 the motley, ill-looking crew who hung around the inn-door 
 on our leaving, cognizant therefore of the landlord's wise 
 protest. What was to hinder them forestalling our return, 
 on that lonely, untravelled road, and perhaps demanding 
 something more than blackmail ? 
 
 Among the many floating memories of this same pleasant 
 tour, let me recall the renewal of my old associations with 
 Chamounix, the Montanvert, the Mer de Glace, the Mauvais 
 Pas, and the Flegere. A sunset on Mont Blanc, seen from 
 the latter, will be on the brain for ever. The Chamounix 
 valley was long in shadow, while the hoary head of the 
 " monarch of mountains" was flushed with delicate crimson
 
 GLASGOW j 23 
 
 and gold. Then, with a rush, all this coronal of glory 
 vanished, and the slow pallor of death succeeded. Indeed, 
 "nature's parable" was too evident and impressive not to 
 evoke the same remark from all three spectators. 
 
 I little dreamt that the solemn emblem was ere long, and 
 too soon, to be realized in my own home and experience. 
 
 For here I may insert a tender occurrence which cast its 
 deep life-shadow among these opening years : the sudden, 
 unlooked-for death of my only son, dearly loved, a beautiful 
 boy of twelve, and full of promise. The sympathy received 
 at the time was most soothing. I was borne with mar- 
 vellous calmness and vigour through my congregational 
 and pulpit duties ; the very awfulness of the blow stimu- 
 lating me to seek, and I hope I may add, enabling me so far 
 to practise, the submission I had sought to inculcate on 
 others. 
 
 One result of this bereavement I cannot omit, for it has 
 borne wonderful fruit. A little later we went down for 
 some weeks of refreshment and quiet to Corrie, in the 
 Island of Arran. The activities of the congregational 
 work had hitherto served to engross me, and so far for the 
 time to ward off sadder thoughts. The solitude of Arran 
 induced a painful reaction. I had more leisure to dwell on 
 the "loved and lost," and I began to wonder how I could 
 best and most profitably occupy my mind. Could no con- 
 genial theme be dreamt of to engross these hours of sorrow- 
 ful meditation, and possibly turn them into solaces for 
 others as well as for myself? By a happy thought, the 
 "Bow in the Cloud," with its daily verse of comfort and 
 brief words of meditation, suggested itself ; and these few 
 secluded weeks and solitary walks were productive of per- 
 haps the best-known, certainly the most highly blest, of 
 all my books. It seemed at once to have a door opened to it 
 into thousands, indeed tens of thousands of mourning house- 
 holds. I feel assured, with deep humility and fervent grati-
 
 124 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 tude I say it, a volume would be required to contain the 
 written testimonies borne to the comfort and support that 
 little book has conveyed. Here surely is the truthful 
 reason of its acceptability to the bereaved: — written "from 
 the heart to the heart." 
 
 In one of these early summers, I forget which, we had a 
 pleasant sojourn in more than one beautiful villa on the 
 Clyde. On the same occasion we drove from the house 
 of an esteemed member of my congregation to call at 
 Skelmorlie Castle, and see its renowned picture gallery, 
 by far the finest of its time in Scotland. Old Mr. Graham, 
 the proud possessor of these treasures, was also, in winter, 
 a member of Sandyford, and a kind friend. He always 
 sent for me to see his latest acquisition, which was first 
 hung on the walls of his house in Glasgow. Now a Turner, 
 now a Stanfield, now a Landseer. Of one work bearing 
 the name of the last-named artist, he seemed specially 
 proud ; but a somewhat humiliating and amusing story is 
 connected with it. It was the well-known picture of a 
 huge Newfoundland dog. An apparently undoubted work 
 of the great master, not only bearing traces of his unmis- 
 takable " method," but signed and authenticated by his 
 name; cost, £1,000. A few days after the purchase was 
 made, the owner claimed my sympathy in the tidings 
 received from his London agents, that this gem of his 
 collection had turned out to be a clever " replica" copied 
 by a relative of the painter, who had appended her (in one 
 sense) truthful signature, " E. Landseer." He added that 
 mey had at the same time offered the no mean deduction of 
 £900, allowing him to have this really masterly copy for 
 £100. But the honour of his whole gallery would be at stake 
 by acceptance. The interloper was sent back in disgrace : 
 nothing but the genuine article would satisfy the genuine 
 man. But does not this little incident illustrate the present 
 fictitious and fancy value of pictures ? John Graham, as
 
 GLASGOW 125 
 
 a " man of mark," was right in purging his collection ol 
 a doubtful character, — a vessel sailing under false 
 colours. But wh}^, I often think, should there be such 
 fastidiousness about "copies"? A good copy of a good 
 picture should certainly not be ostracised. I have myself, 
 in my humble, impecunious way, had first-rate copies done 
 or selected of Raffaelle's, Carlo Dolci's, and Fra Angelico's, 
 from the Pitti at Florence ; others dating their pedigree 
 elsewhere. I feel sure these great limners would utter 
 no reprimand if they saw them adorning my study. 
 Better, surely, I repeat, an accurate, trustworthy tran- 
 script, than trashy, so-called "originals." 
 
 Adverting once more to books and publications, I have 
 pleasant memories during these early years of Glasgow 
 life, connected with Good Words, and its first editor, 
 Dr. Macleod. I believe, his publisher excepted, no man 
 was so much honoured with his confidence in the inception 
 of this ultimately most successful undertaking. Indeed, 
 I am not sure but that in a small way I prevented the 
 early shipwreck of what was subsequently fraught with 
 varied and able teaching to many thousands of households. 
 By more than one earnest talk in his study, in Woodlands 
 Terrace, as well as by letter, I sought to whisper in his 
 ear his own, " Courage, brother." He needed it. For, 
 supremely noble and, in one sense, independent, he was 
 not exactly the man capable of taking worries easily, 
 and battling with them ; and this altogether new ex- 
 perience and experiment seemed to bristle with difficulties. 
 I recall one day especially, when, worried and badgered 
 by impracticable correspondents, he would willingly, could 
 he have done it with a good grace, have backed out 
 of the concern altogether. Here are some scraps from his 
 hurried notes, so hurried as well nigh to be illegible ; 
 although even in these he generally had time and patience, 
 as was his wont, to append, with a few clever strokes,
 
 126 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 of pen-and-ink, sketches of perplexed and bothered editors ; 
 and when his hopes brightened, these same emerging with 
 smiles and hilarity. 
 
 I may be pardoned here, giving a few extracts from his 
 generally undated lines on this and other subjects. I shall 
 venture to do so, even though they should betray a false 
 and exaggerated estimate of his correspondent, which 
 might willingly be omitted. But they are tokens of a 
 prized and generous friendship. 
 
 " Monday Morning. 
 " My dear M , 
 
 "Unless I get a select circle as friends to stand by 
 me, I cannot undertake the editorship of this proposed 
 magazine. It will be weekly. The object is good, and the 
 editor 'respect.' I have written several good men and 
 true this morning, for the first time ; and seeing I preached 
 thrice yesterday, and have been at my desk before six, I 
 think you will have some reliance on the editor's working 
 powers. Now, say you will give me something every 
 month. Let it be short or long. 
 
 "N. M." 
 
 " Tuesday. 
 " Many, many thanks. Things are looking up. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 "N.M." 
 
 " Thursday. 
 " My dear M , 
 
 " Read the enclosed. What can I say ? I believe 
 
 we shall go to the wall unless something is done. I am 
 
 already almost worried to death. I wrote twenty-nine 
 
 letters yesterday, and since 6 a.m. I have been at it. I feel 
 
 most in this affair the pain of troubling people for what is 
 
 so very personal. Yet, having in an evil hour, I fear, em-
 
 GLASGOW 127 
 
 barked in this enterprise, I am bound to take the publishers 
 out of it as soon as possible. ... I am sick to death. 
 '* Yours ever (a lugubrious face follows)." 
 
 "My dear M , 
 
 "No man has more reason to trust you with a 
 most true and loyal trust than I have, for you have always 
 done the part of a true friend. Never more than in this 
 magazine business. A thousand thanks ! All is good, ex- 
 cellent, and thoroughly appreciated in every respect by 
 
 me. 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " N. M. 
 " I am almost done up ! " 
 
 " My dear M , 
 
 . . . " ' The Editor more satisfied.' (Then fol- 
 lows a comical outline of the satisfied editor, pen in hand 
 and jubilant.) " 
 
 Need I add, he was very soon out of the deep waters. 
 
 Another matter of a different kind deeply interested 
 Macleod at this time. In reading his Memoir, every one 
 must note, as I have already done, what a " composite " man 
 he was. Full to overflowing with humour and frolic, yet 
 full to overflowing, too, with genuine deep-seated devotion 
 and spirituality. Moreover, the serin mixta jocis — as I have 
 said of his like-minded friend, Dr. Guthrie — never seemed 
 with him to jar. 
 
 There was a natural outcome, a spontaneity in each. 
 It is of the former I now speak. The origination and 
 carrying out of the following proposal was altogether 
 and entirely his own. His whole soul was in it. He 
 summoned by private note to his house a number of the 
 Brethren in Glasgow, in order to form a Ministerial Union 
 for prayer, in which his faith was mighty.
 
 128 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 The heading of the second letter subjoined was the key- 
 note to the whole plan. I leave these brief extracts to 
 speak for themselves. 
 
 "My dear M— — , 
 
 " I propose to hold a preliminary conference here 
 upon Tuesday the 2nd, at 12. I ask it as a great personal 
 favour that you attend. And oh, my friend ! do, do pray 
 to God that we may have given to us on that day the spirit 
 of faith, love, and of a sound mind. I know He will bless 
 us if we come hungering and thirsting for the blessing. 
 To be emptied of self, and filled with Him, that is what 
 we must seek, and when we attain it, we shall enjoy 
 Heaven. 
 
 " Ever thine, 
 
 " N. M. 
 
 " This conference has been my longing and prayer for 
 twelve years." 
 
 " 1st January. 
 " Malachi iii. 16, 18. 
 
 "My dear M , 
 
 " Let me remind you of our Union on the 5th at 
 2. Rel. Institution Rooms. 
 
 "The first meeting must be peculiarly devotional, and I 
 have to request you to be one of the Brethren who will 
 lead our devotions. 
 
 " God bless you and yours during this year, and may our 
 ' Union ' advance our own spirits in all that is true, humble, 
 loving. 
 
 " I have great faith in the blessing coming. 
 
 " Ever thine, 
 
 "N. M." 
 
 Then follows, I forget at what interval, one of the easy
 
 GLASGOW 129 
 
 transitions from grave to gay. I shall ever regard it as 
 one of the honours of my life, that when Dr. Macleod went 
 on his well-known tour to Palestine, so graphically told 
 afterwards in Good Words and " Eastward," he very urgently 
 asked me to be one of his travelling companions. It had 
 been the dream of my own life. Oh ! what a ready re- 
 sponse, under such auspices, would I willingly have given ! 
 All would " condone " so pardonable a hesitation. 
 
 " Adelaide Place, 29. 
 
 "My dear M , 
 
 "I enclose C 's letter. You must come. We 
 
 shall have abundance of time, from our landing in Alex- 
 andria in the first week of March, to do the Holy Land, 
 northwards. You won't have such a good chance for 
 many a day. 
 
 " Yours ever." 
 (A Turkish Pasha, smoking, follows.) 
 
 He was right in his closing word. But the comparative 
 recency of my settlement in Glasgow made me, perhaps r . 
 too fastidious ; and the " chance " for the time being had to 
 be surrendered. Two years later I thought I might secure 
 his companionship in another shape. 
 
 " Kyles of Bute. 
 
 "My dear M , 
 
 " Your question about Italy has tormented me : 
 positively ever since I received it. 
 " Italy ! ? ! ? 
 
 "O thou tempter! What say you? Is it safe there? 
 Is it not too early ? But we could take a good bite out of 
 October. 
 
 " Did you say Italy, Macduff? Rome ! where John Cum- 
 ming's Pope lives ? 
 
 9
 
 i 3 o DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 " If you are serious, then tell me, and I shall be serious 
 too. . . . 
 
 " With love to your wife and bairn. 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " N. M." 
 
 One more subject. 
 
 Perhaps the most successful, as well as novel, of all Dr. 
 Macleod's manifold schemes for the good of the sprawling, 
 heterogeneous parish of the Barony, was the gathering 
 together, each Sunday evening in the big Parish Church, a 
 congregation of the poorest of the poor — men in their work- 
 ing clothes, who were the owners of nothing better ; and 
 women who would have been ashamed to exhibit their 
 tattered, slovenly attire at the ordinary times of worship. 
 No man or woman of the upper orders — no human being 
 in well-to-do garments — was admitted. If they ventured 
 to come, they were unceremoniously refused admittance and 
 sent to the right-about. The experiment was a hazardous 
 one, but it proved an immediate success. It was a most 
 potent influence in the direction of " elevating the masses." 
 But it required a Great-Heart — a mesmeric personality — 
 such as Macleod, to erect the machinery and oil the 
 wheels. 
 
 The following note will explain itself : — 
 
 "My dear M , 
 
 " I am afraid to ask you to promise on Sabbath 
 evening as a personal favour. For, if I did so, I think you 
 would at once comply, even though it went against your 
 grain. But if you agree to my earnest request, it will be a 
 blessing to my poor people, a great help to one's work, and 
 be a source of gratification to yourself. The service begins 
 at seven. The sermon varies from half-hour to one-and- 
 a-half-hour ! As you please.
 
 GLASGOW 131 
 
 " There is no person in Glasgow I would like so much to 
 address them. What better subject than ( A Memory of 
 Bethany ' ? 
 
 "Thine ever, 
 
 "N.M." 
 
 I need not say I complied, though with diffidence, at once. 
 The audience was something per se — impressive in its 
 singularity — magnificent battalions of patched coats and 
 faded gowns ; upturned and — if occasionally unwashed — 
 apparently interested faces. What a mine to be wrought 
 with such Titan hands as his ! I did not take the suggested 
 "Memory of Bethany," but rather that picturesque chapter 
 from the Old Testament on " Naaman the Syrian." It 
 offered a succession of pictures and lessons suitable to time 
 and place. 
 
 Once more on another theme preparatory to what fol- 
 lows. 
 
 "My dear M- 
 
 > 
 
 " It is not possible for you to do or to say any- 
 thing to me which can ever for one moment shake my 
 confidence in your brotherly love. 
 
 " Thine ever, 
 " N. M." 
 
 A bitter and acrimonious controversy, now forgotten, 
 was being waged on what was familiarly known as " the 
 Sabbath question." It originated very much in the con- 
 scientious scruples of Dr. Macleod himself; and he was 
 the supporter, by his eloquence and power, of what were 
 then deemed, rightly or wrongly, " advanced views." I 
 have no heart or memory to revive the conflict, into which 
 I mourn that the old Scottish odium theologicwn was 
 largely imported, both in church-court, pulpit, and public
 
 1 32 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 meeting. I had the misfortune to differ from one whose 
 character and work were dear to all — the spell of whose 
 influence was the common property and pride of the city. 
 We well knew he had no end to serve but what, to him, was 
 loyalty to truth ; and he, with equal generosity and mag- 
 nanimity, respected the opinions of those who were adverse 
 to his. But his sensitive nature lent a too ready ear to 
 monstrous calumnies it would be too absurd here to repeat. 
 One is reminded of a line in " Christabel " : — 
 
 "But whispering tongues can poison truth." 
 
 It was to me, at the time, a real trial. Alas ! shall I note, 
 in passing, the first of the many times since, I have had 
 written in large characters over too many hours in my life 
 the word, " misunderstood." I shall not further enlarge. 
 Enough to say that in time the ripple on the waters was 
 smoothed. I could repose on the sentence of the letter 
 already quoted, as to his confidence in me. On the occa- 
 sion (later) of his Moderatorship, when I was a member of 
 Assembly, I never can forget many personal kindnesses. 
 Under a gush of such memories as I have related, I went 
 a long distance, in a yet future year, in order to pay the 
 last sad tribute among the crowd in Glasgow Cathedral. 
 Yes, good and great man ! We shall know all the truth 
 by-and-by, where calumnies are sifted, traducers silenced, 
 friendships unmarred ; the " Brother-Union " you so loved 
 and perfected on earth sealed and crowned for ever. 
 
 I was at this date gratified at receiving, unsought, a 
 permanent place, by the insertion of one of my hymns, 
 in the " Church of Scotland Hymn-Book." It originally ap- 
 peared in my little booklet "Altar Stones," and has since 
 been incorporated in other collections in England and 
 America. I think I have written better ones ; but. as it 
 has received thus a kind of imprimatur from the various 
 churches, I may find a place for it here.
 
 GLASGOW 133 
 
 Christ is coming ! Let creation 
 
 Bid her groans and travail cease, 
 Let the glorious proclamation 
 
 Hope restore and faith increase — 
 Christ is coming ! 
 
 Come, Thou blessed Prince of Peace ! 
 
 Earth can now but tell the story 
 
 Of Thy bitter cross and pain ; 
 She shall yet behold Thy glory 
 
 When Thou comest back to reign — 
 Christ is coming ! 
 
 Let each heart repeat the strain. 
 
 Though once cradled in a manger, 
 
 Oft n pillow but the sod ; 
 Here an alien and a stranger, 
 
 Mocked of men, disowned of God — ■ 
 All creation 
 
 Yet shall own Thy Kingly rod. 
 
 Long Thine exiles have been pining, 
 Far from rest and home and Thee ; 
 
 But in heavenly vestures shining, 
 Soon they shall Thy glory see — 
 
 Christ is coming ! 
 Haste the joyous jubilee ! 
 
 With that ' blessed hope ' before us, 
 
 Let no harp remain unstrung, 
 Let the mighty Advent chorus 
 
 Onward roll from tongue to tongue — 
 Christ is coming ! 
 
 Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come ! 
 
 During these Glasgow years of busy life, many pleasant 
 incidents occurred. 
 
 In September, i860, we were honoured by a visit from 
 the then Sir John Lawrence. He had the proposal made to 
 him of becoming a burgess of Glasgow. He wrote volun- 
 teering to be our guest, and to renew intercourse with the 
 old friend of his youth. In the crowded City Hall he made
 
 134 DR. J- R. MACDUFF 
 
 a noble speech, though without any conspicuous grace of 
 oratory to aid it. He willingly lingered, after the receipt 
 of civic compliments, for some days during the meeting 
 of the " Social Science Congress," presided over by the 
 veteran Lord Brougham. This he enjoyed to the full, 
 many of the questions discussed being allied to the problems 
 it had been his good fortune to ponder and solve in India. 
 I was anxious that one of the fine September forenoons he 
 should have a glimpse of some favoured region on the 
 Clyde. I had no hesitation in selecting the Gare Loch, 
 knowing that he would receive a right generous and 
 hospitable welcome from my kind and venerated friend 
 Mr. Napier, of Shandon. Mr. Napier was a man after his 
 own heart. Lord Lawrence was greatly pleased with host 
 and hostess, their palatial residence, its gardens and sur- 
 roundings, its sculpture and picture gallery, etc. He was 
 even permitted — a privilege reserved for rare friends — to 
 see " the pantry," a spacious closet-room, not with its 
 wonted vulgar associations, but where the enthusiastic 
 collector of recherche china and antiquities kept under lock 
 and key his most costly treasures. 
 
 At the close of this day's enjoyment I invited a clerical 
 "Symposium" to meet him at dinner: Dr. Macleod, Dr. 
 Craik, Dr. Robson, Dr. Smith, and others. 
 
 Lord Lawrence was a man of men, and would readily 
 have been picked out in the crowd as a born leader. He 
 could have stood for Caractacus in Watt's great cartoon ; 
 yet, as I heard Lord Derby (who presided in after years 
 at the Mansion House meeting for erecting a memorial) 
 most aptly describe him : " He was distinguished by a 
 heroic simplicity." His visit formed a red-letter day. He 
 had been the lion of the London season, and no wonder ; 
 fresh home from his truly herculean labours in the Pun- 
 jaub, and in no mere rhetorical, but very real and literal 
 sense the Saviour of India. But for his strong arm and
 
 GLASGOW 135 
 
 strong will, that vast " Dependency " would not have been 
 ours to-day, or if restored, only after long years of blood 
 and catastrophe — a well-nigh hopeless effort. When others 
 were paralyzed, he never lost hope or heart. He secured 
 the neutrality and submission of the highly excitable and 
 brave Sikhs, among whom he ruled as high commissioner, 
 satisfying in another way their military instincts by send- 
 ing them down by thousands to aid in the capture of Delhi 
 — the taking of which, he saw from the first, would alone 
 break the neck of the rebellion. He never paused till that 
 great object was attained. When attained, his noble nature 
 shrank from the cry of indiscriminate vengeance, and he 
 succeeded in tempering justice with mercy. Yet how 
 humble we found him, though the whole country was 
 ringing with his fame. He entered with youthful glee 
 into all the frolics of old days — the happy days during 
 which he was wont to spend his vacation in my dear 
 wife's home in London. It seemed a joy to him to relax 
 in a quiet household, and to get away from the blare of 
 trumpet and applause, which no man ever sought or valued 
 less. It was amusing, his carelessness in all that pertained 
 to the outer man. I can quite understand the description 
 of the great worker even in his viceregal days, dispensing 
 with coat and waistcoat, and, with shirt sleeves tucked up, 
 accelerating the despatch of business. Here is one in- 
 stance: On arrival at my house he found that, at the 
 station, his hat-box had been omitted to be put along with 
 his luggage. I offered to send a messenger. But — " No," 
 he said ; " let us go together and capture it." I had only 
 one decent hat at the time. The other was hopelessly 
 battered and creased. I volunteered, of course, to give 
 him the respectable one, and manage as best I could with 
 the disreputable. But he would insist in appropriating 
 the latter, and thus made his debut through the main 
 streets of Glasgow, where he was recognised as my ex-
 
 136 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 pected guest. Some who did not know the man ventured 
 to speak of him as stern, rugged in character as in outer 
 deportment and in his somewhat rough-hewn face ; but 
 his deep-set, grey eye was ever kindling with fun and 
 kindliness ; and the tear came readily to it in memories, 
 whether glad or sad. When he left us, he went awa} r 
 more as the kind and warm friend than as the hero of a 
 hundred fights. All the memories of Chelsea and Hailey- 
 bury, and Clifton and Linton, seemed included in the 
 farewell kiss he imprinted on my wife's cheek. 
 
 We visited him the following summer at Southgate, his 
 home, near Hatfield, where he was always glad to escape 
 from the din and fashion of the Metropolis. It was a 
 pleasant peep of him in his family life, with the wife 
 and children he so doted upon. His religion, without 
 any fuss or demonstration, was evidently too deep to be 
 noisy. I liked much to see him officiate as high priest 
 in his own household. There was more than one other 
 clergyman under his roof at the time; but he presided 
 himself at the morning family altar. His voice was un- 
 musical, but in a loud, firm tone he seemed ready to pro- 
 claim to all the world, "I am not ashamed of the Gospel 
 of Christ." Soon thereafter he was embarked in the 
 duties and responsibilities of the viceroyalty. He died 
 as he had lived, the consistent, humble Christian, with 
 faith strong and unfaltering in his Saviour. One of his 
 last sayings, untold in his biography, was, " Yes, Jesus, 
 Jesus is my only hope." 
 
 I suspect— and I say it with gratitude — that I was often 
 exceptionally favoured by the Glasgow magnates in 
 coming in contact from time to time with " folk worth 
 knowing " ; although there were comparatively few big 
 guns that came to our unhistoric city. Two successive 
 Lord Provosts (Sir James Lumsden and Sir James Wat- 
 son) were kind enough to invite me to their houses to
 
 GLASGOW 137 
 
 lunch ; the one to meet Lord Derby, and the other Mr. 
 Gladstone, and I accompanied or " took charge " of Mrs. 
 Gladstone to the City Hall in the evening - , to hear her 
 husband at his best. The carriage was discovered in the 
 crowd, and she had no sinecure in shaking hands with 
 the workers of the west. Another interesting vara avis 
 in tern's I met at a memorable breakfast party in the 
 house ot Sir George Burns, where Lord Palmerston was 
 present, and gave one of his humorous speeches on being 
 enrolled as an honorary member of the " Gaiter Club." 
 
 Every now and then I had pleasant encounters with 
 old college friends ; and what acquaintances are more 
 delightful than these, with their gushing memories of 
 "ingenuous youth"? One out of many such now occurs 
 to me, though, keeping neither dates nor diaries, I cannot 
 recall the specific time. Dr. Pulsford and his deacons 
 did me the honour to ask me to open their new and 
 handsome church in Bath Street, taking the forenoon 
 service. It was a congregational church, but they paid 
 this generous compliment to the " Old Kirk," to which I 
 readily responded. On coming down from the pulpit to 
 the vestry, I was greeted by a well-known college face, 
 with gleaming eyes, and the firm, warm grip of a large 
 outstretched hand. This was Dr. Cairns — subsequently 
 Principal Cairns of Edinburgh — who was to take the 
 evening service, and had formed one of the forenoon 
 worshippers. He recalled most affectionately the inter- 
 course of former days, extending over four years, at the 
 Arts Classes in Edinburgh University, and expressed 
 the great pleasure he had in meeting under present cir- 
 cumstances. Cairns rose to be one 01 the very greatest, 
 best, and most beloved men of the second half of the 
 century. When I knew him of old under Pillans, Sir 
 William Hamilton, and Christopher North, he had, like 
 many other distinguished men, risen from lowly circum-
 
 1 38 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 stances. He himself, while a youth, followed his father's 
 calling as a shepherd, on the braes of Berwickshire. But 
 he soon among his fellow-students asserted his intellec- 
 tual kingliness. He was Sir William's favourite pupil, 
 and, if he had so desired, might have become peerless 
 among Scottish logicians. But the ministry he had de- 
 liberately chosen, and to the work of his Lord and Master 
 he gave a rare and lifelong consecration. Few were so 
 versed in the theology of the German " Fatherland " as 
 he ; but though he rose year by year in his country's es- 
 timation, he never lost his native simplicity and " lowliness 
 of mind." He bore, moreover, though a somewhat rough, 
 yet grand and impressive personality — a Saul among the 
 prophets — a colossal frame, a colossal head, a colossal 
 hand, a colossal everything. His intimate and dear friend, 
 Dr. John Brown (author of " Rab and his Friends "), play- 
 fully and happily called him " a great big Evangelical 
 Newfoundland dog." Rather let me describe him as an 
 ideal Christian man and Christian philosopher. His 
 character and aspirations were nobly expressed by his 
 own lips on the presentation of his portrait. He ended 
 his thanks with the life motto: " In te speravi Domine : 
 non in ceternwn confnndar." 
 
 A different incident, also of a pleasant kind, may here 
 find a place. 
 
 On two separate occasions I was appointed, by the 
 Chaplaincy Committee of the General Assembly, to assist 
 in dispensing the Holy Communion to the Scottish soldiers 
 in Aldershot. I deemed the first visit — possibly because 
 it was novel — of such interest, that I had a circumstantial 
 account of it inserted in Good Words. My old friend the 
 resident chaplain, of Crimean fame, kindly received me 
 as guest in his hut, which, truth to tell, contained few of 
 the amenities of a civilian's existence. The monster gun, 
 which sounded reveille, was just outside the hut-door,
 
 GLASGOW 139 
 
 and as the sun rose at 4 a.m., the trial to sleep and nerve 
 is not to be described nor forgotten. Dr. Guthrie, who had 
 been on a similar duty shortly before, declared he thought 
 it was " the Last Day." There was an original, tall and 
 brawny old woman — a sort of female grenadier, maid-of- 
 all-work to the chaplain — who, from her compromising 
 verdict on " them papers," deflected me, at all events, at 
 one of the services, from using a written sermon. And 
 she was right. I laid aside what had been carefully 
 prepared — "them papers" — and preached, using a few 
 jottings, from the words, " And the soldiers also asked 
 him, saying, And what must we do ? " No audience 
 could be more respectful or attentive. 
 
 During these years, too, many delightful tours, in the 
 free weeks of summer, were undertaken to the Continent 
 — Germany, Italy, but, above all, Switzerland, ever 
 our favourite holiday ground, and which never palled by 
 repetition. 
 
 One of these " memories," very trifling in itself, flashes 
 at the moment to remembrance. 
 
 From personal intercourse with young Spittler, of the 
 St. Crischona Mission, in the Black Forest of Germany, I 
 was anxious to visit its Missionary Institution, situated 
 a few miles from the town of Basle. 
 
 The college itself is an old church picturesquely perched 
 on a height, with pine forests all around. The aged 
 Father Spittler had, many years before, conceived the 
 idea of training a number of young peasants for the 
 great work of the mission field, but combining their sacred 
 calling and education with a knowledge of mechanics, 
 husbandry, and other useful arts of life. He secured, on 
 reasonable terms, this ancient building, and greatly en- 
 larged it, so as to accommodate many students, besides a 
 staff of professors. These St. Crischona " Brethren " are 
 now scattered throughout the missionary world. The in-
 
 140 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 cident in our visit, often pleasingly remembered, was when 
 the patriarchal founder was seen in the distance, wending" 
 his way to meet us at the colic ge by appointment. The 
 inmates all turned out, a goodly number, on the terrace, 
 with their hymn-books and music, to give their venerable 
 and venerated Father a joyful welcome. It recalled im- 
 pressively what I had shortly before been preaching about 
 — the similar scene which occurred on the terraces of the 
 Jordan valley recorded in Bible story, when fifty of the 
 "sons of the prophets" stood on the ridges and bade a 
 touching farewell to the great Elijah, as he and Elisha 
 " went on together," through the burning plain below, 
 following them till they crossed the arrowy river. Oh 
 these glorious days at Berne, Lucerne, Thun, Spietz, 
 Grindelwald, Chamounix, Neuchatel, Geneva, Glion, Ragatz, 
 Pontresina ! 
 
 " Ye mind me o' departed joys, 
 Departed never to return ! "
 
 X 
 
 A SUN DA Y AT CRA THIE 
 
 I may here narrate a memory all its own. 
 
 In doing so, surely my diversified roll-call may well 
 embrace a figure and personality conspicuously, above all 
 others, " good and great." 
 
 My name had been mentioned to the Queen, and I re- 
 ceived a gracious command to preach before Her Majesty 
 and the Prince Consort on October 13, 1861, in the 
 Church of Crathie. 
 
 It was an honour, it may be readily believed, of which 
 I was not ambitious. I was ignorant of courtly ways and 
 etiquette. I would rather the royal favour had been 
 extended elsewhere. 
 
 But there is etiquette here also, and a royal command is 
 considered absolute. The Queen's as well as the King's 
 matter " demandeth haste." So there was no help for it 
 but a hurried preparation, as well as disturbance of equi- 
 librium, in my quiet Highland cottage, and the twelfth 
 of the above month found me a passenger in the Perth 
 and Aberdeen Railway, en route, in obedience to the 
 royal summons. It was the well-known present journey, 
 which need not be described. Rail past the granite city 
 of the North to Ballater, and a well-appointed four-horse 
 coach thence to Crathie. 
 
 What a rare wisdom there was in the selection of 
 Balmoral and Deeside for her Majesty's Scottish home ! 
 There are other "bits" of Scotland more lovely, — con- 
 
 141
 
 142 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 spicuously so what was most familiar to me from its 
 vicinity— the Trossachs, Loch Katrine, and the magnifi- 
 cent rocks and corries of Benvenue. But for a rare 
 succession of scenery, nothing can exceed the whole drive 
 from Ballater to Braemar. Moreover, the Castle is re- 
 moved at a tolerably safe distance from the two capitals 
 of the South and other smaller towns, inquisitive natures 
 in which might have been, and would have been, trouble- 
 some. I am not sure but I liked the Queen's home better 
 in the olden days, when a modest, but unique, specimen 
 of " the Scottish Baronial " crowned the gentle height, 
 on which the now leviathan Highland Palace stands. It 
 seemed more in harmony with the surroundings, which 
 latter are dwarfed by the modern aggressor. I had seen 
 the whole before; but October on the present occasion 
 had given its own gilded frame to the picture. The 
 wonderful knolls and woods of birches had taken on 
 their yellow tints, and hung their beautiful tresses over 
 the roadside and the rushing river. 
 
 Mr. Anderson, then the minister of Crathie, had kindly 
 offered me the hospitality of his Manse, and I found 
 myself, in the afternoon of Saturday, seated with himself 
 and family at an early dinner. He was a man destitute 
 of any pretence to scholarship or accomplishment, but 
 full of genuine goodness — one able and willing to make 
 such a visit, to an entire stranger, a pleasurable one. 
 His family ably backed him up in this. His eldest 
 daughter afterwards visited us in Glasgow, a bright and 
 altogether delightful specimen of Scottish Manse uprearing. 1 
 
 1 That charming "daughter of the Manse" has many years since 
 departed. I am sure she would not demur to my retailing a gratifying 
 and proud incident. A few days before, a ball had been given in the 
 Castle to the Queen's neighbours, tenants, and servants, to which she was 
 invited. With a face beaming all over, she told what was the " red 
 letter" in her evening, doubtless in all her young life: " I went quite deter- 
 mined to dance with the Prince of Wales . . . and / did it V
 
 A SUNDA Y AT CRA TH1E 143 
 
 Dinner ended, he proposed to take a stroll along the 
 Highland road overlooking the Dee and the lower grounds 
 of Balmoral. In the latter — I trust with no vulgar or 
 obtrusive curiosity — we saw the Queen and the then 
 little Princess Beatrice leisurely taking their afternoon 
 walk, just like ordinary folks. As we continued the 
 slight ascent of the public highway, I observed a group 
 of gentlemen, evidently attaches of the Court, and if I 
 could judge in the distance, prominent ones approaching. 
 Mr. Anderson had only time abruptly to say, " These are 
 from the Castle ; that tall gentleman in the centre I wish 
 to speak to. If you walk on, I shall tell you afterwards 
 who he is." 
 
 My interest was excited. I took, as we approached, 
 a good look at this satellite of majesty, or scion of 
 nobility, possibly "minister in attendance," or whatever 
 else he might be. He certainly did not belie my sur- 
 mises, for he appeared formidable and pretentious, in 
 broad cloth of the best, and a conspicuous gold chain 
 dangling from his waistcoat. 
 
 " Who, may I ask," said I to Mr. Anderson, on rejoining 
 me, "who is that gentleman?" 
 
 "That," was the reply, "is the royal hairdresser." 
 
 It was enough : I collapsed. 
 
 On our way back to the Manse the minister pointed out 
 a thatched and very lowly cottage. "An old woman," 
 said he, " lives there. I saw her this forenoon. She told 
 me the Prince of Wales had passed her at her door 
 yesterday, adding, ' He geed me five shillins. It was 
 unco' ceevil o' him ! ' " After a cheery supper at the 
 Manse, the predominant memory being a central bowl 
 of prime oatmeal porridge, with appetite quickened by the 
 bracing Highland air, I retired to rest, and rose ready 
 and refreshed for my altogether novel Sunday duties. 
 
 When duly arrayed in gown and bands in the vestry,
 
 144 DR. /. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Mr. Anderson kept watch at a side window, which 
 commanded the arrival of royal carriages. He was 
 somewhat shortsighted, and communicated to me the 
 by no means depressing —yet, too, in the circumstances, 
 disappointing— tidings, that the Queen and royal party 
 were not there. 
 
 Fortified with this hurried statement, I made my way 
 at once to the pulpit. The royal seat was in the left- 
 hand gallery, which good sense and breeding forbade me 
 surveying. I could alone recognise, in the front gallery 
 opposite to me, the Prince of Wales, still in his teens. 
 After the singing of a Psalm, and devotional exercises, 
 I expounded simply a chapter in the Old Testament, and 
 then proceeded with the " discourse." 
 
 Before leaving home, I asked a judicious and reliable 
 friend what kind of topic I should select. His reply was, 
 " Preach a plain Gospel sermon." I did so. There was 
 a collection that day for the Indian Mission " scheme," 
 and during the circumnavigating of "the ladles," I 
 ventured to take a furtive glance at the royal pew. I 
 had officiated all the time under the impression that, the 
 Prince excepted, royalty was not present. But I shall 
 always remember that momentary glimpse when her 
 Majesty revealed herself ; still less could I ever forget (and 
 specially with the sequel of a few weeks) the remarkable 
 countenance of the illustrious Prince. Beauty, benignity, 
 intelligence, all combined: the ideal man. The day was 
 hot for the season, but not so oppressive as a few Sundays 
 
 before. On one of these my friend, Dr. D , told me 
 
 he had been, along with royalty, a worshipper, on which 
 occasion all, including the officiating clergyman, had to 
 endure the small distraction of an abnormal buzzing 
 of flies. A large collie had stationed himself at the head 
 of the pulpit stair, in full view of the congregation, whose 
 profane occupation during the sermon was an abortive
 
 A SUNDAY AT C RATH IE 145 
 
 attempt to gulp the aforesaid Hies ! I was amused, when 
 
 disrobing in the Session-house, and the "collection" was 
 
 being counted, by one of the old elders handing me very 
 
 formally a small empty envelope. He wished me to 
 
 possess the only reminiscence of the day it was in his 
 
 power to offer. It was the empty envelope which had 
 
 contained the Queen's offering of a hve-pound note. It 
 
 lives to this day. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I was en route next forenoon with a lighter heart 
 homewards, again revelling in the drive along Deeside, 
 with lofty Lochnagar looking down, a king, from his 
 throne of clouds. 
 
 Not more than a week or two had elapsed, when I was 
 laid up in my Glasgow house with an attack of scarlet 
 fever. The illness was not severe in itself, but it so 
 weakened me that my doctor recommended a fortnight's 
 sojourn at Bridge of Allan, before resuming winter's work. 
 On the second Sunday of my visit there, I was struck 
 with the flag on Stirling Castle being hoisted half-mast 
 high. Somehow or other I never for a moment surmised 
 the real cause. But early the next day the tidings 
 were on every lip, that the nation was plunged into 
 mourning by the death of the noble Prince. I could 
 not help reverting to the memory of a very few weeks 
 previously, when I saw him in the pride and glow of 
 manly beauty, the last Sunday except one on which, 
 without pomp of ritual, he worshipped the God of his 
 fathers in a lowly parish church. Now he slept the 
 last long sleep in the great palace of England. "How 
 are the mighty fallen ! " Nor could I, with these so recent 
 recollections of Crathie, forget a small but singular coin- 
 cidence. One of the greatest of Scottish preachers had 
 selected as his text and theme, the Sunday before I 
 officiated, " Prepare to meet thy God " : a sermon which 
 
 10
 
 146 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 had made on the Prince a deep impression. With a far 
 lowlier effort, I had been directed to an appropriate 
 sequel. My text sounded like a response from lips 
 that were soon to be sealed in silence : " I know whom 
 I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to 
 keep that which I have committed unto Him against that 
 day " (2 Tim. i. 12). 
 
 The first sermon I preached in my own pulpit after 
 my illness, was the Sunday following the national 
 bereavement. I selected the words, " Whatsoever thy 
 hand findeth to do, do it with thy might ; for there is 
 no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the 
 grave, whither thou goest " (Eccles. ix. 10). 
 
 May I here venture appropriately to insert what I wrote 
 some years subsequently. It is from my " Gates of 
 Praise," and will speak for itself: — 
 
 Go silence your pibrochs ; go sound the wild coronach ; 
 
 Wail loudest dirges o'er mountain and vale : 
 The Chief of our chieftains lies silent and shrouded, 
 
 The Prince of the land, and the pride of the Gael ! 
 
 This morning our hill-tops were gloomy with mist-clouds; 
 
 They curtained each crag, and then melted in rain : 
 It was Nature attired in her garments of sackcloth, 
 
 And weeping for him she shall ne'er see again. 
 
 Ye dumb mountain mourners, how fondly he loved you ! 
 
 In glory of sunshine or grandeur of gloom : 
 Your carpets of heather, your jungles of bracken, 
 
 The plumes of your rock-pines, the gold of your broom ! 
 
 Begin the plaint moaning, ye forests of Athole ! 
 
 For yours are the conies his eyes first beheld ; 
 Let it sigh through the glens of the Garry and Tummel, 
 
 The straths of Breadalbane, the woods of Dunkeld. 
 
 Grampian heights echo it ! Bold Ben-muich-dhui ; 
 
 Ben Dearg, Ben-e-Vrackie, and lone Ben-y-Gloe ; 
 Schiehallion, respond to the wail of Ben Voirlich, 
 
 Till it die far away in the wilds of Glencoe.
 
 A SUNDAY AT CRATHIE 147 
 
 Come, Dee's gentle waters, and lend your soft music, 
 As plaintive ye flow through the forests of Mar ; 
 
 While louder your dirges, ye torrents of Muick, 
 Your tribute-grief bringing from loved Lochnagar. 
 
 Garrawalt, pour out your thunder of tear-drops ; 
 
 The rainbow forbid to encircle your spray : 
 More fitting by far are the wrack and the driftwood, 
 
 Which chafe in each eddy and cauldron to-day ! 
 
 Take up the coronach, cottageand clachan ; 
 
 Shepherd's lone shieling on mountain or moor ; 
 For he whom we mourn had alike ever ready 
 
 A word for the great and a smile for the poor. 
 
 Sad change ! oh, how lately these heights that surround me 
 Were silvered with birches, or purple with bloom ; 
 
 To-day the moist winds seem to sob all around me, 
 And load the bared tresses with tears for his tomb ! 
 
 How recent the Castle halls rang with the bag-pipe, 
 
 As mustered his gillies in pride to display, 
 By long autumn's "gloamin'," or weird blaze of torchlight, 
 
 The spoils Balloch-buie had yielded each day ! 
 
 The stag-hounds, unheeded, now bay in their kennels ; 
 
 The torch-light no longer shall redden the hills ; 
 The wild-deer may slumber in peace in their corries, 
 
 Or drink undisturbed at their lone mountain rills. 
 
 He lived not in times when our bale-fires were lighted ; 
 
 When yelled forth the war-pipes o'er moorland and glade ; 
 The fiery cross carried from hamlet to hamlet, 
 
 And shieling- and homestead in ashes were laid. 
 
 ■ft 
 
 Not his were the lips that could sound the fierce slogan, 
 When claymore met broadsword in battle array ; 
 
 When chieftain and clansmen stood shoulder to shoulder, 
 Impatient to join in the heat of the fray. 
 
 Far nobler his mission, far grander his triumphs ; 
 
 Their grandeurs unreckoned by booty and slain ; 
 The battle with wrong, and the conquest of baseness, 
 
 The proudest of trophies, — a life without stain.
 
 148 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 We wail for the dead, but we wail for the living ; 
 
 Great God of the mourner ! with Thee do we plead 
 For the heart that is broken, with anguish unspoken ; 
 
 Alone in her greatness, — "a widow indeed!" 
 
 For her are the dirges, for her the wild coronach, 
 For her we may weep till our eyes become dim ; 
 
 But with our thoughts centred on the bliss he has entered, 
 All tears may be dried that are falling for him. 
 
 A gratifying incident may here also be recorded con- 
 cerning these /;/ Memoriam lines. 
 
 Dr. William Marshall, who was for many years the 
 Queen's private physician at Windsor, Osborne, and 
 Balmoral, had a friendly connection with myself. He 
 was a medical student in the University of Glasgow. 
 From pecuniary straits the cost of education with him, 
 as with many, was a struggle, and had to be supplemented 
 by private effort. I happened to have, supported by my 
 congregation, a night-school for working men and lads, 
 in Kelvinhaugh, a poor district adjoining, largely in- 
 habited by those employed in the shipping works on the 
 Clyde. It proved an enormous boon to those whose early 
 education had been slurred, — or, what was more common, 
 entirely neglected. I was in need of an energetic 
 teacher. I cannot now recall how, along with others, 
 Marshall had been named to me. But in an interview 
 with him in my own house, I was at once attracted by 
 his whole manner and character. I felt " you are the 
 man," and he was forthwith appointed. I every now 
 and then visited the school, and once a month he came 
 to my house to receive his modest remuneration. 
 
 The demeanour and bearing which had so attracted 
 me, along with his ascertained proficiency, elevated him 
 to the distinguished position he held, with honour and 
 credit to himself, for so many years ; although constitu-
 
 A SUNDAY AT C RAT HIE 149 
 
 tional ailments claimed him ultimately for an early 
 grave. 
 
 I sent him a copy of my newly-published "Gates," and 
 had from him the following acknowledgment: — 
 
 " Osborne, Isle of Wight. 
 " December 29. 
 
 " . . . I beg to assure you that I have very pleasant 
 recollections of your kindness and encouragement to me 
 at a time when they were particularly valuable, during 
 my college days. 
 
 " I read your book with much pleasure, and finding that 
 one of the pieces had special interest for the Queen, I took 
 the liberty of sending it to her Majesty for perusal. She 
 returned it with a message to say that she liked it very 
 much, remembered your preaching before her at Crathie 
 Church, and would be pleased to accept a copy. This 
 request is quite spontaneous on her Majesty's part, as 
 I sent the book in without any remark, except to draw 
 attention to the verses on the Prince Consort. I hope this 
 note may reach you, and that you will send the Queen 
 a copy, under cover to me, at your convenience." 
 
 I need not say there was a response to the gracious 
 command, and that my generous publishers insisted on 
 robing the small volume in white calf and gold. 
 
 "Osborne, January 14. 
 " I received your kind letter about a week ago, and 
 your parcel the day before yesterday. The latter was 
 sent up immediately on its arrival, and yesterday I had 
 her Majesty's commands to write and thank you for 
 your handsome little volume." 
 
 I had dedicated the book to my kind and cultured
 
 i 5 o DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 friend, H. V. Tebbs, of Doctors' Commons, who had a 
 piece of genuine wit for everything. I told him of the 
 above, and how, in the initial leaf of the volume, he had 
 been "presented at Court" 
 
 "Yes," was his ready reply, "but not presented; I 
 am only ' a Page.' "
 
 XI 
 
 LOCH ARD. IRELAND. GLASGOW 
 
 It is one of the singular peculiarities of Glasgow life, that 
 the best families in the west end of the city, where my 
 church was situated, spend a long summer in one of the 
 many sea residences of the Clyde — whether on the Argyle- 
 shire or Ayrshire coast — or it may be in the islands of Bute 
 and Arran. 
 
 Nowhere in Europe, with perhaps the single exception of 
 the Bosphorus, is there such a magnificent outlet as this. 
 " It is Europe," says a brilliant American writer, " abridged 
 and assorted, and passed before you in the space of a few 
 hours." Firths and bays and promontories in endless 
 variety and combination. Shore on shore, glen on glen, 
 valley and slope, are studded over with summer and 
 autumn dwellings for the well-to-do in the great com- 
 mercial capital of the West hard by. From Dumbarton 
 Castle on its isolated rock downwards, it is a succession of 
 surprises — a wondrous panorama. Perhaps the culminat- 
 ing point is, when, from the deck of the steamer, leaving 
 Dunoon on the right, the serrated peaks of Arran appear 
 in the distant background, as if some Alpine monoliths 
 had been transported by mistake or by purpose to keep 
 watch and ward over the western lochs and seas. 
 
 It will be seen at a glance, that this annual exodus 
 from the neighbourhood of Kelvingrove, allowed favoured 
 ministers of the district to enjoy, with a clear conscience, 
 a long holiday. In fact, Sandyford, as seen from the 
 
 151
 
 1 5 2 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 pulpit, was simply a transformation. With the exception 
 of some strangers who selected Glasgow as their Sunday 
 resting-place, a few of whom made my church their house 
 of worship, the ordinary flock were rari nantes in gur- 
 gite vasto. During the week there were well-nigh no 
 parish duties. Public religious meetings were suspended, 
 and Glasgow abest told its tale in silent streets, and win- 
 dows resplendent only with brown paper. By a common 
 but not euphonious phrase, all that might be, could be, 
 or should be, were " down the water." I could have four 
 months clear, without the intrusion of one morbid self- 
 accusation or protest on non-residence. 
 
 It will appear strange, after so glowing an encomium on 
 the mouth of the Clyde and its Hesperides, that personally 
 my summer tastes lay in other haunts and regions. I 
 never cared for the sea. As before noted, the earliest 
 trial recorded in these pages had given to the " wild 
 waves " for ever an unpleasant, repulsive association. I 
 loved, far more, some inland lake ; some place, moreover, 
 where one could secure what the Firth denied — absolute 
 quiet — away from the familiar faces of the kindest of friends 
 — away from exchange of formal calls and oppressive 
 hospitalities. 
 
 Where was such a place to be had or found within 
 reasonable hail ? 
 
 A relative, well versed in Scottish scenery, at once came 
 to my help and solved the problem. 
 
 " I know," he said, " not only the most beautiful of 
 quiet lochs, but the very cottage to your mind. It is at 
 present to let for a term of years." 
 
 At his advice I went and spent a night in budding 
 spring, at the Inn of Aberfoyle — not the Clachan of 
 " Rob Roy " memory, but a plain, comfortable, substan- 
 tial house kept by Mr. Blair. 
 
 Early next morning — one of those superb mornings in
 
 LOCH ARD. IRELAND. GLASGOW 153 
 
 early May — I started alone on this interesting expedition. 
 Skirting the base of Ben Mohr, with its singular furrows 
 of debris, I passed what is called " the Lower Loch," and 
 then plunged among the picturesque, wooded knolls lead- 
 ing to the " Upper," with the sort of consciousness, not 
 unmingled with hope, that this might prove the home of 
 many coming seasons. On reaching the turn in the road 
 when the reality burst all at once on my view, I made — 
 please God to so order it — a firm instantaneous resolve, by 
 hook or by crook, here would my summer tent be pitched. 
 I was eager to reach the cottage, to know its position, con- 
 dition, and surroundings. It was at once the fondest of fond 
 dreams realized. Alas ! since that pleasant waking dream 
 three decades have passed, and "the speculative builder," 
 there as elsewhere, has been at his nefarious work, spoil- 
 ing, mangling, vulgarizing. It is no longer the perfect 
 paradise I descried it that morning to be. With the ex- 
 ception of one or two houses and shooting lodges, I was 
 " monarch of all I surveyed." Looking from the height on 
 which the cottage stands, there was nothing visible but 
 the lake, a stone's-throw from the windows, a wealth of 
 lovely bays and promontories, with not a house or hut of 
 any kind to disturb their repose. " Duke Murdoch " and 
 other islands slept in restful loveliness right opposite, 
 while towering to the right, the magnificent guardian of 
 the whole scene, was " Lofty Ben Lomond." Nor can I 
 omit what Southerns know little or nothing of — the pure 
 limpid streams, neither discoloured nor polluted by mill or 
 water-wheel, or the still more damaging " chemicals." 
 Alas ! how many such rills and rivulets, pellucid at their 
 fountain head, amid fern and heather and gleaming- 
 pebble, seem to go wailing down their dells, as if antici- 
 pating a foul destiny. No such terror haunted these 
 birchen solitudes. 
 
 Ah ! yes, that is a nev T er-to-be-forgotten morning pil-
 
 i 3 4 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 grimage, and three weeks thereafter the gates of Eden un- 
 closed themselves — or, metaphor aside, we were established 
 in Tigh-na-tra (Gaelic, "The House of the Ebbing Tide"). 
 We continued there, with a happiness little broken, for 
 twelve years. We had our knoll of lawn — with prosper- 
 ing shrubs and evergreens — our prolific kitchen garden, 
 more distinguished for its yield than its size; a pretty 
 piece of wood, with full-grown oaks behind, and, the per- 
 fection of all enjoyment, boat and boat-house, affording 
 these never-tiring explorations of nook and ferny brake 
 and "rifted rock," whose carpets of lichen turned clefts 
 and boulders into gold. 
 
 But why pursue with description what is indescrib- 
 able? 
 
 There were two occupations specially reserved for these 
 holiday months. The first was occasional indulgence in 
 my old irrepressible taste for drawing and painting. I 
 can well understand the words and feelings of Dr. John 
 Brown, of " Rab and his Friends " : " Art is part of my 
 daily food, like the laughter of children, and the common 
 air, the earth, the sky. It is an affection, not a passion 
 to come and go like the gusty winds, not as principles 
 cold and dead; it penetrates my entire life, and is one of 
 the surest and deepest pleasures" ("The Collections," p. 
 102). I made it an inflexible rule of my busy Glasgow life, 
 from which I never once deviated, that brush and easel 
 were entirely laid aside. I would allow there no canvas 
 to confront me ; but scruples were neither admissible nor 
 admitted when the harness was not needed. Many a de- 
 lightful hour have I spent with these dumb companions 
 on moor and lake-side ; and still more frequently was the 
 parlour extemporized as a studio when the pitiless rains 
 of the west of Scotland rendered "life and work" out oi 
 doors impossible. 
 
 Oil-painting was the hobby and recreation of my student
 
 LOCH ARD. IRELAND. GLASGOW 155 
 
 days; indeed, I used often to affirm, without hesitation, that 
 this was my born profession. If higher studies and more 
 sacred objects were happily resolved on, the surrender of 
 my tastes for the thorough study of art was not less the 
 self-denial of a lifetime. Much in Edinburgh and its ex- 
 hibitions tended to foster it. One work of a distinguished 
 Scottish painter, now the well-known Sir Noel Pa ton, made 
 a deep and ineffaceable impression on me. It was the large 
 cartoon he executed in his younger days, " The Spirit 
 of Religion," and which was exhibited in the Calton Con- 
 vening Rooms, Edinburgh. The special, the powerful 
 part of the design was, a Vista of Angels, in really grand 
 and impressive perspective. Sir Noel, then Noel Paton, 
 was a citizen of the small primitive town of Dunfermline, 
 in Fife (a name not poetic, though historical). The painter 
 was indebted, for this Angelic Vista, to some studies he had 
 made of his fellow-townsfolk for this supreme effort of 
 genius. The worthy man who showed the picture hailed 
 from the same place, and was naturally proud both of the 
 artist and the angels. He was wont to describe the more 
 notable points in the work to the successive groups of 
 visitors, directing their special attention to the aforesaid 
 figures of the vista, winding up with " And they're aa 
 Dunfermline folk ! " 
 
 Another landscape painter, whose works from an early 
 date to the very last I admired and prized beyond all 
 others (not even Turner excepted), was the Scottish artist 
 Horatio MacCulloch. None could interpret the " land of the 
 mountain and the flood " as he. I commissioned him to 
 paint a small picture for me, which was the means of per- 
 sonal introduction. I always looked back to the forenoon 
 spent in his home at Trinity as an honour and intense 
 enjoyment. During my student life I had made an ac- 
 curate copy of his first great production, " A Highland 
 Loch," still surviving. Another original, "Gloamin'," by
 
 156 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 the same artist, which I had fortunately secured (a large 
 work), was a great favourite. On recovering from not 
 infrequent illnesses in Glasgow, my delight was great in 
 having that picture down from the wall and set in various 
 lights in different parts of the room. My own biggest and 
 most pretentious work, and from its subject my favourite 
 — though of its artistic properties, and much more its ac- 
 curacy, I was always in doubt — occupied the entire end of 
 my Glasgow dining-room and study. My visit to Jerusalem 
 was a future vision, and therefore imagination had had to 
 play a conspicuous part in the performance — a purely ideal 
 representation of " the City of the Great King.'' Norman 
 Macleod was dining with me, along with others, soon 
 after his return from the Holy Land. He asked what 
 in the world that was ? On my informing him, he greatly 
 amused the party and greatly humbled the amateur limner 
 by the remark, " Well, that may be the New Jerusalem, but 
 it is not the one I saw ! " 
 
 The second occupation alluded to was preparation for 
 the press. The material I had employed in the pulpit in 
 winter was utilised and adapted for more permanent and 
 extended usefulness. Few mornings passed without the 
 post handing in "proofs," or "revised proofs," while 
 fresh copy was despatched. Among my most pleasant 
 remembrances are those calm summer mornings when 
 the rowing boat was manned by other willing mates, 
 while I took my place, recumbent, pencil in hand, at the 
 stern. Steering through varied recesses of loveliness, I 
 was able to correct the sheets for Ballantyne's Edin- 
 burgh printing presses, wondering all the time how the 
 compositors could, from puzzling and perplexing MS., 
 produce such miracles of accuracy. 
 
 A few choice neighbours, chiefly English, attracted, 
 some for aesthetic reasons, some for sporting purposes, 
 gave to the place a superadded charm, while these happy
 
 LOCH ARD. IRELAND. GLASGOW 157 
 
 times were, every now and then, made happier by visits, 
 longer or shorter, from congenial friends. I need not 
 particularize. One, in about the last year of our stay, 
 rises now before me, who came, traveller-like, with a 
 knapsack on his back, to enjoy what he called a "jolly 
 visit " ! It was a young friend we had watched and 
 loved from his earliest boyhood, now a hardy youth out- 
 grown his teens, and who in the splendour of early man- 
 hood was preparing for life duties : alas ! too, for the 
 saddest of life destinies. This was William Gill, R.E., 
 who, along with his illustrious companion, Professor 
 Palmer, perished so ignobly, yet so nobly, by the hands 
 of bloodthirsty Arabs in the Arabian desert, and whose 
 premature fate stirred at the time the heart of England. 
 Little did he or I think, when boating or fishing, or 
 climbing together the heathery flanks of Ben Venue, 
 that the day was coming when, in the crypt of St. Paul's, 
 I would be found among a group of mourners laying a 
 wreath of my choicest flowers upon his coffin. A befit- 
 ting shrine holds his mutilated remains in that Campo 
 Santo of heroes. 
 
