YALE
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

2IH151

TWENTY- FIVE YEARS
or
ST. ANDREWS

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

I.— ESSAYS.
East Coast Days ; and Memories. Crown 8vo. 3*. id.
Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy. Crown 8vo. 3s. id.
Our Little Life : Essays Consolatory and Domestic, with some others.
Two Series. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each.
Landscapes, Churches, and Moralities. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
Lessons Of Middle Age ; with some Account of various Cities and Men.
Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
The Recreations of a Country Parson. Three Series. Crown
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Leisure Hours in Town. Crown 8vo. 3s. id.
The Commonplaee Philosopher in Town and Country. Crown
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The Autumn Holidays of a Country Parson : Essays Consolatory,
iEsthetical, Moral, Social, and Domestic. Crown 8vo. 3s. id.
The Critical Essays of a Country Parson. Crown 8vo. 3s. id.

II.— DEVOTIONAL WORKS.

" To Meet the Day " through the Christian Year : being a
Text of Scripture, with an Original Meditation and a Short Selection
in Verse, for Every Day. Crown 8vo. 4$. id.
The Best Last : with other Chapters to Help. Crown 8vo. 3s. id.
What Set Him Right : with other Chapters to Help. Crown 8vo. 3s.id.
Towards the Sunset: Teachings after Thirty Years. Crown 8vo. 31. id.
Seaside Musings on Sundays and Week-Days. Crown 8vo. 3.5. id.
The Graver Thoughts of a Country Parson. Three Series.
Crown 8vo. 3s. id. each.
Counsel and .Comfort Spoken from » City Pulpit. Crown 8vo.
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Sunday Afternoons at the Parish Church of a Scottish
University City. Crown 8vo. 3s. id.
Changed Aspects of Unchanged Truths : Eighteen Sermons
preached in the Parish Church of St. Andrews, N.B. Crown 8vo. 3s.id.
Present-Day Thoughts : Memorials of St. Andrews Sundays. Crown
8vo. 3s. id. J
From a Quiet Place : Some Discourses. Crown 8vo. $s.
A Scoteh Communion Sunday. Crown 8vo. 51.

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS
or
ST. ANDREWS
SEPTEMBER 1865 to* SEPTEMBER 1890

BY THE AUTHOR OF
' THE RECREATIONS OF A COUNTRY. PARSON'
Andrew kevwiedy H»>-tellW<?n "Boyd

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOL. II.

LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK : 15 EAST 16* STREET
1892
All rights reserved

PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON

CONTENTS

THE SECOND VOLUME

CHAPTER XV
TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP PAGE
Clatto Hill and Principal Shairp — The Candlemas Blaze — The good
Piper's Funeral — After a. Warning — The Surviving Swine— The
Funeral at Mount Melville — The First Sunday — Bacon and Milton,
the grand Editions — Dr. Robert Lee condemned unheard — Friends
who went uncalled — An awful Puritan — Lord Selborne Rector —
His speech before Lord Chancellor Truro — The Family at Denbrae
— Tulloch Editor of Eraser — The Sleeping Premier — Bishoprics
declined — Spheres of usefulness — Kelland, Senior Wrangler . . i
J CHAPTER XVI
WHEN ONE WENT AWAY
A Terrible Winter — The Lad in India — Dr. Vaughan at the Temple
Church — Matthew Arnold — Bishop Barry — Darkness at Liverpool
— Sorrow in the Tulloch family— Glasgow Cathedral Organ — The
Opening Sermons — ' A Child of the Devil ' — Dr. Potts of Fettes
— A Swindling Official .... • • • 33

vi TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
CHAPTER XVII
SELSDON PARK
PAGE
A Wintry May — St. Alban's, Holborn — Mr. Stanton's sermon — ' The
Hosts Consumed '—Mr. Ainger at the Temple Church — Dr.
Vaughan at St. Andrew's, Holborn — To East Croydon — Selsdon
Park — The Household — Evelyn Alexander — An irritating Hymnal
— A Confirmation at Beddington — The Cardinal's Blessing — Ascen
sion Day at Selsdon — The Coachman's Funeral — Primroses —
Flowing Water — First Sermon in a Surplice — Addington Church
yard — ' Deficient in Personal Presence ' — St. Alban's Cathedral . 48
CHAPTER XVIII
ST. ANDREWS AND MARLEE
The Summer Communion — Daylight at 11.30 P.M. — Aquinas' Prayer for
Satan — My Name-sake's Tragical End — Professor William Lee —
The Thousand -Yard Target — Notre-Dame de St. Andrews —
Samuel Smiles — At Dunkeld Cathedral — Scottish Criticism — Mr.
Hamilton of St. Ernan's— A sad loss . • ¦ • • 73
CHAPTER XIX
DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE
Glamis Castle— The Ghost asked for a subscription — Liddon in Glamis
Church— Of Liturgical Prayer— Episcopacy not to be defended on
grounds of expediency— The Hunter's Hill— Slavery much to be
desired— St. Alban's Cathedral Whitewashed— Bishop of Verulam
—Mr. Lyttelton of Hagley— Dean Stanley on the Trinity— Paro
chial Tragedy— Dedication of St. Margaret's Church— Incidents—
The Fall of the Tay Bridge— An Awful Time .... 86
CHAPTER XX
FIFE AND SURREY
Dean Stanley's Mother— Dr. Donald Macleod of Glasgow -The
Blossoming Trees at Selsdon — An Anglican Ordination — The
Rector's Box of Matches — My only glimpse of Carlyle — ' God help

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME vii
PAGE
them '—Bishops Moberly, Wordsworth, Benson -Archbishop Tait's
Grammar — The St. Giles' Lectures — Dr. Watson's last Sermon at
St. Andrews  109
CHAPTER XXI
DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C.C.C.
Biblical Criticism — Professor Charteris — The Magazine Life and Work
— Miraculous Skating — The terrible cold at Duns— A Lecturer not
to be discouraged— The Wreck on' Kate Kennedy's Day — Mr.
Bonamy Price — To Hugh Pearson at Windsor — Dean Wellesley's
Wonderful Talk — Pearson's Death — Dean Burgon— At Kew — A
charming Princess — The Meeting of the C.C.C. — The last sight of
Dean Stanley — His Death — The Druidical Circle at Marlee — Mr.
Alexander at St. Andrews -Mr. Duncan Campbell's speech . . 131
CHAPTER XXII
SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR : GADSH1LL
The Lord Rector's Installation — Lord Rosebery at St. Andrews — ' Most
Unacademical ' — Sir Theodore's Address— Lady Martin's Reading
— At Higham — Gadshill — The Empty Chair — Rochester Cathedral
— Friends to Be — ' No More Sea' — ' Cursedness of Temper'— Mr.
Moody the Evangelist at the Parish Church — James Montgomery's
Unpublished Verses — Dr. M'Culloch of Greenock- -East Grinstead
on the Longest Day — Petersham — The Tea-Party in the Crypt —
Mr. Phillips Brooks— Dulwich Gallery and the R.A. — Mr. Brown
ing — Special Services in Glasgow Cathedral — Nugce Ecclesiastics
— Studies in Church History  156
CHAPTER XXIII
NORTH AND SOUTH
A Wedding in St. Giles' Cathedral — Bishop Thorold's Address to the
Edinburgh Students — Bishop Wordsworth's Sermon in his Parish
Church— The Missionary and the Crocodile — Mr. Justice Denman
— Lord Palmerston and the Butcher — Thackeray easily Touched —
The Brass Band in the Parish Church — Dean Plumptre of Wells
and Mrs. Plumptre — Why a man preached extempore — Some one
went away .... ...... 181
VOL. II. a

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
CHAPTER XXIV
LORD REAY'S RECTORSHIP : THE WESLEYANS

PAGE

The Installation— The University Play — Roseneath — Sonnets from the
Afghanese— A Wesleyan Function — Archdeacon Allen —Deanery
at Wells— Glastonbury— At Tully-Veolan  195
CHAPTER XXV
BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS : CHURCH DEFENCE
At the Parish Church— At Magus Muir— The Fishers' Bazaar— To
Glamis Castle — The Abbey Wall —Principal Haldane -Glasgow
Cathedral and University — Mr. Thackeray's Daughter at St.
Andrews — ' The Magistrates of Glasgow, such as they are ' — Pro
fessor Mitchell's Church Defence Sermon — Dr. MacGregor's speech
— ' You meant it, you brute ! ' — A Newspaper Paragraph — Dr.
Liddon on the Retention of Episcopacy — On the Height of
Churches .  . . .211
CHAPTER XXVI
SORROW AT ST. ANDREWS
That Elm— Meeting with Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes -Principal
Tulloch at Torquay - Saturday February 13, 1886— The Sunday
Services here— The Funeral — The Service in the Parish Church —
At the Cathedral Church-yard — The Funeral Sermons, Sunday
February 21— A Dark Sunday at St. Andrews — His last Sermons . 230
CHAPTER XXVII
A BLAZING SUMMER : DISTINGUISHED VISITORS
A terrible Snow-storm in March — Dr. Richardson's Lecture — Sheriff
Campbell Smith's— Recondite Knowledge — A Poor-house Funeral
— Mr. MacBean, the University Librarian-s*Choir Festival at Perth
—Getting rid of Books— The Bridge— Afc SsJWSn Park— Froude—
At Cambridge— At Bilston-At Lichfield— The Choral Festival —
A Confirmation by Bishop Maclagan, now Archbishop — At Windsor
—Mrs. Oliphant's Life of Tulloch— Bishop Ryle at Pitlochry—

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME

PAGE

Episcopacy in the Kirk — Lord Breadalbane — A grand testimony —
The Princesses— Lord MoncriefPs Novel — The First Run on that
Railway — Principal Donaldson's First Address .... 244
CHAPTER XXVIII
LOCAL CONCERNS
The Cottage Hospital — ' Very little better than a Presbyterian '—Dr.
Henry Dunckley — After a Year — Mrs. Tulloch Taken — A Day in
London — ' St. John xiii. 7 ' — Chaplain of ' The Royal and
Ancient' — Primroses on Croham Hurst — A Vain Presentiment-
Westminster Abbey, June 21, 1887 — July in charge at Callander —
The Loch Katrine Water- works — Glasgow heartiness — ' That leein' .
body '— Forty-two Sermons at a. sitting — A Dark Pulpit — Mr.
Balfour Lord Rector — His Inaugural Address .... 273
CHAPTER XXIX
THE YEAR 1 888
Gladstone, a certain Double-First ' — ' Tait, Nobody ' — The Archbishop
at the General Assembly — The Aristotelian Logic — Sir Frederick
Pollock — Opposite Poles— The Consecration of Govan Church —
A grand Service — The First Sunday — The General Assembly — 'A
greeting- devil ' — Sunday evening at Dundee — Bishop Whipple of
Minnesota — The Conference at Gravesend — A Window in the Parish
Church — Bishop Harold Browne at St. Andrews — The ground-plan
of the Cathedral — Bishop Wordsworth of Salisbury — The Lives of
Tulloch and Lord Westbury — St. Andrew's Day, 1888 — Advent
Sunday at Selsdon Park— The cost of Church Robes . . . 299
CHAPTER XXX
OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER : BISHOP BOYD CARPENTER
The new St. Cuthbert's, Edinburgh — Mr. Andrew Lang — His Introduc
tory Lecture— Bright yet Solid— ' To Meet the Day'— LL.D. St.
Andrews — Professor Wright of Cambridge — At Cobham Hall —
Aylesford Church and Vicarage — 'When We Come to be Tried ' —
Professor Crombie's Funeral — Murthly Castle — The old Garden —

x TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS PAGE
The Vicar's Sermon at St. Mary's- The Master of Balliol— Pro
fessor Menzies — Bishop Boyd Carpenter of Ripon— November 20,
1889 — The Communion at Govan ..... 322
CHAPTER XXXI
THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY
The Barony Church, Glasgow — The University Chapel — The • Aias ' at
St. Andrews — Max Miiller — Dr. Pierson— Centenary of the Sons
of the Clergy — Service in Glasgow Cathedral — A Humbling Portrait
— The Kirk-Session of St. Andrews, Present and Past — The
General Assembly of 1890— Not so difficult to be Moderator — 'The
Circum tabular Oligarchy '—The Lord High Commissioner and Her
Grace — Thursday May 22 — Holy Communion in St. Giles' — The
Deaconesses' Home —Bishop Thorold at Holyrood and at St. Giles'
— A Woman-Hater won over— The Close of the Assembly — Drawn
Battle between Church and State — The Moderator's Dinner — A
Parting— To Selsdon Park ........ 342
CHAPTER XXXII
AFTER THE ASSEMBLY
Archbishop Magee's great speech in the Lords— City Feasts- Con
sternation of ex-Lord-Mayors— The Bishops' Dinner at Fulham —
Wonderful Story-telling — An Ordination at St. Saviour's—' I give
thee sixpence ? ' — At Aylesford — The Bishops' Dinner at the
Mansion House — When one went away — The Training for reading
the Lessons — The Girls' School — A Busy Autumn — Irongray
Churchyard .... ..... 364

TWENTY- FIVE YEARS
OF
ST. ANDREWS
CHAPTER XV
TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP
The days were shortening to the Autumnal Equinox when
the first volume of this book was begun : but it was sun
shiny above and golden and green below on that third of
September. Scottish Professors were thinking, in, some
cases, that only two months of their enviable long vacation
remained. I remember the strong and manly Flint once
saying ' The Session is coming upon me with an awful
distinctness.' For even the most competent men know
what it is to feel anxious. Now that the pen is taken up
again, the days are lengthening to the Vernal division
between the darkness and the light. And the morning of
this eighth of March is sunshiny. But it is wintry-cold :
and all nature is bleak and bare. In years departed, when
Principal Shairp and I used to meet upon an earlier day
than this, it was always with the salutation, befitting Words-
worthians, // is the first mild day of March : and sometimes
we went on to render a verse or two antiphonally. But
VOL. II. B

2 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
that uplifting day has not yet arrived : and Shairp has gone
where abides the everlasting Spring. I have looked out,
as aforetime, on the country-side which stretches towards
Clatto Hill. The Principal climbed that hill on an April
day fifteen years since, and wrote concerning it a beautiful
poem of vivid description and wise moralising, which some
of us read from time to time : wishing we could thank its
author. There are orderly and busy folk who must parcel out
their time carefully, giving such space to such work. This
volume was to have been begun on the second of February :
the Candlemas Blaze : so called still by many Scots folk who
know not the origin of the phrase they employ. But it has
been a hard and sorrowful winter to many: and various
good people have had to go away from St. Andrews, not
departing by any path we could trace. All work has been
subject to much interruption. The brightest and most
vivacious of workers have sometimes looked downcast.
And as the Festival of Light drew near, of a sudden that
mysterious Influence (so they called it of old, using English
speech) took the writer apart from all duty for five weary
weeks. It is all well for young folk, affluent of time, never
thinking that really the time is short : to go through such
a trial. It is very different when so much precious working
time is taken from a course which is sensibly shortening to
its close. It is not the least like books, — like most books I mean —
how things go : yet the homely pathos is deep. It was only
a little boy, nine years old, who had lain in his bed dying

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 3
for three months past, who one evening last week said to
his mother, thinking of a kind and hard-working neighbour
close at hand, ' I'm thinking she'll be rather dull to-night.'
' Why ? ' ' Because they'll be taking away her Man to
morrow.' And indeed next day the good man was to be
carried along South street to his rest in a solemn procession :
the coffin laid upon a piece of field-artillery : the pipers
playing the Flowers of the Forest, and the brass instru
ments taking up their turn with the unapproachable Dead
March. For he was an enthusiastic volunteer ; and a grand
piper : in addition to being a truly good man who left a
blameless record, going at fifty years. But, though there
was all kind sympathy in the little heart, the thin dark face
brightened a little, as the dying boy eagerly went on to say
he was to be carried down to see the grand funeral. He
had a little armchair of his own : and he told his mother he
had got two good neighbours, ' strong women,' to take each
an arm and carry him downstairs. And so he fell asleep.
But he was not to hear the pipes or see the cannon with its
six horses. At two in the morning he awoke and said
' Mother, I think I'll soon be perfectly well.' The poor
mother knew. She put into his lips a little spoonful of
tea ; and the boy turned his head on the pillow and spoke
no more. But he had spoken more wisely than he knew.
' Is it well with the child ? It is well.' Perfectly well.
He was waiting his turn, little Tommy, when the good
piper was laid to his rest. You remember poor Robert
Burns, at the very last : ' Don't let the awkward squad fire
over me.' And sure enough, with dropping shots, irregularly

4 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
fired, they bade our great poet farewell. There was nothing
of that kind here. The three vollies were given, as with
one sound each : awkwardness is not our characteristic,.
but soldierly alertness. And where St. Regulus has looked
down for eight hundred years on earth hallowed by Chris
tian burial for centuries before the old tower arose, once
more the words, said times beyond numbering, Forasmuch
as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy: the
magnificent words, worthy to stand, not fearing comparison,
even in a service which has the inestimable advantage of
consisting, to the extent of above three-fourths, of Holy
Scripture itself.
The boy's turn came soon. I buried them both. The
first Thursday£and the first Saturday of this Lengten-Tide.
And people who neglect to fast, or even to repent in dust
and ashes (at one time more than another), cannot fail to
mark the lengthening light : with its vague cheer in a
sorrowful time : with its vague promise of something which
is not likely to be.
I read, yesterday afternoon, in a very bright London even
ing paper, a somewhat^ detailed statement of what this second
volume is to contain. As not a line of the book was
written when I read the smart paragraph, and as I did not
know myself what the book may prove to be (and certainly
have spoken to no one on the subject), that forecast is quite
without authority. And yet it is to be confessed that it
appears not unlikely that (if I am allowed to finish the
volume) it may bear a considerable resemblance to what
the clever writer suggested.

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 5
A mark was set between the humble narrator's whole
previous life, and these latter years, by that time of suffering
and weakness of which enough has been said. It seemed
as if all the permitted space must be lived after a warning.
Yet one cheers up again in a wonderful way, after being
brought ever so low ; and on many days there does not
.seem much change. I must tell the story again, of what
was said by a dear old saint, making a speech to a company
which had met to do him honour on completing fifty years
in his sacred office. He had been a hard-working minister,
and cheery : many amusing stories I have heard him tell.
His speech was a little autobiography : very fitly so.
Never was autobiography addressed to more sympathetic
¦ears. We all reverenced him and loved him.
Doctor, how long will it be ?
About half an hour.
I see, in this moment, the worn old man who thus
related the story of a solemn period in his history. Then
he paused, the old time coming over him : and added amid
deep silence, That was forty years ago.
When you come back, my reader, from such a strange
•experience, you may probably find such a number of things
prepared to be attended to the next day. Some one else
might have looked at them, with a sigh. And not a thing
will be more felt, than that your work has been so cut
short. Few, indeed, are like Sir David Brewster, who felt
he had done all he desired to do. ' I never could have lain
•down at a worse time,' were the words of the best of ser
vants and friends, quickly taken from this house after

o TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
twenty-six years. One thinks of such a host of matters
which cannot be done but by one's self. There is no good
in recalling such a season. Yet nothing is better remem
bered than how, when lying at the very lowest, the last
hymns one had heard sung in church were continually in
one's ear. One should be thankful to have so far the
musical temperament : for then there is keen enjoyment.
Thankful, too, not to be too cultivated : for then one
is easily pleased. Most preachers, who can be called
preachers, preserve some record of the texts preached from,
and how they 'got on': what-like was the congregation,
and whether it was specially silent and attentive. But a
clergyman, here and there, relates likewise (only for his own
reading) the number in the choir, and what psalms and
hymns were sung, and to what music. No preacher can
be thankful enough if nature and training have made him
entirely pleased with his church, his choir, his congregation.
It is a terrible thing to be irritable. You may break out.
And then, shame and sorrow : perhaps permanent harm.
He was an excellent old parson, but unhappily provided
with a super-sensitive nervous system, who was preaching
one day about the swine who were drowned in the lake of
Galilee. Just as he stated that they all perished, an
unpolished soul in a gallery pew proceeded to clear his.
throat in a truly-awful manner, producing a very loud
sound of a terrible sort, which reverberated through the
sacred edifice. The preacher was stung beyond endurance.
He said, ' The evangelist states that all the swine perished
in the waters. But here there is plainly some mistake.

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 7
One of the animals still survives, and is at this moment in
that gallery.' So saying, he pointed at the offending mem
ber of the congregation. Such a remark cannot wholly be
approved. Yet he was an admirable man from whom the
cry of anguish was wrung.
It was on Thursday December 5, 1878, that George
Whyte Melville's horse, cantering along a ' rig ' in a ploughed
field, stumbled ; and the great horseman, who had done
daring feats times without number, was thrown over the
animal's head and never stirred again. On the Sunday
after, one of my first days in my study, I managed to
write, in a shaky hand, a few lines of sympathy to the
poor father and mother, whom I was not able to go and
see. The next day brought a most touching letter from
good Mr. Whyte Melville. One sentence in it I shall
never forget : ' the son that never caused me a sad
thought' It is a grand testimony. Would it were so
with all sons ! For one who knows facts as a man in my
profession does, knows that the heaviest heart that ever
comes to father or mother in this world is through the
misconduct of their children. On Sunday December 22,
Lady Catherine Whyte Melville died. She had been quite
well till the awful blow fell. And though she never went
to England, and her son seldom came to Scotland, still it
was possible they might meet face to face : and that is a
great thing to know. Deep snow was lying everywhere,
and causing immense trouble, through these days. It was
so on Saturday the 28th, when a small party gathered at
Mount Melville, and Tulloch and I did the part of the

8 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
service which was done there. It was in the dining-room :
and very strange indeed, in that hospitable apartment, it
was to look at the table at whose head the dignified
though kindly aristocrat used to sit ; and at the familiar
walls, closely covered with pictures, many of them hunt
ing-pieces. There was one fine painting showing Mr.
Whyte Melville in his prime; and a wonderful hunter
which he often rode then. Though its record was some
thing marvellous, it looked little more than a pony : its
colour a curious yellow. Then away, through the snowy
park, to the spot in the churchyard which one often looks
at now. The fine old man, parted after sixty years of
married life, was very quiet. It is the way of this un
demonstrative country.
People, not meaning to be heartless, sometimes rub one
the wrong way. I said to an old friend of the house, that
day, ' George's death killed Lady Catherine.' The sound
but unsympathetic answer came, ' She would soon have
died, at any rate.' And doubtless she had passed the
fourscore years.
The next day, Sunday December 29, was a great day
in the writer's little history, and it was not without interest to
a great number of kind people in the parish. For after eleven
Sundays of silence, I took to my duty again. The snow
still lay deep, but heavy rain fell that forenoon. While
very ill, I had thought of my text if I should ever be
allowed to preach again. And I had written my sermon
bit by bit, writing with difficulty and taking many days to
it. Without saying anything of the circumstances, one

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 9
•desired to show what was constantly in one's mind. Just
a word at the end, of thankfulness for extraordinary
sympathy and kindness : and of losses which had fallen
upon the place, since I lay down. For the stately old
Professor Jackson died on Christmas-Eve : and Dr. Lindsay,
wisest and kindest of Elders, who had come into the
Session-House, bright and well, on my last Sunday of
duty, had gone long before. Fitly, my service that
morning was at the parish church. The praise was hearty.
And the congregation listened very silently. Next day,
Professor Jackson was laid to rest.
The Third Series of the Recreations was published
during that dark time. And on January 14, 1879, a
volume of sermons, From a Quiet Place. This was my
nineteenth volume, and the record of the day says
' probably my last' So we miscalculate. This Third
Series of Essays was not published in America. Messrs.
Ticknor and Fields had published the first two. Would
there had been American copyright in those days ! For
though the price of each volume was two dollars, by 1 869
the First Series bore the pleasant legend, Eighteenth
Edition ; and the Second, Sixteenth Edition. Some years
later, the Second Series was. in the Twentieth Edition.
But the liking for detached Essays (unless weightier than
mine) died away. Sermons still hold on. Ticknor and
Fields published five volumes of Essays and three of
sermons. They were under no obligation to give me a
penny. But for these eight volumes they gave me 240/.
The publishers of recent volumes have not even sent me

10 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
copies of them, save in one or two cases. And neither
they, nor the men who republished magazine articles, ever
raised the question of giving or receiving. The American
volumes of Essays contain, each, a half more matter than
the English. And a good many papers from Frasir, never
reprinted in this country, may be found in them.
I really think it is not conceit which makes me here
preserve the Latin lines which Bishop Wordsworth, ever
the kindest of friends, sent me on receiving that nine
teenth volume. It seems as if it would be ingratitude and
affectation to omit them.
Quot fessos homines, quot tristia corda, quot ssgros,
Quot passim indociles otia longa pati,
Te ' recreans,' scriptis recreasti, Rustice Pastor,
Nee tot post annos charta diserta silet ! —
Non equidem invideo ; miror magis ; et prece posco,
Hsec vita in tantis dum sit agenda malis,
Ut, saliens veluti in deserto jugis aqua? fons,
Ingenii exundans sic tua vena fluat !
Let it here be suggested, for the guidance of some in
a possible perplexity, that books form quite the best
present to offer to most educated men : that is, unless the
present is to be on a large scale. It was a pleasant event
when, on a day at the close of that January, there came
to this house from Professor Jackson's library, as a
memorial of that much-esteemed friend, the grand editions
of Bacon and Milton. Bacon, as everybody knows, is
edited by Spedding, Ellis, and Heath. It is in seven large
volumes ; and the title-pages bear the names of sixteen

TO WORK AGAIN: LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP n
publishers instead of the usual one. No doubt it was well.
For the cost of preparing such a work must have been
immense : and though of course a standard and classical
work in the strictest sense, it is outside the taste of the
mass of readers, and quite beyond the means of very many
capable of duly valuing it. Milton is a magnificent edition.
It is in eight volumes : was published by Bickers and
Bush in 1 863 ; and is a facsimile* of the edition published
by Pickering in 1 851. The type is antique, and grand for
size. The spelling is that which Milton knew. Time is ' the
suttle theef of youth.' And the great man's work was to
be done ' As ever in my great task Masters eye.' Task
and Masters are separate words : and Masters bears no sign
of the possessive case. The line recalls to me the day on
which I was present in a Presbytery of the Kirk, where a
discussion was going on as to means proposed for the more
stringent spurring-up of certain drones among the parochial
clergy. One speaker said that he liked not a system
of watching, and hounding-on : that if a man were fit to be
in charge of a parish at all, surely he might be trusted to
do his duty as in his great Task-Master's eye, without the
continual supervision of a Committee. Whereupon a good
man uprose and said he must protest against such
language : that he objected in the strongest manner to
hearing God Almighty spoken of as a Task-Master : it was
irreverent in a high degree. And I thought, there and
then, of what a most eminent Professor of Theology once
told me had been said to himself by another Professor of
Theology who was much older than himself but not nearly

12 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
so eminent or well-informed. This venerable senior said to
my friend that not merely he himself had never read either
Milton or Shakspere, but that he did not believe any human
being had ever read either Milton or Shakspere. And
what could one reply to the austere saint who said to myself
being a lad (yet a parson), that ' no one who knew the
truth as it is in Jesus could read Shakspere ' ?
Yet I am quite sure the good man who said such
-words had himself read Shakspere, at one period. He, at
least, did not condemn what he did not know. But within
this week, a very bright Scotch minister told me that many
years since he was present where two faithful and admirable
men were vehemently condemning Dr. Robert Lee of
Edinburgh. ' To think that that man is eating the bread
¦of the Church, and unsettling the faith of her young
preachers ! ' My friend, though unbeneficed as yet, after
a while said, ' But are you not doing injustice to Dr.
Lee ? I studied under him for two years, and never heard
any of these things you have been stating that he says.
May I ask, have you ever heard him yourselves ? ' ' Hear
Robert Lee,' one replied with much heat : ' Not likely !
Do you think I'd listen to a traitor like that ? ' Then he
cast upon my friend the peculiar glance of one who is
determined to keep a young fellow out of a living if
he can. It was about this time that I did the burial service (as
I have done many times) over a poor suicide. There is such
a thing as Luck in this world : and mine has been to know
more than my share of those who have thus passed from

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 13.
this life. I have known, well, more than thirty suicides :
men and women. Some of them were as good and kindly
souls as I hope to see. Hardly any of them could be said
to be insane : they were perfectly like unto other people.
But the hour came in which reason toppled over : and they
went. One was a little boy, who thought he had got into
such an awful trouble that he never could be right any
more. If he had only come and told me ! Everything
could have been set straight in about a minute. But that was
just what he could not do. I remember, long ago, in my
first parish, how a poor old man whose old wife had hanged
herself said to me (trying to comfort him) that there was
a text in the Bible which said ' The common damned
shun their society : ' and he could not get over that. I
explained to him that the line does not occur in holy
scripture, but only in Blair's Grave : that it was quite
without authority beyond that of Mr. Blair himself : that
it was a most presumptuous statement to make : and that
in my judgment it was false, outrageously false. But I
fear the good old man was not comforted. In those days,.
anything which stood in print had, for some, authority far
beyond the weightiest spoken word of any one living.
And my authority was small. For though I was incum
bent of a parish of 5,000 souls, my years were twenty- five
and my face was unlined. I thought myself quite as old as
anybody need be : but now, looking back, I am aware I
was (for my place) very young. It would be very strange
indeed to see that little company (of thirty-two or thirty-
three) here in this quiet room together : all ranks, all ages,

14 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
both sexes : they had felt the ' blackness of darkness '
which may one day come down on any. We were great
purists in the matter of giving an author's exact words
who prepared the Scottish Hymnal : but not a man durst
propose to give one line of Faber's famous hymn as he
wrote it : ' All journeys end in welcome to the weary.' It
would have made short shrift of the volume when it came
to be judicially dealt with : and how dare we speak beyond
what is revealed ? But those who have had like experience
to mine have come to have an infinite trust in infinite
mercy, and perfect understanding of us poor men : and only
a few (whose own look-out would be extremely black if
the lines be not true) objected to the good Father's verse
which I have heard sung in places where I had not
expected it :
For the love of God is broader
Than the measures of man's mind :
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.
It is very singular how, in one's own experience, it is
exactly the people who have most need to wish that the
larger hope may prove true, who are bitterest against it. I
never will forget how, long ago, when I was in my Edin
burgh parish, I said to a neighbour, ' It is very sad that
that poor woman is to be hanged.' ' No,' said the uncom
promising man (his church was empty and mine was not),
' it is not a bit sadder that a woman should be hanged than
a man. God will damn a woman just as soon as a man :
and therefore in what you say you are accusing God, and

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 15
going against the Standards of the Kirk.' I replied that it
was a very terrible thing to think of ' God damning ' either
man or woman : but that I had fancied most people felt a
certain tenderness for the weaker and more suffering half
of poor Humanity. Then we parted, after my acquaintance
had administered further rebuke to me. And in a few
days I found that he had put about my little observation,
with his own comments upon it. And if he thought me
an evil man, seeking to undermine the blessed dogmas of
Calvinism (which are in both the Articles and the Con
fession), no doubt he was right to say so. That is, from his
point of view. And he was not a bad man at all, though
he did not like me. Neither did I like him. There are
Elective Affinities, as readers of Goethe know. There are
likewise Elective Antipathies : very strong ones. And, as
Dr. Wallace beautifully remarked, ' We are told to love our
enemies : but we are not told to like them.'
I have ever recalled with keen approval the story of one
of the bigots who went to New England, seeking ' freedom
to worship God ' for themselves, combined with freedom to
persecute all who desired to worship in any other way :
how one Sunday he preached to his unhappy congregation
that he had satisfied himself that just one in each seven
hundred and seventy-seven of the human race should be
saved at last. Coming out, he found the congregation
gathered under a tree, in high debate. They had calculated
that if the case were so, exactly three souls in the parish
would end well: and the question in debate was, Who
those three should be ? They stated their perplexity to

16 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
that preacher of despair ; and mentioned a good many
names which had been suggested. But a fine effect was
produced upon the mind of that ferocious fatalist by the
fact that not one individual had mentioned his. A true
instinct had led them. They had never even thought of
him. From that day the tone of his preaching materially
changed. It grew a good deal humbler, and less dicta
torial : that is to say, a good deal liker the real thing. I
was struck, indeed, by somebody saying, just yesterday,
in apology for an over-confident divine, that Christ Him
self was the most confident of all preachers : He was
always perfectly sure He was Right. If any reader (out
of Bedlam) does not see the difference, I need not point
it out. On Tuesday February 4 I was pleased to get a letter
from an old school-acquaintance, unseen for untold years.
We had known each other (not much) at King's College
School in London. He was an Anglican clergyman : a
consular chaplain in a great city on the Continent. He
had been a very clever boy in those distant days. Yet he
had come to do what it is understood we never do. He
stated that he had preached most of my published sermons,
and asked if another volume would soon appear. I sent
him the volume, just out : which would keep him going
for twenty-three Sundays. And I said how well I remem
bered his face ; and wished him all good. A sentence of
local colour, here and there, would have to be struck out of
these discourses : but I thought that otherwise they would
do. If critical opinion were in exact proportion to worldly

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 17
rank, certain of these must have had some modest merit.
In fact, they might have attained to being Not Bad:
which is the utmost length in eulogy I have known some
preachers go in the matter of any sermons save their own.
A good many parsons (Dr. Neale was one) have written
to me that they sometimes delivered discourses written by
this weary hand. Let me confess, I should be greatly
interested in hearing one actually delivered. You do not
know what your own compositions are like. You never
heard yourself speak. I fancy you would be startled if
you could. You had not expected anything like that. I
never heard even a sentence of my own read aloud.
Something would turn upon the reader : not some thing,
everything. Hugh Millar, that true rough honest genius,
tells us he once heard Chalmers read a passage of his ; and
did not at first know it again, it was so infinitely finer than
he had fancied. Such is the magic of a great orator.
And I suppose there can be no doubt that Chalmers was
of the very greatest.
It was in this sorrowful time of withdrawal from all
duty that a Lord Rector gave his inaugural address at the
University : the only one in my time whom I did not see
and hear. But, straight from the function, Mr. Story of
Roseneath (such was the name then) came up to my sick
room, and sat down by the fire ; and in lively fashion told
me all about it. I was not allowed to see Story save for a
few minutes ; but it brightened one greatly to see the keen
but kind face, and to hear the voice I had not thought to
hear again. He had a word to say of the Recreations III.
VOL. II. *' c

r8 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
And though one knows that the criticism of a most valued
friend is strongly-biased, all the same it is greatly prized.
And I have noted that Story, just as fine a speaker as I
have heard, is very sensitive to little bits of pathos, so it be
real. Anything falsetto, or bogus, is in such matters quite
hateful. And it deceives no mortal. That which moistens
the eyes of any mortal to read, the author wrote with tears.
The Rector was one I had specially desired to hear. It
was Lord Selborne : better known in those days to many
good people as Roundell Palmer, for the sake of the Book
of Praise. He was not unconnected with Fife, being
brother-in-law of the Countess of Rothes : and he some
times came to Leslie. I do not know how the students
came to think of a great Equity lawyer, whose work lay
so far from us : unless this fact weighed. But it is quite
wonderful how wisely the youths almost always make their
choice : and certainly Lord Selborne did much honour to
the Chair. His inaugural address was conceived in a
serious strain. This might well have been expected when
such a man was called to address young men with all their
makings in them. It was on the like occasion that Dean
Stanley quoted the words of an old Principal to the little
boy Samuel Rutherford : ' It's ill to witt what God may
make of you yet' And the ex-Chancellor's address was
very popular. Everybody revered the man : we knew his
record well. Everybody liked him. Two daughters came
with him, whom Story led out to the end of the Links. I
had known Lord Selborne's face from my very early youth.
For two years I saw it continually. For I am (I believe)

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 19
the only minister of the Kirk who is likewise a member of
the Honourable Society of the Middle Temple. On rare
Sundays, with years between, I go to the Temple church :
where there is set in authority at least one functionary
with a more than royal gift of remembering faces. More
than once or twice, as I pressed through the waiting crowd,
I have said to that keen though benignant man (it is years
since I saw him last), ' Do you remember me ? Member of
the Middle Temple ? ' And the answer came, ' Perfectly, Dr.
Boyd : two years since you were here last.' Through these
years of pretty hard study for the Bar, I beheld the thin dark
face (which has grown decidedly pleasanter as it has grown
older) in the shabby Vice-Chancellor's Courts in Lincoln's
Inn : likewise in the Hall, where the Lord Chancellor sat
alone. He was already a Queen's Counsel : he had been ex
tremely eminent at the University : and everybody knew he
was sure to rise. His career was never sullied by one of the
not-quite-creditable tricks, professional and political, which
have led some men to the Woolsack. People forecast, very
accurately. Still, ' as sure as anything of that kind can
be' does not mean very sure. The possible slips are
many. And a sharp lawyer's clerk can calculate the
chances nearly as well as any one. Yet I often re
member how, one day walking up and down on a hill that
looked upon a picturesque little town with the Lord
Chancellor of that day, the great man startled me by
saying, ' I'll tell you who is one of the most rising men we
have ' : and then he mentioned a name not very outstand
ing as yet. ' He expects to be Lord Derby's Solicitor-

20 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
General.' Time went on : he was that and a great deal
more. It was Lord Chancellor Cairns.
Though I missed his Rector's address here, I often
heard Mr. Roundell Palmer speak in those distant days.
Of course, speeches in Courts of Equity do not tend to be-
exciting. Yet I remember one very vividly. It was in
Lincoln's-Inn Hall, before Lord Chancellor Truro. Mr.
Palmer had concluded a paragraph in what was doubtless
a most able speech : paused for half-a-minute : looked at
his brief ; and then went on with entire fluency. After he
had said three or four sentences, the plump little Chancellor
suddenly started up, and used these long - remembered
words : ' Ah, I see you're going upon another — ah — ah ' :
and making a rapid bow, scuttled out of Court with much
alacrity. The eminent advocate, so suddenly arrested in
his career, gathered up his papers in what I thought a
somewhat discomfited fashion. This was what is called
' The rising of the Court ' : less impressive to see than to
hear of. The day came, a good while after the Rectorship,
when, travelling to Perth from Edinburgh I beheld Lady
Rothes conducting some friends to the over-crowded train.
She put into my compartment a son and daughter, with a
kind word of introduction, but the ex-Chancellor had to
scramble for a place elsewhere. At Perth I had my single
talk with him : finding him (of course) everything that
was unaffected and frank. The last I saw of him that day
was struggling for tickets amid a crowd at a little window :
looking very unworn after his years of anxious work : and
one thought how interested many there present would have

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 21
been had they known who he was. At Perth station,
in autumn, an analogous reflection will frequently sug
gest itself. When next I saw him, he was Chancellor
presiding in the Lords, and making a lengthy speed
-which would not have been popular at St. Andrews
One thought of the wideawake hat of Perth, looking on
the full-bottomed wig : likewise of the short coat of tweed,
which somebody had called ' trie shortest Chancery suit
ever seen ' ; comparing it with the tremendous train. Vividly
comes back the hour in which I went to the opening of the
House of Lords, with a friend whose duty it was to say
the prayers : I asked a delightful old man in authority
whether I could not witness the ceremony. ' Quite im
possible,' said he, with suitable dignity. But after the
Bishop had gone in, and Lord Selborne appeared, the fine
old man said to me, 'Just you stand outside the House,
¦and lift that curtain aside, and look in as soon as prayers
begin.' All which I did : and so beheld the tabooed
ceremony just as well as the Chancellor himself. It was
very simple, very short, very touching and impressive.
And I could not but remark that several lords, who were
waiting to take their seats and hear appeals, staid outside
till after the prayers were over : after the manner of many
ministers in the Church Courts of Scotland.
Snow lying everywhere this morning, making all the
country white. Yet another week will bring the Equinox.
It is Monday morning : and you, young preacher, will
find out, when you have grown old, that each Sunday's
duty, heartily got through amid cheering surroundings, is

22 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
reason for humble thankfulness. So this writer knows,
to-day, why he feels quietly content : as much so as he
ever expects to be. Of course, we never boast of to
morrow. ' Here in fear,' most of us : more than was
intended. And I remember how, long years since, in this
room, a little boy, after looking at me for a while with a
wistful face, suddenly burst out with the remarkable words,
' I'm awfully happy ; and I don't know why.' All which
sayings, as time goes on, are infinitely pathetic to recall.
Two of the hopefullest of the dear youths whom the
University has trained helped me yesterday in my services :
each a Master of Arts ; each a Son of the Manse. Unless
you be a Scotsman, you do not quite take in the warmth
of that tie : you do not know what stirs in our hearts
when it is said ' Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.'
On February 8, 1879, my colleague Anderson and I
read the burial service over our much-esteemed Elder and
Heritor^ Dr. Watson Wemyss of Denbrae. ' The rain rained
on ' the good man, as we laid him down close to the
Cathedral, under the grand ' Abbey Wall.' I had ever
found him the kindest of friends. He was one of the two
who walked into my study in Great King Street on a
Wednesday evening to ask me to come to this charge. I
saw him then for the first time. I did not wish to leave
Edinburgh. Among other things it was said ' It will be'
hard to turn out of this house, which is our own, and
which fits us exactly.' I remember the answer : ' Ah, it is
a very good house, but it commands no view? The remark
seemed strange. But I lived to learn that when Dr.

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 23
Wemyss was an eminent Edinburgh physician, he lived in
Queen Street : which, though in the midst of a great city,
has a magnificent view of sea and mountains. The hand
some country house which he inherited stands two miles
out of this city. Never was more hospitable dwelling
Besides the charming old-fashioned house, the Laird had
inherited with it one of those old-fashioned cellars which
used to abound with Madeira 50. years old, and all things
else to match. I have had the honour to perform the
service at the weddings of each of the four daughters of
that house. And it is pathetic to remember that I read
the burial service over one of them just on that day
eleven months that I had read her marriage service. She
was laid in a beautiful nook of the churchyard, with the
sea below : and over her was raised a costly monument of
white marble, part of which is a solemn statue of a winged
angel, the size of human life. With a calm face and
gesture, the angel rests upon the cross. One who disap
proved the graven image and the cross thought to smash
them. To this end, he clambered over the wall upon a
moonlight night, hammer in hand. But as he drew near
the angel lifted a hand with an awful movement of warn
ing. And the iconoclast fled in terror. He had not the
courage of the mortal who overthrew the magnificent
eagle-lectern in Glasgow Cathedral. It may be said that
in certain kirks where such are now found, some of the
less-educated have failed to identify the bird intended.
And the young assistant who reads the Lessons has been
described as ' the lad ahint the Hen.'