 " For England had spoken and claimed them, 
 And gladly they rose at her cry, 
 And cheerily welcomed her summons, 
 ' Be ready to do or to die.' 
 
 " Strong life with its visions of greatness 
 Ne'er drew them from duty aside, 
 Stern death had no terrors to daunt them, 
 Their duty was death, and they died." 
 
 These summers were occasionally diversified by jour- 
 ney ings elsewhere. On one of these we always looked 
 back with peculiar pleasure, and how it came about in- 
 volves a small history. 
 
 A day in the beginning of August found us steaming 
 from Greenock, on our way up the Kyles of Bute, to Ard-
 
 158 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 rishaig and the mouth of Loch Fyne. We unexpectedly- 
 found on board our always kind friend, Mr. Napier, of 
 Shandon, accompanied by a man famous in his day, 
 the Rev. Henry Melville, of Camberwell, subsequently 
 canon of St. Paul's. I dared not say to himself, but I 
 told his daughter how, in common with very many 
 clergymen of the Church of Scotland, I had for years 
 drank inspiration from his printed sermons ; and, better 
 still, how often I had been a unit in the densely packed 
 throng in Camberwell Church and St. Margaret's, Loth- 
 bury. I was always puzzled to divine the precise secret 
 of the pulpit power of this most celebrated of London 
 preachers, though I felt, in listening to him, as much as 
 any, his potent spell. There was nothing impressive in 
 his somewhat heavy eye and jerking voice. Moreover, I 
 never knew one with the repute of an orator who was 
 so abject a slave to his written manuscript. Yet he 
 fascinated and enthralled with the old mesmeric power 
 of Dr. Chalmers, on whose flowing style, by the way, his 
 own was moulded. It was with feelings alike of gratifi- 
 cation and semi-awe that I found myself brought in 
 contact with this interesting personality. Let me add 
 that the great divine was soon discovered to be as 
 bright and lively as a boy on holiday, escaped from 
 school and lessons. 
 
 Mr. Napier, joining us, put a query regarding our 
 destination, and learning that we were bound for the 
 Caledonian Canal, without having made any arrange- 
 ments as to accommodation, earnestly advised an altera- 
 tion of plans. The result was a reluctant parting with 
 our fellow-travellers at Ardrishaig, a return by steamer 
 to Greenock, and a trip unique in its pleasures, spanned 
 by sunny skies from end to end. 
 
 We awoke next morning in Belfast, all ready for the 
 Irish car that was to take us, and did take us, by Larne,
 
 LOCH ARD. IRELAND. GLASGOW 159 
 
 Glenarm, Antrim, etc., to the Giant's Causeway. What 
 a coast, to be sure ! What intense blue in the sea that 
 rippled for a long portion of the way on sand and 
 shingle ! and what rarest specimens of humanity, spe- 
 cially in Larne, where the annual fair was being cele- 
 brated with all the grotesque fashion and vivacity of 
 Irish life ! It were endless to recount the doings of 
 weeks never to be forgotten, with a freshness and novelty 
 in which outer nature and human nature were rivals. 
 
 By Londonderry and Loch Erne we made our way to 
 Dublin, with its noble Phoenix Park and charming en- 
 vironments — Bray, lovely Killiney Bay, the Dargle, 
 Powerscourt, etc. Then onwards by rail to Athlone, 
 where we took steamer on the Shannon, and by coach 
 via Limerick reached the unrivalled Killarney Lakes. 
 The beggardom when we arrived at Killarney town 
 baffled description, but a burly Irish priest — a fellow- 
 traveller — did not scruple to make unceremonious but 
 effective use of his bludgeon (shelellah), a "Home Rule" 
 all his own. 
 
 No circuit, no, not even in Switzerland, was more de- 
 lightful and varied than that of next day, beginning 
 with the rugged Gap of Dunloe ; then, all at once, de- 
 scending on the upper lake, where we were met by ex- 
 perienced and civil boatmen, who rowed us from point 
 to point, from island to island. It is the variety of Kil- 
 larney wdiich constitutes its charm. What have you not 
 there, from the gateway of the sublime just spoken of, to 
 the rarely beautiful? Castles and ruins, islands emerald 
 with arbutus, lovely rocks and white shingle, the whole 
 dominated by what is perfect in everything save the 
 name — "the Magillycuddy Reeks" — a mountain or 
 range of mountains altogether exquisite in form. It is 
 simply amazing that the tourist in the " adjacent isle of 
 Great Britain," perplexed by the crowd and cram of
 
 160 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 summer watering-places, does not more frequently direct 
 his attention and footsteps to what — always with the 
 proviso of good weather — cannot have its claims exag- 
 gerated. We drove thence by a long and wild road, 
 meeting Sir John Lawrence and his party on the way, 
 to Bantry Bay, where we rested on the Sunday, " accord- 
 ing to the commandment." After service in the hotel, a 
 quiet walk was taken up to a village of reeky hovels on 
 one of the heights. While there, in converse with an 
 aged inhabitant, I heard some plaintive sounds proceed- 
 ing from a road down below, with a church close by. 
 On inquiring the cause, we were informed it was a 
 funeral. To descend and obtain a respectful glimpse of 
 the unwonted sight was irresistible. It was the burial 
 of a peasant woman. The coffin was preceded and ac- 
 companied by some old " hags " draped in long blue 
 coarse cloaks. It was truly "the hired mourners and 
 minstrels" of the gospels. Such wailing and dirging I 
 never heard — the wildest of village "coronachs." In 
 these untranslatable refrains there was not one atom of 
 genuine feeling. This we had to look for in the unmis- 
 takable tears and emotion of those following the coffin. 
 The others were revoltingly artificial. " They made 
 much ado " — no more. A sight of a very different kind, 
 also peculiar to the country, we had witnessed with 
 amusement a few r days before — thirty-nine Irish cars 
 threading their way along a bare, treeless road, their 
 occupants in a state of native hilarity. No wonder, when 
 the occasion was disclosed: for in the thirty-ninth car 
 were seated the happy bride and bridegroom! 
 
 Those who have time and opportunity may find end- 
 less amusement in the crudities of Hibernian " cabin " 
 life, where costumes are seen, amazing in their colour, as 
 well as their shreds and patches. The hats of the lords 
 of creation (wideawakes are at a discount) are twisted
 
 LOCH AND. IRELAND. GLASGOW. [61 
 
 and indented often beyond recognition. It would almost 
 seem to require ingenuity, if not genius, to fabricate 
 these shapeless, battered erections. Then the Irish cars, 
 often taking the less frequented ways, made us familiar 
 with the very lowliest and most primitive of hostelries, 
 where the larder was on the most restricted scale. But 
 the eggs of the vagrant, vagabond-looking hens were 
 tolerable, as were also the staple "potatoes" (taters), 
 " always laughing at you, and with their coats unbut- 
 toned from the heat." 
 
 I need only add that the trip was completed by a visit 
 to Macroom, Cork, and Queenstown, and that, ever since, 
 Ireland and Irish people have had a warm place in my 
 heart. 
 
 A fortnight of our allotted time 3 T et remained, so it 
 was readily accorded to the dear friends in London. On 
 Sunday, for the first but not the last time, I made my 
 way to the chapel in Lincoln's Inn Fields to hear 
 Frederick Maurice It was vacation time, and the audi- 
 ence was not a large one. Maurice did the whole duty, 
 as even his curate was on his holiday. I did not recog- 
 nise him immediately ; nor was I impressed, as many have 
 avowed themselves to be, with his exceptionally pathetic 
 reading of the Liturgy and Lessons. When, however, he 
 ascended the pulpit, I felt at once, before three sentences 
 were uttered, the potency of the spell. I have the ser- 
 mon in one of his printed volumes. It was one of the 
 well-known series on the Gospel of St. John, delivered 
 with intense earnestness and fervour, the gleam of his 
 eye, " the window of his soul," irresistible. His theo- 
 logy may not be wholly mine. Moreover, his style is in- 
 volved ; his arguments, as Cowper says, " verbosely 
 spun." But I can well comprehend the influence he 
 exercised on a thoughtful circle as, for example, the 
 intense love and admiration entertained for him by his 
 
 ii
 
 1 62 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 brother-in-law, Dean Plumptre, who used often admir- 
 ingly to point out to me his bust, which occupied a pro- 
 minent place in his drawing-room at Bickley. 
 
 To Glasgow we in due time returned, and the old 
 rotation of work and duty was resumed. 
 
 From much of the present, as well as preceding chap- 
 ters — indeed, from the entire volume— some of my kind, 
 more probably some of my exacting friends, may be dis- 
 posed to gather that my life was chiefly one charmed, 
 gigantic holiday, with very little of the real day-to-day 
 and hand-to-hand struggle in it. I am content to abide 
 the verdict of my contemporaries. Were these pages 
 designed to be a roll and record of duty, with its stern 
 conflicts and struggles, they would form dreary reading. 
 I have sought much more to give the parade day, than 
 the tedious marchings, and counter-marchings, of at times 
 a formidable campaign. Let those be censorious who 
 know nothing as to the toil and stress of brain-work, 
 and the innumerable calls and claims of a city charge and 
 sphere. The initiated can alone understand the absolute 
 necessity of at times the unstrung bow and the well- 
 earned yearly relaxation. It is these latter occasions 
 which I have mainly deemed worth while to recall. 
 Many another chapter of existence associated with sick- 
 bed and death-bed, and the thousand responsibilities of 
 the pastoral office, I would deem it a breach of sacred 
 confidence to submit to the currente calamo. In other 
 ways, but not here, have I sought to reach the broken 
 heart, "minister to the mind diseased," and do battle in 
 public and private for truth and righteousness. 
 
 In a word, these oft-recorded outings and travellings 
 are the little bits of life's mosaic. I could not trouble 
 my readers with the rough, unshapely walls, the brick and 
 mortar of daily hard building, though I own that the most 
 of it, with the grand spiritual forces it brought into play,
 
 LOCH ARD. IRELAND. GLASGOW 163 
 
 was to myself congenial and invigorating. I valued the 
 mosaics, but I valued still more the use of the trowel, 
 often grievously lamenting indeed unskilful handling, but 
 with a good conscience. I can say, in these busy years, 
 1 never sought to scamp my work. More than one 
 approach was again made to me as to a change of 
 scene and labour. One of these was of a pronounced 
 kind regarding a well-known city charge in Edinburgh, 
 another a casual sounder as to the likelihood of my 
 acceptance of the Parish Church of St. Andrews, then 
 vacant by the death of Dr. Park. But my affections were 
 fast rooted in Sandyford, and to all offers I returned a 
 grateful negative. 
 
 Perhaps I may here incidentally record — and I do so for 
 the sake of others — what formed very pleasant episodes in 
 our borne life. I feel sure that in what I say, ministers, 
 whose spheres of labour are in university towns, will for- 
 give my " great plainness of speech." Is there any class 
 in our mixed city life who stand in more urgent need 
 of consideration than students, and more especially 
 students of divinity ? These youths, not a few of them 
 of conspicuous promise, are often drafted from distant 
 homes, many of them without friend or patron, living in 
 lodgings in unsympathetic isolation, with no entree of any 
 kind to society, no glimpse whatsoever of the social phase 
 of existence. Their books at night and the class- work by 
 day — a weary tread-mill from November to April. We 
 tested in this the power and charm of " little atten- 
 tions." Relays, mainly of unfledged ministers, were in- 
 vited now and then to spend a winter evening with us. 
 We brightened these assemblages as much as we could 
 with music and singing, organ and piano, diversified with 
 photographs, microscopes, and kindred objects of interest. 
 Nor were there wanting a sprinkling of young ladies 
 who imparted a brightness and attractiveness all their
 
 1 64 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 own. The conclave was inaugurated with tea and coffee, 
 light refreshments were provided during the course of the 
 evening, and the gathering suitably closed with prayers. 
 I give these details in order to plead for a "go and do 
 likewise." The whole thing was a delightful success, and, 
 like the quality of mercy, it was "twice blessed," the 
 evident enjoyment of the guests being reflected on the 
 givers. 
 
 It was certainly not these, or such calls ss these, that 
 were wearing and at times vexatious. Gente reader, be 
 thankful if you are rid of that nuisance of town and cleri- 
 cal life — " deputations ! " Every conceivable " society" and 
 "guild" has its annual treat, meeting, soiree; and every 
 man with Rev. to his name is considered fair game for a 
 place and speech on the inevitable platform. These evening 
 calls and callers at times sorely disturbed my equanimity, 
 and made sermon-writing and Sunday preparation often 
 impossible. To be brief, I was sorely troubled with what 
 Carlyle, sage and sophist, calls " bores of the first magni- 
 tude." Lesser men than he have to complain of their sanc- 
 tum and sanctities being invaded. Friday and Saturday I 
 specially claimed as my own, and the servant had rigid 
 instructions, from which appeal was inadmissible, that no 
 human being was to be admitted on these days. All 
 guns, and specially deputation guns, are, however, diffi- 
 cult to spike and silence. Even private friends have 
 occasionally little mercy. " Oh ! tell him that it is 
 Mr. or Mrs. or the Secretary of the As- 
 sociation. I feel sure he will make an exception and see 
 me " ; and then the forceful plea never failed to be urged — 
 it was the most fretting of all : " Oh, tell him I shall 
 not keep him a minute." Yes, my good friend; but that 
 minute, if you only knew it, is simply destructive, fatal 
 to calmness of mind and continuity of thought. With 
 these and similar small encroachments and miseries,
 
 LOCH ARD. IRELAND. GLASGOW 165 
 
 what have been well called the "mosquito bites of life," 
 I have now done. But I record them for the exercise of 
 pity on any future victims similarly situated. 
 
 Much pleasant intercourse and fellowship with rich 
 and poor greatly outweighed, however, such little disturb- 
 ing influences. I can recall delightful calls and inter- 
 views with men worth knowing, both lay and clerical, 
 Home, Europ2an, Transatlantic. Some of these came to see 
 me after service on Sunday in the vestry. One day it was 
 the gifted Mr. Colquhoun, of Killermont ; another it was 
 Dr. Alexander, of New York, the well-known commentator 
 on the Psalms ; another, Dr. Jacobus ; another, Mr. Shanks 
 More, of Edinburgh ; another, an intelligent little man, who 
 introduced himself as Dean Howson. The Dean asked 
 if it would be convenient for me that he should call. 
 He did so, and spent a long and pleasant forenoon. His 
 conversation was rich and racy and of an elevated tone, 
 quite what I would have expected from St. Paul's best 
 biographer. 
 
 Another Dean of equal celebrity, power, and varied 
 scholarship — one of the most indomitable of literary 
 workers — visited Glasgow shortly after — the Dean of 
 Canterbury (Dean Alford). No student of New Testa- 
 ment Scripture, however slightly entitled to the name, 
 could fail bdng interested in meeting the author of an 
 epoch-making book ; for such assuredly is " Alford's Greek 
 Testament." Poor is that clergyman's library which is 
 without it. In addition to hearing him deliver an able 
 lecture in the crowded City Hall, I had the privilege 
 of meeting him at dinner at the house of my ever kind 
 and faithful friend, Mr. Campbell, M.P., of Stracathro. 
 He was of most impressive presence, with evidently 
 much vital energy, and a keen and appreciative lover of 
 Scottish scenery. I was delighted with him also as a 
 conversationalist. His classic acquirements were very
 
 1 66 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 far from elbowing out the accomplished man, with rare 
 aesthetic tastes. His pen, pencil, and brush had been 
 employed with equal success not long before in a book 
 on the Riviera. He especially ri retted Bordighera on 
 my imagination, although some years were yet to elapse 
 before the ardent longings he had inspired could be 
 satisfied. 
 
 Another, of a very different character and school, I 
 may here mention, who often came to see me when 
 he was in Glasgow — the venerable and venerated Dr. 
 Story, of Roseneath. His name, as is well known, was 
 associated with what may be called a theological school 
 in the West of Scotland, the most conspicuous member of 
 which was Dr. John Campbell, of Row, by whose presence 
 I Avas also occasionally honoured as one of my Sandy- 
 ford hearers. What a patriarch old Dr. Story was, with 
 his snow-white hair and dark, penetrating eye ! He was 
 one of those men that could not fail to be regarded with 
 admiring reverence. I had a beautiful and deeply sympa- 
 thethic letter from him on the death of my son. In this 
 roll of men to be esteemed, may I venture to include the 
 late Sir William Stirling Maxwell, of Keir. I was first 
 introduced to him when spending a night at Kippenross. 
 I always regarded him as the most cultured layman in 
 Scotland. His Spanish books I hold in admiration. His 
 style is lucid and simple ; but every here and there it 
 breaks out in memorable sentences as he rises to a 
 climax. He is as consummate a master of taste as a 
 votary of the Beautiful. 
 
 It was somewhere about this date that I ventured on the 
 bold role of "Innovator." It would not be worth while 
 to embody at greater length here my views and feelings 
 on the question involved. Only let me quote from the 
 newspaper report the few sentences I uttered in the Pres- 
 bytery on asking leave for the introduction of an organ
 
 LOCH ARD. IRELAND. GLASGOW 167 
 
 in Sandyford. The movement now so general was then 
 in its most incipient stage. 
 
 " I shall not occupy your time with many observations. 
 Out of deference to the Presbytery, both members of the 
 Session, and representatives of the congregation, are now 
 present to support the prayer of the memorial. I can 
 say for myself, and I believe also for the members of the 
 Session, that we are prepared in this matter to respect 
 the conscientious scruples and objections of anything like 
 a considerable minority. As stated in the memorial, 
 however, that minority is small indeed compared with 
 the rest of the congregation; and I think 1 might be 
 warranted in adding that even, on the part of the objec- 
 tors, there was no very strong or decided expression of 
 disapproval. In the name, therefore, of the Kirk Session 
 and Trustees of the Cliurch, and the vast majority of the 
 congregation, I have to express the hope that the Pres- 
 bytery will authorize the introduction of an organ into 
 Sandyford Church. I think it is no breach of confidence 
 to mention the fact that, anticipating the sanction of the 
 Presbytery, already the sum of £850 has been either 
 subscribed or guaranteed for this object. And, more- 
 over, I hope I may take it upon me to add, that this 
 handsome sum will not interfere one iota with the gen- 
 erosity of the congregation in what I deem infinitely 
 more important matters — their contributions for congre- 
 gational missionary agencies, and the mission schemes 
 of the General Assembly. My experience hitherto has 
 been that those generally most interested in what I 
 would call the aesthetics of the Church, alike in its comely 
 architecture and music, have been those also who have 
 been the warmest and most generous supporters of every 
 good spiritual work. I can only say for myself that, if 
 I believed it were otherwise, and that the subscriptions 
 for an organ would necessarily rob and impoverish the
 
 1 68 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 missionary exchequer, I for one would not have bsen 
 here to solicit this boon at your hands. I would have 
 been here not, in clerical phrase, to ' take instruments,' 
 but rather in the present case to protest against instru- 
 ments, and 'crave extracts.'" 
 
 The same year I was induced by urgent invitation to 
 adopt, in a small Avay, the role of Lecturer on some secu- 
 lar subject. I was, at the time, most under the spell of 
 " Venice," and accordingly I embarked on a gossiping 
 talk on the " Bride of the Adriatic." The said gossip 
 had a multiple of five. For, besides the City Hall of 
 Glasgow, the same lucubrations were delivered in the 
 Philosophic Institution of Edinburgh, in Perth, Greenock, 
 and Aberdeen. This, and one other palaver, some years 
 previously, on the Fine Arts, were the only escapades 
 made in the same domain. I was rewarded on all these 
 occasions with large audiences. 
 
 Somewhere in these years (I cannot with accuracy re- 
 call the unkept dates) I lost suddenly, almost without 
 premonition, my " Beadle " or Church officer, Hugh 
 Bryan, one of the best young men I ever knew in 
 his appearance most fascinating, and the soul of cour- 
 tesy ; a gentleman, not by the poor claim of birth, but 
 by innate qualities, which may well give him a place 
 in my "bede-roll." He was a prosperous and well-to-do 
 man for his station ; as, in addition to his handsome 
 official salary, he formed one of those who enjoyed (or 
 shall I say tolerated) the lucrative post of " Waiter," 
 figuring at all convivial entertainments public and pri- 
 vate. On his way to aid at one of these banquets some- 
 where on the Clyde he met with an accident — not perhaps 
 serious or fatal in itself, but as it involved, in the case 
 of one nervously strung, a surgical operation, heart com- 
 plaint caused him in a moment to succumb under the 
 trying ordeal. When I saw the late Sir George Macleod,
 
 LOCH ARD. IRELAND. GLASGOW 169 
 
 with his assistant, drive up to my door, I too surely 
 divined the reason. I am far from ashamed to avow 
 that no death in all my ministry moved me more than 
 this. Other references in the pulpit to the death of loved 
 friends I could make without the betrayal of emotion. 
 This allusion to my daily visitor and auxiliary in every 
 good work proved too much for me: I felt myself irre- 
 sistibly dropping tears on the Bible. But I resolved not 
 to allow the catastrophe to pass with evanescent feel- 
 ing. Next day I took counsel with sympathetic friends, 
 and, turning peripatetic, got a fair commencement of a 
 tribute to his memory in shape of subscriptions for his 
 widow and children. With the willing aid of his brother 
 Church officers, the result was the finest spontaneous 
 offering to character and goodness I can chronicle during 
 my public life. A sum of upwards of £600 was raised. 
 I am not sorry to pause here and add a stone to the 
 cairn of the first Beadle of Sandyford. The hewers of 
 wood and drawers of water deserve their due, as well 
 as the stoled priests of the Temple. He was a true philo- 
 sopher who said, " Worth makes the man."
 
 XII 
 
 CONGREGATIONAL WORK. A BEAUTIFUL LIFE AND 
 BELOVED MEMORY 
 
 "My praise shall be of Thee in the great congregation." 
 The Psalmist's words and motto might well, without vain 
 boast — rather with profound humility and gratitude — be 
 mine. 
 
 Three objects here casually recur to me, which, although 
 previously launched, obtained their full swing about this 
 time. Their initiation and progress served to deepen the 
 sympathies and interests of the congregation, materially 
 to promote Church activities ; and, though last, not least, 
 to swell the offerings for our missionary treasu^. There 
 was a mine of available wealth — battalions of moneyed 
 men and women ; better still, abundant willing hands 
 and willing hearts, if only the right shafts could be 
 judiciously sunk to tap the ore. The true Christian 
 evangelistic spirit rose with the occasion. I had many 
 prudent and able coadjutors to help and guide me. I 
 give them now my fervent benedictions. 
 
 The first of these schemes (without entering into long 
 explanation or vindication) was the substitution of the 
 "schedule system," in place of the old church-door plate 
 and " offertory." The free-will offerings lagged sorely 
 behind the capacity of donors, merely from want of sys- 
 tem and organization. In addition to other weighty 
 reasons, these collections, on the former conventional sys- 
 
 170
 
 CONGREGATIONAL WORK 171 
 
 tern, were much at the mercy of our precarious and 
 lugubrious climate. A wet Sunday (by no means a rarity) 
 occasionally made all the difference between victory and 
 defeat. It often went far to wreck an urgent and needy 
 cause, missionary or philanthropic. Both Kirk Session 
 and people were, as I have said, cordially responsive to 
 the change. A few demurred ; but the conservative ele- 
 ment was at a discount. The success was immediate, 
 almost incredible. It proved, indeed, so great, that the 
 system, I believe, in not a few other churches, has now 
 attained the rank of an institution. Even benefactions 
 — previously of a very modest nature — little rills and 
 driblets, rose with the swelling tide. Ignoble pence, and 
 that unworthy compromise between silver and copper — 
 the fourpenny bit — were shelved — heard of no more. 
 
 Supplementary to this, but quite distinct, were three 
 important feeders. The one was " The Ladies' Missionary 
 Association." Various districts were allocated to lady 
 collectors. The " green books " — their columns and 
 entries and summations — soon became my familiar, and 
 I think I may add, welcome intruders. At biennial meet- 
 ings, many clamant enterprises, bearing, if possible, on 
 women's work, shared the beneficent results. The second 
 scheme referred to was the kindred formation of a 
 " Juvenile Missionary Association," proving an equal 
 success. I look back with the liveliest memories on the 
 new life instilled into the younger members of the con- 
 gregation — the happy meetings held from time to time, 
 culminating each Christmas in a successful bazaar, which 
 enlisted the aid and presence and patronage in a sub- 
 stantial form of parents and friends. These gatherings 
 were a delightful way for the minister coming into 
 happiest fellowship with the youthful members of his 
 flock. The money proceeds, which in both cases were 
 very considerable, were only the outward and visible
 
 172 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 sign of congregational zeal, which cheered and encouraged 
 me beyond measure. 
 
 A third, and perhaps more interesting object still, was 
 the institution of an Orphanage where fourteen or fifteen 
 "waifs and strays" were housed and fed and educated 
 under the fostering charge of an excellent female super- 
 intendent. A comfortable and healthy home was secured 
 where I had the pleasure of meeting once a week a 
 committee of gentlemen of the congregation — first-class 
 business men — who managed to a wish, financially and 
 otherwise, this little ideal home for poor children and 
 orphans. A committee of ladies met at other times to 
 supervise the clothing and other relevant departments. 
 I could with all my heart commend the scheme to any 
 wealthy congregations who desire an outlet for their 
 charities; and, better than money -charity, an outlet for 
 their charitable instincts and sympathies. Two pews 
 nearest the pulpit were appropriated to this interesting 
 family and household, so that the congregation had weekly 
 before them ocular proof and evidence that their gener- 
 osity was not in vain. Many of these " despised little 
 ones " had an excellent start in the battle of life, and all 
 (so far as I know) did full credit to this congregational 
 paternity. God ba praised for it ! I owe the suggestion 
 to my excellent friend and neighbour, Dr. Watson, of St. 
 Matthew's, subsequently better known as a power in 
 Dundee. 
 
 While alluding to these various congregational claims 
 and enterprises, the best and noblest dare not be omitted 
 - — a crowded Sunday-school. All the more joyfulty do I 
 record my reminiscences, because my personal responsi- 
 bilities regarding it were few. It was manned, out and 
 out, by a noble band of brothers and sisters, my obliga- 
 tions to whom can never be repaid. The schoolroom, 
 or rather "hall," was, I presume, unrivalled in size,
 
 CONGREGATIONAL WORK 173 
 
 occupying as it did a substructure corresponding to the 
 area of the church. The children were entirely from the 
 lowlier but well-to-do adjoining district of Kelvinhaugh. 
 At times they may have been somewhat noisy and un- 
 controllable in ingress and egress; but on the whole most 
 amenable, too, to discipline and kindness. I like dearly to 
 think of these self-sacrificing and devoted youths of both 
 sexes, especially (if not unchivalrous in saying so) of the 
 gentlemen, who, despite of arduous week-work, willingly 
 sacrificed their one day of rest in what I verily believe 
 of all Church and patriotic enterprises is the greatest. 
 Some of these, I am proud to think, are now occupying 
 conspicuous positions in the Church of their fathers. I 
 must add, with great respect and gratitude, the names of 
 the two successive superintendents — men now of position 
 and influence — Mr. D. M. Lang and Mr. J. H. Kerr. Better 
 or more trusted " field-marshals " there could not be. We 
 had, of course, our yearly "tea-drinking," glorified by the 
 magic-lantern, with interludes of music, and brief ad- 
 dresses, and other illuminations pictorial and verbal. 
 There were occasional pleasant gatherings, too, in our 
 own house, when the teachers came to have an enjoyable 
 evening of vocal and instrumental music, varied with 
 other small engrossments pleasant and profitable. The 
 funeral knell of Britain will be rung when the doors of 
 the Sabbath school are closed. 
 
 " Esto per pet ua." 
 Perhaps this would not be an unbefitting place to re- 
 cord individual cases of spiritual encouragement among 
 the members of the congregation. There were many 
 such ; but some of these are too sacred for publicity. None 
 interested me more than those, whether young or old, 
 male or female, who had been longer or shorter under 
 the sway of sceptical doubts, but who came ultimately to 
 accept the verities of the gospel with the simplicity of
 
 174 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 children. Let one such memory suffice. It is that of an 
 aged man in lowlier surroundings, but with a vigorous 
 understanding, who was called by God's good grace, in 
 his waning years, literally out of darkness into marvellous 
 light. No one became more faithful as a worshipper. 
 His face was ever to me a study — the reflection and 
 outglow of the new inner radiance, " the truth as it is 
 in Jesus " becoming his all in all. Two other similar 
 cases I specially recall, in which the mental, moral, and 
 spiritual struggle ended in happy and peaceful deathbeds. 
 
 Weeks, months, years thus flitted pleasantly by. I had 
 abundant reason to erect my memorial stone of thanks- 
 giving and praise. 
 
 But another of the many sudden sorrows which have 
 clouded my life was at hand. I have said in the Preface, 
 I would only have undertaken to compile these pages 
 on the condition of " broadening my canvas," so as to 
 include memorial sketches of others, well entitled to the 
 epithet of wovtliy. I shall make no apology, therefore, 
 for the fuller references and details given in the present 
 chapter. 
 
 One day, while at a meeting of some members of 
 Presbytery in the Religious Institution Rooms, a telegram 
 was handed in to me. I simply glanced at its contents, 
 beckoned Dr. Charteris outside, and told him, as the man 
 of all others in Glasgow most mournfully interested 
 in the tidings, that I had been summoned to Edinburgh. 
 My dear eldest brother was dying, and there was no 
 hope. 
 
 He had been ill, seriously ill. But such a termination 
 I never dreamt of. He had been some weeks — I am not 
 sure if it was months — before, on an endowment deputa- 
 tion with his like-minded friend, Dr. Smith, of North 
 Leith. Pie had caught cold on the journey. Pleurisy 
 and pneumonia had supervened, and after alternations of
 
 A BEAUTIFUL LIFE AND BELOVED MEMORY 175 
 
 revival and collapse, he was about to pass away from 
 scenes of busy and honourable toil, at the comparatively 
 early age of forty-nine. 
 
 I may well say, scenes of "busy and honourable toil," 
 for his versatility of talent was exceptional. In boyhood 
 and youth he betrayed a fascination for all branches of 
 study, specially scientific. Geology was his favourite 
 pursuit and pastime. I can well recall at this moment 
 the delight, along with myself, of a first excursion to 
 the Perthshire highlands, when we set out from Bonhard 
 on our two ponies, with an original old servant who had 
 charge of them and their riders ; the elder brother in 
 eager pursuit of " specimens," with a broad satchel on 
 his back, and a big hammer strapped on the pommel of 
 the saddle. Our first night was spent at Moulin, then 
 — I fear no longer — the most primitive of Highland 
 "clachans," the next at Blair Athole. At the former he 
 revelled among the mica slate and garnets of the district ; 
 at the latter he was at home in the marble quarries of 
 Glentilt. A still more interesting outing we enjoyed 
 together in a subsequent year, in exploring the geological 
 wealth of Arran, ascending Glenrosa — crossing the 
 " saddle," with its serrated peaks and boulders, into Glen 
 Sannox, and finishing with true Highland hospitalities 
 in the Manse of Brodick. Albeit, a treacherous mist, at 
 the most critical part of the journey, might have played 
 fatal havoc, but for the sagacity of an experienced guide. 
 In later years the enthusiasm was the same, only diverted 
 and transfigured by higher and more urgent claims. I 
 think I may say he never was happy but when engaged 
 in carrying out that noble twofold object — " good to men 
 and glory to God." 
 
 I have already, in a previous chapter, incidentally 
 noted the conspicuous services he rendered in his own 
 county. The prominent part he took in its meetings
 
 176 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 attest how he was appreciated. "The satisfactory con- 
 dition to which the finances of the county were brought 
 were chiefly the result of his long unwearied labours." 
 If not a ready speaker, he was the trusted adviser, the 
 reliable counsellor. His legal training had given him 
 an advantage in the transaction of public business, and 
 " the infinite capacity for taking pains," which a great 
 authority defines to be genius, was in his case amply 
 illustrated. Two out of many important schemes he 
 moulded into permanent shape. The one was, as chair- 
 man of the Perth District Lunacy Board, the erection of 
 the large asylum at Murthly. The other, a still more 
 widely known and successful institute, " the Fechney 
 Boys' School." The original capital fund of the latter 
 was left by a most esteemed relative of our own — Mrs. 
 Fechney, of Ardargie, a picturesque property on the 
 borders of Strathearn, with its share of one of the best 
 fishing-streams in Perthshire. As she expressed it to 
 me one day during her lifetime, she wanted to leave 
 her means and produce of her estate for the good of 
 " poor bairns." Never was bequest more thoughtfully 
 and loyally carried out. My brother and I were ap- 
 pointed in her trust-deed, along with another, executors 
 and life directors. Alas! my other engagements pre- 
 cluded any active service whatever ; and even if leisure 
 had been afforded, my efforts would have been unavailing 
 to untie what was at first, owing to ambiguous phrases 
 in the deed, a ravelled knot. But other hands were equal 
 to the emergency. His organizing powers and unflagging 
 energy (subsidized afterwards with pecuniary resources 
 from city and county) awoke the original dormant funds 
 into busy operation, and thousands of the homeless and 
 helpless have to bless his memory, and that of other 
 sympathetic workers he had gathered around him. I 
 always look up to that bright mass of buildings on the
 
 A BEAUTIFUL LIFE AND BELOVED MEMORY 177 
 
 western slopes of Perth as the truest monument to his 
 memory, though other tributes were not awanting. 
 
 On the death of the well-known professor, Dr. James 
 Robertson — the doughty champion of the " Endowment 
 Scheme " — not a few eyes were turned to my brother as 
 one well qualified, from talent and earnest religious life, 
 to aid, at all events as Vice-Convener, in carrying on 
 and, it might be, completing the grand ideal of that good 
 and holy man, who had fallen in the fight, a victim to 
 his own Christian enthusiasm. He was not slow in re- 
 sponding to the call. During his winters in Edinburgh, 
 he had ample leisure, amid other occupations, and with- 
 out pay or place he would be found some hours every 
 day in the Offices of the Schemes of the Church, with the 
 Convener, or rather chief, Dr. Smith, and others, per- 
 petuating Robertson's great work — that on which their 
 hearts were bent— evangelizing the masses ; while in 
 summer he was busied with deputations to distant places, 
 to rouse or stimulate flagging operations. This post he 
 held for five years. Those who know the scheme, know 
 how these indomitable energies were rewarded. But he 
 also, like his two distinguished predecessors, " foremost 
 fighting fell." 
 
 His loyal adhesion to the Church of his fathers was 
 unalterable. He was ordained as an elder in the Church 
 of Scone, and was unremitting in his duties as such. 1 
 
 Very far removed from ecclesiastical work was his 
 appointment first as secretary to " the Royal Commis- 
 sion on Roads and Bridges in Scotland," which sat in 
 1858. The Report of that commission will remain an en- 
 during monument of his patient industry. Second, he 
 was selected, shortly previous to his death, for one of the 
 
 1 The conduct of the Endowment Scheme, subsequent to his death, 
 was placed in the very reliable hands of his intimate and oldest friend, 
 T. G. Murray, of Stenton, since then also called to his reward. 
 
 12
 
 178 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 most honourable positions in the gift of " the landed in- 
 terest," that of secretary to the "Highland Agricultural 
 Society of Scotland." He had, I think, less affinity for 
 cattle and horse-shows than for most things. A hundred 
 others would have been as well or better adapted. But it 
 was a voluntary and gratifying testimony, paid by the 
 aristocracy and lairds of Scotland, to his organizing and 
 administrative ability. He was more in his right position 
 in another post of influence, to which he had been 
 appointed five years before — chairman of the Scottish 
 Central Railway. Both appointments terminated only 
 with his death. As a tribute to his culture, he was made 
 a Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh (F.R.S.E.). 
 
 His death was in beautiful harmony with his life. As 
 the only brother who, from circumstances, could be 
 present with him at the last, that supreme hour has left 
 on me an indelible impression. When, in response to the 
 telegram, sent by order of his medical adviser, I entered 
 the room where he was, he was sitting up in his chair, 
 unaware that the sand-glass was so fast running to its 
 final grain. I deemed it wrong to speak the intrusive 
 word of alarm and hopelessness. But no sooner had he 
 undressed and gone to bed than the fatal symptoms, 
 temporarily warded off, were to himself too significant. 
 His children were summoned, and the touching parting 
 farewell given. It was a death of hallowed peace. No 
 demonstrative "experiences," no "ecstasies" — the stream 
 was too deep for that. He had been long prepared, and 
 the summons came without perturbation. Strong as his 
 mind was, he had never known, all his life long, the ex- 
 istence of " devil-born doubts." They were not likely to 
 assail him now. He told me, in faltering words, that 
 he felt the Saviour's invisible presence. I quoted some 
 simple texts and hymn verses. I remember one of these, 
 and the protest it drew forth : "I am now ready to be
 
 A BEAUTIFUL LIFE AND BELOVED MEMORY 179 
 
 offered, and the time of my departure is at hand ; I have 
 fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have 
 
 kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me " 
 
 He stopped me. " No, that is not to my liking, — some- 
 thing else." To that "something else" he smiled assent 
 when I repeated the familiar lines, — 
 
 " Nothing in my hands I bring, 
 Simply to Thy cross I cling." 
 
 The brief sentence in the panegyric written by the 
 late Sir Stafford Northcote's biographer was true of him, 
 " He lived without a stain, and died without an enemy." 
 Of few indeed could the words be more truly said, — 
 
 " His yesterdays look backward with a smile, 
 Nor wound him like the Parthians as they fly." 
 
 He "sleeps with his fathers," under a Norman arch in 
 the walls of the historic Greyfriars Church, Edinburgh, 
 and a marble tablet is erected to his memory within the 
 walls of Scone Church. 
 
 I am tempted, lest I might be accused of a pardonable 
 partiality in my estimate of the best man I ever knew, 
 or expect to know in this world, to give three specimen- 
 tributes from other pens and lips. 
 
 " Mr. Macduff," says the Scotsman, in part of its long 
 obituary notice, " was an eminently public-spirited man, 
 and has held many positions of public trust and respon- 
 sibility. In the business of the county of Perth, in which 
 his estate of Bonhard is situated, he took a lively in- 
 terest. He was an active promoter of the Scottish 
 Central Railway, which has done so much to open up 
 and improve Perthshire. In the autumn of 1864, on the 
 death of Mr. Bruce, of Kennet, he succeeded to the office 
 of chairman. As President of the Board of Directors, he 
 took a leading share in the amalgamation of the Scottish 
 Central and Caledonian Companies." Then follows an
 
 i So DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 appreciative testimony to his Church and General 
 Assembly work. In the latter " he was invariably 
 listened to with attention, in respect of the knowledge 
 he was known to attain on any subject in which he in- 
 terested himself, and the strong common sense which 
 generally characterized his views." "His concern," says 
 the Daily Review, in a similarly extended notice, " for the 
 progress of Evangelical truth was not confined to enter- 
 prises belonging to his own denomination, but found 
 scope in every good work which commended itself to his 
 sympathies. While his public spirit and Christian phil- 
 anthropy secured him general respect and admiration, 
 his amiable private character endeared him still more to 
 those who "were ranked among his personal friends." 
 
 These sentiments were not slow to be echoed in the 
 Metropolitan Presbytery : " Any one who had been the 
 least acquainted with Mr. Macduff, either in his private 
 or his public life, could not help thinking that he had 
 not left behind him in the eldership of the Church a 
 superior, or one to whom the Church was more indebted. 
 He lent the weight of his accomplished mind and of his 
 high social position to the Church which he loved. They 
 could not meet that day, on the first occasion after his 
 removal, without adding their testimony to his worth, 
 expressing their great gratitude for the work he did, 
 and their deep respect and affection for his memory." 
 One more. On the occasion of the second annual meet- 
 ing of the supporters of the Fechney Industrial School, 
 in the Town Hall of Perth, the following were the 
 words of the chairman, the able and deeply respected 
 Convener of the county, Mr. Smythe, of Methven Castle : 
 "It is impossible for me to take this chair without being 
 painfully reminded of the loss which this and other in- 
 stitutions have sustained by the death of my much- 
 valued friend, Mr. Macduff, of Bonhard. Mr. Macduff was
 
 A BEAUTIFUL LIFE AND BELOVED MEMORY 181 
 
 not only one of the benefactors of the Fechney Industrial 
 School, but it might also be said he was its founder. 
 With characteristic energy he carried out the intentions 
 of his relative, sparing neither time nor pains to have 
 an institution in every way suitable for the object con- 
 templated. He framed a constitution, drew up rules and 
 regulations for its government, and handed it over to 
 the directors. This is perhaps neither the time nor the 
 place to pass a eulogy on Mr. Macduff; still, I feel that 
 not only was he an intimate and dear friend, but one 
 with whom I was associated in many of the public 
 duties of life, and therefore I can fully appreciate the 
 soundness of his judgment, and the tact, talent, and 
 sagacity which he carried with him into every under- 
 taking in which he was engaged. I could also speak of 
 the unflagging zeal and untiring diligence with which 
 he strove to bring everything to a successful conclusion. 
 1 could tell of his kindly genial temper, of his firm and 
 uncompromising adherence to what he believed to be 
 right. His demeanour was so courteous and gentle, that 
 he was endeared to every one with whom he came in 
 contact. In addition to his many amiable qualities, he 
 was possessed of higher virtues — virtues of an inborn 
 character. In every respect he was a good, a kind, a 
 just man, and an honest, sincere, devoted Christian. He 
 is gone from among us, leaving us a bright example and 
 a glorious pattern to imitate." 
 
 " Mr. Smythe," it is added in the report of the local paper, 
 "spoke with great feeling, and we observed that, during 
 the delivery of the speech, every eye in the room was 
 more or less suffused with tears." 
 
 Mr. Smythe accurately gauged his character. The poeti- 
 cal tribute paid to another might be transferred to him : 
 " The adamantine granite below, the delicate moss and 
 graceful fern above."
 
 1 82 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Can it be wondered, after these varied spontaneous tri- 
 butes, that, in publishing at the close of the year a small 
 book of sacred poetry called "Curfew Chimes," I gave 
 expression to my own feelings in these Dedicatory hi 
 Memoriam lines : — 
 
 These to life's oldest, latest guide, 
 Translated to an early crown, 
 Whose sun while yet 'twas day went down, 
 
 Ere fell the shades of eventide. 
 
 In worth of heart, and wealth of brain, 
 
 In all that noble was, and pure — 
 
 All that is destined to endure, 
 I ne'er shall see his like again. 
 
 For long retains the western sky 
 The vanished orb's resplendent hue ; 
 In gleaming memories, ever new, 
 
 That life survives. It cannot die. 
 
 This tribute of most sacred love 
 
 I lay upon his honoured bier ; 
 
 If I could do it, not a tear 
 Would weep him from his bliss above. 
 
 Tis better far to be with Him 
 
 Whose work gave zest to life while here.; 
 Oh, grudge him not the wider sphere, 
 
 The Brotherhood with Seraphim ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott's words are recalled as he stood by 
 the grave of his friend John Ballantyne: "There will be 
 sunshine missed among us for many a long day." 
 
 Yet once more, before closing this chapter. The sub- 
 ject of these panegyrics, besides being an accomplished 
 mathematician, was the writer, every now and then, of 
 verses which he engrossed in a private MS. book. I 
 append one specimen, which will be found inserted in my 
 " Gates of Praise." In sending the late Dr. McCulloch, of 
 Greenock, the most accomplished literary scholar of the
 
 A BEAUTIFUL LIFE AND BELOVED MEMORY 183 
 
 Church, a copy of my volume, he specially singled out 
 "A Legend of Provence," as "one of the finest ballads he 
 had read for long." 
 
 ISABELLE : A LEGEND OF PROVENCE. 
 
 An aged man with tresses grey, 
 Whose eyes bespoke familiar tears, 
 With trembling lips poured forth this lay 
 To sympathizing ears : — 
 
 Oh ! many a sweet beguiles the bee 
 In gay Provence's lovely bowers, 
 And roses garland many a tree 
 
 Entwined with fragrant flowers. 
 
 In light festoons, the clustering vine 
 O'ercanopies the sylvan glade, 
 And countless flow'rets gaily shine 
 Beneath its graceful shade. 
 
 The hum of glittering insect wing 
 Wakes music in these fairy groves, 
 And nightingales delight to sing, 
 In silvery notes their loves ! 
 
 I've seen that land of beauty dressed 
 In radiant summer's mantle green, 
 And oft does pensive memory rest 
 Upon each witching scene ! 
 
 But sacred above all the themes, 
 On which in lonely hours I dwell, 
 Is she whose image haunts my dreams — 
 The gentle Isabelle ! 
 
 Oft had I blest the path I took 
 That led me to her cottage door ; 
 Methought it wore a hallowed look 
 I ne'er had seen before. 
 
 The aged father welcomed me 
 Within his humble, peaceful cot,
 
 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 And bade his duteous daughter see 
 My wants were not forgot. 
 
 "Oh yes," she answered, "father dear, 
 I'll make a fragrant flowery bed, 
 And welcome is the stranger here 
 To rest his weary head." 
 
 Away she tripped, with noiseless tread, 
 As if some Heavenly Being fair 
 Had left the regions of the dead 
 To dwell with mortals there. 
 
 I gazed upon the spot, where she 
 Had nimbly vanished from my sight, 
 The old man marked my ecstasy, 
 And smiled with fond delight. 
 
 ■6 ' 
 
 " Thou'rt right," he said, in accents mild- 
 "Yes, by my troth, thou judgest well, 
 She is indeed a blessed child, 
 My darling Isabelle. 
 
 " She is my sole surviving friend, 
 All other joys from me are fled ; 
 And she alone is left, to tend 
 Her aged father's head : 
 
 "The angel of my closing years, 
 In undeserved mercy given, 
 To guide, amid this vale of tears, 
 My feeble steps — to heaven !" 
 
 Oft I recall the guileless joy 
 In which that summer glided by ! 
 As cloudless as the canopy 
 Of fair Provence's sky ; 
 
 The hour of prayer together spent, 
 Adoring Him in accents meet, 
 When with united hearts we bent 
 Before the mercy-seat ! 
 
 Who can describe the hymn of praise, 
 Its soft and silvery sweetness tell,
 
 A BEAUTIFUL LIFE AND BELOVED MEMORY 185 
 
 Poured from her lips in holiest lays 
 As evening shadows fell ? 
 
 How shall I paint the thornless bliss 
 In which the fleeting hours went past, 
 Mid joys — in such a world as this — 
 Too exquisite to last ! 
 
 Methinks I see the trembling tear, 
 Which stole from eyes unused to sorrow, 
 When first I whispered in her ear, 
 " We part — upon the morrow ! " 
 
 The old man raised his withered head, 
 And gazed upon the azure sky : 
 Then — " Fare thee well awhile? he said, 
 "We yet shall meet— on high !" 
 
 " Nay — speak not thus, my father dear ; 
 But one short year away" — and then, 
 " Make promise — thou wilt wander here, 
 And visit us again. 
 
 " Daily I'll watch thy favourite vine 
 Put forth its verdant shade of leaves, 
 And train its tendrils to entwine 
 And trellis all the eaves. 
 
 " Fondly I'll note when budding flowers 
 O'erhang thy favourite window-seat ; — 
 And eager count the passing hours 
 Until, at length, we 7iieet ' 
 
 " Oh, quickly speed thee back again ! 
 And now," she cried, " a fond farewell ! 
 Soon will a year elapse : — till then 
 Remember Isabella ! " 
 
 Even now, methinks, her parting words 
 As if prolonged by magic spell, 
 Still vibrate on my spirit's chords — 
 " Reinember Isabelle /"
 
 1 86 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 The tedious years at length went past : 
 Again I reached a foreign shore : 
 With joyful steps I trode at last 
 Provence's soil once more. 
 
 I stood upon a vine-clad spot 
 O'erhanging yon romantic dell, 
 Where stands the lone sequestered cot 
 That sheltered Isabelle. 
 
 The balmy breath of summer eve 
 (Exhaled from many a fragrant flower) 
 Seemed to my fancy to receive 
 Fresh sweetness in that hour. 
 
 With eager steps, I culled a flower, 
 And quickly cleared the briery brake, 
 "And here," said I, "we'll form a bower 
 Beside that fairy lake." 
 
 What though the gathering clouds at last 
 Were shrouding all the sunset sky, 
 And evening's hues were yielding fast 
 To the fair moon on high? 
 
 I knew the scenes of former days, 
 Familiar every nook to me ; 
 The names of all the friendly fays 
 That owned each haunted tree ! 
 
 Each blooming plant that smiled around, 
 Each ivied root— each grassy swell ; 
 For oft I've trode the hallowed ground 
 With her I loved so well. 
 
 "The rose-slip on the churchyard wall 
 Has now become a verdant tree, 
 The orange plants are now grown tall, — 
 Can time have altered theel 
 
 " Oh, yes," methought, " thine eye will show 
 A deeper shade of heavenly blue, 
 Thy cheek will have a ruddier glow — 
 Tinged with a brighter hue;
 
 A BEAUTIFUL LIFE AND BELOVED MEMORY 187 
 
 " Thy hair in richer tresses shine, 
 Thy voice have lost its childish tone ; 
 But still, thy faithful heart is mine — • 
 My beautiful ! my own !" 
 
 I trode the path along the dell, 
 Down by the spreading churchyard tree, 
 Beneath whose shade my Isabelle 
 First pledged her troth to me ! 
 
 I passed the holy precincts, where 
 Her sainted mother's ashes lay : 
 The moonlight cold was shaded there, 
 Across my grave-strewn way. 
 
 On new-laid turf, with daisies fair, 
 The chilly moonbeams gently fell : 
 But what ! oh ! — what was graven there / 
 "Remember Isabelle!"
 
 XIII 
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 
 
 [At the close of the year 1866, Dr. Macduff received the 
 kind consent of his Kirk Session, and of the Presbytery 
 of Glasgow, to an absence of three months, in which to 
 fulfil a long-cherished dream of visiting the Holy Land. 
 His brother clergy willingly and generously gave their 
 services in Sandyford pulpit during his absence, while 
 his dear friend, Dr. Charteris, undertook the responsible 
 duty of preparing young communicants for the approach- 
 ing celebration of the Lord's Supper. 
 
 Early in 1867, accompanied by four friends (the party 
 became subsequently known as "the Five Brothers"), he 
 started, via Marseilles, for Egypt and Palestine. He had 
 scarcely at the time recovered from the prostration of a 
 severe illness, but the voyage on board a P. & O. steamer, 
 and the healing charm of the Egyptian climate, combined 
 with the care of the kindest of fellow-travellers, ere long 
 completely restored him. 
 
 It has been found impossible, within the limits of this 
 volume, to utilize the many home-letters referring to the 
 journey. The Editor feels, however, that all allusion to 
 an event so memorable to Dr. Macduff cannot be omitted. 
 He was wont to say that his Palestine tour opened to him 
 a new Bible ; its memory proved a lifelong inspiration 
 and possession, and its vivid light touched the pages of 
 many a future volume, from " Memories of Olivet," the 
 first published after his return, to " The Warrior King," 
 
 188
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 189 
 
 completed on his death-bed. What he called his " stones 
 of remembrance " — shells from the beach of Gennesaret, 
 olive-wood from " the Mount," fig-branches from Bethany, 
 water from the Dead Sea, the Jordan, etc., and more 
 than one book of flowers from "Holy Fields" — were 
 counted amongst his household treasures ; whilst other 
 memorials in the shape of oil-paintings from his facile 
 brush adorned the walls of his study. 
 
 Failing any more detailed reference, the following lines 
 may here be inserted, as embodying his impressions on 
 bidding 
 
 FAREWELL TO PALESTINE. 
 
 Though many be the shores and lands 
 My pilgrim steps have wandered o'er, 
 
 From Alpine heights to classic lands, 
 Oh ! never have I felt before 
 
 The effort to pronounce farewell 
 
 To all those varied scenes of thine ; 
 No other spot can share thy spell, 
 
 Unique, beloved Palestine ! 
 
 Yet, not thy outward form can claim 
 
 This tribute tear in parting now ; 
 These fields so drear, these hills so tame. 
 
 The laurels faded on thy brow. 
 
 Dare I conceal the inward taunt, 
 
 As over mount and vale I trod, 
 "Is this indeed the angel haunt, 
 
 The seraph-land — the Home of God?" 
 
 Beneath my childhood's skies, I ween, 
 
 A thousand spots I can recall, 
 Far lovelier than your loveliest scene, 
 
 Of wood, and lake, and waterfall. 
 
 In vain I looked for limpid rills, 
 
 Where Syrian shepherd led his flock ; 
 
 No herbage on your blighted hills, 
 No pine-tree in "the rifted rock."
 
 190 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Greater your charms, ye streams of home, 
 Which verdant meadows gently lave, 
 
 Than Jordan with its turgid foam, 
 
 Fast hastening to its Dead Sea grave. 
 
 Or Kishon, by whose crimsoned tide 
 Confronting hosts their trumpets blew ; 
 
 What is your scanty, stream beside 
 My own loved Con or Avondhu ? 
 
 What are the hills of Ephraim bared, 
 What Moab's sombre mountain-chain, 
 
 What Judah's limestone heights, compared 
 With Grampians seen from Dunsinane? 
 
 No bosky dells with lichen grey, 
 No tresses wave on birchen-tree, 
 
 No limpid torrent sings its way, 
 Mid copse and heather, to the sea. 
 
 And as the golden daylight fades, 
 No antlered monarchs of the hill 
 
 Are seen to steal through forest glades, 
 And slake their thirst at lake or rill. 
 
 Grander Ben Nevis' rugged slope 
 Than Carmel's cliffs of sombre hue ; 
 
 Tabor and Hermon vain can cope 
 With Cruachan or Ben Venue. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 But, hush ! — the one absorbing thought 
 Transfigures all the passing scene, 
 
 And makes the present time forgot, 
 In musing what the past has been : — 
 
 Here Patriarchs lived, here Prophets trod, 
 Here angels on their errands sped ; 
 
 The home of sainted men of God, 
 The resting-place of holy dead ! 
 
 More wondrous still : — on these same hills 
 The eye of God Incarnate fell ; 
 
 He walked these paths, He drank these rills 
 He sat Him by yon wayside well.
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 191 
 
 Oft, by that Kedron brook, He heard 
 
 The rustle of its olives grey 
 Or carol of the matin bird, 
 
 Which greeted the first eastern ray. 
 
 In temple court, or noisy street, 
 
 When wearied with the wrangling cry, 
 How oft He found a calm retreat 
 
 In thee, thrice-hallowed Bethany : 
 
 Watching the evening shadows fall, 
 
 Or glow of sunbeam from the west, 
 Transmuting Moab's mountain-wall 
 
 Into a blaze of amethyst ! 
 
 Or Thou, Gennesaret ! favoured Lake, 
 
 How fragrant with His presence still : 
 The deeds of love— the words He spake, 
 
 Graved on thy shores indelible ! 
 
 Thy green hills oft were altar stairs 
 
 Up which His weary footsteps trod, 
 For morning praise and midnight prayers, 
 
 Away from man, alone with God. 
 
 He loved the flowers which fringed thy sea, 
 
 He trod thy groves of stately palm, 
 Thy carpets of anemone, 
 
 Thy vine-clad hills and bowers of balm. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Enough. With kindred interest teems 
 
 Each scene where'er I gaze around : 
 The land throughout a Bethel seems, 
 
 And "every place is hallowed ground." 
 
 Adieu, each shrine of holy thought, 
 
 Each ruined heap, each storied " Tel." 
 I pluck the last " Forget-me-not," 
 
 And now I take a fond farewell ! 
 
 To-night, on Hermon's northern brow, 
 
 The stars upon our tents shall shine ; 
 Set up the stone ! record the vow ! 
 
 " Forget thee, never — Palestine ! "
 
 192 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 The lifelong wish and dream to see 
 Thy blessed acres, God has given : 
 
 A lingering tear I drop to thee, 
 Thou earthly vestibule of Heaven ! 
 
 Palestine gave a new stimulus on his resumption of 
 work and duty, and for three more busy years the life- 
 current flowed on. — Ed.] 
 
 ***** 
 
 Gladly would I give a roll-call of loving and devoted 
 friends — congregational, social, ecclesiastical ; but it 
 would be invidious to select or limit. It is better that 
 even the choicest go unchronicled, than that I should do 
 injustice by unintentional omissions. 
 
 I can endorse the charming verdict of Maria Edgeworth 
 in her "Life and Letters" (vol. ii. p. 301): "All steady, 
 as Scotch friends ever are, and kind and warm — the 
 warmth once raised in them never cooling — anthracite 
 coal — layer after layer, hot to the very kernel." Let 
 me, at all events, here recall with gratitude the names 
 of my three successive assistants in pulpit and parish 
 work, all now distinguished in their way — Mr. Gavin 
 Lang, of Inverness ; Dr. Thomas Fraser, of Newport ; and 
 Dr. George Matheson, of St. Bernard's, Edinburgh. 
 
 As years, however, flitted by, though the bow had lost 
 none of its elasticity, the hand that drew it was beginning 
 to feel less equal for the strain. There were causes and 
 incidents, moreover, inseparable from a public position, 
 which had their influence and left their traces. More 
 than all, a new, or at least a growing feeling of nervous- 
 ness, which greatly increased in later years, began to 
 give me serious uneasiness, and to shatter my faith in 
 aptitude for the publicities which a town minister's life en- 
 tailed. One manifestation of this "all-overishness," though 
 a trifling occurrence in itself, I believe was a " factor " in 
 my ultimate determination. It occurred at a large and
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 193 
 
 crowded gathering in the City Hall, where I was advertised 
 as a speaker, and went, as I always did on such occasions, 
 well prepared. I had been in poor health for some days, 
 and ought really to have sent an apology. Be this as 
 it may, the speech, after its opening sentence, came to 
 grief. I had simply to resume my seat and leave the 
 assembly. 1 
 
 In the earlier part of my work in Glasgow I was not 
 subject to this difficulty or discomfort. It was rather 
 the reverse. I was frequently invited, and never reluctant, 
 to take part in public meetings of importance. I recall, 
 at the moment, one of these, w 7 hen, along with others, 
 I delivered a speech at a great demonstration in the 
 same Hall in honour of Dr. Livingstone. A gratifying 
 tribute followed a few days after, in the shape of a 
 present from the distinguished traveller of his well-known 
 volume — my name in bold hand on the fly-leaf, with 
 his "kindest salutations" appended; a gift, it need not 
 be said, I have always treasured. 
 
 Connected with the "art of public speaking" and 
 
 1 My experience long years before this, but in the same City Hall, 
 could not have been safely repeated on the present occasion. I was 
 asked, when in my country parish, to come and take part in a large 
 annual meeting of Sunday-school teachers. In the forenoon of the day 
 on which the meeting was held (it was to be in the evening) I was 
 waited on by the reporter of the leading newspaper, with the somewhat 
 perplexing request to give him the MS. of my undelivered speech ! 
 I told him the thing was impossible — that, though the speech was 
 written, I never rigidly adhered to my notes, but was in the habit of 
 altering and otherwise, on the spur of the moment, adapting myself 
 to circumstances. He was, nevertheless, so importunate that I had re- 
 luctantly to give way, and he marched off with a copy. Long before I 
 had spoken — indeed, when the meeting was still engaged with the pre- 
 liminaries of tea and buns — a parcel was handed along the platform 
 to where I was sitting. This was my speech in extenso. Not only 
 fully printed, but the compositor, with a gift of prophecy, had taken 
 further liberties. I fear he had paid me with compound interest. Be 
 that, however, as it may, it was copiously interlarded with ("hear, 
 hear"), ("cheers"), terminating with the climax of (" loud applause "). 
 It was to me a new peep behind the press-curtain, and a ludicrous one. 
 
 13
 
 194 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 "public appearances," it may not be out of place here 
 to add that I had no liking — the very reverse — for Church 
 courts, and avoided them when possible. Very seldom, 
 indeed, did I open my lips in the discussions of the Pres- 
 bytery. I never disguised my ignorance of Church forms 
 and procedure, or my dislike of polemics. Only once 
 had I the courage to take part in a debate in the General 
 Assembly, and on that occasion was dependent on full 
 notes. This solitary venture was in a discussion on the 
 Abolition of Patronage, and the substitution of popular 
 election, to which, though in a minority, I was strongly 
 opposed and am still. One is a very inadequate judge 
 of one's own public performances ; but a testimony to 
 the effectiveness of what I said on this occasion was given 
 the next evening at a "reception" in Holyrood Palace. 
 Dean Stanley, who had been present in the Assembly, 
 specially sent for me to be introduced to him, and com- 
 plimented in terms of eulogy I do not care to reveal. 1 
 
 I have a pleasant remembrance of his conversation, 
 and could at once understand its charm among " all sorts 
 and conditions of men." Perhaps I was responsible, on 
 the spur of the moment, for starting an appropriate topic, 
 the obligations under which, in common with other travel- 
 lers in Palestine, I was to him for his " Sinai and Palestine." 
 This led, in some way or other, to Nablous and Jacob's 
 
 1 In Dean Stanley's published " Life and Letters," there is the follow- 
 ing reference to this address : — ■" The General Assemblies, both of the 
 Established and of the Free Church, were objects of great interest to 
 him. He studied their overtures, read their debates, and more than 
 once attended their meetings. ' I should not have been listened to 
 half as patiently in convocation,' was his remark after observing the 
 fairness with which the Assembly of the Establishment heard a long 
 aggressive and hostile speech." — Life of Dean Stanley, vol. ii. p. 393. 
 
 The Editor feels warranted to transcribe, in greatly abbreviated form, 
 from a book of newspaper extracts, the speech itself, as it appeared in 
 the Scotch daily papers. It will be found in a note appended to this 
 chapter. She omits the tokens of approval with which the speech was 
 received throughout.
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 195 
 
 Well, which drew from him amusing reminiscences of 
 the Samaritan sheikh (Jacob Shulaby). He was most kind, 
 and ended our interview by asking me when in London 
 to come and see him at the Deanery — a pleasure and 
 honour of which, from dislike of invading his valuable 
 time, I foolishly, and now regretfully, failed to avail 
 myself. 
 
 But to return from a digression into which I have been 
 unwittingly betrayed. 
 
 The growing want of self-confidence just referred to, 
 coupled with the singular and undiminished success in 
 the quiet work of authorship, led me, step by step, to 
 ponder the idea whether it would be consistent with duty, 
 or, as it came to be debated, more in the way of duty, 
 ere years further increased, to abandon public ministerial 
 work, and devote myself in future, however long it pleased 
 God to spare me, to the engagements of the Press. For 
 a considerable time this had been maturing, and it was 
 one strengthener, that before the death of my elder brother, 
 on incidentally mooting the suggestion, it had been favour- 
 ably and approvingly received by one to whose counsel 
 I deferred as to no other. 
 
 The same morning that the members of my Church 
 were reading in the newspapers of the surrender of 
 Napoleon and his army at Sedan, they read an intimation 
 of a much lesser event to the outside world, but which 
 I believe to them, though I venture to say it, was as 
 regretful as it was unexpected. It seemed, and no wonder, 
 to be the more startling, as the congregation and all its 
 schemes were never more flourishing, nor its organization 
 more complete. 
 
 Though the announcement was thus publicly made, the 
 Presbytery had to be faced, its bristling forms had to be 
 encountered and its sanction obtained. It may perhaps 
 be worth while briefly to recall the procedure. I knew
 
 196 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 there would be a battle ; and a small affair of arms there 
 was. Though in the kindliest and most friendly spirit, 
 Dr. Norman Macleod — a battalion in himself — was to lead 
 the hostile ranks, and lay arrest on the recalcitrant member. 
 I felt tolerably confident of victory. But I did not expect 
 the permission to march out with the honours of war — 
 flags flying, and drums beating, and generous words of 
 heart-cheer when the farewell came. 
 
 [The Editor here again thinks it right to exercise the 
 discretionary power given, and on her own responsibility 
 insert what follows, also considerably curtailed, from the 
 same volume of printed extracts. These quotations are 
 doubtless of a personal nature ; but she deems them needful, 
 as explanatory of an important resolution which might 
 be otherwise misunderstood. She trusts there may be 
 felt to be no violation of taste, if the warm expressions 
 of friends somewhat too obviously obtrude themselves. 
 The words of Bishop Wordsworth, of St. Andrews, else- 
 where found in Dr. Macduff's handwriting, she feels sure 
 would well express his own feelings : — 
 
 " I have lived long enough not to lay much store by 
 any earthly commendation from whatever quarter it may 
 come ; only so far as it has encouraged me to any good 
 and useful work, looking back upon it with pleasure and 
 thankfulness ; and for my readers, I give them full liberty 
 to discount, on the score of friendship and partiality, all 
 compliment to myself, as much or as little as they please." 
 
 The formal letter of resignation was read by the Clerk 
 of the Presbytery. 
 
 " Glasgow, $th September, 1870. 
 
 " To the Rev. the Moderator of the Presbytery of Glasgow, — 
 
 " Rev. and dear Sir, — 
 
 " With many mingled feelings, I beg through you 
 to tender to the Presbytery my resignation of the pastoral
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 197 
 
 charge of the Church and parish, which it has been my 
 high honour and privilege to fill for the last fifteen 
 years. In a communication to the managers and Kirk 
 Session 1 have fully detailed the reasons which have 
 induced me to take a step so solemn, momentous, and 
 responsible. Into these reasons I am sure I shall be for- 
 given if I do not now enter, the more so as I believe 
 they are familiar to my respected fathers and brethren. 
 It is enough to say that, though severed from my con- 
 nection with Sandyford congregation, as well as from 
 those with whom, as a Presbytery, I have been thus 
 long and happily associated, it is with the hope that in 
 another way my services may be made available for 
 the good of Christ's Church. It is to me a source of 
 gratification that my valued friends the Managers and 
 Kirk Session of Sandyford have, in terms far too flatter- 
 ing and kind, expressed their resolution not to throw 
 any impediment in the way of my carrying out the 
 determination at which I have arrived. It is a subject 
 of still greater gratification, in looking back on my con- 
 nection with this favoured and conspicuous sphere, that I 
 have the consciousness of having enjoyed, in no ordinary 
 degree, the support, sympathy, and attachment of a united 
 people ; so that the parting, when it does come, will be 
 one mutually of sincere sorrow and unfeigned regret. 
 No congregation could have been more uniformly de- 
 voted, generous, forbearing, kind. A sense of that kind- 
 ness will be the most delightful retrospect of my life. 
 The purpose I now announce to you being the result of 
 no hasty resolution, but formed after mature and anxious 
 deliberation, I would venture to express a hope that, 
 though in accordance with use and wont, this letter 
 will be allowed to lie on your table till next meeting, 
 the Presbytery may, in the circumstances, feel themselves 
 at liberty to dispense with any steps being taken for
 
 198 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 the purpose of attempting remonstrance on their part or 
 reconsideration on mine. I beg" to renew my grateful 
 thanks to my esteemed fathers and brethren for all the 
 unvarying courtesy and kindness I have received at their 
 hands. My earnest prayer is, that God may more and 
 more prosper their arduous work in this great city and 
 surrounding district." 
 
 The clerk thought that it was only suitable, on such 
 a momentous occasion as the present, that they should 
 allow the letter to lie on the table till next meeting. 
 
 At the next monthly meeting Mr. White read the 
 minutes of a meeting of the trustees and managers of 
 Sandyford Church, held on the 31st ult., called to con- 
 sider Dr. Macduff's resignation. The meeting, after care- 
 fully considering the matter, unanimously expressed their 
 great appreciation of Dr. Macduff s services, not only in 
 regard to the Church of Scotland at large, but especially 
 in regard to Sandyford Church ; and they had to record 
 that, having entered on the pastorate of the Church in 
 1855, when it had first been erected, Dr. Macduff had 
 gathered round him, and maintained during all these inter- 
 vening years, an overflowing congregation, who valued 
 him not less for his pulpit services, than for his minis- 
 terial visitations and private friendship. During his 
 ministry the Church had been "erected into" a parish; and 
 not only the congregation itself, but all the schemes and 
 agencies in connection with it, were at present in a high 
 state of prosperity. Under these circumstances, the 
 trustees had received the announcement of Dr. Macduff s 
 resignation with great regret; but after carefully weigh- 
 ing the reasons assigned by him for taking the step, and 
 the definite manner in which these reasons had been 
 expressed, they considered that the only course left to 
 them was to acquiesce in Dr. Macduff's resignation, and 
 to express their great appreciation of his value as a
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 199 
 
 clergyman and a friend, their sorrow at parting with 
 him, and their anxious wishes for his future welfare and 
 prosperity." 
 
 Dr. Macleod, after some preliminary observations, said 
 he thought it due to the great respect which they all 
 entertained for Dr. Macduff, to take away even the 
 appearance of saying, " We are not going to argue the 
 question with you; you may go when you please." No 
 man recognised more fully than he did the good which 
 Dr. Macduff had done by his works. God had given him 
 peculiar gifts to do a particular good in the Church by 
 writing, and certainly he had used those gifts well, and 
 had been the means of affording great strength and 
 comfort to many millions, it might be said, in the Chris- 
 tian Church. All this was appreciated very heartily 
 and sincerely, but it might nevertheless be wished that 
 he could manage, in some w r ay or other, to do the good 
 which he had been enabled to effect by means of the 
 press, without giving up the pulpit. (Hear, hear.) In 
 the midst of the great conflict now being carried on in 
 our cities — amidst the great difficulties with which in 
 the Church of Scotland they had to contend — such a man 
 as Dr. Macduff could not be allowed to retire unless there 
 were very strong reasons for doing so. There were in 
 this city, hospitals, gaols, reformatories, workhouses. What 
 power did the Church bring to bear upon these places ? 
 Was he blaming any one ? No, he was not, because he 
 thought all of them were overworked. He thought not 
 that they had too little work, but that the work was so 
 entirely thrown on the clergy, that it was physically 
 impossible for them to take up these other duties with 
 any degree of energy; but by a man like Dr. Macduff, 
 with his sympathy, and love, and power to give comfort 
 and strength — by a man loosed from his congregation 
 and parish, and, in God's providence, not needing any
 
 200 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 money for the doing it, but only that which he had, his 
 own spiritual life and his own loving heart — a magni- 
 ficent work might be done. His feeling was this, that 
 there was not a single man in the Presbytery but would 
 say in the present case, " You may know more than we 
 do ; you may have private reasons for retiring of which 
 we know nothing ; we are thoroughly persuaded you 
 will act as towards God conscientiously, and if you 
 must leave us we say no more, having such confidence 
 in you, but bid you farewell with a very sorrowful 
 heart, feeling that, in the present state of things in Glas- 
 gow and Scotland, your going away will be a loss to 
 the Church, whatever influence you may exert through 
 books. Far greater blessing would it be to do those works 
 for us in the city in which you are placed, and in con- 
 nection with that Church which is dear to your heart, 
 as it is dear to us all."- 
 
 Dr. Jamieson moved that Dr. Macduff's resignation be 
 accepted. At first the intimation called forth a great 
 variety of feeling, and in some quarters elicited expres- 
 sions of strong disapproval and dissatisfaction, and over 
 the whole Church a universal sentiment of sorrow and 
 regret. But time and reflection, he thought, had led most 
 of them to form a calm and deliberate judgment in the 
 matter, and especially it had brought the parties most 
 deeply interested in the contemplated retirement of Dr. 
 Macduff, to view it in a juster light than they did at 
 first. Dr. Macduff had for many years been well known 
 to all the Presbytery. For himself, he had been more 
 or less acquainted with their esteemed brother since he 
 was a student at the College of Edinburgh, and whether 
 he was regarded as a minister whose praise was in all 
 the Churches, or as a member of Presbytery, or as a 
 man in private life and the general intercourse of 
 society, it might justly be said of him that he combined
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 201 
 
 the true dignity of the servant of Christ, with all the 
 kindliness of a brother and a friend — that he united the 
 urbanity of a polished and a lettered gentleman with the 
 character of a man of the world in the best and truest 
 sense of that term. It would be altogether superfluous 
 at this time to refer, in the way of estimating their 
 character, to the works of Dr. Macduff. They were 
 now far beyond any petty criticism of this kind, having 
 been stamped with approval by the strong and unmistak- 
 able verdict of the whole religious public both in Britain 
 and America. Possessing, as he did, the imagination of 
 a poet, as well as the taste and feeling of an artist, it 
 w r as no wonder that his works were found to be so 
 attractive. Dr. Jamieson concluded by saying that he 
 submitted the motion, which he had already indicated, 
 with great sorrow of heart. 
 
 Dr. Smith seconded the motion proposed by Dr. Jamie- 
 son. In doing so, he said that, however painful it was 
 for them to part with their beloved brother, there was 
 no other course open to the Presbytery. He had placed 
 his letter of resignation in their hands with all the 
 courtesy, but also with all the decision, for which he 
 was distinguished. Sufficient for the Presbytery was 
 the assurance that his purpose had not been hastily 
 formed, that the step he had taken was the result of 
 mature and most solemn consideration, and that the 
 same pure motive which at first induced him to enter 
 on the sacred profession he had adorned, was that which 
 now actuated him in retiring from it. 
 
 The motion proposed by Dr. Jamieson was ultimately 
 unanimously agreed to.] 
 
 I need not rehearse the now inevitable sequel — the 
 much of sorrow which mingled with what was gratifying, 
 the additional warm words spoken, the farewell, purposely 
 taken in the closing address of a Communion Sunday.
 
 2 o2 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Then " the gift," not only offered but insisted on, of a 
 truly munificent sum to build and plenish a future " study," 
 which, when the time came, was proudly and sacredly 
 carried out in the spirit of the donors. 
 
 Is this the befitting place for the interposing of a sacred 
 question, or rather for the answer to a sacred question 
 which will naturally occur, a question and answer mo- 
 mentous beyond all others, at all events to the writer. 
 What, under God, were the spiritual results of my long 
 incumbency in Glasgow ? What, to use the conventional 
 term, were " the seals of my ministry " ? 
 
 His clay — the great day alone shall declare this. I 
 believe that in not a few cases my feeble instrumentality 
 was owned and acknowledged — that some were led to 
 their first acceptance of the truth as it is in Jesus. Others 
 were quickened. In more than one instance scoffers and 
 sceptics were reclaimed. And while I look back with 
 encouragement and delight to the Sunday services in our 
 beautiful sanctuary, I have an equal, perhaps a greater, 
 pleasure still in recalling visitations to the sick and 
 bereaved, the suffering and dying. My own experience 
 is (that of all ministers), that no part of their duty is 
 more imperative and urgent — none more delightful, self- 
 awarding, and stimulating than that of proving, in how- 
 ever humble a way, "sons of consolation." Hundreds of 
 shadowed homes, and couches of suffering, and beds of 
 death, are recalled with profoundest gratitude. Among 
 these I may quote, as examples, references made in "Pro- 
 phet of Fire," p. 303 (note) ; " Memories of Olivet," p. 28 ; 
 and " Early Graves," p. 24. Feebly tracking the footsteps 
 of the great apostle, may I not at all events catch the 
 spirit of his words and be comforted by them : " For what 
 is our hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing? Are not even 
 ye in the presence of our Lord Jesus ? " (1 Thess. ii. 19.) 
 
 Yes, many of my dear flock have I followed to the
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 203 
 
 Necropolis, if I dare use such a word — that picturesque 
 city of the dead. Among these, successful workers and 
 toilers in the earthly sense, but who had garnered also, 
 along with material wealth, the better heavenly riches, 
 and are left sleeping in " the sure and certain hope." 
 Of not a few such could the beautiful words be said : — 
 
 "The forges glow; the anvils all are ringing 
 Beneath its smoky veil, 
 The city where he dwelt is ever swinging 
 The clamorous iron flail. 
 
 But by his grave is peace and perfect beauty, 
 
 With the sweet heaven above, 
 Fit emblems of a life of work and duty 
 
 Transfigured into love." 
 
 I could easily prolong, were it needful, this monograph 
 on the home of my best years — its warm hearts, its 
 generous sympathies, its splendid benefactions, its luxuri- 
 ous hospitalities. Kindnesses without stint or number, 
 and apparently ever growing, my every wish and even 
 whim anticipated, made one forget the din of its noisy 
 streets and ringing hammers, its canopy of smoke, its 
 weeping skies. Fifteen years had brought me into con- 
 tact with all its best and truest. Any time towards the 
 afternoon when I had occasion to thread my way along 
 Sauchiehall Street, its great artery, when the tide of 
 business men, chiefs and subordinates, w T ere returning 
 westwards, it was one continued courteous recognition. 
 And all this was soon to be a dream. Though never 
 for a moment hesitating as to the path of duty and the 
 Directing Voice, I was at the moment fully alive to the 
 penalties of strangely dumb Sabbaths, arrested activities, 
 distance severing or curtailing friendships, the inter- 
 mission or probably ending of much pleasant social 
 intercourse, the dividing Tweed inevitably entailing self- 
 effacement and the merging of public into private life.
 
 204 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Never can I forget that day when, accompanied for the 
 last time to the Caledonian Station for London by my 
 
 able and cherished friend Mr. R and his family, 
 
 the shriek of the whistle announced that the farewell 
 moment had come. There was certainly " the lump in 
 the throat," with which royalty has made us familiar, 
 and a distinct proclivity to dimness in the vision. I 
 would have had a heart of stone not to realize all that 
 moment meant. A sable Queen she may be ; but 
 Glasgow will ever remain the queen of cities to me. As 
 I now write with a fresh gush of old memories, I may 
 be forgiven the pedantry of a Latin line : — 
 
 " Infandum, Regina, jubes renovare dolorem ! " 
 
 Better than Virgil — let me merge dolorous thoughts in the 
 bright vista of the past, and say with a thankful heart, 
 in words that shall ever be dear to me, — "Blessed be the 
 Lord who hath showed me His marvellous loving-kindness 
 
 in A STRONG CITY." 
 
 Dr. Macduff's Speech on the Abolition of Patronage. 
 
 {See p. 194.) 
 
 Dr. Macduff, Sandyford, Glasgow, said : — 
 
 "I regret much that, in occupying a humble position in this debate, 
 I find myself at variance with those with whom it is generally my 
 privilege to co-operate. I shall not follow my friends into the 
 labyrinth of the historical question, nor into the labyrinth of this 
 voluminous report, but shall content myself with recapitulating, as 
 shortly as I can, the reasons I adduced when the subject was under 
 discussion in my own Presbytery, and to which I still adhere, why I 
 consider the raising of the present question inexpedient, untimely, 
 unwise, and uncalled for. The first reason I would assign for depre- 
 cating this movement is, that it will have a tendency to disturb the 
 present balance in our ecclesiastical constitution, thereby hopelessly 
 alienating from the Church the aristocracy of Scotland and the 
 owners of the soil, and widening the existing gulf of separation 
 between the extremes of society. We all know how deplorable that 
 gulf of separation is. No poor words of mine can express half what 
 I feel as to the bearings of that alienation on the welfare of the 
 country. If I briefly allude to this matter now, you will immediately
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 205 
 
 see that in doing so I am not travelling' away from the subject 
 under consideration. Nor shall I be deterred (referring to Dean 
 Stanley who was seated on a reserved chair close by) by the 
 presence of one among us to-day whose name is ' familiar as house- 
 hold words.' (Cheers.) I have no quarrel with Episcopacy itself. I 
 give no deliverance whatever on the relative claims of Presbytery 
 and Prelacy. I claim Divine right for neither. I repudiate the 
 arrogance of such claims in the case of either. I love Episcopacy in 
 England, where it is the accredited form of national worship, and 
 where it is best adapted to the tastes of the people. I have wor- 
 shipped at her altars. I have partaken of her Communion. I admire 
 and venerate her. I love, on the other hand, Presbyterianism in 
 Scotland, because while we believe it to be founded on the Word of 
 God, it also is most in accordance with our historic habits, and 
 national feelings and characteristics. So much so, that the attempt 
 to impose Episcopacy on our middle and lower classes (according to 
 the proselytizing efforts of some very short-sighted and impolitic men) 
 is utterly and entirely impossible. And what is the result of these 
 proselytizing efforts ? Why, that a disruption, more lamentable far than 
 that to which we apply the word, is growing in dimensions and 
 formidableness every year ; a disruption, the miserable outgrowth of 
 pride, and the worst form of pride — the pride of rank and of would- 
 be rank, a disruption between the rich and the poor, a disruption 
 against which the highest lady of the land has uplifted her emphatic 
 protest. Moderator, do we desire by the step we are counselled to 
 take to-day, to foster and stimulate and stereotype that severance? 
 Are we willing to incur the responsibility of helping on and perpetu- 
 ating this great social wrong, by sundering one of the few last links 
 which bind the historic Church of the nation to the upper classes of 
 society, its territorial possessors ? I for one cherish what may appear 
 to some Utopian expectations. I for one cherish the fond and 
 sanguine hope, that our landlords and aristocracy will yet, ere it be 
 too late, wake up to a sense of the great and grievous injustice of 
 their present abnormal position. If I thought otherwise, so much do 
 I feel on the subject, I would despair of my country — I would 
 despair of a house so divided against itself. At all events, to put it 
 no more strongly, I would do nothing (as tampering with the existing 
 rights of patrons unquestionably would) to increase the irritation. Make 
 the declaration that our Church is henceforward to be congregational 
 and democratic, and you cut off the last bridge. The gulf I have 
 spoken of should by no means be considered insuperable. But depend 
 upon it an anti-patronage manifesto is not the Marcus Curtius that will 
 close it. 
 
 " I pass to another ground on which I deem the present movement 
 inexpedient and undesirable, viz., that by infusing more of this popular 
 element you will not raise the pulpit and ministerial standard. I do not 
 speak of the likelihood that thereby our probationers would deteriorate 
 in social status, and be drawn from a humbler rank than at present, 
 although this would be an almost inevitable consequence ; but I speak
 
 206 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 of a deterioration in higher and truer qualities and qualifications. You 
 would run the tremendous risk of resolving all ministerial gifts into the 
 one of pulpit declamation. Even now, I ask, is it not often the case 
 that young men, by a most cruel and objectionable system of competi- 
 tion and candidature, are not only pitted against one another, but without 
 almost any inquiry, either into their antecedents or consequents, the 
 ministerial well-being, the lifelong interests of a parish are perilled 
 on that one day's exhibition. Let congregational dictation, in a modified 
 and restricted form, become the accepted law of the Church, and, far 
 more so than now, would the man of rhetorical flourishes and histrionic 
 effects and muscular Christianity— the man whom I remember Dr. 
 Chalmers, in one of his inimitable strokes of sarcasm, calling by the 
 appropriate name of a 'pulpiteer' — gain the day in preference to the 
 one of calm, earnest, unobtrusive character and piety ; not demon- 
 strative in the pulpit, but demonstrative in the hearts and homes of 
 his people. And I would just further add, when on this point, that a 
 presentee is most independent when he enters on his work, not the 
 obliged nominee of his congregation, but with his hands untied and his 
 lips unfettered. I would not put it so strongly as a rev. prelate in the 
 sister church the other day, that such a people's presentee runs the great 
 risk of having the Scripture picture reversed by becoming a Paul trem- 
 bling before Felix ; but I, at all events, say that in many cases there would 
 be a very strong temptation to say smoother things to Felix than he 
 would otherwise do, and perhaps a still stronger temptation to say 
 smoother things to Drusilla. Then I pass to another important view — 
 what would be the practical working of popular, congregational, or 
 committee election, whatever modest modification our friends aim at ? 
 I believe it would come to be proved anything but a boon. It would 
 come to be the fruitful cause of cabals and heart-burnings and mis- 
 understandings. I believe many an honest Christian man would be 
 heard to avow, ' Would we had been saved these miserable squabbles 
 by the good old way, with all its alleged grievances and defects !' 
 Moderator, divided responsibility is never satisfactory, whether in 
 religious matters or worldly matters. And that is true even where you 
 have unmistakable individual ability and earnestness. I would leave 
 safe to the unbiased judgment of one man, what would be strangled and 
 mangled by being left to the tender mercies of a dozen ; and this would 
 be pre-eminently so in the divided responsibility of a Church election. 
 And then, I repeat, though our friends speak of a modified system, de- 
 pend upon it you cannot end there. It is unmistakably the thin end of 
 the wedge. There are those whose voices are potential in this Church 
 from their just, social, and material influence, who would go much farther 
 than the farthest that popular election now contemplates, who have 
 avowed their desire to give the people the power not only of nomination 
 but of summary dismissal, who would abolish, in the case of the clergy- 
 man, life tenures, and inaugurate a system of periodical re-election. 
 I say, who would like thus to be dependent on popular caprice ? Who, 
 among our friends on the other side, would care from time to time to 
 have the roll thus called and votes marked ? I have already detained
 
 NEW LIFE CRISIS IMPENDING 207 
 
 the house too long, but I pass to one other view of the question which 
 has been so strongly urged to-day — that of union with other Presbyterian 
 bodies. God knows how I long for that union. It has been the dream 
 of years and the prayer of years. I do not know what I would not give 
 and not sacrifice to see Scotland restored in faith to its grand old 
 historic unity ; and many friends, alike in the Free and United Pres- 
 byterian Church, will bear witness to my sincerity. But, sir, while I 
 say this, I would say, alas ! that unity may be too dearly purchased. I 
 would rather far have a hearty and frank co-operation, than an unhearty 
 and equivocal incorporation. I would rather far have boundaries and 
 principles sharply and honestly defined, than be set adrift on the Mare 
 Magnum of what are called open questions. If I enjoy the blessing 
 of honest freedom, and if I feel that that freedom would, by an artificial 
 union, be clogged and compromised, the blessing of Joseph, with its 
 nominal drawbacks, would be preferable to the other, even though it be 
 the blessing of him who is still separated from his brethren. 
 
 " Then, I ask in all deference, would the alteration in the law of Patron- 
 age — would even the abolition of patronage — were this obtained and 
 ratified, would this satisfy, would this propitiate our dissenting brethren, 
 and bring us back again to one fold ? I trow not. The Elijahs of our 
 Church have sent their messengers to the brow of Carmel to see if they 
 can descry so much as a little cloud like a man's hand ; but the answer 
 is, 'There is nothing.' They have neither peeped nor muttered. It 
 reminds us of the scene depicted by our own great dramatist. But in 
 the present case only one of three weird sisters is heard saying, ' When 
 shall we three meet again ?' The other two do not condescend on a 
 reply. 
 
 " But no— I say no, and I give emphasis to the no — I will not despair. 
 And it is because I do not despair of seeing Scotland one again in 
 ecclesiastical polity and worship, that I take this day what may be called 
 an obstructive, but which is a true conservative position. It is because 
 I do not despair that I would advocate the safe Via Media, maintaining 
 and upholding things as they are, and, in simple, homely phrase, letting 
 well alone. I would counsel this Via Media, because, dearly though I 
 should like to see us at one with the other Presbyterian bodies, I 
 confess I would have an equal — I dare not, perhaps, say a stronger — 
 desire to have the aristocracy and upper classes once more the upholders 
 and champions of their country's unity ; because I would like once more 
 to hear the village church-bell summoning them, as it did their fathers 
 before them, from their baronial or castle hall to the same humble 
 sanctuary with their lowliest dependents, to join in the same confessions, 
 to listen to the same immortal truths, to be animated with the same 
 immortal hopes, ay, to take their turn by the church door in receiving 
 the offerings for the poor, and give their younger sons, with grace in 
 their hearts, to the office of God's ministry. Not as it now is, when 
 that bell is rather the signal for departure, in pomp of equipage, to the 
 near or distant town, as may be, meeting the stream of humble worship- 
 pers from distant hamlet or glen, virtually proclaiming that there is one 
 church for the great and another for the lowly ; one for Dives and another
 
 2o8 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 for Lazarus ; one for the Centurion, another for his servant. That 
 desirable consummation will not be obtained by sanctioning and abet- 
 ting a democratic movement, and severing the sole remaining bond of 
 union. Let us have back the upper ten thousand, and then would follow 
 the severed million, and Scotland would be Scotland again. Let the 
 wave of secession, that has spent itself, return into the bosom of its 
 parent wave, and with united force let them gather themselves up anew 
 to dash their full strength against Popery and Infidelity. This national 
 division and disorganization is all the sadder when we witness the calm, 
 steady, stealthy, yet sure progress and pretensions of a wilier foe — who 
 is in our midst — the Church of Rome with its boasted unity. The march 
 to archiepiscopal thrones, with silver croziers, is made easier and more 
 triumphant through the battling ranks of divided Protestants, wasting 
 their strength in petty skirmishes, while the gigantic powers of evil are 
 thundering at our gates. I would close with the graphic picture which 
 Lord Cockburn, in that most interesting book, ' The Memorials of his 
 Time,' gives of the General Assembly of former days. ' There,' he 
 says, ' the clergy and the laity were combined into one brave and 
 animated mass, where it was deemed an honour for the best of the 
 gentry either to lead or to follow.' Moderator, is that only a record 
 of the past, or is it a prophecy of the future? Oh, would to God 
 we could have the like times back again, where the peace and prosperity 
 of the Church would be reflected upon the nation, and our land, like 
 the house of Obed-edom, would be blessed for the Ark's sake."
 
 XIV 
 
 ROME. LOCH ARD 
 
 The next three months were spent, by appointment of the 
 General Assembly's Continental Committee, in occupying 
 the Scotch chaplaincy at Rome. 1 The French and German 
 war was still raging. So, instead of the old oft-trodden 
 way to Italy by Paris, we had to make a circuit by Co- 
 logne, Munich, and the Brenner Pass. Skirting the Rhine, 
 we were made painfully familiar with wagon-loads of the 
 wounded in these terrible battles. I was thankful for a 
 quiet Sunday at Innsbruck, and felt once more at home 
 for a few days among the familiar lovelinesses of beautiful 
 Venice. It was our first visit to the city of the Tiber. 
 We reached it, unhappily, in carnival time, and early im- 
 pressions are not readily supplanted. I went with my 
 mind full of classic and heroic memories. Alas! how the 
 vision seemed dispelled, when, in the narrow and disap- 
 pointing Corso, I found myself in the midst of trumpery 
 and extravagant puerilities ; my hat and person made a 
 pillory for confetti, and other slight practical liberties 
 sadly out of harmony with the home of Cicero and the 
 Caesars. It was refreshing next day, escaping from the 
 
 1 My motives in leaving the Church and settling eventually in England 
 were by a lingering few still questioned. I met on the street a good old 
 pious, but not very luminous lady ; narrow, of course, if it would be 
 unkind to say bigoted. 
 
 " Eh, Doctor ! is it true that you are going to join the Church of 
 England r " 
 
 " No, ma'am, I am going to do worse : I am going over to Rome." 
 
 She looked unutterable things, and failed to comprehend the joke. 
 
 209 , 4
 
 2io DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 modernized and Anglified Rome, to breathe the air of the 
 Capitol and Forum and noble Campagna. 
 
 The clerical duties delegated to me were not onerous. 
 The Scotch National Church was little else than a poor 
 hall, outside the Porto del Popolo ; and the congregation 
 was of scanty dimensions. Now and then a member of 
 Scottish nobility, such as the Earl of Northesk and his 
 daughter; now a stray sculptor or artist; now a repre- 
 sentative of literature, such as William and Mary Howitt, 
 of delightful memory ; x supplemented with stragglers from 
 the various hotels and pensions. I was independent alike 
 of the paltry building and the small audience. I had a 
 secondary — I may rather say primary — object in my mind, 
 looming with certainty in the " near distance," which gave 
 a pleasure and stimulus to the Sunday work. With what, 
 without presumption, I may call a happy adaptation, which 
 I often succeeded in making to circumstances, I delivered 
 to my limited flock a series of surely appropriate sermons 
 on " St. Paul in Rome." To these another reference may 
 be made in a subsequent chapter, where a list of my books 
 is given. The sermons themselves were not new, or 
 written fresh for the occasion. Most of them had been 
 purposely selected from my old store before leaving home, 
 though all were materially altered or added to under the 
 genius loci. There was a distinct novelty and fresh- 
 ness in the work. It was a sincere and unfeigned delight 
 collecting material for the volume. I began, indeed, at 
 a distance from Rome — traced the journey of the great 
 Apostle from, as I believe, the very step, scarred with age 
 
 1 Mary Howitt's life has since been read with interest. How changed 
 her doctrinal and Church views since we met ! How imperceptibly 
 drawn into the meshes of Popery ! and with what avidity at last she 
 sought and obtained the Pope's blessing ! unconsciously illustrating her 
 own immortal "Spider and Fly. ; ' Despite of this, a beautiful and noble 
 life hers was. I was gratified by her sending me a carte likeness of her 
 husband aft^r his death.
 
 ROME. LOCH ARD 211 
 
 and green with seaweed, on which he planted his foot 
 on first landing in Italy (a bit of the seaweed I still pre- 
 serve), onward, till he joined the Appian Way and reached 
 in due time the Golden Milestone of the Forum. Thence 
 we visited his own "hired house" — the dungeon of the 
 Mamertine — the very pavement (possibly) in the Basilica 
 of the Palatine where he stood before Csesar ; the spot at 
 the Tre Fontane where tradition says he bowed his head 
 to the axe of the executioner ; and, finally, that noblest 
 of all Roman churches, that which bears his name (San 
 Paolo fuori le mura), where, too, stands his reputed tomb, 
 the golden lettering running round the gorgeous Balda- 
 chino, supported on four pillars of red oriental alabaster : — 
 
 " Tu ES VAS ELECTIONIS, SaNCTE PaULE ApOSTOLE. 
 
 Pr^edicator Veritas. In Universo Mundo." 
 
 I received aid in my researches from many friends — 
 some of them hitherto strangers. Specially courteous was 
 the late well-known Mr. Parker, of Oxford, and of Roman 
 ecclesiastical enthusiasm. I met him, by his own kind 
 invitation, in the Church of St. Pudentiana. He generously 
 explained to me the strange substructions revealed by 
 excavations, the merit of which was all his own, and on 
 the fragments of whose mosaic pavement the feet of the 
 great Apostle may have trod. Another day of interesting- 
 Pauline memories was spent with the same guide on the 
 Palatine Hill, and in the traditional Mamertine prison. 
 
 The public at home — also in Rome itself — accorded to 
 the volume an approving verdict. The Antelegomejia, or 
 introductory chapter, was written with great care. Much 
 that was original was introduced — only possible to one 
 possessed with leisure, and interest in the theme. Here 
 are a few lines from a long and appreciative notice in 
 the Daily Review : — 
 
 "' Sermons Preached in Rome during the Spring of 1871.
 
 212 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 with a copious Introduction, containing details of Local, 
 Historical, and Legendary Interest gathered on the Spot' 
 
 "These prelections show that the author's spirit has 
 been stirred within him by the situation in which he found 
 himself. His powers as a word-painter have been fully 
 evoked by the theme and by the scene, and the reader is 
 carried rapidly along with him through a series of vivid 
 tableaux, depicting the most memorable passages in the 
 later life of the great Apostle of the Gentiles. The in- 
 troduction to the work is disproportionately long for an 
 introduction, yet no one will wish it shorter." 
 
 I have purposely abstained from any aggressive or 
 controversial remarks on the Romish Church, and the 
 Romish Church as seen in Rome, where the whole system 
 is, of course, in the state of highest development, alike 
 in its pomps and puerilities. We saw it in its transition 
 state. Only a few months before, the French army had 
 been withdrawn, the Pope was relegated to his " Manse 
 and Glebe" in the Vatican, and Victor Emmanuel reigned 
 supreme in the Quirinal Palace. Many, at least, of the 
 "all old things" had passed away. It was possible now 
 to buy a Bible at the depot of the Bible Society recently 
 opened in the Corso. I looked in now and then on Mr. 
 Bruce, the very intelligent, newly-installed agent, who 
 pointed with a conqueror's pride to his big St. Bernard, 
 "i?o;;/«." This canine giant was in one sense the first 
 Protestant missionary under the new regime in the capi- 
 tal, employed, as he was, dragging hither and thither, 
 in street and suburb, the innovating "cart," containing 
 various editions and portions of Holy Scripture. I have 
 used above the word " puerilities." Mr. Bruce was fully 
 alive to these. He wanted one day to tempt me to some 
 well-known church (I forget the name), to inspect some 
 of its reputed relics. One of these I remember him speci- 
 fying, "A feather from the tail of a descendant of the
 
 ROME. LOCH ARD 213 
 
 cock that crowed before Peter." However, I declined 
 wasting my time on the archaeological wonder. 
 
 *T* "t" *t* !p 5(5 
 
 It would be far more than superfluous to attempt re- 
 tailing- the manifold sights of the world's old capital, now 
 the common property of all travellers — from the over- 
 powering and bewildering impressions of St. Peter's, to 
 the rush of classic memories at the Capitol, the Colosseum, 
 and the Palatine. On the last, it was irresistible for once 
 to become a pilferer, and with a furtive effort to pick up 
 a bit of the mosaic pavement (just uncovered) where the 
 apostle may possibly have stood, and which I still treasure 
 among my pennies. If the visiting of churches becomes 
 somewhat oppressive, so also, may it be said, that of picture 
 galleries. Of course one must fall into rhapsodies (and 
 rightly so) over the Beatrice Cenci and not a few others. 
 The day for art was reserved for the halls and splendid 
 equipments of the Vatican — the mighty throng of sculp- 
 tured masterpieces first, culminating in Raphael's great 
 picture (by himselt deemed his masterpiece), the Trans- 
 figuration. I was very familiar with it through prints 
 and photographs ; but I confess I could rise to no ecstasies 
 with the original before me. The pose of the figures 
 confirmed the impression, long entertained, of being- 
 strained and unnatural ; certainly out of harmony with 
 my own mental picture of the Divine reality. We went 
 thence to the Sistine Chapel, where we gazed, without 
 giving expression to our feelings, on the world-renowned 
 ceiling-frescoes of Michael Angelo. Power undoubtedly ; 
 but power without pathos. Titanic in strength and bold- 
 ness of conception ; the great limner a Hercules, but no 
 more. He was seen soon after at his best — not here, 
 where his bold creations are blurred and besmirched with 
 smoke and fumes of incense, but in the triumphs of his 
 chisel in Florence, with nothing to "dull the splendour
 
 214 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 of the sun." On leaving the famous chapel we encoun- 
 tered a personality of his day and time, and received a 
 courteous bow in passing. This was Antonelli, the Pope's 
 alter ego, in his cardinal's attire. Not by any means a 
 winning or prepossessing face, — beardless, of course, with 
 large mouth and galvanic smile, but redeemed by a flash- 
 ing, yet kindly, dark eye, which almost belied his brigand 
 pedigree. At no very distant date I had seen from a 
 window in the Strand, in London, another Italian, of very 
 different genus, type, and complexion: Garibaldi, with his 
 fair face and long yellow hair, and an eye even more 
 lustrous and penetrating than that of his political anta- 
 gonist. The contrast suggested by the two personalities 
 was irresistible. The Pope (Pio Nono) — that strange com- 
 posite of strength and weakness — was, of course, to me 
 inaccessible. My daughter and friend, however, got access 
 to his presence, and received, along with others, kindly 
 words and benediction. I made no scrutinizing queries 
 as to the homage rendered in return. I might have been 
 paternally compromised ! She described him, as all the 
 world did, to be a benignant old gentleman, retaining in 
 age the beautiful countenance which had made his early 
 years conspicuous. The eye seems the bewitching feature 
 in all distinguished Italians, and its youthful fascinations 
 still survived. 
 
 Before leaving Rome we made an enjoyable excursion 
 to Hadrian's Villa and Tivoli, the latter romantic in the 
 truest sense. Sad to be so near Horace's Villa and his 
 " Fons Bandusias," and not to revel in the best memories 
 of schooldays ! I visited another day Albano and Fras- 
 cati, and trod the ruins of Cicero's Tusculum Villa. 
 
 Before leaving the subject and scenes of Rome, I can- 
 not forget many acquaintanceships and friendships there 
 formed, some of which were life-long. Conspicuous 
 among these was that of Warrington Wood, the eminent
 
 ROME. LOCH ARD 215 
 
 sculptor. I shall give his portrait somewhat in full, as 
 it is worth it. I met him first at one of those delightful 
 reunions in an old palace on the Corso, where a wealthy 
 resident and patron of art delighted to have frequent 
 gathering's of all that was literary and aesthetic in the 
 city, in which he was good enough to include English 
 and Scottish sojourners like ourselves. A young man 
 was introduced to me of rarely prepossessing appear- 
 ance. The light that gleamed in his round hazel eye 
 at once revealed the genius, and his whole talk and 
 manner were singularly fascinating. We continued in- 
 timate and loyal friends to his death. His history was 
 a remarkable — I may say a romantic one. As a youth 
 in his native Warrington he adopted the trade of an 
 ornamental stone sculptor. His rare mastery over his 
 chisel was, in a very brief time, discovered by apprecia- 
 tive and discerning eyes. He had in him latent powers 
 which only waited opportunity to be developed. The 
 opportunity, so slow to most, came with marvellous 
 celerity to him. Moneyed and interested friends sent the 
 young Bezaleel of a bustling English town to the great 
 rendezvous of sculptors in Rome. In a very few years 
 he climbed his way to renown, and what is still rarer, 
 to opulence. For, before he left the Italian capital, he 
 was able from his own earnings to purchase one of the 
 most lovely villas, full of historic associations, not only 
 in Rome, but in Italy: a true home of art, with halls, 
 corridors, and galleries, not to speak of a picturesque 
 garden ready prepared for him. He was our visitor on 
 more than one happy occasion at our cottage on Loch 
 Ard, where boating, climbing and fishing was to his 
 heart's content. Many an animated talk had we there, 
 over new subjects for his chisel. His first stay was to 
 be a complete holiday — clay and modelling tools were 
 purposely left behind, so as to be beyond the region of
 
 2i6 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 temptation. But the inner fires refused to smoulder. 
 The passion for work clamorously re-asserted itself. 
 Modelling clay in most primitive condition and of most 
 inadequate quality was all our neighbourhood afforded. 
 Such as it was, a barrow-load was procured. Tools, 
 consisting of knives and skewers, chisel and scissors, 
 were readily extemporised, supplemented by the best tool 
 of all, the finger and thumb, and with the gravel walk, 
 and the roof of heaven for his studio, the original figure 
 of his great Elijah stood forth in triumph. How many 
 amicable battles were fought over the cloak — that 
 mystical appendage of the "Prophet of Fire"! Sir John 
 Gilbert had done a beautiful frontispiece for my book of 
 that name, shortly before, in which the drapery, really 
 a shaggy sheep-skin, was too conventionally treated for 
 my taste. But painter and sculptor both left me in a 
 minority. The exigencies of art — shall we say, idealism 
 — set truth and realism at defiance. Here is a subse- 
 quent letter to me on the subject. It may, among the 
 many on other topics I retain, stand as a specimen of 
 the man. 
 
 " I shall not fail to bear well in mind all your criti- 
 cisms, which I value greatly, on my treatment of Elijah, 
 when I come to put him up life-size in Rome. ... I 
 am certain many of the difficulties you so kindly mention 
 could far more easily be overcome by a painter than a 
 sculptor: the former by careful management of colour, 
 etc., which can be made less obtrusive than must neces- 
 sarily be in marble with its trying severity. . . . 
 
 " There are certain laws in sculpture which ought never 
 to be lost sight of; and depend upon it, if the peculiar 
 treatment of a mantle or girdle must be so closely 
 followed, then I cannot help feeling the great Elijah is 
 no subject for my Art. I. have only arrived at this con- 
 clusion after anxious thought, in modelling the old Tish-
 
 ROME. LOCH ARD 217 
 
 bite. I tried these experiments, and the result has been 
 only to strengthen my feeling in this respect. It would 
 not be a difficult matter to make the mantle more 
 tattered and ragged-looking, but it would be without 
 doubt perilous to make it, so as not to detract from the 
 spirit of the figure, and for the drapery to arrest the 
 attention first would be a most serious defect. . . . 
 If I must err at all, I would far rather be on the side 
 of Phidias than Bernini. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " I know you will rejoice to hear of the success I had 
 in Rome last year. All my works were sold, and I had 
 nothing left in my studio, even in the early part of the 
 season." 
 
 I have the finished statue of Elijah now in my pos- 
 session. The subject was a pronounced favourite with 
 the sculptor. I think it was his laudable ambition to 
 make the Elijah a companion to Michael Angelo's 
 " Moses." His subsequent failing health somewhat dulled 
 his enthusiasm for it. What I value more is a large 
 and beautiful cast my friend was kind enough to send 
 me from Rome, and which for years has graced my 
 study, of his " Sisters of Bethany." All the more valued, 
 as he used again and again to tell me that he was 
 greatly helped in his work — indeed, that his work was 
 suggested by my " Memories of Bethany." An en- 
 graving of the group now forms the frontispiece to that 
 volume. I believe it was the most successful, pecuniarily, 
 of all his subjects. Several replicas left his Roman 
 studio for English homes and galleries. As his name 
 will not occur again, except it may be in one or two 
 letters, I may here transcribe a portion from a brief 
 notice I was requested to send to Cassell's Art Maga- 
 zine : — 
 
 " One thing struck me more than once. He was not so
 
 218 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 much the born artist as the born sculptor. He was great 
 in form. I would not by any means say he was defec- 
 tive in colour. But the beauty of a Highland landscape 
 or the glory of a setting sun were to him little com- 
 pared to the contour of a human countenance or the 
 grace of a female hand and arm. 
 
 "As to the charm of his friendship, I dare not trust my- 
 self to speak. He seemed to carry sunshine all the day 
 long. His conversation was full of sparkle, with a sort 
 of chronic determination to enjoy every one and every 
 thing. The man was, as is often the case with the truly 
 great, greater than his works. Those of us who knew 
 and loved him can say, in one of the most rhythmical of 
 Shakespeare's sonnets, — 
 
 ' When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 
 And broils root out the work of masonry, 
 Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn 
 The living record of your memory.' 
 
 " To one sister art he was devotedly, nay, passionately, 
 attached. His organ was an ever-favourite resort in the 
 villa ; nor can I forget the day when that organ, before 
 being transplanted to its Roman home, was temporarily 
 erected in a drawing-room in London. He was proud 
 of its power baing amply tested — for Gounod was him- 
 self on the occasion the player of his own masterpieces. 
 Let me make a casual allusion to his love of dogs. His 
 own noble hound Eric was his constant companion in the 
 Via Sistina. He tells me in a letter announcing his 
 death, that in his solitary walks and rides at all hours 
 in the Campagna, he felt safe with that strong and 
 faithful friend at his side. All Scotch terriers, even 
 those least amenable to first advances, seemed to have 
 an instinctive liking for him, and clung to him as the 
 best of associates. Broken health (possibly the penalty 
 of too indefatigable labour) came at last—further
 
 ROME. LOCH ARD 
 
 219 
 
 chequered by those disappointments inevitable to true 
 workers, who think more of their art than of them- 
 selves. The last time we met I spent some hours with 
 him in London when engaged on his ' Wallace ' statue. 
 His hand had by no means lost its cunning, but his 
 physical powers were sorely impaired. He was no 
 longer the agile friend who, in the glory of manhood, 
 had been wont to make little of long summer rambles on 
 Ben Lomond and Ben Venue. I saw too evidently our 
 dreams of visiting together Horace's Villa near Tivoli 
 were never to be realized. I received with profound 
 emotion the tidings of his death. Rome and Warring- 
 ton were that day rarely sympathetic in their sorrow. 
 His Roman workmen, who adored him, wept like chil- 
 dren. We all felt that one the world could ill spare had 
 prematurely left us." 
 
 I may only add that many thoughts we had together 
 fondly talked over — subjects for his ever- busy versa- 
 tile chisel — like other cherished visions of earth, were 
 left uncompleted. 
 
 Man proposes, God disposes. Too soon for his friends 
 ind for Art, he, one assuredly of the great and good — let 
 me reverse the order, "the good and the great" — passed 
 away to the more beautiful dreams of the beautiful land. 
 He sleeps in an honoured grave in his native Warrington, 
 with Tennyson's lines at the foot of a long epitaph, — 
 
 " His faith and work were bells of one accord." 
 
 So, to return from another long digression, with pleasant 
 recollections of art and friends and classic haunt, we set 
 foot, on our return journey from Rome, in the unclassic 
 train, having a glimpse and no more, in passing, of 
 Perugia, Assisi, and the Thrasymene Lake. We woke up 
 next day to the charm of Florence, with its Arno and 
 Fiesole, its Duomo and Campanile, its Pitti and Ufiizi;
 
 220 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 the most of these seen and understood under the intelli- 
 gent guidance of my kind friend, Dr. Macdougall— the 
 Scottish pastor, who has ever a warm welcome to give 
 in his hospitable home on the Lung' Arno. With our 
 recently evoked love of sculpture, he took us to visit the 
 well-known American, Power, and his marble gallery. 
 Power was a splendid-looking man himself, tall, with 
 lustrous black eyes. His impressive figure and bearing 
 had descended to his daughters, whom he had translated 
 into various forms in the purest Carrara. He was at 
 first, as was his wont, grave, silent, unconversational. 
 But our reverend guide knew how to rouse the lion's 
 energies, by starting a professional discussion on the re- 
 cent innovation inaugurated by Gibson in the tinting of 
 his statues. The calm of the Pacific was at once roused 
 to a storm. The eyes flashed with their native genius, 
 and the tongue forgot its normal quiescence. He de- 
 nounced the novelty as " a base degradation of sculpture 
 — a violation of the best recognised principles of the art." 
 It was the finest transition imaginable from the lion 
 couchant to the lion rampant. But to speak of Florence 
 would be to write a book. Very early one morning, in 
 driving out, we encountered, crossing one of the bridges, a 
 private carriage. I was on the box beside the driver, 
 and was elevated in my own estimation by a hat raised 
 from a handsome, open, passing equipage. Its occupant 
 was Victor Emmanuel. Let me record it, as I shall never 
 receive so royal a salutation again ! I thought, with the 
 old woman of Crathie, that it was "unco' ceevil." No 
 oeauty, verily, was his majesty, but with a rugged visage 
 of unmistakable power — a masterful personality, befitting 
 first sovereign of united Italy. 
 
 By Pisa and Genoa we crossed to Turin, with the one 
 object, as noted in a preceding chapter, of revisiting the 
 Waldensian Valleys, and the varied spots which lived so
 
 ROME. LOCH ARD 221 
 
 vividly in my young memory. Yes, and I had the joy 
 not only of revisiting old scenes, but of reviving old ac- 
 quaintanceships. It was specially delightful to renew my 
 fellowship with one of these friends of my earliest Con- 
 tinental wanderings, the venerable M. Revel, who had 
 been our companion and guide in an arduous tramp, en- 
 dangering life and limb, thirty-three years before. No 
 longer the stalwart pedestrian, but the calm, reverent 
 old patriarch. It was touching to hear his brother pro- 
 fessors calling him "Father." Dear old man! he seemed 
 ready for his Nunc Dimittis whenever it would please 
 God to call him hence. And when that " Nunc Dimittis " 
 did come, a few years later, the touching death-bed 
 saying of the ripe but humble Christian was — " Sin 
 abounded. Grace hath superabounded." 
 
 Then by the Mont Cenis and Paris — Home ! 
 
 To Loch Ard we returned to spend the summer and 
 autumn months, while our final abode was sought, planned 
 and prepared. 
 
 We had left behind us Italian skies. Let any who 
 choose go into rhapsodies regarding them, and still more 
 over those of Egypt and Syria. I give a very distinct 
 preference to those awaiting us on our return, of " Cale- 
 donia stern and wild." Recommend me to her grand 
 cumulus summer clouds, an ever-changing panorama of 
 bastion and battlement, with their bright interspaces of 
 blue. Then watch that pearly monster (cloud) coming 
 down, a dense curtain of weird wandering mist — swathing 
 the entire " Ben " — opening perhaps here and there a 
 chink, only to show how sunlight glorifies all. Then does 
 the storm gather and the rain descend. On the clearing 
 of the sky a hundred silver rills leap and dance down the 
 rocky " becks " or gullies — a flash of diamonds set in 
 purple heather. These latter, however, are but accessories. 
 I am speaking now of much-belauded southern and eastern
 
 222 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 cerulean skies and their Scottish rivals. I am not sure 
 but one of my supremest enjoyments on the Loch side was, 
 book in hand, to stretch myself full length on a heathery 
 knoll to watch with uplifted face the movements of white 
 and grey clouds. I shall say nothing of the golden glory 
 of a September sunset. Well, though the effect lasts but 
 two minutes, it is only fair to own that Pincian must be 
 recognised and acknowledged as a formidable rival. 
 
 :£ * % % * 
 
 It was indeed a sorrowful day when the last Sunday 
 of our long sojourn at the Loch arrived. The people 
 seemed to have the wish, that the pulpit in which I had 
 often officiated should be occupied by me, and I felt I 
 dare not decline. I deemed it best to select no special 
 subject for systematic discourse, but rather take a motto- 
 text, making a brief resume of Gospel teaching, spoken 
 in all simplicity and earnestness. The words occurred, 
 and I could not resist adopting them as the peg on which 
 to hang my farewell utterances (Rom. xv. 23) : " But now 
 having no more place in these parts." 
 
 The poetry of life closed with Loch Ard. The speech 
 an old man made to me in another connection occurs to 
 mind — broader Scotch I never heard : " Doctor, ye're 
 juust in a pairfect pawridise." I might add the saying 
 of the Lecropt villager to Dr. Muir on his first return to 
 his former parish: "Aye, aye, and ye were juust anither 
 Aildam — ye widna bide in it."
 
 THE '-BURN," RAVENSBROOK. (Seep. 223.) 
 
 By the late Robert Murray, Esq. A friend of Dr. Macduff's earliest and latest years
 
 XV 
 
 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 
 
 I much fear I must prepare the reader yet again for a 
 somewhat personal chapter. But I venture to hope that 
 those who have had the patience to follow me hitherto, 
 will have got reconciled to the bugbear they were duly 
 warned of at the first — the obtrusion of the " perpendicular 
 pronoun." A new home was an anxiously debated point. 
 I was resolved to purchase a piece of ground and build 
 a small house, specially suited for myself. There were 
 sundry trifling but absolute conditions annexed. It must 
 for many reasons be near London, with its " ever-throbbing 
 arteries of life." There must be some large trees. If 
 possible, undulating ground, or, better, a defunct quarry — 
 and, rarer still, in Kentish soil, a running stream. All 
 these conditions, even to the disused chalk-pit and " burn," 
 we happily found united in Lower Camden, Chislehurst. 
 Two very stately, and other large elms, besides oak, ash, 
 and venerable thorn. A hedge of the latter, the envy of 
 many, rimmed a stream too copious and beneficent in 
 winter ; for it came, in after years, to leave cruel traces 
 of devastation. But it proved a veritable Brook Cherith 
 all summer long, with a dry, gravelly channel. I missed 
 sorely the "land of the mountain and the flood"; but the 
 latter, for two-thirds of the year, served in its chalky way 
 (Scottice, drumly) to perpetuate old memories. I was in 
 no way ambitious about a big house — indeed, the reverse. 
 