24 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF "ST. ANDREWS
Close by the house is the beautiful Den. A rapid
stream runs down it ; and it is thickly planted with well-
grown trees. The primroses there are wonderful. The
steep sides of the Den blaze with them : they make a
carpet under the first living green of the Spring trees.
Finish your work on Saturdays by one o'clock, young
friends in my vocation : and (for your own sake and the
congregation's) give that afternoon to idleness, and to as
long a walk as your years may make suitable. Many a
quiet Saturday through these years one has drunk in the
spirit of the season amid the pale gold and shadowing
greenness of that peaceful and pleasant place.
It was on February 18 that a bright letter came from
Principal Tulloch that he was to be Editor of Fraser. He
developed his plans with a hopefulness which was delightful
to see. In the late afternoon I had a talk with him at the
Club upon the whole outlook. And in the evening I dined
with him to meet Dr. Cunningham of Crieff, who had come
to lecture to the students. I heard the first lecture : the
criticism of the time is Very Good. There is always great
brightness about whatever Cunningham writes or says.
He is quite the youthfullest man of his years I ever knew :
and though he cannot be young, there is abundance of good
work in him. I have heard, in his lectures, as keen epi
grammatic sayings as I ever heard at all : and I have listened
several times to Disraeli. And they were not merely smart
there was deep wisdom in them, many times.
I do not know, at all, why Fraser, in Tulloch's hands,
was not more successful. For liberality is a weak word to

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 25
express what characterised all the arrangements of the
great House it belonged to. Everything that could be
thought of was done. The contributors had reason to
rejoice exceedingly. Tulloch did his part excellently.
The magazine was extremely lively and readable. But
the day of half-crown magazines is gone by. There is but
¦one exception : the oldest of monthlies holds its own, and
flourishes. But the position of 'Blackwood is quite by itself.
Maga is the organ of a great political party. Every
educated man and woman has to read it. The prestige of
its past history is quite without parallel. Immense weight
attaches to anything said in it : not the least in the minds
of such as differ from it. And I suppose it is easier to
make the great step of a quite fresh start, than to revive a
periodical which has been declining. Indeed, that was
made quite apparent when Fraser 's successor stept into the
field. Then, of course, there is Election. Things are
appointed, often with scanty regard to the merits. Why
did Mr. Lynch preach in London to empty benches ?
This, with every element of popularity, one would have
said. And why do some, not to be named, discourse to
overflowing crowds ? It is as when an enormously-wealthy
Glasgow man said to a keen old Glasgow woman, ' You see,
the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.'
' No,' said she, with deep significance : ' nor riches to men
of understanding ! ' There is no doubt, it vexed Tulloch
to see how the papers, monthly, lauded Fraser, while yet
the circulation would not go up, as we all desired. But
never a word of discouragement came from Paternoster

26 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF- ST. ANDREWS
Row. After Tulloch's working days were over, everything
was done which could cheer. I remember, vividly, Tulloch
saying, more than once or twice, how difficult was an
Editor's position in the matter of estimating offered contri
butions from strangers. An extremely good paper there
was no doubt about : that was quickly judged. So an
extremely bad one. But Tulloch said there was a large
middle class of papers, your estimate of which was quite
dependent on your own state of mind. Reading them in
one mood, you thought they might do. In another mood,
you felt they would not It recurs to one's memory,
writing these words, how that heaven-born Editor John
Blackwood went no. further than this, when Amos Barton
was offered him for Maga. ' I am happy to say that I
think your friend's reminiscences of clerical life will do?
' If the author is a new writer, I beg to congratulate him
on being worthy of the honours of print and pay.' Print
and pay : musical words in many a poor young soul's ear L
Never more so than in the writer's, just this time six-and-
thirty years.
I note that on Ash- Wednesday in 1879, February 27,
the congregation numbered above 65. Not many out of
a congregation with 2,000 communicants. But good
working-people cannot indulge in the luxury of week-day
services : their devotion is expressed by attending to the
little boys and girls at home : all which is counted as done
to Somebody much higher. Tulloch never came to any
week-day service : of course I never looked for him. But
another eminent friend who assured me that he would

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 27
never be absent (having heard intimation made in the
parish church of the order of instruction) did not come
even once. One gets quite accustomed to those things :
they do not ruffle. Tulloch often told me, half-seriously,
that I had ' a morbid appetite for going to church.' The
week-day congregation consisted almost exclusively of
women of the educated class. And when Tulloch heard
that a neighbouring laird had several times put off a game
of golf to come to church, my dear friend said to me, very
seriously, ' It is quite clear that his brain is softening.'
The great Guthrie, preaching one of his very last
sermons (my brother heard him), declared that one note of
a truly-good man is, that going out of church after the
longest sermon, he always went, saying (I fancy within
himself) More I More ! I fear I have known truly-good
folk who went out saying Less ! Less ! And possibly the
most eminent persons one has preached to went out with
the strong desire, unexpressed, None at all ! None at all !
I never but once preached to a Prime Minister, actually in
office. He was the cleverest man of his time. He attended
sharply here and there : one read it in the keen face. But
then his thoughts went off to his awful burden of care.
In any case, after church, he said a kind word of the
sermon : not forgotten. It was an awful occasion when, in
the presence of a multitude, our greatest preacher addressed
another Prime Minister. No mortal ever slept under that
preacher before. But the Minister had just had luncheon,
and several glasses of quite-extraordinary Madeira : farther,
he was an old man. And he slept from first to last. I

.28 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
once sat in the parish church close beside a man of great
distinction (not a Principal), while a most able sermon of
an hour's duration was delivered : this without a scrap of
manuscript. As we rose to go, the great man said, ' An
admirable sermon.' It was impossible to hold back the
answer, ' Yes, it was : but you did not hear a word of it'
The great man smiled sweetly, and said, ' I hope the people
about did not see I was asleep.' Such is the reception, my
friend, occasionally given to your most elaborate composi
tions. We had been sitting, indeed, in large chairs of oak and
velvet, much too comfortable for a church, where a certain
austerity is befitting. Long ago, Bishop Wilberforce
pointed out, as an evil note of this self-indulgent age, the
prevalent use of easy-chairs. Of one thing I am fully per
suaded : that any seat which approaches to being an easy-
chair should not be tolerated in church. Many a year ago,
I was present at a meeting in a church at Dumfries where
the Duke of Buccleuch presided, seated in the precentor's
desk. The meeting over, the Duke said, writhing himself
with the air of suffering, ' I know now how it is that pre
centors never sleep in church.'
I have never alluded to such things in this book before :
nor am I to do so again. But, for a reason, I record that
on March 4 one of the weightiest men in the Kirk informed
me that I was likely to be asked to leave this parish for
another which had become vacant. I copy, verbatim, the
frank history of the time, which no mortal ever saw but
myself. ' Some years ago, I should have greatly liked it :
but not now. I am fifty-three : and my health is shaken

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 29
by this illness, finally. I have not heart nor strength to begin
in a new charge. And I am very well off here, as much
as I could be in the Scotch Kirk. The living here is better.
All things are changed. I speak as if I were to be offered
it ; but I do not myself think there is any chance. A much
younger man should go.'
I take no credit to myself for anything but what 1
know is likewise present with all my best friends in my
profession. But I have ever regarded it as a contemptible
thing to coquet for an offer, and then make capital of de
clining it. I have always prevented offers from being made,
when ' sounded.' And I never have said a word to a soul
in the parish of offers which came. To do so diminishes
the value of the offer to the next man. And I have noted,
too, that men who put about that they were offered such
and such a living, as matter of fact, were not offered it at
all. A man who, long ago, sometimes came to St.
Andrews, informed some of us that he had three times
declined a Bishopric in the Church of England. I men
tioned this to a Canon of York, just in from his round of
golf. ' A pure invention,' said the Canon, indignantly.
Indeed I am softening his words. ' No,' was the reply :
' Not so bad as that. Possibly he has failed to grasp the
fact, that you can't say you have been offered a place,
unless you have been offered it by a person who is able to
give it to you. Likely enough, some good old lady has said
to X — , You are the very man to be Bishop of Barchester.
Then he thought he was offered the see. For instance, I
might offer to make you Pope. And then you might go

30 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
about saying that you had declined the Papacy.' 'Ah,'
said the Canon, keenly, ' but then I would not decline it ! '
It was startling. But assuredly, for stately benignity of
aspect, that Canon (brought up in the Scotch Kirk) was
fit to be anything.
A curious fact may be mentioned here. When a
Scotch minister is offered another living, it used to be the
way that he said a great deal about ' a larger sphere of
usefulness ' and the like : not a word about the better
stipend. To my personal knowledge, that sort of thing
was heartily laughed at by shrewd Scotch folk. The
' divine call ' almost always came to a place where things
were better in a worldly sense. Once upon a time I was
offered a parish which, when in the country, I should have
been glad to accept Circumstances gave it special interest
to me. But I was now at St. Andrews. So, when the
good ' deputation ' came, I said ' I can't cause you an
hour's delay : I could not in conscience leave this place for
yours : this " sphere " is great : I only wish I were worthier
of it.' The deputation regarded not the words at all : but
went on to urge, in a kindly way. Whereupon I said my
last word. ' Good friends, the living here is more than
twice as large as yours.' Then, they appeared to feel
reality. They instantly went on to ask if I could suggest
any one else. It was very amusing. Decorous convention
alities weigh light in the balance, here. You had best tell
the truth to a Scotsman at once. He knows it already,
perfectly. Let me advise the reader to carefully avoid getting into

TO WORK AGAIN : LORD SELBORNE'S RECTORSHIP 31
a painful track of thinking, at any season when he is really
ill. The thoughts will take hold, in a terrible way. I have
the Glasgow College Prize List bound up, for several years
-during which I thought it the greatest of all things to stand
high there. One day about this time the record says, ' Too
ill to do anything, sat by fire, and looked over the Prize
List for the years I have it. Very sad. So many of the
prize-takers dead, and gone to the bad.' No doubt sorrow
fully true. It may be added, that these distinctions, even
the highest of them, are speedily forgot. There is nothing
here like the Senior Wranglership, which is matter of
history. A youth who had written what used to be called
a University prize essay, a very small one, once said to a
man not ten years away from College who in his day had
written them all with one bare exception (all successfully),
* You have not the smallest idea of the work which goes to
writing a University essay.' And the prize-taker modestly
answered, ' I dare say it is very hard.' But I do not
remember a more marked characteristic of the distinguished
Glasgow students of my time, than the dead silence they
kept about their own doings. I knew Shairp for years
before he told me he was first in Moral Philosophy. But
I fancy modesty (generally) goes with merit everywhere.
I hear, to-day, over forty years, a lady at her own dinner-
table say to Professor Kelland of Edinburgh (in con
sequence of something just said to her) ' Professor Kelland,
were you Senior Wrangler ? ' In a mild, quick voice, the
answer came,, ' Yes, I was Senior Wrangler ' : and ftien
Kelland rapidly passed to another subject. I grieve to say

32 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
that one other sentence of that most admirable man will
not depart from my memory. It was said very good-
naturedly : but it was said. Some one asked why a certain
most eminent Bishop was continually writing letters to the
newspapers. ' Ah,' said the beloved Professor, ' Satan
finds some mischief still, For idle hands to do.'

33

CHAPTER XVI
WHEN ONE WENT AWAY
That year of grace 1879 was terribly inclement through
many of its months. Snow lay deep till the end of March :
at Glasgow I beheld it a foot deep on Easter-day, April 13.
Of this more hereafter. Here, one thought of the often-
expressed view of good Professor Jackson, that ' the St.
Andrews year consisted of seven months of winter and five
of cold weather.' This, though loving St. Andrews as
few have done. And the stately old Lady Catherine used
to say that if ever warmth came here at all, we had three
hot days and a thunderstorm.
I am not telling my own story in these pages. I pass
over things innumerable which one recalls with a tear.
Not a word has been said of the coming to this house of
three boys in these years at St. Andrews : but the reader
will pardon some mention of the going away of one. For
we come to know the meaning of things. Often, when I
was a little boy, a grey-haired old man showed me a little
picture, an alert young face and figure, a red jacket, and
said always the same words, 'That's my son in India.'
The hopeful youth fell bravely fighting, and returned no
more. I have read somewhere that if Shakspere came
VOL. II. D

34 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
back now to this world and found what he has grown to
be, how his thoughts and words have got into men's heads
and hearts, it would be too much for mortal man. Even
he would not be able to bear it. I know not. But I have
often thought that it would be too much for even the best
of all good lads, far away, if he could quite realise what he
had come to be in his father's house. To the outer world,
that little family uses the Gregorian calendar : but every
event is really reckoned from the day when the boy went.
Yes, that happened since he went away. You take down
a book from its place : you look at its date : yes, he
never saw that. The remembrance of him is a pervading
atmosphere in the lives of the aging parents : he is never
forgotten at all. Thinking of everything else, you think
of him too. And little circumstances are curiously linked
with his departure. Dean Stanley was to come to Glasgow
this year to preach before the Sons of the Clergy : on
March 19, a characteristic letter from him, asking the exact
words of the motto of the great city. Of course one knew
how they were to be turned to account in the sermon : how
the beloved Dean made use of local colouring. The words
are striking: there is no similar motto: 'Let Glasgow
flourish by the preaching of the Word.' In recent years,
the motto is commonly shortened to ' Let Glasgow flourish.'
The last Sunday, in many houses, is ever memorable. But
little is said : the lad is always very busy, and keeps out
of the way. And you cannot in any way take in that he
is going for so long : which helps. The little brothers, too,
are quite cheery. We had a week together in London, the

WHEN ONE WENT AWAY 35
lad (he was just twenty-one), his mother and I. It was his
first visit, and he was immensely interested. Also, several
Fettes boys turned up, and bore him company. Sunday,
March 23, is outstanding. Morning, the Temple Church.
Bitterly cold, with a black North-Easter. The church was
crowded : the music magnificent. A Sunday in Lent : we
had the Benedicite instead of the Te Deum. The Anthem
was Mendelssohn's ' I waited for the Lord.' Hard by,
sitting in a passage against one of the pillars, was a young
nervous-looking girl : I never saw any human being so
thrilled through by music as she at the Anthem. Dr.
Vaughan preached : now first seen. The sermon was
altogether admirable. I wished he could have given it
like Dr. MacGregor. A soft pleasant voice, but the
manner monotonous. And the service had lasted an hour
and a half before he ascended the pulpit : which was
against him. One looked with extreme interest at a man
who had calmly put away from himself -the great
honours and prizes of his vocation : so amply deserved.
Where might not Dr. Vaughan have been now ? Then in
the afternoon to Westminster Abbey. We went in through
the Deanery, and sat on the Altar steps. Again the grand
choral worship of the Anglican church : and we had ' I
waited for the Lord ' for the second time that day. Dr.
Farrar gave an excellent sermon, with immense go. The
vast crowd listened eagerly. For popular impression on a
chance-gathered multitude, there can be no question as to
the preacher's telling power. But though greatly admiring
James Montgomery, I somewhat demurred in spirit when

36 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
I heard him called ' the grand old poet.' Something short
of that, surely. That is for Milton. Then into the
Deanery, where were a few : I had my third talk with
Matthew Arnold. He was full of St. Andrews, and spoke
most warmly of Shairp, soon to fill his old Chair of Poetry.
I remember vividly his saying that the stipend is eighty
sovereigns, paid in gold. And I cannot but repeat that
whatever the occasional impression left by his written
page, it is impossible to imagine anything more unpre
tending or charming than the manner of the man himself.
Nor could anything be more frank than his talk with an
undistinguished stranger, who was too happy to listen.
I will add, that he very strongly expressed his disapproval
of a recent doing of a dear friend. There are good people
who think that if you admit that a friend ever did wrong,
you are seeking to vilify him : that you have spiteful and
unworthy reason. These good people are very far astray.
Yet it is pleasant to see even misjudging loyalty : and the
writer will never blame it, though it may be manifested at
his expense.At Evensong to St Andrew's, Wells Street : we had
barely time. It was an anticlimax. I had never been in
the church before. I could not in any way like it. The
music was terribly florid. I am sure the preacher was a
good man, but he had mistaken his vocation. The sermon
was really very bad : I think I never heard a worse. In
my record of the preachers I hear, it stands, that day :
Morning, Dr. Vaughan : Afternoon, Dr. Farrar : Evening,
a Fatuous Person. Then away along the gritty, unlovely

WHEN ONE WENT AWAY 37
street, swept by the bitter East wind, to Old Quebec Street,
where we abode. I looked always with great interest at
Quebec Chapel, ugly as the ugliest Scotch kirk, which
Dean Alford told me was ' the best place to preach in, in
London.' And no doubt we have learned that the great
thing about a church is the congregation.
Every little detail of those days is clear in memory ;
but the reader is not to be wearied with even one. Only
that on the evening of Thursday, March 27, I heard a
¦discourse absolutely unlike that at St. Andrews. It was
at another St. Andrews too : whose kindly Rector gave a
pleasant welcome (as he said) to the Minister of St.
Andrews in the North, in St. Andrews in the South :
Holborn to wit. I went to hear an old fellow-student,
whose career many have watched with deep interest :
Alfred Barry, Principal of King's College, London : soon
to be Metropolitan of Australia. Though why Barry went
to the Antipodes for a Bishopric only a few pretend to
know. For myself, I know not the reason : though old
Dean Wellesley of Windsor told me he did. But he kept
silence on that question, being wonderfully outspoken on
certain others. I had not seen Dr. Barry for many years :
not since I went to hear him preach in his College Chapel
on a Sunday in 1869. He looked but little older when
we met in St Andrew's Rectory : and at a pleasant little
dinner-party whereat we were the sole outsiders, we were
allowed to recall old days. At King's College he was
quite the first man of his time. At Cambridge his career
was most distinguished. And after being Head-Master of

38 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Leeds and Cheltenham he came to London. There,
besides his office of Principal (Bishop Lonsdale of Lich
field held it long ago) he was a Canon of Westminster.
There was a considerable congregation on that Thursday
evening : a bright and brief choral service. Then Barry
gave his lecture, one of a course on the history of the
Church of England. It was extremely able and interest
ing : and plainly was in great measure extemporised.
Before service began I had looked for a moment at the
font at which Disraeli was baptized : likewise at the great
undraped stone altar with which (singularly) no mortal
has ever meddled. There is Election in such matters, as in
all others. However little one may like Calvinism, you
cannot get away from it.
Next day, Friday March 28, was our day of trial. By
rail from Euston to Liverpool, over the old way so well
known as a schoolboy. The great steamship sailed at
midnight : our train went northward ten minutes before.
It is a mistake to see a member of the family go, anywhere
save at home. That is far better. That going was to be
effaced by a cheerful coming-back, after five years ; but it
remains all the same. It was the day of some steeple
chase : the station was filled with drunken and uproarious
ruffians. The horse is a noble animal : but it is strange
how he deteriorates most human creatures who have much
to do with him. As a rule (there are exceptions), what is
eant by a horsy mant A dark and dismal journey to
Wigan : but there the Limited Mail, and things were quite
different. All Cumberland was white with deep snow

WHEN ONE WENT AWAY 39
when daylight came. The Firth was stormy : which
mattered much, then : not at all now. St. Andrews in
bright sunshine in twelve hours from Liverpool. Sunday
was the Communion : and one thought of the lonely lad
on the Bay of Biscay. But a great pressure of work was
waiting, and had to be faced. Which is best for all.
And it was a worse day in another house in St. Andrews.
I went after church to see Mrs. Tulloch and her daughter,
in deep distress. William Tulloch's sweet young wife was
gone. Twenty-six : and left four little boys : the youngest
a few days old, baptized by Stanley while the mother lay
unburied. Never was a more amiable young woman ;
and the beautiful face expressed the nature within. She
was the daughter of Alexander Hill, my fellow-student at
Glasgow and for nine years my colleague here : the
grand-daughter of the stately old Dr. Hill, my Professor
of Divinity ; the great-grand-daughter of Principal Hill, the
chief man in the Kirk in his day ; Tulloch's predecessor in
the Principalship, my predecessor in the parish. For there
were pluralities then : and it needed both Tulloch and
myself to fill the places of at least two predecessors. Yet
they filled their places well : men in the Kirk did not
work then in the feverish fashion of the last forty years.
These were the days of ' fine old Leisure.' Sunday,
April 6, was William Tulloch's Communion. I had intro
duced him in his handsome Glasgow church near two
years before. Everything was thriving : he was the most
diligent of parish-ministers : the church was crammed,
and the poor girl who had to go had her whole heart in

40 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
it. On that strange Communion-Sunday he managed to
say just a few words to the communicants, and to celebrate
the Sacrament. I preached the sermon. Principal Tulloch
gave the closing address. Caird preached at the evening
service. I remember that day vividly as yesterday : and
will remember it while I live. But nothing more can be
said of it. Only that if ever a youth in sorest • trouble
was surrounded by warm affection, it was so then. And
I think it did sustain him, some little. Only our Principal
is away, of those who ministered. When he came into
the vestry, he held my hand a moment, and then went and
looked out of the window without a word. He would not have
been the great orator he was, but that he was easily moved.
Then away to the Cathedral, where I have been with my
old friend Dr. Burns at twenty-five April Sacraments.
Next month will make twenty-six, if all is well. It is a
long time in this changing world : and Scotch folk know
what a close tie it makes. Glasgow Cathedral is to me
just as one of the kirks which have been my own.
I do not mean to look at. For I, lover of Gothic art,
have been appointed to minister in certain of the ugliest
churches in this world. And it is little to say Glasgow
Cathedral is our finest church. St. Giles' at Edinburgh,
though much smaller, runs it close internally. Outside
there is no comparison. And the Sunday which came
next, Easter-Day, April 13, 1879, was a day never to be
forgotten in that magnificent church, nor in Glasgow which
has grown up under the shadow of the church of St.
Kentigern. Indeed the Cathedral has seen every house in

WHEN ONE WENT AWAY 41
Glasgow rise, and may probably see every one in the
¦dust. One should except indeed the beautiful buildings
which Sir Gilbert Scott provided for the University. On
that Easter-Day, very fitly, the organ was first used in
worship. It is one of the grandest in this world. There
are much costlier, though it cost 4,500/. : and there are
bigger, though it is huge and can speak in thunder. It
was the munificent gift of Dr. Burns, the minister, Mrs.
Burns, and the three children : it was given in memory of
a dear girl, who faded in early youth : Frances was her
name. Few who hear the organ ever think of her. The
chief musical authority of this time declared that ' there
is not a finer instrument on earth.' There are some as
fine. And Dr. Peace is the organist : held in just the like
esteem with his organ over all the North. I suppose no
man living can play better. On Good Friday the organ
was so far ready that Dr. Peace was able to play it for the
first time. A few privileged persons were present. Mr.
Willis, the great builder, was there himself; and was
somewhat impatient of the organ being heard while im
perfect. It was a strange Easter-Day. Saturday had been
bright though cold : a few feathery flakes fell. But when
daylight came on the chief day in the Christian year, all
was white with snow, and snow was falling thick. When
we drove away to church, the snow on roads and roofs
was nine inches deep. I believe the other churches of
Glasgow were nearly empty that day. But if people really
wish to go to church, they will not be staid. The Cathedral
was densely packed an hour before service began. The

42 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
music was magnificent A manifest thrill went through
the crowd as the first notes floated out : the first heard
under that roof for near three hundred years. The first
thing sung with organ accompaniment in that great church
was ' All people that on earth do dwell.' The Choir very
powerful and good : but any Choir would be good with Dr.
Peace to accompany. The Te Deum was sung ' with
intention of thanksgiving' Of course 'Jesus Christ is
risen to-day.' The Prayers were beautifully read by Dr.
Burns : the clear, trumpet-like notes, pitched high, filled
the place (only the Choir is used for worship, but many
stood in the Nave, and could hear) : there is no difficulty
in seeing how it came to be the Cathedral use to intone
the Prayers. Such as minister under that roof (ninety
feet high, exceeded in Britain only by York and West
minster) come instinctively in saying the Prayers to take a
high note and keep to it Which is to intone : though
the note is commonly much lower than in the choral
worship of England. I had the very great privilege of
preaching on that memorable morning : I owed it to the
kindness of my dear and old friend. Not even Stanley,
on such a day, could have prefaced his sermon with ' Lord
of all power and might' : it had to be that most incomparable
collect for Easter-Even.
At that season, the second service was still usually at
2 P.M. Again Dr. Burns said the Prayers. And now the
congregation had the great joy to hear our orator Caird.
I had not heard him for seven years. He appeared in that
time to have grown about two years older. There was the

WHEN ONE WENT AWAY 43
exquisite voice, touching one through and through. I felt
a young ' gown-student ' again, as when I heard it first.
There was not the physical 'go' of last time, nor the
dramatic manner. For the sermon was not memorized
and delivered : it was pretty closely read. But there was
abundant animation ; and you had to listen to every word.
The sermon lasted just an hour : no mortal wished it
shorter. Its power was quite wonderful. And though it
was, at first sound, pretty flatly in the face of the morning
discourse, one had to confess its wisdom and truth. But
it treated of the peril of self-deception when church and
service are made extremely attractive : a very serious truth.
For both may be so charming that a soul, merely in a state
of aesthetic enjoyment, may fancy that this is elevated
devotion ; and think far too well of itself. But the Philistine
mind would be disposed to say, ' Then why that grand
organ ? Wherefore those windows, which cost thirty
thousand pounds ? Wherefore this Cathedral at all ? ' He
was consistent who said that 'a twelve-hundred-pound
organ was a great engine to mislead souls to their destruc
tion ' : for he would have no organ himself. In fact, there
was not the smallest inconsistency between the earlier and
later instruction of that day, save that the former em
phasised one view of a truth and the latter another. Still,
it was said, unjustly, ' A most admirable sermon to preach
on the occasion of the taking-down of the organ in
Glasgow Cathedral.' Whereat the great preacher sweetly
smiled, and added the just statement that the way
for a man to be led to truth was to be first beaten

44 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
¦on one side of the head and then on the other. Still,
•one sympathises a good deal with him who always
felt much surer how to think when he had heard the
arguments only on one side. And an eminent friend of
mine once told me that he was very sorry he had such a
fair mind. He had no bias at all. ' My mind,' he said, ' is
just like a pair of scales. Drop an argument or reason on
either side, and it is sure to have its weight. It makes me
very uncomfortable ; and sometimes I don't feel quite
sure of anything.' I suppose we should not allow anybody
to ply our children with reasons for thinking as we wish
them not to think.
All that mass of snow had quite disappeared as we
drove home. I do not know whether Caird received any
criticism of his great discourse. But in a few days an
anonymous letter came to me, from one who had not heard
my sermon, but read it at length in a Glasgow newspaper,
where it was indeed printed from the manuscript. That
letter informed me that I was ' a child of the Devil.'
After which it was an anticlimax to add, ' likewise a
Pharisee and a hypocrite.' I could but hope the writer was
mistaken. In one respect the writer was assuredly so. For
the views expressed, whether right or wrong, were certainly
sincere. That Easter week St. Andrews had a little visit, only
from Wednesday till Saturday, of Dr. Potts, Head- Master
•of Fettes College, and his wife. What he did for Fettes
has already been recorded. What she did was just as
valuable in making the wonderful success of the School.

WHEN ONE WENT AWAY 4?
But what struck us much, having them in the house, and
walking about with Dr. Potts, was, How anxious is the
place of a Head-Master : notably, of one who has to begin
a School. Not Sir William Fettes' half-million could assure
success. Dr. Vaughan has published a statement that an
ordinary human being can scarcely bear the strain for
more than fifteen years. Yet Bishop Moberly throve in
the charge of Winchester College for thirty years. But
that seems to have been a divided empire and burden ; and
under his share the great scholar and athlete Bishop
Wordsworth broke down. Talking with one of whose
sympathy he was sure, Dr. Potts could not long keep away
from the subject of Fettes. The humble writer rejoices
when a clever man will talk ' shop ' with him. For it means
that you get a clever man's thoughts of what he thoroughly
understands, and really cares for. The beautiful chapel of
Fettes is a lay chapel. The prayers are read and the
sermons preached by the masters : all laymen in those
days. Dr. Potts was one of the best of preachers to boys.
He ought to have been a clergyman. His heart was in
such work. And he often told me he would take Anglican
orders when he came to leave Fettes. One thing struck me
as peculiar in one who was himself a preacher : the interest
with which he heard others preach. Our eminent preachers
for the most part listen impatiently to any one but them
selves. To themselves they can listen, without weariness,
for a long time. On the Thursday that Dr. Potts was with
us, I had gone by an early train to Dundee to preach for
Dr. Watson on the morning of his Fast-day. Just as I gave

46 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
out my text, I beheld with wonder the stately form and
bright face of Dr. Potts come into the fine parish church of
Dundee. He had followed by a later train, that he might
be present at public worship. It seemed strange. On
another day, a number of people came to dine with Dr.
and Mrs. Potts ; and were charmed with both. But the
thing which mainly pleased our honoured guests was, that
not a man or woman was present who had not at least one
boy at Fettes. One used to count eighteen boys going
from this little place by the same train, on the day the
holidays came to an end. And Fettes could then take in
only two hundred. Dr. Potts was Second Classic at
Cambridge. He maintained that the Second Classics, as a
rule, had come to more than the Seniors. He came to Fettes
from Rugby. And much as one had ever venerated the
name of Arnold, it was even more when one saw how, from
his rest, that great and good man inspired every Fettes
master. The Fettes masters used to be all Cambridge
men. And it was singular how, without anything unfair,
they managed to turn the thoughts of the boys to Cambridge
rather than to Oxford. When one of our boys went to
Cambridge, sixteen Fettes boys went there together. To
Oxford, at. that term, not one.
That Spring went on, at St. Andrews, in cold and
darkness. On May 1 3, a characteristic duty. With a great
canvas bag, filled with half-crowns, I met a faithful helper
at the parish church, and went round a long array of
pensioners. A kind soul, many years before, had left
certain acres of land, the rent to be dispensed to the

WHEN ONE WENT AWAY 47
deserving poor by the parish-ministers. Sad to say, land
is worth little now : and what we have to bestow is sorrow
fully lessened. Following the example of my beloved
predecessor Dr. Park (a great preacher in his day, just
about as impressive as I ever heard) I gave my share in
half-yearly pensions : as near as possible to November 1 1
and May 15. At these terms the rent of houses is paid
in Fife : and generally over Scotland. The heartiness of
the welcome one received, making these visits, was pleasing.
Five shillings, and seven and sixpence, was the usual dole.
We were accountable to no one but ourselves for the use
we made of this money. But let me offer a suggestion to
my young brothers ; who may be charged to act as the
almoners of kind people departed. Keep a strict account
of every shilling you spend. I have mine for more than
six and twenty years. Indeed, for many years, I got a
valued Elder, who was manager of a Bank, to audit my
book once a year. When he died, some years since, I
ceased this. It appeared just a little fussy. And no
other incumbent had ever done it. All the same, it is
impossible to be too particular in dealing with money not
your own. An extremely-clever business man lately said
to me, ' Every man who deals with public funds should
have his accounts audited.' And he added a very terrible
story. For ten years, he had sent five guineas yearly to
one of the chief officials of a great city for a certain
charity. When the official died, it was found that no part
of that fifty guineas ever reached the charity. Which is a
very awful thing to think of.

48

CHAPTER XVII
SELSDON PARK
THURSDAY May 15, 1879, was 'the blackest and most
horrible day of the year : would be a very bad December
day.' There was the very bitterest North wind. And
coming down Castle Street to the Scores, I can hear yet
how the furious waves dashed themselves on the rocks
below the Castle. I had fought on, wearily, since that
dreary coming back from Liverpool at the end of March,
in the hope of a little holiday away far South. Now two
Sundays were undertaken by two bright youths who had
just been ' licensed ' : that is, received something like
Deacons' Orders. Yet not very like. A licenciate can
preach, and do the church service of an ordinary day. But
he cannot baptize, nor take any part in celebrating the
Communion, nor minister at a wedding. And as our
, assistants (we never say curates save as a mild joke) are
always licenciates, you see a great deal remains which
only the parish-minister can do. My holiday was to be a
visit to Bishop Thorold, now of Winchester, but then of
Rochester, at beautiful Selsdon Park in Surrey. And that
yearly May meeting (it was sometimes in June) became a
great thing in the writer's little life. No year has passed

SELSDON PARK 49
without it One year it came twice. So that till now I
have abode with that beloved Prelate fourteen times. And
my visits to Selsdon Park count up to just six months
under that roof. There one saw much which was of extra
ordinary interest : and came to know some little of very
many remarkable men. I think I understand the working
of an Anglican Diocese just as well as the working of
a Scotch parish. And I understand, well, what a terribly-
overdriven man the faithful Bishop of a great Diocese
must needs be.
A very dear and eminent friend, no more distinguished
name has been named on any page of this book, once
(perhaps oftener) said to me, ' When a friend is made a
Bishop, you lose your friend.' I have not found it so. No
Bishop ever did his work more worthily ; and the dignity
of his great office will never lose in his hands. Though
Bishops are very unlike each other, they all come to have
the benignant fatherly manner. And Bishop Thorold, in
public function, in society, looks the Prelate of the greatest
of National Churches all over, managing to be adequately
dignified though absolutely without donnishness. But in
private intercourse, just as frank and kindly as may be, I
find him exactly what he was thirty years since : what he
has been in continual converse and correspondence through
those thirty years. Selsdon Park is quite fit to be called
a palace ; and Farnham Castle is one of the stateliest of
English homes. But the Prelate who abides in the keep
which dates from King Stephen, and who sits in the chair
of Stephen's brother and of Lancelot Andrewes, is exactly
VOL. II. E

50 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
the same man as when I first abode with him in the year
1862, in St. Giles' Rectory in Bedford Square. Not but
that was a very pleasant dwelling too ; and the parish a
tremendous ' sphere of usefulness.'
I was not due at Selsdon Park till Tuesday May 20 ;
but when Sunday was provided for, one could not miss
the chance of seeing and hearing the church functions of
great London. So I made the long journey on Saturday
May 17, with many thoughts of the bright young com
panion of the last time. The season was late, but the
country was growing green. And the Flying Scotchman
was twenty minutes late : a notable thing. Housed,
instantly, under the roof of the Great Northern Hotel, where
Tulloch often staid. The next day, Sunday, was gloomy
and rainy, ' like a dismal November day.' I betook myself
to St. Alban's, Holborn, for the eleven o'clock service. The
choir were in their places, when I entered. The church
was quite full. I found a place on the front bench. At
eleven exactly the procession came : the Celebrant in a
cope, and two attendants in cassocks, and surplices to a
little below the waist. It was the Communion Service only.
No doubt morning prayers had been said before. The
ijmtation. of JRorne was very close ; but there was no
incense. A sermon was preached by Mr. Stanton. It
was Rogation Sunday : and his text was ' Ask, and ye
shall receive.' The sermon was most admirable : it could
not have been better. It was given without book ; and I
should say was quite extemporaneous so far as concerned
the words. It kept up breathless attention. There was

SELSDON PARK

5i

an immense amount of manner ; but the impression was
of simple and devout earnestness. There was not a
syllable from first to last flavoured with any special
doctrinal leaning. The discourse might have been preached
in any church in England : for that matter, in any church
in Scotland. I knew what a saintly and self-denying man
I was listening to. Everything was in harmony. No
mortal could hear that sermon and not be the better for it.
The solitary thing that jarred some little was the surplice
reaching to the waist. One could not help thinking of the
pictures of Mrs. Squeers. And when the orator, 'fleein'
aboot,' leant sometimes on the front of the pulpit and
sometimes on the back of it, the surplice, plainly starched,
stuck out in ridiculous fashion before and behind. Then
the Communion Service went on. The Consecration
Prayer was said inaudibly : the congregation with their
heads near the ground. Only two communicants received
out of that crowd : a man, and a woman. A clergyman
next me said, ' We ought to receive the Sacrament ' : we
went up and knelt down. But the good man who had
celebrated (it was a sweet but weak face) came to us and
said that ' all the Hosts were consumed.' We had to go.
The law is plain. But doubtless the ground might have
been taken, that we ought to have given in our names the
day before. All was over at half-past twelve. Some
things were sung, and some were said, which are not in the
Prayer-Book. But what wise man would meddle with that
great devout congregation, gathered in such a place ? And
such as like not that type of worship may go elsewhere. I

52 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
remember Archbishop Tait speaking, with his sad smile,
of ' the eccentricities of St Alban's ' : but he acknowledged,
very solemnly, 'the work that was being done there for
Christ.' Surely, as long as a good, and earnest man does
not do something absolutely outrageous, he may be suffered
to work his parish in his own way.
At 3 P.M. to the Temple church. First, a walk through
many nooks of the Temple, familiar in old days. The
service was of course very fine : and we had an excellent
sermon from Mr. Ainger. The first thing I noted, going
into church, was the face of a St. Andrews student of
Divinity. Coming forth, and entering a carriage of an
Underground train, there before me was Mr. Ainger. He
must have been an active man. As only we two were
there, I could not but thank him for his sermon, and say I
was a member of the Temple which nobody knows better
than he. He was, of course, most courteous and kind : I
never found any Anglican parson who was not. He asked
me what was my parish ; and when I named this remote
city, he held out his hand with a heartiness of recognition
very cheering to a lonely stranger in Great Babylon. I
note, just to-day, a Scotch newspaper states (to my pre
judice) that I have a great love for the Church of England.
I have extremely good reason. And I think any educated
man might understand how one may be loyally attached
to both National Establishments. It was Tulloch's desire
to receive Anglican orders without in any way vilipending
/ his Scottish : that he might be free to minister on both
sides of the Tweed. I found Mr. Ainger knew Scotland

SELSDON PARK 53
well. And the day came when I shook hands with him at
St. Andrews. At 7 P.M. to St. Andrew's, Holborn. The church was
-crowded ; but I went through the Rectory, and found
space in Mr. Blunt's pew. There, for the first and last
time, I beheld my countryman, Colquhoun Campbell,
Bishop of Bangor. The service, full choral, was bright
and hearty. The Rector read the Lessons. I had gone
that I might hear Dr. Vaughan preach to a plainer con
gregation than in the Temple church. It was a very good
sermon. The text was, ' If it were not so, I would have
told you.' But I am constrained to say that the sermon
was (in my poor judgment) the third in order of merit of
those I had heard that day. It was given with animation
enough. It was read : and the preacher two or three
times lost his place and had to pause awkwardly. I never
saw the like elsewhere. But even the greatest preachers
are not always at their best. And I had gone with such
expectations that I was very likely to be disappointed.
Supper pleasantly at the Rectory. Then to the hotel,
always a very uncongenial home on the Lord's Day. The
ways of many persons in- such a place are on such a day
especially jarring to a quiet soul, accustomed to ' keep the
sabbath ' in a reasonable way.
Next day, in the crowded Strand, I again beheld the
St. Andrews student. I was on my way to the Deanery
at Westminster, and I took him with me. It was some
thing new to the youth ; and Stanley gave him the kindest
welcome. Stanley was very well, and in great spirits. Of

54 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
course always busy, and always more or less confused. I
pervaded Westminster Hall, and looked into most of the
Courts, once so familiar. Cockburn was sitting as Chief-
Justice : I remember him, a very young-looking Queen's
Counsel, sitting in the Court of Queen's Bench with very
little to do. But Lord Lyndhurst for many days sat in
the Common Pleas with nothing to do at all. It is a
tremendous lottery. And you may see broken-hearted
failure and flushed success, in such a place, very close
together. I felt very thankful I did not go to the Bar.
The Dean of St. Paul's was out : so on that day I missed
what was ever the immense interest of a little talk with
him. He knew things which Stanley did not know. And
the points of view were far apart. Paternoster Row, Lad
Lane, many strange little nooks of the City once familiar
as South Street is on this first mild day of March.
Tuesday afternoon, Victoria to East Croydon. How
perplexing that station at first view, which in coming years
was to grow so familiar and so easily understood ! I had
my written instructions by what door to come forth, and
as to every little detail. The Bishop is an awfully accurate
and punctual man. ' A Dragon of Punctuality,' I have
heard it put. And there, sure enough, was the open car
riage : and my dear friend, looking rather worn and tired.
Two large Confirmations that day ; and a drive of many
miles. Away through Addington Park : the Archbishop's
acres of blossoming rhododendrons are a great sight at
that season. The Park is beautiful : ascending, you get
among Scotch firs and heather which are Perthshire all

SELSDON PARK 55
over. The house is large, and extremely ugly. I was
more interested, passing a pretty lodge covered with
climbing plants, to enter on the deep-green grass and
great buttercups of Selsdon. In a little, the large House :
the very ideal of a quaint old English manor-house :
wreathed chimneys, fantastic gables, great bay windows, a
vast porch which you drive under and which easily shelters
carriage and horses. Enormous trees ; and near the front
of the dwelling several great hawthorns, white clouds of
fragrance. The park contains a hundred and fifty acres.
The garden front is utterly unlike the other facade of the
house, and even finer. The ground slopes down from it
to where in Perthshire there would be a river ; and then
rises into rich wood. The horizon, looking southward, is
all round level as the sea ; and the country seems an
expanse of forest. Forest in Shakspere's sense : grand
trees : not in the Highland sense of bare heathery moun
tains, the abode of deer. There was no one in the great
house but the two little daughters, who bore names long
familiar in that family : Dorothy, and Sybil. The Thorolds
of Lincolnshire have been there through many centuries :
some recall what Kingsley said of them in Hereward the
Wake. The Bishop's grandfather was member for the
county for five-and-forty years. If you look out on the
left, coming near to Grantham, you will see the great
dwelling on a wooded hill. There was a boy at school :
his name was Algar. Besides the family proper, there was
the resident Chaplain, Mr. Alexander, a cousin of the
popular poet-prelate of Derry. He was to become a

56 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
greatly-valued friend. One cannot speak too warmly of
him. He started with the unfair advantage of being
remarkably good-looking : a dark, thoughtful, rather-sad
face. Eton and Oxford had formed that fine nature ; and
never was high ability more consecrated to the good cause ;
never more modest. He had been one of the Curates at
St. Pancras : and courtesy, firmness, punctuality, minute
accuracy, made him exactly the right man for his place.
Alas, the youngest of the little party of that first evening
at Selsdon Park must be the first to go. In a little, he
became Vicar of a fine church in South London, where
wisdom was as needful as zeal and ability. All were there.
But after a too-brief ministry he was called. Though
quiet, he was so life-like that one had never dreamt that
the young brother was to go before us. The evenings in
that house were short. Dinner was at 7.45, and chapel
was at 10 to a second. The chapel was a charming little
place. Not so little : for with the painful accuracy which
will not be exorcised from some folk, I made quite sure of
the number of its chairs. They were a hundred in all.
Many mornings and evenings have I been present at the
quiet but solemn worship. The Bishop and the Chaplain
sat in stalls, looking to the Altar : the chairs looked at each
other, cathedral-wise, across a broad centre-alley. On
Sunday evenings there was full service, with a sermon ;
and some neighbours came. Then the lawn-sleeves : only
the surplice at other times. A hymn was sung every
evening : Alexander played the harmonium. The only
thing that ever jarred me in that peaceful place was the

SELSDON PARK S7
hymn-book used. I am not going to name it. Its editor
was the Bishop's friend ; and is now a Bishop himself.
But oh, the horrible transmogrification of hymns ! Every
change terribly for the worse. Some indicated great
ignorance of (let us say) Scottish modes of expression.
Mrs. Cousin's fine verses beginning ' The sands of time are
sinking ' (from which a very good hymn can be selected)
has a stanza which starts 'There the red Rose of Sharon
Unfolds its heartmost bloom.' Heartmost no doubt is a
Scotticism : it means innermost. Would the reader believe
it, heartmost is changed to heartsome : which means merry,
lively? The line is made rank nonsense. Nor does Holy
Scripture itself fare much better. Everybody knows that
the text prefixed to Mr. Lyte's only very fine hymn, is
< Abide with us, for it is toward evening, and the day is far
spent.' Would the reader believe it, that exquisite text is
tampered with. It is made ' Abide with us, for the day is
far spent ' : thus losing the very motif of the hymn : ' Abide
with me : fast falls the eventide? The self-sufficiency
implied in altering such a text (for of course that Editor
thought he could improve upon St. Luke) irritates me
more than words can say. But indeed the mortal who
could add a fourth verse to Cardinal Newman's unimprov
able ' Lead, kindly Light,' is probably capable of anything
in the way of presumptuous cutting and carving. It was
a comfort, when we had that hymn in chapel, to hear the
Bishop say, always, ' omitting the fourth verse.' I have
1 See Stormonth's Dictionary of the English Language : Blackwoodj
Edinburgh, 1884.

58 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
frequently thought of treating that Hymnal as it deserves.
Only the wrath which arises in me when I turn it over
makes me ill. And I have been told that some of the
most atrocious instances of Snooks, the painter of signposts,
improving Raphael, have been withdrawn in a late edition.
Further, in mitigation, let it be said that the peccant
Editor has himself written a very nice hymn, quite worthy
to be put in the second class. And as its music is first-
rate, we sing it here not unfrequently.
The next day, Wednesday, was a lovely summer day.
Drive away with the Bishop through Croydon to Bed-
dington, where at eleven o'clock was a Confirmation. I
had seen just one before : Archbishop Tait's first Confirma
tion in Canterbury Cathedral. This was pleasanter. The
Archbishop walked along the line of kneeling catechumens,
rapidly putting his hands on two heads at a time ; and
then said the beautiful words over half a rail-full. And,
though the kindest of men, there was what seemed a certain
severity in his addresses to the young folk. The Bishop's
tone to-day was far more sympathetic. He gave an
address before the actual Confirmation and one after : the
addresses thoroughly held the attention of the lads and
girls. And he said the words over two at a time, first
putting his right hand on each head. I learnt long after,
from the Bishop of Lichfield, that in some parts of England
there is a dread that evil will befall ' the left-hand child.'
No degree of liturgical exactness will maintain uniformity.
I remember, as if I heard it now, Dean Alford's voice
saying on that day at Canterbury, ' Different Archbishops

SELSDON PARK 59
have different ways.' The church at Beddington is beau
tiful : and it was interesting to remember that the saintly
Dr. Marsh was Rector, and is buried in the churchyard. I
went to the Rectory and visited the room where he died.
But in his days the church was extremely ugly : it was
Mr. Bridges, who succeeded Dr. Marsh, and who was taken
in this year 1892, who made the sacred building perfect.
Mr. Bridges was a most kindly and attractive man, suave
and dignified : and being (happily for the parish) extremely
wealthy, he did incalculable good in many ways. He was
the Squire as well as the Parson : and lived in the charming
Beddington House, giving up the Rectory to the senior
curate. His wife seconded him in all his good works.
They had a residence in Scotland, far North ; and spent a
good deal of the year there. The Confirmation over, a
great party gathered for luncheon at Beddington House ;
and here I beheld, for the first time, an incident impossible
in the Kirk of Scotland. A youthful parson of a sudden
dropt upon his knees, and asked the Bishop for his blessing.
It seemed all very simple and sincere. But a venerable
Bishop, well-known to me, told me that, coming out of
church after his consecration, a cleric rushed hastily before,
disorganising the procession. And when the Bishop entered
the vestry, there was the cleric on his knees, begging to
have the Bishop's first episcopal blessing. ' That man was
a thorn in my side, for many years,' was the summing-up :
given with a sigh. And one who became Archbishop of
Canterbury told me that whenever he got a letter from one
of his clergy, signed ' your dutiful son and servant,' he felt

6o TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
inwardly that this man would be a trouble. On this occa
sion the Bishop gave his blessing very briefly and quietly.
It was not as when a youth, recently gone over, went down
on his knees in a Protestant drawing-room, amid a large
party before dinner, and asked a Cardinal who entered for
his blessing. The magnificent old man looked decidedly
ruffled ; and said, in impatient tones and without any punc
tuation, ' God bless you Get up sir ' ; and turned away.
Some present thought of Mr. Burnand's suggestion for a
picture : Archbishop cursing pilgrims.
Another Confirmation some miles off : but I abode and
made myself familiar with pleasant Beddington. When
the Bishop returned, we got ready under Mr. Bridges' roof,
and drove a good many miles to where there was a large
dinner party in a pretty country house. I thought after
giving four addresses, and saying the solemn but lengthy
Defend, O Lord, these Thy children nearly two hundred
times that day, that had I been a Bishop I should have got
away home and rested. But I learned that for extremely
good reasons it is often necessary that a Prelate should
make these efforts. Our host was a conspicuous M.P., and
could be very helpful. But it was a long drive home in
darkness : and Selsdon not till 11.30 P.M.
Thursday May 22, 1879, was Ascension Day. Chapel,
as invariably, at 8.30 A.M. Then in blazing sunshine all
about the beautiful gardens. At 12 there was the Com
munion in the chapel. A little congregation gathered.
The Bishop and Chaplain ministered : the former giving a
touching little meditation, fit for the day. Everything was

SELSDON PARK 6r
very solemnly done. But what seemed strange to a Scot
was, when a quiet little weeping woman came up and
knelt down in her turn. Her husband, who had been
coachman, was to be buried that afternoon : she had come
from the pretty cottage leaving him lying there. In due
time, along a winding lane that keeps by the brow of a
height, a lane shaded by grand trees, some of them in the
glory of their blossoming, to Sanderstead churchyard, now
first seen but to grow most familiar. The beautiful little
church : the wonderful service, now (God be thanked) as
well known here as there : and again the poor widow
calmly standing by her husband's grave. We ought to be
able to do what English folk can : but with us women
hardly ever go to the churchyard. And as for the Com
munion : I have known Christian people stay away from
it a month after a burial, on the ground that they were in
too great distress to go. A strange reason for absence
from the place where they might have hoped for peace and
consolation. And I have known a good man (gone where
all clouds have lifted) look on without receiving when I
was giving the Communion at a little church in this parish,
on the ground that ' there would be the Communion in the
parish-church in six weeks' time.' There is no more sin
gular instance of the fashion in which the actual teaching
of the pulpit may deplorably fall short of the teaching of
the Church, than was long to be witnessed in Scotland.
Even yet, it is very hard to get into many minds some
thing like the Christian doctrine as to the nature and place
of the Holy Eucharist.