 223
 
 224 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 But full instructions being' given to a clever architect, he 
 reared for me quite a pretty and aesthetic dwelling in the 
 early Tudor style. The ground on which it stood formed 
 part of the old, and now (owing to the residence of the 
 Emperor Napoleon) the historic park of Camden Place. 
 Indeed, it was during its erection that, by the courtesy of 
 Mr. Strode, the proprietor of Camden, I obtained private 
 entrance to see the Emperor lying in state in the tem- 
 porary Chapelle Ardente. The olive countenance, the 
 blaze of candles, the low muttered prayers of the attend- 
 ant priests — the humbling truth, " Here lies Caesar and 
 all his fortunes" (his misfortunes) — formed an impression 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 "The Church" is always one of the potent forces to 
 be taken into consideration by new settlers in a district. 
 I knew that here, as elsewhere, I would doubtless find 
 "the house divided against itself"; in other words, the 
 different representative sections in the Church of England, 
 with the chronic antagonisms of ritual or no ritual. But 
 I had not thought of instituting special inquiries, trusting 
 to time and the " survival of the fittest." Moreover, to 
 tell the honest truth, I myself, as became my Scottish 
 antecedents, Presbyterian in heart and soul, was some- 
 what out of sympathy with the Anglican services. There 
 was one church, however, just being completed close at 
 hand, within a gunshot, but of the ecclesiastical proclivities 
 of which I had no idea. The day on which a worthy and 
 hearty official (Mr. Strode' s bailiff) came in to measure 
 off my small freehold, I ventured, for lack of conversation, 
 and with the church spire in sight, to make the inquiry : 
 " I don't know your different churches here ; but pray, 
 may I ask, to what party does that new church belong?" 
 His reply was brief, instantaneous, significant : " It's the 
 lowest of the low ! ' ' 
 
 This " lowest," not by any means because I liked its
 
 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 225 
 
 lowness, formed my ordinary place of worship in the 
 years to come. 
 
 June, 1873, found us in this our final home, near to, 
 yet far away from, "the roar of the human torrent" in 
 Great Babylon. Ungrateful would it be to call it any- 
 thing but a very happy residence. The complete quiet, 
 the kindness of new neighbours, the easy access to town, 
 and many other desirable features were hailed and ap- 
 preciated — by none more than myself. The delights of a 
 garden had been a fascination from boyhood, and though 
 the grounds are limited (hardly more than two acres), they 
 are in form picturesque. I was in a congenial element 
 laying them out, and have succeeded in making quite a 
 romantic little dell out of the aforesaid chalk-pit, with 
 pathways, bridges, etc. In other parts have grown up, in 
 the course of a few years, a wonderfully choice collection 
 of special favourites — conifers and weeping trees. The 
 latter formed quite a hobby. A clever lady friend sug- 
 gested an appropriate name for the house — " Niobe Lodge.'' 
 Visits to Switzerland and the Riviera yielded valuable 
 cuttings which have now transformed themselves into 
 graceful standards. The garden, through past years, has 
 happily alternated with busy authorship. The study, 
 overlooking it, is generally faithfully occupied during the 
 day. But every now and then the pen is laid aside to 
 get a breath of inspiration among the flowers and shrub- 
 beries, returning with fresh vigour to the regular brain- 
 work — sometimes of a lighter, sometimes of a more 
 exacting, character. 
 
 " Here, then, I am once more," says Southey in a letter 
 to his London Maecenas, "at my desk, with books and 
 papers about me, right glad to return to that rest in 
 labour which I have taken for my motto, because in it I 
 find my happiness. I shall have no interruption from 
 without and please God that I have none from within, 
 
 15
 
 226 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 my progress in this campaign will be to my heart's con- 
 tent." — Letter to JoJiu Murray, Publisher, 1813. 
 
 Let me append without comment the following ad- 
 ditional extracts from my commonplace book : — 
 
 " I never had any desire so strong or so like to covet- 
 ousness as that one which I have had always — that I 
 might be master at last of a small house and large 
 garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, 
 and thus dedicate the remainder of my life to the culture 
 of them, and the study of nature." — Abraham Cowley, 1675. 
 
 " I have for some time past felt the necessity for com- 
 plete rest so keenly, that I am compelled to yield to it, 
 and hope to be able to order my life accordingly. . . . 
 I do believe that I was intended for a quiet, uneventful 
 life. At least, I feel more healthy and industrious and 
 more in my element when I am living so." — Felix Mendels- 
 sohn's " Letters from Home and Abroad" pp. 308-9, vol. ii. 
 
 "The fact of the change to private and independent 
 life, in circumstances however restricted, is hailed with 
 thankfulness. . . . Any cheerfulness I may have shown 
 for twelve years past was putting a good face upon care, 
 and heavy and distracting care, and you will believe, as 
 few people do, how earnestly and constantly I have 
 prayed to be shown a way out. ... A sphere of duty 
 so clear and simplified that one could always be in it 
 and always absorbed in it, seems to me the unattain- 
 able happiness of life, and it will probably form the 
 happiness of a higher and more perfect condition." — 
 Baroness Bunsen's " Life and Letters" vol. ii., passim. 
 
 " Blessed is he who has found his work : let him ask 
 no other blessedness. He has a work — a life purpose. 
 He has found it, and will follow it." — CarlyWs " Past and 
 Present." 
 
 The climate, too, of Kent, let it only be added, was 
 a marvellous change for the better from the weeping
 
 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 227 
 
 skies and dingy smoke of the dear old commercial city 
 of the Clyde. The Edinburgh east winds, which I knew 
 too well for thirteen years, were absolutely poisonous. 
 It is hardly a figure of speech that they cut one at times 
 through and through. In the south of England they are 
 not only healthful, but positively bracing and invigor- 
 ating, giving, too, a real Italian blue to the sky, some- 
 times 
 
 " So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, 
 That God alone is to be seen in heaven." 
 
 The only quarter of evil portent is the north. What 
 Shakespeare puts into the mouth of one of his royal 
 dramatis personce — 
 
 "A kiss from the frozen lips of the north wind" — 
 
 is not a desired or comfortable experience in Kent ; and 
 when, .with Boreas, comes the doubtful blessing of a 
 London fog, one feels the poet must have been dilating 
 on a Warwickshire sensation alone. Scotland still holds, 
 and ever must hold, a loving place in memory. It is 
 not exacting too much to be credited now and then with 
 a tendency to home-sickness. I miss sorely, not so much 
 its mountains as the pure, peat-moss-coloured Highland 
 streams which were always music to me. A story of 
 Norman Macleod is recalled y when he visited Canada as 
 one of a deputation after the 1843 Disruption. He sat 
 down on a wooden bench at the side of an inn or hostelry. 
 A countryman, wearing a shepherd's plaid, revealing 
 thereby his nationality, was there before him. A chat 
 was inevitable, and inevitably, too, begun by the Doctor. 
 
 "What a splendid country you have here!" 
 
 " Yes, it is a fine country." 
 
 "And such glorious rivers!" 
 
 " Yes, grand rivers." 
 
 "And such mighty forests!"
 
 228 DR. /. R. MACDUFF 
 
 " Yes," said the other, whose thoughts were on " Cale- 
 donia stern and wild," its banks, and braes, and glens; 
 " but there are nae Unties in the woods, and nae braes 
 like Yarrow." 
 
 I love England, but I shall never cease to miss the 
 Pass o' Killiecrankie, the rush of the Tummel and the 
 Garry, and my native woods of larch and pine on the 
 Sidlaws. More than one place of historic interest and 
 wealth of natural beauty is within hail of Chislehurst, 
 such as Knowle, Penshurst, Chevening, and Cobham. To 
 the last — perhaps the best of all — we went with my late 
 friend, Alexander Beattie, at the invitation of the noble 
 proprietor. Its extensive park, with its undulations and 
 trees of superb size, make it one of the notable places of 
 England. It has, moreover, other associations. It was 
 in its woods and glades Charles Dickens often wandered 
 and " excogitated." And after his death, the favourite 
 arbour which he so often frequented at Gad's Hill — where, 
 indeed, he wrote his last page — was transferred to the 
 keeping of the Earl of Darnley, and now ornaments and 
 glorifies his flower garden. The house is in harmony 
 with the demesne. We inspected the picture galleries 
 thoroughly, under the guidance of the heir apparent (Lord 
 Clifton), who also courteously did the honours of the lunch 
 table. 
 
 Excursions to Italy or Switzerland, to the south of 
 England or to Scotland, have varied at times the pleasant 
 
 monotony of Chislehurst life. L 's impaired health has, 
 
 however, restricted these. Not by any means restricted 
 to our regret ; for the verdict never altered, nor alters, 
 that there is no place like home. Two of these Conti- 
 nental raids dwell more vividly in memory. The one was 
 in October, to the Italian Lakes, via Switzerland. On 
 our way we spent a day near Vevey, on Lake Geneva, 
 with our dear and faithful friend, Mdlle. D . Her
 
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 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 229 
 
 father was a Swiss pastor, and we had a delightful peep 
 of affectionate family life. It happened, too, to be the 
 time of vintage, and the trees around were taking on their 
 early golden tints. Crossing through Switzerland, we 
 took private carriage from Fliielen, by Andermatt, across 
 the old St. Gothard Pass. They were in the act of felling 
 noble chestnut and other trees to make way for the merci- 
 less iron highway, and we were glad to have another 
 opportunity, before further mutilation, of driving along 
 the old road by that magnificent entrance to Italy. Our 
 headquarters for many weeks were at the Hotel Pallanza, 
 on Lago Maggiore, kept right royally by a German, 
 whom we always called, from the similarity of his name, 
 Sennacherib. Maggiore — beautiful in itself — is a princely 
 place for excursions. How many there are who know 
 nothing of these ! We have always heard of changing 
 horses at Rome. Many do the same thing here. I since 
 gave a dear friend a full and accurate programme for a 
 fortnight's delightful excursions and detours from this 
 Pallanza centre, including Lake Orta, the charming villas 
 on the left bank of the Lake, and, above all, Macugnaga. 
 Of course he followed the multitude : was a night at 
 Pallanza, bolting off next morning by steamer to Locarno, 
 and pronounced the thing commonplace. Macugnaga and 
 its wonderful valley (Val d'Anzaska), with Monte Rosa at 
 the head, is worth the surrender of many other attrac- 
 tions. Its extent is great ; and autumn tints, as we saw 
 them, gradating from yellow and amber to crimson, were 
 perfectly glorious. Really, the rush and hurry of travellers 
 — " swallows' flights," without pause or perch — is to me 
 melancholy, and to them disastrous. But " everybody 
 does it," is the raison d'etre. 
 
 Another briefer and leisurely autumn tour was to ever- 
 lovely Lake Lucerne. I say leisurely, for medical per- 
 mission was accorded to a member of our party, that some
 
 230 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 one place in Switzerland be selected, and no divergence 
 made that necessitated the fatigue and anxiety of new- 
 hotels. The Schweitzerhof of Lucerne, from previous 
 association, readily carried the day. Then, too, it was 
 the end of September and first half of October, when most 
 of the aforesaid human swallows had winged their flight 
 home, leaving unconsciously behind them by far the best 
 season for this Queen of Lakes: leaving also its wooded 
 hills and promontories when autumn had clothed them in 
 their coat of many colours. How delightful these walks 
 and drives in the immediate vicinity, varied with strolls in 
 the quaint old town ! How heavenly the days, whether 
 in boat or steamer, when the water, as often, was a dead 
 calm, a mirror, reflecting mountain, and rock, and tree, 
 and fern, the reflections seeming diviner and more per- 
 fect than the reality ! Then the hotel itself, an old patri- 
 arch among hostelries, where, from landlord to waiter, the 
 comfort of the guests seems supreme. I have spoken of 
 one Me Angulus in these pages ; lovely Lucerne is con- 
 spicuously another. 
 
 Among many kind friends at Chislehurst, it would 
 be invidious to select. Not a few have already passed to 
 the silent land. Among the latter I recall one of my 
 nearest neighbours, a retired clergyman of the Church 
 of England — Rev. Wm. Wight : kind, sympathetic, hos- 
 pitable, despite very pronounced eccentricities, which 
 all his acquaintances understood, excused, and condoned. 
 He had been during his life, and, indeed, to the last, a 
 great traveller, specially in Egypt, Arabia, and Syria, 
 which had impelled him, by the force of these same 
 eccentricities, to give to his spacious house the name of 
 "The Arab's Tent" — the penalty for which indiscretion 
 he had, of course, himself to pay, by being called " The 
 Arab.'' He had the singular and fortunate aptitude for 
 gathering many nice, and some distinguished, people
 
 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 231 
 
 around him: literary, artistic, secular, sacred. He could 
 even bag an Eastern Patriarch, or a Bishop of Jerusalem, 
 or a home Church dignitary, or a Times correspondent, 
 or such a celebrity as Mr. Rassam, of Nineveh and 
 Babylonish fame, whom he brought to spend a pleasant 
 evening- here. Alas! the old Oriental phrase, u O King, 
 live for ever," could secure no exception in the case of 
 my genial friend. I wrote the inscription for his tomb, 
 now in Chislehurst churchyard. 
 
 A book published about this time (I cannot vouch for 
 dates) had a sacred interest of its own to me — " Gleams 
 from the Sick Chamber: Memorial Thoughts of Consola- 
 tion and Hope Gathered from the Epistles of St. Peter." 
 It was written after the death of my brother William 
 the artist, who had lived a singularly Christian and con- 
 sistent life, and was led to glorify God on a sick-bed 
 and death-bed of protracted suffering. He and I had, 
 through life, been peculiarly attached, and drawn to one 
 another by congenial tastes and ways. We were to- 
 gether to the last, and at the last ; and the writing of this 
 tribute formed a mournful gratification. A book of kin- 
 dred character was published some years before — indeed, 
 soon after coming to Chislehurst — " A Golden Sunset." 
 It was the memoir of a young servant who died in our 
 house one of the happiest — if the word be not too strong, 
 one of the most triumphant — of deaths. It was my daugh- 
 ter's first sight of death or of a deathbed. It was com- 
 pletely disarmed of its terrors. It formed, indeed, a never- 
 to-be-forgotten fortnight of Christian faith, endurance, 
 and victory. I could truly say, in speaking of it to others,. 
 " I have been at hundreds of death-beds, but never at one 
 like this." It was far too impressive to be left without 
 record, and the wide circulation of the little book has 
 amply justified the effort. 
 
 [The Editor must claim permission here for reference
 
 232 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 to yet another volume, "Palms of Elim; or, Rest and 
 Refreshment in the Valleys." The author was much 
 gratified by a note from Frances Ridley Havergal, ac- 
 knowledging a copy which had been sent her. It has the 
 touching interest of being the last in ink which she ever 
 wrote, being then on her death-bed. After a kindly open- 
 ing reference, she says : a Thank you very much indeed 
 for the most kind gift ; perhaps it will be just what I am 
 wanting very much (being very tired and overdone), some 
 real, sweet refreshment. . . . What a marvellous circu- 
 lation your books have had ! It seems that your bow is 
 always renewed in your hand. I suppose the other half 
 of the verse accounts for that, for your glory ' is ' always 
 fresh in you, not ' was,' like Job's."] 
 
 Shortly after, followed the little shilling Text Book, 
 " Bible Forget-me-Nots," published by Marcus Ward & Co. 
 For a whole year it went off at the rate of nearly 3,000 
 per week — reaching almost at a bound the issue of 
 301,000. This small volume and others were an illustra- 
 tion of the facility I had in composing anything which 
 I felt suited me. Some of my Introductions to this series 
 of Text Books were written at two sittings. One of these 
 "at a heat." This assertion may seem a little incredible 
 from the mere expenditure of time and of penmanship. 
 But as A- — was generally my copyist, the original was 
 put into first shape with all manner of scrawls, contrac- 
 tions, and interlinings, which she was able to follow and 
 interpret without difficulty. I have ventured on these 
 very small self-complimentary remarks by way of con- 
 trast, for, on the other hand, the old " Sermons " especially, 
 which were moulded into volumes, involved long, pain- 
 ful, and weary elaboration ; cast and re-cast till I became 
 very tired of the employment. My writings, even in 
 advanced life, are, I think, fully equal, in any merit they 
 may possess, to those of middle age. Yet still my affec-
 
 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 233 
 
 tion is natural for what, in more vigorous days, had been 
 proclaimed and assisted by the living voice. 
 
 Somewhat anticipating, I may here, in passing, record, 
 with devout thankfulness to the gracious God who has so 
 prospered my way, that up to this date (1887) my books 
 in this country and America have attained a circulation 
 of nearly three millions. If the honour of such success 
 is great, the responsibility must be great too in these 
 "winged words." They have, moreover, been translated, 
 one or more, into French, German, Italian, Dutch, Welsh, 
 and one of the vernaculars of India (Tamil). 1 Letters 
 manifold, from all quarters of the globe, have been re- 
 ceived with gratifying testimonies. 
 
 Somewhere in the course of these years the grave 
 closed over two illustrious men who were interred in 
 Westminster, and in the case of both I was honoured 
 with a private invitation to reserved seats in the Abbey. 
 We met, each time, in the Jerusalem Chamber, and re- 
 ceived the invariable courtesy and kindness of the late 
 Dean (Stanley). 
 
 The one occasion was that of the funeral of Lord 
 Lawrence. Many attached and interested followers 
 gathered to do last homage to their chief. The other was 
 that of David Livingstone, around whose resting-place 
 was similarly gathered all that was noblest and best in 
 Britain. His negro boy Susi was there, who had been 
 with him at the close, and with whom I had the gratifica- 
 tion of shaking hands at the side of his dear master's 
 tomb. On both occasions I returned on the following- 
 Sunday to the Abbey, to hear the Dean's tw T o lofty 
 panegyrics. Stanley was great everywhere and in every- 
 thing, where taste and culture and pictorial power were 
 demanded. He never was greater than in pronouncing 
 
 1 Since Dr. Macduff's death a request has been received and granted 
 for permission to translate his "Parables of the Lake" into Urdu.
 
 234 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 these eulogiums on the illustrious dead. Livingstone's 
 burial honours were to me peculiarly impressive and 
 touching. The Dean, by his happy instinct, had selected 
 for the anthem, "The wilderness and the solitary place 
 shall be made glad for them ; the desert shall rejoice and 
 blossom as the rose," etc.; while the hymn was one 
 most familiar to the old traveller, in the early Scottish 
 home of his native Clydesdale. Under the inspiration of 
 the scene and its recent memories I wrote as follows : — 
 
 There in England's reverend Minster, 
 
 Proud custodier of the ages, 
 Resting-place of kings and princes, 
 
 Poets, heroes, statesmen, sages ; 
 Every head is bowed in silence 
 
 As the mourners' tread is sounding; 
 Strange, unwonted is the homage 
 
 Of the, tear-dimmed crowd surrounding. 
 Who this honoured entrant ? counted 
 
 Worthy of these precincts hoary ; 
 Brotherhood assigned with sleepers 
 
 "Each one lying in his glory"? 
 
 'Tis the good man we have gazed on, 
 
 On his desert bier reposing, 
 Tender children of his wanderings 
 
 Closing eyes and limbs composing. 
 When the burst of grief was over, 
 
 And the public days to mourn him, 
 Through a thousand miles of desert 
 
 These his faithful sons had borne him. 
 Over sandy wastes they traversed, 
 
 Scorning toil or leagues to measure ; 
 Bating heart or hope no moment, 
 
 On they bore their priceless treasure. 
 
 In that ancient Fane are gathered 
 Men of every clime and order, 
 
 Brothers from his native Clydesdale, 
 Clansmen from beyond the border;
 
 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 235 
 
 Best and choicest sons of England 
 
 In the common grief are sharing, 
 Peer and statesman — royal depute, 
 
 Each his immortelle is bearing : 
 Hushed the shibboleth of party, 
 
 " All the creeds " these isles are thronging ; 
 Champion he of no mean faction, 
 
 But to Christendom belonging. 
 Rise ! ye warrior dead around him, 
 
 Solemn shades of the departed ! 
 Rise ! and give ungrudging welcome 
 
 To the true and noble-hearted. 
 Well may costliest rites be paid him, 
 
 Gush of song and organ pealing ; 
 Wake to life your holiest echoes, 
 
 Fretted aisle and gilded ceiling ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 Now the obsequies are over : 
 
 Dust with kindred dust has blended ; 
 But as Sabbath's sun is westering, 
 
 Multitudes anew have wended 
 To the shrine which holds his ashes : 
 
 Crowds again of every station 
 Throng within the spacious precincts 
 
 For the funeral oration. 
 Who among the favoured listeners 
 
 Can forget that music thrilling, 
 Like the voice of many waters, 
 
 Choir and nave and transept filling, 
 As the words of Inspiration 
 
 Sweetly told the Pilgrim's story, 
 Or pourtrayed his noble life-work 
 
 Haloed with prophetic glory. 
 
 " When the wilderness shall blossom, 
 
 Fountains in the deserts springing, 
 And like Lebanon and Carmel 
 
 Break forth into joy and singing." 
 Or when rose " O God of Bethel," 
 
 Simple words, so dearly cherished 
 By the great man from his childhood 
 
 To the day he nobly perished.
 
 236 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Silent then the strains of music, 
 
 And amid a hush unbroken, 
 Lofty words of panegyric 
 
 By befitting lips were spoken. 
 ***** 
 
 Rites are ended : — and the " Dead March," 
 
 With a cadence slow and measured, 
 Wailed its dirges o'er the ashes 
 
 Which the nation's crypt had treasured. 
 Rest in peace, thou hero-martyr ! 
 
 Grandly simple is thy story : 
 Scotland gave thee — England keeps thee, 
 
 And to God we give the glory. 
 
 Lawrence and Livingstone (two immortal L.'s) sleep 
 close together in the great Campo Santo of London. 
 They were men cast very much in the same mould ; even 
 their outer rugged features were similar. Two caskets 
 of iron, but each inclosing a true KoJiinoor — the one of 
 India, the other ol Africa. 
 
 The love of art, in an early chapter alluded to, still 
 continued to assert its influence. Immediately before a 
 visit to Florence, I had received a legacy from my 
 dearest mother, to be laid out in a personal memorial. 
 This was accomplished in carefully selected copies from 
 some of the great masters in the Pitti and Ufnzi — 
 Raphael, Carlo Dolci, and Fra Angelico, along with 
 pieces of Italian sculpture, all of which now ornament 
 my study, and from which I drink in constant inspira- 
 tion. Speaking of my fondness for art — this was per- 
 haps best attested by the value I placed on any corre- 
 spondence or intercourse, however slight, I had with 
 distinguished artists or art-lovers. 1 Let me here simply 
 
 1 It just occurs to me in passing, that, though it was but for a few 
 minutes, I well remember the spring morning when I went with Sir 
 John (then Mr.) Millais, in my mother-in-law's garden near Perth, to 
 help him in the selection of a good tree for his " Apple-blossom"— the
 
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 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 237 
 
 record an amusing incident, as it happened about this 
 time. Among the paintings of other London celebrities, 
 Birket Foster's Avork I always held in great admiration, 
 and he had done me more than once a service in illus- 
 trating my books. On the occasion of the Prince of 
 Wales' return from India, there was a magnificent public 
 reception accorded to his Royal Highness — an ovation 
 from Victoria Station to Buckingham Palace. I was at 
 first at a crowded part in front of the latter. As is usual 
 on these occasions, the delay was somewhat, indeed, very, 
 protracted, and no great certainty prevailed as to the 
 precise route which was to be taken. Seeing a benignant 
 and kindly-looking Englishman standing close by, I ven- 
 tured to accost him, though a stranger, with the query 
 as to the probable course of the royal cortege. His 
 answer was an unexpected and startling one: "I think 
 it is Dr. Macduff who now speaks to me." My astonish- 
 ment was great, and as recognition on my part was im- 
 possible, I ventured on the courteous reply: "Pray, sir, 
 may I ask your name?" The brief rejoinder was, "I 
 am Birket Foster." We had not met for twenty-five 
 years, on which occasion, as narrated (Chapter VIII.), we 
 foregathered in a little inn on the Braes of Yarrow, when 
 he was engaged in making those exquisite woodcuts for 
 Sir Walter Scott's Poems. But he told me he never for- 
 gets a face once seen. I was full of apologies for my 
 presumption, which he was kind enough not only to con- 
 well-known picture, painted when he was at the zenith of his power, at 
 all events, if not of his fame. 
 
 Nor, to my shame be it confessed, was I fastidious in seeing the works 
 and persons of any contemporary artists, even including, while on a visit 
 to the Lake of Geneva, the compromising name and presence of Courbet 
 — turbulent, Socialist, and hero of the Vendome Column destruction. He 
 took me with a friend through his gallery near Vevey, whither he had 
 gone to reside, in order to escape French resentment. He was kind and 
 courteous, a portly man of middle age, who seemed to have little of the 
 Gallic furore or elan in his nature.
 
 238 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 done in handsome terms, but added, "Let us keep together." 
 This we did, going from one street to another, and with 
 his eye for colour and grouping, the whole scene had a 
 new interpretation and fascination for me, " a field of the 
 Cloth of Gold." 
 
 But what was all other pride in meeting with members 
 of the art brotherhood compared to that of coming in 
 contact with their High Priest himself! 
 
 I had been one of the earliest admirers of John Ruskin. 
 In times when a Scotch stipend was unequal to the pur- 
 chase of costly books, a good friend who knew my weak- 
 nesses had gifted me with the two first volumes of 
 "Modern Painters"; the remainder were subsequently 
 secured. I had portions off by heart, and I own, instead 
 of treating my visitors, lay or clerical, to systematic theo- 
 logy, I most frequently regaled them with bits — it might 
 be chapters — of the "Oxford Student" — specially the mag- 
 nificent piece of word-painting in one of his Introduc- 
 tions, where he makes the Roman Campagna and other 
 places living realities. More than once I met him in his 
 native haunt (Perth), and simply listened — for one could 
 do nothing else — to his talk. He may have forgotten me 
 now, for thirty-five long years have since elapsed. But 
 I have not forgotten him. No — nor ever forgotten the 
 fond interest he took in my dear boy, then a lovely and 
 attractive child of four. The book he gave him, his name 
 inscribed, and "with John Ruskin's best wishes," is among 
 my treasures. The little gift was quite what one would 
 expect from the donor : a small book of bird-lore, with 
 carefully rendered illustrations. I keep it in a sacred 
 drawer. 
 
 A very different remembrance connected with one of 
 these meetings is too amusing and characteristic to be 
 omitted. 
 
 Mr. Ruskin was calling at the house of a near and
 
 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 239 
 
 dear relative, to whom I had presented one of my amateur 
 performances in oil-painting". It was somewhat porten- 
 tous in size, and my lady friend, proud of her gift, and 
 with very exaggerated ideas of its real value, had given 
 it the most conspicuous place in her smaller drawing- 
 room. Of art in every shape and form she was inno- 
 cently ignorant. The composition — for composition it was 
 — was of the most bewildering character. It professed to 
 have a Swiss pedigree, and I had contrived to cram the 
 canvas as full as it would hold with lake and island, 
 castle, wooded promontory, and soaring alp; while in a 
 modest and retired bit of the foreground I had placed some 
 red toad-stools. Mr. Ruskin would be simply nothing, 
 whether in writing or speaking, were he not honest and 
 true. With my own head hanging in shame and confusion, 
 wishing myself at Jericho, my good old relative, of course, 
 attracted Mr. Ruskin's attention to my handiwork. He 
 gazed and better gazed — she waiting for the verdict, and 
 doubtless anticipating that he would accord it the dignity 
 of a Cox or Turner. The verdict came — brief, candid, 
 humiliating. After traversing from head to foot the 
 ambitious subject, his eye fell alone on the left corner 
 of the foreground, as he pronounced the one sentence and 
 no more, " I rather like those fungi." 
 
 Ruskin in these days, or in any days, would not have 
 been Ruskin, were he not the frank, pungent, outspoken 
 critic — his words curt and caustic. A few weeks after 
 this I happened to meet him on the opening day at the 
 Royal Academy. There was a large picture exhibited 
 by Paul de la Roche — " Cromwell beside the Coffin of 
 Charles I." I confess I liked it, was impressed with it. 
 I thought it was the treatment of a great historical theme, 
 combining power and elaborate finish ; in a word, ideally 
 grand. So, the uninitiated thought he might venture 
 casually to remark to the High Priest, " I presume you
 
 240 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 would pronounce that painting of De la Roche to be 
 the chef d'oeuvre of the Exhibition." The retort was 
 immediate — it implied and conveyed much : " I think I 
 saw it." I had forgotten at the moment, when the careful 
 finish of the French artist was in my thoughts, what 
 he had written of Carlo Dolci — that he " polished into 
 inanity." The "French polish " has been translated into 
 English as " tea-trayism," and doubtless the scrupulous 
 over-finish of the modern French school was to him an 
 offence and blemish. It reminded me of the critique I 
 had recently heard pronounced by one clergyman friend 
 on the sermons of a very finished brother minister : " They 
 were a string of prettinesses without any of the beauties 
 of holiness." I have, in this room, a copy of two large 
 Carlo Dolcis from the Pitti Palace, notwithstanding. 
 
 May I further add, that I owe to the same Prophet of 
 the Beautiful one of the most charming of m} r older 
 summer excursions. On telling him of an indeterminate 
 tour somewhere in the south of England, I mentioned 
 my partiality for visiting a place I had not seen — the 
 Isle of Wight. His reply was, " If you wish to see a 
 lovely toy, by all means go there. But if you wish to 
 enjoy the finest scenery in the south of England, take 
 my advice : change your purpose, and go to North Devon. 
 Above all, if you are equal to the fatigue, never hesitate 
 taking the grandest walk I know, between Linton and 
 Ilfracombe — not the public highway, for that is nothing; 
 but follow little else than a footpath close to the sea, 
 passing a succession of beautiful '. becks ' (wooded valleys) 
 all the way." 
 
 . Under such an authority I did not hesitate. Shanklin, 
 Ventnor, and Freshwater were for the time laid aside, 
 and to Linton I went, accomplishing" — I own with fatigue, 
 but with supreme enjoyment— that delightful pedestrian 
 route by the Valley of Rocks and to Ilfracombe. One, I
 
 [SeepJ>. 225, 250.) 
 THE GARDEN, RAVENSBROOK, AS SEEN FROM THE STUDY WINDOW. 
 
 By the late Robert Murray, Esq. A friend 0/ Dr. Macduff's earliest and latest years.
 
 VARIOUS. FRAGMENTS OF PAST AND PRESENT 241 
 
 think the only small solitary farmhouse on the way, 
 afforded the most refreshing and sustaining of beverages 
 in these lonely regions — Devonshire cream. After thirty- 
 seven years that dream of miniature Alpine beauty, plus 
 the blue Atlantic and the sunset on " the western wave," 
 lovingly lingers. Let no Englishman or Scotchman be 
 betrayed into crossing the Channel in search of " fresh 
 fields and pastures new," before first following the 
 recommendation of Nature's best acknowledged inter- 
 preter. 
 
 The only drawback to the aforesaid brief tour was that 
 it was taken alone. This, in the best of outings, Madame 
 de Stael truthfully calls a triste plaisir. 
 
 16
 
 XVI 
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 
 
 After leaving regular pulpit work, I did not feel it easy 
 or congenial to assume again, by fits and starts, the old 
 harness, and I came at last to decline nearly all invita- 
 tions, though of these I had not a few from London and 
 elsewhere. One exception I was specially requested to 
 make in the earlier part of my Chislehurst residence. For 
 several consecutive Sundays, and that, too, in the dead of 
 winter, I agreed, as a free-will offering, to supply the late 
 Dr. Cumming's pulpit in Crown Court : an important 
 position, specially with a new West End Church (now 
 St. Columba) looming in the distance. Indeed, the too 
 partial friends in the eldership made overtures to me 
 regarding the permanent pastorship. This, however, 
 without hesitation, I declined. It is a story worth 
 remembering, in which the Father of the Kirk Session 
 paid me what I imagined to be a singular compliment, 
 although it turned out to be rather of a meagre character. 
 Let me say that a friend — Dr. Macbeth — had for many 
 years carried on a faithful ministry in a small church 
 in the West End of London, where he was much appre- 
 ciated. 
 
 " I shall never forget," said worthy Mr. L to me 
 
 in Crown Court vestry, in presence of his brother elders, 
 " the Sunday you preached here twenty-five years ago." 
 I never felt more elevated in my life. That any poor 
 services of mine, as to day and date, could live in the 
 
 212
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 243 
 
 excellent elder's memory ! Me and my duties in Crown 
 Court Church, making' an impression for over a quarter 
 of a century ! It was for the moment an encouragement 
 and incentive. Alas ! the proud vision collapsed with 
 the explanatory sequel. When I expressed a gratifying 
 surprise — 
 
 " Yes," he added, " Mr. Macduff preached in the 
 forenoon, and Mr. Macbeth in the evening. How was it 
 possible to forget your two names ; the conjunction, you 
 know." 
 
 My countenance fell. 
 
 It was somewhat about this time I heard, with great 
 sorrow, of the death of a revered friend — one of my 
 most regular assistants on communion occasions in Sandy- 
 ford — Dr. McCulloch, of Greenock. He had no peer in 
 the Scottish pulpit. He had long occupied, with accept- 
 ance and rare dignity, one of the most important charges 
 in the Church. The whole service in his hands, from 
 first to last, was ideally perfect. He was one of the 
 very few who wisely refused to surrender himself 
 to the vague impulses of purely extempore prayers. 
 These public devotions were as faithfully committed to 
 memory as was the sermon that followed, and never a 
 word was halting or out of joint. How vividly I now 
 recall a noble spring sermon he preached to my people 
 from the text, " Thou renewest the face of the earth " ! 
 He was an intellectual giant, and yet the meekest and 
 lowliest of men. It was always a rare pleasure to me 
 to be with him at his communion seasons, and the quiet 
 meeting at his dinner-table — generally all alone — was 
 indeed a memory and refreshment. No one had won my 
 regard more, if I may except my still older and most 
 constant of friends, Rev. Dr. Ritchie, of Longforgan, 
 whose admirable pulpit services were appreciated equally 
 in Kettins, St. Madoes, and Glasgow ; and the influence of
 
 244 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 whose masculine common-sense, and unobtrusive piety, 
 was felt by all who came in contact with him. 
 
 Perhaps I may here say, parenthetically, that though 
 England was now my adopted country, I naturally, from 
 preference and conviction, retained my old love for 
 Presbyterianism. But, there being no Scottish church 
 in the neighbourhood, with my loyalty to " Establishment," 
 I worshipped in a Church of England close by, with 
 occasional, but rare, deflection to "chapel." I am neither 
 bigot nor partisan. I can worship with a good conscience 
 anywhere. The one thing I hate and have no toleration 
 for is Churchianity (or, what old Dr. Muir used to call 
 " ministereverous folks," and I care not whether it be in 
 cathedral or meeting-house) ; " Churchianity " — that travesty 
 of Christianity. The wretched spirit, however, finds its 
 place and development in all grades and classes. Yes, 
 even children are trained to it as part of their education, 
 or else these pigmy nonentities contrive to train them- 
 selves. It was but the other day, two mites of " the 
 little people," in humble life and clothing, were ushered 
 into my study, carrying a collecting book for Wesleyan 
 Missions. From their size and appearance they would 
 be little beyond the alphabet stage. After giving them 
 a trifle, I accommodatingly mentioned a person who would 
 likely be a contributor. 
 
 "Oh, no," replied mite senior, "she is not one of our 
 body." 
 
 A pleasing piece of pulpit duty 1 also performed in 
 the present year. I purposely went all the way to Edin- 
 burgh to introduce my friend, Dr. George Matheson, 
 to his new charge of St. Bernard's in that city. The 
 occasion, to me, was a deeply interesting one. I had 
 followed the career of this now distinguished man from 
 his early boyhood, when he, along with his family, at- 
 tended Sandyford Church. I was on most intimate terms
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 245 
 
 with the household. I foresaw his future — his wondrous 
 triumph over physical difficulties, his literary successes — 
 the subtlety of the metaphysician, wedded to the imagina- 
 tion of the poet, and the eloquence of the pulpit orator. 
 It was with pride and satisfaction that I took this journey 
 to bear tribute and testimony to the friend of so many 
 years. 
 
 [The Editor cannot forbear here transcribing the words 
 spoken at the close of the sermon. They are extracted 
 from the following month's number of the St. Bernard's 
 Parish Magazine. The text was 1 Samuel iii. 19: "And 
 Samuel grew, and the Lord was with him, and did let 
 none of his words fall to the ground."] 
 
 " After illustrating the perpetuity of spiritual influence 
 from the life and character of Samuel, Dr. Macduff spoke 
 thus : — 
 
 " ' My dear friends, a living influence is to be among you 
 from this day. I trust a bright illustration and example of 
 much that has been said. I have a peculiar and excep- 
 tional gratification in discharging the task which has 
 fallen to me on this occasion. I speak of one endeared 
 to me by a long and affectionate friendship, and doubly 
 endeared because of those, thank God ! still surviving, 
 who are honoured to call him " son," and who have done 
 much, by judicious and loving training, in moulding a 
 unique and beautiful and cheerful life. I have been 
 privileged to trace his career from early boyhood, in 
 which were impressed all the characteristics of ingenuous 
 youth. What to others would have been a depressing- 
 calamity, was in his case made only a stimulus to exertion, 
 an incentive to higher deeds. The mental and intel- 
 lectual vigour was too strong for the opposing boulders. 
 That river could brook no impediment which now, and 
 we trust for many a year, will, with its varied streams, 
 " make glad the city of God, the holy place of the taber-
 
 246 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 nacles of the Most High." I augur much from the aus- 
 picious bond which henceforth links minister and people. 
 ***** 
 
 " ' My friend comes to you fully equipped and panoplied 
 for service. It is eighteen years since, at the quiet shores 
 of Innellan, I performed the same pleasant duty I am 
 doing now. But the intervening period has been full 
 of gracious results. While the fruit has been profusely 
 scattered for the use and instruction of others, his own 
 intellect has been maturing and ripening ; and I feel 
 to-day as if he were on the threshold of a new and still 
 more noble future. I have watched, with something 
 akin to pride, his varied literary labours and achievements, 
 from that singularly interesting work, which to me, 
 considering the disadvantages under which it was written, 
 is a marvel in literature, " The Growth of the Spirit 
 of Christianity," on through more speculative books 
 where he has mastered and expounded the best of German 
 philosophy and theology, and grappled with the agnos- 
 ticism and infidelity rampant in our own country ; on 
 yet further, to his meditative volumes, and some of those 
 precious hymns which the religious world will not 
 willingly let die. I am guilty of no exaggerated pane- 
 g}n-ic when I say, that to him God has confided that rare, 
 subtle, undefinable thing — genius. 
 
 " ' But, brethren, genius is nothing in the sacred ground 
 of the pulpit, unless mated with what is higher and 
 better, unless lighted by a flame from above, kindled 
 at the vestal-fires of heaven. If I do not greatly mistake, 
 his will be no strange fire-sparks of their own kindling, 
 which some of the sons of Aaron are still prone to use, 
 but the living flame lighted from the inner sanctuary, 
 feeling that he has got his high consecration from Him, 
 who alone " takes the censer and fills it with the fire 
 of the altar."
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 247 
 
 " ' If I dare venture, reverting to our text, on the delicate 
 ground of what his words will be, this, at least, without 
 presumption, 1 may more than conjecture as to the central 
 word and central truth of all. As the highways of Rome 
 met at the golden milestone of her forum, and radiated 
 from it, so will his teachings centre in, and emanate 
 from, the Cross of Christ. Moreover, though loyal to the 
 fundamental doctrines of our common Christianity, safe- 
 guarding the more precious truths of our most holy faith, 
 immutable as the stars of heaven, he will not be driven 
 into strained mental postures, cramping thought in iron, 
 rigid, unnatural moulds. He has sat with childlike 
 reverence, yet fearlessness, at the feet of Him who said, 
 " Ye shall know the truth, and the truth will make you 
 free." I was reading but the other day, in connection with 
 an incident in the life of St. Paul, what Dean Stanley 
 observes in his own graphic epigrammatic way — I shall 
 leave them to their own application, " To believe in 
 Christ crucified and risen, to serve Him on earth, to be 
 with Him hereafter — these, if we may trust the account 
 of his own motives by any human writer whatever, were 
 the chief, if not the only, thoughts which sustained Paul 
 of Tarsus through all the troubles and sorrows of his 
 twenty years' conflict. . . . The more highly we 
 exalt these in our estimate of his work, the larger share 
 we attribute to them in the performance of his mission, 
 the more are we compelled to believe that he spake the 
 words of truth and soberness, when he told the Corinthians 
 that ' last of all He was seen of him also,' and ' by the 
 grace of God, he was what he was.' " 
 
 " ' There is one phase of your minister's work in Edin- 
 burgh which is specially impressed on me. That is, with 
 a mind so cultured and familiarized with the last phases 
 of religious thought and theological speculation, his 
 power and influence with young men, and specially those
 
 248 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 training for the ministry. I cannot forget one relation 
 in the manifold life of the subject of our text — Samuel's 
 deep interest in the schools of the prophets, nurturing 
 the Hebrew youth to noble aspirations and deeds (arrows 
 in the hands of the mighty), and instructing them in the 
 principles of theocracy ; thus doing his best to ensure the 
 existence of a seed to serve God when he was gathered 
 to his fathers ; those who, when the helmsman was gone, 
 would steer the shattered vessel through the surging sea. 
 I believe the bitterest tears of the nation which fell over 
 the prophet's grave at Ramah were shed by those youth- 
 ful disciples — the future hopes of Israel and their Church 
 — who had drunk inspiration from the lips of their 
 Master. 
 
 " ' No part, particularly in these days, of a clergyman's 
 vocation seems more important, more noble, than this 
 — helping and fitting aspirants for the angel-work of 
 preaching Christ and leading souls to God. 
 
 " ' My own student-life was spent in this city, and I can 
 never forget the influence which the distinguished clergy 
 of a remarkable time exercised on me. The best part 
 of my theological training was derived from these never- 
 to-be-forgotten Sundays, hallowed by private intercourse. 
 
 " ' May I be forgiven personal allusions ? The great 
 Chalmers, greatest of all ; the pictorial power and win- 
 ning eloquence of Dr. Guthrie ; the analytic grasp of 
 Dr. Candlish ; the masculine and graceful expositions of 
 Dr. James Buchanan ; the consecrated influence of Dr. 
 William Muir and Dr. Robert Gordon ; and, though 
 totally devoid of any pulpit power or eloquence, or any 
 pretence to it, to me and many others to whom character 
 and human kindness were better and more enduring than 
 all words and sermons — the almost paternal love of Dr. 
 John Hunter. 
 
 " ' These are great and reverenced footsteps for my
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 249 
 
 friend to follow. But his voice will, doubtless, like that 
 of such Greathearts I have mentioned, be equal to the 
 occasion. In his own sympathetic way, as they did, and 
 with a power all his own, he will help to exorcise devil- 
 born doubts, and rock the wavering waves of the soul 
 :o rest in the peace of Christ. Thus may God doubly 
 honour him, by enabling him to show strength to this 
 generation, and power to the generation to come. . . . 
 This is our comfort — let our meeting to-day attest it — 
 that when one champion and honoured servant is removed, 
 another is found ready to take his place. " Moses, My 
 servant, is dead " ; but no sooner is that announcement 
 made, than Joshua is summoned from his tent with the 
 salutation and commission, " Be strong and of a good 
 courage." Elijah is carried up to heaven in a fiery 
 chariot ; but the same hour Elisha stands before us, his 
 worthy and accredited successor. The thunder-tones of 
 Luther are in course of time silenced, but the voice of 
 other faithful witnesses and sponsors — our own Knox 
 among them — are prepared in turn to prolong the echoes. 
 There is thus a blessed continuity in the Church of Christ 
 — a true apostolic succession. No sooner is the mandate 
 given, "Remove the diadem, take off the crown," than 
 some other is served heir to it, some new shoulder ready 
 for the burden, some fresh hand ready, as in the Olympic 
 race of old, to snatch up the surrendered torch and bear 
 it onward. " The Lord gave the word, and great was 
 the company of those that published it." As generation 
 after generation passes away our text is repeated and 
 illustrated : " And Samuel grew, and the Lord was with 
 him, and did let none of his words fall to the ground." 
 
 " ' Receive, brethren, in closing, my congratulations. 
 My dear friend comes to you in the fulness of the blessing 
 of the gospel of peace. His reliance is on a strength 
 mightier than his own. Amid his trials and difficulties and
 
 250 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 anxieties, I know that his feelings to-day are expressed 
 and interpreted in words for the beauty of which I 
 appeal, not to him, but to you, his future congregation:— 
 
 " ' I come not to avoid my care, 
 
 I come not to desert the strife ; 
 I come to seek new strength to bear, 
 I fly to find new power for life. 
 
 " ' When noontide brings its work to all, 
 I find my task so hard to be, 
 That I would sink didst Thou not call, — 
 My strength is perfected in Thee.' " 
 
 * # * * * 
 
 On my way home I spent a night at York, to get an 
 ever-genial breath of inspiration from the venerable 
 Minster. What heads to plan ! What hands to fabricate 
 such a miracle in stone and lime ! What patient, elaborate 
 toil! Yes! "middle ages" indeed! "There were giants 
 in those days." 
 
 But home is always home ; and, if it be not a sudden 
 transition, let me here speak of some of its minor living 
 appendages — the a Dii minorum gentium." 
 
 I had, and have, a never-ceasing delight, during these 
 my latter years of quiet retirement, in the beauty of na- 
 ture in all its forms. I have already spoken of " my 
 garden"; but, like a true lover, I like to recur to the ob- 
 ject of my affections. If the reader wearies of my pro- 
 lixity, I don't. It is essentially on the roll of " the good 
 friends I have known." More and more I have made it 
 an elaborate study, touched and retouched it with all the 
 fond and fastidious care of an artist, in going back again 
 and again on his picture — a nook to be corrected here, 
 the turn of a walk there ; a dash of golden colour here, 
 the contrast of a purple beech there. I have even been 
 guilty of the vile cockneyism of "artificial rocks" (tell it 
 not to Mr. Ruskin). Then, what nurseries in all this
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 251 
 
 southern realm of England have I not explored? Veitch's 
 at Norbiton, Lee's at Isleworth, Cripp's at Tunbridge 
 Wells, Smith's at Worcester. While the very paths seem 
 to smile at me in my oft-repeated visits to Young's at 
 Mil ford. Well, ye give the most innocent, as well as de- 
 lightful, of outings. Besides more potential reasons, I 
 have no envious feelings towards Epsom and Ascot, Ryde 
 or Henley, when I have you. A garden, with its trees 
 and flowers and shrubberies, forms truly a part of that 
 nature which, Wordsworth assures us, " never betrays." 
 I hug you as the miser does his bags of gold. How far 
 you remove one from " envy, hatred, malice, and all un- 
 charitableness " ! No friends or friendship like you, no 
 possibility of coldness or alienation, resentment or in- 
 gratitude, scornful word or unworthy deed. My dear 
 plants ! you illustrate indeed what others preach : " Be- 
 hold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell 
 together in unity! " No wonder that the Bible opens with 
 a garden and closes with a garden. 
 
 So much for one of the tastes and delights of all my 
 life long, but especially of old age. And now for an- 
 other. That other is — if the two can be conjoined — the 
 innocent happiness of little children. The Saturday Re- 
 view, in its appreciative notice of " Taxwood," expresses 
 its unhesitating conviction that the portraits of " the 
 Laird " and the " child Daisy " could only be from real 
 life. The reviewer was strictly correct ; but whatever 
 the originals were which floated in my mind, this I am 
 sure of, that the picture was one essentially of myself 
 and of a little fascinating Daisy nearer home. I am not 
 ashamed to avow the unmistakable errands made at the 
 time to the lower garden for a talk and walk with the 
 tiny captivator. 1 
 
 •t* 9t* •{« SfS IjJ 
 
 1 The sayings and doings of children have always had an amusing
 
 252 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 One of larger growth— in humble life, but a heroine 
 in her way — must have a place in my roll, not of the 
 great, but of the good. She was an aged "good and 
 faithful servant," to whom partial neighbours gave the 
 name of " Highland Mary." She was one of those ster- 
 ling "family pieces" that have the true ring of that 
 virtue which the great poet has called "the law of 
 kings," but which fortunately has its place in the code 
 of many a humble soul also. Conspicuously so was it 
 in this case. By her fidelity and scrupulous frugality, 
 she had added pittances from her wages to a money gift 
 from an earlier friend, the amount confided to my keep- 
 ing being between £500 and £600. She could not write, 
 or read writing, or sign her name. What of that? She, 
 worthy soul, if she only knew it, dignified labour. The 
 old Scotchwoman, in dress and speech, was a puzzle 
 and amusement to not a few in the vicinity. She was 
 
 fascination for me— many of them unspeakably droll. Goldsmith's 
 familiar lines often recalled, slightly altered, — 
 
 " And still the wonder grew, 
 That one small head could carry all it knew." 
 
 Many a little saying, many a big word, one would think incompatible 
 with childhood. Here are two at a venture — and, let me say, my 
 interlocutor of humble life on this occasion was not a pert child, other- 
 wise her remark and reproof would have been somewhat unpardonable. 
 She was a staid and sensible specimen of the genus. But where she 
 obtained her legal knowledge and technical expression was, and is, a 
 mystery to me. I was addressing to her very juvenile ears the delights 
 of travelling in Switzerland, adding, " Who knows, Katie, but you and I, 
 one of these days, may be there ?" The reply was immediate, in rather 
 solemn tones, "Oh, no, Doctor; that would not be right. That would be 
 eloping ! " 
 
 The other had an air of greater solemnity about it. One day— it mat- 
 ters not where — I was struck with the tinkling of a tiny bell. On turning 
 the corner I saw two children — two small mourners. They were engaged 
 in funeral rites over a chicken that had paid the debt of nature the day 
 before. The extemporised coffin was a wooden box draped in black, 
 and it would be perhaps profane to enter too minutely into the nature of 
 the burial service, surplice included. I arrived in time to be a reverent 
 spectator and worshipper.
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 253 
 
 credited with being upwards of a hundred years old, 
 which deepened the interest and mystery. The Sunday 
 paraphernalia was specially " pronounced " — indeed, por- 
 tentous. Before she entered our service she had been a 
 member of Sandyford. 
 
 "Who was your clergyman in the north?" asked our 
 pastor here, one day, when he met her on the road. 
 
 Her answer was returned in a true Scotticism, — " Sir, 
 for fifteen years I sat under the Doctor." 
 
 11 1 hope," was his ready reply, " he did not crush 
 you." 
 
 Only once was I really angry with her. That was 
 when she carried out an original idea of her own, by 
 ornamenting one morning my study grate with the large 
 log of olive-wood I had cut on the Mount of Olives. She 
 doubtless deemed it the best way of consecrating my 
 apartment. I was only thankful it had not occurred in 
 winter, in one of her fits of economy. In addition to her 
 own broad Scotch, she attempted, on one occasion at 
 least, to express herself in French. Speaking of a long 
 wait for an expected friend, she told me she had been 
 all day on the " kee vee " (qui vivef). 
 
 In this matter of language, let it be added, she was 
 intolerant, almost to resentment, of the murdering and 
 misplacement of the letter H by her English fellow- 
 servants and tradesmen. As we have drifted into the 
 subject, it must here be conceded that there are ample 
 grounds for the impeachment, even when every acknow- 
 ledgment is made of the polished manners of the humbler 
 classes in England. I was hiring an excellent servant, 
 who remained with us fourteen years. A near relative 
 of hers came to see me, as she herself was at a distance, 
 in her native Cornwall. I asked her name. His reply 
 was utterly and altogether unintelligible. Again I asked. 
 The rejoinder left me as bewildered as ever. " Would
 
 254 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 you be kind enough to spell it?" was my reasonable re- 
 quest. Here was the reply: "Han, Wy, He, Ho." This 
 left me only in an aggravated state of bamboozlement. 
 At last the interpretation came. It was a good old Cor- 
 nish name — Ann Yeo — mangled and burlesqued into 
 "Han," "Wy," "He," "Ho"! Another. At a well- 
 known large hotel, at a well-known watering-place in 
 the south of England, there was one of those indispens- 
 able " lifts," of which I regularly availed myself. In 
 descending one day, alone with the conductor, I asked 
 him a question as to the safety and durability of the 
 rope. He assured me of its strength. I continued : 
 "How long do you suppose it will last?" Answer: 
 " For Jiever and hayeP 
 
 I have just spoken of a unique personality in my faith- 
 ful old Mary. The good old creature suggests two fur- 
 ther personalities, equally unique in their way, and inti- 
 mately connected with herself. This volume, I have said 
 more than once, was written so as to include honourable 
 mention of others. As a picture of family life, why 
 should bipeds claim a monopoly, and quadrupeds be ex- 
 cluded ? No. Two splendid specimens of the genus " dog " 
 can never be dissociated from our "family life," and 
 old Mary's maternal supervision. " Pepper " and " Nel- 
 son" had been identified with all the pleasures and cares 
 of Loch Ard and Glasgow; and — -why should I be ashamed 
 to avow it? — they had a positive hold on our deepest 
 affections. The former was a rough terrier — kinsman, at 
 all events, to a Dandy Dinmont. He was bigger than 
 his companion, and made no hesitation in asserting his 
 superiority. Yet he was kind, gentle, considerate as an 
 elder brother ; and in their gambols never took unfair 
 advantage, though often provoked to reprisals. He was 
 up to anything and everything, from a swim of a mile 
 across the loch, to a pedestrian feat of thirty miles on
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 255 
 
 his own hook to Glasgow. A postman of sinister visage 
 seemed alone to rouse his antipathies. He knew the pre- 
 cise time of the letter-carrier's advent, and watched with 
 erected ears at the window daily, for the sound of his 
 footsteps. That dog had assuredly a conscience. He was 
 sensible of his wrong-doings, and a penitential thud of 
 his tail under the dining-room table revealed delinquen- 
 cies. He always insisted on being present at family 
 prayers ; he knew exactly when the benediction came, 
 and specially the "Amen," the utterance of which he 
 took as the termination of enforced silence, and the per- 
 mitted signal for furious barking. " Amen " on one occa- 
 sion occurred before the termination of the chapter. He 
 knew it well : the benediction was forestalled, and the 
 service had to be suspended that morning. His com- 
 panion survived him fourteen years. How he came to 
 be called " Nelson," and what affinity he had with the 
 hero of Trafalgar, will be a problem for antiquaries. 
 He was not "of the stuff of which heroes are made." A 
 lovely little creature, with long, silky hair of purest 
 white, save a dash of delicate yellow on the tips of the 
 ears, and two eyes of diamonds. He was the dearest 
 tiny specimen of the canine race we ever saw. I be- 
 lieve he claimed, or others claimed for him, a Patagonian 
 pedigree. He was nursed and fondled like a child. After 
 reaching the advanced age of eighteen, he succumbed to 
 the inevitable, and now sleeps under a rockery within 
 sight of the windows, with the following words of George 
 Eliot on a slab of terra cotta : — 
 
 Nelson. 
 
 " One of those benignant lovely creatures, that make a 
 happy difference in the lives close around them." 
 
 — George Eliot. 
 
 It was the daily walk of poor old Highland Mary, to 
 visit the primitive mausoleum of her favourite, with
 
 256 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 something of the sailor's feeling in treading the spot on 
 the deck of the Victory, which bears the inscription, " Here 
 Nelson fell." 
 
 Let cynics quarrel with this last page if they like. I 
 have no faith in the head or heart of those who are in- 
 tolerant of dogs. Yes, I enrol you among my "good 
 and great." 
 
 Though now eschewing meetings, public and private, 
 drawing-room and otherwise, there was one departure 
 made in a select gathering I attended (date unremem- 
 bered) in the Deanery at Westminster Of all contem- 
 porary poets, and certainly of American, Longfellow had 
 ever been my favourite. An illustrated " Evangeline " 
 was one of my oft-read volumes, and the interest never 
 palled. I know not how I came to be put on the com- 
 mittee for a memorial to this sweet singer. But so it 
 was. Lord Granville inaugurated the movement with a 
 felicitous oration, at which I was also present ; and a 
 second meeting was held in the Deanery drawing-room, 
 under Dr. Bradley's auspices — the whole culminating in 
 a bust in the appropriate " Poet's Corner." 
 