62 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
On the evening of that Ascension-Day Mr. Spence, who
succeeded the Bishop at St. Pancras, arrived, and staid
till the next afternoon. Mr. Spence is now Dean of
Gloucester ; and he has written some very attractive
volumes. He looked young, and small, for such a huge
church. But I have often thought that in Scotland the
men are often bigger and better than the churches, while
in England the churches are often bigger (let me not say
better) than the men. But think of Norman Macleod
finding the utmost length of his tether in the hideous and
despicable Barony Kirk at Glasgow. Once upon a time I
ventured to suggest this daring idea to Archbishops Benson
and Magee (the latter only a Bishop then), and Bishop
Temple of London. The benignant Primate, holding up
his hands in horror, exclaimed, 'Oh, you must not say
that' But the great Temple, Double-First, Master of
Rugby, and fit to be anything whatever, intervened. ' He's
perfectly right. Just think of St. Paul's, and then think of
me ! ' He was very safe in saying so. Put either of these
three men anywhere, however high : and the man would
be equal to the place. But I have gone to a magnificent
church, joined in the stateliest worship, and then met the
awful anticlimax of one appearing in the pulpit of whom
it was nothing at all to say he preached very badly. For,
in fact, he could not preach at all.
Next morning the Bishop was off early to two large
Confirmations in London. With Mr. Spence and Alex
ander away for a round of four miles, much of it in the
Park. Can one forget that blaze of primroses that made

SELSDON PARK 63
scores of acres of underwood yellow underneath with pale
gold ? I have seen, in my beautiful country parish, before
the middle of April, great geens, wild-cherries, standing in
the white array of angels, lovely beyond words with the
soft blue sky behind them. But never, in Scotland, have I
beheld such unutterable wealth of primroses as I have
beheld in Surrey and Kent : though primroses are the first
flowers I remember, and a wooded glen beside the manse
at Auchinleck had them in glory too. But, as on most
days, while we enjoyed the beauties of Selsdon, the Bishop
was toiling through fatiguing functions amid dense streets.
We drove to the railway, three miles, and brought him
back : Mr. Spence going. In the evening Dr. Carpenter
of Croydon dined : a very bright and interesting man, and
a keen teetotaller. The Bishop is one too : but decidedly
less aggressive.
Saturday is (sometimes) a Bishop's holiday. Never
was sunshine brighter than on that twenty-fourth of May.
All the forenoon given by the Prelate and the Chaplain to
writing letters which made a mass dreadful to see. Then,
a long walk through the lanes : lanes so quiet that one
could not take it in that great London began about two
miles off. First, to the Rectory : just as charming a house
as Selsdon Park, though not one-tenth of its size. The
Rector's grandfather had been Bishop Randolph, of London.
I esteemed the Bishop's place less enviable than his grand
son's. There is an exquisite little chapel in the house,
wainscotted with old oak, and the one window giving a
very dim light through its deep colours. The pleasant

64 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
garden commands a grand view over bare downs. For
though you would not think it, looking from London
Bridge, there are bare downs and wide expanses of heather
in Surrey. The chalk, continually showing through the
soil, is strange to a northern eye : so is the architecture of
split flints with edges of freestone. Alas, lovely Surrey
and Kent lack streams. You have the Thames and the
Medway : but one ever thinks how in Perthshire a brawl
ing brook makes for the valley at the boundary of every
second field, and grand rivers go down each strath, befouled
by no factories. The sound of flowing water is never out
of one's ears : and then the lochs, sometimes magnificent,
always beautiful, to be counted from every little height
We came away back : and in accordance with the rule of
the most methodical of houses, had afternoon tea with the
little daughters in a great conservatory, roofed with huge
yellow roses, which opens out of the chapel. Good Mrs.
Tait here remarked how convenient for bringing flowers
into that little sanctuary. The cautious Archbishop uttered
no word. But he shook his head, certainly. That may be
taken as assured, whatever it meant. And he smiled, as if
in pain : that great and dear man.
Sunday was an interesting day. A long drive to
Cheam. The Bishop preached, in the pretty church. The
Choir were in their proper places in the Chancel : men and
boys. Sad to say, not surpliced. There had been opposi
tion. At a handsome house where I went after service, I
heard strong objection made to surplices: also to chanted
Psalms. I ventured to suggest that the Psalms were com-

SELSDON PARK 65
posed to be chanted : and that it was treating the inspired
volume with scant respect to refuse to utter its verses in
the way the authors intended. With surprise, I found the
suggestion received as something new. At 3 P.M. to the
chapel of Mr. Tabor's great School. More than 200 boys.
A hymn : it was Bishop Walsham How's fine ' We give
Thee but Thine own.' A short lesson. Then the Bishop
an admirable address to the boys. He wanted a collection
for his diocesan fund : and he got it. Away back to
Selsdon : at 7. 1 5 full service in the chapel, which was as full
as it could hold. It was a very hearty and uplifting func
tion. That May 25 was the Sunday after Ascension-Day.
One of the hymns was, ' The Head that once was crowned
with thorns.' Another, 'The Church's One Foundation.'
The sermon was from the text ' They returned to Jeru
salem with great joy.' And, coming fitly after that dis
course, the closing hymn was ' Jerusalem the Golden.' I
suppose when all we wearied people enter that Jerusalem,
it will be with the chiefest joy of all. And yet, how con
genial to us is Wordsworth's ' dear green earth ! ' Yes,
' The earth hath He given to the children of men.' Just
yesterday, speaking to one of the best of young women
comfortable words about the best of mothers whom I had
buried the day before, about where the mother was gone,
and about happy re-union, she put it all aside in a desolate
way, and said, ' I have no pleasure in that : I just want
my mother back again here.' Of course, she will come to
another mind when soothing and calming weeks have gone
over. Meanwhile, I am thankful that my parishioners
VOL. II. F

66 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
whom I have seen grow up from infancy say to me what
they think and feel, and not what they fancy that they
ought to think and feel.
That pleasant holiday-time went over. One day to
London, to St Pancras Vicarage in Gordon Square:
known of old under the rule of the last vicar. A known
house looks curious, with new people. One must not get
morbid : but I often look round this room, where I have
worked for nineteen years, and where I can hear to-day
the cheery voices of Tulloch, Stanley, Liddon : and wonder
what will be the aspect of it when a few years more have
gone. And I am beginning to wonder about my successor
in the parish. That day, the only time, I went over the
beautiful Irvingite church, hard by. I like not any nick
name : and I have known saints in that Communion. But
I really cannot say 'The Catholic Apostolic Church.'
Strange, that from the austere Church of Scotland, with
its bare sanctuaries and bleak services, the most ornate
worship in Christendom should originate. St Paul's to
Afternoon Service : heart-warming to see the multitude on
that week-day : many of the very poor. Pleasant to kneel
down in that quiet place with the roar of the greatest city
round it, and ask Christ's blessing on Dean Church and
Liddon. Pleasant to meet the good Alexander at Vic
toria : go with him to South Croydon, only two miles from
home ; and walk together over that fine wooded hill which
parts off Selsdon, where the trees stood in living green and
the primroses blazed everywhere : where, too, at the fit
season of the day, innumerable nightingales make the

SELSDON PARK 67
shades re-echo with their mightiest song. Alexander had
many things to tell which were of extreme interest to one
who knew the ways of the Kirk, and wished to know
better the ways of the Anglican Communion. The
bright, sweet-natured, cultured, kindly, unambitious, hard
working young priest was the man to speedily become
very dear. Temper varies in a family. Lovable as was
that youth's nature, his Uncle was the great Ambassador
of Constantinople, Lord Stratford de Redclyffe : who was
not sweet-natured at all, but much the contrary. Another
day to London, just to come from Liverpool Street to
South Croydon by the line which comes through the old
Thames Tunnel, and under the water of the London
Docks. I know no railway which so gives one the feeling
of being immensely deep underground.
On a day in that week on which I was left alone, I
walked two miles to Addington Church, now seen for the
first time, but to grow familiar. You go away down the
hill, under blossoming may, by beautiful and intensely-tidy
little cottages, the Archbishop's woods facing you. A
lonely place, save on a Bank holiday. Then, a crowd
comes here. I never like to say of undesirable people :
they never had the chance of being anything other : and
they may be the better for what they see. Still, on such
a day, a party of irreverent youths met the Chaplain and
the Bishop. Apparently they were unfamiliar with the
peculiar garb of the Hierarchy : for one lad yelled out in
(I fear) a derisive spirit, ' Blazes ! See his legs ! ' The
church, of the flint 'masonry of Surrey and Kent, is

68 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
extremely pleasing, having been admirably restored. But
beautiful churches are common in that region : the special
interest of that sweet churchyard (which is kept with
exquisite tidiness) is that so many who in this life stood
high sleep soft under its daisied turf. Here rest Arch
bishops Tait, Longley, Sumner, Howley, Manners Sutton :
the first-named three in simple graves. Four of these men
I have seen : I remember well when Archbishop Howley
gave me a prize at King's College in London for a Latin
essay, uttering in a mild voice the memorable sentiment,
' Three excellent books.' Two of them I have read : the
third extinguished me. Archbishop Tait's place was
waiting for him, that day. The mother and son (the latter
Alexander's great friend) were at rest, side by side, under
3. cross of grey granite. A vacant space was left between.
Many times I have visited that spot since the waiting
space was filled : and have seen rich and poor uncover
their heads for a silent minute. The text, graven on the
stone, names the tie which would last for ever : ' We took
sweet counsel together, and walked in the house of God as
friends.' Still more modest is the inscription under a
cross of white marble near, set up for some of his kin.
Just ' C. T. Longley, Archbishop of Canterbury.' Near
the west end of the church is the place of Archbishop
Sumner. At an earlier day, an inscription in Latin was
deemed more dignified : you remember how Dr. Johnson
would not desecrate Westminster Abbey by one in
English. Manners Sutton is Archiepiscopus Cantuariensis.
You see whence the signature comes. Dr. Robert

SELSDON PARK 69
Chambers was fond of telling how the abbreviation of old
was Cant. But the suggestion was too painful, and it had
to be changed.
Friday was the last day meanwhile : the shortest of
these many times of rest under that roof. For Sunday
had to be met at St. Andrews. It was the Oaks day, but
it mattered not to us. The record of the time says, ' I
am taking my last look from the windows of my room on
that lovely English landscape, richly wooded to a wide
horizon, amid which I have lived for ten days. This is the
sunshiny side of the wall. Certainly all the surroundings
of the Anglican Church, here at least, are such as we have
no idea of : so beautiful in every way.' One recalled that
venerable old saint, not without a dash of quaint humour,
Dr. John Plunter of the Tron Kirk in Edinburgh : how he
said on divers occasions, ' Oh, I have no objection at all to
Episcopacy, provided I am to be a Bishop myself.' And
an admirable Bishop he would have made. You never
remembered he was a very little man, so stately was his
old-fashioned bearing. And he did not approve of other
people being little. Old Dr. Grant of Edinburgh used to
tell how, in one of Dean Stanley's first visits to that city, I
had got a lot of our clergy to meet him in Great King
Street. They were all delighted with the Dean : all who
came. One admirable man flatly declined to meet him,
on the ground that he was a ' Latitudinarian.' When they
departed Dr. Grant and Dr. Hunter went together. ' Well,
what do you think of the Dean ? ' was Dr. Grant's first
¦question. And the dear Dr. Hunter, a good deal smaller

70 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
of stature than Stanley, replied, drawing himself up with
immense dignity, ' A charming man : but somewhat
deficient in personal presence.' When Dr. Grant related
the incident, at this point his massive face expanded ; and
he laughed silently, with great enjoyment.
At Clapham Junction my friend and I parted : he to
two heavy London Confirmations. I managed that day,
before the night express left King's Cross, to go by rail
from Moorgate to St. Albans, through the lovely green
fields of Hertfordshire. The day had grown bright : and
I had three hours for the Cathedral, and for Verulam. To
some quiet folk, it is always trying to part company ; and
it was rather a sad time. All about the church, carefully
studying it though rapidly. My opinion is of little worth,
but to me the restoration appears most admirably done.
Down the green slope, cross the little river Ver, pass by
or through the vanished Roman city, taking a memorial
flint-stone (I see it daily) from a ruined wall, wait in this
quiet lane, and gaze intently on the little red city (not ' a
rose-red city,' a different hue), and the vast length of the
great church : which is built of thin Roman bricks, serving
a second use. It is singular how the striated central tower
shows its strange material. And very singular to think
that in distant days this grand edifice was smoothly
plastered over, and whitewashed. Here is the place which
poor Jo called Stolbuns. Here came Lady Dedlock on
her last awful walk. Now I see the blossoming apple-
trees and the great yews. But, knowing that a Cathedral
is (to some) a temptation to expatiate, I must turn away.

SELSDON PARK 71
The more so, that the story of that little journey is told
elsewhere.1 A Pullman sleeping-car from King's Cross to
Edinburgh : then the weary Firth of Forth, which the
author of Les Mis/rables states is rendered in French as
Le premier de quatrieme : The First of the Fourth. The
statement is most mysterious to such as know the great
estuary. But in the same work we are assured that the
favourite musical instrument of Scotland is Le Bugpipe
(sic). At such things Tulloch used to laugh, with his great
hearty laugh, long ago. And even with the five miles of
rolling water, St. Andrews was not so far away from the
centre of the earth. Leaving King's Cross at 8.30 P.M.,
you set foot on this sacred soil exactly at nine next
morning. The journey is now very much easier and
pleasanter : whereof in due time.
It was very characteristic of the most lovable of Prelates
that I found a little letter from him waiting my arrival.
It was so in all succeeding years. And I cannot but
record that next day, Sunday, on the back of a re-
addressed envelope, the legend appeared, ' I comforted
myself last night reading your Recreations. It was almost
like having you.' Trust to that kindest of friends ever to
say a kind and cheering thing. And that Saturday
afternoon (as each time I came back from England)
Principal Shairp came in, full of questionings as to what
and whom I had seen. He was an enthusiastic Scotsman,
but he had a great love for England, and specially for
Archbishop Tait. In 1879, Whitsun-Day, my first whole
1 Our Little Life : First Series. Chapter XIII. Of Parting Company.

7 2 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
day here, was June i, but it was very dark and rainy.
The services were very pleasant. The record of the time
says that in the morning ' the parish church did not look
bad, even after where I have been.' A terrible hail-storm
as service ended. At evening service, St. Mary's was very
crowded : the music was beautiful : everything was pente-
costal and uplifting. But as the day recurs yearly, I chafe
anew in the recollection how one of the things in which I
was beaten was an endeavour to get into the Scottish
Hymnal the most beautiful of pentecostal hymns.
Spirit of truth ! on this Thy day,
To Thee for help we cry,
To guide us through the dreary way
Of dark mortality.

73

CHAPTER XVIII
ST. ANDREWS AND MARLEE
On Sunday June 15 was our Summer Communion.
1,185 actually received. The previous June the number
was 1,196. The number of separate souls who receive once
in the year is above 1,700. No church-function in this
world is more solemn than a Scotch Communion. But it
is most regrettable that people come so seldom. I never
could get Liddon to admit that our Communion is valid.
But of course he expressed himself in very grave and
serious words. It was not at all as when a man, bred a
Scotch ' Seceder,' got Scotch Episcopal orders : and said
to a well-known nobleman ' I assure you, my lord, you
might just as well receive the Communion from your
butler as from your parish-minister.' No doubt, in the
authoritative judgment of what is beyond all comparison
the largest of Christian Churches, the Archbishop of ¦
Canterbury has no more authority to celebrate the Sacra
ment than any of the vergers of the Cathedral. But we
are very particular in Scotland that the Holy Communion
shall not be given unless by those who are (in our judg
ment) duly commissioned so to do. And though Shairp
repeatedly told me that he would give the Communion to

74 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
any one who would receive it at his hands, I am quite
sure that there is not a soul in the Kirk (or in the Free
Kirk) who would have done so. At that Sacrament, I
had Dr. McMurtrie and William Tulloch assisting me : and
after evening service we walked out the Links to the Eden,
returning by the beach, according to unbroken use. So
near the Longest Day, the light here lasts long. I make
a point, yearly, of reading a page of fairly-large print by
daylight at 11.30 P.M. But I do so at a lofty window
looking to the North, where the Bay is a vast reflector,
casting up the lingering gloaming. The sun goes down
very far to the North ; and the after-glow remains above
the horizon, travelling back from the West to the point in
the East where the sun will rise again. But go up to
Shetland, and you have no night at all. A school-inspector
told me he was busy writing a report, by daylight, through
the midnight. When it came near 12 o'clock, he had to
carry the little table at which he wrote close up to the
window : but that was all. And he thought it an experi
ence to remember.
Ever since I was a youth, I had known how Aquinas,
' the Angelic Doctor,' had ventured to pray for the Devil :
and I was aware that Sir Francis Head, who rests in
Sanderstead churchyard, was in error when in a famous
Quarterly article he stated, in the words of a good old
Highland minister, that ' there's naebody prays for the
poor DeiL' Aquinas had learned hopeful charity in a
short life for what he did in it : for he went at forty-seven.
And I had in my memory the beautiful verses which came

ST. ANDREWS AND MARLEE 75
out forty years since in The Leader, purporting to interpret
the prayer of this St. Thomas, which did not hinder his
being canonized. ' Pray for the Devil, Jesus, pray,' was
startling : and it was repeated over and over again. So it
was a very interesting event when on June 28, in this
1879, I got a pleasant letter from Mr. W. M. W. Call,
abiding in London, and a volume containing the familiar
lines. They are extremely worth reading, and thinking
over. But even this author had got frightened about the
daring words : they now ran ' Pray for Thy lost one, Jesus,
pray.' Spite of our own Burns, one had thought of the
Tempter only as incurably evil : Archbishop Whately
often urged, not like a bad man, with some traces of good
in him, but evil through and through, with no relenting.
These verses made one think how miserable he must be.
The reader must find out the poem for himself: it is far.
too long for quotation. But the last verse is touching.
Aquinas prayed all night, with an awful earnestness : but
there was no answering voice. Yet, as the hours went on,
the daylight came in ; the darkness had gone, and it was
brightness everywhere. Then St. Thomas, not doubting
like the first who bore the name, arose perfectly content.
He felt he had got his answer. He had advanced far
beyond the point which was to be reached ages after by
Robert Burns.
Of course, I showed the verses to Tulloch. Anything
of interest in that sphere had to go there. But Tulloch's
belief was more advanced than that of either Mr. Call or
St. Thomas Aquinas. And he expressed it with the

76 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
perfect frankness which was characteristic of the brave
man. In this July, a county member, much concerned in
matters agricultural, came to me one afternoon in the
Club, and informed me that by far the greatest compliment
had been paid the humble writer that ever had been or
ever could be. An animal of extraordinary value and
beauty appeared in the published record of high-bred
cattle as bearing my odd initials. I was somewhat
startled, and liked it not. ' Don't you know,' he said, with
indignation, ' that the Marchioness of A. and the Duchess
of B. are proud to have their names in that book ? You
don't understand things at all' I certainly remarked, for
a while after, that my namesake got many prizes at Shows.
But the last mention of him was tragic. The murrain got
into that unpurchasable herd, and they had to perish. A
paragraph said ' A. K. H. B. is still alive, but he is to be
killed to-morrow.' I heard no more.
It was a cold rainy summer. But the Links cannot
have too much rain. And after the heaviest, you may
walk over them and never fear to wet your feet. On
July u it is recorded 'At 4. 1 5 walked away alone out to
the end of the Links, the 1,000 yards target, first time for
long. The turf was like velvet. And though the light
was overcast, it was a summer day.' That evening a little
party dined. Bishop Wordsworth and Tulloch came to
meet Professor William Lee of Glasgow, who was spending
part of the season here. Professor Lee's father was the
marvellously-learned Principal of the University of Edin-

ST. ANDREWS AND MARLEE 77
burgh, the 'Archdeacon Meadow' of Mr. Hill Burton's
famous Book-Hunter. He had such a tremendous library
that when he wanted a book, he would go and buy it,
though knowing he had four or five copies already. For
he could not find even one of them. The Professor's
brother was long the Attorney-General of the Kirk, the
Procurator ; and he went far too early as a Judge of the
Supreme Court of Scotland, L&rd Lee. William Lee had
succeeded Dr. Jackson. He was learned, bright, able : but
if ever there was a man with troops of friends, and with
out an enemy in this world, it was he. The suave and
cheery kindliness never failed. Never was man more
beloved. His son was Head-boy of Fettes College :
worthily. I sat next Lee at table in Fettes on Founders'
day, when Dr. Potts spoke in the warmest fashion of the
youth, then leaving. I recall the Head-Master's hearty
tone as he said how young Lee, through all his years there,
had 'worn the white flower of a blameless life.' And I
thought that on that day the Professor was a man greatly
to be envied. Then, what good stories he told : very
keen, but never ill-natured. Had Lee, with his sharp
insight into people, been a spiteful man, he would have
been a man to fear. The Bishop took to him. The
Bishop always took to a good and clever man. But
Wordsworth could be a little impatient too. On another
occasion, he had come to dine with one who disappointed
him. Next day he said, benignantly, ' Well, I was rather
interested in your friend. A respectable dull man.' I
heard Professor Lee preach just once. It was in Glasgow

78 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Cathedral. The sermon was admirable : and it was ex
tremely interesting. Of course I had expected scholarly
culture. But I had not quite looked for the bright lively
popular treatment of his subject These men all had to go
awfully early. Oh, if they could come back to St.
Andrews, and walk out the Links as of old ! I know,
perfectly, that Lee and Tulloch, where they are to-day, as
I (left behind) write these lines, are far better and kinder
than when we had them here. But most of us would be
well content to find them just as they were, and in the
likeness that we knew.
When a parish is left vacant here, by the removal of.
the incumbent (whether by translation or death) the Pres
bytery sends one of its members to preach each second
Sunday. I vividly recall July 13, 1879. It was the most
wintry and dismal day in a dismal season. A bitter black
North-Easter, turning to drenching rain. I drove away,
twelve miles (not with the Bishop's beautiful horses but
with one weary creature) : through beautiful yellow broom,
and much fading hawthorn. The brother who had gone
was younger than myself: a Son of the Manse like me.
And he left a young widow and several little children : all
to turn out happily and well, as it ought to be. But
nobody was sure of that, on that dreary day. Two
services, with no assistance : then two Baptisms, in separate
places. Among a certain class, there is a curious desire
to have a service all to themselves. I have repeated the
Baptism service five times here on a Sunday. When in
Edinburgh, a great many people used to come to the house

ST. ANDREWS AND MARLEE 79
to be married on Friday evenings. The happy thought
struck me of arranging for four couples to come at the
same hour, and marrying them all at once. But I never
did it but once. The mortification of all concerned was so
extreme, so apparent.
There is a tragic association with that target which
gives our Volunteers their range of a thousand yards.
There was a poor old friend* of mine who had so very
frequently announced his purpose to make away with him
self, that he became a subject of derision to his friends.
One beautiful summer evening, close to the Longest Day,
he appeared at a crossing near the Cathedral which is
called The Lady-Head, by many good people who little
think what Lady is intended. Here quite a crowd was
assembled, of men and women enjoying a talk now the
day's work was done. My poor friend informed them
that he was going to do it at last. Amid a general incredu
lous laugh he disappeared round the corner at the Castle,
going away westward into the red after-glow. Nobody
had a thought or fear. But in the morning something
dark was seen against that distant target. The poor fellow
had hanged himself on a corner of it with his woollen
cravat, and he was far away from St. Andrews.
The mention of The Lady-Head recalls a curious use
in Scotland before the Reformation. There were very
many churches dedicated to the Blessed Virgin. But none
of them were called St. Mary's. The name was always
Our Lady's. Many folk do not take in the identity. If
you called the Cathedral of Paris St. Mary's, they would

80 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
think you were ignorant. They would not know you were
no worse than pedantic : they would not recognise Notre
Dame. And I wonder how many in St. Andrews know
that we too have our little church, dear to many, and
dedicated even so. But knowledge of saints and their
names is not our strong point. Once, passing St. Salvator's
College in company with a visitor, one of our very best
parochial clergy, I said to him that many did not know
Who St. Salvator was. ' But I don't know at all,' was the
answer : ' Who was He ? ' He was a good Latin Scholar.
' Translate Collegium Sancti Salvatoris into English ; and
you will see.' No doubt such dedications as St.
Sepulchre, and St. Cross, are perplexing to some. And
Holyrood, at Edinburgh, is not recognised as St. Cross :
till you suggest Sancta-Crux, or Santa-Croce.
On August 4, to Marlee, as heretofore. Near it is the
wonderful beech hedge, seventy feet high, which bounds
the princely Meikleour, standing where the grand Tay and
the very considerable Isla meet It is the dwelling of the
Marchioness of Lansdowne. St. Andrews was this month
to be disappointed (not very deeply) at missing a royal
visitor. Lord Strathmore wrote that the Crown Prince of
Sweden was coming to Glamis, and that he wished to
see our city. I willingly arranged with some of our
dignitaries to welcome him : but when the day came the
Prince was laid up, seriously ill, at Hopetoun. I confess
it was a relief to avoid the weary journey to St. Andrews
and back in the middle of a week : the Sundays were
hard enough. But on Saturday August 23 I went down

ST. ANDREWS AND MARLEE 81
in time to dine at a house where were interesting visitors :
Dr. Smiles and his wife. Once before I had seen him :
dining with John Parker. But as his popular books came
out, he had sent me them all ; and they were greatly
valued. All of them are pleasant to read : and those which
treat of engineering matters are splendidly illustrated. A
young writer remembers a good word said of him : and
when Mr. Smiles had summoned up courage to publish his
first work, the Life of George Stephenson (it was in 1857,
when I was a youth in my country parish) it was given to
me to notice both in Fraser and the Saturday Review.
And it was with bits from these articles that the book was
regularly advertised, for long. So the publisher was con
tent with what was said. Next day, Sunday August 24,
was sunshiny. At that season the churches are very full
of visitors. I took Dr. Smiles for a walk by the sea
shore in the afternoon : and brought him for a little into
this room, that I might remember his being here. No
man could be pleasanter, or more unaffected. He is a
Scotsman ; and was well aware what a great man was
Lord-President Inglis. He told me with what interest
he had watched the President in church : saying that we
had that day had in the congregation the most eminent
man in Scotland. And indeed it was so. For Carlyle,
though Scotch, lived in England. And the Duke of
Argyll cannot be said to permanently live in Scotland.
Lord Rosebery had not become then what beyond all
question he is now. And illustrious as Mr. Gladstone is,
a man born in Liverpool is not a Scotsman.
VOL. II. G

82 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Sunday September 7 was a dismal day, after a drench
ing night. The minister of Dunkeld had gone to take
^my duty at St. Andrews, and I took his in Dunkeld
^Cathedral. The distance was twelve miles there and the
same back : the roads so dreadful that a pair of horses
were needful. It is a magnificent drive, and you have a
choice of ways : nothing in Britain is more beautiful than
the situation of Dunkeld itself. But the record of the time
says, ' the rain like a waterspout, and a howling moaning
wind.' But to any Scotch parson it would be profoundly
interesting to minister for one day in that grand old
church. No doubt the present internal arrangements are
horrible. The beautiful Cathedral, the Nave in ruins,
stands just within the Duke of Athole's grounds, and
beside the Tay at one of its loveliest reaches. Morning
and evening the Choir was filled with an interesting con
gregation : and it was a pleasant sight to see rich and
poor meeting together as they ought. At each service the
Duchess-Dowager walked into her gallery, followed by all
the visitors who were staying in the house. A very fit and
becoming thing : for divers reasons which need not be
said. The evening service was not over till 8 o'clock : then
in pitchy darkness, and drenching rain, the weary miles
along the black roads.
It is not often one hears candid criticism. It was very
dark, outside the Cathedral, and I came out unrecognised.
A young man and woman were close to me : when the
youth exclaimed, ' How did you like the Doctor ? ' The
young woman uttered a prolonged sound of the letter M ;

ST. ANDREWS AND MARLEE 83
and I anticipated the word Middling. But she changed
her mind, and sard ' Oh, very well.' Not enthusiastically.
I thought of good Dr. Black, of the Barony of Glasgow.
.He had several students of divinity at dinner ; and he
.said to us, ' Now, don't you think that you can much
impress a Scotch country congregation.' Then he went on
to tell how Dr. Hamilton of Strathblane, father of the
well-known London preacher and popular writer, used to
relate how he had preached in a little rural kirk, got fully
into the spirit of his discourse, and gave it (as he thought)
energetically and well. The people gathered on either side
as he came forth. But as he walked through them,
Mordecai appeared. A miserable little tailor, supported by
two crutches, with his nose contemptuously elevated in
the air, said in a very audible voice, ' It's wonderful what
a buddy will do for a piece bread !' Dr. Hamilton said he
felt that the tide of public feeling was turned : and that
any impression made was effaced.
Think not, young orator, to fish for compliments. Not
here. A youth, walking home from church with a
venerable Elder, in an evil moment said ' That was a fine
text I had to-day.' Whereupon the Elder, with much
impatience in his voice and manner, replied, 'Oh yes.
There was naething the matter with the text ! '
We had in St. Andrews for several years a saintly and
clever old man, Mr. Hamilton, of St. Ernan's in Donegal.
He wrote a very remarkable book, called The Church of
the Banned. For though a devout Christian, he found
dogmatic trammels painful ; and felt himself in a manner

84 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
shut out He used to come to church fitfully : sometimes
twice on a Sunday, then not for a while. But, unlike
that Elder, he had ever a cheering word for the preacher.
And he would discuss subjects, with striking intelligence.
I always felt he ought to have been a preacher himself.
But much more marked was the way of the saintly Erskine
of Linlathen. I went one morning to St. Bernard's,
Edinburgh, to hear Mr. McMurtrie. As the crowded
congregation slowly went out after the blessing, the saint
ascended the pulpit stairs, and then and there discussed
the sermon with the minister who could not leave the pulpit
till the passage to the vestry was clear. Such was the
saintly man's use, and it appeared an odd one.
No heavier blow could have fallen upon many in this
place than when, on Monday September 15, away at
Strathpeffer, where she had gone (as we hoped) to come
back strong and well, the very kindest of womankind died.
Her delight was to do a kindness : and she did kindnesses
innumerable : to people beyond numbering : both rich and
poor. Tulloch used to say that the way to please her was
to let her do you a kindness which cost her perhaps much
trouble. She was of that race of Playfair which, near and
far, in arms and in affairs, has reflected honour on the
place from which they originated. And the writer, for
one, while he lives, will warmly cherish the remembrance
of dear Mrs. Grace. He has found many kind friends in this
city : but she was the kindest of all. Never woman was
more missed than was she. On Friday September 19, I
read the burial service over her. I have read the service

ST. ANDREWS AND MARLEE 85
at the wedding of three of her daughters. I walked back
from the Cathedral with Principal Shairp. I remember,
vividly, the fervour with which he spoke of that inestimable
woman. All the bereaved family were at St. Mary's on Sunday
morning. There was not a syllable of allusion to their
case ; but the entire service was meant to soothe and
comfort them. • Now, when we give out a hymn to be
sung in church, we read only the text prefixed. Then, we
still read a line or two of the first verse besides. I see,
yet, the shadow on many a face as the lines were read :
Friend after friend departs :
Who hath not lost a friend ?
Not many sorrowful souls in the little city but had
parted with the very best they were likely to know.

86

CHAPTER XIX
DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE
A PLEASANT glimpse of Liddon, not so very brief, came
in October of this 1 879. Early in the morning of Monday
October 6, by railway to Glamis. It was my first visit.
You come out from the station, and soon enter the fine
Park. But though the Park be fine, there are others like
it : while one knows not where, in Scotland, to match that
weird Castle. As one drew near, the grand pile looked
perfectly familiar, though unseen till now. Pictures of it
abound. It is an eerie place. But though very many
things suggest the fourteenth century, some suggest the
nineteenth. For one, the castle is lighted with gas. Then
the bedrooms are made very bright and cheerful. I saw
the room in which Sir Walter slept, and where he was so
frightened. The look of it is enough to frighten anybody.
But my room was large and modern-looking It com
manded a grand view from two windows, one looking
South and the other West. But when I spoke to the
Chaplain of the smiling aspect of things, he silently took
me into the dressing-room, turned back the rug, lifted a
trap in the floor, and indicated a secret stair winding away
to anywhere. There is a beautiful chapel, of which many

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE 87
have read. Curiously, it is high up in the pile. There
were a number of visitors : chief (in my judgment) of
course Liddon. With him, his constant friend Mr. Malcolm
MacColl. The drawing-room is distant : so before dinner
people assemble in the Crypt, a great vaulted gallery
which would look rather awful if one were there alone. I
had the honour to take in Miss Alderson, who has written
many things with conspicuous ability. A beautiful hymn
of hers is one of the Passion-hymns which we sing (even
here) each Good Friday. Her father was one of the most
eminent men of his day : Senior Wrangler, and a Judge
of great distinction. Such (well-grounded) confidence had
he in what he could do, that you may read in his Life that
when he went to Cambridge had he been offered the second
place forthwith, he would have declined it. Such confi
dence is rarely justified so magnificently as it was with him.
Somebody still more outstanding is that bright and charm
ing lady's brother-in-law : our present Prime Minister,
Lord Salisbury.
Everybody has heard of the haunted room at Glamis.
It has been put about that the mention of it is a painful
subject in the family. Never was ranker nonsense. In
the morning, the first question of the delightful Countess
to her guests was, ' Well, have you seen the ghost ? ' The
Earl treated the subject more scientifically, in a fashion
yielding practical counsel. He told us that some years
before an excellent dignitary, who was always collecting
money for church-building, had just gone to bed, when of
a sudden the ghost appeared : apparently a Strathmore of

88 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
some centuries back. With great presence of mind the
clergyman took the first word. Addressing the ghost, he
said he was most anxious to raise money for a church
he was erecting : that he had a bad cold and could not
well get out of bed ; but that his collecting-book was on
his dressing-table, and he would be extremely obliged if
his visitor would give him a subscription. Upon this the
ghost vanished ; and has never come back any more.
Tuesday was a lovely sunshiny morning. Chapel at
9.15. The morning service of the Church of England
abridged : a hymn prettily sung, Lady Strathmore organist.
After breakfast Dr. Liddon, Mr. MacColl and I walked
away to the village, which is just outside the Park. As
we passed the parish-church, Liddon expressed a desire to
see it : so I got the key (of course it was locked up), and
we went in and sat down. It is a horribly ugly church,
with no ecclesiastical character whatever. I had often
heard of it : for my cousin, Dr. Crawford, Professor of
Divinity in Edinburgh University, was for a while minister
of the parish. Silence for a space. Then Liddon, looking
round, said ' This is a terrible place.' The answer was,
' Yes, it is. . . . But let me assure you that successive
generations of good Christian people have had the help
and comfort of God's worship and of Holy Communion
here, just as much as you can give it in your revived St.
Paul's.' With unusual fervour Liddon replied : ' I believe
it, heartily. And why was it so? Because they knew
nothing better.' Then Liddon proposed to call at the
Manse. Unluckily Dr. Stevenson, who is one of the ablest

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE 89
of our clergy, was not at home. Of course, we had much
talk of Presbytery and Episcopacy. Never was more
lovable man than the great preacher : but he would not
bate a jot of his principles to please a friend. I acknow
ledged the unapproached beauty of the Liturgy : but
suggested that there might be circumstances in which
something else would serve better. ' Suppose you collected
a hundred of the most wretched and untaught of some
great city : poor souls that never had been in church in
their lives, and knew nothing of Christianity. Would it
not be better to have a man like Norman Macleod to say
a prayer for them in their name, in homely language which
would express their sin and misery, and which they could
really join in ; than to have a man come in, in a surplice,
and begin the Dearly beloved brethren, and go on through
an elaborate service of which they could make nothing at
all ? ' But Liddon would yield nothing. His strong point
would have been, Where are you to get Norman Macleods ?
He said, ' I would not, with a congregation like that, go
through a full service. But I would say to them, This is
a very serious matter : We are going to speak to God :
and I have written down here something which I hope
may be suitable, and I want you to say it along with me.'
I think I have given the very words : I hear them this
day. Then to other things. Liddon expressed great
regret that Bishop Lightfoot of Durham, lately his col
league in St. Paul's, had written a well-known passage
admitting that Presbytery was the primitive government
of the Christian Church. Liddon very strongly expressed

90 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
his belief in the Divine institution of Episcopacy. On
this I quoted to him the saying of our Lord President,
already recorded * : and said, If you want to make converts
from the Kirk, pitch your claims low. For no man, with a
vestige of self-respect, who has ministered, and dispensed
the Sacraments for many years, will even listen to you, if
you try to prove that he has no authority whatever, and
that his sacraments have been a nullity. I never will
forget Liddon's reply, given with intense feeling : ' I tell
you, I dare not plead for Episcopacy on grounds of expe
diency. I see many objections to it. But I suppose that
God knows best how His Church is to be governed.' Very
much more was said : but I have given the sum of all.
And never did friends who were obliged to differ, differ
more kindly.
Those who knew Liddon well are of course aware of
his views on this matter. Some readers may be surprised
at what I have said ; and may think I mistake the mean
ing of that great and saintly man. I will therefore show
that I did not mistake it. I have many letters from
Liddon, of deep interest. Some I hope to give in this
volume : but not till I have received permission to do so.
Here, however, I give at once a short extract from a letter
dated October 17, 1881.
' Of course I do not forget that you would not agree
with me as to the worth of the evidence in favour of the
Episcopal Constitution of the Church of Christ But I
must frankly say that if I did not believe that evidence
1 Vol. i. p. 69.

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE 91
to be decisive, I do not think I should belong to an
" Episcopal " Communion. The Episcopate, if not neces
sary to the Church, is surely a wanton cause of division
among the Reformed Christian communities: to say
nothing of the evils of ecclesiastical ambition which it
sometimes occasions.'
The reader will discern that apart from authority, and
on the merits of the system, the great Lord President
Inglis and the humble writer of this page thought actually
better of Episcopacy than did the great preacher of the
Anglican Church. For, believing that Episcopacy is founded
on the word of God and agreeable thereto (as Presbytery
also is) : and that it is an excellent working system with
a grand history, we (like Tulloch and many more) should
have had no difficulty whatever in joining an Episcopal
Communion, if all the nation would do so. Doubtless we
both knew the evils which attend the practical working
of Presbytery : as Liddon knew those which attend the
practical working of Episcopacy. And the sum of them
all is, that imperfection will attend all systems worked by
human beings ; and that wherever human beings are there
will be found a great deal of human nature.
So we got home. We had walked very slowly : a pro
longed saunter : and had listened with profound interest
to very much which was said by the great orator which
shall not be repeated here. He was behind the scenes in
politics, and related some strange things. Nor did he fail
(on most sufficient occasion) to condemn wrong-doing in a
fashion which Scotch folk call teethy. But here we had

.92 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
arrived where there was but one mind among us three. Let
it be said that, while reprobating sharply certain Dissenting
methods, the very worst he called the Dissenters themselves
were ' these dear people.' No part of that sunshiny crisp
October day amid the changed foliage could be lost : so,
luncheon over, Dr. Liddon, Mr. MacColl and I again went
forth, now guided by the Chaplain, an extremely pleasant
and intelligent young man, arrayed in a purple cassock
and a wideawake hat. I noted here, as in many other
places, that deep veneration for the abstract Episcopal
office may go with very little regard for the opinions of
the concrete Bishop. For when that kindly youth showed
me his vestry, he indicated a certain robe which he assumed
' while receiving confessions.' Being asked what Bishop
Wordsworth thought of the confessions and the vestment,
he conveyed to me in cheerful tones that he did not know.
I thought he meant that he did not care. Away along the
same avenue as in the morning, but now to climb the
Hunter's Hill, whence is a grand view. Long time we
abode on its top, eschewing all controversial talk. Liddon
conversed most charmingly, of many things and many
men. At one moment, indicating a double fieldglass carried
by his friend, through which we gazed on the prospect, he
said ' That's the glass through which we saw the impaled
body.' All the world knew the story then : and many
declared it was false. I had even read the suggestion
that Liddon was capable of intentional falsehood, he being
a partisan. The being who said that might say anything.
But Liddon might have been mistaken. A sheaf of beans

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS: THE TAY BRIDGE 93
drying on the top of a pole. I said to Liddon, ' Show me
how far off that pole was.' He indicated a tree close at
hand. I turned the glass upon it ; and could have seen
anything at that distance just as distinctly as I do the
paper on which I am writing. Next, to test the beloved
man's sight. 'Tell me the hour on the clock at the
Castle.' The Castle was more than a mile off. Liddon
told it to the minute. And the*re were two eye-witnesses.
Of course the story was true. And those who contradicted
it most loudly knew it was true. Liddon went on to
say that a year after he met one of the greatest of Eastern
travellers. The great traveller said ' The thing that sur
prised me was that you should have been surprised
by that sight. Why, in a journey of fourteen hours, near
where you were, I once counted close on fifty impaled
bodies.' The traveller added that of course he did not know
whether the bodies were put up alive or dead. But he
regarded the probability as very strong. As for the assu
rances of Turkish officials, nothing need be said. I have
heard a man, not undistinguished, profess his faith in these.
I had heard the same man, some years before, expressing
violent sympathy with the Southern States fighting for
slavery : and adding that it was a profound illusion that
slaves were ever ill-used, and that it was much to be re
gretted that our own working classes were not slaves too.
I could but tell the man that I should like to hear him say
that from the platform of any large public meeting in
Britain. A carriage came and took us back : and, solaced by

94 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
afternoon tea, Liddon went (as the Countess said) ' to his
rest.' So did others. But first, all over the Castle : pro
foundly strange and interesting. The rooms innumerable,
but none of them very large save the picture-gallery. Then
to the top of the Castle, whence a wide view. Forfar
seemed near. Speaking of the eerie look of the great
house from the Park, the Chaplain said we should see it on
a stormy winter day, when showers of snow were driving
wildly by it. It was quite weird enough, for rriost, as seen in
bright autumnal sunshine. After dinner, the lights in the
drawing-room were turned low, and ghost stories were
invited. One was so remarkable, that Liddon said ' we had
been enriched.' Nobody seemed the least nervous.
I had to go, unwillingly, the next day by one o'clock.
Chapel again : the pleasant and hearty music. I staid in
the Crypt with the two friends to the last moment Then
I said farewell ; and saw Liddon no more. I do not
wonder in the least at the affectionate admiration in which
he was held by all who knew him. Some men complain
of having found him provoking. To me he appeared not
merely a great preacher and self-denying saint, but the
kindest and most delightful of companions. No more
venerated memory abides with me.
It was about this time that Bishop Claughton of St.
Albans andsome of his familycame to Bishop Wordsworth's,
as aforetime. There was a pleasant dinner-party at the
Bishop's, where one of the company was Sir James Ramsay,
Double-First : whose daughter, trained in the great Girls'-
School here, was to be Senior Classic at Cambridge, to the

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE 95
unquenchable pride of all St. Andrews. It was marvellous
in how short a time she attained her unique scholarship :
and with how little apparent effort. But of course, there is
hereditary talent. Her father has been named : her uncle
is the eminent Professor of Latin at Glasgow. Bishop
Claughton was anxious to see the picture of his Cathedra}
as at the end of the eleventh century, in Sir Gilbert Scott's
delightful Lectures on Mediaeval Architecture.1 He
was profoundly impressed, and a good deal astonished.
The proportions of the vast design were beautiful : but
the fact that the church was built almost exclusively of
Roman tiles from Verulam necessitated ' the most rigid
and almost gaunt simplicity.' That is little. The awful
truth cannot be concealed that the Norman builders,
unwilling to show the real material, veneered, the whole
building, both within and without, with a coating of tire
smoothest and whitest plaster. So St. Albans looked ' like
a white mountain : hewn out of a single block of marble.'
We fancy that mediaeval taste was perfect : Not many
remember that St. Wilfrid boasted to have washed York
Minster ' whiter than snow.' This, however, was done in
good faith. It was not as when the vile w.orkers of the
Puritan period whitewashed the interior of every Cathedral
in England with intention of destroying the old glory. Of
course the whitewash has been scraped off: but West
minster Abbey is the only great church whose interior is
virgin. Nothing could quite efface the accursed profana-
1 Lectures on the Rise and Development of Mediceval Architecture. By
Sir Gilbert Scott, R.A., F.S.A., LL.D., &c. Vol. ii. p. 100.

96 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
tion. There is a bloom on the interior of Westminster
which is found nowhere else in Britain. The picture shows
a great central tower, and two western towers : all carry
ing low-pitched spires. Under the central tower, the open
lantern soared high above the church : Beneath this lofty
centre were the stalls of the ritual Choir. The benignant
and fatherly Prelate, being first refreshed with afternoon
tea to sustain the shock, then came into my study and
earnestly studied Sir Gilbert's two beautiful volumes. On
another day he and all his party had carefully gone over our
Cathedral. I show our buildings to very few : and only
to such as can duly value them, only to such as have
some claim. For the time was in which I found certain
saintly old ladies had begun to offer me as a guide to
friends of their own who were total strangers to myself.
The which had to be stopped, definitively. If only because
nobody could well be busier.
On this day I presumed to ask Bishop Claughton if
he had not thought of reviving the ancient name, instead
of signing himself with the modern St. Albans. ' Oh,' said
he, with hierarchical humour, ' if I had signed myself
Verulam, some might have thought I meant I was a Very
Lame Bishop.' No mortal could have thought that.
The day we went over the Cathedral here, and the
Castle, the party (not a very small one) was increased by
a most bright and eloquent visitor in Mr. Lyttelton, Vicar
of Hagley. The name of his parish is classical. He had
a strong speculative faculty : and the ability of his family.
He sent me a suggestive and striking volume of his own,

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS • THE TAY BRIDGE

97

upon a Future Life. And he told a story, whose internal
evidence was strong indeed. Once, when in London,
being in the Deanery, he stated to Stanley certain thoughts
which had occurred to him concerning the doctrine of the
Trinity : on which Stanley said he had just written a
sermon which would remove all perplexities, and that he
was to preach it in the Abbey next day : the time was
most opportune. So, at the app6inted hour, Mr. Lyttelton
was there ; and Stanley gave a most charming and inte
resting discourse on St. Athanasius. He described the
Saint as champion of the orthodox belief: spoke of his
undaunted courage, and of divers great appearances :
showed vividly the eagle face and the masterful presence of
one who was perfectly sure he was right though standing
against the world. And after a magnificent piece of his
toric eloquence he closed his sermon, not having said
anything about the ipsissima doctrine of the Trinity at
all. Service over, Mr. Lyttelton hastened to the Dean's
study, and explained that no help had been rendered to
any perplexed soul : that difficulties had not been touched
with so much as a little finger. Whereat the charming
Dean was quite surprised. Of course, in many waj-s, we
had all been made to feel that he was not a theologian in
a scientific sense : that he was the most life-like' of his
torians. But more than that is needful to help some. And
Dean Stanley did not even understand their case.
Now a little example of that homely tragedy of which
one sees so much. A young girl whom I had prepared
for her first communion had come back from Edinburgh
VOL. II. H

98 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
dying, and wished to see me. The family had moved into
another parish : and we are very particular about these
things : but I asked leave of the parish-minister, and it
was given at once and of course. On Friday October 10,
a lovely bright day, I walked slowly away uphill, reading
Bishop Wordsworth's charge just published ; and five miles
off found the cottage, and the poor consumptive girl in her
bed. I have seldom seen a living creature so worn to a
shadow. A few days before she had managed to come by
railway from Edinburgh to St Andrews, arriving when it
was dark. They did not know at home that she was
coming. They had no idea that she was seriously ill. She
was not fit to walk a quarter of a mile. But, God knows
how, and with what unutterable extremity of suffering, she
struggled up the steep hill those dark five miles, and fell
down at her father's threshold. She was laid in her bed,
and never rose from it again. She was barely twenty. It
was a heartbreaking story. ' My poor girl, why did you
not come to me? I should have been thankful to have
had you driven out ! ' She looked at me solemnly : and
said ' I thought of that when I had come a good bit on the
way, and thought I was never to get here : but I was not
able to walk back, and it was late, late, and dark.' She did
not even know the way certainly : the family had flitted
since she had gone to service. Twice more, always in the
wonderful October stillness and sunshine, I went out again
to see the young sister who was to go before us : and then
she went, very silently ; as homely Scotch folk do.
I cannot refrain from looking back, to-day, over five-

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE 99
and-thirty years, to the time when I was the young country
parson of Kirkpatrick-Irongray. I dare say I have told
the story somewhere : but that matters not. I was waiting
in a very little cottage by the bedside of a poor fellow,
' just a labourer,' dying. He was thirty-two, and had four
little children. After lying silent for a while, he said he
would like to see them, and the poor wife brought them to
the bedside. He could speak quite distinctly, though the
change came in an hour ; and I thought he would say
something of parting advice, were it only to bid them be
good children and kind to their mother. Yet all he did
was just to take each of the three elder children by the
hand, and to say Gude-day. As for the youngest, a wee
thing of two years old, he said to it, ' Will ye gie me a bit
kiss ? ' and the mother lifted up the wondering child to do
so. ' Say ta-ta to your faither,' she said. ' Ta-ta,' said the
little boy, in a loud, cheerful voice, and then at once ran
out of the cottage to play with some companions. Then
poor David closed his eyes, and some tears ran down his
cheek. But he said no more. I know the ways of my
nation. We are not a demonstrative race. We have not
words to say what we feel : and if we had, we should be
blate to use them. It was the abundance of that poor
friend's heart that choked his utterance, and brought down
his last farewell to a greeting with which he might have
parted from a neighbour for a few hours. He was weary,
weary, too : and so Gude-day was his only word.
I remember how touched Stanley was when I told him
of a parting I had seen. A lad of twenty, very well

too TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
known to me, died. He left a widowed mother, a sister
and two brothers, younger than himself. He had been
their main support (ay, cetatis 20), and he had been full of
anxieties as to what should come of them. His last
words were, holding the hand of the brother next him
self in years, and looking at the poor sobbing woman,
' Try and do as weel's ye can.' The great Dean thought
them grand and all-comprehending words. I heard them.
Believe one who knows it : It is thus that homely Scots
die. On Thursday November 13, 1879, I ministered at the
consecration of the handsome church of St. Margaret at
Arbroath, just across our Bay. It was an interesting
occasion. If a thing be possible, it may happen, however
many the chances against it. The following Sunday, the
first Sunday on which the church was opened for worship,
was the day on which Margaret of Scotland, Queen and
Saint, died. I made something of this in my sermon on
the day of dedication. Sad to say, nobody knew till I told
it. The coincidence was purely accidental. And the
chances against it were exactly three hundred and sixty-
five to one. We in this parish (God be thanked) have
come to know pretty well about the Christian Year : only
two days gone a good young woman whose name is Agnes,
told me with pride that she was born on St. Agnes' Day.
The name was given by those who never had heard of St.
Agnes. On that Thursday there was a large congrega
tion : an excellent Choir and fine music : a great many of
the clergy. Of the sermon I say nothing : but (though I

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE 101
read them) I will say that the Prayers were beautiful and
befitting. I have read them upon many occasions. But
on this, I had a curious experience of the fashion in which
suspicion sees things. You remember the Greek story of
certain men who were trying who should squeak most like
a pig : a strange rivalry in itself. One was told that his
imitation was quite the worst : whereupon, withdrawing
his mantle, he showed that it had been a real pig that was
uttering its voice. A few days after that November 13, a
worthy minister made an attack on the writer, and some
good-natured friend sent me the newspaper which reported
it. The precise charge was that my dedication service had
been ' a poor imitation of the consecration-service of the
Church of England ' : and upon that the good man (whom
I never saw) expatiated. Now, however evil my service
had been, it had assuredly not been an imitation (successful
or otherwise) of the Church of England. It was the conse
cration-service of the Church of England word for word.
Good Bishop Wordsworth had lent me his copy : and I •
read it faithfully. The day came on which that most -
beautiful service was placed in the Book of Common Order
of the Church Service Society : and there it abides. The
title of the office is given, The Order for the Dedication of a
Church : but the word consecrate is frankly used in the
prayers. I am not going to exhibit cheap learning : or I
might point out that the Church of England has in fact no
Consecration Service. You seek it in the Prayer Book in d
vain. It is used in each diocese by the authority of the
Bishop. And the great Archbishop Whately of Dublin

102 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
would not use it It is remembered how, a crowd having
gathered to witness the consecration of a church, the Arch
bishop, without his robes, walked into church and signed
the document upon the altar : all the law requires. Then,
turning to the congregation, he said, ' You have come here
to see me consecrate the Church. You are the Church !
Go home and consecrate yourselves.'
I have heard that legend times innumerable. But of
late I have come to regard it with doubt. For I remem
ber how the great man, in one of his latest summers, told
me he thought he could publish only one book more :
which would be a collection of good stories about himself;
not one of them with a word of truth in it. Then, gazing
into distance, the Archbishop said, ' You have heard of the
Ass and the Archbishop ? ' The answer was, ' Of course ;
and told it many times.' ' Not a word of truth in it. It
happened before I was born. A French Abbe said it.
You see the flaw in the story. A Protestant Archbishop
does not wear a cross on his breast. It could not have
happened here.' But that story, though historically false,
was eternally true : that is, it set out faithfully the Arch
bishop's nature ; and conveyed with extreme accuracy what
would have been the portion of any man, old or young,
who was wild enough to think (as Scotch folk say) to take
his fun ^"Archbishop Whately.
November 30, 1879, a beautiful sunshiny frosty day,
was St. Andrew's Day, Advent Sunday, and the Prepa
ration Sunday before the Communion on the Sunday follow
ing. This last, according to the use of the Kirk, is made

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE 103
much of. So those who preached in this city on that
day had only too much to speak of.
The impatient reader may regard these facts as beneath
the dignity of history. But in a little though famous city
we make much of little things. And I have known less
recorded solemnly. There is a most beautifully situated
town in Scotland which supports a weekly newspaper. I
think I can quote with accuracy a paragraph which once
appeared in it :
' We regret to have to chronicle that our esteemed
townsman, Mr. John Smith, driving his cow out to. the field
last Tuesday, slipped in the mud at the entrance-gate, and '
came somewhat heavily to the ground. Our esteemed towns
man at once got up again, and we rejoice to say that he
has suffered no inconvenience whatsoever from the accident'
No doubt this is incident : or what the inestimable
Helps used to call real life. But real life is sometimes
dull. Not to the busy. Not to those who often think how
little can remain on what Chalmers called ' this side of time.'
And Sunday December 28 was thought of with
concern all round the world. The morning was dark and
mild, without rain. I had the parish church : and I
ventured to give a sermon written when I was twenty-five.
The eloquent passages had been toned down, and the very
eloquent quite struck out. The record of the day says
that the only Professor in church was Tulloch, who would
know a ' Vealy ' : that is, an immature production. Rain
came on in the afternoon ; and the story, written at
the moment, says 'dismal rain, but calm.' This was at

104 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
4.30 P.M. By 5.30 the wind had suddenly risen into
a howling storm, from the West, and it swept the rain
away. When I went to evening service at St. Mary's, the
sky was clear and the moon bright : but little clouds were
racking at great speed over the moon. It was stormy
enough to give an excuse for abiding at home : so it
is written ' Surprised and pleased to find a quite crowded
congregation, densely filling the church.' We had the
Christmas music : and Maxwell Wright, now one of our
most hopeful young clergy, read the Lessons. I had not
remarked what many others did, that the open roof
creaked under the blast like a ship at sea. One of my
boys came from Edinburgh by the evening train to
Dundee, leaving it at Leuchars with several others, who
drove together to St. Andrews. The youth, much inte
rested in machinery, watched the fine engine and the men
upon it till the train went One passenger for St.
Andrews was sound asleep when the train was about
to start, and was wakened up just in time. Near seventy
souls were in the train. Two lads, as good lads as were in
this parish, one married a few months (both had been
at church in the morning) walked away the six miles to
Leuchars Junction and joined the train. They had been
spending the Sunday at home, and must be at work next
morning by six. It was a very stormy night. And one
special gust, identified by many to the minute, swept the
carriage with six passengers several feet across the wet
road. Under that blast the Tay Bridge went down. It
was two miles long, and near three quarters of a mile fell.

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE 105
The train went down a hundred feet into the deep and black
water. Not one was saved. Not a sound was heard. One
poor fellow, a great swimmer, had had time to take off his
coat. Many, watching from the Dundee side, saw the train
coming, at great speed, in the bright moonlight ; and saw a
great line of fire, go down into the Tay. One had often
read»of a cloud being cast over a district by some terrible
accident : one knew the meaning in quite a different way.
The feeling was of absolute horror. One durst not think
of the doomed people as they felt the bridge under them
giving way. And the thing was brought so near to many
homes. I had crossed the Bridge twice on the Friday
afternoon. A poor lady, living next to my brother's house
in Moray Place in Edinburgh, eager to minister to a sick
friend, had resolved to come by the morning train that day.
Her cabman ' slept in ' : and so she came by the evening
one. While we were quietly gathered in church, the awful
event befel just eleven miles off. I went in the afternoon
of Monday and saw the poor girl left a widow at twenty-two
with a little baby. The others in that stricken house could
speak. But the poor girl sat and looked with widely-
opened eyes at me stonily, quite quiet, and without a tear.
It was a dark and awful time in the little city of
St. Andrews, and in the great city of Dundee. It was an
awful lesson against attempts to do huge works cheaply,
and against unfaithful work. But the poor souls that went
down were not responsible for these. After leaving
Leuchars, that train stopped once, at St. Fort : and there a
working man's wife with her eight children got in. And

106 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
there, too, some thoughtless creatures in the train, begin
ning to feel the blast which- was coming down the Tay,
inquired jocularly when the Tay Bridge was to fall. The
business-like answer was, that the Bridge was to stand
as long as the Company wanted it.
The year went out : and on its last evening was the
Old Folks' Party, as usual. The man entitled to the credit
of starting it was Bailie Mackintosh, whose son is Professor
of Natural History in the University, and bears the highest
reputation as a scientist. The good Bishop Wordsworth
came before the beginning at six, and faithfully abode till
the end at 8.15. I asked him to say the prayers at the
beginning ; and he made a kindly and admirable little
speech in due time. Then we ended by singing Auld
Lang Syne : whose words, untranslateable into English, thrill
the Scotch heart through. People take hands as they sing
the last verse : and the good man and great scholar gave
one to me and the other to a poor old woman sustained by
chilly legal charity. But as we came away home together,
we agreed that the Tay Bridge, never mentioned, was
never absent from any mind. Next day, New Year's day,
Thursday January 1, 1880, we were to have morning
service. But the sermon prepared had to be cast aside,
and quite another given : upon the Meeting of Crushing
Trouble. Such is the record written at the time. And the
text was ' I was dumb ; I opened not my mouth : because
Thou didst it.' Certain presumptuous preachers ventured
to state that the terrible event was ' a Judgment ' on the
sin of travelling on Sunday. I can but say that the God

DR. LIDDON AT GLAMIS : THE TAY BRIDGE 107
in whom such-like souls believe, is NOT the God I believe
in at all. Indeed, their God approximates awfully (in a
good many respects besides this) to my Devil.
A good many letters came to St. Andrews which had
gone down with that train, but which were recovered miles
down the river. Some came to this house : and one from
Mr. Gladstone to Tulloch. The great engine was got up,
little the worse. It was put right and set to run again.
But though railway boards are not much amenable to
sentimental considerations, I am told it never has been
sent across the magnificent new Tay Bridge into Dundee.
I was shown it once at Glasgow.
The story of 1879 has been given at too great length:
the reader may think. How easily it could have been
made much longer ! Of what most concerned the writer,
and this little household, the half has not been told.
There has not been a whisper of the things one thought
most of in that departed year. Nor will there be of the
next, and the next again.
And St. Andrews, its hard work of learned and un
learned, of hopeful youth and wayworn after-life, never
out of the writer's mind, has been set in the background.
This is not even a history of the sacred city : and far
less an autobiography. Had it been this last, it would
have told how many pages of sermon or essay were
written at this table daily from 10 A.M. till 1 P.M. : what
the texts were, and the strange way in which they came :
what the subjects were, and how suggested. Then how
many sick and sorrowful folk were visited : then the

108 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
quiet blink at the Club most days between 6 and 7, and
generally the talk with Tulloch and the walk home toge
ther : for Tulloch was still here, always the more valued
and beloved the better known. The weary long days of
house-to-house visitation, beginning at 10.15 A.M. and
sometimes going on without a break till 5, and in the
country sometimes implying a walk of eight or ten miles,
often across fields and hedges, always under the sky of
the Winter half-year : for my good colleague and I, for
long after this, managed, between us, to get over the whole
parish once in each year. We had not come to the coun
sel of the later time : ' Preach regularly, and visit the sick ;
and do as much more as you can.' The books read, with
extreme rapidity, in the evening rest : when the rule had
been accepted, ' No work after the last meal of the day.'
Something, too, of continual encouragement from a kind
congregation and parish : only emphasised by the rare
instance, once in each year or two, of something else. A
word of abounding anonymous letters, coming from all
about the world : most of them very cheering, but one now
and then showing that a quiet person, never intending it,
may awaken extremely bitter dislike. And no doubt
there are writings which, if you do not like, you will hate.
' Reading him in a rage,' abides in memory, over thirty-
three years : standing out amid sheaves of kindly criti
cism : for never was writer whom the reviewers have used
so gently. Most of all, the letters from afar : telling the
little story of those who have gone out over the threshold
but are never forgotten.

109

CHAPTER XX
FIFE AND SURREY
JANUARY 7, 1880, brought a communication from Dean
Stanley which was so characteristic of that inestimable
man, that it must be named. In going over the papers of
his departed mother, he found a letter addressed to me,
dated August 19, 186 1. At that time I was in my Edin
burgh charge, and I was only Half- Way. But something
written had pleased that good lady : and she wrote a
letter expressed in terms of extraordinary kindness, and
suggesting a subject for an essay. Perhaps the letter was
a copy of one sent : perhaps it was written and never sent :
I could not remember receiving it. It was very like
Stanley to wish that I should see it. And he said just a
little of what-like his mother had been.
Two churches were opened, far apart, in that cold
January : one on a week-day. I likewise wrote for my
old friend Edmund Yates, who had been one of the very
first to write kindly in a newspaper about my first
volume, a ' Celebrity at Home ' for his widely-known
World. I learned then how hard it is to please people,
writing in that line. For while two of my very best friends
here were much aggrieved for that I had outrageously

no TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
puffed my Celebrity, making him much bigger than they
thought he deserved, some few of the friends of the
Celebrity were equally aggrieved because I had not puffed
him sufficiently. So offence was given, both in the East
and in the West. I did not care in the least about the
Celebrity's friends, from whom I received a few of the
usual anonymous letters. But I speedily set things right
with my dear and valued friends here.
On March 7, Dr. Donald Macleod, of the Park
Church, Glasgow, preached for the University Missionary
Society. He came to us on the Saturday afternoon. A
more charming guest could not be. I have always felt
that Donald Macleod has been somewhat unfairly treated.
No doubt, he was from the first regarded with special
interest as the great Norman's brother : and when Norman
went, he succeeded him both as a Chaplain and as Editor
of Good Words. But when Donald preached an excellent
sermon or gave a capital speech, the tendency was, instead
of acknowledging his merit, to say, ' Ah, not at all equal
to Norman.' Well, taken all round, nobody in the Kirk
was. And I cannot but say that of late years, I have
heard him speak in such fashion that the distance between
the brothers seemed almost to have vanished. But men
who did not bear the name were not subjected to that
comparison. I note that the last time Macleod preached
here was Sunday January 14, 1866 : on that day my
brother christened at the parish church a boy of this
house who has been to-day for near two years a priest in
the Church of England. I note, too, that among those

FIFE AND SURREY m
who dined with Macleod on the Saturday at that time,
was a very bright and cheery undergraduate known only
as John Gordon: who in 1880 was known as Earl of
Aberdeen. Now, Macleod preached in the afternoon at
St. Mary's. It was Mothering Sunday. I read prayers, a
student the Lessons, and Macleod gave us ' a capital ser
mon.' Doubtless, with the big brother, the word would
have been magnificent, or the .like. In the evening the
large parish church was quite full, and Macleod did the
entire service quite admirably. He read his prayers, but
not from our Book of Common Order. And the record
of the time, while praising the sermon warmly, could not
be without the inevitable comparison. Next morning
Shairp, Norman's greatest friend, came of course : and we
had the regular walk about the Cathedral. Finally, at
1. 1 5, our visitor went, leaving just the pleasantest possible
impression. There is a wonderful charm about that hearty
Highland manner: it is quite irresistible. And I know no
man who has it in a more attractive form than my old
friend Donald Macleod. His father and mine were Glas
gow ministers together. I have known him since he was
a rosy-faced boy. It may be added, that besides being
now in the first rank of our preachers and speakers, I
know no man in the Kirk save Mr. Brewster of Kilmany
(nephew of our Principal Sir David) who sings nearly so
well. I have heard him many times sing a song of
Norman's about an old Waterloo soldier ; but never with
out moistened eyes.
On May 12, 1880, again to Selsdon Park : now for a

H2 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
great rest of three Sundays, and more than three weeks. It
was the loveliest of all summer weather, and the place was
beautiful beyond words : far beyond recollection. And
the Bishop was, as ever, the very kindest of all friends.
The amiable Alexander was here too : and that first even
ing there were but the three. At evening chapel the
hymn was Dr. Neale's ' O happy band of pilgrims.' I
have written an immense deal about the blossoming trees
of Selsdon : the hawthorn and horse-chestnuts are mag
nificent : never were more glorious lilacs and laburnums :
but chiefest to me, for old sake's sake, were the marvellous
apple-trees of the kitchen garden. I went daily, several
times, and gazed at them against the soft blue sky : notably
at one great tree, round as the plum-pudding of childhood
(boiled in a cloth, and not yet tortured into unnatural
shapes), which was a miraculous cloud of pink and white
bloom. ' Flourish,' some good folk in Fife call it : but
the word blossoms is to me what hermit was to John
Foster, long ago. Not of that, however, this year. Only
that Thursday, my first whole day, was one of rest. Two
great confirmations for somebody else, and a drive of thirty
miles. But Alexander and I, first visiting the apple-trees,
wandered leisurely for six miles through woods and over
downs, and back through acres and acres of primroses.
Next day, Friday, two confirmations again : 160 candidates
in the morning, 250 in the afternoon : four addresses, and
the sentence said 205 times. Two charming vicarages :
one was Cheam, the other Mitcham : the Vicar of
Mitcham the grandson of Bishop Wilson of Calcutta.

FIFE AND SURREY n3
Saturday a resting-day for the Bishop. Save writing fifty
letters, he had nothing to do. And in the afternoon a walk
through the Park to a primrose wood, where for illimitable
space the ground was carpeted with pale gold. Sunday
was ' Pentecost, day of rejoicing.' The Chaplain was in
London : with the Bishop to the pleasant parish-church.
We sat together in the chancel, he not in his robes : and I
was surprised when the Rector, having said the confession,
remained kneeling for the Bishop to say the absolution.
I remember the vehement statement of another Rector, a
great scholar : ' I don't know that the Bishop is in church,
unless he wears his robes and sits at the altar or on his
throne.' Of course, the Communion. It is curious how,
through its coming so much more frequently, there are
years in which I receive the Sacrament three or four times
in the Church of England for once in my own. I dare say
most readers remember glimpses of time which abide and
stand out wonderfully. That afternoon, we walked across
the Park, just an hour and a half out. Often, years after,
we both recalled the aspect of nature for that little season.
The exquisite living green of the trees, the wonderful blue
of the sky, the miraculous primroses, may and apple
blossoms. There are great masses of rhododendrons, now
in glory : and two great Lebanon cedars. All very grand :
but give me the homelier things. The Chaplain came down
in time for the full evening service : which was specially
enjoyable. An interesting little function one evening that
week at Addington Church. We walked slowly down
through the Archbishop's trees, where a Society of young
VOL. II. I

114 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
women from London, 200, were having a peaceful day.
At 6.30 a service of just half an hour. First, ' O happy
band of pilgrims.' Then the Bishop, in the pulpit, said two
collects and gave a beautiful little address. Then ' Abide
with me,' and the Blessing. All over at 7 exactly.
I was witness, now, for the first time, of an Anglican
Ordination. It was profoundly interesting. The ways are
so different from ours. With us, the first step, admitting
to what corresponds to Deacon's orders, is given at a meet
ing of Presbytery : few lay folk, men or women, have seen
it. But, as a rule, a licenciate is admitted to full orders
only after he has been appointed to a parish : and is
then ordained, himself alone, in the church where he is to
minister, in the presence of a crowded congregation. Ac
cordingly, with us, everybody has seen an ordination, most
people many : while Dean Stanley told me that in his
youth most members of the Anglican Communion had
never witnessed such a thing. Indeed Stanley added that
he thought the well-known passage in Mr. Buckle's History
about Scotch clerics being incapable of acting as Bishops
till they had travelled to London ' to be touched ' by men
Bishops already, was not a sneer at episcopal consecration,
but might have been said in good faith. The thing ap
peared incredible.
At Selsdon Park, everything went as clockwork goes
when it is best. And Bradshaw, generally falsified by fact
(save in the case of the Flying Scotchman), was nowhere
in comparison with that mapping out of the day. The
programme lay on the table in the Hall : long, low, warm,

FIFE AND SURREY uS
large, irregular in form through divers bay windows,
lesser and greater. On Friday May 21, the candidates
had all arrived. They numbered some 27 : the Bishop
put them all up till Monday: besides three Chaplains. At
2 was dinner. At 3.45 the chapel was open for prayer and
meditation. At 4 all gathered in the chapel. The Bishop
wore only the Doctor's robes. An excellent practical ad
dress from Mr. Stevens on The" Clergyman in School. At
4.45, tea in the Hall. At 5, walk. At 7, prayer and medi
tation in chapel. At 7. 1 5, the Bishop, now in Bishop's robes,
gave what the record calls ' a really splendid address ' on
Extempore Preaching. At 8.30 supper: all in the same places
as at dinner. Then all in the drawing-room till 10, when
prayer in chapel. At 10.15 P-M- Retire. The Chaplains
were Dr. Currey, Master of the Charterhouse, Archdeacon
Cheetham (already well known through most valuable
biblical works), and of course Mr. Alexander. All the
examinations were well over : there remained only the last
solemn step. It was a memorable time for all there ; and
these quiet days could not fail to lift up and impress the
candidates. At any hour, entering the chapel, you saw
devout young forms kneeling in private prayer : an atmo
sphere of kindly devotion pervaded the whole place, indoors
and out : and yet there was no pushing things too hard :
abundant time was allotted for walking and resting under
those magnificent trees. I am not to give the engagements
of each day : the first was a specimen. On Saturday
morning there was early communion : on Sunday deacons
and priests were ordained at Sanderstead Church, the com-

116 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
munion being part of the service : and on Monday forenoon,
after early communion (the third on three successive days),
all separated, each to his appointed work. On the Sunday
evening there was full service in the chapel : Archdeacon
Cheetham preached. On Saturday the time for walking
was from 12 to 2, and again from 4 to 6.30. The Bishop,
on Saturday, saw each candidate separately, praying with
each. I was deeply impressed by that ordination. I have
witnessed more than one since, the last in beautiful St.
Mary Overie, and seen one of my boys receive deacon's and
priest's orders from the Bishop's hands. Yet an odd asso
ciation abides too. The ordination sermon was preached
by the Rector of Sanderstead. After he had gone on for
a few minutes he stopped, and producing a box of matches,
with great deliberation proceeded to draw two or three till
he had got a light. He then lighted a pair of candles at
his right hand, and calmly went on. The dim religious
light had been too dim. It seemed to me that the entire
function must take out of a Bishop, severely. Yet from 5
to 6 on that lovely Sunday afternoon he and I walked
about the Park ; and he was not tired. And he said, truly,
how pleasant and touching it was to see the young men
walking, generally in pairs, quietly about the peaceful place,
on that memorable day in their history.
Things have mended, wonderfully ; ay, in the last forty
years. Mr. Harry Jones, in the Second Series of his
Holiday Papers, gives a truly awful account of how he was
ordained, at 8 of a mid-winter morning, in a chapel in

FIFE AND SURREY 117
Regent Street. It was not by the Bishop of London. It
was by a Bishop who did not find it suited him to use his
own Cathedral, and borrowed a chapel in town. The can
didates saw nothing earthly of the Bishop before ordination.
They were examined in a chamber in Parliament Street,
and turned out for an hour at one o'clock. No hospitality
whatever. I would I knew that Bishop's name. It should
stand on this page. He hurried'in to the ordination twenty
minutes late, and unshaved. He got through the service
at a tremendous rate. And there was no congregation. It
was not an anti-state-church lecturer, but it was Arch
bishop Tait of Canterbury, who said that thinking of divers
things which were habitual seventy or eighty years since,
he wondered any Christian folk remained in the Church at
all. There are regrettable things yet, North and South.
But God be thanked for a marvellous quickening to life
and work, everywhere.
Had I been a Bishop, and gone through these days of
constant stretch (the thing is barely conceivable), I should
have slept for the greater part of that Monday after the
dear youths had gone away. But the beloved Prelate
refreshed himself by writing forty letters, and then going
to Clapham for a great Confirmation in the afternoon.
Perhaps it ought not be added that in the evening
there was a little dinner-party, at which one of the guests
told me that in his judgment ' Lead, Kindly Light,' was
much improved by the additional fourth verse : that in
fact, without that, it was not a Christian hymn at all.
Curiously, it has recently been made known that the Car-

n8 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
dinal himself did not like the fourth verse. After all, I
have heard severer condemnation of the exquisite song.
When it was put into the Scottish Hymnal a good Ayrshire
minister, really dear to me, wrote to me that he ' would as
soon put in a hymn by the Devil, as one by Cardinal
Newman.' For, as he added, Newman had induced many
souls to ' go to perdition, with the speed of an arrow shot
from a giant's bow.'
However that may be, next day it was my lot to have
one of the most interesting interviews of my little life.: I
had my solitary glimpse of Carlyle. In early days, I had
not liked his works at all. But knowing this to be my
own fault, I set myself to read a daily task of so many
pages : and I soon got caught Still marking his crotcheti-
ness, one came to an immense admiration and reverence
for the great man. Through a lovely summer day, Tues
day May 25, 1880, up to London to lunch with Mr.
Froude. I note that an admirer of the beloved historian
judges it to be presumptuous in me to call him Froude.
Let it be said, in apology, that even such is the style in
which I have spoken and written to him for more than a
quarter of a century. A meeting with him has ever been
a delightful experience. Those who viciously attack him
know him not at all. He is as lovable as he is great. And
never was a great man more unpretending. Two hours
went far too fast : and then Carlyle came, in a brougham,
for Froude to go with him on his daily drive. We went
out to the carriage door, and there I had my first sight of
the great Scotsman. He looked old : beard and moustache

FIFE AND SURREY 119
white and smooth : he was eighty-five. The impression
of the time was 'not very like his portraits, which all
flatter.' Not such a worn and melancholy face. He was
very clear : not in the least deaf. It is impossible for me
to relate all he said : but I will relate what I may without
aggrieving some good-natured friends. Froude said, ' This
is a countryman of yours, who wishes to see you.' Carlyle
shook hands, rather indifferently : and looked at me in
silence. I said, ' I know Craigenputtoch well : I have often
seen it : I was once Minister of Irongray.' Carlyle said,
' I know Irongray well : a beautiful place. Boyd was once
Minister there, who is now in St. Andrews : Boyd, that
writes.' Fearful of a smashing review, I burst in : ' I am
Boyd.' At once Carlyle brightened up to the keenest but
kindest attention : exclaimed ' God bless us, are you Boyd ? ' :
took my hand and held it in a very strong grasp, adding
1 God bless you.' Then he added two sentences which I
did not repeat to the Bishop that evening, and cannot
record here. I never told them to anybody. I said, ' I
was very sorry I was away when you were at St. Andrews :
I am glad you have been in my church : I should have
been delighted to show you the Ruins once more.' Then
he said, ' Grand place, St. Andrews. You have there the
essence of all the antiquity of Scotland, in good and clean
condition.' ' He went on with two sentences more : I
had been cautioned that his mind staid bright for only a
little while : so I proposed to go. He took me by the hand
again, as warmly as ever any in this world : said again
1 Ante : vol. i. p. I.

120 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
' God bless you ' very solemnly and kindly : then he and
Froude drove away. I knew well how capricious he was ;
and that my reception might have been quite other. But
I speak of my great countryman as I found him : and as
1 must remember him. The record of that day says, ' It
is something, a glimpse of that great man, whom I shall
never see again, and never saw before. And I was pleased
to find he knew about me.'
He had come to St. Andrews, in his last visit to Scot
land, a year or two before ; and of course had gone into
the parish church, whose severe plainness pleased him.
Then he asked who was minister of the church : and being
told, he said ' God bless him.' For, like the great Duke,
he was (sometimes) very kindly as he grew old. Some
good friend hastened to write to a newspaper, that Car
lyle, being told I was minister of St. Andrews and its
parish kirk, shook his head, and said sorrowfully ' God help
them ! ' I am far from denying that the congregation of
this city needed then, and needs still, that help in a high
degree. I merely record that such was not Carlyle's aspi
ration. I read the kindly little legend from time to time
in print. I never have thought of contradicting it. For it
evidently gives pleasure to good folk who think differently
from me in things ecclesiastical.
It was on that day that Froude told me of a singular
instance of a man looking at a matter from only one point
of view. A youth at Oxford in his day, being examined in
Paley, was asked if he could mention any instance of the
Divine goodness which he had found out for himself.

FIFE AND SURREY 121
' Yes. The conformation of the nose of the bull-dog. Its
nose is so retracted, that it can hang on to the bull, and
yet breathe freely. But for this, it would soon have to let
go.' The bull's point of view was not regarded at all.
I could but cap the story with one from Glasgow Col
lege. A youth had preached in the College Chapel. After
service, the Professors, in the beautiful ' Fore-Hall,' were
discussing the sermon. They were all very complimentary.
But Professor Buchanan, the great Professor of Logic
(whom, strange to say, Archbishop Tait did not think very
clever), broke in, ' Oh, don't say that. There was a sad
want in our young friend's sermon. He said a great deal
about how Jonah felt. I should have liked to hear some
thing about how the whale felt.'
I must not tell about my first sight of ' The Leather
Bottle, Cobham, Kent ' : nor my first glimpse of Cobham
Hall, and woods. Of these hereafter. Only that Cobham is
the ideal village : and the Hall and woods the perfection of
such in beautiful England. The almshouses, the hopfields,
were new things to me, that May 27. Two Confirmations,
the second in Cobham church. Next day, 500 confirmed in
South London. The first Confirmation of May 27 was at
Gravesend : one confirmed was a girl from St. Andrews :
a young communicant of mine.
I cannot linger upon days, each remarkable to me.
Only on Monday Alexander was greatly pleased. For
first, early, I took him to Froude' s, where an hour and a
half s bright talk. Then luncheon at Sir John Millais'. A
son-in-law was there, son of Lord Justice James, who had

122 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
been at Eton with Alexander. Like everybody else, he was
charmed with Lady Millais. The great painter quite frankly
showed us many paintings which were going on : unlike
Sir Daniel Macnee, who never would show unfinished
work to any mortal. The day was one of ceaseless drench
ing rain. Through it, to the Deanery at Westminster in a
Hansom. Let it be interjected, with justifiable pride, that
we have three Hansoms at St. Andrews, and have had them
for years. We had a long and pleasant talk with Stanley.
He told us some stories, notably one, with admirable
imitation of a deep pompous voice, and assuming a stolid
wooden expression. Some would be aggrieved if it were
recorded here. If one could tell all one knows, what a
widely-read volume this would be ! Indeed I was once
offered tremendous terms for a book which should freely
relate certain facts. But it could not be. Nor would I
leave such a book behind me. Finally, to the railway :
where I met my host, Bishop Wordsworth of Lincoln, and
Bishop Moberly of Salisbury. To East Croydon : then
the three miles home in a specially large and handsome
carriage, fitted for so dignified a ' lot.' '
Bishop Moberly had been Head-master of Winchester
for thirty years, and was raised to the Bench late. He
looked frail in body. But he was sharp as a needle in
mind. He related several stories with a cynical though
good-natured humour which made one feel how formidable
a man he could have been had he chosen. One, of a
foolish man, who came to an unnamed Head-master (whom
1 Ante : vol. i. p. 259.

FIFE AND SURREY 123
I thought I could recognise) with many complaints about
his boy at school. He ended by asking ' What would you
do in such a case ? ' The answer was ' Flog the father.'
The Bishop of Lincoln looked older than his brother here.
I found him a most charming man. Years before, on his
sole visit to this city, his brother had brought him to this
house. But I was away, and I met him now for the first
time. In repose, he had a worn and' austere expression.
But never on any human face have I seen a sweeter smile.
On the instant, the features were transfigured. His
scholarship was supreme : Senior Classic, and a great one.
His learning was a great deep. But never did more
beautiful modesty, nor deeper devotion, go with such
eminence. Kneeling next him in chapel, his rapt abstrac
tion, his deep Amen often said twice, were liker a Wesleyan
of the old school than a calm Anglican. I fear that like
his great Uncle, he lacked humour. That evening the
party was but four, and the pleasant talk was general. It
is not every day that one in my place meets three such
men, talking with outspoken frankness : one listened with
deep interest. But in the drawing-room Bishop Words
worth asked me to sit next him by the fire ; and told
much of the labour which had gone to the production of his
learned works : speaking in the most attractive manner.
We were old friends when we parted after chapel at the
door of our rooms.
Next morning, the Bishops were off to Convocation.
Dean Stanley had promised to get me in to every function,
if I went with them. But it was my last quiet day at

124 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Selsdon : the place was in the glory of summer : I never
was drawn to Church Courts of any kind : and I missed
that chance. In the evening the Prelates came back.
Bishop Moberly, before dinner, spoke in sorrow of ' a false
concord ' in Archbishop Tait's Latin opening-address. He
said, ' We might not have minded, with some Archbishops :
but Tait was a Head-master like the Bishop of Lincoln and
myself.' The Bishop of Lincoln had been Head-master of
Harrow. The world knows that Tait succeeded Arnold
at Rugby. But he had an assistant there to correct the
exercises of the sixth Form : showing in this his usual
good sense. The exact error was making Synodus mascu
line. When I came home, Shairp speedily appeared, eager
to know if I had seen or heard anything of his friend the
Archbishop. I related the fact And Shairp said, sorrow
fully, 'Well, even I could have told him that 'ohos was
feminine.' That evening, a party at dinner. Another
Bishop was added, the then Vicar of Croydon, who had
come back from a Colonial See. A kindly old man, who
told me a curious story of the extreme loneliness of his life
there. A Rector of that evening is a Bishop to-day. I
did not mind about the false concord : though it is rather
to false quantities that Scotch scholarship runs. For the
Bishop of Winchester brought down kindly upbraidings
from Stanley, who had arranged to smuggle me in where I
had no right to be : also the pleasantest invitation from
the Archbishop, which I was obliged regretfully to decline.
Convocation again on Wednesday June 2. I to lunch
with an old school-friend, not seen since we were both

FIFE AND SURREY 125
little boys : Mr. Wyon, the eminent artist of the Royal
Mint. Strange, to find him with a family of grown-up
daughters, most attractive girls. In the evening, another
Bishop was added to the Selsdon household : a ' one-horse
Bishop,' working hard to get up a Cathedral in a new See :
but with no Chapter, no Canons, no Dean. But my host
had said to me, ' Mark that man : he will rise.' And
indeed he did, higher than any one thought on that day.
He was Bishop of Truro then. But when Tait was called,
he succeeded him : ' quite the best choice possible,' my
host wrote to me : and he is Archbishop of Canterbury
to-day. We walked about the Park for an hour before
dinner : and were next at dinner when the ladies went :
the record says ' a bright lively man ' : and a great friend
of Shairp's. He told me some singular experiences in
Cornwall. If you could not preach extempore, ' you had
not the Spirit' Next morning, at breakfast, our dear host
said to him that whenever he woke, he thought of the
proposed Cathedral at Truro : and something impelled
him to cry out, ' He'll do it' ' Yes,' said the Bishop, with
great pathos : ' HE'LL do it But it will not be done by me.'
As interesting to me as any there were Professor
Plumptre, soon to be Dean of Wells, and his wife, the
sister of Maurice. I had been a year under Maurice at
King's College when I was seventeen, and knew not my
privilege. I understood now. The day came when the
Dean of Wells and his wife visited us at St. Andrews : of
which hereafter. Also when I staid with them in blazing
summer at Wells, where every prospect was too charming

126 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
for this life. If any drawback, Man ; and Woman. But
most of these delightful too. I had never seen Mrs.
Plumptre before : but of course one took to her at once.
And her brother had spoken to her far too kindly of his
former pupil : wherefore my welcome was more than
gracious. That was my last evening. ' I feel the burden of St.
Andrews coming down upon me, as it grows nearer.' I
had been three Sundays away from it together : for the
first time since I went to it. I had had a time of wonder
ful peace and quiet. It is always an effort to take to work
again. And it is a trial to some to say good-bye. Chapel
was at 8.15 next morning. The four Bishops went at 9.30.
Mr. Disraeli had got Bishop Wordsworth to lead a forlorn
hope that evening in the Lords : the very man for it.
They all said farewell very kindly : and the two elder I
never saw again. That day, at 5, evening service at All
Saints in London. At 8.30 a Pullman sleeping-car as
before from King's Cross : and St. Andrews next morning
to breakfast. The Summer Fast-day was on Thursday June 17. One
got a new preacher occasionally. This time Mr. Strong,
of the beautiful Hillhead church at Glasgow. He is one
of our very best men. He gave a most admirable sermon :
one thought just as good as well could be Tulloch was a
keen critic : but he was delighted. And he came to
dinner, and liked the preacher as much in social talk.
There was a grand sunset : and we walked on the beach
till late.