 Several nice friends, from time to time, broke the mono- 
 tony of home life with longer and shorter sojourns. 
 Among others we had more than one forenoon visit from 
 Sir George Lawrence. In genuine and hearty kindness, 
 he was not the least of that family of heroes. His tragic 
 struggle, with its long captivity at Cabul, is now his- 
 toric, and his own volume on the same is one of thrill- 
 ing interest. Alas, for the caprice of that indeterminate 
 name and quantity, "the Public"! While not a few books 
 of most ephemeral worth and interest find their numerous 
 readers, works which ought to be fervently received, 
 and worthy of permanent life, are not unfrequently dis- 
 missed with scant justice. Such was his experience. 
 His book was in all respects admirable, and if it had
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 257 
 
 not been that it was a narrative of rigid facts, I would 
 call it sensational. It has all the fascination of a romance. 
 There is a wonderful brotherhood among soldiers, and 
 specially Christian soldiers. Knowing of one who, while 
 he lived, was greatly to his liking— heart beating to 
 heart — I took him to Beckenham to see the monument 
 erected by Miss Marsh to the memory of Hedley Vicars, 
 in the Parish Church, with the appropriate motto-verse 
 inscribed under the honoured name — 
 
 "O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good; for His mercy endureth 
 for ever. 
 Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom He hath redeemed from 
 the hand of the enemy." 
 
 We had not many literary friends in our Kent neigh- 
 bourhood, but among these was a gifted novelist who 
 more than once found her way to Ravensbrook — the well- 
 known authoress of "John Halifax, Gentleman." Her 
 husband was one of my oldest acquaintances — indeed, from 
 youth upward. She was very simple, kind, unpresuming, 
 with none of the pretentious airs of a "celebrity." She 
 was, besides, a gifted musician, and, specially, no Scottish 
 song was strange to her. Her abode — " The Corner 
 House" — was about four miles distant from us — quaint, 
 beautiful, and in no small way the haunt of art. She 
 sleeps the long sleep in a primitive, picturesque country 
 churchyard — a true " Poet's Corner." 
 
 I have talked in the preceding pages of meetings and 
 gatherings. May I here include a home " reception " — 
 one of a very different and very primitive kind — enjoyed 
 to the full more than once by us. I have no right to call 
 it an assemblage of either good or great ; certainly not of 
 the latter, for it was entirely composed of those who bear 
 the honourable title of "Christ's poor." The congregation 
 of our church, in the absence of any claimant of poverty 
 
 17
 
 258 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 in this favoured corner of Kent, had assumed charge and 
 supervision of one of the most destitute districts in the 
 south side of London. Penury of an appalling kind was 
 relieved, and what was more, and better than all, personal 
 sympathy was in very practical shape manifested for 
 struggling families, and response given to the bitter cry ! 
 Both ladies and gentlemen, inspired with enthusiasm for 
 " the poor also, and him that hath no helper," consecrated 
 their energies with a rare self-denial. The results, speci- 
 ally in the case of the mothers' and women's weekly 
 meeting, which took place in a defunct chapel, leased for 
 the purpose, were fruitful of good. It was always one 
 happy holiday to these toiling and moiling sufferers, to 
 come out and breathe the free air of Chislehurst. A much- 
 respected family of the parish provided for them with 
 sumptuous hospitality. It was something to talk about 
 the whole year through. One supreme difficulty with very 
 many was the want of tolerable garments. But London 
 is equal to all emergencies. There exist, in the midst of 
 poverty-stricken districts, shops or stores for impecunious 
 customers innocent of wardrobe, where they can be rigged 
 out for the day in borrowed plumes. Our part in the 
 entertainment was of a very fragmentary character, but 
 the good souls, as unaccustomed to trees and flowers as 
 to millinery, dearly liked (from 150 to 180 of them) to 
 walk through my garden. They all were most deferential, 
 happy, and grateful. One only of this regiment of South- 
 wark women was on one occasion a little — indeed, not a 
 little — pretentious, both in loud tones of dress and conver- 
 sation. I headed the party, pointing out some shrubs and 
 trees, with their respective names. The born leader of 
 the battalion followed close up with an assumption of pre- 
 cedence. " Here," said I to the company in general, " is a 
 favourite tree of mine. I shall give you its name. It is 
 the Chinese Golden Juniper."
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 259 
 
 "Oh yes, I know," said my pretentious follower; "I 
 know it well — the Chinese Golden Jupiter V 
 
 Another group were taken down to the lower dell, and 
 for their delectation I had let on the stream, which came 
 briskly down over some artificial rocks, making really a 
 tolerable waterfall. One of these innocent friends had 
 evidently never seen such a phenomenon in her life. She 
 was transfixed with amazement — dumb before the prodigy. 
 But at last she gave expression to her feelings in two words : 
 " Good gracious! " 
 
 What of all the pleasure of life is equal to giving plea- 
 sure, and in so cheap and easy a form ? I must not forget, 
 in chronicling one of these small memories, the unanimous 
 request to see " the dear old lady." This was old High- 
 land Mary, whom they also credited with a century on 
 her shoulders. Nor did I undeceive them. Out she came, 
 leaning on my arm. The cry arose : " There she comes ! " 
 A lane was formed, and she received the homage, in a 
 small way, that would have been accorded to one of her 
 Celtic chieftainesses. It was the red-letter day of her life. 1 
 
 I may here record, in passing, my own thankful posses- 
 sion of "normal" health and vigour, and for this I must 
 pay a passing tribute to galvanism. I attribute, greatly, 
 present immunity from what are, after all, very trifling 
 ailments (for from illness, in the true sense of the word, 
 I am mercifully free), to the treatment described by the 
 good old Dundee woman (though she gave by mistake 
 the wrong word) as "shocks of Calvinism." Let neither 
 her nor me be mistaken for austere Puritans. Galvanism 
 and Calvinism are both good in their way, when not 
 
 1 " I love a person like that immensely. I know nothing more beauti- 
 ful than such a faithful old being going about in a household, who really 
 lives only in taking interest in what concerns her master's family — in 
 feeling for them and with them. Greet this dear old soul." — Jenny 
 Li fid's Lije. Letter to Madame Wichmann, vol. ii. p. 351.
 
 2 6o DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 carried too far, although a monster shock, in either case, 
 kills as well as cures. 
 
 This chapter seems to be made up of scraps, odds and 
 ends, where chronology, too, is set at defiance, and singular 
 transitions are made, from the conspicuous to the incon- 
 spicuous. I shall close with the most pronounced transi- 
 tion of all, for surely no bound can be greater than that 
 from Highland Mary and her worshippers, and Calvinism, 
 to the Archbishop of Canterbury ! 
 
 The late Archbishop Tait was, by a very long way, my 
 favourite on the Bench. Not so bacause he was a Scotch- 
 man, and had won his first spurs in the University of 
 Glasgow; but he was a cosmopolitan. He dignified, as 
 none other had done, the Chair of Canterbury. He ruled, 
 with a mild but efficient despotism, the whole fraternity 
 of which he was the head ; and the confreres of the Upper 
 House, however differing occasionally from his views, 
 were at one in doing homage to his character and worth. 
 I did not know him. Scotch parsons have few opportu- 
 nities of coming in contact with Anglican dignitaries, 
 much less with their distinguished Primate. But in ad- 
 dition to honouring him during his long career, I happened 
 to be under special obligation to him, indirectly, imme- 
 diately before his last illness, for his kindness and con- 
 descension to a friend who sought and readily obtained 
 his counsel, and my name, I know, helped the suit. I am 
 about to record a piece of great, but, in the circumstances, 
 may I call it pardonable, presumption. I was calling for 
 a relative at Croydon. Croydon was within easy access 
 of Addington, where the great Prelate was dying, beyond 
 hope of recovery. I thought I might dare, with that recent 
 kind act fresh in my mind — and I did dare — to leave my 
 card at the house of death. The sequel I did not deem 
 presumption. It was a wintry day, with snow on the 
 ground. No ordinary one-horse conveyance was equal
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 261 
 
 to the heavy roads. But I readily departed from my more 
 primitive habit, and with a pair drove across to the church- 
 yard at Addington to mingle with the large crowd, from 
 royal princes to lowly cottagers, which gathered round 
 the modest place of burial in paying tribute to the departed. 
 How touching were the words sung with the gushing 
 memories of his sorely chequered life and successive family 
 bereavements- -words which he himself had so treasured 
 in life, and which now formed the most impressive part 
 of the last requiem : — 
 
 " And with the morn those Angel faces smile, 
 
 Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile." 
 
 * * * " * * 
 
 At a later date I made a pilgrimage to Canterbury 
 Cathedral. All that old historic building was full of in- 
 terest, though the mere architecture (I speak specially of 
 the chancel) is inferior to several others of the great 
 "sisterhoods" of the Middle Ages. It is a jumble of 
 Norman and Gothic (the Transition period). The main 
 point of attraction to me was not the localities and associa- 
 tions, real or mythical, connected either with Augustine 
 or Thomas a Becket, but the impressive marble sarco- 
 phagus — a most befitting memorial to the good Archbishop. 
 It is a fine specimen of the artistic power of Boehm — calm, 
 dignified. The simplicity of the statue is aided by con- 
 trast with a somewhat florid, but very handsome, pedestal 
 of varied marbles. It cost £3,000. It is close under the 
 window filled with stained glass by Dean Stanley, to com- 
 memorate his journeyings in Sinai and Palestine. Here 
 was a befitting sequel to Addington Churchyard. I looked 
 with profound emotion on this " Father in God" taking his 
 rest in sleep. I only missed thepresence and aid of Canon 
 Cadman, who had, not long before, given me a warm in- 
 vitation to see him in Canterbury. The latter had married 
 me in St. Luke's, Chelsea, forty years before, and had
 
 262 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 strong and sacred links of affection with all my wife's 
 family. But he, too, at the time of my visit to the great 
 Kentish Cathedral, had joined "the majority." Cadman 
 was one of the strong — the strongest props of the Evan- 
 gelical party — calm, devout, wise, judicious; his personal 
 religion of an elevated kind. He was well worthy of his 
 canonry, and had " the powers that be," of the time being, 
 been favourable, he would assuredly have had his deserved 
 place in the higher bench of dignitaries. But the Master 
 he faithfully served saw otherwise, and called him to the 
 
 higher ministries of the Church above. 
 
 ***** 
 
 [The Editor is here for once forbidden to claim a dis- 
 cretionary right to exclude what follows, sacred as it is, 
 and not intended, when written, to go beyond a private 
 record. It would gratify the writer that it should be 
 preserved exactly as it stands.] 
 
 " Ravensbrook, April, 1887. 
 " I cannot close these personal jottings without one refer- 
 ence and testimony of a very special kind. What, dearest 
 
 A , would my life, and that of your dear mother, have 
 
 been without you — your tender, loving, dutiful ways, by 
 word and deed? With a devotion in which self had no 
 consideration, or rather was thrust too pertinaciously 
 aside, have you kept watch and ward over us, blessing 
 and brightening the livelong day with your cheerfulness 
 and smiles, absolutely no thought but that of duty, love, 
 daughter-consecration. Much, natural to a young life, has 
 been cheerfully and resolutely surrendered for our sake. 
 Your one happiness has been to try to ensure ours — minis- 
 tering angel that you are! No wonder that my long 
 ' April day ' has had more sunshine than cloud in it ! 
 God will reward you. We cannot, except by undying 
 affection. I might well put, as I did, on the fly-leaf of my
 
 SUBJECTS SMALL AND GREAT 263 
 
 last gift : ' Many daughters have done virtuously, but 
 thou excellest them all.' " 
 
 [Let it be here added, that the years which have elapsed 
 since the above words were written, have only deepened 
 and intensified their truth an hundredfold. These wavelets 
 — golden wavelets of dearest love — will ripple on for ever.'l
 
 XVII 
 
 MY BOOKS 
 
 The following " notes " were dashed off evidently during 
 some idle hours, when the pen, generally busy, was 
 claiming a holiday. With truth may be appropriated 
 the familiar assertion — of their being "written with no 
 thought whatever of publication." Had it been other- 
 wise, they would doubtless have been cast in a different 
 shape from what may be called that of an honest gossip. 
 They may, however, here find a not unsuitable place, nor 
 be denounced as intruders. Let them be taken as a plain- 
 spoken record of my publishing experiences. Being the 
 experiences of what, without presumption, may be called 
 a successful author, the April day described may give 
 heart and hope and warning to others, besides having 
 an interest of its own to the uninitiated. 
 
 NOTES ON MY BOOKS. 
 
 I pass over the volumes, some of them of larger, some 
 of tinier growth, that had their birth in the quiet rural 
 " studies " of Kettins and St. Madoes. Among these were 
 what have been already mentioned, " The Faithful Pro- 
 miser," "Morning and Night Watches," "The Wood- 
 cutter of Lebanon," "The Footsteps of St. Paul," etc. I 
 had added, too, to my series of Tracts, which in their 
 lowly way had proved widely useful, " A Tract on 
 Baptism," " A Harvest Tract," and a " Tract for Soldiers." 
 This last had a gratifying association and patronage. A
 
 MY BOOKS 265 
 
 well-known speaker, in the course of an address in Exeter 
 Hall, London — these are the words of his reported speech 
 — said, "I have unquestionable information that the Duke 
 of Wellington recommended and ordered to be circulated 
 in the army a tract called ' A Tract for Soldiers,' rich 
 in practical and Evangelical Christianity." 
 
 I prefer, however, occupying" these jottings with maturer 
 work in Glasgow. 
 
 1856. 
 
 "Memories of Bethany" 
 
 (Now [1887] in its 57th thousand.) 
 
 First book published after going to Glasgow, and alter 
 preaching the series of discourses it contains (generally 
 in the forenoon) to a more limited audience in Sandyford. 
 It was carefully thought over, arranged and preached in 
 St. Madoes ; but re-written and expanded for the Glasgow 
 congregation. Its characteristic is its perfect simplicity. 
 I never dreamt of its success, wonderful circulation, and, 
 what is better, its blessing. My old friend Sheriff Arkley 
 led off the chorus of thanks (it was a voluntary expression, 
 for I had not sent him a copy). But he wrote warmly 
 from Geneva, and referred specially to the chapter on 
 " Second Causes." He shortly before had lost, by sad 
 accident, his only son — the heir of his name and property. 
 The series of chapters evolved naturally in that lovely 
 gospel Idyll made it unique in its way, and helped its 
 acceptance. 
 
 One singular and gratifying result of it was the offer, 
 on the part of the family of my deceased friend John 
 Macgregor, who heard all the series, to put in a large 
 memorial " Bethany window " in Sandyford Church. It 
 was executed by Wailes, of Newcastle, and cost £300. It 
 is filled exactly with the succession of incidents described 
 in " Memories of Bethany." The large north window 
 fronting the pulpit.
 
 266 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 As previously noted, for many years the later editions 
 of this volume have been graced by a steel engraving of 
 " the Sisters of Bethany," taken from an enlarged photo- 
 graph of my dear friend Warrington Wood's marble 
 group. 
 
 1857. 
 " Memories of Gennesaret." 
 
 This formed the second volume published after going to 
 Glasgow. 
 
 The origin of the volume, as mentioned in the Introduc- 
 tion, was reading the charming description given by Dean 
 Stanley in my favourite of many favourite volumes of his — 
 " Sinai and Palestine," — the chapter he names " Gennesaret 
 and the Land of Gennesaret." I at once saw what a full 
 and instructive picture I could attempt inserting in the 
 beautiful frame already made by him. I grouped, in 
 chronological order, Sunday after Sunday, the memories 
 of that lake-shore and their spiritual teachings. I had a 
 great stimulus and incentive in composing these discourses, 
 for during their delivery (almost always in the after- 
 noon) the vast area of the church was densely crowded. 
 The volume was handsomely brought out by Nisbet, with 
 a frontispiece of " the Lake " by Birket Foster. The 
 success was immediate; and as I write these lines, the 
 circulation attained is something like 27,000. The re- 
 views were very gratifying and encouraging. Even the 
 Free Church Witness joined in the chorus of satisfaction. 
 Also Dean Stanley, to whom I had the boldness to send 
 a copy, was not behind in kind words of approval. 
 
 The end of this year likewise saw the " Bow in the 
 Cloud " published, elsewhere described. 
 
 All my books from this time, including " Gennesaret," 
 were read and corrected in proof by my beloved brother 
 Alexander. He always assured me it was a pleasure and 
 enjoyment to him.
 
 MY BOOKS 267 
 
 1858. 
 " Grapes of Eshcol." 
 
 This had been so far thought out, and several portions 
 made use of in the pulpit at St. Madoes. But the ideas 
 and themes were greatly added to, and were utilized as 
 simple meditative addresses now and then in the forenoon, 
 at Sandyford, when the congregation was never so large. 
 The volume is a succession of meditations on the glories 
 of heaven — Eshcol clusters, with no attempt at "fine 
 writing" — what would rather be suited to a sick-bed 
 sufferer, or offer quiet solace to those mourning their 
 " loved and lost." My friend Mr. Watson got it up taste- 
 fully, in title page, and with antique heading to each 
 chapter. It met with acceptance far beyond my expecta- 
 tions, or its own merits. But I know it has gladdened 
 more than one sick-bed and death-bed. 
 
 Some of its opening chapters were, at Dr. Norman 
 Macleod's earnest wish, inserted in the very earliest num- 
 bers of Good Words. The " Final Rest " will be found in 
 Good Words, No. I., his starting number. 
 
 It has now reached a circulation approaching 20,000. 
 The name was a happy one, and doubtless helped it. 
 
 1859. 
 
 " The Hart and the Waterbrooks." A Practical 
 Exposition of tJie 42nd Psalm. 
 This, too, was a favourite child of St. Madoes. I think 
 it was Harrington Evans' words quoted on the title page 
 which first suggested it, and it was lovingly taken up, 
 meditated on, and expanded. The whole was recast and 
 improved, and, of course, preached in Glasgow — some of 
 the meditations with acceptance and blessing. I was 
 helped in its inception by my dear venerable old friend 
 Mrs. Hay, of Killiecrankie, showing me, as previously
 
 268 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 noted, on a visit to her in her home of unrivalled beauty, 
 the Bible belonging to the great Marquis of Argyle, which 
 had come into her possession. I was much struck by his 
 markings of the 42nd Psalm : some verses with a single, 
 others with a double mark. 
 
 This book, too, has well-nigh reached its 20th thousand. 
 
 i860. 
 
 " Sunsets on the Hebrew Mountains." Being some of 
 tlie more prominent Biographies of Sacred Story viewed 
 from Life's Close. 
 
 A poetical and fanciful, yet, on the whole, happy title. 
 They were entirely " excogitated " for Sandyford, and were 
 generally delivered to the crowded congregation in the 
 afternoon, of course alternated with other themes. I had 
 great pleasure in preparing the volume. One of them 
 at least, though by no means the best, had a very sacred 
 interest to me as linked with the past — that on old Simeon. 
 In another shape I had often used it. [file dies !) " Sun- 
 sets," too, has had a wonderful acceptance, far beyond 
 my thoughts (now 21st thousand). 
 
 I was much amused, as well as gratified, by an attesta- 
 tion. When we were travelling, as described, very 
 delightfully in the north of Ireland, we met one day an 
 Irish colporteur with his large boxful, or trunk, of books, 
 great and small. He was greatly interested when he 
 heard that some of the volumes he had in his pack 
 owned me for their author. On asking him which of all 
 my books was most in favour, the answer came in a 
 moment, with the most unhesitating volley of Irish en- 
 thusiasm and brogue — " ' Soonsets on the Haibrew Moun- 
 tains.'" 
 
 1861-2. 
 
 I cannot recall any special volumes these years. I 
 think they must have given birth to some smaller and
 
 MY BOOKS 269 
 
 less important ones; such as "Ploughman's Text Book" 
 " Tales of the Warrior Judges" the latter a Sunday book 
 for boys, suggested to me by my dear friend, Rev. William 
 Robertson, of Hamilton, one of the grandest of men, and 
 most powerful of pre.ichers, cut off in his vigorous prime ; 
 "Story of Bethlehem" a book for children, very beautifully 
 illustrated by Thomas. Also " Thoughts of God" which 
 has had similar remarkable success accorded to other 
 devotional books. Indeed, the volume of that sort which 
 is my own favourite, is when the two are bound together 
 for morning and evening. "The Thoughts of God and the 
 Words of Jesus." A very poor book of sacred poetry 
 must have been composed at Loch Ard at this time — 
 " Curfew Chimes." Save the dedication verses, it was 
 altogether unworthy, and is long ago suppressed. What 
 was worth anything in it is engrossed in the " Gates of 
 Praise." 
 
 1863. 
 
 "The Prophet of Fire. T/ie Life and Times of Elijah." 
 The subject exactly suited me — pictorial and descrip- 
 tive, and the grand character that was its theme, full of 
 varied interest. It was my dear mother's favourite, and 
 her verdict was always seen to be an unerring one. It 
 was altogether a Sandy ford production, preached gener- 
 ally in the afternoons. I do not think, long as the series 
 was, that the dear people got weary of it. As a volume 
 it received very favourable — too favourable — notices on 
 both sides of the Tweed. It was chapter XIII. — ■" The 
 Seven Thousand" — which drew forth the interesting letter 
 as described in next page Earl Russell (Lord John) 
 was one of the worshippers in Kinclaven Church, where 
 I preached the same sermon. 
 
 Sir John Gilbert made a noble drawing, which I still 
 possess, for a frontispiece, " the Great Elijah,' with the 
 fiery symbols close by.
 
 270 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Note on " Prophet of Fire." 
 
 The enclosed letter is of an interest of its own. It will 
 speak for itself. It is from the father of the now widely- 
 known Rev. Frederick Robertson, of Brighton, whose 
 sermons came with a new power to me, as they did to 
 many. 
 
 I took care honestly, but in the most delicate way, in 
 writing in reply to his cousin (who opened the corre- 
 spondence), and subsequently to the venerable father in 
 Cheltenham, to state my inability to accept all the theo- 
 logical views in these wonderful and altogether unique 
 discourses, at the same time expressing my great esteem 
 for his ministerial character, his genius, and rare spiritual 
 insight. This will explain the references in the letter 
 I have sacredly kept, of the father of a gifted son. — J. R. M. 
 
 "Rodney House, Cheltenham, 
 
 u 7th Dec, 1865. 
 " My dear Sir, — 
 
 " My cousin, Robert Robertson, of Gourock, has for- 
 warded to me your letter confirming our belief that in 
 page 199 of your 'Prophet of Fire/ you had him in view 
 of whom I am the honoured father. His ' Life and 
 Letters,' which it appears you are in possession of, will 
 further show how right you have been in likening his 
 temperament to that of Elijah's. All, indeed, you have 
 written in allusion to one who appears to me to have 
 been at times 'caught up in the third heaven,' is very 
 touching, very true. ' The converted sceptic in humble 
 attire' is one who, when my son went to Brighton, was 
 'something more than a sceptic' One Sunday he went 
 to Trinity Chapel ' to hear what the new preacher had 
 to say !,' Ever after he attended the chapel, inducing 
 young men to go with him. The morning after his funeral, 
 this 'converted sceptic,' at dawn of day, w r as seen with
 
 MY BOOKS 271 
 
 his family, weeping' over the grave! This anecdote — a 
 fact — appeared in the Edinburgh Christian Magazine of 
 July and August, 1857, in a short memoir of Mr. Robert- 
 son. 
 
 "I am quite aware that many differ in theological 
 ' views ' with my sainted dear one — indeed, it is difficult 
 now-a-diys to find any two men wholly agreeing — still, 
 men so differing, as in your own case, unite in testifying 
 to his being one of ' the great and good.' Not only his 
 sermons, but his 'Life and Letters' show with what 
 adoring love he clung to Christ as his 'Redeemer and 
 his God.' His view of vicarious suffering — not vicarious 
 punishment of God's dear Son, with whom He was well 
 pleased — is gaining ground ; it not being simply the blood 
 that satisfied God, but the willingness with which that 
 blood was shed ; the self-sacrifice of the sinless, atoning 
 for the sins of the whole world ! I think I state his 
 ' views ' correctly. I confess they appear to me more 
 consonant with the dealings of One whose name is ' Love,' 
 than that of a father punishmg his eldest son for the 
 transgressions of his brothers, while he was faultless in 
 that father's sight. 
 
 "It is verily gratifying to us of his family and very 
 many friends that men of various ' views ' — High Church 
 and Low Church — among these eight bishops, should have 
 subscribed to put up a stained glass window to his memory, 
 in the Chapel of his college at Oxford !— Brasenose. 
 
 "My son, as you will perceive, had Scotch blood in 
 his veins, in reading the accompanying brochure, ' The 
 Landing of the French in Jersey ' ; my father there alluded 
 to having been born in Glasgow. 
 
 "That my departed dear one should have had a predilec- 
 tion for the army is but natural, when his grandfather 
 and his father were soldiers ; his father's brother a captain 
 in the Engineers, who died in the West Indies in 1813,
 
 272 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 and his two brothers in the army, one now a colonel of 
 Engineers, the other, who died eighteen months ago, a 
 captain in the Rifle Brigade — formerly of the 6oth Rifles 
 — another a captain of Militia ! But I doubt not I was 
 directed from above to decide upon his doing the work 
 as an Ambassador of Christ, as the vast good he has done, 
 and is doing, fully testifies. 
 
 " I venture to send, herewith, for your acceptance, some 
 memorial papers, which are of a size corresponding with 
 that of the volumes of sermons. 
 
 " I have, as you kindly permitted, made a note at page 
 199 of ' The Prophet of Fire,' that the ' illustrious minister ' 
 is F. W. R., of Trinity Chapel, Brighton. 
 " I am, 
 
 " Faithfully and obliged, 
 
 " Frederick Robertson, 
 " Retired Captain, R.A. 
 "You will see in the Life that my son finished his 
 education in Edinboro'." 
 
 1865. 
 
 " The Shepherd and His Flock." 
 
 This, too, was alike a favourite subject and a favourite 
 book, and gave occasion for varied presentation of doctrine 
 from the Bible emblem. It may be regarded by some to 
 be too thoroughly Calvinistic in the teaching of a few 
 of its chapters. But that has not affected or arrested 
 its circulation in England or elsewhere. Also another to 
 which my mother was partial— the chapter on entering the 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death, read by my dear brother 
 Alexander to his dying wife. The original frontispiece 
 was from a careful drawing by Sir Noel Paton — the found- 
 ation of the large oil-painting subsequently commissioned 
 by the Queen — the Saviour bearing the lamb entangled
 
 MY BOOKS 273 
 
 in thorns in IJis arm. It is now in its 17th thou- 
 sand. 
 
 1867. 
 " Memories of Olivet." 
 
 This volume was the earliest result of my tour to the 
 Holy Land— an event, for many years to come, of great 
 assistance in my writings. Several of the chapters which 
 compose it had been preached in Sandyford. The name 
 and volume had mentally taken shape, indeed been resolved 
 on, previous to the journey. When, on our first Sunday 
 in Jerusalem, I asked my good friend, Mr. Fergusson, 
 to accompany me alone after morning service to the Mount 
 of Olives, and spend the remainder of that " Sabbath on 
 the Mount," I had, long before (D.V.) determined on thus 
 devoting some quiet and delightful hours ; and, indeed, 
 of jotting down such notes and observations on the spot, 
 which might after, in their unaltered or almost unaltered 
 form, compose the Introduction to the projected volume 
 when issued in autumn. This desire I was enabled, with 
 the greatest comfort, to accomplish. No wonder, after 
 this explanation, that I had a special interest in a book 
 so associated, and whose contents travelled over so much 
 that is of moment, both in Old and New Testament associa- 
 tion ! 
 
 I tried inadequately to give from my own sketch a 
 frontispiece of "Olivet as it was in our Lord's time," 
 including, though doubtful, the " Red Heifer Bridge." 
 
 1868. 
 
 "Noontide at Sychar." 
 
 When standing one afternoon, in March of the previous 
 
 year, by the Well of Jacob, I saw an Arab woman bearing 
 
 on her head a pitcher, to draw water (so strangely 
 
 suggestive on the spot), I said to one of my companions, 
 
 Dr. S (and the thought had not occurred till that 
 
 18
 
 274 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 moment), " When I get home, if I am spared, I shall write 
 a book on 'Jacob's Well." 1 The purpose was faithfully 
 carried out. Alternating with other themes, I had great 
 pleasure in making that most beautiful, picturesque fourth 
 chapter of St. John, so full of Gospel truth and lessons, 
 my subject for Sandyford pulpit in the winter and spring 
 of 1 868. 
 
 The book, more from its theme than its treatment, has 
 had a gratifying success (14th thousand). The vignette 
 is from a careful drawing of my own on the spot, made 
 at leisure, while an Arab was despatched to the village 
 to obtain a rope that would enable us to bring up a 
 bucket of water. 
 
 On reaching Glasgow in the summer of 1867, after our 
 tour, I happened to meet that good man Mr. Maccallum, 
 of the Religious Institution Rooms. He thus accosted me : 
 "Eh, doctor, hae ye been at the Well?" (as if nothing 
 else in the world, or at least the Palestine world, was 
 of any interest to him compared to this). When the 
 volume was published, I sent him a copy with these words 
 on the fly-leaf ; " Dear sir, you once asked me the question 
 — ' Doctor, have you been at the Well ? ' Here is the 
 reply." 
 
 1869. 
 
 "Memories of Patmos." 
 
 In sailing through the Archipelago, I put the question 
 to the civil captain of the steamer: "I presume we do 
 not go near Patmos?" "There it is," was his prompt 
 reply, pointing in the far distance to a miniature Arran, 
 over which the sun was setting. He little knew that 
 his answer made him responsible for a coming volume. 
 For there and then it was resolved on — the name, too, 
 being in rather happy harmony with the " memory " pre- 
 decessors.
 
 MY BOOKS 275 
 
 It was a difficult theme to manage ; but, as explained 
 in the Preface, it was not my object to follow the steps 
 of apocalyptic soothsayers, but to cull, for practical 
 illustration and enforcement, some of the most beautiful 
 visions and passages. I think I sustained the interest of 
 the congregation. It has proved a successful volume, and 
 seems still to keep its hold. The frontispiece was from 
 a hurried sketch of my own, made at that moment from 
 the deck of the steamer, and which my dear brother 
 William put really into quite Turneresque shape and effect. 
 
 1870. 
 
 " Comfort Ye, Comfort Ye." 
 
 Rather a favourite of my own, and to which the outside 
 Christian world of readers has responded. The name was 
 a happy one, and the full verse, of which it formed a 
 part, made an appropriate key-note or motto-verse to the 
 wondrous "repertory" of Divine promises heading each 
 chapter. There is no attempt at powerful or " fine 
 writing " (unlovable things) in the book. It is more a 
 series of simple expositions and meditations. It was helped 
 both by my design on binding and the lovely frontispiece 
 of the w r ell-known artist. The Introduction is a careful 
 vindication of the " one Isaiah," versus the disruption of 
 the book by modern criticism ; and from my own view 
 I have never seen reason to depart. 
 
 1871. 
 
 " St. Paul in Rome." 
 
 A volume in which I took a great interest. But, being 
 already specially referred to at the close of the seventeenth 
 chapter, I need not dwell on it here. I dedicated the work 
 to Warrington Wood, who was often a worshipper in the 
 tiny "Tabernacle" outside the Porto del Popolo ; and the 
 frontispiece of St. Paul's Tomb was both good and appro-
 
 276 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 priate. The well-known Roman bookseller on the Piazza 
 di Spagna still keeps on a local sale. 
 
 1872. 
 
 " Healing Waters of Israel. The Story of Naamau 
 
 the Syrian." 
 
 This was the first of my volumes out of harness. 
 
 It had been preached in a series of sermons the year 
 after I came to Glasgow. But I laid it quite aside, to be 
 possibly taken up, and improved, recast and amplified, at 
 some future time. Having no other special work in 
 hand, I got engrossed with it during the winter spent 
 at Norwood, when my new house was being built at 
 Chislehurst. A lodging — the deprivation of a quiet 
 study, and all my books locked away — was not favourable 
 for any literary or theological work. I toiled through it, 
 not with much comfort. Even the name was one that 
 had nothing novel or distinctive about it. The volume, 
 notwithstanding, has done fairly well, and I trust its 
 practical tone has made it a blessing. I never ranked 
 it among my favourites ; though Mr. Spurgeon, in his 
 "Comment and Commentaries for Students," is kind enough 
 to say of it : " Here we have Dr. Macduff at his best." 
 
 When it was passing through the press, I gave the 
 chapter on "The Little Maid" to my friend Warrington 
 Wood, to help him with the same subject in sculpture, at 
 which he was then busy. It was not, however, one of 
 his happiest efforts. 
 
 1873. 
 " Clefts of the Rock." 
 
 No author — no preacher is judge of his own writings 
 or sermons. This, I hoped, was to be the most stable 
 of my books. It has proved, and I believe rightly so,
 
 MY BOOKS 277 
 
 the least successful. Others, I expected less from, have 
 mounted to their 15th or 20th thousand. This has only- 
 reached its modest fourth. The name I deemed a happy 
 one ; and, as I thought, much careful writing was be- 
 stowed on the all-embracing theme. But I quite believe 
 the public judgment was correct. It was too doctrinal, and 
 little scope left for descriptive illustration, which was the 
 forte of many of the others. I always recall, however, 
 my able and learned friend Dr. Jamieson of Glasgow's 
 note — deeming it " my best." I certainly published it 
 with that impression, and with the wish that it should 
 be a kind of resume and epitome of my pulpit work and 
 doctrinal teaching. The preface was brief, but in its 
 way interesting. 
 
 1876. 
 " Gates of Prayer." 
 
 A happy enough name for a book of private prayers. 
 But it was altogether a failure. Written in a totally 
 wrong key — too flowery and ornate — and devoid of the 
 simplicity so requisite in such a volume. An edition of 
 10,000 was thrown off. But I petitioned my ever-kind 
 and considerate friend Watson to get rid of or destroy it, 
 in order that I might recast and simplify — which he 
 generously did. It is, of course, much better than it was — 
 and one notable thing about it is — that, of all my recent 
 books, it has had the widest circulation in America. 
 
 It was followed two years afterwards by my most 
 careful book of poetry, " Gates of Praise." Both were 
 identical in size, shape, and decorative binding. On this 
 book I bestowed much pains, and many of the notices 
 were gratifying. Spurgeon's is characteristic : " Our 
 soul is burdened with the poor ' try ' which is daily sent 
 to us. We are therefore the more pleased when, amid 
 the mountains of rubbish, we now and then find a jewel.
 
 278 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 When we light upon one good poem amid 10,000, we are 
 charmed indeed. This has been the case while we have 
 had the 'Gates of Praise' before us." — Sword and Trowel. 
 
 Any kind thing Mr. Spurgeon has said of my books 
 (and that is often the case) is all the more gratifying, as 
 it is no result of personal acquaintance. We had never 
 met. 
 
 I had published a small book or "booklet" of poetry 
 some years before, which I have omitted to mention, 
 " Altar Stones"— not up to the mark. A few respectable, 
 one or two good. The last hymn in the volume is one 
 which has found its way now into many Church collec- 
 tions, " Christ is coming! let Creation" etc. But I believe 
 others would be found better. A book of verse, long- 
 antecedent to these, " The Wells of Baca" or solaces of 
 the Christian mourner, with other thoughts on bereave- 
 ment, has attained a circulation considerably upwards of 
 30,000. 
 
 1S77. 
 " Footsteps of St. Peter." 
 
 This is a companion volume to " Footsteps of St. Paul." 
 It makes little or no claim to originality. Indeed, as 
 fully stated in Preface, I have laid all available books 
 under contribution — my aim, as in the other, being to 
 make a readable and interesting narrative for youth. Some 
 notices were a little severe on this, but others spoke very 
 favourably. It was not a subject I took kindly to per- 
 sonally. But it has been an ample success, and includes 
 much that is interesting, specially in St. Peter's later 
 life. It doubtless will survive, when other worthier 
 volumes of mine collapse. 
 
 1878. 
 
 " Brighter than the Sun." 
 
 This is, beyond all comparison, my favourite and best
 
 MY BOOKS 279 
 
 work; that which has been most complimentarily and 
 brilliantly reviewed. And yet, many a night, after its 
 publication, I went sorrowful to bed, brooding over a 
 disastrous failure ! The book was written for youth. Yet 
 it was quite well adapted for all ages. I was at great 
 pains with it — took great delight in writing it — and 
 never for a moment doubted it would come to be known 
 and received as my most useful and successful volume. 
 It was amply illustrated — and, I thought, in a novel, 
 artistic w T ay — by my friend Mr. Rowan. Type good, and 
 binding attractive ; and thus floated, on admirable criti- 
 cisms both here and in America, I forecasted, with God's 
 blessing, an ample future for it. Alas! year by year 
 passed, and I myself, adding to the advertisements of the 
 publishers, w r as only grievously out of pocket. It was, 
 and is, a mystery. The original price (7s. 6d.) doubtless 
 was against it. Possibly, too, the name — add to this the 
 number of volumes on the same great theme. I was 
 much discouraged. An idea struck me — willingly to 
 abandon all expectation or wish for remuneration for my 
 own long toil and thought, and, rather than that the book 
 should go to utter wreck and failure, get out a cheap 
 shilling edition, in paper covers. This my publishers 
 kindly did, issuing one of the same in limp covers. The 
 success of this experiment was better than I expected, 
 56,000 being now sold in all. I myself sent a copy to 
 each city missionary, both in London and Glasgow. I am 
 constantly receiving approving and encouraging letters 
 about it. But I honestly avow I have never yet re- 
 covered the disappointment of its first years of publica- 
 tion. I still adhere to my perhaps too partial verdict, 
 and cherish the hope it may be among the few volumes 
 that will survive its author. The figurative name w T as 
 well carried out in the chapters. 
 
 Ah ! it was the first of future ominous clouds in the 
 publishing sky.
 
 2 So DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 1879. 
 
 "Eventide at Bethel." 
 
 This I took to as kindly as to " Brighter than the 
 Sun," and the reviewers and readers stamped it with 
 peculiar approval. It was no mere compendium of ser- 
 mons, but a book altogether freshly written. Its founda- 
 tion, indeed, was a sermon on " Jacob's ladder," dating 
 from the dear Kettins days : the inspiration for which I 
 got from my ever-to-be-reverenced old " Uncle Tom." 
 I well remember with what gleaming eyes he compared 
 the silken couches and unquiet sleep of the monarchs of 
 the earth that night, with those of the wanderer, with 
 his pillow of stone and angel dreams. Mr. Rowan made 
 a most happy and beautiful frontispiece, showing his 
 power and artistic delicacy. Certainly, but with humility 
 and gratitude, I place " Eventide " on the same shelf with 
 "Brighter." I trust it has proved a healthy and invigora- 
 ting present for young men. So I have been often told. 
 America was as hearty as England in its critiques and 
 reception. I must add that a further inducement to write 
 it was as a companion volume to " Noontide at Sychar." 
 They are bound together — " An Old and New Testament 
 Story of Providence and Grace." " Sychar," however 
 (though inferior), being the New Testament, exceeds it in 
 circulation. 
 
 1879. 
 
 "Palms of Elim." 
 
 Compilations are never a success, and, indeed, do an 
 author much harm. My good friend Mr. Watson warned 
 me of this, when in his homely advice he said : " Oh, no ; 
 you will do yourself wrong : the public will think you 
 pumped out ! " 
 
 It was not, however, with reference to this volume he 
 said so, for he took to it. The name I had selected in
 
 MY BOOKS 281 
 
 the St. Madoes days, as a companion to the "Grapes of 
 Eshcol." It lay dormant all these years, and at last it 
 came out, partially with new matter, but mainly composed 
 of suitable extracts from all my other volumes. It was 
 this volume which Miss Havergal, besides a letter to 
 myself, in her last pencilled note written on her death- 
 bed, spoke so kindly of to her publisher [is being the one, 
 next to the "Faithful Promiser," she liked best of my books. 
 The name is all that could be wished. I only wonder 
 that it and " Grapes " were never taken before by another. 
 The woodcuts and binding, for which I am responsible, 
 are in harmony, and doubtless helped it to a fair accept- 
 ance. But only fair, and no more. 
 
 1880. 
 
 "In Christo: The Monogram of St. Paul." 
 
 One Wednesday evening I went up to Christ Church 
 Schoolroom to hear a lecture or address by a gifted 
 Christian layman, Mr. James Crowther, author of several 
 popular books. His subject that evening led him to 
 speak of the Roman Catacombs, and the frequency of 
 the inscription In Christo. A new book was then and 
 there resolved on, retaining the suggestive name ! It 
 has met with fair success, not more. Can the Latin title 
 have deterred "simple readers"? The theme is a fresh 
 and varied one. Perhaps from lack of scenery and de- 
 scription, and being more doctrinal, it fails in interest. 
 It was altogether freshly written, and no old material 
 incorporated. 
 
 1880. 
 
 "Story of a Dewdrop." 
 
 Published in quite sumptuous shape, with full-page 
 chromo-lithographs, and handsome binding. It was most 
 warmly reviewed. But, alas ! it was simply too dear (5s.)
 
 282 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 for the amount of matter, and it did not succeed; was, 
 I fear, a heavy loss to the publishers : both to them and 
 to me a disappointing failure. But they were not de- 
 terred from further ventures. First, " Anchor and 
 Haven," some of my smaller poems and hymns in an 
 attractive form. Then followed " Bible Forget-me-Nots," 
 now, as previously stated, in its 301st thousand: a success, 
 in the brief time, quite unprecedented, I believe, in the 
 trade ! 
 
 1881. 
 
 <( Hosannahs of the Children." 
 
 I had long wished to put some of the rude jottings I 
 had of "Children's Sermons," or fragments of sermons 
 in Sandyford, into a volume form. I did so, and selected 
 as the appropriate title: " The Little Sanctuary." My 
 old respected colleague in Glasgow, Dr. Raleigh, beauti- 
 fully anticipated me in the name, and I had to fall back 
 on the above (not far behind the forfeited one), taken 
 from the opening sermon in the volume. I believe I 
 fettered myself unduly with old scraps. It would have 
 been easier and better to have written, as in "Bethel," the 
 whole volume afresh. The book is tastefully and hand- 
 somely got up, dedicated to one of my oldest and warmes,* - 
 friends. Somehow or other it was not the success I 
 anticipated. Indeed, about this time the tide was be- 
 ginning ominously to turn. My list in Nisbets' hand was 
 getting quite overburdened and overloaded, and the 
 public (who could blame them ?) were getting tired and 
 sated with one who had prated to them so long. A 
 long-suffering public truly you have been to me ! I have 
 nothing to retaliate but gratitude, and Soli Deo Gloria. 
 
 1882. 
 " Story of a Shell." 
 Feeling always a kindly side for descriptive and pic-
 
 MY BOOKS 283 
 
 torial writing, and perhaps with the devout imagination 
 that I had a niche in writing for the young, I boldly 
 essayed the above— an imaginative sea-story : I believe, 
 so I was told, like "Alice in Wonderland," of which book, 
 however, to this hour, I have never seen the outside. 
 The failure of this volume was a dismal disappointment ; 
 and that fatal, despotic ruler of all authors known as 
 u The Trade" simply ignored it. It was "not my voca- 
 tion," I was " stepping aside from my allotted sphere," 
 and so forth ; and I and the publishers had to bow. We 
 had no weapons to fight the autocrat. What is the re- 
 sult ? I had fondly hoped for many happy hours' work 
 in similar " pastures new." But I reeled at once under the 
 blow. The Nisbets have brought out a cheap shilling 
 edition, which I fear, too, is doomed. In a word, both 
 " Story of a Dewdrop " and " Story of a Shell " had burial 
 honours fired over their grave, and " Hie jacet ' is the 
 epitaph on the shelves in Berners Street. Rowan's 
 frontispiece was simply perfect, and ought to have re- 
 deemed the book. 
 
 Dear, undiscerning public ! I cannot thank you for the 
 cold shoulder after our intimacy of half a century. I am 
 beginning, at times of authorship-despondency, to wonder 
 if it had not been Avell for me to have been, as Sir Walter 
 Scott describes the Hermit of Prague, "one who never 
 saw either pens or ink ! " Here is, perhaps, a too truth- 
 ful bit from Oliver Wendell Holmes: "There must be 
 others — I am afraid many others — who will exclaim, 
 < He has had his day, and why can't he be content ? 
 We don't want literary revenants, superfluous veterans, 
 writers who have worn out their welcome, and still in- 
 sist on being attended to. Give us something fresh — 
 something that belongs to our day and generation. Your 
 morning draught was well enough, but we don't care 
 for your evening slip-slop. You are not in relation with
 
 284 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 us — with our time, our ideas, our aims, our aspira- 
 tions.' " 
 
 I may quote the only too appropriate words of an 
 equally distinguished fellow-countryman of his — Russell 
 Lowell : " I feel every day more sensibly that I belong to 
 a former age. A new generation has grown up that 
 knows not Joseph, and I have nothing left to do but to 
 rake together what embers are left of my fire, and get 
 what warmth out of them I may. I still take an interest, 
 however, in what some of the young ones are doing." 
 ("Letters," vol. ii. p. 271). No! it would be ungrateful 
 in me to be such a pessimist as this. All the length I 
 would go is, that I intended and aimed at something 
 fresh in my sea story. But though not actually spurned 
 and doomed — indeed, most flatteringly reviewed beyond 
 its merits — it has not taken " position," but has shared the 
 scrimp fate of its more recent brothers and sisters. I deem 
 it, however, worthy of survival. 
 
 Who ought to feel crushed or discouraged after Thomas 
 Hood's authorship experiences? He took his " Song of the 
 Shirt" — the song (may I not call it the moral sermon!) 
 which has made him immortal— three times to three 
 different publishers, only to be rejected. And when at 
 last accepted for a noted " weekly," it was only on the 
 pleading of the Editor versus his board, that the dis- 
 couraged poet and preacher of his age was heard, and 
 that the poem, as he had resolved, was, after these re- 
 buffs, saved from the flames ! 
 
 1883. 
 " Early Graves." 
 
 Here follows a work in the swift downward course. 
 In publishing it, I am myself alone to blame : and I suffer 
 for it to this hour. 
 
 I thought (and others urged me) that a volume of the
 
 MY BOOKS 2S5 
 
 character described by the name, would have a special 
 comfort and blessing attending it. 
 
 But it was a compilation from previously published 
 matter: and the public (i.e., "the Trade") would have 
 nothing to do with it. 
 
 Altogether it was a mistake. Too long — too dear. 
 And the fresh and attractive portions were out of place. 
 Very specially the two carefully written memorials of 
 Janson and Gill — which, if I had published by themselves, 
 under the title of " Two Comrades in the Great Army," 
 as I once intended — would have had a success. 
 
 1884. 
 Parish of Taxwood. 
 
 A new adventure, a volume wholly to my mind in 
 writing ; and no wonder, for it was the ideal story of my 
 own life and first parish — with pardonable disguises, and 
 exaggerations of all sorts — the object being to give a 
 bright and yet tolerably true and faithful picture of the 
 Scottish Manse, and the minister's life and people. 
 
 As a volume — a deplorable failure! I purposely se- 
 lected a most reliable Edinburgh publisher — the book 
 being essentially Scottish. But it mattered not. All this, 
 too— I mean the utter and disastrous collapse — was de- 
 spite wonderfully eulogistic criticisms (see, very specially, 
 the one from that most fastidious and merciless of lite- 
 rary organs, The Saturday Review). No testimony or 
 testimonies could be higher — yet after the lapse of a 
 fair time there was nothing for it but virtual cremation. 
 The causes of failure were mainly twofold. (1) Too ex- 
 clusively Scotch, and with the Scotch Ecclesiastical ele- 
 ment. (2) Before it was published as a book, it went 
 through the twelve monthly parts of the magazine Life 
 and Work. And in this form it had reached all who
 
 286 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 were likely to care for it. {Life and Work had a circu- 
 lation of 90,000.) 
 
 Might a good strong Scotch publisher not be tempted 
 to re-awaken to life, say twenty years hence, a book that 
 really (though I say it) deserved a better fate? 1 
 
 1885. 
 
 " Knocking." The Words of Jesus at the Door of the 
 Heart. A Sacred Monody. 
 
 I had hopes from another new departure — a little 
 book of poetry on the well-known impressive verse. I 
 had, and have, a special partiality for this small effort, 
 alike from the theme and what I may term the novel 
 treatment. The subject was employed in a different way 
 in one of the early sermons in my " Memories of Pat- 
 mos." That sermon I often preached, and it was of this 
 special interest to me, that in more than one instance 
 I knew it had been blest to some hearer. The " Monody " 
 had quite another history. One night between Paris and 
 Neuchatel, when, with my wife and daughter, I was on 
 
 1 I may give in this note an extract from the extended notice in 
 the Saturday Review : " Dr. Macduff has written a delightful little 
 volume, as true to the life as it is picturesque in its subjects. We 
 fancy that we can recognise something of its scenes and scenery, 
 whether they be actually laid in the ' Presbytery of Forglen ' or no ; 
 and we are sure, if we may trust early reminiscences, that the types 
 which he illustrates are singularly faithful. Books of the kind, when 
 they are pleasantly and simply written, have a strange fascination, at 
 all events for Scotchmen. We like to refresh our memories of former 
 days by references to such genuinely Scotch authors as 'Christopher 
 North ' or the late Dr. Norman Macleod. As devoted to the Father- 
 land as Walter Scott, they loved the humbler classes of their fellow- 
 countrymen, and not a few of their descriptions hold a place in our 
 affections with the interior of the Mucklebackits' cottage in ' The An- 
 tiquary' or with 'The Cottar's Saturday Night.' We shall be inclined 
 to add this unpretentious little volume to the standard authorities on 
 these favourite subjects. . . . We think we have said enough to 
 send our readers to a book which, while showing unusual powers of 
 observation, is written with equal simplicity and deep earnestness of 
 feeling."
 
 MY BOOKS 287 
 
 my way to Switzerland, the idea of the book occurred. 
 As was always my habit, a fresh thought was never 
 allowed to slumber. The very next day (the cause of ab- 
 sorption all unknown to them) I was seated in busy work 
 under the row of shady trees lining the beautiful lakeside of 
 Neuchatel. It was prosecuted without interruption during 
 the next fortnight (thanks to the very broken weather 
 and confinement to a hotel) in the Bernese Oberlands. In 
 my solitary walks by lake or mountain side, I had pencil 
 and paper in hand ; and what was more exacting still, 
 many a night did I burn the dim hotel candles, till morn- 
 ing broke on a needlessly taxed brain. When on our 
 return journey we spent a Sunday at Berne, I was able to 
 read to my companions in our sitting-room overlooking 
 the range of Bernese Alps the completed poem, including 
 the preface. It was published by Nisbet, and well got up, 
 with a frontispiece by Rowan. But it put no spoke in 
 the descending wheel. People talked of it approvingly, 
 and so did the critics. But what of that ? The inex- 
 orable " Trade " thought and decided otherwise, and Marius 
 had simply to weep over these bits of treasured Corinthian 
 in ruins. It was, however, two years afterwards, brought 
 out by Marcus Ward in the attractive form of my other 
 small books, and started with a circulation of 8,000. 
 This, of course, in its way, was a solatium, and I do not 
 despair of it yet. 
 
 1885. 
 
 " Communion Memories." 
 
 I was bold enough, same year, to compile (?), from my 
 old Communion Sabbaths, Sermons, " Table Services," 
 Meditations, Prayers, Addresses. Well received in Scot- 
 land, but in England shares the fate of "Taxwood" and 
 all that is Presbyterian, or suspected of Calvinism. My
 
 288 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 brother William's excellent picture of "The First and 
 Last Communion" made a beautiful frontispiece. 
 
 1886. 
 
 " Parables of the Lake." 
 
 This brought with it a partial revival. Why, I cannot 
 say. For I ranked it, in real merit, much below others. 
 But the name, and the scope for description, — the per- 
 sonal element of a Palestine visit, — and being a book for 
 the young, gave an impetus to the volume, and it has 
 done fairly well ; indeed, the only bit of silver lining in 
 the growing cloud. For, year by year, the new books 
 have been simply a loss both to publisher and author. 
 
 1886. 
 " The Golden Gospel." 
 
 Most tasteful, beautiful, artistic in its clothing. The 
 only part for which I am responsible is what the Times 
 was good enough to call "an able introduction." 
 
 Alas ! contrary to both publisher's and author's hopes, 
 trade and public together conspired in apathy. What I 
 deemed its beauty and speciality (the golden type) was 
 the fatal error. No human eye can read it undazzled. 
 No one would ever pay 5s. for this glaring setting, when 
 the same eyes could read it unscathed in the Bible Society's 
 edition for a penny ! It had a chorus of approval. This 
 could hardly have been otherwise ; for art-designer, 
 printer, and bookbinder were at their very best. But 
 failure, serious failure, nevertheless it was. 
 
 1886. 
 
 " Morning Family Prayers." 
 
 I was beginning to be oppressed with the thought that 
 my lists in Berners Street were overloaded, and that I 
 might make an effort with some other reliable publisher,
 
 MY BOOKS 289 
 
 though still retaining my old allegiance to the house 
 which had befriended me for nearly half a century. 
 
 I had resolved on a book of "Family Prayers for an 
 entire year," and on what I ventured to think was a new 
 plan, " ensuring variety and comprehension." I thought, 
 moreover, some publisher accustomed to bringing out 
 such a work in parts would be preferable. Accordingly 
 
 I applied to , of . They were quite courteous 
 
 in their reply, but with the knowledge of many similar 
 volumes in the past (though in this they were in error), 
 they declined. I put it without hesitation in the hands 
 of my old friends the Nisbsts. After the failure of my 
 negotiations with another house, which of course I frankly 
 told them of, I insisted in this case, what was done with 
 not one of its predecessors, on bringing out the volume 
 at my own risk — generally speaking (and the present was 
 no exception) an undesirable arrangement. But I made 
 it a point of honour. 
 
 I do not regard the volume as at all up to the mark. 
 I was not in good health during its composition. It could 
 be improved much by recasting, and this on the side of 
 simplification. I wrote it under other discouragements. 
 The length of it was irksome, and my forte for illustra- 
 tion and description was of course quite inadmissible here. 
 It was a labour, and yet I far from regret it, as I trust 
 and hope a blessing will yet go with it when I feel equal 
 to revision 
 
 1887. 
 
 List of small Text-Books, " Bible Forget-me-Not 
 Series" and "Speedwell Series." 
 
 These were spread over preceding and subsequent 
 years. Though none approached the marvellous success 
 of the first of them all (the " Forget-me-Nots "), yet all 
 have inspired me with fresh hope and heart. Their 
 
 19
 
 290 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 circulation has been very great. The idea of such books 
 was a small novelty. Of course, whenever the singular 
 success was ascertained, publishers and " trade " were 
 unanimous in enlisting recruits for similar volumes, and 
 in the course of a year or two, as is well known, the 
 shops were inundated and surfeited with duplicates and 
 triplicates usque ad nauseam. Is there not, or ought 
 there not to be, an unwritten code of honour in this? 
 The "golden rule," at least, would have conceded to me 
 a sort of right in the matter, and so I ventured to plead 
 with the first and greatest wrong-doer and invader of 
 this small territory I had marked out as my own. But 
 I soon found that no such delicate considerations were 
 in the ascendant. I must only flatter myself with the 
 numbers at least of the now huge progeny. 
 
 Singular, when I first tcok " Bible Forget-me-Nots " to 
 my friend Mr. Ward, he : ho )k his head and pronounced 
 an ominous negative. He volunteered to bring it out as 
 " Christmas Cards." To this I at once demurred, and 
 said I would put it in the hands of others. He was 
 always very kind. The possibility of bringing it out as 
 a shilling book flashed across him. The thing was 
 decided, and decided the existence of the dozen booklets 
 which followed. 
 
 The rush on " Bible Forget-me-Nots" at Christmas was 
 amusing and amazing. Lady enters the largest religious 
 repository of books in a capital city ; asks : " Have you 
 copies of ' Bible Forget-me-Not ' ? " Answer : " That book 
 is an unmitigated nuisance." 
 
 I told my publisher he never received a greater 
 compliment ! 
 
 1887. 
 
 " St. Paul in Athens." 
 A distinct advance this, as a literary effort. Having 
 been in Athens, and deeply interested in its localities,
 
 MY BOOKS 291 
 
 stood on Mars Hill, and gazed across to the Acropolis 
 ("these temples made with hands "), I had long projected 
 this volume ; indeed, ever since preaching upon that 
 grand chapter in the Acts (about Paul's visit), the 
 Sunday after the tidings reached of the Marathon 
 Brigands. Taylor engraved for frontispiece an excellent 
 photo of the Parthenon I brought from Athens with me, 
 and one of the Caryatidas for the title page. I dedicated 
 my companion volume, "St. Paul in Rome," to Warrington 
 Wood in life. I dedicated this to the same In Memoriam. 
 It has been exceptionally well received and reviewed by 
 all, I fear, except by that important afore-mentioned 
 factor, the Trade. I deem it specially well suited as a 
 gift to thoughtful young men, who often are repelled by 
 books of a more Evangelical cast. I would be glad to 
 think, when I am no more, that it survived me. I was 
 pleased, among other private notes, with one from 
 George Tinworth, the great mural sculptor of the day, 
 or almost of any day. 
 
 1887. 
 
 " Ripples in the Twilight." 
 
 Why speak of overloaded and overburdened lists, 
 when in the same year — indeed, a month after the publi- 
 cation of "St. Paul in Athens" — the above was ushered 
 on the long-suffering public and trade ? But the truth is, 
 it was ready, and had previously been arranged for, 
 while two others of the same series, "Moonlight" and 
 " Starlight," were clamorous for the immediately follow- 
 ing years. They were all composed of " flashes of 
 thought," extracts, some brief, and others longer, from 
 old sermons, MSS., and suggestions of the passing hour. 
 Being original — i.e., not gathered from published 
 material — I was sanguine of success, so also at Berners 
 Street. But it turned out to be of a very qualified kind,
 
 292 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 and had the other two of the series not been ready, 
 they would not have been thought of. 
 