FIFE AND SURREY ,27
The incidents one would wish to relate are endless.
But they would make this History as long as the Decline
and Fall. I pass on, unwillingly, to tell of a new depar
ture in the Kirk. Dr. Lees, of St. Giles', Edinburgh,
organised in this year 1880 the first of a series of historical
lectures, to be given in the Cathedral on Sunday afternoons
without any service. The Scottish Church from the Earliest
Times to 1881 was the subject. * There were twelve lectures.
Not without pride it was remarked in this city that three
went from such a little place : Tulloch, Professor Mitchell
and myself each giving one. We might also have counted
Flint, who had lately left us. Perhaps also (we did not
know) Cunningham who was to succeed Tulloch.
And we had trained MacGregor ; and Story in some
measure too. So St. Andrews gave seven lectures of the
twelve. And I think they were as good as any. I will
not even except my own : for when delivered it went down
wonderfully. It was as good as I could make it. Dr. Lees
gave the first lecture : Heathen Scotland. I had the second :
Early Christian Scotland, 400 to 1093 A.D. I fear, indeed,
that all my goods were displayed in the shop-window. I
had got up my subject very carefully. But only what was
needed : and I said everything I knew. The function was
curious. The hour was 3 P.M. I was at St. Giles' by 2.30,
when a stream of people were going in with tickets, soon
growing a very strong stream. It was strange, in the little
vestry, to hear the hurrying feet. At 2.45 the doors were
opened to all : and a rush crammed all the space, passages
and all. At 3 to the pulpit, not without a squeeze. No

128 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
music : a collect and the Lord's Prayer : then the lecture.
All were the same number of pages. I went on fast, and
got through in an hour and a quarter. A pull, going on so
long at the top of one's voice. But it was a very remark
able and interesting congregation : though the day was of
howling hurricane. Then the blessing : and away from
church in a furious blast of rain and wind, making an
umbrella impossible. Speedily away to the Lodge at
Fettes College: dinner with Dr. Potts. The blast had
grown so awful, that coming near Fettes my brother's horses
would hardly face it. The College stands high. Evening
service in the chapel at 7.30. The boys quite filled it : and
a few visitors sat where they could. The organ is fine : the
music was beautiful. One of the hymns, fitly, was ' for
those in peril on the sea.' Never was more silent or
interesting congregation. Even one's voice, very worn out
after St. Giles', came back nicely. And the sermon was only
twenty minutes. Our only Fettes boy of that time dined
with the Head-master, and felt the honour duly. And the
labour of getting up the lecture was repaid by a cheque for
sixteen guineas from St. Giles', and ten more for re
delivering the treatise in the Park Church at Glasgow.
We all thought this handsome. But in future years the
pay was to grow much more. The lectures were published
when each was given : then in a volume. This went on for
five years.
Thursday December 2 was our Winter fast-day. A day
to remember. I had St. Mary's, and we had only morning
service there. The sermon was preached by good Dr.

FIFE AND SURREY t2o.
Watson, this year Moderator. It was most wise and
admirable : very quiet, and short, but awful. The text was,
' Be sure your sin will find you out.' It was the last he
ever preached in St. Andrews. No one dreamt he was so
near the end. But he was not a man to last long. It was
a powerful head, with marked features : but a slight and
worn frame. He preached, after that day, just once in the
parish church at Dundee, on the" first Sunday of the year :
and never again did he enter a pulpit save in the May of 1 8 8 1 ,
at the opening of the General Assembly : when, as retiring
Moderator, he preached in St. Giles'. Then he got through
with little appearance of exhaustion. But in a few weeks
he was gone. Tulloch came to dine with him on the fast
day evening, and one or two more, including Dr. Watson's
son who was here at College. He was bright and cheery :
but never other than quiet. When his son took him
away to catch the latest train to Dundee, none of us
thought that he was to cross this threshold no more. But
so it was to be. We had parted with that wise and good
man. In a long day's visiting of the country part of the
parish on Friday December 10, I found that many good
old folk had been greatly disappointed through not being
able to get to the Communion on the previous Sunday.
Accordingly I arranged to have the Communion in a
cottage on the following Monday : and told a number of
frail people. To my surprise and encouragement, I got
twenty promises to be present. For in Scotland, the
Communion has for long been so linked with the church,
VOL. II. K

130 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
and the Sunday, that this meant getting over a good deal
of prejudice. On the Monday, at 1 1 A.M., Dr. Anderson
and I went out, and we had the little service, lasting half
an hour. But eight who had promised failed to come. I
fancy they had got frightened. The occasion was most
solemn. We hoped it was comforting to several old folk,
who would never be in church again. It was a fine sun
shiny day, which was pleasant. But Sunday plainly would
have been preferred. And now, when we have the Com
munion in our Chapel at Boarhills, four miles out, we have
generally a ' Second Table ' at a cottage in the little village,
for such as are unable to come to church. It is greatly
valued. On Thursday December 30 it is recorded that I went
and sat for a while with Tulloch. He was keen and clever
as ever he was. But the cloud was falling which fell so
mysteriously. And none could help.

i3i

CHAPTER XXI
DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C.
The year 1881 came in with a dark rainy morning,
and day. We had service that morning as usual. New
Year's day is a great popular holiday in Scotland : so that
a rainy day is very regrettable for divers reasons, some of
them better understood than expressed. A rainy holiday,
in or near a large town, eventuates, by the evening, in
pandemonium. The wine of this country, when bad, is
awfully bad, physically and morally.
Pardon the statement that each month in this year, I
had a little essay in the Parish Magazine of the Church,
which bears the happy title of Life and Work. Committees
are great agencies with us : and the ' Committee on
Christian Life and Work ' has done about the best work of
any. We owe it to Professor Charteris, who succeeded
Dr. Lee in the Chair of Biblical Criticism at Edinburgh.
Biblical Criticism practically means the study of the New
Testament. An association, less grave than the occasion,
comes with the name. Of old, a Club existed among the
undergraduates here, the qualification for which was that
after absorbing an incredible amount of toddy, a youth
should, with clear articulation, say the words Biblical

132 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Criticism. I have no doubt the legend is like many other
legends : but I put such levities away. Professor Charteris
early gave himself to ecclesiastical affairs ; and he has
shown a really statesman-like mind. He is singularly un
selfish : he is absolutely devoted to the Church and her
welfare. He has remarkable tact and unfailing good tem
per, combined with a quiet unyielding zeal. He has
gradually won the hearts of some who at the beginning
liked not his methods, and even now essentially differ from
him : for the gravitation of our best men is to the Anglican
Church, while Charteris and some others are more at home
with our fragmentary Presbyterianism. But he has done
more for the Church, in his own field, than any living man :
and this year of grace, 1892, he is righteously designated
Moderator. Among many things done by his Committee,
one was the establishment of this Parish Magazine. It
has been edited from the first by my dear friend Dr.
McMurtrie ; and it has attained a great success : 1 10,000
copies being sold monthly. It costs but a penny. It is
handsomely printed and illustrated. And it pays its con
tributors with a liberality which leaves little to be desired.
My twelve essays in 1881 were each Of Life : thought
of in divers ways. I found the work of writing them very
pleasant. I had hitherto written, almost exclusively, for
readers outside of Scotland : assuredly quite outside her
Kirk : Now I had come home. And never did wanderer
meet a warmer welcome. It was Dr. McMurtrie who had
suggested a series of essays on Life and Work. And rest
ing at Marlee in August 1880 they were given to me

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C. 133
without an effort. I wrote the first four there : the others
here as they were wanted. There is something pleasant in
a short flight : in writing what is written at one or two
sittings : in writing what comes to one. On successive
mornings, my subject and its treatment were given : I had
but to write the sentences which flowed. And it was most
touching to read the host of letters from readers high and
low which came : all that year, all years since. Some were
highly phonetic in spelling. Very many, from aged, poor,
and suffering souls, were not read without a tear. At the
end of 1 88 1 they were published, with some others, these
essays ; in a volume called Our Little Life. And when
twelve more essays Of Work had been published, they were
collected in a second series bearing the same name. If any
mortal should care to know what this humble writer was,
as he grew old, it will be found in these two volumes.
Young preachers may care to know that when I began
my Wednesday afternoon services in Advent 1880, I gave,
for the little sermon, the first four essays Of Life. But,
though so successful when published, they were a distinct
failure : did not interest the congregation like the short
extempore meditations to which people had grown accus
tomed. For they had been written to be read : and they
did not do to be preached. Of course, there are sermons
which will serve both to be preached and read ; but then
both ends must be latently but perpetually held in view
while writing them. And if they prove extremely popular
when read, it is very likely they were not specially so when
delivered. There is the other alternative too. There have

134 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
been sermons which men and women held their breath to
hear, which, being published, could not be read at all. I
have tried to read them.
For four months this season our skating pond bore most
days. On January 1 1 I went down in intense frost ; and
realised Dickens' imagery of ' a white and yellow desert '
under the sinking sun. That day, I saw the most miracu
lous skating ever beheld of me. Several Canadian ladies
were there sometimes : they had had opportunity to study
the art such as is not given here. Upon that day Mr.
Gilmour of Montrave in this county, a laird of great
wealth and public spirit, who ought to be in Parliament,
was there, and skated finely. But Mrs. Gilmour's skating
was quite marvellous. One looked on in amazement.
With perfect ease she did things which were not only
terribly difficult and dangerous, but things which seemed
absolutely impossible. Nor did she keep her secrets to
herself : she had quite a class of promising girls whom she
was instructing in these mysteries. It appeared to me that
(as with the doings of great wizards), even after being told
how to do the thing, you were not materially nearer
unto doing it. You must practise, practise, practise.
On Sunday January 16 I preached at the opening of
the new church of Duns, in Berwickshire. Surely never
was cold so awful as at that time. It had lasted long, that
frost : it grew ever more intense : till the air entered one's
lungs like a sword, and all water-pipes were frozen. I
went to Edinburgh on the Friday, and staid the night at
the University Club. But though I had a piled-up fire in

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C. 135
my room, and all possible wraps heaped on the bed, sleep
was impossible through absolute starvation from cold. I
can remember nothing like it. Deep snow covered all the
country on Saturday. On Sunday the scene was Arctic :
the roads, feet deep, were opened by the snow-plough. Of
course the congregation was crowded all the same. People
can come to church when they please. The organ and
music were fine, and the services hearty. I cannot forget
next morning : a time of a weird miraculous beauty in
combination with extreme physical misery : the misery of
the cold that kills, and that had lasted for weeks. We
must arise at six ; and drive away through an atmosphere
which (as Milton expressed it) burned frore : an unutter
able chill the like of which no man remembered. I saw
the sun rise over that great white expanse, where the pro
spect reached twenty miles : a cold yellow glory that
stretched across the whole South-Eastern horizon, and
glinted level on the snowy slopes : a magnificence never
to be forgotten : on either hand the snowy walls piled-up,
in some places ten feet high. One felt that to keep in the
spark of life amid such surroundings was all that was
possible. A very little more would be death. Such a
Winter is beautiful beyond all words : but it is fatal.
On Monday January 24 I was profoundly impressed by
what may be done through determined pushing. The
awful weather continued. I had gone out two miles into
the country that forenoon, and found the roads cut through
snow often six feet deep. I had promised, long before, to
take the chair at a lecture, with lime-light illustrations, in

136 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
the Town Hall, to be given by one I remembered as a
bright youth at Glasgow College, and had not seen since I
was nineteen. When he called that afternoon, I told him
I feared it was hopeless to get people out : just the Monday
before a very attractive entertainment had proved a dead
failure. ' Just you come at eight o'clock and see,' he said.
He had found out all our schools, public and private : all
boarding-houses where were many boys. Poor fellow, he
must have gone to them all, and probably offered special
terms, and exerted much eloquence. No doubt, much
practice had made him perfect. But, in any case, at eight
the hall was quite full : with young and old : and he gave
a really interesting lecture. Not Mr. Disraeli better
understood the power of flattery : I would that a tithe of
what he said of me, as undergraduate, preacher, and
author, were but true. And' many of my parishioners here
learnt for the first time that I had been a successful student
at Glasgow. In the Kirk, University standing goes for
nothing. And some of our preachers frequently say that
University honours are not the smallest proof of ability.
Never mind about that. But how that poor lecturer must
have worked the oracle : and that in a place he never saw
before. I felt within myself that in his circumstances I
should have caved in, and lectured to empty benches, or
not at all. Some of us deserve no credit for not being
Pushers : it simply is not in us to be such. And the
moral disapproval with which we contemplate the Pusher,
specially in our own vocation, is tempered with a certain
admiration. After all, thickness of skin, selfishness, self-

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C. 137
conceit, and impudence, are not admirable. But these
were not present in that poor lecturer : not at all. He was
fighting, that bleak winter-time, for his wife and children.
He asked me for a certificate, I wrote it, as warmly as I
could, ere I rested that night. He needed it not. For he
caught a cold in his weary journeying : he could not stop
to take care of it : and in ten days he was gone. Then I
lamented, bitterly, that I had *not shown him more kind
ness than I did.
The record of that January says that the roads were
like Switzerland. Walking towards Strathtyrum, on the
footpath, the snow was piled up to that degree that one
could not see the omnibuses going to the railway on the
carriage-road. Well I remember February 21 in that year. I was
coming out of the Club in Edinburgh when I met John
Brown coming in : the sweet-natured and beloved John
Brown of ' Rab and his Friends.' I never saw him looking
so ill : very worn, weary, beaten. He asked with great
earnestness for Tulloch, who was now passing through his
very darkest days. I made things as hopeful as I could.
Then Dr. Brown made his solitary remark to me about
what we all knew. With a terrible look, he said, ' You
know I understand what that is.' Yes, I knew : knew
that times came when that pathetic and lovable genius was
whelmed in depths of darkness which our Principal (God
be thanked) never knew. One could but hold John
Brown's hand a little while, and silently look at his face.
Then we parted : for the last time.

138 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Saturday, March 5, 1881, was a memorable day here.
It was a dismal morning of stormy wind and bitter cold :
the snow deeper than ever, and most of the railways
blocked. Though it was Saturday, I was out by 12 o'clock
on duty : and going along South Street met the Kate
Kennedy procession in a heavy fall of snow : the East
wind killing. Kate called at this house in due time, and
was received with all honour. But the heavy snowstorm
ceased not all that afternoon. A vessel was driven upon
the West sands ; but the lifeboat went out and saved the
crew. Much worse was to befal. A large three-masted
ship had been driving in before the wind. She was seen
miles off: the masts were gone, but she could steer. Had
she been steered fifty yards to the right, she would have
run on the soft beach. But, through some deplorable
blunder, she was steered upon the rocks at the Witches'
Lake. There the rocks are fifty feet perpendicular : there
are great reefs, with deep water between : and the lifeboat
could not reach her. But a rope was thrown over her by
a rocket : and the poor fellows on board, not forty yards
from the crowd upon the rocks, cheered, thinking danger
over. Then the ship, in a moment, turned on its side and
slipt into deep water off the reef it had rested on. There
were eight on board, and every one perished. They were
stiff and starved, and wore great yellow waterproofs :
they had not a chance, poor souls. The bodies were not
found for days. I read the burial service over those
unknown brothers, two and three at a time.
Seven youths were rusticated for taking part in that

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C.

139

Kate Kennedy function. The sympathy of St. Andrews,
generally, was thoroughly with them. But of course
students must obey the authorities of their College. There
has never been another Kate Kennedy's Day.
On April 14, Maundy Thursday, I dined with
Principal Shairp to meet Mr. Bonamy Price. He was a
Double-First ; and an extraordinarily vivacious man.
One listened to him with vast interest, as he poured
himself out. He was, as Shairp and I also were, Words-
worthian through and through. He said that for pathos,
there is' nothing equal to Michael in all literature. I do
not know all literature : but so far as I know I can go
along with him. He told us of an interesting talk he had
with Tennyson in some public conveyance. He said
much to Tennyson about In Memoriam. Finally, when
they had to part, the great poet took him by the hand,
and said ' Who are you ? I must know who you are.'
But Bonamy Price said, ' No : I'm nobody ' : and so went
away. I think even Tennyson would have been pleased
to know who it was that prized his writings so highly.
Double-Firsts are not many. And I have known some
who would not have cared a doit for In Memoriam.
Further, an Oxford Professor is of mark anywhere.
On Thursday May 12, round my good old pensioners,
in anticipation of May 15 when the rent must be forth
coming. I always end that round near a large garden,
where I hope to see blossoming trees. But, this late
season, there were none out. But I had been cheered by
finding some very fine 'flourish' in a dirty back-court

140 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
in the town, where doubtless the trees were kept
warmer. I was due at Selsdon Park on Thursday May 19. But
a memorable little visit on the way thither. On the
Tuesday before to London, to the King's Cross Hotel.
The mangy little bit of green behind it was shabby as
ever : it has been tidied in these last years. On Wednes
day, a gloomy rainy day, by rail through the exquisite
English landscape to Windsor : and up to Hugh Pearson's
charming house in the Castle. The Queen was in resi
dence, as the flag testified. Pearson was in London, at a
Christening : where the Godfather was Lord Selborne,
then Chancellor. Pearson remarked with what fervour the
good man said, ' All this I steadfastly believe.' Much to
be envied. For one has known men just as able as Lord
Selborne, and just as conscientious, who were Not Quite
Sure. Pearson also spoke of a deaf Godfather who,
being asked if he believed what all Christians hold as vital
verities, said with emphasis ' I renounce them all.' I had
time to look about a little: then at 3.30 service at St.
George's Chapel. A good congregation : the music very
splendid : the Anthem, by Purcell, took fourteen minutes.
Out at 4.30. ' My stall was near that occupied by Dean
Wellesley : which is in fact the Sovereign's. The Clergy
have no place they can call their own in that fine church
save the space within the altar rails. When I came out,
there was drenching rain. In a minute the Dean came,
and recognised one seen but once before. He said,
* Whenever it rains like this, I walk round the Cloister

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C. 141
after service for an hour. Come and walk with me : I
know you are at Pearson's.' I was too happy, and we
proceeded to walk, not very slowly, round and round. It
was a singular experience. It was just like walking with
the great Duke : the Dean was exactly like his Uncle. A
sharp keen face : white hair : he generally looked straight
before him. Of course, it was his to speak, and mine to
hear. And only a special idiot would think to ' draw '
Dean Wellesley. But, in a little, how startlingly out
spoken ! I have read that it is incredible that he should
have said certain things recorded in the Life of Bishop
Wilberforce. Anything but incredible : extremely likely.
The error was in repeating what was said. But I am not
going to tell what he told to me : unless things which
might be published on the house-tops. Having gone
round the Cloister once, in silence, he said, abruptly, ' It is
very strange how capriciously the great places of the
Church of England go.' I replied, meekly, that some of
us were under the impression that he knew as much
about these hidden matters as any one living. ' Oh no :
not at all : I know just what anybody may know.' A
minute's silence. ' Well, I dare say I know as much as
any one else.' I should say, Of a surety he did. For he
went on to pour out strange things : things affecting both
Church and State. Not a word shall be said, save Dean
Stanley's word, ' Election ! ' What a toss-up it is ! Men
who appeared in the certain way to any possible height,
tripped-up : and the outsider winning the race. I learnt
a lesson. Be insignificant ! Then you give no offence :

142 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
you make no enemies. Any very eminent man has made
many enemies. And no one can say who may some day
stick a spoke in the wheel, and arrest a triumphal progress.
It was a man who has risen just as high as may be who
once said to me, ' The fact is, it's a miracle that anybody
ever gets anything.' The practical lesson was, ' Seekest
thou great things for thyself? Seek them not.' You are
just as likely to get them : and you will save yourself
much fever, much suspense ; and the temptation to very
mean arts. And all this, which is true of the great places
of a great Institution, is just as true of the little places of
a small Institution.
There is no reason why one should not say that the
Dean expressed his opinion that it was all right for the
Sovereign to attend the parish church in Scotland ; but
that he had strongly set forth his objection to receiving
the Holy Communion. ' Why ? ' The answer seemed of
no force. ' Because the Anglican Communion is an
essential part of the Coronation service, and therefore one
who has been crowned ought not to receive the Sacrament
elsewhere.' I ventured to reply that nobody dreamt of
the Sovereign ceasing to attend the Anglican Com-
• munion : that we in the North thought one might well
embrace every opportunity of receiving, whether North or
South of the Tweed. I spoke in vain. He said that
Archbishop Tait had expressed the same opinion : likewise
that another had expressed it too, whose name I was
greatly surprised to hear, and will not mention. But, as
years have gone on, I have had reason to know that

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C.

M3

everything Dean Wellesley said was accurately true, both
of things past and things to come. He did indeed utter
one prophecy : which the event, so far, has neither con
firmed nor contradicted. Whoso lives, will see.
It was the hour exactly. I never, in any hour of my
life, heard things so remarkable. As it came to 5.30,
the drenching rain still falling, we arrived at his own
door. He held out a very iron hand : said just ' Good
bye ' : disappeared into his dwelling ; and I never saw him
more. A keen strong sense was what impressed one : a certain
cynicism. Hard intellect and insight, without much of the
emotional element. But he once, for a minute, softened. A
bright, good-looking youth appeared : but for him, we had
had the Cloister to ourselves, all that hour. ' My son,
Arthur Wellesley.' One had heard the name before : and
could but wish that he might bear it worthily.
So into Pearson's house : even his curates called him
Hugh Pearson. Such was his wish. And Dean Stanley
was never anything but Arthur. ' Pearson had come : and
there was the kindest of welcomes. All over the beautiful
house. You enter it on the level of the Cloister : but look
ing out from the other side, you are high in Windsor
Castle (which is a little town) : and you look down on
the wonderful plain below, Eton Chapel, the Thames, and
in the distance the heights of Harrow. Tea : then all over
St. George's Chapel : the minute inspection of it which is
accorded to privileged folk. At eight, a cheerful little
dinner-party. Two men, with magnificent voices, who had

144 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
done the service that afternoon : two ladies and two men
who had been at St. Andrews. Like the drawing-room at
Sonning, the dining-room here was wainscotted with black
oak. The entire house was a picture to remember ; and it
had been furnished in the most exquisite taste. The
Queen, a few yards off, had nothing about her so
delightful. Next morning, at 10.30, service at St. George's. Pearson
put on his surplice in his house : all the way was under
cover. He read the Lessons, simply and well. When we
parted, I did not think that I should see him no more.
His call was sudden. On Good Friday of next year, 1882,.
he preached in Sonning Church. On Easter Day, April 9
(the natural Easter Day, the actual day of the Resurrec
tion), he was at early Communion : and he preached at
morning service, telling the people it was his fortieth Easter
Day among them. On the Thursday in that week he
died : the same man as he had lived. ' Unexpected this :
but God's will and therefore best : yet it is a bitter wrench
to leave all you dear ones.' He might have been Dean of
Westminster when Stanley died.
That afternoon by 5.48 train from Victoria to East
Croydon, my daughter and I : Alexander joining us there..
A man of striking aspect passed the carriage, who might
from his dress have been Dean or Bishop. We wondered
who he was : when a young parson in the carriage said
The Dean of Chichester : Dean Burgon, of much renown.
At Croydon we found with much delight that he too was
for Selsdon ; and we drove there together. We found the

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C. 145
Bishop very cheery and well, and a little less over-worked
than usual. An evening to be remembered. Dean Burgon
was the keenest of controversialists, but the most delightful
of men. One was drawn to the man who had smitten the
awful attempt to revise the New Testament. Scholarship
may have been there : but discernment of the music of
English prose far away. Further, the line came back, in
his prize poem on Petra : ' A rose-red city, half as old as
time.' And how he talked ! Fluent, pathetic, humorous,
full of quaint stories : altogether charming. He had that
kind interest in young women, of which every one knows.
While he lived, at least twice in a year, he sent a long letter
to my daughter, sometimes telling all about a Quarterly
paper which was in writing I remember, too, how pleased
he was when, the hour of chapel having come, she appeared
in a great cap suited to the function. Others were bare
headed : and he liked it not. He went next morning : but
not till we had held a long and interesting talk concerning
the ecclesiastical systems of North and South. We could
not quite agree. But, in the very kindest and most
brotherly way, we could agree to differ. Nor was the
difference great. He could say, and write, terrible things.
But I know what I found him : and I cherish the warmest
and pleasantest remembrance of Dean Burgon. Nor can
I ever forget how heartily he spoke and wrote of the
Scottish Hymnal.
It was the morning of Friday May 20, 1 881, on which
we parted. I was in luck in my experience of Chichester.
For, long before, I had found Dean Hook just as kind as
VOL. 11. L

146 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Dean Burgon : and had been taken by him over Cathedral,
Palace, Deanery, and all the other sights. And the days
were to come on which, more than once or twice, I was to
meet the like gracious greeting from the dignified and
sweet-natured patriarch Bishop Durnford : surely the ideal
of a wise and sympathetic Father in God. That Friday
was memorable in this little household : for my daughter
and I went down to Beddington church with the Bishop,
'" and there she was confirmed: one of 160. In due time,
the Bishop did the service when she was married. And,
as he ordained my son both Deacon and Priest, one would
be aware of a warm tie to him : even if there were not
fifty others.
May 22 was Rogation Sunday. Sixteen miles drive
to Surbiton : morning service St. Mark's. Archdeacon
Burney bears a name which is classic. At 3, the chapel of
Mr. Tabor's great school at Cheam, as two years before.
At 7, evening service at Selsdon. The brightest of days :
and a full one. One day this week we had for the night
Mr. Bourke, brother of Lord Mayo who was killed when
Governor-General of India ; with his wife, daughter of
Archbishop Longley of Canterbury. She had quite her
father's face. When a little boy, I had my first look of the
Queen in the Chapel Royal, St. James's : and the Bishop
of Ripon (as he was then) preached. I remember the
sermon, vividly : and the text. It was all very graceful
and beautiful. We had Handel's Coronation anthem :
which if I were a sovereign, I would rather not have. It
is quite too much. I never heard but one other person

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C C. C. 147
preach to the Queen : and it was in much homelier
surroundings. On Sunday May 29, twenty miles to Kew :
where the Bishop preached for the restoration of the church.
Then early dinner, with quite the most respectable people
one could well meet. Never before did I take in a
Princess, who was likewise a Duchess ; and who was
amiability itself. She introduced me to a sweet young girl
of fourteen, who, a little while since, was to be tried as few
have ever been tried. We had walked a while about the
pretty garden. A pleasanter man than the Commander-
in-Chief (if that be his proper designation), could not be.
The charming Princess confided to me the awful fact, that
she downright hated the service of the Kirk. I told her that
she had not seen it quite at its best : and revealed some
thing of the innovations of these latter years. She
summed up, with incredible attractiveness (most admirable
of women) : ' Ah, if I could only see the service done by
you ! ' People of that rank, it is impossible to deny, have
the faculty of making themselves extraordinarily agree
able. They may not mean what they say. But they
say it sweetly. Furthermore, they tell you things with a
frankness which transcends all expectation. Nor do they
crack all the connection up. Likewise, they speak
modestly. I was quite touched when Prince Leopold,
speaking to the lowly writer concerning Windsor Castle,
called it ' our house.' I suppose, in fact, it does belong to
us all. On the evening of Monday, May 30, I attended a
function very singular to me. That morning, my host

148 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
went early to London for much duty, bidding good-bye.
It was a day of blazing sunshine : and, following an unwise
fashion, I penetrated to every nook of the grounds, having
a last look. It is noted that the hawthorns and lilacs were
wonderful. Good-bye to the two little girls, whom I have
seen gradually grow up : and at 3 P.M. drove away. To
Victoria. At 5, tea with good old Bishop Claughton of
St. Albans, who had London rooms in Belgrave Mansions,
near the station. I staid till 6, and the Prelate questioned
me sharply as to what I was to say that evening. Finally,
to the Deanery at 7.40 : my last visit to it. It was a
meeting of the C. C. C. Society : a Society of forty of the
London clergy : some of the most outstanding in divers
ways. The brightest and most lifelike of all was Dean
Stanley, who just on that day seven weeks was to pass
from this world. How vividly it all comes back : the
quaint old house, under the shadow of that august church :
the look-out upon the ancient buildings round : the fading
twilight of the beautiful summer evening : the entire moral
atmosphere of that departed day. All the stranger, just
in this hour, because so unlike the surroundings which are
present. For I have sat down, with the outlook of three
hours, after a day mainly spent among dear folk who know
not what exactly is a Dean, and who assuredly are ignorant
of the meaning of a Chapter. The last statement is made
advisedly : for I lately read a paper, written by a Glasgow
man of vast wealth, in which it was declared that the
Chapter-house of a Cathedral was so styled, because of old
a chapter of the Bible was daily read aloud there. Arch-

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C. 149
deacon Cheetham was President for the year : and I
remember Mr. Fremantle, Mr. Llewellyn Davies, Mr.
Garden, Mr. Harry Jones, Mr. Brooke Lambert, Mr. Ross,
Mr. Malcolm Maccoll. It was in the drawing-room of the
Deanery, which many remember well. The only artificial
light was two great candles on a little table. The Arch
deacon said a collect and the Lord's Prayer : and I noted
with envy the heartiness with which it was joined in. I
did not think then that in 1890, and 1891, I was to hear it
just as heartily joined in by the General Assembly. The
Secretary read a brief minute. Then I sat down at the
little table, and proceeded to read a Dissertation, prepared
with much care. The President had not only asked me to
do so, but had given me my subject. It was The Treat
ment of Heresy in Scotland. Though I should not have
chosen the subject, I took to it. It was one of great
interest just then. Never had I more sympathetic or atten
tive hearing. On my right hand, close by, sat the Dean, to
receive (when I had to pause) occasional whispered expla
nations. My purpose was, if at all possible, not to be tire
some. The dignity of dulness I held cheap. I had my
ample reward. One good man, very Low Church, com
plained of a lack of gravity. But my hearers appeared to
rather enjoy the discourse : and Dean Stanley uttered an
occasional yell, and clapped his hands. The reader may
possibly think that these eminent men were easily pleased :
he may read that dissertation if he choose so to do.1
The paper having been read, a discussion followed. It
1 Our Little Life : Second Series, p. 256.

150 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
was extremely bright and lively, and very outspoken. But
in a very few minutes, the discussion passed quite away
from the Treatment of Heresy in Scotland: and it became
a debate on The Treatment of Heresy in England. And
I was disillusioned. I heard it maintained keenly that the
Judicial Committee of the Privy Council is not a whit more
impartial than a Church Court : that the members of that
mystic body vote according to their ecclesiastical or theo
logical bias : and that the judgment often founds on con
siderations of policy. My conclusion was, that wherever
there are human beings, North or South, Episcopal or
Presbyterian, there will be a great deal of human nature.
We know that in the House of Lords, in a judicial appeal,
such a thing has been known as a strict party vote, the
Judges being divided according to their politics. It is best,
if you wish to retain reverence and confidence, not to know
too much of even the most elevated of our fellow-creatures.
And I remembered how Dr. Grant of Edinburgh, shrewdest
of men, once spoke to me of a most conscientious not to
say saintly brother. ' He tells me that when there is to be
a division in the Presbytery, he casts aside all bias, and
prays God to guide him right. I have no doubt he does
exactly as he says he does. But, all the same, I can always
tell beforehand how he is sure to vote.'
At ten o'clock the discussion ceased : each man con
firmed in his previous opinion. Then there was supper.
I sat next the Dean, who said many kind things. Finally,
as it drew towards midnight, I took Stanley's hand for the
last time ; and departed with Archdeacon Cheetham to the

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C. 151
Old College at Dulwich, then his charming home. The
final words which I heard Stanley's voice say were, ' Yes,
I'll preach for you on a Sunday in August' But that was
not to be. The Sunday came. But A. P. S. had gone
away. He preached in Westminster Abbey on Sunday
July 10. He died on Monday July 18. It would be a vain
thing to tell how his loss was felt here. Dr. Watson of
Dundee died on Wednesday July 20. The record of that
day says, ' I feel it a heavy blow, and a solemn warning.
How long I remember him ! ' He left more brilliant men
behind him in the Kirk : he did not leave wiser, truer, or
better. Next Sunday, here, as in many other places, a word
must be said of both. How warmly I have heard each,
the Anglican dignitary and the Scottish presbyter (more
than once or twice), speak of the other !
In July 1 88 1 Tulloch's name disappeared from the cover
of Fraser. He had in fact ceased to edit it six months at
least before. He was now away seeking restored health
at Torquay. While he lived, he did not cease to speak
warmly of the considerate kindness he met from the
Publishers through this trying time.
The outstanding incident of our seven weeks this season
at Marlee was the setting-up of the stones of a little
Druidical Circle on the estate. For thirty years at least,
three of the six great stones had been cast down, one of
them being broken into three pieces and put in a ditch. No
mortal man seemed to take the smallest interest in the
thing. Finally, having spoken much in vain, I wrote to the
Laird, a total stranger, living in London ; and pointed out

152 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
how interesting a relic was being neglected, and in the way
to be destroyed. He was a shy recluse, and hardly ever
saw his pretty estate : hence it was that the strange old
House fell into decay, and came within our reach. In days
when fine shooting went with it, Sir Richard Bethell, then
Attorney-General, afterwards Lord Chancellor, had it one
Autumn : and Mr. Rae, the parish minister, told us how
simple and frank the great man was, all his airs being left
behind him in London. The Laird at once, in the
pleasantest way, issued orders that the Circle should be set
right. The stone which had been broken was bound
together with clamps of iron, and set in its place. Finally,
the six awful-looking monoliths stood upright, as two
thousand years ago. A public road runs through the
circle, just missing the great stones on either side. This by
good luck : for those who made the road knew not the extra
ordinary interest of the relic they used so heedlessly. Very
often, generally in the fading light, I used to visit the spot :
the Circle always had to me a weird and eerie look. It was
not made quite as I desired. I should have had the space
within levelled, and mown continually, so as to show the
full height of the stones. A heap of road metal profanes
it : and the repaired stone stands on the farther side of the
ditch in which it lay. The stone could not be elsewhere :
the ditch might be. It is singular how the site of the Circle
is the regulation one : on a considerable level, elevated
somewhat above the country round, and commanding a
vast view through the great hills rising all round it, miles
away.

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C. 153
To very many houses all over the land there came this
August a memorial volume from the great Dean's library.
Mine is the handsome quarto, Men of Mark : A Gallery
of Contemporary Portraits. It bears the inscription, A
remembrance of the Deanery, Westminster: with Mrs.
Drummonds kind regards. Wherever these volumes went,
they were prized as few have been.
On Tuesday September 26 a welcome guest arrived :
Mr. Alexander, now Vicar of St. Paul's Church, Walworth.
He had never seen St. Andrews till now. His days were
few, and the first were of Equinoctial tempest. But he
had rest : and he seemed happy. It was a great change
from Selsdon Park, and diocesan business : also from St.
Paul's, to which the Bishop had presented him, and where
he had difficulties at first, all beautifully got over. A
cynical little boy of this house remarked that I had
expected he would walk about the Cathedral with me, and
talk of church things : whereas he gravitated to much
younger folk, and gave himself to tennis parties. I would
he could come back again, exactly as he used to be. I
thought of asking him to preach at the parish church on
the morning of Sunday September 25 : I was free to do
so. But I thought it might get him into trouble in his ;
parish, and did not. He read prayers that morning at our
Episcopal church instead : many were disappointed that
he did not preach. But in the evening he came to St.
Mary's, which was much crowded, and where the music
was at its very best. There was an anthem, very well sung.
On the whole, I could not conscientiously tell him that

154 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
though the praise was hearty, it was not nearly so good
as usual. I remark that whenever I preach for a friend
who has fine music, the case is so. We had hoped a
much longer visit of this most attractive young parson.
But there were engagements of duty. And after a good
deal of telegraphing, he had to go on the evening of
Monday. On one of the first days of October, Tulloch came
back from Torquay perfectly well. He had passed through
his longest time of darkness ; and he had gone away under
the belief that he should return no more. But Sir Andrew
Clark took him in hand resolutely : and the Principal, who
had small faith in medical men generally, found his master
and had to obey commands, with the best result. Possibly,
he was coming from under the cloud in any case. He did
come out, and walked for many days in sunshine. At
least, in equable daylight. He was bright and cheerful.
He came and dined with us soon. And it is noted that it
was near a year since he had done so last.
There are a great many clever young parsons about,
who never get their due. On Tuesday November 1 5 we
had a meeting here on behalf of the McAll Mission at
Paris. Mr. Campbell, then the Scotch Chaplain at Paris,
made ' a most admirable speech : I hardly ever heard a
better.' It was singular how in look, and every little
detail of manner, he had become quite a Frenchman. In
due time he returned to Scotland, and is now minister of
a church at Aberdeen. He is a Son of the Manse, like
many of our very best clergy. Duncan Campbell comes

DEAN WELLESLEY : THE C. C. C. 155
from beautiful Pitlochry : known as the place where Bishop
Ryle of Liverpool persistently preaches in the parish kirk, I
and knows not the Episcopal at all. If all his public
appearances are like that one at St. Andrews, my brother
of the Manse must do credit to his ancestry.
One's brothers of the Manse generally do so. There
are few great places in this country which they have not
reached. But if one went down to the grandsons, the
record would be remarkable indeed. I name but two.
They did not like one another. Quite otherwise, indeed.
Brougham, and Macaulay. In Mr. Macvey Napier's
Correspondence, you may read a letter in which Macaulay
says of Brougham, 'That man is inspired by the Devil.'
The statement is strong. But a letter a few days later
had advanced upon it. For indeed it ran, ' That man is
the Devil.'

i56

CHAPTER XXII
SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR : GADSHILL
With November 1881, our Colleges entered on their work
as usual. But it was a great occasion when Sir Theodore
Martin, now Lord Rector, came in this month to give his
inaugural address. He gave a really excellent address,
flavoured with Conservative politics to a degree not usually
popular in Scotland, but which gave no offence : and we
were all delighted with him in private ; both those who
now made his acquaintance and those who had known him
long. But I do not think Sir Theodore, whom I may
venture to call an old friend (for I met him first at John
Parker's, and that many times, in May i860), would be
aggrieved were it added, that he brought with him the
most charming of all possible companions in that supreme
dramatic genius Lady Martin, much better known to
world-wide fame as Miss Helen Faucit. Her name and
presence were quite enough. But when she read As You
Like It to the University in the Town Hall, it can but be
said that she stirred our warm-hearted youths to a wild
enthusiasm. Our Rectors have been a very remarkable set of men :
and their selection says much for the electorate. But the

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 157
roll would be even more remarkable, if there were added
to it the names of the unsuccessful candidates : if candi
date be the word here. Thomas Campbell was Lord
Rector of Glasgow. But Sir Walter was the rejected.
When Sir Theodore was chosen, Mr. Freeman was cast
aside. When somebody whom I remember not at all was
chosen at Glasgow, the rejected was ' Vir doctus, Gulielmus
Wordsworth ' : I hear Professdr Ramsay, with clear voice,
read the result in Latin. There happily abides one who is
certainly the most brilliant of living Scotsmen : who has
already, at an early age, been Rector both of Aberdeen
and of Edinburgh, and who must of a surety be Rector of
each of the remaining two Scotch Universities in time
(they have each begun by making him LL.D.), who has
written of St. Andrews : ' What a grave splendid pro
cession of Lord Rectors has passed you in Court polonaise
into the land of shadows beyond, while you sate among
yofr saintly monuments and sketched them ! You have a
n oble background for historical figures.' I have seen many
Rectors of St. Andrews : and the present, Lord Dufferin,
who gave his inaugural address just a year ago, is equal to
any of them from the first. But I trust I may be allowed
to live to see the chair filled by Lord Rosebery. How
the enthusiastic young fellows here bellowed when he got
his degree ! Lord Reay was Rector then. When the
grave procession filed out of the Hall, the Earl was laid
hold of and kept behind : then the undergraduates (and
graduates) environed him, shrieking for ' A Speech ! ' I
think I see the solemn look of reprobation with which he

158 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
began in awful tones: 'Gentlemen, this is most un-
academical.' On Saturday November 19 Sir Theodore and Lady
Martin arrived at Principal Tulloch's. That evening we
met them there. Time tells not upon either. But I
thought how in that departed May, I had the great honour
to take the lady down to dinner in her own house. It was
quite bewildering. I had seen her continually before, but
never in private. And it seemed as though Lady Macbeth
had taken my arm, and Constance, and Pauline, and Lady
Mabel in the forgotten Patrician's Daughter. Never was
genius more unaffected : never more kind. And after a
while, when I ventured to introduce the subject, she spoke
with a charming frankness about those unforgettable ap
pearances : telling me many things of extreme interest.
Sir Theodore has written much : and all well : though I
would he had not been so hard upon our St. Andrews
Lord Chancellor in his Life of Lord Lyndhurst But after
all, the Bon Gaultier Ballads stand out in most memories :
whereof the merit belongs pretty equally to Sir Theodore
and to our lost and dear Professor Aytoun. Sunday
November 20, though so deep in Winter, was beautiful
and bright : The Lord Rector and Lady Martin came to
the parish church and sat in St. Mary's College seat with
Tulloch. She had never been in a Scotch Kirk before.
But the Rector, an Edinburgh man, was pleased to hear
the old Psalms and Tunes. After service, they went round
the church : and the Rector came down and sat in my
study. It was a lovely summer day when at 3 p.m. we

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 159
walked away, the Rector and his wife, Mrs. Tulloch and
her girls, to the Cathedral, St. Mary of the Rock, and the
Castle. Lady Martin had looked fragile : but she clam
bered up the ruined walls of the Castle in the most active
way. At evening service at St. Mary's the crowd was
extraordinary, the church a good deal fuller than it could
hold : I fancy from some hope that our distinguished
visitors might appear there. Next day was the Inaugura
tion : two o'clock as always. I was there at 1.30, and
delighted in the students' songs. The music is really
excellent : but the songs are all their own : you cannot
hear them anywhere else. Sometimes, under this roof,
they have been rendered in past years : but they need, for
true enjoyment, that old Library Hall. The Rector had
been diligently instructed how to make himself heard by
Lady Martin : none more competent. He spoke out
admirably, and was heard of all. His address took a little
more than an hour. At 7, dinner in the quaint old lower
hall of St. Mary's College. A small party : the Professors
and the Lord Rector : but he had kindly begged that I
might be there. I thought of a party at John Parker's
table where I first met him : Helps, Kingsley, Buckle,
Ormsby, Smiles, Pollock, Robertson (Canterbury), Lord
Stanley of Alderley, and many more. Things were
changed. At 9, a crowded reception in the Library. Next
day, the Rector, Tulloch, and William Tulloch, lunched
here that some might meet them : but Lady Martin, most
wished for, was in bed, ill. Saving herself, too, for the
evening, when she read for quite two hours to a dense

160 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
crowd, 1,000 people. First, from the Merchant of Venice :
then, as already recorded. The reading, of course, was
quite above all praise.
As when Stanley was here, luncheon over we came
into my study, and had some interesting talk. It appeared
to me that men living in awful London come to have
many alarms about the political outlook which never reach
us here at all. Possibly they are right. It is not of the-
Rector I am now thinking. I trust that those of whom I
am thinking are wrong. For if they are right, the ground
is mined beneath our. feet.
A fortnight at Selsdon Park again this 1882, beginning
with May 18. But I am not at present to expatiate on
the beauty of the place, or the doings of my dear and kind
friend. Only to remark that having gone up to London
one day to the Royal Academy, I met in my first five
minutes there the only two ministers of the Kirk who are
graduates of Cambridge : they being there unknown to one
another. Also that I was impressed with the speed with
which a dinner-party of all the Bishops was got over at
Lambeth, in Archbishop Tait's time. For having spent a
long afternoon with Mr. Alexander, going about his parish,
seeing his schools, and ending with evensong in the church
at 8, I met the Bishop at London Bridge Station a few
minutes after 10, he having dined with all his brethren at
8, and driven from Lambeth. On such occasions, Selsdon
was far away : not home till 1 1.30. Next day to Hayes
Common, where the hawthorn blossom was in glory : and
to the handsome house where is Pitt's table, and hard by

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 161
the tree under which Wilberforce urged upon Pitt the
abolition of the slave-trade. But the day which stands out
in that visit is Friday May 26.
Away early that morning, and by rail from London
Bridge, by Gravesend, a road quite new to me, to Higham.
A Confirmation at the parish church, all most interesting
and good : but I was familiar with such now. And when
my friend went away to anotrfer in the Marsh Country, I
walked up with Dr. Wood, the Rector, to Gadshill. I
had looked forward with deep interest to seeing the place
so dear to Dickens, about which he wrote so much, and
where he died. The present proprietor most kindly took
me all over the house. It was smaller, and nearer the
road, than I had expected : otherwise exactly like the pic
tures of it. I saw the study in which he wrote, not per
mitting any interruption : the dining-room in which he
was stricken down, in which he died : I went to every
corner of the bit of ground he held so dear : saw the traces
of his orderly ways, his tidiness, his love of light and
brightness, his desire not to be overlooked and stared-at.
One saw it all : the garden, the meadow, the wilderness
where the chalet stood, the tunnel that passes under the
highway and links the severed portion of the little domain.
The tunnel disappoints one. You go down a deep well,
whose sides are ivy-clad : you pass under the highway :
and then climb up another similar well. There was ten
times the trouble of walking across the public road : but
then there was the sense that the domain of eleven acres
was made into one instead of being cut in two. Shairp,
VOL. II. M

1 62 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF. ST. ANDREWS
who alone of us here did not fully appreciate Dickens, used
to say that he was ' an inspired bagman.' In any case,
few human have excited in so many so keen a wish to
know all their ways. But it is not here as at Abbotsford,
where things remain as nearly as may be as the Wizard
left them. Gadshill belongs to the race of Dickens no
more. In the study, a chair and table like his stand in the
old place. Many have seen Mr. Fildes' touching picture
of The Empty Chair : Gadshill, June 9, 1870. His book
shelves remain. In these days of oak, one is surprised to
find them of mahogany. But the door abides, covered
with backs of sham books. None of the titles are so feli
citous as Hood's ' Cursory Remarks on Swearing.' Yet
there are three volumes, ' Burke (of Edinburgh) on the
Sublime and Beautiful ' : three more, ' Five Minutes in
China ' : one, ' Hudson's Complete Failure ' : and twenty,
' The History of a Short Chancery Suit.' Mr. Fildes'
picture (I see it daily) pleasantly suggests high summer,
as you look through the open window. It also suggests a
larger room. But if the apartments of the house be smaller
than expectation, the Chalet (it is at Cobham Hall now) is
a great deal larger, and more substantial every way. And
when it stood where Dickens wrote in it all his last day of
consciousness, it was up among the June branches, and the
June scents and sounds.
The view is very fine. The grand woods of Cobham do
not come so near as one expected : but Dickens, who
enjoyed long walks, thought less of distances than most
men of his years. The ground falls on the North to the

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 163
Thames, on the South to the Medway. I had somehow
fancied the Marshes were on the Medway. But on the
left, as you walk towards Rochester, miles away, is the
broad Thames, with the long line of bright green level
stretching by its side. Also, I had thought the Marshes
would have looked black, like an Irish bog-land. At a
bleaker season they may.
Three miles to Rochester :" miles worn of his frequent
feet who will walk them no more. I have come out from
the little gate : passed the little inn where Dickens put up
his friends when his own house was overcrowded : parted
(with due thanks) from the kind friend, never seen till
to-day, through whose introduction the house was opened
to me : and am going towards the little Cathedral City (a
great place if you count in Strood and Chatham) which
had such interest to the great genius gone.
It would be pleasant to relate an incident of that walk :
likewise to give some account of the Close and Cathedral
of Rochester. But I have already done both.1 And
repetition is needless. But seeking entrance into the
Cathedral, I found the door locked. Happily for me, a
young clergyman passed at the moment, and in the kindest
way offered to bring the verger and get me admittance.
Not only this, but he went over the church with me,
pointing out all that was of interest in a specially pleasant
way. The verger conveyed to me, in a confidential manner,
that my guide was Mr. Cyril Grant, Vicar of Aylesford, a
1 Our Little Life: Second Series: p. 174. East Coast Days: and
Memories : pp. 178-192. M 2

1 64 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
few miles off, and son of Archdeacon Grant, one of the
Canons of Rochester. Even I was aware that the Arch
deacon's Bampton Lectures made an epoch in the work of
the Church of England : and Bishop Wordsworth had told
me of an act of self-denying kindness on his part such as
has been done by few. Two young ladies who were with
Mr. Grant followed round the Cathedral at a little dis
tance. When I bade him good-bye, with warm thanks for
extreme courtesy, I offered one of these a beautiful rose
from Dickens' favourite tree. It was graciously accepted :
and we parted. Little did I think that these charming
strangers were to become very special friends. My son
Bertie was to become one of Mr. Grant's curates : not
merely to minister in his most beautiful church, but to
abide as one of the family in the delightful vicarage. No
words which can be written here could express what all
under this roof feel towards Aylesford Vicarage and those
who dwell in it. Both Mr. and Mrs. Grant were to come
to know St. Andrews well. And the Vicar, not much
dreading prejudice, was to preach in both our churches
here : and that with as much ' acceptance ' as any who
have preached in my time. For brightness, interest, and
power to hold silent attention, I have listened to few such
preachers. Further, not a scrap of manuscript : though
the sermon is as symmetrical, and accurate, as if fully
written-out. No higher testimony can be borne to the
Anglican Vicar's attractiveness to a Scotch congregation,
than when a hearer of great intelligence told me ' it was as
good as Dr. Caird.' The vivacity, and energy, were such as

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 165
we used to think specially Scotch. Now, they are not
uncommon in England.
A glimpse of the grand old Castle : and then, sharp to
the appointed moment, I met the Bishop on Rochester
Bridge, back from his second Confirmation that day. By
rail to Bromley, through beautiful scenery, on that magni
ficent summer evening. The glowing green, the sapphire
sky, the flood of sunshine, hdw we both enjoyed them :
and how beautiful, with a heavenly beauty, all the world
seemed ! Then the eight miles drive, through the haw
thorns of Hayes Common : and Selsdon Park at 7.40, in
two hours from the Cathedral City. One always wished
the distance less between the Bishop and his church. But
everything must yield to the working of all South London.
Whitsun-Day, May 28, was singular. To Woldingham,
where the shabbiest Anglican church I had yet seen.
Years after, I found it made beautiful. No vestry. From
a rude box, at one corner, the Bishop did the entire service,
and preached. As a Prelate had never ministered there
before in the memory of any living, the church was
crowded, centre passage and all. I numbered the people :
37, counting myself and the Bishop. Yet 1 5 received the
Communion': and everything was uplifting. And coming
out of the little sanctuary, which stands high and bleak,
on one hand you saw the Crystal Palace, and on the other
Windsor Castle.
Next day, at dinner, a guest told me a curious fact.
A friend of hers went, one Sunday morning, to the
Episcopal church of a certain town in Scotland, not St.