 A little book, " Silver and Golden Bells," was pub- 
 lished, end of this year, by Marcus Ward. Artistically, 
 it was even charmingly brought out ; name, and I think 
 I may even include my Introduction, in its favour. It 
 would have proved more of a favourite, but it was 
 simply ruined by delay. It was not in the hands of the 
 trade till two days before the New Year, and this spoiled 
 it as a Christmas book. 
 
 Authors, like others, have often to exercise the grace 
 of forbearance. Literature is not all Elysian fields, or 
 Bunyan's " enchanted ground." 
 
 1888. 
 " Ripples in the Moonlight." 
 
 Alas ! this year, on its opening days, was ushered in 
 by an unspeakable trial. But for several weeks before, 
 the eyes which, on January 4th, were closed in death, 
 had lovingly read the above both in MS. and in proof, 
 and consequently it is always tenderly associated with 
 her voice, and her wise counsels and corrections. It 
 was all ready for the binder before we left home for the 
 Riviera. The last sheet I had to correct was the Preface 
 and Dedication. The latter had, a few days before, been 
 resolved upon to another. But I had no hesitation, for 
 a moment, in superseding the name by one far dearer. 
 The book, moreover, itself, from its theme, was singu- 
 larly in accordance with my own feelings at the time, 
 and the "Moonlight Memories" of the hallowed past. 
 
 It came out in spring; but, though a failure, . I shall 
 never regret it. It was an appropriate souvenir to many. 
 
 This same spring, Marcus Ward brought out " The 
 Golden Sceptre." The Introduction was a favourite of 
 mine, and the whole idea of the book. But in conse-
 
 MY BOOKS 293 
 
 quence of absence from home, and inability to supervise, 
 it got spoilt in two small ways, the special blunder 
 being the oft introduction of the Bishop's Crosier in the 
 decoration, which simply ruined it for scrupulous Protes- 
 tants ! 
 
 1889. 
 
 " Ripples in the Starlight." 
 
 The third and last of the series. Very similar in merit 
 to its two predecessors. 
 
 Let me, at the date in which I now write these lines, 
 record, as an author, the memories of God's great good- 
 ness. My books, far more than other ministerial duties, 
 have been my heart-work and my hands-work; dream- 
 ing over them by day and in " the night-watches." A 
 delightful life-dream, truly! I hope I can say not one 
 of the ten thousand lines I have written would I recall 
 or cancel, though possibly with new light and progress 
 of thought I might modify or slightly alter. But thanks 
 be to God (whose gracious eye and hand have supervised 
 and strengthened me in this occupation of long and 
 laborious years) I have written and printed nothing I 
 am ashamed of, or that would do injury to the minds 
 and hopes of my readers. It is indeed a solemn and 
 thrilling responsibility to have been the teacher of such 
 vast multitudes on the most momentous of all themes ; 
 moreover, that these books may live on — in the case of a 
 few, probably will live on — after my voice is silenced 
 (Scripts nianent.) I feel how greatly helped and indebted 
 in many ways I have been in the composing of these 
 volumes — quite a small library in themselves — -to my 
 peaceful home, the best and most forbearing of dear 
 wives and daughters, ever ready to aid and cheer, and 
 often materially to assist ; the abundant leisure, at first 
 of one of the smallest country parishes in Scotland, then
 
 294 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 the noble stimulus of an intelligent, and in some cases 
 cultured, congregation in Glasgow, the studied adapta- 
 tion of pulpit work to that of the Press. Then, the 
 kindest of publishers ready to anticipate my every 
 wish in the style and decoration and illustration of my 
 volumes. Then, the fifteen years of absolute quiet in 
 the loveliest of " studies," with its cheering hearts 
 within, and its beautiful prospect without ; — all this, and 
 much else, filled my sails with propitious breezes. A 
 very small teacher of the age, verily, when compared 
 with the great hearts that have gone before me, or who 
 are still my contemporaries ! But, with humble gratitude 
 I Ihink I can say, " I have done what I could." The 
 responsibility of a writer is indeed a very great one. 
 As Bishop Thorold has well said, " The work of the pen 
 lives on, when the fingers are dust." May I venture to 
 appropriate Tennyson's lines — the words and request put 
 into the lips of his hero in the " Idylls of the King": — 
 
 " I have lived my life, 
 And that which I have done may God make pure. 
 
 If His name be glorified, and Christ's kingdom advanced, 
 I shall be glad indeed. Yes! O God, they are but mites, 
 but, such as they are, I cast them into Thy treasury! 
 Ravensbrook, 
 19th Jan., 1889. 
 
 January, 1890. 
 
 Supplement. 
 
 " Gloria Patri." A Book of Private Devotions for 
 Morning and Evening. Published by Nelson, and 
 chastely got up. 
 
 1891. 
 
 A companion volume, same in size and type, " Hospice 
 of the Pilgrim," the great rest-word of Christ. This has
 
 MY BOOKS 295 
 
 not been so well known. But regarding none of my 
 books have I received such warm and gratifying tributes. 
 1 would earnestly wish that means may be taken for it 
 to survive me. 
 
 1892. 
 
 Published at the close of last year, "'St. Paul's Song 
 of Songs": a Practical Exposition of the Eighth Chapter 
 of Romans (Nisbet & Co.). An original treatment, as a 
 " Golden Canticle," of St. Paul's greatest writing. I have 
 received gratifying testimonies regarding, it, which may 
 find a more suitable place in a future chapter. 
 
 1892. 
 
 "Birthdays." A birthday book compiled by myself 
 and daughter, of a wholly different character. The Trade 
 have again smiled through evening clouds. 
 
 [The Editor may here insert the opening verses on 
 the fly-leaf.] 
 
 Birthdays ! ye recall the olden 
 
 Years of childhood brimmed with glee ' 
 
 Ringing laugh and ringlets golden, 
 As I climbed my mother's knee. 
 
 When the tasks of boyhood found me, 
 Still the day was hailed with cheers : 
 
 Brothers, sisters, clambering round me, 
 Kissed and wished me happy years. 
 
 When engaged in life's stern battle, 
 
 Holding on my anxious way, 
 Voices old and childish prattle 
 
 Still kept fresh the natal day. 
 
 Now, though age's snows are falling, 
 
 Birthday tributes greet my eyes ; 
 Household angels come recalling 
 
 Golden anniversaries.
 
 296 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 1892. 
 
 " Pillar in the Night." 
 
 A book for the afflicted and bereaved. A companion 
 volume to " Bow in the Cloud." It has been pronounced 
 by competent judges one of my best, if not the best. It 
 was written at a time of sorrow. I took great pains 
 with it. Being for a special and limited circle, its first 
 circulation cannot be great ; but on that very account it 
 may, and I trust will, be more permanent. I know it 
 has already proved a solace to not a few. 
 
 1893. 
 
 " The Story of Jesus," in Verse. 
 
 This book is just published as I write. Should it 
 prove a failure, I may simply turn the key in my MSS. 
 drawer. It was a great strain in the composition, but 
 a very delightful strain. Much of it was composed during 
 a pleasant tour in South Wales, beguiling time in inns, 
 trains, railway stations, wakeful nights, etc., etc. A 
 few letters already received from men of " light and 
 leading" have cheered me much. I may venture to 
 append the following as a specimen of the poem. It is 
 the Gospel episode of the two thieves who were crucified 
 with Jesus. 
 
 [Supposed appeal of the penitent thief to the impeni- 
 tent.] 
 
 [Penitent Thief.] 
 
 Why mockest thou this dying Man of God, 
 His guiltless life-blood crimsoning the sod? 
 What gracious thought within His bosom stirs, 
 That prompts the pleading for His murderers ? 
 May we not, wretched felons, share it too — 
 " Father, forgive them ! 
 They know not what they do."
 
 MY BOOKS 297 
 
 What! railing still against that Holy One? 
 We justly suffer. But the Christ hath done 
 Nothing amiss. Steeped though we be in crime, 
 May we not listen to His words sublime : 
 Take to ourselves the prayer so strangely new— 
 " Father, forgive them ! 
 They know not what they do" 
 
 Methought no voice of pardon was for me, 
 No place of safety whither I could flee. 
 I deemed my flagrant guiltiness too great ; 
 All hope was gone : I sank disconsolate. 
 I heard — what seemed too gracious to be true — 
 " Father, forgive them / 
 They know not what they do." 
 
 He spake to God as " Father." Once that Name 
 
 Was lisped by me with reverence : ere shame 
 
 Forbade its utterance ; and I had yet 
 
 No robber-haunt at far Gennesaret. 
 
 Its magic charm in happier days I knew — 
 
 Father, forgive them ! 
 
 They know not what they do. 
 
 I have done evil — countless sins arise 
 In all their ghastliness before mine eyes. 
 Oft have my hands with human blood been stained, 
 Earth has been wronged, and Heaven has been profaned. 
 Still may the prayer be said for me and you — 
 " Father, forgive them ! 
 They know not what they do." 
 
 I too was privileged His face to see ; 
 I heard His words in distant Galilee, — 
 Their music lingered in my rocky cave — 
 " Those that are lost I came to seek and save." 
 His tones of pity greet my ears anew — 
 " Father, forgive them / 
 They know not' what they do." 
 
 Except for Him, of peace I could not dream, 
 With impious thoughts I dared the Great Supreme. 
 Nor God, nor man, I ever sought to please ; 
 Outcast, despairing, vile, — no words but these
 
 2Q8 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Could ever guilty memories undo — 
 " Father, forgive them / 
 They know not what they do." 
 
 I prayed the prayer— "O Lord, remember me, 
 When death has severed between me and Thee " 
 Swift came the answer, " Verily, I say, 
 Thou shalt Me find in Paradise to-day ! " 
 O welcome words with that glad Heaven in view — 
 " Father, forgive them / 
 They k?iow not what they do." 
 
 If He hath told of pardoning mercy great 
 To crucifiers, base and reprobate : — 
 A message of salvation full and free : 
 O if for them — why not for you and me ? 
 Grasp firm His death-prayer for the murderous crew — 
 " Father, forgive them ! 
 They know not what they do." 
 
 These racking tortures will not be in vain 
 Which close this cruel tragedy of pain, 
 If, ere the final sleep, you hear His voice, 
 Confess your guilt, repent, believe, rejoice ! 
 Take His last pleading as if meant for you— 
 " Father, forgive them ! 
 They know not what they do " 
 
 [The thief on the left hand dies impenitent. The 
 penitent thief, the first trophy of redeeming love, 
 ascends with his Lord.] 
 
 Death ends at last his agony : he is 
 The chartered citizen of Paradise. 
 The dying Jesus for the saved one waits. 
 Together as they reach the heavenly gates, 
 Above, the golden words still gleam in view — 
 " Father, forgive them .' 
 They know not what they do." 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, make the same comfort thine, 
 Which rose of old to Heaven from lips Divine ;
 
 MY BOOKS 299 
 
 Blest accents, uttered with His parting breath, 
 When, rising far above the death of death, 
 lie pled for all the world — for me — for you — 
 " Father, forgive (hem / 
 They know not what they d>." 
 
 1893. 
 
 Another slight essay in verse. A rendering ot Psalm 
 xxiii. into Scotch — and just inserted in Life and Work, 
 where it will have a Scotch circulation of 100,000. I 
 had long thought of this small effort. But it recently 
 took shape one morning, after reading Principal Fair- 
 bairn's thoughtful sermon on that favourite Psalm. Like 
 all my real successes, it was written "at a heat" — 
 indeed, in two hours. McMurtrie, the good Editor of Life 
 and Work, calls it " a treasure." I hope my Northern 
 friends will take kindly to it, and be pleased that I 
 have not forgotten my native tongue. It is the most 
 blessed Psalm in all the Psalter. 
 
 An "After-word." 
 
 I would be doing injustice to my own feelings — I 
 would be doing injustice to the memory of a very 
 faithful friend, if in these authorship jottings I failed 
 to record a deep debt of obligation to Mr. James 
 Watson, for very many years the head of " Nisbet & 
 Co." I have had several kind and sympathetic pub- 
 lishers ; but he stands conspicuous among all. I owe 
 him a debt of personal gratitude, which no words, how- 
 ever strong and pronounced, can discharge. He was 
 friend, publisher, and man of culture and attainment all 
 in one. He rose to prominence and success by reason 
 of what I would call his quiet power — the same power 
 which raised him to the honourable position of member 
 of the first London School Board, where his influence 
 and business habits were felt and duly appreciated.
 
 300 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Everything Watson did was on a most generous scale. 
 As one of the best known and most successful of present 
 London publishers recently said to me: "Ah! Mr. 
 Watson was a Prince.''' I never had an unpleasant or 
 jarring word with him in the course of our many deal- 
 ings, extending over long years. He anticipated, in the 
 same princely scale, my every wish. On more than one 
 occasion, he, his wife and daughter, were our guests for 
 some days at Lochard, where the superiority of his mind 
 and his diversified tastes in music, literature, and art 
 were conspicuously evinced. Yes, dear friend, you took 
 me warmly by the hand, and never relaxed the grasp 
 till that grasp was given for the last time on your 
 dying bed.
 
 XVIII 
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 
 
 This is the chapter above all others for which I alto- 
 gether decline to be responsible. To others it will be left 
 to cull and lop, admit and exclude, as is deemed best. 
 There are many far too generous expressions in the letters 
 of partial friends which may well be suppressed. That 
 good man, Dr. Wordsworth, Bishop of St. Andrews, says 
 in his autobiography (may I, without presumption, appro- 
 priate his words to a humbler subject?): "In the course 
 of composing this volume, I have been repeatedly con- 
 scious that I was exposing myself to unkind reflections 
 on the part of those who do not know me, from the 
 frequency with which I have occasion to speak — and still 
 more to suffer others to speak — of my own performances. 
 Yes, so it has been; but then, when I have considered 
 the matter, I have felt that the danger was unavoidable. 
 It lies in the nature of the work itself. Autobiography is, 
 and must be, essentially egotistical." — "Life" vol. i. p. x. 
 
 Therefore may I plead that, if with freedom the too 
 kind words of others may be used, I am not responsible 
 for these ; and if some undeserved encomiums be retained, 
 why should I demur with coldness to the decree of my 
 Editor, and insist that all be relegated without mercy to 
 erasure or to the waste basket ? 
 
 A goodly number of such notes and valued letters, 
 specially in earlier years of my ministry, have, to my 
 regret now, been condemned to that unlovable region, 
 and are irrevocable. 
 
 [The ensuing are necessarily of a most heterogeneous 
 
 301
 
 302 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 and unconnected character, as they are given in the order 
 of time and date, irrespective of subject. — Ed.] 
 
 The penmanship (is the deliverance on the whole un- 
 assorted bundle) of some of them, it must be confessed, is 
 a study, if not a trial, of patience and temper. Perhaps 
 in two notes I received from Dean Stanley he is the 
 greatest of transgressors. No wonder his printers were 
 in the habit, it was said, of demanding or expecting a 
 honorarium ! And some artists (strange in their case) 
 are quite as bad. The wielding of brush and quill would 
 seem to belong to two different departments. 1 
 
 [The Editor has curtailed most of the letters as too long 
 and diffuse for insertion in full. But the discretion al- 
 lowed has been used to exclude as few as possible, all 
 having a bearing on life and life-work.] 
 
 ( The Degree of D.D.) 
 " University of the City of New York, 
 
 11 30/// June, 1858. 
 " To Rev. J. R. Macduff. 
 " Dear Sir, — 
 
 " I have the pleasure to communicate to you that 
 the Council of this Institution have this day conferred on 
 you the honorary degree of Doctor of Divinity. 
 
 1 I have heard, from an artist friend, an amusing and characteristic 
 story illustrating the above. I would not have chronicled it unless I had 
 believed it to be true, and it was one of his brother, or rather father, 
 artists whose character, or, at least, handwriting, was involved. 
 
 No one was more fastidious about the legibility of his penmanship 
 than the Duke of Wellington, and few, perhaps, were subjected to 
 greater perplexity from the reverse in his multiform correspondents 
 On one occasion he had received a letter from a well-known artist, 
 named Loudon, containing a special request for permission to draw 
 some famous beeches in the park at Strathfieldsay. 
 
 The answer was, as usual, prompt, and as follows : — 
 
 " F. M. the Duke of Wellington presents his compliments to the 
 Bishop of London, and encloses what he asks, although what the Bishop 
 wants with them his Grace cannot imagine." 
 
 The parcel contained a pair of breeches (pants). The request of
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 303 
 
 " We rejoice in the widely extended usefulness with 
 which it has pleased the Master to favor you, and trust 
 you may be spared to see still greater things. 
 " I am yours, and most truly, 
 
 " Isaac Ferris, 
 " CJiancellor of tJie University." 
 
 1S57. 
 
 [An urgent and gratifying letter was sent to him on 
 18th December, 1857, followed by personal calls and 
 solicitations from appointed leading Elders, conveying 
 their wishes and that of the congregation that he should 
 accept the charge of the Cathedral (or High Church) of 
 Glasgow. 
 
 The following will give a brief detail of the circum- 
 stances of his declinature.] 
 {Declinature of the Offer of the High Church of Glasgow.) 
 
 " Gentlemen, — 
 
 " The strong and urgent representations that have 
 been made to me by my present congregation constrain 
 me to address you on the subject of the memorial recently 
 transmitted in my favour, with reference to the vacancy in 
 the High Church. 
 
 " After earnest deliberation on a matter of such grave 
 importance, and duly weighing the manifold claims of 
 the respective spheres of labour, I have come to the 
 determination that it is my duty, all the circumstances of 
 the case being weighed, to remain with my present flock. 
 
 " May I, therefore, request you to take, without delay, 
 the necessary steps for conferring on another the high 
 distinction you had, in so gratifying a manner, proposed 
 for myself. 
 
 the badly-written note was about beeches ; the Duke had read it 
 breeches. It was signed C. H. Loudon ; the Duke had read it T. C. 
 London.
 
 304 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 " In making this communication, permit me to express 
 my unfeigned sense of the honour you have done me. 
 I shall never cease to esteem this testimony of your regard 
 as the highest privilege of my life. I feel, however, that 
 the claims and kindness of a loving and attached people 
 are imperious, and must outweigh the advantages " of 
 position and influence which pre-eminently belong to the 
 minister of the High Church of Glasgow. 
 
 " I owe it to you and to myself to state that my own 
 wishes and feelings from the first tended towards this 
 decision, and it was only the counsel and importunity of 
 others which led to any hesitancy. 
 
 " While deeply regretting my inability to entertain the 
 recommendation which, I understand, has been forwarded 
 to the Home Secretary on my behalf, I do not regret the 
 opportunity you have afforded me of testifying that attach- 
 ment to a devoted congregation is a tie too sacred to be 
 broken, even when there is the conflicting claim of one 
 of the prizes in the Church of Scotland." 
 
 [In 1843, during his early Kettins days, he received 
 the offer of the parish of Dirleton, in East Lothian. It 
 is credited with being the most beautiful village in Scot- 
 land. An oblong green, bordered by picturesque cottages, 
 an ancient castle, and a sea-view with the well-known 
 Berwick Law and Bass Rock in sight. The same year 
 he was requested to become the pastor of St. Paul's, 
 Glasgow, and of the Tolbooth, Edinburgh (afterwards the 
 Assembly Hall), while the acceptance of Lady Yester's 
 Church was repeatedly urged upon him. In 1862 he was 
 also asked if he would be disposed to entertain an offer 
 of South Leith Parish Church. 
 
 The limits of this chapter do not admit the inclusion of 
 gratifying letters connected with these various overtures, 
 all of which were declined. — Ed.]
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 305 
 
 {Excerpt from Minutes of Meeting of Managers of 
 Sandy ford Church?) 
 
 " At a meeting of the Managers of the South West 
 Church, Sandyford, held on the nth January, 185S, with- 
 in the Secretary's Office, 54, West Nile Street. 
 
 " Present, etc. 
 
 " It was unanimously resolved that the cordial and grate- 
 ful thanks of the managers, as representing the congre- 
 gation, are due to the Reverend Mr. Macduff, for the 
 attached and disinterested conduct displayed by him in 
 declining the highly complimentary and advantageous 
 offer, recently made, of the pastoral charge of the Metro- 
 politan Church of Glasgow, and in preferring, at so great 
 a sacrifice, to continue his connection with the congrega- 
 tion at Sandyford. And the Secretary was instructed to 
 convey the expression of these thanks to the Reverend 
 Mr, Macduff accordingly." 
 
 [From a well-known Indian Missionary, Rev. Mr. Grant, 
 now a respected minister of Dundee. It is given simply 
 as a specimen of the many hundred letters of a similar 
 kind received.] 
 
 "The Manse, 
 
 "July 31. 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " The reason of my troubling you with these few 
 lines will appear as you read on. You may have observed 
 in one of my reports from Calcutta that I mentioned hav- 
 ing obtained an introduction to a club of native gentlemen, 
 embracing some of the first leaders of native society, who 
 met regularly for the study of the Bible and for devotional 
 purposes. The interest I took in this corner of the field 
 of my work was intense, and for eighteen months every 
 Saturday evening I met with them, and spent several 
 hours in the endeavour to open up truth as in Christ re- 
 
 20
 
 306 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 vealed. Several of these bagan to call themselves openly 
 ' Christians,' to attend regularly on the preaching of the 
 Word at Church, and four of these even sat down to- 
 gether and commemorated Christ's death. 
 
 " One of my great objects was to direct their reading 
 (they were all thoroughly educated men, and the youngest 
 of them several years older than myself), and, among 
 others, I took the liberty of recommending some of your 
 books. (One of their number, a wealthy merchant, spent 
 several hundred rupees in buying distinctively Christian 
 books for their own reading, and for distribution among 
 their friends.) Soon every one of your books which could 
 be got in Calcutta was read by them, and two — but I 
 forget which of them — which could not be got there, 
 were sent for to England. 
 
 " I now come to the reason for my writing to you. My 
 illness came, and, about the same time, the gentleman in 
 whose house we had been accustomed to meet began to 
 sink in a consumptive decline. Hearing that I was finally 
 ordered home, he got his son to write to me, asking me, 
 if I could possibly manage it, to visit him before I left. 
 I got over to see him, and sat by his side as long as 
 either of us could stand it, and as long as I live I can 
 never forget the scene. He held my hand in his, while 
 he expressed his firm faith in Christ. ' He, and He alone, 
 is my Hope; I trust in Him, and no one or nothing else. 
 Oh! Mr. Grant, I do love Him' (and I remember these 
 his exact words whilst the tears rained down his cheeks), 
 'and my only sorrow is that I can't love Him enough. 
 But He is strengthening it.' And then he continued; 
 'When you go to Scotland you will see Dr. Macduff; tell 
 him from me, that if I had sufficient strength I would 
 write to him myself, but that I have not; that I thank 
 God for him, and that on this my death-bed I have re- 
 ceived ' (these again are his exact words, and I am rather
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 307 
 
 softening in the other words his expressions of gratitude) 
 ' inexpressible consolation from his books. My son reads 
 them to me, and he has now gone through them all ex- 
 cept ' (mentioning the two which he had not received), 
 ' and these are on their way from England, and I hope 
 they may reach me in time.' 
 
 " I promised to tell you of this, and as I am not likely 
 to have an opportunity of seeing you, I take the liberty 
 of writing. I am sure I need no further apology, know- 
 ing, as I do, how the heart yearns for some token of" 
 successful work. Though unbaptized with water, yet I 
 fully believe that if ever a Christian man lived or died, 
 my friend was one — and I would prefer the blessing he 
 gave to you, to any treasure the world could give. This 
 man was a Brahmin by caste, about sixty-five years of 
 age, a member of the Legislative Council of Bengal (which 
 fact shows what his social position was), and one of the 
 leaders of native society. For the past year or two he 
 made no secret of his belief in Christ, as he once said 
 to me in the presence of some twenty native gentlemen, 
 ' as the One Mediator between God and man.' In his 
 heart, comforted and built up in the faith and love of 
 Christ, you have an everlasting monument. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 "Charles M.Grant." 
 
 {From the Rev. Dr. Guthrie, Edinburgh.) 
 
 " i, Salisbury Road, Edinburgh, 
 
 "8th November, 186 1. 
 " My dear Mr. Macduff, — 
 
 " You served, as we all recollect, our Ragged School 
 cause once. I applied last year to Dr. N. Macleod, and 
 he kindly came to our aid. ... I have no help for 
 it but to apply to you. The real truth is, I must have a 
 man of mark. In our present position we cannot put our
 
 308 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 trust in Government grants ; and since we cannot trust to 
 support from national funds, we must, under God, trust 
 to the heads and hearts of the people. Our meeting will 
 be held some time next month. . . . My anxieties will 
 cease if I can secure 3^011. So do come, and bring with 
 you Mrs. Macduff, and take up your abode with us. My 
 wife sends her kind regards, and hopes you will do this, 
 and we will do our best to make you comfortable, and 
 we will get some friends to meet you at dinner, and after 
 they are off we can crack over our Continental expedi- 
 tions till midnight. . . . We have very pleasant re- 
 collections of our Paris rencontre. 
 
 " Yours with much esteem, 
 
 "Thomas Guthrie." 
 
 I had several pleasant meetings with Dr. Guthrie, 
 11 domo, forique," social and platform: whether at the hos- 
 pitable table of Mr., afterwards Sir, George Burns (an 
 evening when the Doctor was all aglow with his fund 
 of anecdote) ; or in the Hotel du Louvre, in Paris, with 
 a happy family gathering; or in the town of Geneva, 
 where I was one of many hearers in the old Cathedral, 
 listening to his fascinating pleadings on the favourite 
 theme of Ragged Schools, and that, too, from the pulpit 
 of Calvin ! A note from myself to him, from another 
 part of Switzerland, in which I alluded to the memories 
 of that day and address, I see he had kept, as I found it, 
 to my surprise, in his Biography. One token of his re- 
 gard I cannot readily forget. When the bitterness of 
 Free-Churchism was still rampant, and the strength of 
 his own convictions was well known, a proposal (which, 
 however, " fell through ") was made to unite " Bond " and 
 " Free " one winter in the same Church in Rome. He, 
 the representative of the latter, kindly stipulated that 
 I should be his colleague.
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 309 
 
 With these recollections of, and associations with, the 
 greatest pulpit orator and most genial man of his day, 
 the following " In Memoriam " tribute was at least genuine 
 and from the heart. I may give it here. I wrote it one 
 day in the gardens of the Crystal Palace, on hearing of 
 his death, the winter spent at Norwood while my house 
 was being built at Chislehurst. 
 
 's> 
 
 THOMAS GUTHRIE, D.D. 
 Funeral Day, February 28, 1S73. 
 
 A Prince in Israel and Great Man has fallen, 
 Loved and revered by peasant and by peer ; 
 
 No pompous rites — no hired minstrels call in, — 
 A mourning Nation gathers round his bier. 
 
 On comes the funeral car ! All heads uncover 
 
 Down the long surging crowd which line the way ; 
 
 With bated breath each whispers to the other, 
 " A Prince and Great Man fallen has to-day ! " 
 
 By whom shall best the funeral hymn be chanted ? 
 
 Who on his sod shall lay the Immortelle} 
 Shall some Cathedral's chancel-choir be wanted, 
 
 And courtly fingers strew the mute farewell ? 
 
 No ! call the Arabs of his much-loved city, 
 Those once of ragged dress and weary limb, 
 
 The outcasts who engrossed his manly pity, 
 No surpliced choristers so dear to him. 
 
 Still are his words of burning pathos ringing — 
 Who can forget the magic of their power? 
 
 New strength imparting — fresh resolves upbringing 
 That long survived their fleeting Sabbath hour. 
 
 He's gone ! — Yet not with folded wing inglorious, 
 To cease his loves and labours in the skies ; 
 
 But to still nobler heights to soar victorious, 
 New wastes reclaim — new worlds evangelize. 
 
 Lay him to slumber, full of years, and hoary, 
 Where rests his Chief, with Chieftains all around, 
 
 No mighty Minster, with its sculptured story, 
 Garners such dust as does that hallowed ground.
 
 3'° DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 He needs no funeral bell from tower or steeple, 
 No salvo loud, no roll of muffled drum, 
 
 His panegyric is a mourning people, 
 
 His unhired Minstrel — wailing Christendom. 
 
 To the loved turf — baptized to-day with weeping, 
 No age will cease its tribute tear to bring ; 
 
 This choice "God's acre" is in Angel-keeping; 
 Leave him to slumber, "every inch a King." 
 
 (From Lord Lawrence, on the Death of his Cliild.) 
 
 "6, Upper Hyde Park Gardens, W., 
 
 "6th March, 1861. 
 " My dear Mr. Macduff, — 
 
 " I write to thank you and your dear wife for your 
 
 very kind letter, sympathizing with us on the death of 
 
 our darling child. Assuredly it has been a sad blow to 
 
 us, but particularly to the dear mother. But we bow 
 
 to the will of our God, and feel that He knows best 
 
 what is good for us all. 
 
 " There cannot be any doubt that such afflictions are 
 calculated to do us good, by awakening in us more lively 
 thoughts of the shortness of time, of the certainty of 
 eternity, and of the paramount importance of living in 
 the fear and love of God. My dear wife, though deeply 
 afflicted, bears up wonderfully, sustained by the best of 
 all consolations. 
 
 " Pray give my kind love to your good wife. We both 
 feel much your kindness and sympathy, and feel very 
 grateful on that account. 
 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " John Lawrence." 
 
 (Glasgow Degree of D.D. From Rev. Professor Weir, D.D.) 
 
 "College, February 14, 1862. 
 " My dear Sir, — 
 
 " It gives me great pleasure to be the official medium 
 of informing you that, at their meeting to-day, the Senate
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 311 
 
 of this University unanimously resolved to confer on you 
 the honorary degree of D.D. May you long enjoy the 
 well-merited distinction. 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 " Duncan H. Weir, 
 
 " Clerk of Senate." 
 
 {From Dean Hoivson, of Chester, on sending him Copy of 
 
 "Prophet of Fire:') 
 
 " Liverpool, November 26, 1863. 
 " My dear Sir, — 
 
 " I am much gratified and obliged by your kind 
 present of your new book on Elijah, which came to 
 me to-day. It harmonizes well with the current of my 
 thoughts this week : for to-morrow I hope to be hearing 
 and studying the music of Mendelssohn's oratorio; and 
 just now I am reading this part of the Old Testament 
 in the Septuagint with my head-boys. It is a rich and 
 instructive part of the Sacred Volume, about which I once 
 ventured to write a little in an article in the Quarterly 
 Review, which you may have noticed, in September, 1859. 
 I hope a rich blessing will go with the attractive books 
 you write for the edification of others, with a rich blessing 
 also resting on you, the writer. 
 
 " Your very faithful and much obliged 
 
 11 J. S. Howson." 
 
 (From Mr.- — now Sir — George Grove, on the same.) 
 
 " C. P., Sydenham, 
 
 " Nov. 26, 1863. 
 " Dear Sir, — 
 
 " I hasten to thank you for your note of the 23rd, 
 and for the volume of your lectures on Elijah which has 
 accompanied it. It is very gratifying to me to find my
 
 312 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 humble labours so appreciated — and still more to find (as 
 I do by the very cursory examination which I have been 
 able to bestow on the volume) that you have entered so 
 fully into the character and achievements of that truly 
 remarkable man. I am also highly delighted to find what 
 an intimate acquaintance you have with Professor Stan- 
 ley's works. When the new volume of the Lectures on the 
 Jewish Church appears, you will be delighted to find how 
 wonderfully he has treated both Elijah and Elisha. . . . 
 " And believe me to be, dear sir, 
 
 " Yours very faithfully and gratefully, 
 
 "G. Grove." 
 
 {From Dean Stanley.) 
 " Dear Sir, — 
 
 " You have forestalled me in my intention of pur- 
 chasing your book. I was attracted by the subject and 
 title, and I am much obliged to you for the present, as 
 well as for the very kind way in which you are pleased 
 to speak of my works, both in your letter and in your 
 preface. 
 
 " Yours faithfully, 
 
 "A. P. Stanley. 
 " Oxford, Nov. 29." 
 
 {From Sir Noel Paton, P.S.A., about Frontispiece to 
 " The Shepherd and His Flock.") 
 
 " 33> George Square, 
 " Edinburgh, 
 
 "Nov. 10, 1866. 
 " My dear Sir, — 
 
 " It has given me very sincere pleasure to learn, 
 through Mr. McFarlane, that my drawing of ' The Good 
 Shepherd' has, at least to some extent, fulfilled the ex- 
 pectations you were good enough to entertain. But in 
 judging of this sketch as compared with the beautiful
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 313 
 
 German design, I hope you did not overlook the differ- 
 ence that must necessarily exist between a delicate re- 
 duction from a large, thoroughly studied and elaborately 
 finished picture, and a pen-and-ink sketch, the results of 
 a few comparatively rough and haphazard lines, which, 
 once set down, could not be amended. 
 
 " Slight as my design is, however, it has been felt by 
 a certain class of minds so strongly, that I have resolved, 
 (D.V.) to paint it in extenso so soon as my present tasks 
 are accomplished. And as a companion to this picture I 
 purpose to paint another, designed several years ago, to 
 be called ' Mors Janua Vitae ' — the cartoon of which I 
 should much like to show you, should you be able, when 
 at any time in Edinburgh, to spare an hour and visit my 
 botega. . . . 
 
 " My dear sir, 
 
 " Very sincerely yours, 
 "J. NoiiL Paton." 
 
 "The Rev. Dr. Macduff." 
 
 (Front tJie same.) 
 
 " 33, George Square, 
 " Edinburgh, 
 
 " Nov. 30, 1866. 
 
 "My dear Sir, — 
 
 " I snatch a moment to thank you very sincerely 
 for the copy of your new book, which you have so kindly 
 sent me, and in the perusal of which I hope ere long to 
 spend some pleasant and profitable hours. 
 
 " The approval of my attempt to meet your wishes in 
 the matter of the Frontispiece, which you have expressed 
 with so much cordiality, gives me more than ordinary 
 pleasure, because I know it to be the appreciation of one 
 well qualified to judge of such things, and who, at the
 
 3H DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 same time, is incapable of giving utterance to those mere 
 1 pretty speeches,' the prevalence of which in this refined 
 age makes one chary of attaching any value to the general 
 run of complimentary remarks. 
 
 " I am much pleased also by your apprehending and 
 approving the thought of the thorn in the side of the 
 rescued lamb, as I felt you would. The thought is simple 
 and obvious enough. . . . Allow me, in conclusion, to 
 assure you how much pleasure it has given me in any 
 way to co-operate with a writer, the spirit of whose works 
 is so truly liberal and Christian, or, I ought rather to say, 
 so truly Christian, and therefore liberal. 
 
 "Believe me to remain, 
 " Very sincerely yours, 
 " J. Noel Paton." 
 
 The following letters and documents refer to the Resig- 
 nation of Sandyford Church and parish. 
 
 {From James Ritchie, Esq., Writer, Glasgow, one of the 
 Managers of Sandyford Church.) 
 
 " 5, Park Circus, 
 
 " Glasgow, 
 
 " 4th August, 1870. 
 " My dear Sir, — 
 
 " I am sure I need not express the deep regret which 
 I felt in receiving your note of yesterday, with the en- 
 closed letter to the Kirk Session and Managers. I at once 
 arranged that a joint meeting should be called for to- 
 morrow at two o'clock, as I felt that a document of such 
 great importance should be submitted without delay to the 
 responsible managers of the Church. I know very well 
 that the assembled meeting will be overwhelmed with 
 sorrow on hearing your letter, and that the congregation 
 will be greatly grieved and disheartened. For myself I
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 315 
 
 must say that it has crossed my mind more than once 
 that such a result might be, and that on the very grounds 
 to which you refer ; but I did not expect it quite so soon, 
 and I always felt the deep pain it would occasion, if ever 
 the event did happen, to every one concerned. I shall do 
 everything I can to have all carried out in accordance 
 with the admirable spirit of your letter. I thoroughly 
 agree with you in regarding with contempt any sen- 
 sational acting on such a solemn occasion. We will not 
 compromise each other by parading our grief. We will 
 act like gentlemen towards each other. We know full 
 well that you never would have sent such a communi- 
 cation, without such a full consideration of the subject as 
 to render any remonstrance or entreaty on our part out 
 of the question. The parting will be sorrowful indeed, 
 but we will take care that there shall be nothing to em- 
 bitter it, and that we shall all remain the very best of 
 friends for ever. 
 
 " With great regard, 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 " James Ritchie." 
 
 " At Glasgow, the sixteenth day of August, eighteen 
 hundred and seventy. 
 
 "At a Meeting of the Kirk Session and Trustees of the 
 Church and Parish of Sandyford. 
 
 Present, etc. 
 
 " ' The Managers and Kirk Session of Sandyford were 
 so affected by the unexpected communication addressed to 
 them by Dr. Macduff on the 3rd instant, and which was 
 read to them on the 5th, that they felt it was quite im- 
 possible for them in their sad state of feeling to express 
 in adequate terms their disappointment and sorrow. . . . 
 The meeting was adjourned till Tuesday, the 16th, for re- 
 consideration. They find themselves in the position of
 
 316 DR. /. R. MACDUFF 
 
 not being able to controvert any of the statements con- 
 tained in Dr. Macduff s letter, or to offer any solution 
 which could affect Dr. Macduff's proposed intention. They 
 have long recognised the great value of Dr. Macduff's 
 contributions to religious literature, the enormous circu- 
 lation of his works, and the widespread feeling that exists 
 that these works have conferred inestimable benefits upon 
 great numbers. They cannot take upon them the deep 
 responsibility of offering any opposition to Dr. Macduff's 
 determination, however painful and distressing it is to 
 them ; and the depth of their feelings cannot be exagger- 
 ated. They feel that to offer any opposition to the change, 
 or to make any remonstrance on the subject, would be 
 very much out of place, and most unseemly on their part. 
 They would rather, since a parting must be, cordially 
 co-operate with Dr. Macduff in making all the necessary 
 arrangements which this change will involve. They will 
 consult his wishes and attend to his convenience, that so 
 the fine feeling and cordial relations which have existed 
 in the congregation from the first, will remain to the last ; 
 and when the parting does come, it shall be not only 
 without any reproachful feeling, but with large sympathy 
 and warm regards for each other, and cordial hopes for 
 each other's future welfare.' " 
 
 {From Rev. Dr. Watson, of Dundee, one of the Moderators 
 of the Church of Scotland.) 
 
 " Dundee, 
 
 " August 12, 1S70. 
 " Mv dear Macduff, — 
 
 " I have read with great regret an announcement of 
 your intended resignation of Sandy ford Church. I dare- 
 say you have weighed the matter well before taking this 
 step, but your congregation and the town of Glasgow and 
 the Church of Scotland are not the less losers on that
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 317 
 
 account. . . . We have need of every variety of gift 
 and character in the Church, and I say no more than the 
 truth when I assure you of my great regret that you are 
 quitting the ranks of us who are engaged in the plodding 
 work of the ministry. Your name has been a strength to 
 the old Kirk, and has given it a good savour in many 
 circles, where otherwise it would have been counted lit 
 to cast out. . . . 
 
 " I wish you all comfort in your new sphere of rest 
 from pastoral cares ; and I only ask that you do not let 
 your sympathies drop aw T ay from us who are left be- 
 hind. " Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 "Arch. Watson. 
 
 {Rev. Dr. Smith, of Cathcart, on my resignation of 
 
 Sandyford.) 
 
 " Manse of Cathcart, 
 
 " Jth September, 1870. 
 "My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " Upon my return from my little summer trip, I 
 found your very kind and friendly letter waiting me. I 
 shall say nothing of the feeling with which its announce- 
 ment almost overcame me, save that I had not known 
 till then the depth of that esteem with wmich I regard 
 you as an ornament of our Church, and of that affection 
 which I bear towards you. Do not suppose that under 
 any circumstances I would have presumed to remonstrate 
 with you as to the momentous step you have taken. The 
 very attempt to do so would have been in the face ol 
 the estimate I have always had of your sincere devotion 
 to our Saviour's cause, and of your own wisdom to de- 
 termine how that may be best promoted. Deeply as I 
 must deplore, on public and personal grounds, your going 
 away from us, my only object now is, to carry out your 
 purpose in the manner most agreeable to your own desire,
 
 318 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 while at the same time maintaining the form of procedure 
 which the rules of the Church require. The Presbytery- 
 was pretty full this forenoon, and there was an almost 
 solemn stillness when your letter was being read and 
 laid upon the table. ... Be assured that no man 
 ever left the Presbytery bearing with him the same 
 measure of esteem and regard which you will do, or 
 leaving behind a deeper sense of the loss sustained by 
 his departure. Excuse me if I say no more at present. 
 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff, 
 
 " Yours most sincerely, 
 
 " James Smith." 
 
 (The Rev. Dr. McTaggart, of St. James' , Glasgow, Moderator 
 of the Presbytery at the time.) 
 " Glasgow, 
 
 " 9th September, 1870. 
 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff,- — 
 
 " I laid your communication before the Presbytery 
 on Thursday. 
 
 " It was received by the whole Presbytery with the 
 very deepest feelings of regret. They felt that they were 
 soon to be deprived of the co-operation of one whom they 
 esteemed to be an ornament to themselves and to the 
 Church. I cannot describe the silent sorrow depicted on 
 the faces of all your brethren. It was something akin 
 to that described so beautifully by the inspired Evangelist 
 (Acts xx. 38). 
 
 " You cannot imagine the esteem and reverence in 
 which you are held by us all. . . . " 
 
 (Rev. Professor Charter is, of Edinburgh.) 
 " University Club, Edinburgh, 
 
 "August 10, 1870. 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " . .1 am very glad that I am not in Glasgow.
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 319 
 
 I don't know what I should have done without your kind 
 help and advice and friendship. But I must mourn for the 
 Church of Scotland's sake, and for the Church of Christ's 
 sake, if you have resolved to give up preaching and the 
 pastorate. . . . Will you let me just say that you are 
 probably not aware of the powerful influence you have 
 exercised on the ministers of our Church. We have 
 always been proud to have you among us ; and that very 
 pride was a good influence. 
 
 "... I could easily say much more, without telling 
 you all I feel. Again and again I would like to thank 
 you on my own account, if I thought you would bear 
 with me. 
 
 " I am, very sincerely yours, 
 
 "A. H. Charteris." 
 
 {Rev. Dr. Jamieson, Glasgow, on receiving " Clefts of the 
 
 Rock.") 
 
 " Glasgow, 
 
 " 10th November, 1874. 
 
 ". . . You have always been happy in the titles of 
 your books, and, in my opinion, the ' Clefts of the Rock ' 
 is the happiest of all. Not only is there a peculiar charm 
 in Toplady's hymn, which is a universal favourite, but 
 in these days of unrest, when multitudes of disquieted 
 minds are anxiously seeking the way to peace, and being 
 seduced to go in a wrong direction, your book will be a 
 welcome guide, and teach them, in a very attractive 
 manner, the true doctrine of Scripture for the salvation 
 of man. I am delighted to think that a writer who is so 
 sound as you are in the faith, possesses so strong a hold 
 of the Christian public. You have gained this position 
 as an author, both by your explicitness in the statement 
 of Scriptural truth, and the poetic beauty of your style, 
 both of which qualities are conspicuously displayed in the 
 middle and latter parts of ' The Clefts.' The beginning,
 
 3 2o DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 being wholly occupied with Scripture quotations in support 
 of tlie Divinity of Christ, did not afford you scope for 
 embellishment." 
 
 (From R. Bosworth Smith, Esq., on Lord Lawrence s 
 
 Memoir.) 
 
 " The Knoll, Harrow, 
 
 " December 16. 
 " My dear Sir, — 
 
 " Thank you very much indeed for the most interest- 
 ing reminiscences that you have been good enough to 
 send me. They will help materially to fill up the vast 
 blank which at present exists in the record of his early 
 life. I had seen nothing hitherto to make me suppose 
 Lord Lawrence had at all buoyant spirits in early life; 
 and the account about his choice of profession in Letitia's 
 room is most graphic, and will assuredly find a place in 
 the Biography. Most unfortunately John Lawrence's 
 letters to Letitia have all been lost or are not forth- 
 coming now, and anything that proves her influence over 
 him is therefore doubly valuable. ... An enormous 
 task lies before me, and I feel heavily weighted in the 
 race, never having been in India, and not having known 
 Lord Lawrence till the last five years of his life; but I 
 shall do my best, and reminiscences such as yours and 
 your sister's will help me greatly. . . . It is extra- 
 ordinary how few private letters of his have been pre- 
 served, and therefore it will be difficult to show the 
 gentler side of his grand rugged character. There are 
 many excellent anecdotes that illustrate the latter, but 
 not many, as yet, which show the former. 
 " Excuse great haste, 
 
 " With my warm thanks, 
 
 " Believe me, dear Sir, 
 " Yours most truly, 
 
 u R. Bosworth Smith."
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 321 
 
 {From HugJi Macmillan } D.D., LL.D., on receiving a Copy 
 of " The Golden Gospel.") 
 
 " Greenock, 
 
 " Christmas Day. 
 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " How can I thank you sufficiently for your most 
 beautiful Christmas gift, and for the very kind words 
 that accompany it! It is indeed a golden gift in every 
 way. . . . The Gospel of St. John is the ' cor cordium ' 
 of Scripture to me, the deepest and tenderest revelation 
 of heaven. And there seems something very appropriate 
 in printing it in golden letters, not only because of the 
 wealth of meaning in it, but also because it presents a 
 different appearance from each new view-point. You see 
 the type like ordinary type when you look straight at it ; in 
 a side light it shines with a golden sheen ; and in another 
 light it becomes dim and indistinct, and you can hardly 
 read it for the excess of radiance. Is it not so with the 
 wonderful words of the Eagle of God ? Clear and simple 
 to the straightforward gaze of the child and of the simple- 
 hearted; shining with the light of heaven's glory to the 
 eye that sees with the second-sight of faith ; mystical 
 and dim, like an Eastern night palpitating with stars, 
 full of thoughts of the illimitable to the soul with the 
 seer's vision, that can see through its tears a door opened 
 in heaven. . . . Such a ' libro d'avo ' deserves to be 
 carefully preserved, and I feel highly flattered that my 
 name should be inscribed in it by your pen. 
 
 "And with kindest regards and the best wishes of the 
 season, 
 
 " I am, my dear Dr. Macduff, 
 " Yours most faithfully and gratefully, 
 
 " Hugh Macmillan.' 
 
 21
 
 322 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 {From Rev. R. H. Lovell, of Bromley, whose services 
 Dr. Macduff frequently enjoyed.) 
 
 ". . . How we influence each other! how little do 
 
 you know what a stimulus and help your genial, kindly 
 
 presence is to me ! May you long be spared and enjoy 
 
 increasingly the Divine secret. Your works, / know, 
 
 bless many now, and will do for many, many years to 
 
 come. 
 
 " With heartiest wishes for you and yours." 
 
 * * * # * 
 
 (From J. Warrington Wood, Sculptor, Rome.) 
 
 "7, Trinita di Monte, 
 
 " 16th May, 1S71. 
 " Dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 "How glad I am to have received your very, very 
 kind letter, giving me such pleasant news of the good 
 situation of my ' Eve ' ! I cannot tell you how delighted I 
 feel, and also with your kind wish to have my group of 
 ' The Sisters of Bethany' engraved as a frontispiece to your 
 beautiful work, which I read, little dreaming, six years ago, 
 that I should have the pleasure of making the author's 
 acquaintance in such a happy way. ... I think I 
 told you one day in my studio, that it was reading 
 your ' Memories of Bethany ' that led me to the decision 
 of modelling that group, and after I had made the 
 sketches I showed them to the great Gibson, which 
 pleased him greatly, and he strongly advised me to make 
 it life-size, giving at the same time most valuable hints 
 which I endeavoured to follow. 
 
 " I am so glad to think you and Mrs. and Miss Mac- 
 duff' enjoyed Italy so very, very much. How I do wish 
 you were to be here next winter ! 
 
 " I look forward with much pleasure to your kind and 
 valued invitation to come and visit vou in Scotland. ..."
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 323 
 
 {From his ever-kind friend James Watson, Esq., Head of 
 
 Messrs. Nisbel & Co.) 
 
 "21, Berners Street, 
 " London, 
 
 " lotJi June, 1S79. 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " I have just returned from Miss Havergal's funeral 
 — such a bright sunset. . . . We laid all that the earth 
 now holds of her beside her father, in the quiet church- 
 yard of the parish of which for many years he was 
 rector, and where she was born. 
 
 "I received her last note only yesterday morning, and 
 as it contains a reference to you, I send it to you. 
 Kindly return it to me. 
 
 " Ever yours most truly, 
 
 " James Watson." 
 
 {From Mr. Sankey — Moody and Sankey.) 
 
 " London, E.C., 
 
 " December 13. 
 " Dear Sir, — 
 
 " I am desirous of using your fine hymn, ' Christ is 
 coming, let Creation,' etc., in a new collection of Sacred 
 Songs and Solos, and write to you for permission to use 
 the same. The hymn has been set to an excellent tune 
 by a friend in Brooklyn, N.Y., and is quite a favourite 
 in that country. 
 
 " Your kind consent for its use in my new book will 
 very greatly oblige, 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " Ira D. Sankey.
 
 324 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 {From the same.) 
 
 " London, E.C., 
 
 "Dec. 15, 1887. 
 " Dear Brother, — 
 
 "Your very kind note just received, and I hasten 
 to thank you for the permission granted. And may the 
 Master grant His rich blessing to its use. Our new 
 book is now made up, and will be published in a few 
 days; but I will take your new hymn home with me to 
 America, and do the best I can at setting it to music, 
 
 and have it ready for future use. 
 "With kindest regards, 
 
 " I am, yours truly, 
 
 "Ira D. Sankey." 
 
 That " new hymn " above referred to had a special 
 interest to both writers. It was composed on one of 
 those occasions, not readily to be forgot, when the twc 
 American Evangelists had taken the religious world of 
 London by storm, and gathered vast crowds to listen to 
 their earnest pleadings I found myself in the midst 
 of that dense multitude in the Haymarket Theatre. I 
 had gone long before the appointed hour of meeting, 
 but could only find space in the upper gallery. To 
 while away the time, I was under the spell of some 
 strange irresistible impulse to take out my pencil, and 
 on a scrap of paper to write a hymn. It was somewhat 
 polished and improved on my return home. I may give 
 it here in extenso. In sending it to Mr. S., I am not 
 sure that I revealed fully to him its occasion and birth- 
 place (which I should have done). 
 
 THE YEARNING OF THE FATHER AND THE SIGH OF 
 
 THE PRODIGAL. 
 
 " Return, return, the way is long and dreary ; 
 Return, return, O wand'rer sad and weary ;
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 325 
 
 Why so with sin beguiled ? 
 Thy Father's heart is breaking 
 With this cruel long forsaking. 
 
 Come back, come back, My child." 
 
 "Gladly I would, for with hunger I am perishing, 
 The memories of home still fondly I am cherishing, 
 I am weary in the wild : 
 No Sabbath bells now ringing, 
 No loving voices bringing 
 
 Peace to this heart defiled ! " 
 
 " Return, return ; why any longer linger ? 
 There are sandals for your feet, and a ring to deck your finger ; 
 Your Father, reconciled, 
 With pity will behold you, 
 In His arms He will enfold you, 
 
 Come back, come back, My child ! " 
 
 " I come, I come ; my heart with joy is beating ; 
 I come, I come, as I hear Thee thus entreating, 
 With accents fond and mild. 
 I thought myself forsaken, 
 But to-morrow I'll awaken — 
 
 Waken once more, Thy child ! " 
 
 " Oh, joyful sight ! at last he is appearing ; 
 Light up the festal hall — the wanderer is nearing ; 
 Go let the board be piled : 
 Let fatted calf be killed for him, 
 And golden goblets filled for him, — 
 I've found, I've found My child ! " 
 
 October, 1SS4. 
 Fragments of notes on the receipt of his book of verse, 
 " Knocking." 
 
 {From Dr. HugJi Macmillan.) 
 
 " Greenock, N.B., 
 
 " 9th October, 1SS4. 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " Allow me to thank you warmly for }'Our very 
 
 kind presentation copy of your last book, ' Knocking.' It
 
 326 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 is most beautifully got up, and its contents possess all the 
 charm and suggestiveness which we are accustomed to 
 expect from the author. I have read it with unfeigned 
 pleasure and profit. It is a gem with many facets ex- 
 quisitely cut, and radiating the many lights of the sub- 
 ject. ... I rejoice to find a tree that, season after 
 season, has produced such a bountiful crop of precious 
 fruit for so many long years, still laden with beautiful 
 blooms. 
 
 " Yours most faithfully, 
 
 " Hugh Macmillan." 
 
 (From Miss S. Doudney.) 
 
 "Nov. 7, 1884. 
 " Dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " . . . ' Knocking ' has only just reached me. I 
 have been moving from place to place, and it has fol- 
 lowed me here. 
 
 " How beautiful your poetry is ! It has on me a calm- 
 ing, soothing influence which words fail to describe. 
 When I take the book at the close of a busy day, and 
 ponder alone over the verses, I feel that the world's din 
 is hushed for a time, and I am drawing near the ' ever- 
 lasting doors.' 
 
 "... May you be spared for many years to a world 
 which is always needing a calm voice like yours. It 
 goes a great deal farther than some of the louder tones, 
 and its echoes linger long in the heart. 
 
 " Ever yours gratefully and truly, 
 
 " Sarah Doudney." 
 
 (From Rev. R. H. Lovell, Bromley.) 
 
 " October 4, 1884. 
 " Dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " You have kept the best wine until now. I was
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 327 
 
 obliged to put down my sermon-writing and read without 
 a stop till done. It is a series of Life Chords. . . . 
 
 "R. H. Lovell." 
 
 {From Rev. C. H. Spuvgeon.) 
 
 " Nightingale Lane, 
 
 " Clapham, 
 " December 30, 1883. 
 " My dear Sir, — 
 
 " Your good words are a cordial to me. I have 
 learned to live above human sympathy, and at the same 
 time to feel the sweetness of it. 
 
 " Any good word I have spoken of your works may 
 bear interest rather than discount, for I have sought 
 rather to be fair than favourable, having an eye to the 
 interest of readers rather than authors, as I think a 
 reviewer should. Your numerous works have brought 
 truth under the eyes of thousands who would not have 
 seen it unless you had put it so pleasantly. 
 
 " I had no idea you were so near a neighbour. How 
 you northern brethren love us and dwell among us ! 
 And how welcome you are! 
 
 "Yours heartily, 
 
 " C. H. Spurgeon." 
 
 {From the late Bishop French.) 
 
 " Chislehurst, 
 
 " November 7. 
 "My dear Brother in Christ, — 
 
 " Though overtaxed with heavy engagements at this 
 time, I must write one line of grateful acknowledgment of 
 your note received in Sussex two days ago ; and desire to 
 praise God with you for the measure of strength restored 
 to you, so as to be able,, even with weakened frame, yet
 
 328 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 1 shew Thy strength unto this generation, and Thy power 
 to them that are yet to come.' 
 
 "This affliction has doubtless brought with it some fresh 
 precious lessons and messages to you, from which myself 
 and many others of the friends yet spared you would be 
 thankful to have a seasonable portion in these days of per- 
 plexity and longing for more rooting and grounding in 
 Christ, and perfecting in the Divine life. 
 
 " I may not add more to-night, having returned from 
 
 Sussex to-day and pledged to work in S.London to-morrow. 
 
 <l What a mystery is the bringing back of Zion's captivity, 
 
 which causes the Jewish population in the Holy Land to 
 
 reach near 70,000 ! Of this more hereafter. 
 
 "lam, 
 
 " With kind regards to your daughter, 
 
 " Yours with most sincere esteem, 
 
 " Thos. Valpy French, 
 
 " Bishop ." 
 
 The following note prefaces the letter subjoined, written 
 in Dr. Macduff's hand. 
 
 Front the Rev. Dr. Matheson, St. Bernard's, Edinburgh. 
 
 His verdict is accepted cum grano — be}^ond the mark. 
 But as his name will doubtless survive when mine is for- 
 gotten, let the blare of trumpet be. 
 
 {On receipt of " St. Paid's Song of Songs. 1 ') 
 
 " Edinburgh, 
 
 " October 17, 189 1. 
 "My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " I have delayed writing to you until I could com- 
 plete the perusal of your volume. 
 
 " I have, therefore, finished your work before writing to 
 you. And now that I have done so, let me congratulate
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 329 
 
 you warmly on the great success with which you have 
 achieved your object. You have invested a very trite 
 theme with a new interest and an unwonted glow. 
 
 " I have read nearly all your books from the early days 
 of Sandyford up to the present hour — from the time when 
 you stood before the burning bush, until this moment when 
 you stand upon the summit of Mount Nebo. 
 
 " . . . The links of this golden chain are taken up 
 and rivetted, until they form a sequence of which I was 
 hardly myself aware until I read your book. 
 " With kindest regards, 
 
 " Believe me, 
 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 "George Matheson." 
 
 " Story of Jesus " in Verse. 
 (From Rev. Dr. Matheson, to whom the Book is Dedicated.) 
 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 "I do not know how to thank you — how to express 
 what I feel. You have done me the greatest honour I 
 ever received in my life. By the way, have I ever received 
 any honour except through you? I think not. You en- 
 couraged my school-days ; you put me into Sandyford ; 
 you introduced me at Innellan ; you inducted me at St. 
 Bernard's; you stimulated my literary efforts; you got 
 me a call to London ; you procured me my degree ; and 
 now you have lent me your great name as an introduction 
 to my own small one. I think it is only now that I 
 thoroughly and fully realize how persistent and unvaried 
 has been your kindness towards me. 
 
 " I am proud to have my name associated with one 
 whom I esteem and love. Of the book itself I have read 
 enough to see its beauties. It is full of gems that would 
 grace any hymnal. ... I think you have struck a
 
 33° DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 richer mine than ever before, and one more in the direc- 
 tion of pure literature as distinct from Theology. 
 " Believe me, 
 
 " Your very sincere friend, 
 
 " George Matheson." 
 
 "Story of Jesus." 
 
 {From Professor Dickson, of Glasgow University!) 
 
 "13, The College, 
 
 " Glasgow, 
 
 "5//; December, 1893. 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 "lam very much obliged by your kind remembrance 
 of me, whereof you have sent so agreeable and welcome 
 a token in the gift of your new book. 
 
 "lam glad to see that, so far from laying aside or in- 
 termitting your literary activity, you are turning it into 
 new channels. ... It has needed but a glance to fill 
 me with wonder at the rare mastery of various metres 
 which you have brought to the service of thus clothing in 
 new forms the chief incidents of the life of our Lord. . . ." 
 
 " Pillar in the Night." 
 
 {J. H. Kerr, Esq.) 
 
 " 8, Hampton Court Terrace, 
 
 " Garnethill, 
 
 " Glasgow, 
 " November II, 1892. 
 ". . . I always remember Dr. Norman Macleod's 
 remarks in the Presbytery at the time of your retirement 
 — ' That it was nothing short of a calamity, that one who 
 was so gifted with the power to comfort should be lost to 
 the Church ' ; but I often think that by your writings you 
 are ministering to the larger Church— to all Christendom
 
 LETTERS AND OTHER DOCUMENTS 331 
 
 — not the minister of one Church, but of all the Churches. 
 And long may you be spared to do so, as your own experi- 
 ence has been a great teacher. . . . " 
 
 {From Rev. Professor Charteris.) 
 
 " 22, Ferdinand Strasse, 
 
 " Bad Homburg, 
 
 " 16th June, 1894. 
 " My dear Dr. Macduff, — 
 
 " I know you will be interested in hearing from us, 
 but I do not wish to entangle you in any necessity of 
 answering, though always and everywhere your hand 
 upon an envelope is a delight. . . . 
 
 " We often talk over those two or three beautiful days 
 with you and Miss Macduff. Not for many a day have 
 we enjoyed anything so greatly. It reminded us so much 
 of the never-forgotten Glasgow days, when you were as 
 an elder brother to me ; and when I was too young and 
 stupid and busy to be able to take it all in, though I am 
 sure, then and always, my heart has been yours. You 
 and Professor Mitchell took me to Switzerland also in 
 such kind, fatherly care as one seldom gets anywhere. 
 
 " It was very delightful to see you both in that Eden of 
 your own planting."
 
 XIX 
 
 A GREA T SORRO W 
 
 Old age has been spoken of as the Holy Place of the 
 Life-Sanctuary. Poetry, too, has sung of it, again and 
 again, as the calm sunset of existence — the golden glory 
 at the close of day. 
 
 'Now came still evening on, and twilight grey 
 Had in its sober livery all things clad." 
 
 These beautiful images are — I concede — often, generally 
 true. Alas! not invariably so. The Holy Place — the 
 Adytum of the heathen temple — all hallowed and sacred 
 as it was, was frequently enshrined in thick darkness: 
 the radiance as well as festal gladness of the outer courts 
 were there unknown. Then, the glow of sunset. Yes, 
 but at times afternoon promise is dashed with storm- 
 clouds, and the sun descends murky, and blurred, and 
 gloomy in the western wave. 
 
 Such was to be my experience, after a long mingled 
 day of shadow and sunshine; but with the sunshine far 
 in excess. The life-sky was suddenly to be darkened, in 
 the mysterious Providence of an All- Wise Disposer. A 
 great sorrow was to dim the horizon. I was, and am, 
 glad of the inspired utterance: "Ye know not what shall 
 be on the morrow." Thank God for the thought that the 
 
 *& j 
 
 morrow is veiled — that when treading what is bright with 
 flowers, we are ignorant of the slumbering forces that 
 may be underneath our feet. 
 
 The first cloud that burst over our peaceful home was 
 
 332
 
 A GREAT SORROW y^ 
 
 that which deprived me of the loved companion of thirty- 
 eight years. The Roman fever she had while in Rome, 
 fifteen years before, strangely returned ; and, after weeks 
 of great suffering, she was in a moment {syncope of the 
 heart) called to surrender the long trust she had so nobly 
 discharged. 
 
 I read lately, in an eminently readable book, as follows : 
 and to which from my heart-depths I say, " Amen " : — 
 
 "Some men would have w^avered in their purpose, and 
 fallen short of their mission, had it not been for those 
 faithful ones who knew how to brace their courage by a 
 helpful word, and soothe their disappointments with a 
 tender, healing touch. When such a woman comes to a 
 house, she enters it like a guardian-angel, and remains 
 like a blessing." 
 
 The funeral was a sad and solemn one. The gather- 
 ing in the Parish Church was evidence to the depth and 
 reality of sympathy. One very incidental memory of 
 that day must be recorded. In the course of the morn- 
 ing and forenoon, several boxes came from friends at a 
 distance, containing tribute flower-wreaths. There was 
 one case of large dimensions, but small width, which I 
 opened under the impression that it was similar to the 
 others. The contents deeply touched me. All ignorant 
 of what had occurred, that artist of rare power, George 
 Tinworth, had most kindly sent me, as a gift, a large 
 photograph of his wonderful terra cotta {alto relievo), 
 Cidippe and her sons. The present — in other circum- 
 stances much valued — would now have simply been put 
 aside in the occupation of sadder thoughts. But the sub- 
 ject, and the treatment of it, came to me with all the 
 power of a messenger of consolation : and that very 
 evening, in the depths of my sorrow, I could not resist 
 sitting down to tell the donor the balm-word of comfort 
 which he and his beautiful art had conveyed. It seemed
 
 334 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 like an angel come down at the troubling of the waters. 
 All know the old classical legend. Cidippe, living at a 
 distance from the temple of her deity, had arranged at a 
 certain hour to come and offer sacrifice. As the hour 
 drew nigh, the oxen that were to convey her in her 
 chariot had wandered astray, and were not to be found. 
 But her two sons, ever loving and faithful, added this 
 new proof of filial regard, by volunteering to take the 
 place of the lost animals and drag her to the Fane. They 
 did so. And the point of the artist's representation is, 
 when they had reached the front of the Temple. The 
 votive oxen are seen with garlands round their necks, 
 while the Priestess and her companions are on the steps 
 under the portico, ready to receive the illustrious wor- 
 shipper. The latter stands up conspicuous in her chariot : 
 and with uplifted right hand asks the Priestess to confer 
 on her sons, as a reward for their goodness, the greatest 
 boon she could bestow. Her answer was at once re- 
 turned — "Death!" The two sons, just as they are ful- 
 filling their mission, are pathetically represented as falling 
 down in the last long sleep. Death a " boon." "Death" 
 the best and most valued "gift," was the lesson I needed 
 that day. How it was silently read and given by the 
 S}'mpathetic soul of genius ! It has ever since occupied, 
 and will continue to occupy, a place all its own in my 
 drawing-room. " For so He giveth His beloved sleep." x 
 
 Immediately after the funeral, we were urgently ad- 
 vised, in consequence of the long strain of waiting and 
 
 1 In answer to my note, I received the following : — 
 " I was very sorry to hear of your great loss. I hope that God may 
 give you strength according to your day of bereavement. 
 
 " I thank you for your good book : glad to see such a kind tone running 
 through it. Your letter did me good, as I had a large panel broken in 
 half in the kiln, which upset me very much the day before. I remain, 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " G. TlNWORTH."
 
 A GREAT SORROW 335 
 
 Watching, to take change of air and scene. My dear 
 daughter — now only child — pride and comforter, had tended 
 her mother through all these trying weeks with an ab- 
 solute consecration, rejecting all proposals to have a trained 
 nurse — keeping up with an heroic bravery while her 
 sense of duty claimed her. The collapse, as I dreaded, too 
 surely came. The shores of the Riviera became specially 
 desirable to revive her prostrate energies, and under these 
 heavenly skies and balmy airs, to help to bring comfort 
 to her broken heart. We divided our three and a half 
 months' absence between Cannes, Valescure, and Hyeres. 
 No wonder that Cannes, during the first month of our 
 residence abroad, should have captivated us. After the dull 
 and dreary winter fogs of England, its balmy air, combined 
 with the clear atmosphere, seemed like a breath from the 
 Elysian Fields. It was absolutely intoxicating. While 
 the sunsets on the Esterels, as seen from the windows of 
 the Windsor Hotel, were something surpassingly glorious. 
 The second day after reaching this true Heliopolis, " City 
 of the Sun," I felt it a congenial occupation to visit the 
 grave of my ever-faithful and able friend, the late Dr. 
 William Robertson, of New Greyfriars, Edinburgh He 
 was a man of singular culture. Under an abrupt man- 
 ner, there was a true, glowing heart and vigorous enthu- 
 siasm. In the Church of Scotland he was patron and 
 promoter of all schemes bearing on the interests of con- 
 tinental Protestant Churches. He could speak Italian as 
 fluently as his own vernacular. Many a time the Wal- 
 densian Synod' at La Tour were cheered and animated 
 by this gifted Scotchman — eloquent with the music of 
 their own tongue. Yes, I stood with a full heart that 
 day, gazing on the simple epitaph. One objection alone 
 there was to Cannes. It was too gay and fashionable for 
 sad hearts. We longed for something quieter, if it could 
 be had — some more sacred and soothing communion with
 
 336 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 nature. We had heard of a retired hotel embosomed in 
 the pine woods of the Esterels, away from this babble 
 and bustle. We were glad when a bright afternoon to- 
 wards the end of February found us leaving the station 
 of San Raphael, a small unattractive town on the western 
 shores, and making our way through some three miles of 
 pleasant circuitous road to Valescure. The surroundings 
 of Valescure realized much of what we desired and an- 
 ticipated. Indeed, it suited us so well, that I may be par- 
 doned lingering on it with greater detail. Nothing could 
 be more delightful than to wander at will among the 
 tiny pathways intersecting these boundless forests, stretch- 
 ing northwards and eastwards as far as the eye could 
 reach. The trees themselves are, in the immediate vicinity, 
 not large. But in the distance there are lovely specimens 
 of the Aleppo, Maritime, and Stone pine; the latter the 
 same which Turner delighted in, and with which he has 
 made us all so familiar in his Italian pictures and en- 
 gravings. The only other tree which disputes the mo- 
 nopoly of the Esterel pine, and in various ways peculiarly 
 attractive, is the cork oak. Its bark, besides more homely 
 purposes (cork-cutting forms an important industry both 
 in the neighbouring towns and mountain villages), has 
 home associations, owing to its extensive use for decora- 
 tion in English gardens and London West-End balconies. 
 The larger examples look strangely marred and contorted 
 by being stripped of their rugged but most picturesque 
 " hide." But, like the crab or lobster similarly mutilated, 
 the deprivation does not seem in the least degree to affect 
 their subsequent vitality; for the barest and nudest of 
 them continue in unimpaired vigour and exuberant foli- 
 age. One feature impressed us. Owing to the resem- 
 blance of the evergreen leafage to the best known and loved 
 British deciduous trees — such as the elm and oak — these 
 vast expanses of wood, far up the hills and in the gentle
 
 A GREAT SORROW 337 
 
 valleys, give quite the impression of the clothing of early 
 summer ; and the illusion is increased by the sky of May 
 or June above head, rather than that of the least genial 
 month of sterner climes. This reference to the vegeta- 
 tion on the Esterels — indeed, all along the shores of the 
 Riviera — would be incomplete without including the Erica 
 Arborea, the " Mediterranean heath," which had been for 
 long a familiar plant in my Kentish "dell," and fair 
 representatives too; but which there, of course, indigenous, 
 attains wonderful development under its native skies and 
 favouring soil. The flower, then in full bloom, is simply 
 perfect, whether the prevailing white, or occasional deli- 
 cate flush of pink. 
 
 To enumerate the more distant excursions in this fa- 
 voured region would be impossible. To those of anti- 
 quarian tastes, an hour's walk to the old Roman town of 
 Frejus, standing on the site of Forum Julii, and the birth, 
 place of Agricola, the conqueror of Britain, amply repays 
 the trouble. What a wonderful race, to be sure, these 
 old Romans were ! Here we have extensive ruins, yet 
 complete in their way, of wall and tower, rampart and 
 citadel, theatre and amphitheatre ; though this latter, with 
 its capacity for containing 9,000 spectators, is suggestive 
 of the less lovable side of that blood and iron nation. 
 More to my taste were the vast fragments of the aqueduct, 
 — no ephemeral engineering feat — by which, in spite of 
 natural obstacles, they conveyed the water of the modern 
 Siagnole from near Mons to Forum Julii, covering a dis- 
 tance of twenty miles, and requiring eighty-seven arches. 
 Magnificent specimens of the Stone pine, already alluded to, 
 are seen all around in abundance. We somewhat coveted 
 the choice of a fellow-countryman, w T ho has built a beau- 
 tiful villa on a height hard by. A lover surely, moreover, 
 of the imperial old-world colonizers and their works; for 
 he has managed to include the most picturesque of the 
 
 22
 
 338 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 aqueduct remains within his demesne — in harmony, or 
 rather contrast, with the pines and their umbrella canopy 
 which stud his lawn. The sea, in olden times, must have 
 well-nigh washed the base of these Titan structures. Here 
 there is still, in wonderful preservation, the " sea-gate " ; 
 nigh to which, after the battle of Actium, a fleet of some 
 hundred galleys was kept for the defence of the coast. 
 While, farther on, in a similar state of pristine strength 
 and durability, is the " land-gate," or portal, under which 
 passed the great Aurelian highway, issuing from the 
 golden milestone of the Forum, and terminating at Aries. 
 Can I venture still farther to expand, and give to one 
 special excursion, in a later week, from our pine-enshrined 
 hotel, a more circumstantial narration? 
 
 In that exquisite circle of mountains known (as 
 already said) as the Esterels, the highest point is Mont 
 Vhiaigre, 2,020 feet above the sea level. The circuit and 
 ascent, partly by carriage, partly by foot, can be accom- 
 plished with ease in six and a half hours. Suitable con- 
 veyances can readily be had at Valescure by telegraphing 
 to San Raphael. 
 
 "Paul," the young intelligent driver of two Algerian 
 brown ponies, had all the winning characteristics pos- 
 sessed in these parts by Frenchmen — civil, affable, intel- 
 ligent ; his cap not only taken off, but kept scrupulously 
 off so long as he talks with you, whether a monosyllabic 
 reply, or, more frequently, a gush or torrent of patois — 
 the whole set off by a pair of gleaming eyes, such 
 as you somehow expect in this land of the Trouba- 
 dours. 
 
 Commencing our expedition by what is called the " New 
 Cannes Road," we speedily diverged into a succession of 
 pine-clad valleys, whose brilliant green was intensified 
 now and then by a sprinkling of olives, and our already- 
 mentioned ubiquitous friend the cork tree, recalling as
 
 A GREAT SORROW 339 
 
 counterpart home-scenes the best glens of Ross-shire or 
 the braes of Athole. 
 
 We had pleasantly threaded our course for about a 
 couple of hours, with no apparent failure in the capacities 
 of the " Algerines." What though the primitive rope- 
 traces give way ? Paul is equal to the occasion , and so 
 are his trusty friends, who seem, from their suddenly 
 staid demeanour, to have laid their account with such 
 mishaps as one of the ordinary incidents and conditions 
 of the journey. For, immediately after, their temper and 
 rhythm of pace re-assert themselves. It Avas singular 
 that in this remote region we should have come, for the 
 first time since leaving" England, on worthy specimens of 
 Tennyson's " immemorial elms." Here, however, they 
 were. Many of them, indeed, lopped, some injured by 
 storm, others gashed and crippled with age. But elms, 
 undoubtedly, worthy of Knole or Penshurst. They were, 
 of course, leafless. Not so a large weeping willow, which 
 revealed at its base, in the shape of an ancient water- 
 trough, the secret of its luxuriance. 
 
 The Riviera willow, as seen first at Cannes and now 
 in this higher latitude, is something altogether unique; 
 the long green tresses are pendants of exquisite beauty. 
 I could not help the verdict at the time, that these delicate 
 tapering " frondes " dispute with Wordsworth his assign- 
 ment of "Lady of the Wood" to our home-birch. 
 
 We ere long commenced a long and arduous pull up a 
 picturesque valley. The road is excellent, though but 
 scant allowance is made in the matter of latitude; and 
 woe betide any serious divergence. Drafted soldiers, or 
 guardsmen, have assigned to them the keeping of these 
 hill-roads in repair, and they seem no unfaithful stewards. 
 
 A point was at last reached when Paul brought the 
 vehicle to a pause, and pointed to a well-defined pathway 
 to the mountain-top. Two of our party essayed the by no
 
 340 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 means formidable effort. The track, indeed, is rough with 
 stones ; and, what was worse, where the mauvais pas 
 skirted the north of the hill, it was here and there covered 
 with snow, which had been congealed into an icy glissade. 
 But these small difficulties were surmounted by dint of 
 caution and extemporized alpenstocks. Paul was left 
 meanwhile to complete, by the low road, the circuit of 
 the hill, leaving injunctions as to the place of rendezvous 
 on the southern side. The ascent was in every way in- 
 teresting. Despite of February's " mistrals," and eleva- 
 tion, there were wild hyacinths in abundance, though it 
 must be owned the frost, and snow r , and aforesaid mistral 
 had worked havoc with their otherwise fully developed 
 flowers. One modest violet alone challenged admiration 
 and appropriation in the very centre of the stony path. 
 Some of the trees, especially the Aleppo pine, had, pendent 
 from their branches, or attached to these, the singular, 
 cobweb-spun nest of the caterpillar, Bombyx processionaria. 
 The tribe, or rather pest, is by no means restricted to 
 these higher regions. I believe they are beginning to 
 make such ravages in the plains among the fruit-trees, 
 roses, vines, anything and everything, as to demand ex- 
 tirpation. The numerous progeny, when they reach 
 maturity, are either deposited, or deposit themselves, on 
 the ground. A lady told me she had, a few days before, 
 encountered on the pathway a squadron — she spoke of 
 about a hundred — of these little creatures linked together 
 in single file, moving in the most homogeneous fashion, 
 in accordance with the above appropriate name given 
 them by naturalists. I understand that they are not un- 
 known in some parts of England. But they were new to 
 me. These occasional monstrosities were perhaps all the 
 more noticeable owing to the strange and complete ab- 
 sence of other animated life, whether buzz of insect or 
 song and flight of bird. Even the wild boar, which there
 
 A GREAT SORROW 341 
 
 had once a formidable repute, seems to have yielded to 
 " nature's great silences." But what mainly arrested the 
 eye was the wonderful clothing of the rocks and boulders. 
 I have often gazed, with Mr. Ruskin's nowise overweening 
 admiration, on the lichen of the Alps that had battled 
 with the storms and " reflected the sunsets of a thousand 
 years." But never have I seen anything to compare with 
 the green and golden carpeting on these Esterel summits. 
 I dare not pronounce which of the two colours is the 
 more lovely. Vain was the attempt to detach specimens 
 from the tenacious stone. Recollection, at all events, will 
 not lose its tenacity of these " things of beauty." 
 
 It need hardly be said, however, that it is not so much 
 near objects as distant ones which lend enchantment to 
 this as to many other scenes. The view gradually un- 
 folded was most varied. Towards the east, in the middle 
 distance, rose the main chain of our favourite Esterels, 
 whose serrated peaks singularly reminded of Arran, with 
 Goatfell and Glen Sannox, only the red porphyry rocks 
 of Provence glowed with singular warmth and bright- 
 ness of tone under a southern sun. Among these, Mont 
 Baume, with its hermit cave of St. Honorat, stood con- 
 spicuous. It forms, indeed, a constantly striking and im- 
 pressive feature from all points in the landscape. We had 
 admired its castellated top from many points in Cannes. 
 It framed itself in every picture among the verdant pine 
 forests around San Raphael. Indeed, the summit of 
 Vinaigre would have been bereft of much, had these 
 " crags, rocks, and knolls " failed to contribute their 
 quota to the scene. Inclining east, lapped in its own 
 semicircular bay, are the houses, villas, and monster 
 hotels of Cannes ; while farther distant, the recess in 
 which Nice lay — that headquarter of flippant, carnival 
 folly — -revealed its position, but little more. The distant 
 promontories towards Mentone and Monaco were shrouded
 
 342 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 in a sunny mist, while I need hardly say the vast Medi- 
 terranean (who would dwarf it by calling it a European 
 lake?) spread its wilderness of waters all around. The 
 eye, still wandering in a more northerly direction, is 
 confronted with the range of Maritime Alps and their 
 covering of snow; while the panorama terminated to- 
 wards the west with the familiar old Cathedral of Frejus 
 (St. Etienne), and the Mount Soracte-like hill of Rock- 
 brunn, though the Var mountain transcends its Latin 
 rival alike in altitude and picturesqueness. 
 
 A by no means difficult descent brought us, a little 
 fatigued, to rejoin biped and quadruped ; and at a rattling 
 pace, over mountain roads, we found ourselves safe back 
 to our Hospice of the Pines. 
 
 I dare not further enlarge. The day of departure came, 
 as we know too well in a sadder sense all such days do 
 come at last, leaving behind them mingled memories, but 
 memories of the beautiful too. Our fellow-guests, whose 
 casual acquaintance had deepened into something akin to 
 friendship, accorded the genuine English farewell. 
 
 At Hyeres we remained longest, as there my dear in- 
 valid, as now she was, became more seriously ill, suffering 
 from acute prostration. Many kind friends — strangers — 
 were ready and able to soothe and sympathise. Among 
 these I must specially mention, with much gratitude, her 
 skilled medical adviser, Dr. Bidon, and the then Bishop 
 of Truro (Dr. Wilkinson), there also for the benefit of his 
 health, not forgetting, moreover, good " Sister Harriette." 
 Hyeres has a considerable beauty and attractiveness. Our 
 spacious hotel was a couple of miles out of town (Costa- 
 belle — now royally associated), surrounded by hills clad 
 with olive, pine, and monster heath ; while a wide, fiat 
 plain in the foreground terminated with the blue Mediter- 
 ranean. The most notable feature in the town itself, be- 
 sides hotels and ancient castle, crowning the Acropolis-like
 
 A GREAT SORROW 343 
 
 hill, is the groups of palm trees, very specially one avenue 
 of them in the centre of a wide street. I saw nothing 
 either in Egypt or Syria to compare with this row. 
 Hyeres may well dispute with Jericho its title to " the 
 City of Palms." A few I admired at Bordighera may be 
 larger ; but the length and symmetry of this avenue stands 
 alone. 
 
 In all these different places of our somewhat protracted 
 sojourn, letters of condolence after our trial poured in upon 
 us. A few extracts from these, as specimen attestations 
 to the worth and goodness over which had closed the dis- 
 tant grave at Chislehurst, may be given. In most cases 
 names will be suppressed. 
 
 {From Rev. Hugh Macmillan, D.D., LL.D.) 
 
 " . . . I was much touched by the beautiful letter 
 with which you favoured me from the sunny south. I do, 
 indeed, feel deeply for you, walking in the shadow which 
 no southern light can dispel, but which in your case is 
 softened by the conviction that it is the shadow of God's 
 wing, and that you can put your trust under that shadow. 
 May He comfort you as }'ou have comforted so many other 
 mourners ! 
 
 "The dedication of your book (to my mother's memory) 
 is enough to bring tears to the eyes. That the book should 
 be living, and she not — at least, not here. Alas ! alas ! ' 
 
 " Words are indeed weak to express all I feel for you, 
 
 f or a , and for us all ! . . . What a wife, what a 
 
 mother, what a true friend ! 
 
 " So the beautiful life, often of suffering, and always of 
 unselfishness, is ended. God grant that we may all more 
 and more follow in her steps, for they were ever in the 
 paths of duty, of contentment, and of love."
 
 344 DR. /. R. MACDUFF 
 
 "I cannot help writing you a line this morning to ex- 
 press my deep sympathy with you and the doctor in your 
 sad, sad loss. An angel has left Ravensbrook for her true 
 home, where, ere very long, you both shall see her. . . . 
 The thought of her lovely face, always so full of joy and 
 peace, is with me as I write. She taught more lessons in 
 that respect than she perhaps dreamed of." 
 
 {From Walter Barratt, Esq.) 
 
 " I have just heard, indirectly, through friends at Cannes, 
 that you have lost your good, kind wife, and even now I 
 know not whether the loss is recent. It was not long ago, 
 
 when turning over some letters belonging to poor L , 
 
 and evidently cherished by him as mementoes of those he 
 had left and loved, that I came across a letter to him 
 from Mrs. Macduff, thanking him for a farewell present. 
 It was such a kind note that I remember thinking no 
 wonder he had kept it. 
 
 " Although no words of mine can lighten your and Miss 
 Macduff s sorrow, I would like you to know how deeply 
 I feel for you in your trouble, which would, indeed, be 
 great, were it not for that sure and certain hope that en- 
 ables us to look upon death as but the gateway to immor- 
 tality. When I recall the kindness shown by Mrs. Macduff 
 
 to poor H and L , and the ready welcome she 
 
 always extended to me whenever I came to Ravensbrook, 
 I feel that I too have lost a real friend, for a time, at least. 
 . . . For you, to whom life has been but a foretaste of 
 joys to come, the severance of earthly ties means more 
 than I can conceive ; but I do realize the fact, and feel 
 heartily sorry for you." 
 
 (From Henry Cratk, Esq., C.B.) 
 "... The memory of Mrs. Macduff's gentle and 
 kindly nature, so brave and cheerful amidst her trials of
 
 A GREAT SORROW 345 
 
 delicate health, will be ever cherished by those who had 
 the privilege of knowing her, as something that made life 
 better and higher ; and in the consciousness of that com- 
 mon memory you may find hereafter some soothing comfort 
 in your loss. . . ." 
 
 "That beautiful spirit shed rays of sunshine around 
 her which illumined your dear home. She was an em- 
 bodiment of Love, and if that is Love, what must Heaven 
 be? My thoughts always go upward when I think of 
 her." 
 
 "What a blank to you both! You three were so 
 closely knit to each other ! I hardly like to realize what 
 the stroke must be. But how your comforts abound ! 
 Never was there one over whose life, in every aspect 
 of it, we could more heartily rejoice and give thanks to 
 God! From first to last she has been a blessing to you 
 and to all around her." 
 
 {From Rev. Dr. Fraser, Newport.) 
 
 " I have just noticed in the obituary of the Dundee 
 Advertiser the sad announcement of Mrs. Macduff's death, 
 and I desire to express my deep sympathy with you and 
 Miss Macduff in your great sorrow. I know it must be 
 an overwhelming sorrow to you. You have been so 
 much to each other all these years, your sympathies and 
 affections silently growing in strength and tenderness 
 with the advancing years, that the bitterness of parting 
 must be especially keen. It is when the wrench of sepa- 
 ration comes that one becomes aware how constant and 
 unbroken has been the growth of life into life. Only 
 then, perhaps, do we fully understand how the sympa- 
 thies and affections of the heart have been gaining force 
 by mutual growth. . . . 
 
 " I often look back with great delight and gratitude
 
 346 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 to the time I was with you in Sandyford, and not the 
 least pleasing recollections are those associated with Mrs. 
 Macduff's kindness and gentleness. Even when her 
 health was far from good, and when she must have been 
 suffering much, she received me always with such a 
 pleasant smile, and encouraged me so much by the kind 
 interest she took in my work. To me hers will always 
 be a cherished memory." 
 
 (From Rev. Dr. Matheson, St. Bernard's, Edinburgh.) 
 
 " I cannot tell you with what inexpressible pain I 
 heard yesterday of your sad bereavement. It comes to 
 me with a sense of personal loss. I knew her only in 
 her days of health and vigour, and when my own nature 
 was more buoyant than it is now; but on that very ac- 
 count she always has been, and always will be, to me 
 associated with brightness. I never knew a more noble, 
 pure, unselfish spirit, nor one more ripe for that great 
 transition we call Death. Hers was indeed in a peculiar 
 sense the Master's work — the bearing of the cross. She 
 belonged rather to the class of the heavy laden than of 
 the labouring. The task committed to her was the carry- 
 ing of a burden, but it was a royal task, and most nobly 
 did she fulfil it. These long years of patient suffering 
 shall shine like stars in the kingdom of the Father. 
 
 " Trusting that you may find the fulfilment of that 
 promise, whose wealth I first gathered from your own 
 preaching in Sandyford, ' As thy days, so shall thy 
 strength be,' . . . 
 
 " I remain, my dear Dr. Macduff, 
 
 " Yours very affectionately, 
 
 "George Matheson." 
 
 ''I had seen her so little, and yet I have such a vivid 
 impression of her charming personality. I never saw
 
 A GREAT SORROW 347 
 
 any one whose goodness and gentleness shone so brightly 
 through every word and every kind, considerate action, 
 so that they seemed to irradiate her whole being." 
 
 " I think her life was summed up in those words — In 
 Christo, In Pace ; and that is why one could not know her 
 and not love her, and feel better for having been in her 
 presence." 
 
 We returned from the Riviera middle of April, taking, 
 at the doctor's advice, the long journey without a break 
 from Marseilles to Dover. But a night at the " Lord 
 Warden" there, replete with the oft-missed English com- 
 forts, refreshed us, and we reached our home — alas ! so 
 silent and desolate — next forenoon. But spring, with its 
 buds and birds, gave us the welcome otherwise absent, 
 and the old haunts and occupations were by-and-by re- 
 sumed. The "healing hand of time" — (no wonder) — was 
 slow on this occasion to reassert its beneficent power. 
 
 January, 1889. Our first Anniversary. 
 
 A year only seems to make more vivid the irreparable 
 loss — the sense of vacancy. " She is not here," is the re- 
 frain of the desolate heart. At every turn there is the 
 feeling, "one there is not." I am calm, and indeed often 
 cheerful ; at times singularly little able to realize all I 
 have loved and lost. But life, best and most beautiful of 
 it, has utterly changed: the object of loving devotion, 
 and so worthy of it all, is seen no more with her bright, 
 winning look, and heard no more is that voice, to use 
 Longfellow's words, " of exquisite music." " The glory 
 has departed!" But every day of the past year has 
 deepened and intensified the influence of character and 
 consistent walk: "the sweet reasonableness," the "true 
 ring of goodness" that never varied and never could be
 
 348 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 mistaken: absolute sincerity, the utter incapability of 
 doing an unworthy deed or uttering a base word. 
 
 My darling A , my support, comfort, strength, is 
 
 the gladdest possession now of these ever-happy and 
 sacred years. How strong is the mutual love which 
 with golden fetters bound her to her mother, and her 
 mother to her! There never was one passing discordant 
 note in their life of love. It made their existence a 
 little Elysium. It implied a wonderful self-surrender of 
 a young life from much that is an irresistible fascination 
 to others. But my dear child made a most ungrudging 
 dedication; and the sacrifice was not in vain laid on that 
 Heart-Altar, for dearly was she doted on in return. If 
 a few hours were spent in London with me, with what 
 quiet delight was she ever welcomed back, and the little 
 broken stream rippled on with fresh gladness. What a 
 joy it would be— (nay, let me say is, and must be)— to 
 that sainted one to know how her child, ever since that 
 moment of departure, has been my guardian angel ! I 
 think we are both devoutly thankful, in the midst of all 
 these strange, novel experiences, that our mercies and 
 comforts are so great. Specially have we nothing to 
 regret or reflect upon in the closing weeks and hours: 
 all was done that human skill and tenderness could do, 
 and done not by strange and alien but by our own 
 
 hands. What an awful moment when I heard A 's 
 
 step and knock at my room door ! more awful still when 
 my experienced first glance told me too truly that all 
 was over! Over without final pang or parting, the traces 
 of these weeks of suffering in a moment gone, and the 
 face in its ashy paleness wearing the sweet, calm pla- 
 cidity of best days. But why try to recall the picture 
 engraven indelibly on our heart of hearts, and all the 
 outpouring of sorrow and sympathy on the days which 
 followed, till resting under an Eden of flowers— at home,
 
 A GREAT SORROW 349 
 
 in the village church, and finally in the sacred spot 
 where now she sleeps, with Whittier's lines the befitting 
 prayer of the wide circle that loved her ! How touch- 
 ing, amid a hundred others, are the letters coming in 
 
 from A 's class — those to whom she ever gave kind 
 
 and loving welcome, and each in their own way dwell- 
 ing on her bright, genial, "heavenly" look! As I now 
 write, I have, next to my dear child, the most prized 
 treasure and souvenir in that wonderful photographic 
 likeness. How unconscious the Folkestone artist was, 
 and is, of the absolutely invaluable possession he has 
 
 given us. A has put it, too, into so exquisite a shrine, 
 
 with lovely words engraven specially on brass plates 
 for me. I like to have it on the table, open, at my left 
 hand — an ever-present inspiration and incentive. Then 
 at this first recurrence of the sad date, let me think too 
 of the rare beauty of her resting-place in Chislehurst. 
 Few more beautiful in England. Thanks to the rector 
 for so generously and sympathetically carrying out our 
 wishes. Both marble tombstone and marble curb, and 
 the ever-fresh flowers, give it only an association with 
 the beautiful, the church bells constantly chiming close 
 by. Oh, my dear one, this is not a farewell. You will 
 now, as you ever did in life, forgive whatever was re- 
 miss in me. I am very sure but for you I never would 
 have been as I now am: the hasty word was never re- 
 sented, the wise way was ever pointed out. You would 
 be the last to claim high culture and accomplishment ; 
 but you had infinitely better, though these too were 
 very far from wanting. A lowly humility would not 
 allow you to think of their possession. Yours was, in 
 one word, a beautiful life, in which no taint or speck 
 of selfishness could find place. You are honoured to-day 
 with the undying affection and gratitude of the many 
 who tell us they bless God for having known you.
 
 35o DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 I take A 's motto on the tiny brass plate on which 
 
 my eye now falls — " Amavimus — Amamus — Amabimus." 
 
 J. R. M. 
 
 " Great and good." No, not great, for the goodness so 
 overpowered the greatness. 
 
 In these latter years there was little to divert me from 
 the calm and soothing delight of a quiet home, with 
 much still near and dear to banish sadness. One small 
 outing, to both of us, was pleasant and refreshing. A 
 day or two at Mount Ephraim Hotel, Tunbridge Wells, 
 with the charming environs, including the grand old 
 historical house of Penshurst. Thence, by Dorking, to a 
 quaint farmhouse at Gomshall, near Albury, where, with 
 the use of a primitive trap, we were able to visit the 
 surrounding country. One day my dear brother William's 
 grave at Witley, another driving through John Evelyn's 
 old park, with its still rare sylvan beauty, ending that 
 excursion with the spot close by, where Bishop Wilber- 
 force's stirring life was brought to an end by a sudden 
 fall from his horse. A rough granite cross marks the 
 spot. 
 
 Then, on returning home, there was always the com- 
 fort of lowly but hearty welcome from our faithful do- 
 mestics. I feel assured few households have been more 
 blest than we have been in this respect. All may well 
 claim regardful notice. But one must stand out con- 
 spicuous — my gardener, Henry Y , for long years 
 
 now in my service. A man of good manners and con- 
 spicuous natural ability, one of those who can " put his 
 hand to anything," a veritable treasure in any family. 
 What is often combined with " good and faithful ser- 
 vice," a strong will, a temper keen as steel, but as pro- 
 verbially true, he and his master perfectly understanding 
 one another, that every work would be well done if not
 
 A GREAT SORROW 351 
 
 gratuitously interfered with. " Trust me," was the recog- 
 nised motto, and on both sides respected. If any were 
 to challenge his skill, taste, or fidelity, he (the accused) 
 had only to stand in the midst of the tiny paradise we 
 had jointly formed, and say, " Si monumentum quasris, 
 circumspice ! " But his strength of will and purpose had 
 a special outcome of gratitude. My dear wife — his mis- 
 tress — had not in any secondary but very real way edu- 
 cated, and that for years, the elder of his two children. 
 She had literally herself taught her from A B C up 
 through the three R's to music and other themes. He 
 could recompense this rare goodness in one only but most 
 significant manner. Of all the graves in Chislehurst 
 churchyard, none was so pathetically beautiful as the 
 weekly tended one, with its choicest carpet-bedding and 
 " In Christo " monogram — all done in " mute, expressive 
 silence," though a tear at times, or something like it, 
 stood in the eye of our Fidus Achates. 
 
 A favourite recreation resumed, ere long, its sway in 
 periodical visits to the British Museum Library and the 
 ever new and fresh picture galleries of London. As I 
 am incidentally referring to these latter (though using 
 very great liberties with chronology), I may here insert 
 the lasting impression made upon me by truly great 
 works of art exhibited in London, the marvellous outcome 
 of Meissonier's life-work. Two especially out of these, in 
 my humble estimate, distanced and eclipsed twenty Royal 
 Academy Exhibitions — his Jena, " 1806," and finer still 
 his " 1807." This last is Napoleon and his staff witness- 
 ing the furious charge of the cuirassiers. What a tem- 
 pest of emotion and heroism his brush has infused into 
 the scene! a very hurricane of rage and valour, saluting, 
 as they pass, " the man of mystery," who greets the 
 whirlwind with uncovered head. The contrast of the 
 calm, statuesque figure of the Emperor, on his superbly
 
 352 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 painted white horse, with the tornado of the former, is 
 in itself a triumph of genius. Then the care and elabo- 
 ration of every detail. Nothing is left to " impression- 
 ism " — the careful studies and sketches in the adjoining 
 room told the conscientious workmanship. Was ever the 
 caparison of horses or the uniform of soldiers more 
 cunningly wrought? Every figure seems to have a per- 
 sonality of its own, every face a different expression ; yet 
 all are alike, young and old, in gazing, as they pass, 
 with wild, dramatic enthusiasm on their demi-god, re- 
 solved to conquer for him or die. After seeing such a 
 picture, who can wonder at the fabulous prices obtained 
 for true triumphs of art in our times? And when the 
 millionaire gives heartily and ungrudgingly for other 
 more clamant needs, why should we begrudge him his 
 prize ?
 
 XX 
 
 ILLNESS. BIRTH DA Y JOTTINGS. LIGHTS AND 
 
 SHADOWS 
 
 There is an old saying, be it so or not, I cannot tell, 
 that afflictions seldom come singly. 
 
 It was to be true, at all events, in my case. 
 
 A new and hitherto slumbering force was about to 
 break forth, with, I may well call it, volcanic power. 
 Doubtless all the ordeal through which during two years 
 I had been called to pass, had paved the way for an un- 
 expected form of chastisement with which 1889 gloomily 
 closed. 
 
 [Some jottings — intended for no eye but his own, made 
 in 1890, on an anniversary always kindly kept and cele- 
 brated by others — may best tell the story of this new 
 affliction.] 
 
 Ravensbrook, May 23, 1890. 
 
 This is my 72nd birthday. 
 
 "The Lord hath afflicted me sore, but He hath not 
 given me over unto death." "Open to me the gates of 
 righteousness : then will I enter into them, and praise the 
 Lord." 
 
 That is surely my befitting testimony and heart-tribute, 
 in the retrospect of the year, upon this solemn anni- 
 versary. I may well say "solemn," for it is one alto- 
 gether unique in my life-experience. 
 
 353 23
 
 354 DR. /. R. MACDUFF 
 
 I have had trials in the past — many of them of another 
 kind, at which heart and flesh have fainted ; but this has 
 been an altogether novel dealing of that Infinite One 
 whose wisdom cannot err. I desire reverently to bow 
 and to adore. 
 
 Heartaches I have had again and again — gaps made by 
 the absence of the "loved and lost." But I was wont 
 to say, with a grateful boast, that for twenty-five years 1 
 had been a stranger to bodily pain. 
 
 I can say so no longer. The last seven or eight months 
 have carried with them a truly terrible experience. For 
 twenty-eight years, when actively engaged in the minis- 
 try, I was made familiar with hundreds of cases of sick- 
 ness and suffering ; but I deliberately say with none— I 
 may almost use the word so frightful as my own did I 
 ever come in contact. In my complaint— the very name 
 tells the story (paroxysmal neuralgia) — every nerve at the 
 back of head and neck was a chord of agony : pain so 
 great and so persistent, that I am only amazed I have 
 been able to wade through these deep waters. [Recovery 
 was scarcely expected.] I know that neither doctors, nor 
 nurses, nor my dear devoted A had the full concep- 
 tion of all I suffered. It was truly "deep calling unto 
 deep." The injection — the necessary injection of morphia 
 — dulled and deadened the pain for a little, and induced 
 a troubled sleep. But it was only to wake up again in in- 
 conceivable anguish. Though my reason never gave way, 
 the brain was unnaturally disturbed. To this hour I can- 
 not believe that all that tragedy of suffering took place 
 in this house. I am thankful, devoutly thankful, for this, 
 for it gives me no unpleasant or repellent associations 
 with home. I imagined myself, all the while, some fifty 
 or sixty miles off, at the entrance of a hideous valley 
 (truly a valley of the shadow of death) ; the gloomiest of 
 mountains, which I was bound to cross, rose in the dis-
 
 ILLNESS. BIRTHDAY JOTTINGS 355 
 
 tance. Close in the foreground were masses — boulders of 
 rock, bristling all over with iron spikes on which hand 
 and head were to be laid — this for weeks. And yet, with 
 that strange combination of distorted visions, the mouth 
 of the valley seemed the only spot on which I could rest. 
 Hence my continued petition to my skilled watchers, in- 
 cluding my dear A , to form my pillows (sometimes 
 
 in bed, someimes when I sought relief on [in arm-chair, 
 for change of posture), into a Valley! I seemed to get 
 a few moments of rest when this imaginary valley was 
 constructed by willing and loving hands : only, however, 
 to be obliged anew to face these ridges and cliffs with 
 their prongs of iron. Sometimes the darkness deepened. 
 But thanks be to God, in that darkness and out of that 
 darkness, the Figure of the Saviour clothed in white 
 seemed to emerge. His face was haloed in calm peace 
 and resignation. Sometimes He seemed to lay His hands 
 on little children — sometimes to stretch them out to lull 
 the sufferer. I only remembered (I had power for no 
 more) what He had suffered for me. It made me willing 
 to suffer for Him. But by far the most comforting thought 
 and memory I had, was seeing that same Divine Figure 
 apparently coming, as of old, on the stormy waves at mid- 
 night, and the words of the well-known hymn rang its 
 simple but wonderful chimes in my ear with their closing 
 refrain, till their repetition, hour after hour, became actu- 
 ally oppressive, — 
 
 " Tossed with rough winds, and faint with fear, 
 Above the tempest soft and clear 
 What still small accents greet mine ear : 
 
 "Tis I ; be not afraid. 
 
 ''"Tis I, who washed thy spirit white; 
 'Tis I, who gave thy blind eyes sight ; 
 'Tis I, thy Lord, thy life, thy light : 
 
 'Tis I ; be not afraid.
 
 356 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 " ' These raging winds, this surging sea, 
 Have spent their deadly force on Me ; 
 They bear no breath of wrath to thee : 
 
 'Tis I ; be not afraid. 
 
 " ' This bitter cup, I drank it first ; 
 To thee it is no draught accursed ; 
 The hand that gives it thee is pierced : 
 
 'Tis I ; be not afraid. 
 
 " ' Mine eyes are watching by thy bed, 
 Mine arms are underneath thy head, 
 My blessing is around thee shed : 
 
 5 Tis I ; be not afraid. 
 
 " ' When on the other side thy feet 
 
 Shall rest, 'mid thousand welcomes sweet, 
 One well-known voice thy heart shall greet : 
 
 'Tis I ; be not afraid.' " 
 
 I could not resist sending a special message since to 
 the gifted authoress, telling how unspeakably precious 
 her verses had been to me. 
 
 And now here I am, with strength still feeble and 
 memory slightly impaired, but still wonderfully restored : — 
 " the shadow brought back ten degrees on the dial." " The 
 living, the living, even he shall praise Thee as I do this 
 day." This long and severe illness has left behind it a 
 singular impression. It appears, in some strange way, 
 to divide my life into two parts or halves ; and as if a 
 great yawning gulf separated past years from those, 
 long or short, that are yet to follow. 
 
 I trust through these suffering nights I never murmured. 
 Was it wrong to feel (for this I did feel) the mystery — 
 yes, the profound mystery of pain ? 
 
 I cannot, I dare not, forecast the future. The waves, 
 hardly yet, have rocked themselves to rest, and the future 
 — this dark, unrevealed future — will obtrude itself! 
 
 " O rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him, and He 
 shall give thee the desires of thine heart."
 
 ILLNESS. BIRTHDAY JOTTINGS 357 
 
 A long period must necessarily here be left unchroni- 
 
 cled. 
 
 ***** 
 
 To leave home even with restored health and the vivi- 
 fying" influences of spring and nature seemed an impossi- 
 bility. But imperative reasons, chiefly connected with 
 house-lustration, demanded an absence of three weeks, 
 and the result was a tour of varied, but unending interest, 
 in England's fairest season, between Easter and Whitsun- 
 tide. Happily, too, during weather of exceptional loveli- 
 ness — a May at its very best. 
 
 And I must thankfully add and own, how the downcast 
 spirit revives under the beneficent change. I record my 
 conviction what skilled and successful physicians are 
 God's own balmy air and sunshine in His own beautiful 
 world. 
 
 A brief commencement had to be made at Brighton — that 
 tiresome replica of West London. Thence a long-desired 
 visit was accomplished to Southsea. The object of a day 
 there, was to visit the grave of a dear young friend — Major 
 
 R , the earliest school companion of my own dear boy — 
 
 son of one of the best friends I ever had in this world, 
 and himself worthy of his sire. He rests in a sweet, 
 retired spot beyond reach of the turmoil of an unlovable 
 military town. His comrades have attested their affec- 
 tion and regard by the erection of a handsome white 
 marble monument, with helmet and sword artistically 
 added in alto relievo. 
 
 That beautiful afternoon I resolved on making better 
 acquaintance with Mr. Ruskin's " toy," the much-lauded, 
 but certainly oz'<?r- lauded, Isle of Wight. Spent the night 
 at Ryde, and proceeded to Bonchurch and Ventnor, visiting 
 on the route the well-known Shanklin Chine. If nature 
 had been left to her own sweet will, there would have
 
 353 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 been here many of the elements of picturesque beauty. 
 But between obtrusive rustic erections, the debris of pic- 
 nics, and other qualifying objects, the panegyrics of guides 
 and guide-books have to be discounted. Much more beauti- 
 ful, because left to their own miscellaneous vagaries, are 
 the rocks of the " land-slip " — huge fragments that have 
 been hurled from their heights — who knows when and 
 how — close by, with their tapestry of lichen, trellis of 
 bramble, and abundant under-growth. For several suc- 
 cessive days they afforded a pleasing lounge and quiet 
 ramble, within sight and sound of very blue waves. Many 
 choice semi-tropical trees and shrubs ornament the villa 
 gardens of Bonchurch, conspicuously our old Italian friend 
 the eucalyptus. The recently discovered Roman Villa at 
 Brading occupied an instructive half-hour. The mosaic 
 flooring is rude as compared with Pompeian memories. 
 But it is an authentic relic of the old conquerors. The 
 coins are curious : and interesting, too, are the disinterred 
 bones of the wild animals that roamed the Island in these 
 early centuries. Another hour found us surveying the 
 historical walls of Carisbrook Castle, associated among 
 other events with the waning fortunes and abortive at- 
 tempt at escape of the first Charles. The moat, keep, and 
 walls are all redolent of antiquity, antedating the age of 
 gunpowder and dynamite. Met an old woman on the 
 road, very respectable-looking, but with one of those faces 
 that record in their deep lines some tale of care or trial. 
 To speak to her was irresistible, for, strange in that out- 
 of-the-way region, her figure was draped in a huge shawl 
 of Macduff tartan ! I apologised for the liberty of address- 
 ing her, telling that my name and the tartan gave me 
 encouragement to do so. It was a further small note of 
 home interest that the original owner of the shawl — her 
 son's recently deceased wife — was a Glasgow woman, and 
 destined the gift on her death-bed there. " One touch of
 
 ILLNESS. BIRTHDAY JOTTINGS 359 
 
 nature," etc., etc. Freshwater-gate was our next place of 
 sojourn for a few days. One long and memorable walk 
 was along the summit of the downs to " the Needles " and 
 Alum Bay; the latter, with its variegated coloured sand- 
 stone, more singular than artistic. What interested me 
 far most in that region was Lord Tennyson's demesne. 
 I was quite unprepared for anything so extensive, and, 
 indeed, so beautiful. The grouping of the trees revealed 
 the eye of the artist, as well as the poet ; — nature here 
 again left to her own untrammelled resources — " Heaven's 
 easy, artless, unencumbered plan." How the Lord of the 
 Manor manages in the most literal fashion to photograph 
 all he writes about, or sings about, — from "Oriana" and 
 the "Miller's Daughter" to his own Faringford! He 
 sent the most realistic of familiar lines to Maurice when 
 he thus pictured his seclusion : — 
 
 " Where far from din and noise of town, 
 I watch the twilight falling brown 
 Close to a careless ordered garden, 
 Backed by the ridge of a noble down." 
 
 While at the base of that "noble down" 
 
 " The Channel 
 Tumbles its breakers on chalk and sand." 
 
 He was at home. I longed to see him emerge from 
 one of his private gates; but the caged lion would not 
 leave his den. 
 
 Two days after, skirting the New Forest, which it was 
 too early in the season to re-visit, we paused, on our way 
 to Wells, for a couple of hours to enjoy Salisbury Cathe- 
 dral. This was not my first introduction ; and as is the 
 case with all truly great and good things, a repetition 
 does not spoil, but the reverse. Other English Cathedrals, 
 notably Lincoln, I may prefer ; but Salisbury is the most 
 satisfying of them all. How Charles Kingsley raved
 
 360 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 about its beautiful proportions, the grace of its spire and 
 the charm of its surroundings of turf and tree ! Wells 
 was reached in the evening. The main object of my 
 pilgrimage thither was to visit the scene of my kind and 
 good friend Dean Plumptre's final labours. If I could 
 not gratify myself with the pleasure of seeing him there 
 as he asked me in life, I could, with a Pilgrim's reverence, 
 visit at least his grave. It is under the shadow of his 
 great Cathedral. A sarcophagus of red Peterhead granite 
 bears on its side his name, and the appropriate words : — 
 
 "With Thee is the Well of Life. 
 In Thy Light shall we see light.' 1 
 
 I have said " appropriate." My inference may be 
 fanciful, but I cannot think the reference a fortuitous 
 one, or undesigned. Wells takes its name from the 
 abundance of its fountains. So abundant are they as to 
 feed, with purest and clearest water, the vast moat which 
 surrounds the Bishop's Palace. 1 Dr. Plumptre was one 
 above most men to enjoy the beauties of nature, and 
 none more ardently than the pure running streams that 
 were singularly deficient in his old Kentish haunts. But 
 all acquainted with him knew of higher, purer, diviner 
 tastes, intellectual, and, above alL, spiritual. His wide 
 scholarship and vigorous originality enabled him to con- 
 tribute, as few have done, to the solution of vexed theo- 
 logical questions. Even when unable to accept his con- 
 clusions., he managed to throw suggestive " light and 
 leading" on many passages and incidents of Bible story. 
 Could this humblest of men have himself selected the 
 words he would best like carved on his tombstone — tell- 
 ing of fountains purer than those that were gushing 
 close by, and of light that would one day illuminate the 
 
 1 The longing of "the Swedish Nightingale," as recorded in her 
 beautiful Life, would have been met, best of all places I know, at Wells : 
 " I want to be near trees, and water, and a cathedral " (vol. ii. p. 342).
 
 ILLNESS. BIRTH DA Y JOTTINGS 361 
 
 problems of Revelation, as well as the mysteries of Pro- 
 vidence and grace? So, at least, I thought as I stood 
 with subdued emotion and read the above words. I went 
 immediately to the afternoon service. By a mere coinci- 
 dence the verger put me in the stall next the Dean's 
 vacant one. Little did that official know how near he 
 brought me in spirit to the departed, and how the Psalms 
 of the day — the 38th, 39th, 40th — came home, in their pa- 
 thetic sentiment, with touching power. I completed this 
 visit to my friend's shrine by seeing the empty Deanery, 
 a huge, ungainly barrack of a house outside. But I pic- 
 tured him in his accustomed attitude, with hands folded 
 behind his back, pacing the gravel walks under the big 
 trees of his lawn. More sacred still was the room in 
 which he died, with its exquisite oriel window. I was 
 quite prepared to hear on all sides the blank which his 
 absence makes. Here is one of the mottos he had re- 
 cently had painted in antique lettering in the corridor : 
 Respice. Aspice. Prospice. 
 
 Yes, honoured friend, you occupy a place far up in 
 my roll of the " good and great." 
 
 The afternoon was pleasantly spent at the Cheddar 
 Cliffs. Let no southern Englishman say he has to go to 
 Scotland or Switzerland to see a bit of truly wild and 
 magnificent scenery, when he has the privilege of visiting 
 the wonderful "rift" or rent in the Mendips, not omit- 
 ting its unique stalactite cavern. One cannot compare 
 things so dissimilar ; but to me this little-known gorge 
 is vastly more attractive than the widely reputed frag- 
 ments of Glastonbury. What are the latter after Foun- 
 tains Abbey, or Tintern, or Melrose ? 
 
 Other two days were spent at Clevedon — a place that 
 would be pretty enough but for the "drumly" waters and 
 oozy mud-shores of the Bristol Channel. Perhaps its best 
 remembrance was that of a visit to the old Parish Church,
 
 362 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 containing a marble slab with a touching inscription to 
 young Hallam, the true " author " of In Memoriam. 
 Having so recently visited the Poet's haunt in the Isle 
 of Wight, this association with his early friend was 
 sacredly pleasing. From the long Latin inscription I 
 copied the words — 
 
 Vale Dulcissime 
 Requiescas in pace. 
 
 The tour was completed, under the brightest of skies 
 and with a wealth of greenery in the trees and of blos- 
 som in the abounding orchards, by visiting Clifton and 
 the Avon. Subsequently a day was passed on the Thames 
 in that unrivalled stretch of river-scenery between Maiden- 
 head, Cookham, and Great Marlow. No wonder that old 
 Charles Knight pronounced it, and revelled in it, as the 
 finest thing in the three kingdoms! Those who have 
 seen it, as we have, in a cloudless day and with an in- 
 telligent boatman, will forgive the somewhat bold hyper- 
 bole. Then by Burnham Beeches (the best antiquarian 
 museum I know) to the old Kentish haunts and sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 * * * 
 
 This chapter is one of mingled Lights and Shadows. 
 The " Lights " I had just put in, not dreaming that 
 new shadows were so close at hand. 
 
 Indeed, the ink was scarce dry on the former, when I 
 was summoned by telegram to the sick-bed of my 
 youngest brother, Robert. It proved his death-bed. In 
 four days he was with the Master he had so long and 
 so very faithfully served. On my reaching his tempo- 
 rary home at Leamington, his doctor at first forbade me 
 to see him, dreading the excitement in his prostrate state. 
 But next day he kindly authorized the reverse, saying, 
 good, skilful Scotchman that he was, " Yes, go and sit
 
 ILLNESS. BIRTHDAY JOTTINGS 363 
 
 by his bedside; let him lay his hand in yours, and it 
 will do him a lot of good." He sweetly recognised me. 
 I was from that hour very frequently with him; indeed, 
 until unconsciousness came and the conflict was ended. 
 
 Instead of giving' a personal, and it might naturally 
 be thought a partial testimony, let me insert the notice 
 which appeared in next month's Mission Record. It was 
 written by a well-known minister of the Church of Scot- 
 land, who from long and sacred intercourse w r as, of all 
 others, best able to appreciate the beauty of his character 
 and the elevation of his inner life. 
 