166 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Andrews. She listened to the sermon. In the evening
she went to the parish church. The sermon was the
same, word for word. In the evening, it chanced that I
preached. Having published thirteen volumes of sermons,
I now and then, following the good advice and example
of Dean Alford of Canterbury, deliver a discourse which
is in print Not a soul remembers it. That day I
had been led to one which an unknown friend selected
too. For only preachers know how sometimes a sermon
presses itself on you, and has to be given that day. Also
how sometimes, after breakfast on Sunday morning, you
are constrained to put aside a discourse fully written, and
to make a few notes and give unwritten your message for
that occasion. I do not wish to be mystical. But in
every such case I have found that somebody needed that
word, just then. Let it be hoped that some poor soul,
that morning and that evening, was bettered. The text
was, ' And there was no more sea ' : a text which, as now
interpreted, does not mean what you would think at the
first glance. Let it be suggested, too, that if any man
try to pass off as his own a discourse which he has stolen,
he is very likely to be found out.
At Marlee, in August of this 1882, I read Principal
Cunningham's Church History of Scotland. I knew of its
publication from the first, years before : but had some
how concluded such a work must be dull. Such had been
my experience of ecclesiastical annals. Now that a new
edition had come out, in two attractive volumes which
had a livelier look, I bought it : resolving it should be

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 167
my solid study in the holiday-time. But I found it so
bright, lively, and enchaining a work, that I raced through
it for the enjoyment of reading it : and then went over
it carefully a second time. I delighted in Dr. Cunningham :
but I grieved, with a despairing grief, over the story. Ah,
what a record of wrong-headedness and ill-temper ! Shall
we ever become peaceable and reasonable ? There are
manifestations, in these present days, which do not promise
well. ' There must be a great deal of religious zeal in this
town,' said somebody, seated on the box, to the driver of
a four-horse coach : ' there are so many churches.' But the
shrewd old Scotsman said, with much contempt, ' It's no
religious zeal ava' : it's just cursedness of temper ! '
I know that certain beloved Anglican friends will look
askance at me, when I say that on the morning of Tuesday
August 1, we had service in the parish church : 1,200
people gathered on a working-day at 1 1 A.M. : I said the
prayers, and the address was given by the famous Mr.
Moody. My Colleague and I had carefully thought over
the matter. I never saw Mr. Moody till that morning : I
cannot but say I liked him extremely. He gave one an
assurance of extreme honesty and earnestness. And in
this country, where the want is not of Light, More Light,
but of Warmth, more Warmth, one thankfully welcomes
help rendered by a good man from wheresoever. Further
more, just at that time we were trying to have instrumental
music in the parish church, and it was vehemently opposed
by three or four. If Dr. Macleod of Govan, Professor
Story and I had brought in a great harmonium that day,

1 68 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
there would have been suspicion of something ' ritualistic *
in good souls who dreaded it not at all when coming with
the American evangelist, with no ordersjj Jearf at all.
And singing beautifully in a great choir got together for
the occasion, was our Free Church minister : to become a
truly-valued friend. Yes, Mr. Moody gave us help : and
he certainly did no harm. I did not hear his address : for
I had to hasten to St. Salvator's Chapel to marry Maud
Tulloch : one of several charming young sisters, specially
dear for their parents' sakes and their own, for whom I did
that duty. Her brother helped me that day. The chapel
was beautiful adorned with flowers : the music was the
best : and Francis Colson the bridegroom and his bride
made as pleasant a couple to look at as you could have
found that day, anywhere.
Suffer me here to preserve certain verses sent me at
this time by an unknown friend in the author's manu
script. For the reader will not find them anywhere else.
It is a very faded sheet of old-fashioned letter-paper : the
hand is clear and legible, but the ink is faded like the
paper. Seven verses of four lines each : in the metre
familiar in Scotch Kirks. At the end there is signed an
honoured name : J. Montgomery, Oakbrook, Nov. 5, 1838 :
No one quite forgets the author of Prayer, and The Common
Lot, Friend after friend departs, and For ever with the
Lord. But the four volumes which contain his works are
growing dusty now. These verses were written at the
request of a friend, visited with total deafness. And the
sheet of paper was given me by the widow of that tried

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 169
man. I think the little poem should be printed as the
gentle and beloved author wrote it, with a star between
the verses. Poets, like other authors, have their fancies :
and these should be respected.
To me, though neither voice nor sound
From earth or air can come,
Deaf to the world that brawls around,
That world to me is dumb.
Yet may the quick and conscious eye
Assist the slow, dull ear :
Sight can the signs of thought supply,
And with a look I hear.
The song of birds, the water's fall,
Sweet tones and grating jars,
Hail, tempest, wind and thunder — all
Are silent as the stars : —
*
The stars, that, on their tranquil way,
In language without speech,
The glory of the Lord display,
And to all nations preach.
*
Thus, though one outward sense be sealed,
The kind remaining four,
To teach me needful knowledge, yield
Their earnest aid the more.
#
Yet hath mine heart an inward ear,
Through which its powers rejoice :
Speak, Lord, and let me love to hear
Thy Spirit's still, small voice.

170 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
So, when the trumpet, from the ground,
Shall summon great and small,
The ear, now deaf, shall hear that sound,
And answer to the call.
I may be permitted to mention that in December 1882
I published a volume of sermons which somehow met
remarkable favour. At that time, one was possessed with
a feeling that the work was nearly over : and the book was
called Towards the Sunset : Teachings after Thirty Years.
In a few months it had reached a third edition : then more
slowly advanced to a fifth. It was reprinted in America :
but all I got from that country was two copies. Sometimes
I get none.
The last day of 1882 was a Sunday. Dr. and Mrs.
Potts of Fettes College were with us for a few days : and
it is a pleasant association with St. Mary's church that at
morning service Dr. Potts read the Lessons. His appear
ance and voice were grand. One felt he should have
been reading in Westminster Abbey rather than here.
Mrs. Potts played the piano wonderfully : her husband sang
finely. And, the year drawing to its close, at evening
prayer in my study we sang Bishop Ken's Evening Hymn :
she accompanying. It was a pleasant time. The same
day brought a kind letter from Bishop Benson of Truro,
designated Archbishop : sending his ' Happy New Year,
and gratitude for a salutation from the Kirk.' When
Stanley was appointed Dean, he told me he got six hundred
letters of congratulation. But a Primate gets ever so many
more.

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 171
In January 1883 a distinguished native of St. Andrews
died, of whom the English reader probably never heard :
Dr. McCulloch, of the West Church of Greenock. He
went at eighty-two. Scotland had no worthier minister.
I was little more than a boy when I first heard him preach,
but I have never forgot it. I remember text, and treat
ment, and many sentences word for word. He was one of
the earliest in this country to* use polished and graceful
forms of prayer, instead of the rambling rigmarole of
extempore supplication. For this offence I heard a blatant
person in a Presbytery meeting (who was not worthy to
black Dr. McCulloch's boots) make a violent attack upon
him : ' drivelling folly ' was the mildest epithet applied to
the wise and good man. I was a youth, but I arose and
dissented : suggesting that Dr. Caird and other eminent
ministers did the like. The blatant person had the
courage of his opinions, and conveyed that they were all
drivelling fools. Hard-worked as Dr. McCulloch had been,
not in the church only, but as one of the most attractive of
educationists (his books must have been a fortune to
somebody), and early looking fragile and nerve -weary, the
wonder was he lasted so long. When I was a youth at
Glasgow College, it was an occasion when Dr. McCulloch
preached in the great city : we were all there. He was
offered the Moderatorship : being ten times as eminent as
half of those who have held it : but with characteristic
modesty he declined the office. There are more heroic
names linked with this city. But when we recall his, it
comes with- a halo of gentle saintliness : of the culture of

172 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
the graceful scholar, the eloquence of the charming preacher,
and the loveableness of one of the best of men.
In April the good Miss Leigh, who has done such work
in Paris, had a drawing-room meeting in this house, and
gave a really beautiful address. Above 80 were present :
and all were much impressed. She is not Miss Leigh
now : but she is as much interested in her work as ever.
Another remembrance of that April is how at a Hymn
Committee meeting at Edinburgh, a great preacher told us
he had recently been in England, and a good woman had
spoken to him with much pathos of her little girl who died.
She had a favourite hymn, which she often sang near the
end. The first line of it was cut in the stone above the
little grave. All feeling is worthy of deep respect. But
my dear friend was well-nigh upset when the poor mother
took him to the spot. For the line ran exactly thus : ' I
would be like a Hangel.' Doubtless the little pet is ' even
as the angels ' now.
This year, 1883, is to be passed rapidly : though I have
countless things I should like to tell. The days at Selsdon,
for the first time, had to be in June and July. On the
Longest Day, with the Bishop to East Grinstead in Sussex.
A quaint little village-town. First, a great luncheon party
in a large hall, presided over by the admirable Bishop
Durnford of Chichester, now first met How sharply that
good man remembers things : being now in his ninetieth
year! In June 1891, I said to him that we had last met
on such a day. ' O no,' said the venerable Prelate : ' you
forget this day last year.' Of course he was right, and I

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 173
was wrong. I think I discerned in him a slight elation at
the fact. Service was to be in the parish church at 3 P.M.
I got away at 2.30, to visit the grave of John Mason
Neale, profoundly interesting to me. I have fully told of
that little pilgrimage elsewhere.1 A great surpliced pro
cession entered, singing 'The Church's One Foundation.'
I once remarked to Bishop Thorold how touching it was.
The answer came : ' Yes : but if you heard it about a
hundred times in a year, you would grow tired of it' The
Bishop of Chichester came last, his pastoral staff borne
before him. A hearty congregation and service : an
excellent sermon from the Bishop of Winchester (then of
Rochester). Service over 4.30. Then a gathering at
Sackville College, so associated with Dr. Neale : a charm
ing old-fashioned place. Would we had such retreats in
the austere and hard-working North ! There is nothing
for us here, but to do our work as long as we can keep on
our feet at all. Sometimes the thought comes across one,
heavily. All the party dispersed : then Bishop Thorold
and I had a quiet walk by ourselves for an hour in the
loveliest of English lanes, under a Longest Day exactly
such as Wordsworth's.
Three other days come back. Tuesday, June 26, drive
by Wimbledon, through Richmond Park to Petersham, to
a drawing-room meeting about the Diocesan Fund. When
I was a lad, I had staid a summer at Sudbrook Park, hard
by. Now I beheld the view from the Star and Garter :
1 Our Little Life : Second Series. Chapter VI. Of Work : All Over,
p. 44.

174 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
and various paths worn of my frequent feet, thirty-three
years before. A disciple of Byron would not care for such
simple things : but they come home to a Wordsworthian.
The meeting was extremely interesting : the speeches
heart-stirring. The Church of England is not going to
die of dignity, now. It was singular to meet Mr. Hough,
the Vicar. I had heard him preach just once, a genera
tion before : but I quoted to him, letter-perfect, a bit of his
sermon of that day. It was a very pretty sentence ; and
true. I fancy both of us understood it better than we had
done in youth. I should like to say much of the people
seen at Petersham, but it is not to be. Then away back
to Selsdon. Bishops, in these days, must dine when they
can : the hour that evening was 9. The deer in Richmond
Park were as when I was a boy : so were the great cedars
in the lower Park : Pembroke Lodge was as when I looked
with awe at Lord John Russell walking about the paths
within the fence, and sometimes stopping and meditating
with his arms folded. He was Prime Minister. Meeting
him, one took off one's hat : and one thought that a Premier
must be happy. Now, one knows better. Possibly the
word should be worse. Like Sydney Smith's friends in
the West, I was mortified that he was not bigger. The
head looked little, to hold so much.
Next day was a curious one, too. The host, and a
guest, away early to London. I had a quiet forenoon of
letter-writing, and sketched a little speech. By an after
noon train to New Cross : thence walked away, through a
strange mangy-looking tract, to Bermondsey. I knew that

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 175
region well of old, but it was unrecognisable. Then, great
stretches of orchard : one gazed with longing on the
blossoms in May, from the Greenwich Railway. The
relative with whom I lived then was a Director : we went
down continually in Summer, and walked about the Park.
After wandering, I found St. Augustine's Church : a grand
building to be in such a region. On that Wednesday, at
5 P.M., a vast congregation of working folk : an immense
surpliced choir. The occasion was the opening of the
completed Nave. The Bishop preached, fitly, from the
text, ' This man began to build, and was not able to
finish.' At 7 there was one of the most singular parties I
ever saw. In the crypt of the church, cheerfully white
washed, a great tea-party of 300 : the Bishop in the chair.
And I, who had ever refused to attend such entertainments
at home (in my boyhood, in Glasgow, they were called
Surrees, with a strong accent on the second syllable),
found myself next a Bishop, at exactly such an entertain
ment in the decorous Anglican Church : and that within
the consecrated walls. The Vicar made an excellent little
speech : then the Bishop : then a rich layman, a great
benefactor : then I gave my little oration, of a quarter of
an hour, not (let me proudly say) without some signs of
popular approval. A varied diocese ! Yesterday and
to-day : the places seemed hundreds of miles apart. What
impressed me much, and pleasantly, was the hearty Church
feeling shown by many good local men who in the old
High and Dry days would have been repelled into Dis
sent : but whom the bright service, the enthusiastic hymns,

176 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
the warm unconventional preaching, in combination with
the genial Bishop and Clergy, each with a word for every
one, and the abounding tea and (what we call) cookies, had
kept where they ought to be.
The third day, Thursday June 28, was the most memo
rable of all. Up to the House of Lords, early. When one
has enjoyed a forbidden privilege a few times, one cares
not for it Prayers at 10. 1 5. Only the Lord Chancellor
Selborne, and two or three more : two of them being of
the Kirk. I stood behind my curtain and looked in :
having no right there. Then to the robing room and
wrote some letters. It is curious how each Prelate's letters
are tied in a bundle, and fastened to the key of his ward
robe where are his (second-best) robes. In a little Mr.
Phillips Brooks of Boston, U.S.A., the great preacher of
the American Episcopal Church. A great burly man,
frank and friendly. With the Bishop, we walked to Vic
toria : Mr. Brooks being dressed like a respectable game
keeper or the like : not a trace of clerical attire. When I
came to know him better, I revealed to him my perplexity
at his appearance. But he said that on the street, at
home, he was merely a citizen : when he entered into
church, he was duly arrayed. And he expressed a frank
disapproval of professional dress, and of other things,
notably of palaces, equipages, and purple liveries in rela
tion to the Hierarchy. In fact, one felt he was a Republican
first : and resolutely. Away by rail to Dulwich. To the
picture-gallery. This was the day in the year on which
the Royal Academy comes down to inspect the pictures :

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 177
and there was a great luncheon-party in the gallery, to meet
the (presumably) chief painters of the age. We were there
in good time, and walked about the lawn, with many more.
Here I was introduced to Mr. Browning the poet, who was
very frank and pleasant. He did not look a great genius.
I thought of Robert Chambers' description of him, as ' a
little, self-asserting man.' But he had been proposed for
Lord Rector of St. Andrews : -and he was anxious to know
all about the office. At 2 was luncheon : things were
very handsome. A party of about 200. One or two
Cabinet Ministers, many members of either House of
Parliament, many warriors, some of whom had even seen
service. Miss Jean Ingelow was there, but to my sorrow
I saw her not. Just before going in, the Bishop informed
me, to my consternation, that I was to return thanks for
Literature : Browning would not speak. I am not a man
of letters, but a hard-working parish clergyman : never
before had such a task been assigned to me. It could not
be helped. And when I ceased to talk, and walked on
with lugubrious countenance, the acute Phillips Brooks
said, cynically, ' He's making his speech.' Mr. Rogers,
Rector of Bishopsgate, was in the Chair : well-known for
his interest in systematic theology. He did very well,
though no orator : and we had some really good speaking.
The Chairman, who evidently knew nothing earthly about
me, described me as ' the Scotch author.' What impressed
me very much was the great warmth with which Mr.
Browning thanked me for what I had said about him : I
fancied that so very eminent a man would have taken it
VOL. II. N

178 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
as a matter of course. Not so : no young writer could
have expressed himself more strongly : ' grateful ' was the
word, among others. It was plain, too, that some folk
there were surprised to find a Scot attired like other men,
not wearing the kilt, and speaking the language of
England in a way which was (in a measure) intelligible.
What one regretted was that so many outstanding persons
were present, but one did not know them. Mr. Frith,
R.A., was just opposite me, but I was not aware till he
had gone. I am aware that there would be practical
difficulties. But if a large placard were hung round the
neck of each person who was somebody, bearing his name
and vocation, it would be pleasant for others, though pos
sibly not for himself. Back to Victoria : thence to the
House of Lords. It was quite full : a great debate. I
heard some admirable speaking, and some incredibly foolish
and bad. I thought of Sydney Smith's Noodle's Oration
as one Duke went on. But the Duke of Argyll spoke as
well as could be : so did Bishop Temple, then of Exeter :
who, after his speech, fled towards his diocese, bearing his
robes in a bag. Lord Bramwell was clever, but somewhat
irreverent. Lord Chancellor Selborne gave an undis
guised sermon : which would not have filled a church in
Scotland. On July 22 I saw, not for the first time, what interest
is excited here by special services, even yet. Dr. Burns
had organized a system of evening services in Glasgow
Cathedral many years before : which were kept up for six
Sundays in high summer. There was no gas in the

SIR THEODORE MARTIN LORD RECTOR 179
Cathedral then. The music was very splendid, of course :
Dr. Peace played. And even with ordinary preachers, the
crowd was great. On that day, I took the service for the
fourteenth successive Summer : having begged that it might
be my last : for the fatigue was extreme. The hour of
service was 6.30. But when we went to church about 6, it
was densely crowded, so that we got in with difficulty. We
had to begin ten minutes before the appointed hour. Lady
Chapel and all passages were tightly packed : a multitude
in the Nave : and we were told that as many went away
as would have filled the Cathedral again. It is a grand
sight, when the setting sun falls upon the magnificent
stained windows along the North side of the church : they
seem to blaze. And although there was fine music, ren
dered by the Choir alone, there were homely hymns in
which the great congregation lifted up its voice. The
length of the building is 330 feet : you are heard from end
to end. All this crowd goes on, year after year, un
diminished. But though the occasion be most interesting,
it is a heavy pull upon an aging preacher. And I return
no more. I know it is giving-up. But one has to give up
divers things.
On the shortest day in this 1883, a little volume came
bearing upon the title Nugae Ecclesiasticae : which had been
advertised as suited for the Christmas reading of the
Clergy and Laity. It bore to be by a minister of the Kirk,
a Glasgow D.D., lately deceased, of whom (curiously) I
had never heard before. It contained many verses which
were wonderfully bright and smart : but which would be
N 2 .

i8o TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
quite unintelligible out of Scotland. Indeed, when one of
the poems appeared in the Scotsman, years before, I had
read it to Mr. Froude : who said ' I can see it is extremely
clever, but I don't understand the allusions, and can't
appreciate it justly.' I bought a copy, and gave it as my
Christmas tribute to good Bishop Wordsworth. But the
venerable man shook his head at a statement in a brief
biography of the author. When he received his D.D.
degree, he had to compose a theological thesis. ' I have
good" reason to believe that it was the unanimous opinion
of the Theological Faculty, that no more suggestive and
erudite treatise had ever been laid before them than Doctor
Peerie's paper, on " David's Dancing ; or, The Hebrew
Fling." ' It must be admitted that a certain lightness in
the treatment of grave matters is characteristic of this
clever study in Church History. No doubt if a Professor
of that subject were to cast his lectures into a ballad form,
such as is exhibited in certain pieces in this work, he would
attain a great popularity. On the other hand, it is quite
conceivable that some good men among the senior clergy
might disapprove so startling an innovation.

CHAPTER XXIII
NORTH AND SOUTH
On Wednesday January 9, 1884, a considerable party of
St. Andrews people assembled in the Cathedral Church of
St. Giles, Edinburgh. The occasion was the wedding of
William Tulloch and Esther Adamson. I had known the
bride well since she was a very little girl : and of the
bridegroom I need not speak. A wedding in St. Giles' is
done just as well as it can be in Scotland : the music was
excellent : and I conformed carefully to the use of the
church. There was a crowd of spectators. But one visitor
of special interest, who saw a Scotch wedding for the first
time, was Bishop Thorold, then of Rochester. He had
come to Edinburgh to give an address to the Teetotal
students of the University. He came the evening before,
and staid with Dr. MacGregor, who had many notable
persons to dine with him on his arrival. Next day he
visited St. Cuthbert's church, supposed to be the ugliest in
Christendom : excepting the Barony church at Glasgow.
The elder Lord Derby, the Prime Minister, when Lord
Rector, visited Glasgow Cathedral : and coming out, his
eye fell upon that terrific erection. He staggered, and
appeared as though he would faint. But he recovered

182 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
himself, and said in faltering tones, ' I once saw an uglier
church than that.' Dr. Black, then the minister, ever
lamented that he had not been present. For, as the dear
man said, ' I should have asked, Whaur ? '
That wedding day, the Bishop gave his address. We
dined quietly with MacGregor beforehand. MacGregor
said to me, with deep feeling, when the Prelate had gone
to get ready, ' He would give a far better teetotal lecture if
he would take some grog.' The orator's voice trembled
with emotion as he uttered the words. Then we drove to
the place appointed. A large gathering. A good man
uttered a discourse intended to be a prayer. I should have
sent him a copy of Euchologion, but that I knew he
thought his own production much better than anything
therein. Then the Bishop spoke for an hour, quite without
book, and with entire fluency. But I felt the address was
far too reasonable for that gathering. For the Bishop
admitted that there might be really-good people, not
teetotallers. And it appeared as though he were not
prepared, in the memorable words of Lord Neaves, 'to
permit me, to prevent you, from having a glass of grog.'
When he was done, an excellent and learned individual
uprose, and moved a vote of thanks. He disapproved of
Bishops. But he said that if Thorold had not been a
Bishop already, he should be made one for giving such a
lecture. This was very good. But then the speaker,
jerking convulsively all over, proceeded to set forth views
far more thorough than the Prelate's, amid loud applause.
Nothing could be more awkward than the speaker's manner :

NORTH AND SOUTH 183
but one was carried away by the unfeigned earnestness of
his speech : and (I am obliged to confess) by its high
ability. In fact, that speaker was a very extraordinary
man : for ability, for simplicity, for unselfishness. Had he
been self-seeker or pusher, anything in Scotland would
have been open to him. It was my one glimpse of Dr.
Cairns. I am just as decided a Churchman as can be.
And he would, if he could, haVe stript the Kirk of all her
worldly patrimony and privileges. Yet I carried away the
impression of sweetness and goodness from my single talk
with him.
On February 13 I buried a poor woman in this parish.
Scotch folk are very reticent : so it impresses one when
they break out. A little before, I had buried her husband.
The service in the house over, the coffin was lifted from
the poor bed, and carried forth. Then the silent woman
started up, and burst forth, ' My house is empty, and my
bed's empty ' : and cast herself down as in despair. She
must have been near sixty. There was true pathos. I
went back next day, and said all I could to comfort. But
the poor heart was broken : and she followed her ' man '
soon. Just to-day it was said to me, ' There's no use my
praying : I'll not get my mother back : and that's the only
thing I care for.' The powerful but pretty young face is
before me : and it will be for long. By God's good mercy,
Time will bring some cheer. ' I said that to my sister :
and she said I was wicked.' I am very thankful that old
and young in this parish continually speak out to me what
is in their heart : not what they think ought to be.

184 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
There was a series of St Giles' Lectures this year : also
a series of lectures to the Young Men's Guild. I had my
part in each. And I never did anything in all my life
more heartily than my discourse on ' A Young Man : His
Home and Friends.' Dr. Charteris gave me that subject :
and I did it to my very best for the sake of the best
of all good lads, far away. One has quite forgot many
' occasions,' very great when they came to a person who is
not great at all. But I remember, vividly as yesterday,
that dense crowd of young men in St. George's church at
Edinburgh, on the evening of March 2, 1884.
On Sunday March 16, at the afternoon service, Bishop
Wordsworth preached in the parish church, where no
Bishop had preached for near two hundred years. It was
a memorable occasion. A question had been raised, Was
he to wear his robes, or a Doctor's gown ? He had been
asked to preach for the University Missionary Society :
and he had accepted the degree of D.D. from this Univer
sity. It seemed to me that though the Kirk has no
Bishops of her own, she might well recognise the fact that
Bishops exist elsewhere : and the Bishop robes were fixed
on. I note that an ignorant Cockney, quite clear that we
so far from London cannot know anything, lately remarked
that apparently I thought a Bishop wears nothing but lawn
sleeves. I know a Bishop's robes exactly as well as I do
my own. But when old Bishop Moberly of Salisbury
said in my hearing to half a dozen other Prelates, ' Are we
expected to go in our sleeves ? ' I fancy only a born idiot
would have failed to catch what he meant. The Bishop

NORTH AND SOUTH 185
and I walked into church side by side : I yielding him the
right hand ; as befitted his place and years. I have seen
the church fuller : but we had above 2,000. My colleague
and I said the prayers. In due time the Bishop ascended
that lofty pulpit, where so many great men have stood :
and after a Collect and the Lord's Prayer preached a
sermon on St. Peter. It took three quarters of an hour.
A beautiful voice: perfectly 'heard everywhere: not a
controversial word. I have told already how Tulloch
remarked that in five minutes after the very first
appearance of the lawn sleeves in a Scotch pulpit, they
seemed quite the natural thing. After sermon, the Collect
about ' our unhappy divisions.' The Bishop asked, ' Would
it give offence ? ' The answer was, ' I read it continually.'
The Magistrates were all in their place : the two Principals,
many Professors, and all the students. Everything was
most cordial and successful : the Bishop had a warm
greeting from many Elders in the vestry. One came home
very thankful : for we had been somewhat anxious.
Bishop Wordsworth, who has any number of Degrees,
wore his St Andrews D.D. hood. Such a man never fails
of doing what is graceful and befitting. On Monday
morning the Scotsman had a paper in large type, describing
the occasion. Of course I knew who wrote it. Blair's
Grave is being forgotten. But one or two recalled the
lines which foretell the drawing-together, in coming
days, of The lawn-robed Prelate, and plain Presbyter,
Erewhile that stood apart, like sister-streams
That some huge interposing rock had split.

1 86 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
On Wednesday April 9 in this year, the youth came
back from India who had left us five years before. That
March 28 had been the era from which things were
reckoned in this house through all that time. He abode
in this country till November 22, and then returned to
Calcutta. Such events are not of public account, though
of profound interest in one household.
On Friday May 16 I looked out again from my
windows at Selsdon on that beautiful level wooded horizon,
as before. Not a word shall be permitted of the scenery
or the events this year. But a story, related with great
effect by the Bishop, acquired in one of his divers visits to
America, must be preserved.
A zealous advocate of missions was pleading his cause,
over there, before the inmates of a large lunatic asylum.
The patients heard him with great interest. He told how
sad heathenism was in many ways : how sometimes
parents cast their little children into the river to be eaten
by crocodiles, and sometimes children cast out their aged
parents. As he spoke, one man was moved to floods of
tears. The function over, the speaker expressed a desire
to see this person, and he was brought. ' You seemed
much interested in my address ? ' ' Yes, very much
interested.' ' And even a little touched by what I said.'
' Very deeply touched,' said the patient, sobbing. ' May I
ask what it was that so came home to you, my friend ? '
' I was thinking ' — then the patient's utterance was arrested
by violent emotion : ' I was thinking ' — again he sobbed
heavily — ' what a pity it was that your parents had not

NORTH AND SOUTH 187
thrown you out to be eaten by a crocodile when you were
an infant' Usually, one sees whereto a story is tending. I think
it is not so here. The story is true. Various thoughts
suggest themselves. But it is needless to expatiate.
One long afternoon, we had Mr. Justice Denman. A
long walk in the Park after luncheon. The conversation
of an eminent lawyer is always 'most interesting. Here it
was specially so. The Judge was son of Lord Denman,
long Chief Justice of England. He had been Senior
Classic at Cambridge. He had long been Lord Palmer-
ston's colleague, as member for Tiverton. He had seen
very much both of the Law and of Parliament. He spoke
frankly of his own great profession : which, though the
writer from conscientious but possibly mistaken motives
turned away from it, remains to him the most attractive of
all to talk about. Assuredly, it can give an insight into
human nature in its strangest nooks and manifestations,
which is not got elsewhere save by a medical practitioner.
And we were told, with immense effect, of the butcher at
Tiverton who, in the days of the hustings, set himself (in
Scotch phrase) to heckle Lord Palmerston habitually. The
old Prime Minister was sharp. And he had the off-hand
manner which takes an English crowd. But I do not
think the butcher commonly came off second-best. One
day the butcher, turning to the crowd, said, ' You can
never get a direct answer out of that man. He always
wriggles out with a joke, or some dodge.' Whereupon
Lord Palmerston said, with perfect good nature, ' Not so

188 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
bad as that. I'll promise you a direct answer now to any
question you may put to me.' The butcher said, ' If such
and such a thing is proposed in Parliament ' (mentioning
some very ticklish matter which I cannot recall) 'what
will do you ? ' 'Is that your question ? ' ' Yes.' ' And
you want a direct answer ? ' ' Yes.' ' Well, I promised
you one : and you shall have it. I WON'T TELL YOU ! '
Thereupon the butcher turned to the multitude, and merely
said, ' I told you he'd get out of it somehow. And you
see he has.'
I fancy Judges often have such questions put to them
by children. Indeed, I know they have. One of the
little girls said, ' You're a Judge ? ' ' Yes, I am.' Then,
with a wistful look at the pleasant dignified face, ' Have
you sentenced many people to be hanged ? ' The reply
was prompt, and I fancy has served before : ' Never any
body who did not richly deserve it.' There the matter
took end : though the young lady did not appear fully
satisfied. On a day in that May, at a grand house in London, I
I met Sir Herbert Sandford, one of the distinguished sons
of Sir Daniel Sandford, the great Glasgow Professor of
Greek, who died on his birthday, the day he was forty.
Three candidates ran near for the vacant place. Arch
bishop Tait of Canterbury might have had it He was
no more than a Fellow of Balliol, and the temptation was
great. It was the turning-point in his life. Mr. Robert
Lowe, now Lord Sherbrooke, had great recommendations.
But Lushington, Senior Classic, was preferred. I walked

NORTH AND SOUTH 189
with Sir Herbert from Portman Square to Covent Garden,
to the famous house of Chapman and Hall. It had become
a limited company : and Sir Herbert was its chairman. I
was introduced to Mr. Chapman, and had a most interesting
talk. Hardly can a great lawyer tell you more enchaining
details than a great publisher. I did not know till now
that Dickens and his Wife never met again after they
parted. It was at the fatal forty-five, when many clever
men get amiss in body and mind : and the great sensitive
genius lived to fifty-eight. Looking at the story of the
happy early years, surely that separation need not have
been. Any way, it is a sad story. Mr. Chapman said
that though Thackeray did not use pathos much in his
writings, he was easily moved himself. He related a
simple story, which moved Thackeray to tears. Many
remember how Thackeray's cheeks were wet as he sat at
Edinburgh listening to a sermon by the pathetic genius
Guthrie. Anthony Trollope was one of the Board of the
publishing House. I delight in Mr. Trollope's writings.
No human being can read them with keener interest.
There is real life ; if you have it anywhere. But the
account was quite frank of his manner at the Board Table.
I will believe everything you can say, of his essential
goodness : as well as of his untiring industry and his
charming faculty. But the unfortunate manner was there.
Those who knew him liked him none the less for it. And
he had lived through ' the dark ages ' as well as Robert
Chambers. But Robert was sweetened, if saddened.
With Anthony it was not outwardly so.

190 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Sunday July 6, 1884, was a memorable day in St.
Andrews. There was the special service for the Volunteers
of the City, which for long has been an annual function.
But that evening, for the first time, the praise at the parish
church was accompanied by the Brass Band. We had
always had full congregations. But now the church was
a grand sight. It was crammed in every corner. Very
many could not find admittance. At least 3,000 were pre
sent I never had seen quite such a crowd there. Not
Dean Stanley could draw like those eighteen wind instru
ments. When the multitude arose at the praise, no
mortal could tell where the passages were. All our own
Volunteers were there in uniform ; and many of the
famous corps, the Fife Light Horse. The first hymn sung
was ' Onward, Christian Soldiers ' : of course to Sir Arthur
Sullivan's tune. When I heard the vast volume of the
first line, every soul joining with heart and voice, I felt the
question was settled. Fifteen times we have now had
that music : and never but with a crowded church. I
never supposed that the people came to hear my sermon.
But I never have seen congregations more reverent and
devout, anywhere.
On St. Swithin's day, Tuesday July 15, Dean Plumptre
of Wells and his Wife came to us for a too-brief visit. It
was a beautiful sunshiny afternoon when they took their
first walk along South Street to the Cathedral, and home
by the Scores, the cliffs above the Bay. The faded record
of that day says, ' They were enthusiastic' For though
Wells is in glory and St. Andrews in ruin, if you appre-

NORTH AND SOUTH 191
ciate Wells, you will St. Andrews too. The next day we
went over the buildings more deliberately. This took the
morning : and as a treat to the Dean, who was anxious to
see our national game, I had got four of our very greatest
players to make a match, 'a foursome': and the Dean and I
walked with them. The play was magnificent. But it too
soon became apparent that the eminent theologian and
Double-First did not care for* it in the very least degree.
However, we went on the two miles out to the Eden, and
then turned off and returned by the beach. Two things
impressed one. Considering Dean Plumptre's great
familiarity with proofs, it was surprising that when the
revise of a Longman essay came that day, he eagerly read
it over. The other was the devotion to one another of
that lovable couple. My affection for Mrs. Plumptre was
warm, for her brother's sake and her own : and both
because I had been his pupil, and because in Longman for
that self-same July I had reviewed my old Professor's
Life in very eulogistic terms, I am proud to say the dear
lady held me in undeserved favour. Yet when we came
in from that semi-round of golf, she told me, privately,
that she would like that her husband and she should go
over some of the ruins again, only they two together.
Further, I remarked a disposition on the part of the dig
nitary to subordinate state to ease. He would walk about
wearing trousers under his apron. The things agree not
together. On each of their three evenings under this
roof, some people came to dine with them : and each even
ing the Dean asked, wistfully, before apparelling himself,

192 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
if he must put on what he called ' shorts.' He had to go
through it, dear man. We had not such a Dean here every
day. Two necessary guests on the Wednesday evening
were Bishop Wordsworth and Principal Tulloch. On
Thursday morning the Principal took him over the Univer
sity library : in the afternoon we climbed St. Regulus :
my first time since with Liddon six years before. The last
evening Principal Shairp came. Every one was delighted
with both the Dean and his Wife : they were quite charm
ing guests : and when they went away on Friday morning
to Drumtochty Castle in the Mearns, they said they had
greatly enjoyed their sight of St. Andrews. That Castle
is the possession of my old College friend James Gammell,
who was Dux of the Edinburgh Academy like Archbishop
Tait, and who carried off many honours in Glasgow Col
lege days. It stands in a magnificent glen, which is
classic ground. For there Beattie wrote much of The
Minstrel. Mrs. Plumptre was a saint, but there was nothing
sheepish about her. She was quite able to testify keenly
against what she held to be morally evil : notably as this
appeared in the traducers and enemies of her saintly
brother. She loved these, no doubt, as she was bound to
do, in the sense which Dr. Wallace had pointed out : '
but she liked them not at all. And her heart did not go
forth at all towards the extreme Low Church of her girl
hood. She particularly disapproved a preacher whom she,
with many other school-girls, had to listen to in departed
1 Ante : Vol. i. p. 130.

NORTH AND SOUTH 193
years. From the descriptions given, he seemed to have
nearly resembled Mr. Slope, in Anthony Trollope's Bar-
chester Towers, in the matters of bodily appearance and of
manner. He was a convert of that ancient race which
unhappy associations in recent years have made difficult to
render generally popular. One day he said, 'Young ladies,
henceforth I am going to preach extempore. . And why is
it, think you, that I am going* to preach extempore? Can
any of you imagine why it is I am going to preach extem
pore ? Ah, dear young ladies, I will tell you why it is I
am going to preach extempore. It is because I have got
more grease.' So he said the last word. ' And as he said
he had got more grease, his face was all standing over with
great drops of oil. We thought he had quite enough.' I
know not why it is that so many stories are current con
cerning persons of that ancient lineage. I remember a
most eminent Professor of Divinity at Edinburgh saying
he had gone to a meeting of a Ladies' Missionary Society
in that city ; at which an immensely stout and very
repellent speaker began his address with the sentence, ' My
dear young ladies, I loafe you very moshe.' The feeling
was not reciprocal. And, having ended his address, he said
in a loud voice ' Let us Bray.' The eminent theologian
added, with emphasis, ' And he did Bray.'
I know that many of the clergy, North and South, will
understand the feeling which made my colleague and me
print, at this time, in our parochial supplement to Life and
Work, the following moan :
' In many parishes, unreasonable persons may be found
VOL. II. O

194 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
who give no information to ministers or elders when a
visit is desired, and then grumble at not being visited. As
in cases of sickness you send for the Doctor, so send for
the Minister. The one is not likely to know he is wanted
without being told, any more than the other.'
On October i, 1884, the second series of Our Little Life
was published. And on February 4, 1885 a volume of
sermons. From the subject of the first of these, the
volume was called What Set him Right: with other Chap
ters to Help. Some of the reviewers complained that they
had taken it for a novel.
On the morning of November 22, in warm beautiful
sunshine, the youth went away to India again. The pre
vious afternoon, in a grand yellow Winter sunset, he and
I had taken our last walk for the while together, to the
Cathedral, to the angel of white marble already named,
and round the Abbey Wall. It is a great blessing that one
cannot take in, at such a time, that the one who goes is
going for so long. And let me sympathetically counsel
parents who must go through that trial : Part at home,
not in some desolate place far away.

195

CHAPTER XXIV
LORD REAY'S RECTORSHIP : THE WESLEYANS
•
The installation of Lord Reay as Lord Rector in Janu
ary 1885 was attended with more circumstance than any
previous installation. The University of Edinburgh had
celebrated its Tercentenary in April 1884. It had granted
a vast number of Doctors' Degrees at a crowded public
function, presided over by the Chancellor, the Lord Presi
dent Inglis. It had attracted eminent men from all parts
of the world. It had given in the evening what was not
unfitly termed a Banquet. There 1,200 dined : all partak
ing of an admirable dinner. This had been supposed a
thing impossible : but by extraordinary skill the thing was
done. Many speeches were made : but the outstanding
speech, even for popular effect, was that of Bishop Light-
foot of Durham. I know not whether these events put the
far more ancient University of St. Andrews on its mettle.
But this year, certainly, the number of Doctors' Degrees
was vastly increased : and the Degrees were publicly con
ferred on the day of the installation. On the evening of
Thursday, January 29, some who had gathered for the
ceremonial of the day after dined at Principal Tulloch's.
It was a pleasant party, and there were some remarkable

196 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
people. Sixteen in all : and when the ladies went, among
them the ever-charming Lady Aberdeen, this was the
order of those remaining : Professor Baynes, Bishop Words
worth, Lord Aberdeen, Marquis of Lome, Tulloch, Mr.
Lecky the historian, myself and Professor Campbell. I
was greatly interested in Mr. Lecky's conversation. Sir
Henry Taylor's Autobiography had just come out : and
Mr. Lecky spoke much of that very eminent man. I
had received the proofs as printed, to prepare a review
which might come out simultaneously with the book : and,
though an extremely warm admirer of the author of
Philip Van Artevelde, I could not but speak of the uncon
scious arrogance which was apparent. Sir Henry had
lived too much surrounded by worshippers : and even his
grand appearance overawed. ' The fact is,' the distin
guished historian summed up, 'he's too much like God
Almighty' The installation next afternoon was not, as heretofore,
in the University Library amid academic surroundings, but
in a huge hall recently built, which can accommodate a
vast assemblage. There Lord Reay gave his inaugural
address : there also Mr. Balfour and Lord Dufferin. Even
those who regretted the change, acknowledged that the
function was most impressive. The Rector's address was
excellent, and well-heard. Among the LL.D.'s of that
day were Lord Lome, and the Earls of Dalhousie, Elgin,
Aberdeen, and Rosebery. As each LL.D. received his
degree, a functionary of St Salvator's College invested the
new Doctor with his hood : and through the ill-luck of

LORD REAY'S RECTORSHIP : THE WESLEYANS 197
human affairs, combined with the inexperience and ner
vousness of the agent, all the hoods but two were put on
wrong side out. The ceremony began at 2 p.m., and lasted
till 4. It was at its close that Lord Rosebery was laid
hold of, in a fashion already related. And at a reception
afterwards in St. Salvator's Hall, a genial speech was
drawn from Lord Dalhousie. And there, too, I pleasantly
renewed the acquaintance wfth the Lord Rector, begun
with Baron Mackay many years before.
The Students' Play this Spring was Still Waters Run
Deep. On the evening of Thursday March 19 it was going
on brilliantly before a crowded audience. All the actors
did excellently : but it is recorded that Miss Ethel Heddle
and Mr. Kenneth Macleay acted very finely indeed. We
saw the beginning of that play, but not its end. For I
was called out, and found a message from this house that
our Nurse was dead. She had been with us for twenty-
six years : and having come at twenty-three was but
forty-nine. We have been, in this house, this day, for
nineteen years : and that good woman was the first to go
in it : the only one till now. Never was there better or
more faithful friend. The title she bore was outgrown in
a dwelling where the youngest was a boy of near fifteen :
but Mary Todd had grown a member of the family, and
here was her home. She had talked brightly to my wife,
who according to custom had gone to see her before going
out : and had been anxious how the play was to go : of
course interested in some of the actors. In three quarters
of an hour, after some minutes' difficulty in breathing, she

198 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
fainted off, and was gone. All the children of this house
were devoted to her. She had kindly nursed every one
under the roof through illness : but she never needed to
be nursed herself. She is laid in the Cathedral Church
yard : a wealthy brother in Australia set over her a costly
cross of white marble. As marked days come round,
flowers are laid above her : and the boys, coming back,
never fail to visit the good Mary's grave. The inscription
tells true : ' Faithful : Kind : Wise. Beloved by the
children whose early days she tended : missed continually
in the house where for near twenty-six years she was a
much-valued Friend.'
The yearly University Play has long been a great event
in this city. I cannot compare the acting of our youths
with that of others at College elsewhere, not knowing how
they perform. But I do not think ours can be surpassed
anywhere. It is quite wonderful for intelligence and in
terest. No doubt much is due to the patient training of
Professor Campbell and his wife ; and of Mrs. Baynes.
Mrs. Baynes could have been a great actress. I never
knew an amateur who could be compared with her. The
plays are of high class : She Stoops to Conquer, and The
Rivals, have been given excellently. Where all do so well,
it is invidious to mention names. But among the young
men, Somers, Macleay, and Fergusson, come vividly to
remembrance : likewise Robert Thomson, who in Cox and
Box {sic) could act, sing, and dance, to admiration. These
all went into the Church. Thomson was my Curate here
for a space, and now holds the living of Penicuik. Somers

LORD REAY'S RECTORSHIP : THE WESLEYANS 199
has the charming parish of Moffat, and Macleay has Kil-
creggan on the Firth of Clyde. Fergusson has just received
orders, and is of the staff at St. Columba's in Pont Street,
our Kirk in London. All these used to read the Lessons
at St. Mary's, reading admirably well. There are not
brighter nor better young parsons in the Church of c
Scotland. But I confess that, beautifully as Somers read,
when the three last evenings of the week he had acted
Tony Lumpkin amid general enjoyment, and then on
Sunday morning the same voice, now subdued to fitting
solemnity, began the first lesson, the congregation tended
for an instant to smile. Among the young women who
performed, I remember Miss Armstrong acting wonder
fully a difficult and heavy part Miss Heddle, and her
sister Ethel, daughters of one of our Professors, seemed to
me to have in them the makings of actresses of the first
rank. For grace, power, and appreciation of very diverse
characters, they have been for several years quite out
standing. A visit to Roseneath in April is memorable. William
Tulloch and I met in Glasgow, and from Wednesday till
Saturday abode with Dr. Story in that lovely nook of the
lovely Clyde. On Thursday we went with Story in a
steamer to the head of the Gareloch, where he had parish
duty : and walked the five miles back along the seashore
in the brightest summer, but with the snow lying white on
the Cobbler and the great hills of Loch Long under the
bright blue. By-and-by, we marked great spots of blood
on the road, and traced these for a mile or more. Then,

200 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
by the wayside, we found a grand dog, of great value,
lying very near death. The poor fellow-creature had
cut a foot deeply on a piece of broken glass, we after
wards found. We tied up the foot : and at a cottage near
got some restoratives, and had the dog carried there to
rest. In a fortnight the beautiful Collie was going about
with his master, all right again. Let me tell the reader,
there isYsomething deeply touching in the imploring eye
of a dying dog. In one of a series of attractive papers
which W. T. gave weekly for many years to the Glasgow
Citizen, he told the little story, very prettily. And some
fine genial fellow wrote and told him the sequel. We
both wished we could shake hands with him. And we
made sure that a blessing from Him who ' made and
loveth all ' would come to the good man who carried milk
to his dying fellow-creature, and turned him back towards
life. But though W. T. and I are both very fond of dogs,
holding a living dog to be better than a living lion, and
knowing many men who have little right to speak of a
fine Collie as ' an inferior animal,' it was for a reason par
taking of a literary character rather than for this remem
brance that I have related this among divers pleasant
visits to Roseneath. I had found, in an American Magazine,
what purported to be ' Sonnets from the Afghanese ' :
and discerning in them a very singular vein of humour,
and knowing Story's love for any such literary curiosity, I
had conveyed them with me. I was rewarded. These
remarkable verses met with due appreciation ; and were

LORD REAY'S RECTORSHIP : THE WESLEYANS 201
voted equal to anything in the Nugae Ecclesiasticae.
Portions of them have entered into the conversation of the
friends who met on the Gareloch ever since that pleasant
April time. They are hardly known in Europe. Two of
them shall be preserved here.
No. I. To a Mule.
»
A weird phenomenon, O Mule, art thou !
One pensive ear inclined toward the West :
The other Sou'-Sou'-East by a little Sou',
The acme explicate of peace and rest.
But who can tell at what untoward hour
Thy slumbering energy will assert its function,
With fervid eloquence and awakening power,
Thy hee-haw and thy heels in wild conjunction ?
War, Havock, and Destruction envy thee !
Go, kick the stuffing out of time and space !
Assert thyself, thou child of Destiny,
Till Nature stand aghast with frightened face !
A greater marvel art thou than the wonder
Of Zeus from high Olympus launching thunder !
No. II. To a Goat.
Thou hast a serious aspect, but methinks
Beneath the surface, Billy, I discern
A thoughtful tendency to play high-jinks,
A solemn, waiting wickedness, supern.
Within the amber circle of thine eye,
There lurketh mischief of exsuccous kind, —
A humour grim, mechanical, and dry :
Evasive, subdolous, and undefined.

202 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
I would I understood thee better, Bill.
Beseech thee of thy courtesy explain.
Now, doth the flavour of a poster fill
Thy utmost need ? Of old hats art thou fain ?
I prithee, goat, vouchsafe some information.
Oh ! say ! come now ! Get out ! Oh, thunderation !
It would be pleasant to write a brief lecture on the
construction of these excellent pieces. But life is short :
and the reader who can at all appreciate them may be
trusted to trace the linked coherence of thought for him
self. Only let it be said that in times of sudden trouble,
there are leading men in the Kirk who have adopted, as a
safety-valve, that final exclamation. And even at the
table of the Venerable Assembly itself, when some un
looked-for worry has befallen a most eminent Clerk of that
body through some member's perversity, those near him
have heard the stifled cry, ' Oh, thunderation ! '
Each morning at Roseneath the writer toiled at com
posing a sermon to be preached in exceptional circum
stances. I had always cherished a warm admiration for
John and Charles Wesley : rating the hymns of Charles
as of the very best. And it was a pleasant surprise when
I was asked to preach the annual sermon of the Wesleyan
wing of the English Church on Friday May i, 1885. I
would rather have preached in an Anglican parish-church.
^But an Act of Parliament makes that impossible. And
nearest to the National Church in my affection is that
community of kindly and hearty Christian people who
ought never to have been parted from it. I have already

LORD REAY'S RECTORSHIP • THE WESLEYANS 203
related, with a grateful heart, my experience of Wesleyan
kindness.1 I never spent a happier week than that which
began with Wednesday April 29 under the roof of Sir
William McArthur, lately Lord Mayor of London, and
now as for many years member for Lambeth. The house
was princely : the hospitality as of the Mansion House itself.
On the morning of Thursday April 30 I was taken to the
Centenary Hall in Bishopsgate Street : where, after the
Anglican morning service, gone through with a heart
warming fervour, I heard a most admirable sermon from
Dr. Graves, their Primate. For dignity, wisdom, and true
spiritual power, that sermon was worthy of a worthy
Archbishop of Canterbury. I never had been at Wesleyan
worship before. There was no extravagance, but I never
saw such heartiness. The frequent saying of amen during
both prayers and sermons was most touching : it seemed
so real, and simple, without self- consciousness. And it
did not strike one as odd at all : though I am of a self-
restrained nation where it could never be. Next morning
at 11, was service in the chapel in Great Queen Street.
It was precisely an old-fashioned London church, with
galleries. We had the full Anglican morning service : a
great organ and very large Choir rendering the praise ex
cellently. I wore the robes we wear in the Kirk : which
are those in which John Wesley was laid out for his long
rest. There was a very large congregation, as I discerned
on ascending the pulpit : a great number of preachers. I
1 Our Homely Comedy; and Tragedy: p. 143. Among the Good
Wesleyans.

204 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
had not dressed up an old sermon, but written one specially
for the occasion : and just as well as I could. I was told
to preach an hour : but I split the difference from our way
here and took three quarters and a little more. I never,
in my life, addressed a more sympathetic congregation.
At first one was startled by occasional cries ot Amen, Hear
hear, with some applause, and the ripple of a smile once :
this speedily left behind. A great many good people, men
and women, came to the vestry with warm words when
service was over : and I felt it a high honour when a
saintly old lady assured me I ought to be a Wesleyan.
My heart will gratefully warm to all such, while I live. I
was somewhat grieved to find that certain saintly folk were
surprised to find that I preached as I did. I trust nothing
I had ever written was inconsistent. And I preached
exactly as I do at home. But I remember how my very
dear friend Froude (whose well-deserved Oxford Professor
ship has made this April 1892 bright to me) said, at his
first visit, that he really had not taken in how essentially I
was a cleric, with my main interest in my parish-work. I
never quote, on these pages, anything which implies a
compliment. But I cannot refrain from quoting just a line
from a Methodist paper which published my sermon at
full length. 'The preacher who has made the initials
A.K.H.B. happily familiar in many households any time
this quarter of a century past, spoke with a heart-searching
power which some who knew him only from his pleasant
essays perhaps hardly expected.' I confess that it vexed
me to read this. And if any reader really cares to know

LORD REAY'S RECTORSHIP : THE WESLEYANS 205
what kind of person the writer is, he will know a great
deal better from that Wesleyan sermon than from lighter
compositions. The day came when that discourse, with
some omissions but no alterations, served extremely well
to give in St. Giles' Cathedral before the Commissioner and
the General Assembly of the Kirk. And after a while it
gave its title to a volume in which it stands first.1 I have
known good souls who thought it strange when a preacher
gave the same discourse in divers churches. Does any
sane person suppose that a sermon which took ten days'
thought to write is done with when it has been preached
once ? Further, after four years, even in one's own church
I hold a written sermon as new again.
Resting, on that May-day afternoon, I looked out from
my window on a most beautiful view, exquisite green trees
and magnificent houses. The record says : ' All so strange
to me. A perfectly new world. And though I went
through the service to-day without much nervous tension,
the whole thing looking back on it was a most strange
experience.' A dear old woman came to the vestry and
said with tears that she ' knew me before I was converted.'
The kindest of all kind Wesleyans, standing by, told me
she meant before I went into the Church. Ah, well I knew
she did not mean that at all.
I should like greatly to expatiate upon the events of
that week. What a number of M.P.'s are hearty members
of that Communion ! One day at dinner I made out
fourteen. But the party numbered forty. I was specially
1 The Best Last: with other Chapters to Help : p. 1.

206 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
charmed by Mr. Fowler, member for Wolverhampton, and
then Under-Secretary for the Home Department. I heard
him give at Exeter Hall one of the most stirring speeches
I ever listened to. I said, ' Norman Macleod at his best'
One very touching incident only. On Sunday May 3, I
preached at St. Columba's Church in Pont Street, as I was
bound to do : morning and evening. It is a beautiful
church, with a developed chancel, and a Choir of thirty
men and boys. London-like (it never happens here save
in the three months of visitors) many people came to speak
after service. Only one is to be named. An old gentleman
came only to the vestry door, and sent in an inquiry if I
had been at King's College, London, forty years before :
Archdeacon Allen, of Lichfield. I hastened to greet my
old instructor of that distant time : quite recognisable.
He was Chaplain and Divinity Lecturer : our Principal,
and Divinity Professor, was Bishop Lonsdale of Lichfield,
then Dr. Jelf of Oxford. I could relate sentences of the
Archdeacon's lectures yet : he did not hesitate to say odd
things. He said, now, that he ' had been much touched
by the sermon ' : and indeed it was plain he had been. But
I am well aware that some people object to this, par
ticularly : and are extremely angry if they are moved to
tears : holding it as an unjustifiable assault, so to speak.
I heard Archbishop Magee complain of having been
described as ' The Pathetic Prelate,' just after hearing
somebody else called ' The Emotional Moderator.' There
is cheer in the suggestion that such as hold either office
generally refrain from touching any mortal. Of course

LORD REAY'S RECTORSHIP : THE WESLEYANS 207
they could easily do it if they liked. So my old Teacher
and I parted, for the last time.
This Summer of 1885 the Scottish Hymnal was pub
lished complete : 442 Hymns. The Committee sent a
copy of it to each Bishop and Dean of the Church of
England. We were greatly cheered by the warm way in
which nearly all hastened to speak of our book. I was at
Selsdon again on May 26 till* June 8 : and each day at
first brought six pleasant letters of thanks and kindly
criticism. No one was heartier than Liddon. Phillips
Brooks, too, was extremely pleasant. Liddon was specially
pleased that we had the grand Praise to the Holiest in the
height, from The Dream of Gerontius. It was a very
cheering and restful time at Selsdon : the Bishop con
tinually overdriven as usual : yet in the evening casting off
his cares. Sometimes by ourselves. And we sat on either
side of the fire in the drawing-room as though we had not
been parted a week since the last summer. Among
memorably interesting visitors were Phillips Brooks : Lord
Victor Seymour, Rector of Carshalton : the Countess of
Darnley and her daughter Lady Kathleen. I was to come
to know Lady Darnley well, and (like all others) to find
her altogether charming. And the bright lively daughter
I was to hear sing many songs in a magnificent contralto
voice. From Selsdon to the Deanery at Salisbury. The
office is filled by the son of an Elder of the. Kirk, the
Lord President Boyle. It was blazing Summer : and the
Cathedral was vastly improved since last seen in 1866. I
never heard any one find fault with that church save

208 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Bishop Moberly : and what he said is not without founda
tion. 'It is a house of cards : it will collapse some day.'
Indeed, while material is lavishly used in most ancient
Gothic churches, here it was minimised. That marvellous
spire stands on four slender shafts, each a hundred feet
high. But it has stood for five hundred years : though off
the perpendicular in two directions. It weathered the gale
under which the Tay Bridge went down. That evening,
after dinner, looking out upon the grand West front, I
could not but note that of the party gathered in an English
Deanery, every man had been born in the Kirk of Scotland.
I alone abode there. Next morning away to Wells,
through a fair country : It seemed that in Somerset the
hawthorn was richer and the fields were greener than ever
before. It is difficult, with two railways, to get to Wells :
Dean Plumptre said that if a third were opened, it would
be impossible. Change at Westbury : the White Horse
upon the hill as of old. Then at Witham. At Frome a
gentleman with two daughters came up and asked whether
I liked this or St. Andrews best? Then explained he
had been in our churches last Autumn. After all, Wells
before one o'clock. A wonderful Deanery ! Salisbury
was delightful, but this beyond words. And at Wells you
have the ideal Cathedral City. Also Avalon and Glaston
bury are, to some, words to conjure with. The previous
afternoon, service at Salisbury : now at Wells. How
careful and reverent the service, compared with my remem
brance of nineteen years before. Next morning, Com
munion in the Cathedral : Dean Plumptre celebrated. It

LORD REAY'S RECTORSHIP : THE WESLEYANS 209
was St. Barnabas' Day : and quite a considerable number
received. At ten, morning service, with a most interesting
sermon from the Dean, on St. Barnabas. In a charming
way, it was shown that the Saint was extremely like holy
Bishop Ken.
That afternoon we drove to Glastonbury. Avalon is
too fine a name for common use : 'The Avalon Tileworks 'J,,j,
appeared a profanation. Well, for many a day the two
outstanding palaces of Europe were called The Tile
works and The Cinderheaps. The reader can translate
Tuileries and Escorial. And to some souls, Glastonbury
is more than words can say. The famous Thorns (there
are more than one) blossom not at Christmas only, but
on most days of the year. At five o'clock a little party
gathered in the quaintest and most peaceful of all gardens :
there was pleasant and cheerful talk. Next morning,
Friday, the Dean and I to the chapel in the Palace : all
about the charming dwelling, girded by its moat, with the
kindly and dignified Bishop, Lord Arthur Hervey. In
miraculous gleam and glow, I sat on the garden wall and
gazed on the west front of the Cathedral, close by, rising
out of miraculous green into unutterable blue. But repeti
tion cannot be suffered : and I have elsewhere told of these
things.1 Through blazing sunshine to Paddington : five
hours. And this time, for change, in a Pullman from St.
Pancras by the Midland line. St. Andrews in the morn
ing : which is at least ten thousand miles distant from
1 Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy : p. 226. The Charm of the Old
Communion. And p. 312, Dean Plumptre of Wells.
VOL. II. P

2ro TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Wells. But one should be thankful to be easily pleased.
On Sunday the record is, ' St Mary's in bright day :
choir at its best : crammed : and pleasant even after the
music of Salisbury and Wells.' I listened with close atten
tion to Dean Plumptre on St Barnabas' Day. But, all the
same, my sermon for this morning was given me while he
was preaching. Preachers will understand.
After ten successive years of Marlee, we desired some
thing more Highland : and went at the beginning of
August to beautiful Grandtully on the magnificent Tay,
the largest and most beautiful river in Britain. It is three
times as large as the Thames : that is, carries to the sea
three times as much fresh water. And, climbing a hill, in
five miles you come down upon the Tummel, and the Pass
of Killiecrankie. Grandtully is Sir Walter's Tully-Veolan.
Grandtully Castle is one of three from which the Wizard
composed Bradwardine. Aberfeldy is near ; and Tay-
mouth a little farther on. There is no finer scenery in the
North, f nor^in the South. The smell of burning peat is
delightful, from the cottage fires. Our little garden went
down to the Tay : here a continued rapid. To sit under a
great tree, and look at the flowing river, was enough for
mortal man. With these were combined the reading of
Bishop Burnet's History of the Reformation ; and of His
Own Time. Every prospect, up and down the great water,
and of the surrounding [hills, was delightful. But on the
Bishop's pages, man (for the most part) was vile.

CHAPTER XXV
BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS : CHURCH DEFENCE
We never had more welcome visitor than came to us
on Saturday September 19, 1885. That evening, Bishop
Thorold, then of Rochester, came to us, and beheld St.
Andrews for the first time. He had had a tedious journey,
and looked tired. But on Sunday morning, he was as
bright and alert as might be. Often, on an evening at
Selsdon, he came into chapel looking worn-out after con
firming some hundreds : but next day he was always equal
to the requirement. I had the parish church that morning.
The Bishop sat beside Tulloch in the place of the St.
Mary's Professors. He heard hymns quite familiar : among
them of course ' The Church's One Foundation.' I said
some words, closing my sermon, on our great loss in Prin- «
cipal Shairp, of whose death we had heard the day before :
and the Bishop remarked that Tulloch was moved to tears
by what was recalled to him. On the Saturday I had a
kind letter from Bishop Wordsworth, who was absent,
suggesting that the Bishop should preach at the parish
church in the morning, and the Episcopal in the evening.
I thought it far better he should rest : but I felt that
Bishop Wordsworth's letter was a sign of the times. He

212 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
would not have ventured to write it, twenty, or even ten,
years before. It was pleasant to see the Prelate's face in
that familiar church. Twenty-two years before, I had
beheld it in St. Bernard's at Edinburgh. I had preached
to him many times besides these two : but it was where I
did not wear the sombre robes of the Kirk. I can testify
he always listened attentively : which is what preachers
often fail to do.
That Sunday afternoon was one of drenching rain. We
had purposed a walk on the Links, but it could not be.
And my friend had intended to go to afternoon Episcopal
service : but was persuaded to rest. So we sat by the fire
in my study, he very bright and well. I never knew any
man more keenly enjoy a holiday. He was to have gone
to St. Mary's in the evening : but the howling blast,
driving the sleet bitterly against the windows, forbade.
He is a teetotaller, as the attentive reader of this volume
knows. And as he sat beside me, I taking a great cup of
extremely strong tea before going to church, he said, with
solemnity, ' Now, that's just as much a dram as anything
^you could take.' True : but it does not confuse the head.
It braces one up wonderfully to preach. Doubtless, it may
be difficult to sleep after it. The drenching rain did not
affect the congregation. St. Mary's was crammed : pos
sibly in some hope of the Bishop preaching.
Sunday's delivery brought him seventy letters : all
answered, where needful, on Monday by twelve. Then the
first turn about the city : never more pleasantly appre
ciated. In the afternoon, drive to Magus Muir, where

BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS 213
Archbishop Sharpe was murdered : the Bishop remarking
that in his first day of sight-seeing here he was shown the
places where two Primates were slain : Cardinal Bethun at
the Castle, the other in what is now a thick wood : a bare
hillside then. Through beautiful Dura Den, by Kemback
Hill to Guard Bridge, and so home. In the evening a
pleasant party dined. There was nobody the Bishop was
so pleased to meet as Mrs. Oriphant : he begged that he
might sit next her at table. Of course Principal Tulloch
and his Wife were there : but they were familiar guests.
And there is no one I remember so vividly as the grand
old Dean Liddell of Christ Church, sitting by the drawing-
room fire after dinner. One is generally disappointed,
when a meeting has been much anticipated: but the
Bishop found Mrs. Oliphant in every way even more than
he had expected, and often said how charmed he had
been with her, — looks, manner, conversation, everything.
On Tuesday, letters till twelve : then Tulloch was guide
to his College, and the University Library : both most in
teresting. Several hours in the afternoon were given to
the parish church : St. Leonard's church (in ruins) and
College : and to a very full examination of the Cathedral.
Among the remaining sedilia of the Chapter House is one
where Liddon sat down : looked-at with interest by many.
Then the Prelate sat down too. The day was bright, but
cold. On Wednesday a long drive : a bright Autumn day.
Due South, by Cameron, whose kirk was gazed on with
intense wonder : by bleak Largoward : over the back-bone
of Fife by Balcarres to Kilconquhar : to lunch with the

214 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Earl of Lindsay and Lady Lindsay. Though both mem
bers of the same House of Parliament, the spiritual and
temporal Peers had not met before. They were mutually
delighted. And it is a charming old house. Back by Pit-
corthy, where we beheld Sir Frederick Hamilton's work
shop with interest. By Pittenweem home. A drive of
thirty miles. But my brother James and his family were
happily staying in St. Andrews for three months : and his
horses made little of the distance. On Thursday Lord
Dalhousie opened a Bazaar for the Fisher-people : he
standing in a boat as he did so : and making an excellent
speech. Among other things seen that day, the Chapel
of St. Salvator's College was much admired : though
certain flies in the ointment were justly pointed out.
I knew them well before, and had often chafed at them.
Afternoon tea with Mrs. Oliphant : whose conversation, so
lively and well-informed, without a vestige of self-con
sciousness, was voted as perfection. And the perfectly
quiet evenings, with only our own little household, were
enjoyed as very restful by an overworked man. On Friday
afternoon I opened the Fishers' Bazaar : and was impressed
by the firmness with which the Bishop staid away from
the Function. But he is quietly keen. I had arranged
with those in charge that we should have a little speech
from him. I had not indeed told him so. But hejaloused,
as Scots folk say, what would follow had he been present :
wherefore he was absent. All this he stated frankly, when
I came back. Such is the regrettable craftiness which
tends to develop itself in the very best of men, once they

BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS 215
are numbered among the Hierarchy. It contrasts pain
fully with our artless simplicity. A suspicious reader may
indeed say that I had attempted to impose upon the
Prelate. But that is a totally different thing.
On that Friday evening, Bishop Wordsworth and his
Wife dined : a little party. The nephew of Bishop Words
worth was one of the Canons of Rochester in those days.
He is now Bishop of Salisbury. So there was a tie. And
Bishop Thorold was greatly charmed with his venerable
Brother. Few men have ever had such a wide acquaint
ance among persons of eminence. His collection of testi
monials, when a candidate for the Second Mastership of
Winchester, is quite extraordinary. The Bishop had
classified them at the beginning under heads : Bishops,
Deans, Cabinet Ministers, Governors-General of India, and
the like. Lord Chancellor and Prime Minister each stood
alone. Turning over, I said, ' Here are two or three Chief-
Justices.' They were not held worthy of separate classifi
cation there.
It was touching, when after thirty years of silence,
intercourse was resumed with Cardinals Manning and
Newman. Newman was quiet and reserved, though
friendly. But the old school-companion, Manning, over
flowed with joy and affection. The letters began My dear
Bishop : passed into My dear old Friend : warmed up to
My dearest Charles. Yet one never had the feeling of
gush, but of sincere affection. I trust that every reader
knows Bishop Wordsworth's Autobiography. Had he
been a Pusher, or a man who desired to sound his own

216 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
trumpet, things might have been a good deal heightened in
divers places in that book.
Saturday September 26 was a memorable day. At
9 A.M. our guest and I drove away, eleven miles, to New
port : crossed the Tay in the steam-ferry : a carriage
waited on the other side : and an hour and three quarters
of sharp driving conveyed us from Dundee to Glamis
Castle. The Grampians were deep with snow : and though
it was sunshiny, a keen North wind blew upon us over
those snowy slopes. Never were places less like than
smiling Selsdon Park and weird Glamis : yet Lady Strath
more had spent many of her early days amid those low
Surrey hills. I had taken a large volume, Scenes and
Legends of the Vale of Strathmore : but we had been too
much occupied to look into it. As we left, the eagle eye
of Lord Strathmore espied the book : and he said, with
feeling, ' Don't believe a word of it' Indeed, on examina
tion, we did not wonder at the Earl's disapproval. For it
appeared that not merely had divers of his ancestors been
carried away of evil spirits in an entire form, but that
sometimes they had been torn into little bits and left lying
about their chamber. Terrible howls accompanied the
process of tearing-up : so that no one liked to go in and
help. Of course, the pleasantest of all welcomes. The
Countess, and several daughters worthy of such a mother,
were there. And the haunted place was gone over
thoroughly, with deep interest. The family name is
Lyon : and the number of lions all about the house is
wonderful. Two great animals (in brass) on either side of

BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS 217
the drawing-room fire : and others beyond reckoning both
without and within. We staid as long as we possibly
could : then the long drive back to St. Andrews. From
door to door, three hours and three quarters. But we
made out about ten miles an hour. A quiet evening : and
that game of Logomachy which interests some.
Sunday was a bright cold day. The Bishop, always
careful of the proprieties, went to the Episcopal church in
the morning with my Cambridge lad whom he was to
ordain. But on the way, he went in to look at St. Mary's.
He said, however, quite frankly, that he was much more-
interested in seeing the old-fashioned worship long cha- 5
racteristic of the Kirk, than in attending a service which ,
very nearly approximated to his own. I have found this
with others, high in the Anglican Church. It turned to a
beautiful sunshiny afternoon : and we had a long walk
about the Cathedral, and round the grand Abbey Wall.
An ancient prophecy says that wall is appointed to fall
upon the best man in St. Andrews. And it is stated
that my predecessor, the kind old Principal Haldane,
never durst walk under it. He was indeed a man much
revered and beloved. Yet he could be peppery. I once
said to an old St. Andrews man, who knew him well,
' Was not the Principal a wonderfully amiable man ? '
The answer came : ' Amiable ! He wasna' amiable at all.
He was worse-tempered than Dr. Park and you put
together.' Dr. Park's incumbency had come between his
and mine. He was an old bachelor : and like many such,
was extremely kind to all young women. He never got

218 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
angry with them. One day a pretty girl said to him,
rather forwardly, ' Principal, Why is it that you say every
thing three times over ? ' The dear old man looked at her
benignantly, and answered in these precise words : ' Well,
Miss Jeanie : I do repeat. I do repeat. I do repeat'
This in pathetic tones. As who would say, Don't be hard
upon an old man. And Jeanie was silent.
That Sunday was September 27 ; but the brightness of
sea and sky remain in memory as transcending summer.
The verdict of one who knew was, ' the sea is like the
Mediterranean.' It would be many times dark enough
ere we should see it together again. For next morning
at 7.20 we must leave this house. And the Bishop
departed to visit his old friend Sir Emilius Bayley, now
the Laird of Maxwellton : fitly assuming the name of
Laurie. To Edinburgh : then to Glasgow. He went to
the Cathedral. But the Choir was still vilely arranged :
and the verdict was ' simply painful.' It would not be so
now. Yesterday, April 17, 1892, being Easter-Day, I
went for the twenty-sixth time to assist my old friend
Dr. Burns at his April Communion : and had the great
privilege of ministering in the only church in Scotland to
which the name of magnificent may with propriety be
given : the arrangements now leaving almost nothing to
be desired. And Dr. Burns has assisted me at the Com^
munion in St. Andrews for twenty-six successive years : a
long time in this changing world. The Bishop went out
to the west end to see the new buildings of the University.
I had unluckily told him that the shafts which carry the

BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS 219
centre alley of the great Hall are of iron : and he did not
enter in. A chamber which from foundation to roof cost
a hundred thousand pounds ought not to have admitted
such material. But when I said this to the man through
whose munificence it is there, the statement was vehemently
controverted. So I speak humbly, though resolutely. To
differ from the Marquis of Bute on any question implying
knowledge of mediaeval art is, beyond question, presump
tuous : unless you were Mr. Ruskin. And so far, those
iron shafts have not been treated as it is intended they
should be.
Few visitors to St. Andrews have left so pleasant
memories behind them as one who spent a while here in
this October 1885. Mr. Thackeray's daughter Mrs. Ritchie
and her husband were more than welcome. For her father's
sake, and her own, one marked very intently all the
charming authoress said and did. Everybody was
delighted. She was very like her father : and sitting by
her, and looking at her, one felt drawn somewhat nearer to
a man who is certainly one of the most delightful of all
writers of English prose. On the evening of Monday
October 19 we dined at Tulloch's to meet the interesting
pair. Her first words to me were, ' You knew my father ? '
Alas, it was not so. I never even saw that great man.
But from where I sit now I can reach a shelf which bears
all his writings : and I have read everything about him
which I could find. Mrs. Ritchie's manner was most
attractive : extremely frank and friendly, and quite un
affected. And it is very pleasing to a small writer to find

220 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
a big one extremely well up in what he has published.
The next day, Mr. and Mrs. Ritchie dined with us. Of
course I made sure of the privilege of sitting next her :
her conversation was delightful. I could not but remark
that she had not quite forgiven Anthony Trollope for
that red volume : which I confess I had not thought so
bad. But it is a terribly perilous kind of literature : and
I fancy the wise man will keep out of it. It was a first
shadow of what was coming, that though Mrs. Tulloch
was with us that day, her husband could not come. But
not a soul dreamt of what this meant. On Saturday
October 24, too cold a day for the function, I took Mr.
and Mrs. Ritchie round the ruins. Like many men, I
think he did not care much about them. But she was
intensely interested. And she was amused by a not very
brilliant specimen which the Saturday Review published
at this time of the stories which are put about without
foundation : to wit, that it was too true that Tulloch and
I had been bought over to the Tories by the Duke of
Richmond promising us early racing information, which
would enable us to make bets at an advantage. What
a pity the false stories which are circulated about some
small folk, though just as veracious as that, are capable
of being believed by some. Then the authoress and her
husband departed from this city ; and unhappily have
returned no more.
Sunday November 8 was a marked day in our little
history. The magistrates were ' kirked,' entering on a new
year of duty. My Colleague had the honour of welcoming

BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS 221
them in the morning. But they came in the afternoon
too : and I take for granted they must have approved my
sermon, inasmuch as the Provost came to the vestry to
thank me in their name. We always pay due honour to
dignities : unlike old Dr. Muir who once, kirking the
Corporation, said in his prayer, ' Lord, have mercy upon
the magistrates of Glasgow, such as they are. Make them
wiser and better.' And when the Town Clerk called, to say
that the magistrates were much aggrieved at being prayed
for in such fashion, the answer was instant : ' Dr. Muir's
compliments to the Lord Provost, and he is very sorry to
find that his prayer has not been answered.' I have
kirked the magistrates many times, however : and it is not
for that reason that I recall the occasion. It had been
intimated at the services during the day, that Dr. Mitchell,
our Professor of Church History, would lecture in the
parish church in the evening on 'Some Aspects of the
Church Question deserving of consideration in the present
Crisis.' Dr. Mitchell was that year Moderator of the
Kirk : and he very seldom preaches. The church was
filled by a great congregation. I should not in the least
degree have been surprised to hear Dr. Mitchell preach
wisely and devoutly : that is his usual way. But it did
surprise one to find that man of calm and well-balanced
mind fire up into a pathos and vehemence which I have
rarely seen equalled and never surpassed. The question
of disestablishment had been raised : and one was made to
realise how it stirs the blood of good men here. And not
merely were there this evening a fire, a keenness, a power

222 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
of stirring a multitude to the depth of their nature, which
are rare indeed, but an incisive severity of denunciation
which few had expected from that calm, cautious man.
And if the preacher was at white-heat, so was the con
gregation long before he was done. Several times
there would have been loud applause, had it not been
hushed. But I am not to tell the story here, for a good reason.
The sermon lasted fifty minutes : but it came to an end :
and everybody went home. I had taken two full services
that day, besides being present at the third : and my
rule for many a day has been, No writing in an evening.
But the good Professor had got at me, for once, and at
8.45 I sat down and with incredible rapidity wrote some
account of that memorable function : writing as vehemently
as the preacher had spoken. At 9.30 I had finished :
and in a very black night conveyed my packet to the post-
office. On Tuesday morning, in large type, the intelligent
reader had my story before him in the Scotsman, with only
one misprint. Tulloch had arranged to have his lectures
read by another, and he had gone away to rest and come
back well : none knew that he had quitted St. Andrews
for the last time. But wherever he was, the Scotsman
went : and though my little production bore no name, he
knew at once who was its author, and hastened to write
that it was Very Fine. In due time it was republished
elsewhere.1 Tulloch was a keen Liberal in politics. But
1 Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy : p. 54. How Disestablishment
Touches People.

BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS 223
words cannot express the intensity of his feeling upon this
question. Others, who neither could nor would speak out
their mind like him, were practically of even the same way
of thinking. On the evening of Tuesday November 17, a beautiful
day of keen frosty sunshine, we had a great Church
Defence meeting in the Town Hall. It was crammed to
excess, and an overflow meeting, was held elsewhere. Sir
Alexander Kinloch was in the Chair : Sir Robert
Anstruther, late member for Fife, was at this time
returned for St. Andrews. These two, and several others,
spoke well. But the outstanding and unforgettable speech
was Dr. MacGregor's. Both he and Sir Alexander
staid in this house. We dined at 6.30 for the meeting
at 8, and I remarked that both were nervous and silent.
But in a minute after MacGregor got upon his feet, you
felt the orator was at home : and he played on that
dense mass like Dr. Peace on the Glasgow organ. Whether
to move to howls of laughter, or to silent tears, it was
equally easy and natural. He went on for just an hour :
and he could quite easily have gone on for two. A man
must enjoy what he does so supremely well. He held his
argument well in hand, and never lost sight of it : but
the profusion of stories, and quaint illustrations, passed
belief. Some people failed to see the orator's method : I
have known it said, ' A capital story : but what had it to
do with the defence of the Church of Scotland ? ' The
enthusiasm was tremendous : one could quite understand
that people would fight for the Kirk : if need were.

224 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Specially from a mass of students, in one corner, came
vehement applause of the old St. Andrews student now set
on high. MacGregor saw them : and turning to them went
on, ' Ah you dear young men : how my heart warms to
you ! It seems yesterday since I was one of you. Just to
hear your voices, and look at you, makes me young
again ! ' If they had applauded before, they became like
yelling maniacs now ; and so abode till the end. But the
most effective thing of all was a simple story. The orator
said he could not stand the enemies of the Kirk saying
they wanted to strip us bare because they loved us so
much. It reminded him of a friend of his who long served
under Garibaldi : and came home with a red jacket. One
Summer day he was walking through a field near Dumfries,
when a large bull went for him, and sent him flying over
the hedge. As he picked himself up, the bull stood on the
other side, putting down his head, and pawing the earth,
and roaring. The Garibaldian mistook the bull's meaning :
and shaking his fist at it he exclaimed with great indig
nation, ' None of your apologies ! You meant it, you
brute ! '
Of course, success has to be the test of all oratorical
arts. I know not what the reader may think of this affect
ing legend. But many remain to testify what frantic
enthusiasm it awakened when orally delivered. Many
started to their feet : and the thunderous applause stopped
the speaker for five minutes at least. It arose again and
again : MacGregor meanwhile standing with blazing eyes
and outstretched hand. Not even at Aberdeen, when he

BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS 225
told of the merited hanging of his progenitor,1 was the
popular emotion so stirred. Immediately after concluding
his speech, the orator departed from the hall, with the
avowed purpose of going straight to bed. But the steam
had been got up far too much for that : and when Sir
Alexander and I returned home, late, he was vehemently
talking, and continued to do so till an early hour. Next
morning, all the land was white with snow : there was
bright sunshine and keen frost. We' saw the Cathedral
and Castle, looking wonderful : and ended by a talk with
good Bishop Wordsworth, as usual. Late in the afternoon
the two speakers departed to Edinburgh.
In a most respectable Edinburgh newspaper, on Tues
day December 8, a paragraph appeared concerning the
election of our City member :
' A notable incident in the forenoon was the appearance
of the Rev. Dr. A. K. H. Boyd heading the members of
his Kirk Session as they marched from the church to
the polling-booth to record their votes, in accordance
with the wishes of their spiritual adviser, for Sir Robert
Anstruther.' There was no foundation for the statement. I went
from this house to vote, quite alone. I never asked any
member of Session to vote for Sir Robert. So far as I
know, the Session did not go in a body. Certainly not
from the church : which is exactly opposite the polling-
place. Further, I have done my utmost to get people not
to name me with those initials, a fashion I detest. When
1 Ante : Vol. i. p. 96.
VOL. II. Q

226 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
I was made a D.D., this day twenty-eight years, April 20,
1 864, my revered Father was one : and it was necessary to
distinguish. But it has not been needful for many a day.
Just at this time, the beloved and revered Dr. Liddon
wrote me several long letters : very kind, very touching :
on our only point of difference : the vital necessity of
Episcopacy. He had sent me the sermon he preached at
the consecration of the Bishops of Lincoln and Exeter in
St. Paul's : and all my reverence and affection for him
could not prevent my expressing my personal conviction.
At this time, the great preacher was far from well : and he
wrote with a vehemence which was unusual. The letters
were five in number : and one, of sixteen closely-written
pages, sets out with great eloquence and power his view.
Dr. Liddon was incapable of writing anything which could
be held unworthy of him : but, deeply interesting as his
letters at this time were, they were written with an inten
sity of feeling, and a sense of speaking to a friend in out
spoken confidence, which make it impossible for me to
give here what very many would read with profound con
cern. I take two characteristic sentences :
' Of course I knew that you could not agree with me.
Yet it would not be sincere in me to profess anything else,
or. less, than the doctrine of the sermon, on the serious sub
ject with which it deals. I believe it to be demonstrably
a part of the Revealed Will of God, and as such am bound
to teach it, when a natural occasion fordoing so presents
itself, whether men agree with me or not. And I must add
that I believe it to be the only doctrine which justifies the

BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS 227
retention of Episcopacy whether in England or Scotland.
Certainly if Bishops are not a necessary element in the
Church of God, the Bishops in Scotland are organisers of <¦
a wanton schism — introducing division and heart-burnings '
where else all might be one. They have no right to be where j
they are on grounds of taste, or antiquarianism, or even '
expediency. They are more than justified, if they repre- V
sent a feature of the Divine will, which Presbyterianism has f,
lost. And here in England, the Episcopate forms a real "
barrier to union among Reformed Christians : all the
Protestant bodies, external to the Church, which are loyal
to the Puritan Tradition, regard it with hereditary aversion.
If it is not necessary, it ought to be abandoned in defer
ence to the prejudices of such millions of weaker brethren :
and I may add, in order to diminish temptation to
ambition and worldliness among ourselves. To this danger
those of our Clergy are especially exposed, who have no
real belief in the Apostolical Commission, and who con
sequently see in the Episcopate a mere earthly prize of
professional success, — such and such an income, and a seat
in the House of Lords. If I believed the Episcopate to
be a matter of human Institution, I should earnestly desire
its abolition : As it is, I see in it a Divine gift, rejected, or
— worse still — abused by the passions or the selfishness of
man : but about retaining which I have just as little dis- ,
cretion as about retaining the Gospel of St. John.'
Never, in this world, have I known so kindly and
candid a controversialist as this great man. Long letters
passed at this time. Of course, agreement was absolutely Q 2

228 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
impossible. Nor did Liddon like my views a bit the better
for that I was quite ready (like Tulloch and many more)
to accept Episcopacy on the clear ground stated by our
great Lord President Inglis.1 But, as we went on, there
was, in that illustrious friend, only a kinder desire that one
whom he thought seriously wrong might be brought right.
And I give the last sentences of all :
' Some day, I cannot but hope, so clever a people as the
Scotch will see this too : and I pray that, when they do,
they may have the grace to set in order the things that
have been wanting to them ever since John Knox has been
an authority — beyond the Tweed.
' In saying this, I rejoice to remember how very much
we have in common, and shall have, I trust, in life, and in
death, and beyond.'
Notwithstanding what Liddon here says of John Knox,
I cannot forget with what a solemn face Liddon, each
time he was here, entered the pulpit whence Knox preached,
and stood a space in silence.
And as for the good man's closing aspiration, let us
say Amen, Amen.
On one other occasion, I had differed from Liddon.
Rather (though it sound presumptuous to say so) he had
differed from me. It was at Glamis. It was at dinner ;
where controversy is rightly excluded. I found that the
lady I had taken in, and who sat between Liddon and me,
was much interested in Gothic churches. Accordingly, I
was developing a view, that a height of anything above a
1 Ante : Vol. i. p. 69.

BISHOP THOROLD AT ST. ANDREWS 229
hundred feet (as in Westminster and York) is just as impres
sive to the eye as a hundred and eighty (as at Cologne) :
while immense height dwarfs the ministrants and the con
gregation. Further, that to carry a roof of stone at near
two hundred feet high necessitates such a lavish use of
flying buttresses outside, that the church looks as though
surrounded with a scaffolding of stone. Likewise, that a
gable two hundred and fifty feet high, as at Cologne and
Strasburg, destroys the apparent height of the spire : as is
manifest when you compare Strasburg spire with that of
Salisbury. As I expatiated, flattering myself that I was
persuading my auditress, I became aware that the eagle
eye of Liddon was watching me with an awful intentness.
Scarce had I ended, when with much intensity the great
preacher burst forth in these terms : ' Don't believe a word
he says ! He is utterly wrong. For dignity, and sanctity,
height is everything. No matter what it costs. A Choir,
a hundred and fifty feet high, is the thing to aim at.' Then
he said, vehemently, that the blight of modern building
was the desire to finish. ' There is St. Mary's Cathedral
at Edinburgh : they have built it at once. A miserable
error ! They should have built a Choir a hundred and fifty
feet high : and then have left it to the generation after next
to go on with the building.'
I was not wholly overwhelmed, even with the great
Anglican orator of the age against me. But it was plain
that much might be said on either side. Also that Liddon
could express, with a marvellous charm, what he had
to say : on any subject whatsoever.