 " We record with unfeigned sorrow the death of a 
 brother in the ministry so beloved as was the Rev. 
 Robert C. H. Macduff". On the 2nd of June, at the grave 
 in the Grange Cemetery, Edinburgh, we joined a large 
 number of the members of the General Assembly and 
 other ministers in testifying their true sympathy with his 
 sorrowing family in their bereavement, as no less a great 
 public loss to the Church of Scotland ; and there we 
 united in thankful memories of the faithful and fruitful 
 ministries Mr. Macduff had fulfilled, first at Falkland, 
 then at Ratho, and last of all in the iron church wherein 
 the congregation w T as gathered for which St. Michael's 
 was ultimately built The youngest brother among the 
 last generation of the Bonhard family, our beloved friend 
 enjoyed all the advantages of nurture in a Christian 
 home, where every influence was in the highest degree 
 spiritually quickening, and in him the gracious features 
 of a living Christian character were very early manifest. 
 From a child he had known the Holy Scriptures, and 
 they proved to be able to make him, even as a boy, wise 
 unto salvation, through faith which is in Christ Jesus, to 
 a degree which only those who knew him in youth can 
 conceive. Trained as a child under the pastoral care of 
 the Rev. James Marshall, of the Tolbooth, Edinburgh,
 
 364 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 where Mr. Macduff's father was an elder, he afterwards, 
 as a young man and a student in divinity, came under 
 an important formative influence in the Scriptural in- 
 struction and the practical training to parish work of 
 the Rev. Dr. Glover, of Greenside Church, to whose 
 teaching and example so many young men and ministers 
 have been largely indebted ; and few among them ever 
 went forth to their chosen life-work more thoroughly 
 furnished to do the work well than did the beloved 
 brother whose loss we mourn. It is among our most 
 stimulating memories, for which we must be for ever 
 thankful, when we recall fellowship enjoyed with him 
 in many a scene of his earnest ministry, at reaping 
 times of very special blessing with which his faithful 
 work was crowned. The day of the Lord alone shall 
 declare its issues. But even already there are many 
 young men who rise up to thank God for what He made 
 the ministry of our departed friend the means to them. 
 A mystery, indeed, it must ever be, before which faith is 
 dumb, because God did it, that such a ministry should 
 have been so soon closed! Yet by none was the mys- 
 terious providence accepted with more absolute submis- 
 sion than by Mr. Macduff himself. Through years of 
 enfeebled health, attended at times with great suffering, 
 he continued to take a lively and helpful interest in all 
 that concerned the work of the Lord, readily responding 
 with cordial sympathy to many an appeal made to his 
 liberal support. And when the end came at Leamington, 
 by an attack of influenza, which in his feeble state 
 warned him of the inevitably fatal issue, ' the messenger 
 of peace ' that ' called his soul to heaven ' was received 
 with solemn, sweet serenity. Words of Scripture, or of 
 hymns, which revealed to him the work and love and 
 preciousness of Christ, were his delight. He specially 
 dwelt on the words, ' Accepted in the beloved] his mind
 
 ILLNESS. BIRTHDAY JOTTINGS 365 
 
 reverting to happy days of hallowed work in Falkland, 
 when his friend, Dr. Ritchie, of Longforgan, had preached 
 for him a sermon on these words, which had been much 
 blest to his people. The day before his death, his dearly 
 loved and very able clergyman (at Leamington), Mr. 
 Bradley, came to see him, pronouncing over him in his 
 almost speechless state the words, 'The Lord bless thee, 
 and keep thee; the Lord make His face shine upon thee, 
 and be gracious unto thee ; the Lord lift up His counte- 
 nance upon thee, and give thee peace.' Then he said to 
 the dying man, whom he loved supremely, ' Now I want 
 you to give me your blessing. Put your hands on my 
 head and do so.' His spirit, like that of aged Jacob, 
 seemed to revive. He laid his two hands on Mr. Brad- 
 ley's head, and said, ' TJie Lord strengthen thee with all 
 might by His Spirit in the inner man ! ' When the end 
 drew near, on the words being repeated to him, ' I am 
 persuaded that neither death, nor life . . . shall be 
 able to separate us from the love of God which is in 
 Christ Jesus our Lord,' and on its being added, ' You 
 can say Amen to that ? ' it was his last solemn breathing 
 —'Amen.'" 
 
 Thus terminated a life of singular devotion and un- 
 swerving love to his Saviour. He laid no claim to high 
 scholarship or culture ; but he was the model " Pastor." 
 In his first parish of Falkland, with its important posi- 
 tion and historic memories, though inducted as a mere 
 youth to its beautiful church, he reigned as king, and 
 possessed a rare hold on the affections of the people. In 
 Tennyson's words — 
 
 " His strength was as the strength of ten, 
 Because his heart was pure." 
 
 Perhaps I should recall that in those earlier years of his 
 ministry, Falkland, like other places at the time, was the
 
 366 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 scene of a remarkable spiritual awakening. " Revival " is 
 a word that is often misused and travestied— associated, 
 and not undeservedly at times, with excitement and spurious 
 enthusiasm. The occurrence of this wave of spiritual life, 
 in so quiet a region, could be traced to no such unworthy 
 origin. The young minister was no fanatic, nor given to 
 rouse the feelings of his people to white-heat by " exciting 
 sermons." If I am asked to venture an opinion on the 
 impelling reason, I am bound to tell, as my deliberate con- 
 viction (however sceptical some might be at the surmise), 
 that it was the result of his own earnest prayers. He 
 sought the blessing, and he found it. He could say with 
 the Apostle Paul, in no mere form of words, of his flock and 
 every member of it, " God is my record ; how greatly I 
 long after you all in the bowels of Jesus Christ ! " Strong 
 men in the ministry were not wanting to come at that 
 solemn emergency and help to hold up his hands. He could 
 only say, in the simplicity of his faith and deep conviction 
 in the Almighty as the Answerer of prayer, " See what 
 thing's God hath wrought ! " The wave, as I have described 
 it, passed by, but not without its permanent and abiding 
 results. I have a letter in my possession with the roll and 
 record of names of young soldiers of the Cross, who, till his 
 dying day, remained " strong in the grace that is in Christ 
 Jesus." His dear mother lived with him — " kept house 
 for him" — during long years at the Manse, and I am not 
 wrong in saying it was noted all round for its hospitalities 
 and welcomes. This, notwithstanding that he was natur- 
 ally shy and retiring, thus often doing injustice to himself. 
 His friends were not numerous, but those he knew well, 
 and who knew him, loved him with intensity. I was 
 present, the Sunday after his death, in Mr. Bradley's 
 church at Leamington, where, in a few bright and vivid 
 " touches," he told of his regard and affection. Some bold 
 " theological expert " had, the week before, been lecturing
 
 ILLNESS. BIRTHDAY JOTTINGS 367 
 
 in London, and attempting to repudiate some of the lead- 
 ing- doctrines of the Faith : the Trinity, the Inspiration of 
 Holy Scripture, and the Atonement. After eloquent and 
 stirring language of denunciation, the speaker, with great 
 taste, power, and pathos, drew the contrast, telling that 
 it was his privilege, a few days ago, to stand by the 
 death-bed of a dear Scotch clergyman, and how different 
 was the latter's experience and testimony, etc., etc., men- 
 tioning further, what has just been narrated, the blessing- 
 pronounced with dying lips over him, and through him, 
 on the congregation. I fail to recall all the words spoken, 
 but can I ever forget that hush of sympathetic silence 
 through the large assemblage? The tribute w T as so real 
 and true. I have just been reading the following in the 
 "Biography of Archbishop Tait," which came out that 
 same week. May I venture to make the w r ords dictated 
 by a great trial my own: <l I must meet him soon. The 
 other mourners may have long years before them ; I 
 cannot. This death tolls the last watch in a life which 
 has been mysteriously divided by solemn, sudden warn- 
 ings. O Lord, give me grace in the time that remains 
 to make the evening of my days what he would have 
 wished. . . . Lord, help me as the evening draws on ! ' 
 
 (vol. ii. p. 328.) 
 
 ***** 
 
 Yet it is not the last toll of the warning bell, for, as I 
 write, another " silver cord is loosed, and a golden bowl 
 broken." Only a week elapses, when a long- valued link 
 in the family circle is also snapped. My aged sister-in- 
 law, Maria Bernau, herself the devoted missionary and 
 missionary's wife, was called, after prolonged suffering, 
 to join the great gathering above. She was remarkable 
 alike for strength of character and devotion to her Master's 
 work. Her masculine intellect was utterly unaffected by 
 soeculative doubts and difficulties. She lived a life of
 
 368 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 simple faith in Christ. Her last words were ■ " I am 
 going to sleep." She did so, and never awoke. When the 
 awaking came, it must have been to the welcomes of many 
 she had helped with her sound judgment, and stimulated 
 by a consistent life. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Yet another ! The same post which brought the tidings of 
 her departure, brought the announcement of the removal of 
 
 one of my dearest Scottish friends (Mrs. M ). And yet 
 
 another, after a few weeks' interval, the death of my oldest 
 companion and playmate, Sir Charles Ochterlony. Truly, 
 I seem these last few weeks and months to be walking 
 through the Valley of the Shadow. O God, give me grace 
 to listen to the solemn monition so loudly addressed : " Be 
 ye also ready." " The night cometh ! " I seem to have 
 many more dear ones now in heaven than on earth. It 
 is a happy thought that when my own summons comes I 
 cannot go to a strange place. How many, after " crossing 
 the bar," will be seen clustered on the pier with their smile 
 of recognition and welcome ! Esto per pet ua ! 
 
 Grant me, gracious God, Thy frail, fallible, unworthy 
 servant, pardon and acceptance through the merits of my 
 Redeemer. Frail and fallible indeed : Thou only knowest. 
 After an interval of nearly three-quarters of a century I 
 would here repeat my old child-prayer: "Yes, I hope He 
 will forgive me, if I trust in His mercy, for the sake of 
 what Jesus Christ hath done and what He hath suffered."
 
 XXI 
 
 SCATTERED NOTES. CLOSING WORDS 
 
 December 30, 189 1. — I thank Thee, O my God, for all 
 the happiness of a long bygone life, and specially for 
 those that made it happy. As a dear friend writes 
 me, " Your sunshine is behind — brightest sunshine that 
 a mortal could have. Your shadows are all in front, 
 and even they are all flecked with these sunny 
 memories." 
 
 Keep me, Lord, from every murmuring and rebellious 
 thought. I confess I needed all trials to keep me humble. 
 I am on the threshold of a new year. It can hardly fail 
 to be a deeply momentous one. May the " Pillar in the 
 Night " go before me and mine. Like Wesley I would 
 try hopefully to say, " Best of all is, that God is with 
 us." 
 
 Sunday, Januury 3, 1892. — I am sitting all alone on 
 the eve of the sad anniversary (his wife's death). This 
 time four years ago was her last night on earth. A 
 few more hours and the cry was heard, " Behold the 
 Bridegroom cometh." " Then they that were ready went 
 in with Him to the marriage." She scarcely heard " the 
 cry," for the transition — the transfiguration — was " in a 
 moment," " in the twinkling of an eye." She never 
 knew she had touched the border-river. She entered 
 heaven without tasting of death — a glorious surprise. 
 
 Mr. Fleming this morning preached a New Year's 
 
 sermon on " Thus shall ye eat it, with your loins girded, 
 
 369 24
 
 37o DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 your shoes on your feet, your staff in your hand." May 
 this be my attitude in this increasing pilgrim life! May 
 I be shod for the unknown journey, and have the 
 promise-staff firm in my hand! May the Valley of 
 Achor be turned into a door of hope ! If I am one of 
 those he spoke of who will reach Jordan in the course of 
 the year — O God, forsake me not. Cheer me with the 
 promise, " Behold the ark of the covenant of the Lord of 
 the whole earth goeth before you into Jordan ! " Amen. 
 May, 1892. — Just returned in safety from the neces- 
 sary fortnight's absence from home. Our route was, in 
 most respects, new to me. First night spent in Bath, 
 enabling us to inspect the recently discovered Roman 
 remains, and to admire the abbey : its noble proportions 
 and specially graceful transept window — with as fine 
 stained glass as I have seen in England : old, of course, 
 and in vehement contrast with some glaring new. Next 
 day found us at Caswell Bay, with its little inn — a 
 lovely recess, and genuine sands — such sands as I have 
 never seen since the childhood days at Broughty Ferry 
 and Carnoustie. Bishopton Valley was one pleasant 
 day's excursion from this retired spot — though involving 
 a good deal of clambering, rather formidable for " three- 
 score and fourteen." But my choicest day here, and 
 what lives in my memory, was a visit 1 paid to Miss 
 Havergal's house near the Mumbles, where she lived 
 and died. The house itself (or rather lodging) is quite 
 commonplace and inconspicuous — although redeemed by 
 the sea view over the Mumbles and in the direction of 
 Caswell Bay. The two rooms — parlour and bedroom — are 
 just as she left them. The former, with its sea views, is 
 full of remembrances of her: photographs of herself, her 
 father, sister, and other members of her family. On a 
 side-table is a stand filled with her own and other books. 
 The room and bed in which she died are touching in
 
 SCATTERED NOTES. CLOSING WORDS 571 
 
 their simplicity. Framed Bible-texts, mottos, and frag- 
 ments of her own hymns hang on the walls. For 
 example, over the fireplace is one of her verses which 
 so comforted me on my own bed of suffering three years 
 ago: "I take this pain, Lord Jesus,'' etc. Above her bed 
 in a little Oxford frame is — Our Motto. For Jesus' sake 
 only. While, fronting the bed, framed, is another of her 
 best hymns, " Jesus, I will trust Thee," and beneath it 
 is written, " The first verse was sung just as sJie entered 
 the presence of the King, June 3rd, 1879." I* 1 that dying 
 couch I seemed to have a sacred personal interest ; for 
 it was there she wrote her last letter in pen and ink, 
 and that letter was to me. I must be vain enough to 
 add, that I was touched by seeing one of my books 
 (" Gates of Prayer ") included in the aforesaid bookstand. 
 Well, she was a Christian — a gifted saint indeed ! I felt, 
 standing at that bed, with its simple, pure, white cover- 
 let, as if I were looking at one of the gates of heaven. 
 
 We next went a considerable journey westwards, to 
 Tenby — glad to get out of the region of appalling smoke 
 around Swansea and its sisterhood of mining towns. 
 Coal and copper together have made fatal havoc of one 
 of the fairest coasts of England — converted it, in the 
 words of a working fellow-traveller and resident, " into 
 the Black Hole of Calcutta." This is specially the case 
 with the valley of Neath and its waterfalls of former 
 days, which we were now glad to avoid. Tenby has 
 happily, hitherto, escaped this disfigurement. It was re- 
 freshing to get to its sculptured sands and zmsculptured 
 rocks, — its bright sea and blue sky. Let the traveller 
 add the essential element of enjoyment — a comfortable 
 inn. One day specially lives in memory. By rail to 
 Pembroke, hired a trap with an exceptionally nice, 
 obliging, intelligent man — (the owner) — and drove by a 
 long circuit to " the Stack Rocks." We reached them by
 
 372 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 the Earl of Cawdor's grand place and grounds, " Stack- 
 pool Court." The house is approached by a valley, full 
 of noble trees, what one does not expect to find grow- 
 ing so vigorously near the ocean. I was pleased, as a 
 Macduff, to hear our Scottish "Thane of Cawdor" so 
 pleasantly spoken of as a model landlord. I had seen 
 his fine old " Keep " — Cawdor Castle — in the far north, 
 and both are perfect of their kind. Thence we pro- 
 ceeded to the " Stack Rocks," — three magnificent " mono- 
 liths " standing in the deep sea, though close to the 
 shore. Their peculiarity, at this season, is the throng of 
 seafowl clustering upon them, literally in myriads, so 
 clustering indeed that the rock itself becomes invisible 
 — one indistinguishable mass of living birds. I confess, 
 on the spur of the moment, I could not resist indulging 
 in a spiritual parable. I could not help thinking of the 
 grandeur of Christ's salvation. Who dare limit the 
 grace of God ? who dare narrow the interpretation of 
 the words, "able to save to the uttermost"? Was that 
 not a nature-picture of the untold myriads who may 
 (who will) rest for ever on the Rock of Ages? We re- 
 turned home by Pembroke's old Castle, which we sur- 
 veyed with interest. However, ruined castles in Wales, 
 like waterfalls in Switzerland, come somehow to be 
 oppressive. We had seen Oystermouth, near Mumbles, 
 Manorbier, and afterwards the finest of all, Raglan. 
 But, I know not how, the interest with me is not sus- 
 tained. What was far more congenial was the drive, 
 by carriage, from Abergavenny to Crickhowell, and, if 
 I spell it right, " Llangudno." At the last, the waters 
 of the Usk make a beautiful sweep through a wooded 
 valley — crowned in the distance with really Scottish 
 mountains ; I even thought a presumptuous counterpart 
 of Ben Lomond ! We continued, next two days, our 
 journey by Monmouth to Tintern, the latter familiar to
 
 SCATTERED NOTES. CLOSING WORDS 373 
 
 me in other delightful days ; and its Abbey, although a 
 "ruin" has a pathetic impressiveness and poetry all its 
 own. Our concluding day was at Marlborough. The 
 chapel of its well-known school is eminently worth a 
 pilgrimage to see. It has b^en erected at a cost of 
 £60,000, finely proportioned and gorgeously decorated. 
 Old stained glass from its ancient chapel fills the window 
 of its west nave. The whole place, too, seemed to throb 
 with memories of the dead and living. The day and 
 the journey were finished by a drive of three hours 
 through Savernake Forest, sixteen miles round, and 4,000 
 acres filled with gigantic trees. Let those who wish to 
 know how nature builds her cathedrals and aisles go 
 and see for themselves these foliaged Gothic avenues. 
 
 Thank God for His goodness to me at this time, and 
 for bringing me back in safety home. 
 
 31st December. — Struck by the departure yesterday of 
 one of the devout men of earth, formerly a near clerical 
 neighbour at Kettins, who at one time gave the promise 
 of being a fast friend, but, to my irreparable loss, was, 
 like many others, alienated and forfeited by the sad Dis- 
 ruption of half a century ago— Dr. Andrew Bonar, then 
 of Collace, and subsequently of Glasgow. In common 
 with many, I revered him at the University Missionary 
 Association, and I hailed with fervour his coming near 
 us in Perthshire. I was present both at his ordination 
 and at the services of the Sunday following, when he 
 was introduced to his primitive Hock by Dr. Candlish. 
 I had more than one subsequent delightful and profitable 
 meeting in his temporary Manse. I cannot give a more 
 accurate description of the man than that he was then, 
 and continued up till the age of eighty-two, the modern 
 representative of Samuel Rutherford, only of far higher 
 scholarship ; for in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, he was 
 rarely proficient, and specially as a Hebraist. The last
 
 374 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 time I saw him, heard him, or spoke to him, was at one 
 of the Mildmay Conferences. He dispensed the Holy 
 Communion to the many recipients, of whom I was one, 
 and gave the opening and closing addresses. A doctrine 
 he had all his life long heartily and devoutly embraced 
 was, that of the pre-millennial advent : and it was evi- 
 dent that he had the sympathy of the great majority of 
 that devout assemblage. His closing sentences are to 
 this hour memorable. He took four or five verses from 
 different portions of Scripture with reference to the Lord's 
 Supper, to guide our meditations, with some suitable few 
 words of comment on each. I shall never forget the 
 thrill — the visible and audible sensation through the 
 entire gathering caused by the last, iito which he in- 
 fused his own rapturous tones, " Make haste, my Beloved ! 
 be Thou as a young roe or a young hart on t/ie mountains 
 of Bether!" 
 
 Since this entry I have read his "Diary and Letters" 
 (1893), which abundantly confirm my high ideal, even 
 although to the intensely emotional, introspective ele- 
 ment, exception may be taken by those who did not know 
 the man. But what a walk with God! Another of 
 those consecrated lives so remarkable because so rare. 
 How often — hundreds of times — have I skirted that wood 
 close to his new Manse of which he often speaks, and 
 which now seems to have a halo around it all its own : 
 " Spent an hour in my old retreat in the wood of Dun- 
 sinane — the place which I used to call the 'Wood of 
 Ziph,' where God has often strengthened my hands — 
 my Divine Jonathan meeting me there " (p. 209). In his 
 study, in the green hills or leafy woods of Collace, in 
 his house, or even at times amid the " loud stunning 
 tide" of Glasgow, his was, in no exaggerated language 
 or figure, a life of prayer — prayer for hours together 
 daily — sometimes half-days, — occasionally nearly whole
 
 SCATTERED NOTES. CLOSING WORDS 375 
 
 days. Doubtless, in the view of many, he may have 
 seemed 
 
 " To soar too high 
 For feeble man beneath the sky." 
 
 Be it so, he remains, nevertheless, a wondrous witness of 
 habitual nearness to the mercy seat, and to the elevated 
 and elevating power of Christianity. Surely the inten- 
 sity of these devotions and his constant faith in " the 
 Hearer and Answerer" were the true secret of his 
 ministerial success, despite a feeble, unmellifluous voice 
 and somewhat ungainly manner. So this godly, un- 
 demonstrative "Apostle," with the true apostolic suc- 
 cession, lived and died. To use his own words regarding 
 another, he " lived under the shadow of the Great Rock, 
 and fell asleep there quietly." His "Wood of Ziph," so 
 familiar in its outer shape, I shall always think of to 
 strengthen, and far more to rebuke me. 
 
 Thus "friend after friend departs." It is Goethe who 
 speaks of " the roaring loom of time." What weavings 
 and unweavings those who have passed the threescore 
 and ten live to see! Well that the shuttle in that great 
 web is in Higher Hands than ours! 
 
 Sunday, January 1, 1893. — " He is faithful that pro- 
 mised" — "Call upon Me in the day of trouble; I will 
 deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me." Echo may well 
 give its glad responsive testimony — " I sought the Lord, 
 and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears." 
 
 There is a special cause which makes to-day a most 
 solemn occasion for retrospect and reflection. This very 
 Sunday, fifty years ago, my ministry began at dear old 
 Kettins, — introduced to my first flock by my warm-hearted 
 friend, Dr. Craik, then of Scone. To-day the snow is 
 heavy, and a " brewing storm." On that remote date it was 
 beautiful and bright. The sympathetic churchful of people 
 gave heart-welcome to their young pastor of twenty-five.
 
 376 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 And here I am, preserved to this hour to tell the tale ! 
 I might well read this morning, at family prayers, my 
 mother's favourite 103rd Psalm. I faltered at the verse 
 (I have as yet told no one of the occasion, but shall do so 
 to-night), " Who redeemeth thy life from destruction ; who 
 crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies"! 
 I can, like Jacob, lean on the top of my pilgrim staff and 
 bless God that He has brought me hitherto. 
 
 But I need not say (they are no mere words of senti- 
 ment, but from the depths of my heart) that, side by side 
 with the manifold, the vast encouragement of my sacred 
 profession, rise, all too vividly before me, its grievous 
 shortcomings — its more grievous sins. I dare not speak 
 of them. What good can it do to set them down for 
 other eyes? It is enough — "O Lord God, Thou knowest." 
 Thou knowest that if I had to live over this half-century 
 again, I would strive to do better — to avoid the pitfalls 
 of apathy and carelessness and inconsistency, falling so 
 far and so oft below the ideal. Oh, in this solemn crisis- 
 hour, which can happen only once in a lifetime, do Thou 
 forgive me ! Accept the little that is worthy, pardon the 
 much that is far more than unworthy! How kind in 
 Thee to spare me till now! On this Sunday forenoon, 
 detained from church, " I will sing of mercy and judgment : 
 unto Thee, O Lord, will I sing." 
 
 23rd May, 1893. — This is my 75th birthday. God be 
 praised for all His great mercies! 
 
 My table was again loaded with birthday gifts — costly 
 some of them ; but this which follows, the most precious, 
 considering the dear hand and heart that wrote and dic- 
 tated it. It was tacked on to a large posy of "Forget- 
 me-nots," with tiny sprays of "Speedwell," but the former 
 preponderating : — 
 
 " I bring you your own flower, the flower that comes 
 To greet your Birthday, year by year, with tints
 
 SCATTERED NOTES. CLOSING WORDS 377 
 
 Of Heav'n, — the flower which your hand has touched 
 
 With its divinest meanings ; blue of Elope 
 
 With azure 'Memories': named in other lands, 
 
 In sweet, quaint phrase, 'The eyes of the Good God.' 
 
 I pray that these may deck the common paths 
 
 Of thy New Year, and make them fair and bright, 
 
 Beguiling in the rough and dusty ways 
 
 To thoughts of past and future ; interwove 
 
 With sunshine, and with bright reflections coloured 
 
 Of the o'erarching sky that touches both. 
 
 " I bring thee these blue blossoms not to cry 
 Forget me not ! No need for me to say 
 I never will forget thee, here or there, 
 Upon thy Birthday, but because these flowers 
 Are symbols of a love that cannot fade. 
 And when the day shall come when one shall watch 
 Their beauty in our 'Eden,' and the other 
 Pluck them beside the streams of Paradise, 
 Then we shall know that the ' Forget-me-not ' — 
 The plant of Love — blooms sweetly everywhere 
 In Earth or Heaven ; that angels passed from sight 
 Weave chains of its blue stars that reach this world 
 Of conflict ; while in these bright fields above 
 It is regarded as the hnmortelle — 
 The only '■everlasting' 1 ; since alone 
 It holds within it the Great Heart of God. 
 And if the May-day, which we long have greeted 
 With flowers and gladness for the gift it brought, 
 Shall find our clasping hands unloosed, and we 
 For a brief space in different mansions set 
 Of the One Wide Home, we'll still pluck wreaths 
 Of the dear Speedwell and Forget-me-not 
 Of Hope and Memory, and treasure them 
 Till our first Heavenly Birthday morning breaks." 
 
 With a mingled past and an uncertain future before 
 me, I can only say, as I have done in other portions of 
 these records, "Father, glorify Thy name." I like the 
 story which I have heard told of the cultured Earl 
 of Carlisle. It was at a meeting in Fox's house, of the
 
 378 DR. /. R. MACDUFF 
 
 savans of the day. Among other things exhibited was a 
 recent find of coins. One of these was so old and cor- 
 roded that the inscription on it could not be read. The 
 nobleman suggested putting it into the fire, in hopes thus 
 of clearing it and rendering the legend more legible. 
 When taken out, the lettering was easily deciphered : " To 
 the glory of God." "That is just," said Lord Carlisle, in 
 the faith of a Christian, "what should be the case and 
 result with all who are put in the furnace of affliction. 
 They come out with the inscription written on their 
 hearts: 'To the glory of God.'" 
 
 May this be my experience, as it has been that of ten 
 thousand sufferers: "When He hath tried me, I shall 
 come forth as gold" (Job xxiii. 10). 
 
 December 31, 1893. Sunday.— This is the last day of 
 another year — a year full of little troubles, little anxieties, 
 little worries, little distant unkindnesses and ingratitudes ; 
 but, taking it all in all, I think the happiest year of my 
 now long life. All thanks to the dear one who has made 
 it so. " Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all 
 His benefits." I treasure her deep affection and consistent 
 life. The stream of our mutual love has flowed on with- 
 out one ripple to break it. Specially do I cherish the 
 memory of our joint morning and evening devotions, 
 hallowing all the day. The future — that unrevealed, that 
 somewhat anxious future — O my God, I commend to Thee ! 
 I humbly trust I can, for myself, write that best writing : 
 " The chief of sinners ; but I obtained mercy ! " 
 
 [In a previous chapter reference was made to a render- 
 ing into Scotch of his favourite 23rd Psalm. As it was 
 the last poetry he attempted to write, I may, with these 
 pages drawing to a close, here transcribe it exactly as it 
 was inserted in the pages of "Life and Work."^
 
 SCATTERED NOTES. CLOSING WORDS 379 
 
 The writer has long wislicd to put in his native tongue 
 a version or paraphrase of the Twenty-third Psalm. Suc- 
 cessful or unsuccessful, he has fulfilled his purpose in 
 what follows. 
 
 The Lord is my Shepherd ; ill nocht am I wantin', 
 
 In the haughs o' green girse does He male' me lie doon : 
 
 While mony puir straiglers are bleatin' and pantin', 
 By saft-flowin' burnies He leads me at noon. 
 
 When aince I had strayed far awa in the bracken, 
 And daidled till gloamin' cam ower a' the hills, 
 
 Nae dribble o' water my sair drouth to slacken, 
 
 And dark grow'd the nicht wi' its haar and its chills — 
 
 Awa frae the fauld, strayin' fit-sore and weary, 
 
 I thocht I had naething to do but to dee ; 
 He socht me and fand me in mountain-hichts dreary : 
 
 He gangs by fell paths which He kens best for me. 
 
 And noo, for " His name's sake," I'm dune wi' a' fearin', 
 Though cluds may aft gaither, and soughin' winds blaw. 
 
 "Hoo this?" or " Hoo that?" — O prevent me frae spearin' ; 
 His Wull is aye best : and I daurna say Na. 
 
 The Valley o' death winna fleg me to thread it, 
 Though awfu' the darkness, I well can foresee. 
 
 Wi' His rod and His staff He will help me to tread it, 
 And then will its shadows, sae gruesome, a' flee. 
 
 Forfochen, in praisance o' foes that surroond me, 
 My Shepherd a table wi' denties has spread : 
 
 The thyme and the myrtle blaw fragrant aroond me, 
 He brims a fu' cup, and poors oil on my head. 
 
 Surely gudeness and mercy, despite a' my roamin', 
 Will gang wi' me doon to the brink o' the river. 
 
 Ayont it ! — nae mair o' the eerie and gloamin' ; 
 I will bide in the Hame o' my Faither for ever.
 
 3So DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 Closing Words. 
 
 Here ends, up to this date, the record of my own pil- 
 grimage, and that of others. If I cannot at this moment 
 appropriate the old carved lettering on my grandfather's 
 house-wall, so familiar to me in childhood — " Pax hide 
 domo" — I can think of the peace that is independent of 
 place and circumstance — " domi forisque "—the peace and 
 security found in the clefts of the Rock of Ages. Above 
 all, for me and mine, I can anticipate the blissful shore — 
 the quiet haven above — where wild waves are stilled to 
 rest for ever. Meanwhile, I would say, in the well-known 
 words of olden days, " Carry back the ark of God into 
 the city : if I shall find favour in the eyes of the Lord, 
 He will bring me again, and show me both it, and His 
 habitation. . . . Behold, here am I, let Him do to me 
 as seemeth good unto Him" (2 Sam. xv. 25, 26). "He 
 hath said, ' I will never leave thee nor forsake thee ' ; so 
 that we may boldly say, ' The Lord is my helper.' " If 
 I have had my varied trials — trials of many a vacant 
 seat in the family circle, trials, too, the saddest of all, 
 because bringing with them no solace or compensation— 
 of being by valued friends "misunderstood" — forfeiting 
 friendships proud to win and hard to surrender, — I can 
 yet truly repeat the verse often used in these pages — sing 
 of "Mercy and Judgment": and, like that wise Minstrel 
 of Israel, put the mercy first, as being ever greater 
 than judgment. The one Marah-pool has been outnum- 
 bered by the twelve Wells of Elim, and the last the 
 sweetest of all. Even what at times has been perplexing, 
 regarding the acceptance of and withdrawal from the most 
 active part of my life-work (I refer to my fifteen years in 
 Glasgow), seems to have become clear. I can see now, on 
 the whole, ample reasons for both, that I was divinely 
 guided alike to the city life and from the city life. I like
 
 SCATTERED NOTES. CLOSING WORDS 381 
 
 to read this passage, " And the Lord said unto him, Arise, 
 and go into the city " (Acts ix. 6), in connection with Mr. 
 Fleming's text: "And He took the blind man by the 
 hand, and led him out of the town " (Mark viii. 23). With 
 this avowal, however, it is only truth to say there are 
 (strange were there not) the minglings of a very natural 
 and tender regret, now and then, at living so long " un- 
 attached " from " the great army" — a feeling, shall I call 
 it, of pardonable envy, in which there is no taint of 
 bitterness towards those who have been privileged to 
 continue in the active work of the pastorate, living and 
 dying in harness. Paul's prayer was a noble one — in its 
 literal and noblest sense I am unable, owing to my re- 
 tirement, to grasp it — "that I might finish my course 
 with joy, and the ministry I have received of the Lord 
 Jesus." When the supreme hour does come, may I be 
 able to say, in the words of Maria Edgeworth : "I felt 
 ready to rise tranquil from the banquet of life, where I 
 have been a happy guest! " 
 
 Let me part in peace with all mankind, seeking anew 
 forgiveness, wherever and whenever I have consciously 
 or unconsciously wronged ; looking to Him and to all 
 generous natures, who can "make" large "allowance 
 for us all." Yes, thus would I desire to close, not with 
 muffled harp or wailing dirge, but with notes of pro- 
 found thankfulness to the Divine Being who has so often 
 turned the shadow of death into the morning, " abun- 
 dantly uttering the memory of His great goodness, and 
 talking of His righteousness." May I be able to close, 
 when God sees meet, with the family motto of an 
 honoured house: " Denique Ccelum" (Heaven at last). 
 
 I add the old " Swan-Song," written by my own pen 
 years ago: — 
 
 I will remember all the way 
 
 By which the Lord my God hath led me ;
 
 3S2 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 A fire by night— a cloud by day— 
 With heavenly manna He has fed me. 
 
 The Marah-streams of sorrow few, 
 
 Have with their bitter waters found me ; 
 
 While Elim's mercies, ever new, 
 
 Have spread their palm shade oft around me. 
 
 While yet I tread this vale of tears, 
 
 While yet this tongue hath strength to praise Thee ; 
 Let me throughout my waning years, 
 
 New Ebenezers fondly raise Thee ! 
 
 And when I reach eternal day, — 
 
 The manna ceased on earth which fed me ; 
 
 Still I'll remember all the way 
 
 By which the Lord my God hath led me. 
 
 THE END.
 
 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 383
 
 "A chamber whose window opened towards the sunrising : the 
 name of that chamber was Peace." — Pilgrim's Progress. 
 
 Dr. Macduff passed peacefully away on the 30th April, 
 1895, in his 77th year. 
 
 The last week of February he had been seized with 
 acute congestion of the lungs, and during the earlier part 
 of March his friends were hardly permitted to hope he 
 would be restored to them. For days on days he hovered 
 between life and death, perfectly conscious of his own 
 danger, but awaiting with serene calm the coming of 
 either messenger. The dreaded shadow rested on his 
 home, and touched the hearts of those who loved him, 
 far and near. But ever as it fell most closely round him, 
 the light of faith seemed to burn clearer, and the rod and 
 staff of promise to become stronger in his hand. 
 
 Then came a happy time, when we trusted he had 
 passed through the valley and emerged on the earthly side. 
 
 He was able once more to come downstairs. Strength 
 was slowly regained, old interests revived, a little light 
 literary work was resumed, and day by day he listened 
 unwearied to the old Scotch melodies he loved so well. 
 
 His first request, when he again found himself in the 
 drawing-room, was to have his favourite twenty-third 
 Psalm read aloud; his second, for " The Land o' the Leal " 
 and "Home, Sweet Home." Perhaps the Psalm has sel- 
 dom more truthfully interpreted a literal experience from 
 the opening verse on to the Valley of Death — the over- 
 flowing cup of restored earthly bliss — and (as he would 
 have himself expressed it) " goodness and mercy, like 
 
 385 2 ^
 
 3 86 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 two guardian angels/ 1 following to the end of life's long 
 day. We did not then dream that in a few short weeks 
 the closing words would be fulfilled, and he would " dwell 
 in the house of the Lord for ever." 
 
 At length, early in April, he was once more in his 
 garden, greeting his favourite trees, and rejoicing in the 
 return of spring (always his favourite season). But im- 
 mediately after a first ride in his bath-chair, he was 
 seized with pain in the side, pleurisy supervened, and he 
 was obliged to return to bed. This was the beginning of 
 the end, inducing the weakness which brought with it 
 failure of the heart's action and the gentle close. 
 
 Throughout the whole illness his patience, unselfishness, 
 faith, and calm never once failed, while his exquisite 
 courtesy and his pathetic humility are memories too 
 touching for words. In long-past days he has preached 
 to crowded congregations, hanging on his lips; he has 
 been the teacher of millions by his pen ; but the finest 
 sermons he ever preached, and the noblest lessons he 
 ever taught, were those of his sick-bed and death-bed, 
 and of his daily life. 
 
 To his latest day the beauties, the interests, the affec- 
 tions of earth remained vivid. He enjoyed the flowers 
 sent by kind friends, which made his room a garden of 
 loveliness ; the iridescent colouring of the pigeons that 
 gathered on his window-sill ; the mountain banks of cumu- 
 lus cloud ; the music which touched the answering chords 
 of a lifetime. To the end one of the greatest pleasures 
 was the receipt of letters from friends and relatives, whose 
 unwearied affection flowed out to him without stint or 
 measure, and the dictation of notes or messages in reply ; 
 while the visits of his kind and skilful doctor were 
 always counted among the red-letter moments of the 
 day. Literary projects and occupations still absorbed 
 him, for to the hour of departure his mind was clear and
 
 POSTSCRIPT 387 
 
 vigorous. Books and magazines had all their wonted 
 charm, the daily papers were an unfailing interest, and 
 the only advice of doctor or nurse to which he was dis- 
 posed to demur regarded a limitation of his reading. 1 
 Nor, when a medical friend happened to come to see him 
 at the time his life was hanging in the balance, did he 
 forget to recommend to his notice the book which, with 
 its wonderful doctor's story, had of all others most pro- 
 foundly moved him a few months before, u The Bonnie 
 Brier Bush." 
 
 Though his feet were touching the border river, life 
 here and life there was to him one great unity — in both 
 worlds his spirit felt at home. 
 
 To the last he retained his sense and enjoyment of 
 humour, and whenever any slight amendment came, it 
 rose to his lips as naturally as the memories of God's 
 great goodness in the past, or the hopes of the reunions 
 beyond. 
 
 At some time during the earlier portion of his illness 
 looking back on the seventy-six years' earthly journey, 
 and forward to its speedy termination, he said, " I have 
 had a very happy life," adding, " with many storms." 
 But shortly before the close, when the sunset of his long- 
 mingled day of cloud and sunshine had nearly come, all 
 shadows seemed lost to view in a golden haze, and it 
 was only — " I have had a very happy life ; and I was 
 thinking of a sentence in that book of Fairbairn's, ' Death 
 is just the rounding off of life.' " 
 
 He used to tell how the old Scotch paraphrases were 
 his stay in the night-watches ; while at every time of 
 greatest weakness, when the waters of death seemed 
 rising round him, he clung to the simple words, more 
 than once referred to in this volume, taught him by his 
 
 1 The life of Dean Church was the volume left unfinished at the time 
 of his death.
 
 3S8 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 mother, and lisped as a child on what was then thought 
 to be his dying bed. 
 
 The Friday before his departure, on the following 
 Tuesday, he listened for the last time to the " Land o' 
 the Leal," played in the drawing-room beneath his bed- 
 room. 1 His last Sunday music was his favourite " Com- 
 fort ye," and " Lift up your heads," from Handel's 
 Messiah. The chapters for his brief morning service, 
 by his own choice, "that wonderful fifty-first Psalm," and 
 its Gospel correlative — the parable of the prodigal son. 
 On Monday he dictated his last letter, and corrected and 
 despatched his last proofs for the press. Tuesday morn- 
 ing the newspaper was read to him as usual, and then he 
 eagerly watched for the coming of his nephew, who was 
 to pay him a brief visit. He gave him his usual glad 
 welcome, but was almost overcome at the loving-kind- 
 ness which had brought him all the way from Perthshire 
 to London, to be near his uncle for a season. 
 
 It was his last great pleasure. His visitor left early 
 in the afternoon, and an hour and a half later all was 
 over. An attack of faintness and breathlessness, similar 
 to that which warned us of his danger ten days before, 
 was for a time very distressing. But the close was 
 absolutely peaceful, without pang or struggle. The last 
 texts to which he listened were the one which irradiated 
 and interpenetrated his whole life — " God is love, and he 
 that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him," 
 — and that which he himself has called " the Gospel 
 Eirenicon," " God so loved the world that He gave His 
 only begotten Son, that whosoever belie veth in Him should 
 not perish, but have everlasting life " ; and in response to 
 these, with his unvarying acknowledgment of the slight- 
 
 1 " The Land o' the Leal " almost haunted him during his illness, and 
 at his own request was played in church, with rare heauty and sympathy, 
 the Sunday following his death, in place of the Dead March.
 
 THE GRAVE.
 
 POSTSCRIPT 389 
 
 est service, came with failing- breath his gentle "Thank 
 
 you." A last brief prayer, a few minutes before the end, 
 
 expressed, with pathetic humility, alike the sense of his 
 
 own sinfulness and of God's great mercy. 
 
 During the early part of his illness he had said, in 
 
 allusion to the answer of his child-catechism, so often 
 
 referred to, "My first creed is my last." It was literally 
 
 so. Softly and clearly the familiar words fell on his 
 
 dying ear : " Yes, I hope He will forgive me, if I trust in 
 
 His mercy, for Hie sake of what Jesus Christ hath done, 
 
 and what He hath suffered " ; and with one last word 
 
 and last Amen he sealed the faith of a lifetime. 
 ***** 
 
 We laid him to rest in the beautiful churchyard of 
 Chislehurst, covered with flowers, the gifts of rich and 
 poor alike. The blue sky and the sunshine seemed in 
 accord with the life which had just closed ; the service 
 was, as he would have wished, solemn, yet bright, the 
 May blossoms spoke of the resurrection hope in which he 
 trusted. And, as we took the last look at the open grave, 
 which his gardener had lined with white blooms and 
 greenery, his own words seemed to float up, " I am not 
 afraid of the grave ; I haven't a thought about that — and 
 — / shall Jiave a beautiful resting-place." 
 
 By his own desire, no commemorative lines are placed 
 above him, " nothing but the name." But the verse in- 
 scribed on his wife's tombstone is written regarding him- 
 self on the better monuments of human hearts he has 
 strengthened, comforted, and blessed : — 
 
 " I THANK MY GOD UPON EVERY REMEMBRANCE OF YOU." 
 
 —Ed.
 
 "Of all the ingredients that enter into that infinitely complex thing, 
 a human life, of all the influences that radiate from it and proclaim it 
 there, none surely are so essential as the affections it kindles in others ; 
 and if beings around entertain of it a blessed and noble conception, 
 are filled by it with generous aspirations, and feel the thought of it to 
 be as a fire from heaven, in this is its true and best existence, in this 
 consists its real identity, distinguishing it by strongest marks from 
 other minds. And all this death leaves behind, as our indestructible 
 possession." — Martineau. 
 
 The following generous words were spoken at the opening 
 of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland by 
 the Very Rev. Professor Story, the retiring Moderator. 
 They are given here as being the public tribute which,, 
 of all others, would have been most valued by Dr. Macduff 
 himself, as expressing the feeling of the Church he loved 
 to his latest day, after a retirement of twenty-four years 
 from its ranks. 
 
 After adverting to blanks caused by death in the course 
 of the year, Dr. Story said : — " I shall mention another, 
 who, if he had continued in the active ministry of the 
 Church, would in all probability have ere now held the' 
 office I am about to lay down — Dr. Macduff, of Sandyford — 
 a man greatly valued by a host of friends, and one whose 
 expositions and devotional works have made his name 
 familiar to thousands both in Britain and America, who 
 find in them edification and spiritual nourishment. He, 
 too, has been withdrawn from the Church on earth, and 
 has joined the great company in whose ranks we all must 
 one day stand " ; while the report of the Committee 
 
 391
 
 392 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 appointed to prepare tributes of respect to departed Mem- 
 bars of Assembly thus referred to his life and work :— 
 "The Rev. Dr. John Ross Macduff, of Sandy ford, was 
 widely known through his writings, several millions of 
 his books having been circulated in all parts of the world. 
 The Assembly remembered his high and generous charac- 
 ter, his earnest piety, and his invaluable service in the 
 kingdom of God." 
 
 {From the Rev. Thomas Fraser, D D., Newport.) 
 
 ". . . Your father was pre-eminently a Barnabas, a 
 son of Consolation. Not only during his active ministry, 
 but all his days, by his writings, he ministered to the 
 sick and bereaved. I often recall those Sunday after- 
 noons in Sandy ford when to crowded audiences he spoke, 
 in language that has rarely been surpassed for its beauty, 
 of the great love of God to man, of the solemnity of life, 
 of Christ's conquest of death and the grave, of the great 
 hope of everlasting life. I follow him to the sick-room, 
 where there was something in his very presence and 
 voice that brought soothing, and comfort, and strength. 
 What he was to those in sorrow and bereavement will 
 only be fully known in the great day, but again and again 
 I have been told by those he visited in sorrow how im- 
 pressively he brought home to their hearts the consola- 
 tions of the Gospel. If those words, ' that you sorrow not 
 as others who have no hope,' have ever had power to 
 soothe the pang of separation, it is when the grave closes 
 over such a life as your father's." 
 
 (From the Rev. Gavin Lang, Inverness.) 
 
 " I see the precious life has passed away. We know 
 whither it has gone, and that for him, to depart and be
 
 POSTSCRIPT 393 
 
 with Jesus is far better. But to you and those who knew 
 him — will you allow me to add, to me very especially? — 
 the world is the poorer by his absence. His place can 
 never be filled by any mere man. My only Bishop — no 
 other can be my ' Father in God ' ! Wherever I went, — 
 and I have been ' round the world,' — the vision of him 
 followed me, and the remembrance of what he was to 
 me as model and friend was a glory and inspiration." 
 
 (From the Rev. George 3/atheson, D.D., St. Bernard's, 
 
 Edinburgh) 
 
 " Of all men, living' or dead, your dear father is the 
 one who has influenced me most powerfully. He gave me 
 my first sense of literary beauty, my first impression of 
 oratory, my first idea of sanctity, my first real conviction 
 of the beauty of Christianity. The tones of his voice 
 are even now unconsciously reproduced in my own. I 
 have retained more of his pulpit influence than that of 
 any other teacher. 
 
 " I would not feel happy if I did not pour forth the 
 sympathy of my heart for the child of one who has been 
 to me also a father, and whom I love and reverence with 
 all the length and breadth of my nature." 
 
 (From tJie late Rev. Dr. Ritchie, of Long/organ.) 
 
 " He was long one of my most sincere and attached 
 friends, and during our long friendship of more than forty 
 years never an unkind word passed between us. His 
 writings have been a great blessing to his country and 
 far beyond it." 
 
 (From the Rev. Canon Girdlestone.) 
 
 ". , . Few have had such a wide and deep influence 
 on devotional hearts as your dear father, and it is sweet
 
 394 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 to think that he is now at rest with Him who says, ' I am 
 the Resurrection and the Life.' 
 
 " Do not think of him as dead ; think rather of him 
 as having migrated to another part of the King's 
 dominions." 
 
 (From James A. Campbell, Esq., 31. P.) 
 
 "... He will be greatly missed by many who have 
 learned much from him — from his life as well as from 
 his writings. There was a singular Christian charm 
 about him, which all felt who came in contact with him." 
 
 (From a Young 3Ian, at the period referred to an Agnostic, 
 
 and in deep sorrow.) 
 
 ". . . How well I remember my first impression of 
 your father ! What a picture of an old man, I thought ! 
 What a powerful man he must have been, and what a 
 face ! What does he think of life and death ? . . . I was 
 not disposed to be anything but critical, but somehow or 
 other I found myself quite free to talk, and a score of 
 questions were put in such a gentle, manly way that I 
 think I could then have answered anything he cared to 
 ask. I can recall how tenderly he touched upon death 
 and its mystery, and the tremulous tones in which he 
 spoke of the parting with some of earth's best friends. I 
 felt that he knew something of grief. . . . Then he asked 
 me to kneel, and I knelt, not bscause I believed in any 
 religion, but for the reason that I firmly believed him to 
 be a most sincere man, and I knelt to what lie believed 
 in, and came away convinced that at least one man 
 believed what he said, and that man's beliet was not 
 superstition. He was reasonable, and he knew what he 
 was speaking about. ... I never recognised in your
 
 POSTSCRIPT 395 
 
 father a D.D., ' a man of good social standing,' or ' a 
 man with plenty of money.' Outside of any of these tests 
 of worth, your father was a genuine, solid character — a 
 man whose name I revere, and in whose presence I 
 always felt a little man. His learning, his beautiful 
 home, were indeed good things, but I envied him not 
 in these. Other men have beautiful homes, and we have 
 been more interested in the homes than the men. But 
 at Ravensbrook the only object I can distinctly see is a 
 personality." 
 
 (From the Rev. John Caird, D.D., Principal of tlie 
 University of Glasgow.) 
 
 ". . . Though for many years we have seen little of 
 each other, the time was when your father and I were 
 near neighbours and intimate associates, and I have never 
 ceased to cherish the greatest admiration for his abilities, 
 and esteem and regard for his personal character. The 
 announcement of his death has revived a thousand recol- 
 lections of the old days, and of the many acts of kindness 
 I received from him, and the advantage I derived from 
 his friendship and advice. . . . His has indeed been a 
 most pure and beautiful life, and the closing hours of it 
 were in perfect keeping with all the rest." 
 
 (From J. H. Kerr, Esq., one of his Elders in Sandyford.) 
 
 " . . . What crowds of memories come back to me 
 about him ! I never felt the same regard for any man 
 or minister that I did for him. He w T as so truly a Chris- 
 tian gentleman that his very presence commanded respect, 
 and to know him was to love him. There was a noble- 
 ness in his whole nature which was ever present with 
 him. He was so true, so good, and so unselfish that one
 
 396 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 could not help feeling how poor were their attainments 
 in the spiritual life compared with his. 
 
 " I always felt deeply touched by his kindness to myself, 
 and it has been the highest honour of my life that he 
 honoured me with his friendship." 
 
 {From tJie Rev. Dr. Graham, of Errol.) 
 
 "Your father had the power of investing Divine things 
 with a halo of beauty and grace which perhaps no other 
 man possessed, and could bring his many accomplishments 
 to their elucidation with a tact and force which no writer 
 of modern times has surpassed." 
 
 {From tlie Rev. A. Ramsay Macduff.) 
 
 " . . . A death like this does seem like breaking 
 almost the last of the few remaining links that connect 
 us with the good old days that are gone ; and one's own 
 life cannot fail to be miserably poorer owing to his loss. 
 Although I was away at the other end of the earth, still, 
 even in the Himalayas, I could think of the cultured home 
 at Chislehurst — I say cultured, because he was the most 
 cultured man I ever met. This idea of mine I know was 
 shared by the late Bishop of Lahore [Bishop French] (no 
 mean judge), who often used to speak to me of the 
 valued friendship he had made with him at Chislehurst." 
 
 (From tJie Rev. A. H. C/iarteris, D.D., Professor of Biblical 
 Criticism in the University of Edinburgh.) 
 
 ". , , The pilgrim march is over, and he rests ; the 
 soldier has no more battle to fight ; and the servant has 
 already been received with the ' Well done, good and faith- 
 ful.' It is very sad for you, dear child of a devoted father ; 
 very lonely has your life become. No one ever saw such
 
 POSTSCRIPT 397 
 
 mutual devotedness as in your father and you ; at all 
 events, I never saw anything approaching' to its perfectness 
 and beauty. . . . Do you know well your lather's earliest 
 books ? I think their strange freshness — spring flowers 
 with the dew on them — will revive and refresh you very 
 much. ... If I were cast on a desert island with only one 
 book in addition to my Bible, I should wish it to be the 
 volume containing the ' Faithful Promiser ' and the ' Morn- 
 ing and Night Watches.' Yet I know and love the mellow 
 wisdom of the later books, of which I have read every one. 
 
 "It is a joy to have known him, and so long as we 
 live we shall be thankful for that joy." 
 
 {From the Rev. Hugh Macmillan, D.D., LL.D.) 
 
 ". . . You may indeed be proud of his memory! 
 I had a species of reverence for your father, as combining 
 in himself, more than any I knew, the saintly and the 
 intellectual qualities. I had a great respect for his great 
 and varied gifts, and a very great appreciation of his 
 Christian graces. What you tell me of the sunset of 
 his life was in strict harmony with the whole of it — calm, 
 serene, beautiful ; and he has left his memoiw to make 
 golden the clouds of his departure, and to prolong the 
 brightness and inspiration of his character and work." 
 
 (Extract from a Sermon preached by the Rev. J. Elder dim- 
 ming, D.D., Incumbent of Sandyford Church, Glasgow.) 
 
 At the close of the forenoon service in Sandyford 
 Established Church the Rev. Dr. Elder Cumming made 
 the following reference to the death of the Rev. Dr. J. R. 
 Macduff, the first minister of the congregation : 
 
 "The general purpose of our meditation this morning 
 will serve to recall to some of the congregation at least 
 the name and work of one who has long been absent, 
 and has now been taken from the land of the living.
 
 398 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 There are now only a few members among us who were 
 connected with the congregation when it was served by 
 Dr. John Macduff, my only predecessor in the ministry 
 of Sandyford. Four-and-twenty years have passed since, 
 in January, 187 1, he bade farewell to his many friends 
 here. He was not translated to any other living, but 
 sought retirement for his closing years in the south of 
 England, proposing to spend them in the prosecution of 
 those literary labours in which he had been already 
 greatly blessed. Most of you must have seen some of 
 those volumes which year by year came from his pen, 
 some of which have had an immense circulation for 
 thirty years, and have carried his name, it is no exag- 
 geration to say, almost wherever the English language 
 is known. Many of them consist of sermons which were 
 preached in this pulpit, and now reach a far wider 
 audience, and will no doubt continue to do so for some 
 years to come. But for other things also he is remem- 
 bered here by the few who once gathered round him, 
 and are now themselves in the vale of years. My own 
 personal knowledge of him goes back to a still earlier 
 period, while he was the comparatively young but not 
 unknown minister of a small and quiet country parish. 
 But he was the same man all through ; the quiet, refined, 
 and cultured scholar, with an eye for beauty, for art, and 
 all the poetry of life ; with a tone of sweetness, delicacy, 
 almost stateliness; incapable of rough speech, and very 
 sensitive to its use by others; helping many who came 
 near him by the Christian savour of a quiet and beautiful 
 life. His teaching was always simply and clearly evan- 
 gelical, for which his hearers might well be thankful. 
 He had not a few trials in life— in his family, in his 
 ministry, in his own person he tasted not seldom the 
 bitterness of the cup of sorrow ; and we know that much 
 loneliness and many sad memories gathered round him
 
 POSTSCRIPT 399 
 
 in his later years. He rarely visited Scotland after 
 Leaving his charge here, and never spent a Sabbath in 
 Glasgow afterwards, saying that the shadows of old were 
 too trying for him to face. And now he has passed 
 away, after not only a long, but a ' finished ' life. His 
 work had long b^en complete, and he was quietly wait- 
 ing for the end. As he says himself, characteristically, 
 in one of his latest works, ' There can be no real solitude 
 for him who can sing as his Nunc Dimiltis, "Thou art 
 with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." " — 
 Glasgow Herald. 
 
 (Extract from a Sermon preached by the Rev. William 
 Fleming, LL.B., Incumbent of Christ Church, ChisleJiurst.) 
 
 Preaching at Christ Church, Chislehurst, from the text, 
 " Into Thy hands I commit my spirit. But Thou hast re- 
 deemed me, O Lord God of Truth " (Ps. xxxi. 5), the 
 Incumbent, the Rev. W. Fleming, said these blessed 
 truths of God clustered round the name of one who was 
 ever uppermost in the minds of many of them that day 
 — the Rev. John Ross Macduff, who had recently been 
 remembered in their congregational prayers, and had been 
 laid in his last earthly resting-place the previous day. He 
 (the preacher) first heard his name some thirty-eight 
 years ago, soon after he had commenced his ministry in 
 Brighton. A lady, whom God had permitted him to help 
 and strengthen, gave him, in token, one of Dr. Macduff's 
 early books, " Memories of Gennesaret." He had read it 
 with pleasure and profit. Little did he think he should 
 ever have the privilege of knowing the writer ; little 
 did he then think that for upwards of twenty years he 
 would be a stated member of his future congregation ; 
 little less that a friendship would be formed which, to 
 use his (Dr. Macduff's) own words, uttered six weeks 
 ago, would only close with death. " Suffering," he said,
 
 400 DR. J. R. MACDUFF 
 
 " has brought us very near to one another in thought, 
 sympathy and affection. Your messages of kindness 
 have been real strength to me in this my hour of pain 
 and conflict." He would not speak of Dr. Macduff's 
 public usefulness to the Church of Christ — he could not do 
 such a subject justice ; his voluminous writings, his many- 
 sided ways of presenting truth, unfaltering testimony to 
 the Lord Jesus, told their own tale. A man who, gifted 
 with the pen of a ready writer, could present rich Gospal 
 truths in a form attractive to tens of thousands was no or- 
 dinary man, and no mean labourer in the Lord's vineyard. 
 Dr. Macduff joined that Church immediately on coming to 
 Chislehurst. He (the preacher) rejoiced in the brother- 
 hood of a minister of the Church of Scotland/ and if he 
 felt a little timid at a Doctor of Divinity being one of 
 his constant hearers, he soon learnt from many a passing 
 kindly note that he was there to cheer and encourage, 
 and never to carp or criticise. He should ever reckon it 
 one of the prominent privileges of his ministry that that 
 church was the closing place of worship to Dr. Macduff and 
 the late sweet and gentle partner by whose side he now 
 sleeps in Jesus; and also that his (the preacher's) house 
 was the last he entered just before they were both simul- 
 taneously taken ill. They had exchanged many little 
 notes during the last two months. In the middle of 
 March Dr. Macduff replied to his inquiry, " I shall grate- 
 fully accept the privilege to-morrow of prayers of con- 
 gregation." A little later he wrote, "My sufferings at 
 one time were so very great that but for my dear 
 daughter's sake I would willingly have been released." 
 Once more, a few days later, he wrote, "We have had, 
 both of us, many and precious lessons addressed to us in 
 this solemn time. A psalm which has always been a 
 great favourite of mine seems wonderfully to express our 
 experience. It is that beautiful 42nd Psalm." — Chislehurst 
 District Times.
 
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