230

CHAPTER XXVI
SORROW AT ST. ANDREWS
It was quite an interesting incident to many, at evening
service in St Mary's on the last day of January 1886,
when some of the company which had acted in The
Private Secretary on Saturday night, appeared in church.
I had seen them act, but in church I rarely remark any
one : and no doubt the young persons in question were
otherwise arrayed than when doing their duty. Many
recognised them at once. And they were specially
welcome. Many theatrical companies visit St Andrews.
Here, too, we have all the interest of dramatic perform
ances, without any of the risks of larger places.
On Candlemas-day, February 2, 1886, there entered
this study something which will abide as long as I do ; and
which I trust will be taken care of afterwards for that it
was dear to me. A beautiful elm-tree, one of three standing
in front of the beloved little St. Mary's Church, was blown
down on a stormy December night in 1883. I had watched
it continually, as a lover of trees watches a fine tree in a
place where such are few : and I knew well its look in
each of the seasons. Specially, at a summer evening ser
vice, on one of the two Sundays in the long year on which

SORROW AT ST. ANDREWS 231
you might sing Bishop Walsham How's hymn, Summer
suns are glowing, without its looking absurd, I used to see
through a stained window the branches gently waving in
the soft breeze of July. I miss that tree more than I tell
anyone. But it had fallen, and it had to go. Just as close
as might be to the roots, a slice was cut across the grain of
the wood. Two years of seasoning, and the slice was
deemed fit to be made into a table, which was carried into
the room wherein I work, and set down at the left hand of
my writing table, where a great many things are put upon
it daily. On the day on which it came, it suggested an
essay : the thought of which kept me awake that night.
In due time it appeared in Longman, bearing the title
That Elm? And a curious fate befell it, which gives it
special interest to me. On June 29 in this year, I was
travelling by the Caledonian railway from Edinburgh to
the South. It was a wonderfully bright and beautiful day.
At Lockerbie the train stopped a minute : and an old
gentleman descended from the next compartment of the
carriage, and soon re-entered it. A little man, extremely
upright and active. The face seemed familiar, but I was
not sure. At Carlisle we had seventeen minutes : and I
ventured to ask him if he was not The Autocrat of the
Breakfast Table. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, though un
seen till now, had sent me all the books he published for
many years, and had written me very many long and kind
letters. Notable among these prized volumes is the grand
illustrated edition of the Autocrat, bearing the inscription
1 Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy : p. 105.

232 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
A. K. H. Boyd: with the kindest regards of Oliver Wendell
Holmes. September 1861. I received the most cordial of
welcomes : and we had pleasant talk through that wait at
Carlisle. He had been made LL.D. of Edinburgh, and was
going to Oxford to be made D.C.L. But the old man was
wearied out : and forbidden to talk while the train was
running : so I left him in care of his daughter and an
attendant, and went back to my compartment. The next
stop was at Preston : twenty-five minutes. He talked
brightly all that time, and it chanced I had the July
Longman with me, containing That Elm. Further, that
essay contained some mention of the Autocrat, greatly in
his praise. I gave him the magazine : but he would not
look into it till we started again. And singularly, that
same number contained an article entitled Oliver Wendell
Holmes. But he said he would not look at it : not on any
account. The next stop was at Crewe, where we parted :
he to Oxford, I to Wolverhampton and Lichfield : whereof
in due time. And here he gave me back my Longman,
I having got another copy for him. He had written at the
end of it, in a large clear hand, as follows :
' Read on the Train from Edinburgh to Oxford, June
29th, 1886, by Oliver Wendell Holmes : in full sympathy
with the writer.
' Elm measured at Oxford 25 feet 6 inches in clear girth.
I never saw but one American elm reach 23 feet. I have
seen them reach 120 feet from bough end to bough end.
' O. W. H.'

SORROW AT ST. ANDREWS 233
The paper bearing the honoured name began just on
the other side of the page on which the Autocrat wrote.
But his rule was inflexible. If any reference came in an
article on another subject, he would read that if he came
upon it. My last view of the dear man remains vivid in
memory. My carriage went on : but he had to turn out.
And Crewe, to the unaccustomed visitor, is a perplexing
station. As I moved away, lie and his daughter were
standing by a truck, whereon their luggage was piled. No
mortal was noticing it or them. People were rushing
wildly about the platforms, and trains hurrying in and out.
In humorous despair, Dr. Holmes held up both hands on
high, and exclaimed, ' I don't know at all where I'm going!'
And so I left him. However, he got safe to Oxford, some
time. I have lingered upon these incidents : because I now
come to the day when the heaviest blow fell upon St.
Andrews which has fallen since I knew it. And none so
heavy can fall in my time.
Principal Tulloch had been sent to Torquay, and was
there in the house of Dr. Ramsay : for many years a
picturesque figure at Holyrood and elsewhere during the
General Assembly : Purse-Bearer to the High Com
missioner. Of course, Dr. Ramsay was an old friend of the
Principal's. We were all anxious. But Tulloch was not
sixty-three : and once before he had come back from Torquay
perfectly well. On Sunday February 7 I had ministered
at the dedication of St. George's-in-the-Fields at Glasgow :
a fine church, though of classic style. I had got home on

234 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Monday, ' awfully weary ' ; and was resting, when a tele
gram came from the Principal's daughter Fanny, who was
with him. It said that her father was very ill : worse than
they knew at home : and asked me to beg her mother to
go to Torquay at once. I went over to St. Mary's
College : and asked first to see a married daughter who
was at home. One felt under what unexpressed pressure
that household had been living, when first the daughter
and then the mother hurried in with the same cry, / know
he's dead. They were shown the telegram : it was not so
bad as that. And next morning, in the bitter frost of an
awful season, they set off in the dark, and travelled on for
twenty-four hours. As the gathering weakness came over
Tulloch, the pathetic cry of Jeanie, Jeanie, had been con
stant But when his good angel came, though he was but
half-conscious, the heart-breaking words ceased. This was
on Wednesday morning. His two sons, William and
Frank, had arrived from Glasgow : and for a day there
seemed a gleam of hope. But it passed : and in the early
morning of Saturday February 13, 1886, he was gone.
On that Saturday morning, the post brought a letter
from William Tulloch, quite hopeful. I was getting on
with the preparations for Sunday, when at 10 A.M. a tele
gram came : that Tulloch was dead.
I am not to go back upon that time. Everything one
wrote, for months, had in it the sense of loss. I see now,
after years, that perhaps it was morbid : but the moan could
not be suppressed. It was as when Arnold went from
Rugby. There was but one feeling, everywhere. I am not

SORROW AT ST. ANDREWS 235
going to say, again, what was said elsewhere.1 One had
not thought that Tulloch could die : not, at least, till we
should many of us go together. Without repeating my
self, just a word of the way in which things went now. I
went straight to the desolate house : only two of the
daughters were there, Amy, and Blanche. Of course,
Tulloch's daughters were like my own : and I had christened
Blanche. The poor girls knew already. As kind and
good friends as are in this world were there before me :
Professor Baynes, and his Wife. I had always held both in
warm affection : but from that sad morning, on which I saw
such wisdom, kindness, and sympathy, more than ever. If
human beings could soothe and help under such a blow,
they could and would. The poor daughters were very
quiet : there is firmness, as well as sweetness, in that family.
I went back in the afternoon. In the evening I had to
change my sermon for the parish church next morning :
and write something. There was no use in trying to begin
one's discourse as if it were a common Sabbath-day. And
how keenly the newspapers know everything ! It is their
business. One thought of Dean Stanley taking to bed
when Dickens was to be buried, to escape the Daily Tele
graph. He used to tell the story. I did not think at all
about The Scotsman : but sure enough The Scotsman
came, and was promised my MS. by 10 P.M. Everyone
who has gone through them knows what prosaic little
1 Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy : p. 59. A Dark Sunday at St.
Andrews. East Coast Days, and Memories : p. 219. Principal Tulloch.
This was a review of Mrs. Oliphant's Life : and had first appeared in the
Contemporary Review, December 1888.

236 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
details are linked with the remembrance of our heaviest
trials. The ' funeral sermons,' so called, would be on the
Sunday after the funeral : but a word must be said at once
of what was in everybody's heart. Sunday February 14,
St. Valentine, began drearily, but turned to a day of
bright sunshine. At Torquay it was a Summer day.
There was a large congregation at morning service : and a
crowd of students, expecting. One got through, by keeping
very quiet, and well in hand. It would have been easy
to break down, at any point. The record of the time says,
'Just managed.' It was a great blessing to read one's
prayers. At St. Mary's in the evening a dense crowd, in
expectation : but very little could be said. One of the
hymns was ' Friend after friend departs ' : to a beautiful
manuscript tune. Another was Archbishop Maclagan's
* Remember me.' Before coming home, I went to see a
poor fellow, dying : who was to be laid to rest on the
same day with our dear friend. He was gone in an hour.
On Monday the newspapers were full of what was
indeed a national loss. Not a dissentient voice was
heard. Those who had vilified him in life were cowed into
silence. Those who had suggested that ' there was room
enough for him without,' felt that the Kirk had lost its
foremost man. As I look over the record of what was
said that Sunday morning, the feeling of the time comes
back : I cannot help quoting some part of it. It was thus
the sermon ended :
' I know well of whom you have been thinking con
tinually as these words were said. Yesterday, while some

SORROW AT ST. ANDREWS 237
little of the breath of Spring was cheering us, and while
we were (not without reason) clinging to the hope that we
should in a little welcome him back to years of active and
enjoyable life among his old friends ; there fell upon this
City, upon this University, upon this National Church,
upon broad Scotland, and upon a quiet and loving home
very near us, the heaviest blow which could fall. Not
since Arnold was stricken dawn and taken away from
Rugby, has such a stroke fallen upon any little community
by the removal of a single man, as this which has fallen
on St. Andrews by the loss of Principal Tulloch. It is not
yet that it is possible to speak fully. It is not for any of
us who have lived in brotherly relations with the brother
who has gone before us, to sit down coolly and try to
estimate him ; or to set him forth to strangers as he was
in intellect and heart. All we can do yet is to feel and
acknowledge our bereavement : — we to whom he was not
merely the enthusiastic orator who swept a multitude
along with him as one can in a million, — not merely the
bright philosophic theologian and historian, whose latest
volume, published but the other week, showed only the
brightening and mellowing of his rare faculties. No : to
us he was, beyond these things, the lovable man, whose
noble presence and beaming face and cheery laugh can
never enliven our fireside and cheer up our hearts any
more. It seems but the other day, — it is not five
months yet,— that a word had to be said from this pulpit
of the removal of the Principal of our other College. A
Prelate of the great Anglican Church sat beside Principal

238 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Tulloch upon that day, and said afterwards how touched
the Principal seemed by the loss of Principal Shairp.
That was a loss, and a great loss. But this comes far
nearer to some of us. This is something taken out of our
daily life, the stimulating presence with us continually of a
noble type of Christian manhood. What will St. Andrews
be without Principal Tulloch? For many a day past,
wherever our language is read, the man and the place
were named together by all educated people. We have
valued friends yet ; and we shall value them more than
ever. But years and years, even if we could find another
like him, would not make a Head of our University who
could fill his place. We were proud of him, and we loved
him : all of us : but to-day it seems as if, could he be
given back to us in the old likeness that we knew, we
should prize him infinitely more. Some of us know to-day
the vague remorse that comes when a privilege is taken
away. Some of us, thinking of the loss to his students,
to his colleagues, to the world of letters, and to these
Church Courts for whose coarse and soul-debasing work
he seemed to me far too finely-strung and too noble a
man, will think most of that sacred inner circle, that
pleasant home, not to be spoken of here save to say that
(God be thanked) every member of the family has proved
worthy of such a husband and father. He has passed to
his rest : and few have passed to rest after a life of harder
work. But our tenderest sympathies and our best prayers
are with them on this sorrowful day.'
On Monday afternoon I went with Frank Tulloch to

SORROW AT ST. ANDREWS 239
the Cathedral ground, to select a spot for his father's
grave. He chose one which has become familiar to many,
on the lower terrace in the new ground. A great cross of
granite has been set over it. There was the brightest
sunshine as we stood at the place, and the sea below was
beautifully blue : ' the sea*he was so fond of,' his son said.
On Wednesday afternoon I went over to Tulloch's study,
a great handsome room : there* the coffin of light oak, with
not a vestige of unchristian black, was set in the corner
where he used to sit and write, where I remember the
bright face look up when I went in, never looking im
patient. It had just arrived from Torquay. It was
covered with beautiful flowers. His son William and I
sat beside it for two hours. One was not able to take in
that he was there. Then at 4 P.M. to my week-day
service : where prayers, hymns, lessons, and the little
meditation, all bore upon our loss. Thursday February 1 8
was the funeral day. My very dear friend Story came
that morning to stay : he was certainly Tulloch's chief
friend. And Mr. Mitford Mitchell, now one of Her
Majesty's Chaplains, and one of our very best clergy,
came from Aberdeen : a long journey. We were a sad
little party in my study that day. At 1.30 to Tulloch's
house : where, in the familiar library, only the children and
a few friends, among them the inestimable Baynes, and
Donald Macleod of Glasgow. I did the service according
to our simple order. It is a great blessing that at such a
time one is more or less stunned. For I note, in the
tear-stained record of that day, how, as we knelt at

240 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
prayer, I leant my stupefied head upon the coffin, ' where
Tulloch's dear old head was within.' Then to the parish
church, a few yards off. It was crowded. More than
2,000 were there, all in mourning. The church was black
as night. All kinds of Christian people were there :
Bishop Wordsworth to represent Scotch Episcopacy :
Father Angus to represent the ancient Church out of
' which we all came. And there were representatives from
each of the other three Scotch Universities. The coffin
was set near where Archbishop Sharpe's had been set, two
hundred years before. The service began with the proper
sentences. Then the ninetieth psalm was beautifully
chanted. Mr. Rodger of St. Leonard's Parish read
Job xiv. I read the grand lessons from 1 Thess. iv. and
1 Cor. xv. Then Professor Mitchell, the Moderator, read
suitable prayers. Next, ' When our heads are bowed with
woe': all objections to the great hymn had long since
been trampled in the dust. The Moderator said the
blessing. Then six students of St. Mary's College, in
their robes, took up what remained of their Head, and
carried the coffin out. I have seen many funeral services,.
north and south of the Tweed : Never one more touching.
Nor has any living person seen in St. Andrews so
striking a procession as passed along our fine South Street,
under the windows of the desolate home, eastward that
day. The quaint robes of students and Professors, — our
own and many from far away : and the boy who came at
thirteen to St. Andrews, and whose life had been bound to
St. Andrews ever since, was carried through characteristic

SORROW AT ST. ANDREWS 241
St. Andrews to his rest : not through modern streets the
like of which you may find anywhere. I do not know
what grand processions may have swept along that street
in ages gone. Perhaps when Robert the Bruce came from
Bannockbum to the dedication of the Cathedral, things
were statelier. But never was there deeper feeling nor
truer mourning, never since gray St. Andrews was young.
I see plainly, to-day, the gloomy street, the dark sky,
the vested procession. Neither rain nor snow fell as yet.
I hastened on by another way, and was at the new gate
in time. All the service as usual. Just as the words
came, Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His
great mercy to take unto Himself the soul of our dear Brother
here departed, the windows of heaven were opened, and a
tremendous blast of drenching sleet poured down ; which
went on and grew into a heavy snowstorm. So we left
him. But immediately one heard the great Dead March :
the Volunteers came, bearing one of their brethren : and
I read the service again. He was a skilful sculptor : and
all round his grave were standing crosses and headstones,
beyond numbering, the work of the cold hands. Next
day, another was buried near who had died far away in
Florida, and been brought across the Atlantic to rest under
the shadow of St. Regulus. The snow lay thick and
white as the grave procession passed along the nave of the
Cathedral, bearing the great American ' casket,' mainly
made of iron.
Story was to preach at Dundee on Sunday. But Tul
loch had begun his ministry there : and the people would
VOL. II. r

242 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
look for many words about him. On Saturday forenoon
we severally prepared what we were to say. Story's
account of his friend, very touching and beautiful, was
' hand-written.' The representative of our chief Scotch
newspapers came at ten o'clock, and I dictated to him :
he writing several copies at once. He gave me one : but
I learned how much more easily you read your own hand
writing than that of another, though far better written.
And that afternoon Story and I went to St. Mary's College,
and took three of the children to their father's resting-
place. Sunday February 21 was a dark day here. The great
congregation at the parish church looked a black mass,
save for the scarlet of the students' gowns, and for bits of
colour in the Professors' hoods. The church looked black.
Pulpit, altar-table, galleries, were draped with black. The
prayers were read by Dr. Anderson : the psalms and
hymns quietly signified what was in every one's heart.
The Moderator, Professor Mitchell, had not a trace of the
fiery orator of three months before. He was a stricken
man, mourning the loss of a friend of near half-a-century's
acquaintance. He was very quiet ; plainly holding him
self in hand for fear of breaking down. A great many
(the writer was one) were more or less stupefied. In the
afternoon Dr. Gray of Liberton preached : but I was not
there. An old friend of the Principal's. But I went to
evening service at St. Mary's. The church was densely
crowded, passages and all. The music was very touching.
But the tension of the long day was telling on most. The

SORROW AT ST. ANDREWS 243
congregation was affected to a degree which was painful
to witness. The student who read the Lessons came to a
dead stop as he reached the words, ' Knowest thou that the
Lord will take away thy master from thy head to-day ? ' l
And the preacher ' just got through.'
Tiring as the day had been, I could not rest. And at
9.35 I took to a little account of it: and got on feverishly.
At 1 1.35, in a dark damp nigh't, through dead-silent streets,
to the post-office. On Tuesday morning many could read
it if they so desired. And it became the short chapter to
which the reader has already been referred : A Dark
Sunday at St. Andrews.
Many desired to know when and where Tulloch
preached in this city for the last time. It was at St.
Mary's church on Sunday October 11, 1885 : at the morn
ing service. He never preached but once again. It was
that day four weeks, from Story's pulpit at Roseneath.
There his public ministry ended. It was fit, as these things
commonly are not. He had introduced Story to his flock,
twenty-five years before. And hard by that church sleep
the ashes of Robert Story of Roseneath and John Campbell
of Row, both saints, and one of them saint and martyr.
1 2 Kings ii. 3.

244

CHAPTER XXVII
A BLAZING SUMMER: DISTINGUISHED VISITORS
In the first days of March, 1886, a terrible snowstorm
visited a large part of Scotland. On Saturday February
27, through deep snow, over a country stretching away,
gleaming white, I went the long journey to Aberdeen. On
Sunday the snow lay deep in the streets, and was falling
heavily. But I noted there, as often elsewhere, that if
people desire to go to church, no weather will prevent them.
The service in the evening in the beautiful West Church of
St Nicholas, was for the University Missionary Society :
and I remember it well. On Monday the snow was still
falling heavily. I came away by the last train that got
through from Aberdeen for a time. The railways were
blocked. On Tuesday March 2, ' never a more awful
morning.' There had been high wind and heavy snow all
night : the windows were opaque with snow. I had a
funeral that afternoon : the snow was to one's knee. The
west gable of the Cathedral looked extraordinary. It was
perfectly white : the snow had been bitterly driven against
it, and had stuck. One of our lads, who had been ill, got
a fortnight's holiday : and after travelling from London, he
was snowed-up at Leuchars, six miles off. It was hard,

A BLAZING SUMMER : DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 245
having made out 450 miles. I sought to go to the rail
way, to inquire : but found the road six feet deep with
snow. That night passed over, with many thoughts of the
lad so near : just getting out of fever. Wednesday was
sunshiny, with blue sky : but the awful hurricane of yester
day made one feel how vain all human power is, even yet,
against the forces of nature. And in the afternoon the
youth walked.in, none the worse. With two others, he had
walked from Leuchars : through snow sometimes over their
heads. No letters nor newspapers reached this place for
three days.
On Saturday March 6 Dr. Richardson managed to get
to St. Andrews : and he gave a lecture in St. Salvator's
College Hall in praise of teetotalism. The lecture was
extremely good and persuasive. I fear I shall lose credit
for stability of purpose when I confess that I came away
quite resolved to be henceforth absolutely teetotal : but
that after a little space my resolution failed. Dr. Richard
son lectured ^at twelve. And that evening, in the same
place, Sheriff Campbell Smith of Dundee gave another
lecture. His subject was Culture. I never heard a
brighter or cleverer lecture. The Sheriff had been a student
of extraordinary mark at this University in his youth. His
brilliant reputation abides with us. And many think he
should have risen higher in the law than to a Sheriffship.
Another St. Andrews student, who has risen high, some
times tells me how he and the Sheriff attended a Sunday
evening class conducted by a Divinity Professor of extreme
amiability. The thing which chiefly remains in my

246 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
friend's memory is the Professor's astonishment at the
recondite stores of knowledge the undergraduates pos
sessed. ' Can you tell me, Mr. Green, where was our
Saviour born?' 'At Bethlehem,' was the answer. 'Thank
you very much, Mr. Green : exceedingly good. Now,
Mr. Whyte, can you tell me who was our Saviour's mother ? '
' The Virgin Mary.' Then in a rapture of approval and
wonder, the dear man would exclaim, ' Quite admirable,
Mr. Whyte. Admirable. Perfectly accurate. Nothing
could possibly be better. I am extremely obliged to you.'
Still, there were ruffles. One day, with a benignant
smile : ' Mr. Cooper : will you kindly tell me, Who made
you?' But Mr. Cooper said, shortly, ' I don't know.' The
sweet-natured Divine of course supposed that his question
had not been duly caught 'What I said, Mr. Cooper,
was, pardon me for repeating it : Who made you ? Who
made you, Mr. Cooper ? ' But the youthful Agnostic, in
unmistakable tones, replied, resolutely, ' I don't know. And
neither does anybody else.' There the story, as often
told to me, ends. It must have been a terrible occa
sion. A bit of criticism may be permitted, in which most
readers will agree. On the morning of March 12, the
record of the time bears : ' Read a most powerful and ex
traordinary story by R. L. Stevenson : Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde'. In the few days which followed, I read the story
seven times over, with as much care as when of old pre
paring for an examination : watching every clause of every
sentence, and its bearing. The story deserves to be

A BLAZING SUMMER : DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 247
studied in that way. And its moral is most awful : but
irresistibly true.
On March 20, a poor man who had died at seventy-six
was buried from the West Poor House. He had once been
coachman to a very big Duke, and had saved 1,000/. Yet
he came to this. At the funeral, all the inmates assembled.
Most of them could not come to church, through infirmity.
So, besides reading Holy Scripture and offering prayer as
usual, I suddenly thought to give them a little sermon.
They were pleased. And at the Cathedral, where friends
were few, I helped to lay the poor old fellow's head in the
dust The story was a touching one of homely tragedy.
I really cannot help relating an incident which occurred
on a Sunday in April in this year. I will take my chance
of being accused of self-conceit : wrongly, I think. I was
preaching at the afternoon service in Glasgow Cathedral.
After service, I was in the Chapter-house, which serves as
vestry there, when two gentlemen entered. One began by
saying that he came from a great town in England, where
he employed seven hundred men : and then asked ' Are
you Dr. Boyd ? ' He went on to say that he and his
friend had come to church by chance, to see the Cathedral :
they did not know me in the least, never thought I was to
preach, did not even know I was a minister of the Kirk.
But he added that I had not said three sentences when
he turned to his friend and said, ' I could take my affi
davit that is A. K. H. B.' He asked nobody till he
asked myself whether his surmise was true. He said
a great deal more, not to be recorded here : but all very

248 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
encouraging to one who values a little cheer more than
most. Then we parted, kindly : never to meet again.
Several stood by, and listened : but took no notice of
what had occurred. Nor did I. But I wrote it all
down, very accurately.
On April 30, I read the burial service over good old
Mr. MacBean, long University Librarian. He went at 92,
after a blameless life. He was a licenciate of the Kirk,
but never got a living. But he used to tell friends, that he
' had the prospect of a church.' His windows looked upon
the parish-church here. He saw Tulloch come to St.
Andrews as a boy, and saw him go. He was thirty years
Tulloch's senior. He was an extremely kind and interest
ing old man. And such as have got on in their profession
owe special deference to such as have not : deserving just as
well. I used to go and see him ; and to hear strange
stories of the old days here.
On May-day, a bright cold day, with snow on the
Grampians, I was present at one of the earliest of those
Choir Festivals which have become common here now. It
was at Perth, in the East Church : once very beautiful, and
to be made so again. Like our own church here, it has
echoed to the voice of John Knox. There were 360 voices
in the choir : there is a fine organ : and the music was
really very excellent. Sixteen clergy walked into church
in their robes : but the decorous procession was spoiled by
the too-great success of the function. For even the
passages were densely crammed ; and we had to struggle
through as we might Mr. Carmichael, the incumbent,

A BLAZING SUMMER : DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 249
read the prayers. We had Dr. Dykes' fine Te Deum ; for
anthem, Arise, shine : and the service ended with the ever-
popular ' Onward, Christian Soldiers.' So successful was
that first gathering of the choirs of the surrounding
parishes, that it has been kept up yearly. The Pall-Mall
Gazette of Monday, and many other papers, related an
incident which really occurred. Of course, the sermon was
on Church Music. And the newspapers stated that just as
I said that music prepared the soul for the receiving of
God's Spirit, and of uplifting spiritual influences, in that
moment, by special evil luck, the Salvation Army Brass
Band in awful blast marched past the church, making a
truly-horrible uproar. I had to stop : and there was a
general titter among the congregation. It was vain to
ignore what had happened : so I resumed (when possible)
by saying that that was not the sort of music I meant.
Then we resumed the graver thread of discourse. But the
papers stated that 'one of the most affecting passages of
the sermon was almost drowned.'
At this time I learnt something, never forgotten.
Principal Tulloch had a good library. Of course, he had
the command of the grand library of the University, and
did not need to buy much. But though the books looked
very well, the College Librarian said that they would not
pay the cost of carrying them to Edinburgh for a sale.
Of course he knew : but I should have thought many
would desire to possess a volume of Tulloch's. On Satur
day May 8 I sat a while with William in his father's study.
He said that, by way of trial, he had sent eighty of the

250 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
best volumes, in perfect condition, to a second-hand book
seller he knew well : and received for them fifty shillings.
From that day I began to look over my books : and when
I found a volume which no mortal had looked at for
twenty years, and which would sell for nothing, to burn it.
I have got rid of some hundreds in that way : a great
relief. For my shelves cannot be multiplied. The way to
burn a book is to have a very hot clear fire, and to drop it
in solid, like a brick. Then it disappears, leaving no
traces. If you open books to make them burn, your fire
will soon be choked with the unmanageable ashes of
paper. Only let me caution the reader, that to burn books
is as going about pruning with a keen knife in one's hand
used to be when I was a youth writing my first Recreations,
a thing to be held in check. It takes possession of you :
and you come to burn for burning's sake. It is a tempta
tion. And some will disapprove. I once read in a
magazine a fierce attack upon myself for burning books.
It was said that one might as well burn an old grand
mother, or the like. I did not see the analogy. The cases
are wholly unlike. And the brilliant writer and valued
friend who admonished me, might well have discerned
this. So, even yet, I burn three or four volumes, time by
time, when their room is wanted for new ones : always
remembering how one used to snip off shoots which need
not have gone, for the pleasure of snipping Remembering,
too, how evil habits grow : as of De Quincey's youth who,
having thoughtlessly committed a few murders, went on
growing worse till he came to be habitually late for dinner.

A BLAZING SUMMER: DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 251
That same May 8, the wooden centering was taken
away from a bridge which spans the new line of railway
hard by this house. We had watched, with the peculiar
interest of a little place, the cutting out of the deep
passage through which the line runs, making southward
towards Boarhills and Anstruther ; and the spanning It with
that arch. At any hour of the day you would find a good
many human beings standing at their ease, and looking
down upon the bridge, slowly rising. ' Most interesting '
was the phrase commonly exchanged. When the centering
went, and the bridge stood firm, there was general joy :
and one could not but mark the moral help and consolation
which came of the building of this inconspicuous viaduct,
and that to many souls. Being possessed by the subject,
on the afternoon of the Saturday which came next, I told
the story on five large pages, rapidly written : and sent it
away. On Monday morning readers innumerable had it
in large type, in what we think quite the cleverest of all
newspapers. And a letter came from the Editor of a
pathetic character. ' Many thanks for your delightful
paper. Your quiet life at St. Andrews makes a poor
harassed fellow like me think of the happiness of the
Blessed.' Such are the ideas of a clever man in a great
city. But we have our worries too ; and are not so well
strung-up to bear them.1 Possibly that Editor regretted
having been so complimentary. For that Monday May 17
I departed on my yearly visit to Selsdon Park ; and
thence poured upon him four other papers, celebrating the
1 Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy : p. 64. How We Built the Bridge.

252 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
charm of things there. He printed them all, with much
good nature. I left Edinburgh on Monday evening, and
was at the Episcopal dwelling on Tuesday morning :
through great London to London Bridge station, and East
Croydon in eleven hours from Princes Street. Here, for
the first time, I found a pleasant and much-travelled
countryman, associated with all following visits to Selsdon
Park : Mr. Baillie, one of the Dochfour family. He has
travelled to many distant places with the Bishop : Mexico,
the Rocky Mountains, Vancouver, Alaska (Campbell's
Oonalaska's shore) : and being the best of amateur painters,
has preserved charming remembrances of all these.
Finally, when I sadly bade Selsdon farewell, in the
summer of 1890, for the last time, the ever-thoughtful
Bishop sent me five beautiful views of it by the same deft
hand. I have not a word to say against Farnham Castle,
which is the home now. But I shrink, awfully, from
saying good-bye either to places or people.
Never was lovelier Summer weather than in those
latter days of May, 1886. Little thinking what I should
yet come to, my first thoughts went forth in a chapter
called Well out of It. More heartily still, in that lovely
and peaceful retreat, Of a Blossoming Tree? But my
hearty bits of description were ignored by the newspapers
generally : and with one consent they reprinted a true
story. There was, long ago, a Divinity Hall, presided
over by a most amiable and dignified Professor. On
certain days, the senior students in rotation opened
1 Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy: p. 172, and p. 176.

A BLAZING SUMMER: DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 253
the proceedings of the day with prayer. One morning,
a rough youth from a remote region performed this duty ;
and it was a memorable occasion. Commonly, the suppli
cations were so expressed as to imply something much to
the advantage of the good Professor ; but not so now.
None who were present can forget how the venerable man
turned and gazed on the untutored lad who prayed for
him as follows : •
' Lord, have mercy on our Professor, for he is weak and t
ignorant. Strengthen his feeble hands, confirm his totter- ^ '
ing knees, and grant that he may go out and in before us
like the he-goat before the flock.'
Yes : this appeared to be the really popular part of a
little essay which contained the most sympathetic descrip
tion of a most beautiful apple-tree in the high glory of its
blossoming. Such is one of the many mortifications that
humble writers know. But I must not permit a thought
of Selsdon in those glowing days : I should not soon be
done. Nor of the queer little city courts in London which
I often pervade, many of them each containing an ugly
though costly church of Wren's, and various little green
trees. Rather let me recall the day on which I went up
to town, and had a long quiet talk with Mr. Froude,
walking round and round the green expanse on which his
library windows look : and finally, away with that charming
writer (charming whether you agree with him or not) to
call on the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, who this
early summer was staying in London, and was made a
lion of. When we issued from Onslow Gardens, I proposed

254 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
a Hansom to Dover Street, where Dr. Holmes dwelt. But
Mr. Froude said Carlyle preferred an omnibus : so we
went in one. As we rolled on our way, a Hansom fol
lowed, containing one individual. Froude said, very
solemnly : ' Look at that man. Now is your chance. That
is the greatest man in London.' After a pause, the his
torian added the qualifying words, — ' in his own opinion.'
The Autocrat was not at home. And though next day
brought a kind letter of regret, and an invitation to a great
At Home, I could not meet him now. But Froude and I
walked about a while, and I heard many stories of Carlyle,
of Helps, of Archbishop Trench, which have not appeared
in print, and will not for many days, if ever.
On Wednesday June 2, I went to Cambridge, going
from Liverpool Street by the Great Eastern Railway, quite
new to me. There I had two most interesting days with
my boy who was an undergraduate of Trinity Hall. I
was greatly delighted with Mr. Latham, now the Head of
that College : which indeed he mainly made what it now
is. I dined with him in hall one day, and then heard
much interesting talk in the combination-room : ending
with a stroll with him in the fading light. Even in that
brief experience, I had a glimpse of the wonderful skill
with which he managed young men. The rein appeared
extremely slack. But, when necessary, it tightened into
steel. This was very seldom indeed. I should like to
expatiate on Cambridge. But it has been done already.1
And I hasten to that day in June, on which, having re-
1 Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy : p. 157. By the Cam.

A BLAZING SUMMER : DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 255
turned home, I had a glimpse of the keen intuition with
which some can see into one's inmost nature. On Tuesday
June 8, a lengthy anonymous letter came from Edinburgh,
severely condemning me for an uncharitable hatred of
Anglicanism, and of Anglicans. I had not myself fathomed
my evil estate, till I read the searching words, ' You are
always abusing the Church of England ; and you plainly
think Presbytery a synonym for Perfection.' There was
a correspondent who could read the heart.
I was making for Wolverhampton on that June 29
whereon I made personal acquaintance with the Autocrat
at last Mr. Prosser, Vicar of St. Luke's, Bilston, was an
old Fife friend, and I went to his kind dwelling. Next
day, I found what a grand building is St. Peter's church.
It is of quite cathedral dignity. In the evening, choral
service at St. Luke's, and an excellent little sermon from
the Vicar. Thursday, July 1, was a magnificent Summer
day. A very early start ; and with Mr. Prosser by rail to
Lichfield. To the Palace, to stay with Bishop Maclagan,
for the great Choral Festival. Morning service in the
Cathedral was at 10.45. It was the grandest function I
ever saw. There were 1,400 surpliced singers ; and all
kinds of musical instruments. The Cathedral was packed,
tightly, from end to end. Two hundred and eighty clergy
in their robes. There, his pastoral staff borne before him,
fair to see in his Convocation-robes of red, the good Bishop.
Surely it was his predecessor, last but one, who when
offered a crozier said he would rather have an umbrella.
But things change. In early days I looked with awe on

256 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
the grand old Bishop Lonsdale, who was my earliest Pro
fessor of Divinity. Now, I had been sitting in friendly
talk with the existing Bishop in his library, till it was time
that he should be arrayed : and, forasmuch as his appari
tor was showing people to their places in the Cathedral, I
helped the Prelate into his handsome vestments. I wish
he had preached : but he only read the New Testament
lesson. We had a sensible sermon from the Dean of York,
Dr. Purey-Cust He is not a great preacher. And that
sermon would have been better, had he taken more pains.
It got careless in style towards the end. And oh, that
horrible dropping of the final g's ! But here, too, I come
upon a beaten track : and turn away from it.1
The Palace is a pleasant old house, with a charming
garden. It is in the Close, on the north side. But under
that sky, and that sun, the place appeared a miracle of
beauty, the beauty of the quiet English landscape. And
the church itself, though small, is perfection of its kind.
There was a great party at luncheon : 87 guests. Mrs.
Maclagan directed me to make myself generally agreeable.
I endeavoured so to do. It is strange how, in a strange
place, one meets people met elsewhere. One man was
there whom I had seen, preaching at Crathie twenty years
before : and again had met in the ruins of Elgin Cathedral,
the only time I was ever there. At 4.30 Evensong. The
music now was more elaborate than in the morning, as
there had been opportunity for a rehearsal with all singers
and instruments present. It was very splendid. But
1 Our Homely Comedy; and Tragedy : p. 193. A Function at Lichfield.

A BLAZING SUMMER: DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 257
without a sermon, the service lasted full two hours ; and
was on all hands pronounced too long. And how dead-
weary many of the little choristers were, even before they
began their long drives homeward.
There is a really beautiful chapel in the Palace : and
the Bishop played the organ himself. All Maclagans are
musical in a high degree. And William Maclagan's sing
ing, in distant years, is well remembered in Edinburgh to
this day. He was a young soldier then.
Next day, Friday July 2, was the loveliest of summer
days. There was a curious old-world service at 10.30.
I went with the Bishop to the west door of the Cathedral,
where he was received by the Choir and Clergy ; and the
procession went slowly towards the Altar, singing the Te
Deum. Then the Holy Communion. The Chapter, num
bering about twenty, lunched : then I wandered about the
city, once seen long before. But a most interesting
engagement remained. With the Bishop in an open
phaeton, he driving, to the Trent Valley station, out of
the city : By rail a few miles : then to a quaint old house,
with a great history : then to a pretty little church, where
was a Confirmation of thirty-one plain young folk. The
record of the time, not written to be seen of any, says, ' I
must record that it was done most touchingly and beauti
fully.' I have seen many Confirmations : all touching and
interesting. Quite the worst, was Archbishop Tait's first
Confirmation in Canterbury Cathedral. His matter and
manner were singularly unsympathetic : even the grim
look with which that admirable man regarded the crowd of
VOL. II. S

258 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
young folk was not conciliatory. The schoolmaster man
ner was there. ' Stand up, and open your prayer-books at
the Confirmation Service ' : 'Sit down, and shut your
prayer-books, and attend to me.' Of Bishop Maclagan I
can say truly, that not merely was the service done just as
well as ever I witnessed it, but that I do not think, for
adaptation, interest, kind sympathy, and dynamic force in
the right direction, his address could by possibility have
been better. The parish clergyman was Bishop Staley,
formerly of Honolulu ; whose three daughters had all been
educated at our Girls' School in St. Andrews. We got
back for a very late dinner : at which were only the Bishop
and Mrs. Maclagan, and myself. Kinder folk are not in
this world than my host and his wife. I was able to tell
the Bishop that my last evening service at home had begun
with the pathetic tune Nebraska, composed by his son
Cyril, whose work is far away in the backwoods. It is set
to Mrs. Alexander's beautiful hymn, Jesus calls us : which
every one knows : and which is specially popular in this
City. For the second verse begins, As, of old, Saint Andrew
heard it. More interesting still, I was able to show him,
in the Scottish Hymnal, Dr. Gauntlett's striking music to
his own fine hymn, Lord, when Thy kingdom comes, remember
me. He had heard of the tune, but never seen it : and he
and Mrs. Maclagan sang it over and acknowledged its
effect. It needs, however, to be sung by a trained choir.
And the intervals in the third line are so peculiar, though
wonderful for adaptation to the sense, that unless the line
be sung confidently by singers manifestly equal to it, the

A BLAZING SUMMER: DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 259
congregation will think the choir has gone wrong. But I,
for one, could not bear to listen to that hymn sung to other
music. All this time, the heat and glare were excessive. The
thermometer on Sunday July 4 was at 80 in the shade.
I had gone from Lichfield on the Saturday to London :
and on Sunday was morning and evening at St. Columba's
in Pont Street, a handsome church which has come in place
of that where Dr. Cumming ministered for forty years.
On Monday to Windsor, to Mrs. Oliphant There till Wed
nesday evening, when back to St. Andrews. On Tuesday
evening the Dean, now Bishop Davidson of Rochester, and
his wife, daughter of Archbishop Tait, and extremely like
him, dined. A Scot notes such things. Dean Davidson
was the grandson of a minister of the Kirk : and his wife
the granddaughter of an Elder. Mrs. Oliphant had under
taken to write Tulloch's Life : and each of my two forenoons
at Windsor I was giving her all the information I could.
Everyone knows how well she wrote the Life : but not all
can discern how thorough and accurate the work is. Of
course, in no Life, till a century after, can the whole truth
be told. An aged lady, who knew Tulloch very well in
the years at Dundee and Kettins, said to me, with much
intensity, ' John Tulloch was a far braver man than you
would think from Mrs. Oliphant's book.' For several
hours, on each of those days under her roof, the great
authoress subjected me to a kindly but keen examination.
No lawyer could have done it better. What surprised me
was that she made not a single note. At length I ventured

260 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
to suggest that it might be well to put down these details on
paper, lest they should be forgot. For I knew how many
separate threads of work she was carrying on together,
each requiring to be kept in mind. But I was told there
was no need, and so it proved. The marvellous accuracy
of Mrs. Oliphant is as remarkable as her creative and
poetic faculty. One very outstanding memory of that time
is of a visit to the delightful old-fashioned dwelling of
Mr. and Mrs. Tarver in Eton College. Mrs. Tarver is
Principal Tulloch's eldest daughter : the first I married.
Charming beyond words to an untravelled Scot, born with
an inexplicable but intense love of Gothic, is Eton : is
everything about it. An old-world staircase in the Tarver
mansion would be a great feature in the writer's life, had
he been allowed to possess anything like it. Nothing in
that blazing day is more vivid in memory than a story,
fully vouched, of a supernatural communication to one at a
distance of an event which had not yet occurred. And as
I walked away, in such sunshine as comes not in these days,
across the bridge which spans the Thames, that story took
possession of me in a wonderful manner. It frightened
me : and blotted the sunshiny surroundings out. All that
day, I could not in any way get rid of the jarring and
terrible impression. But I pass from it to what is
pleasanter : I would give something to be able to blot it
wholly out of recollection : but that cannot be. I have
already said that Mr. Tarver, as an actor, is quite marvel
lous. And never did amateur or professional player receive
more graceful or more characteristic compliment than did

A BLAZING SUMMER: DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 261
he, after appearing in a piece where the good and great
Tom Morris was of the audience. ' Ah, Mr. Tarver, you
could give me more strokes at acting, than I could give you
at golf It was exquisitely said. And only a St. Andrews
man quite understands how much it means.
Fain would I linger on that August in Strathtay : on
the height above the spot where Tay and Tummel meet.
How the trees by the wayside 'were festooned with honey
suckle : and what a sight it was to see the Limited Mail,
coming from Inverness, pass Ballinluig station at seventy
miles an hour, having come through the Pass of Killie-
crankie ! Here I met, after many days, Bishop Ryle of
Liverpool : who used to spend his vacations near. I had
heard him preach, ere I left my country parish for Edin
burgh, in a barn hard by : and had been profoundly im
pressed both by his eloquence and his ability. Coming
forth from hearing divers of our big preachers one says
' That was very eloquent and striking,' or the like words of
simple appreciation. But after listening to Ryle, one felt
that criticism would have been profanation. Get away by
yourself and solemnly think how it is indeed with you.
The Bishop and Stanley were the same age : but Stanley
had faded out of life, and the old cavalry-officer, upright as
an arrow, and a Hercules to look at, was here to live and
work. Indeed, looking at his manly limbs one thought of
Stanley's saying, as he and another walked in to dinner
behind Archbishop Thomson of York. ' What calves he
has ! ' said the friend. But Stanley burst forth, ' Calves,
do you call them ? They are bulls of Bashan ! ' Bishop

262 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Ryle preached regularly in the parish church of Moulin :
the place is better known to the world as Pitlochry. But
like other great preachers, he cared not much to hear.
One day this year, it was August 29, I preached in that
church. The Bishop walked by it on a Sabbath day's
saunter as worship was going on. But he entered not in.
Just the day before, a clever paper had appeared in The
Scotsman, called An Ecclesiastical Dream. It was written
by a very bright young country parson, one of the best we
have trained here, who had to go too soon for the Kirk.
Should that dream ever come true, the drawing power of
certain preachers, now somewhat lessened by the sobering
years, will be sensibly increased : and Bishop Ryle would not
pass the door of the church where one might be ministering.
A resolution was passed in the General Assembly, restoring
Episcopal government in the Church of Scotland.
' It appeared to me in my dream that the motion was
put to the House, and carried by a large majority amid
cheers and waving of handkerchiefs from the side galleries.
And as the business was transacted with an unreal but
enviable celerity, I perceived that certain gentlemen were
thereupon elected and declared to be Bishops, among whom
were the following : — Dr. A. B. C. D., author of The Re
freshments of a Country Person, was elected Bishop of St.
Regulus and Primate of All Scotland : Dr. Robert History,
Bishop of Argyle : the Very Rev. Dr. Giles, Dean of the
Order of the Dandelion, Bishop of Mid-Lothian : and among
other names I gathered in my dream (or elsewhere) that
the Bishop of Inverness was the Rev. Dr. McClaw, minister

A BLAZING SUMMER: DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 263
of the United Parishes of Benscart and Inveryeukie.
These had all, I noticed, voted for the motion : and not one
of them was heard to say Nolo Episcopari?
No difficulty would be experienced, in Scotland, in
identifying the men thus mysteriously indicated. The
question of their fitness for the Episcopal office is a deeper
one. And it will be remembered how when a Scottish
barrister said to a Judge, discussing a vacancy on the Bench,
' I think they might find worse than myself,' his lordship's
answer was a monosyllable : ' Whaur ? '
Talking one day to the Bishop at Ballinluig station,
a good-looking bucolic person came up and said ' You
have forgotten me, but I remember you well : I was once
a student at St. Andrews.' Being engaged with a bigger
person, I said, ' Well, and what was your name ? ' The
answer was, ' I was called Glenorchy there.' I could but
exclaim, ' Do you mean to say you are the Marquis of
Breadalbane ? ' But I had recognised the pleasant face.
Only a Scot understands how stupid it was, in that region,
to fail to recognise that very big man. For the more than
magnificent Taymouth was but a few miles off, surely as
princely a dwelling as is in all the land : and Breadalbane
can do what no other can in Britain, go a hundred miles in
a straight line on his own land. We are not snobs in
Scotland : but we respect a great territorial prince, of
ancient race : specially when he is (like that Marquis) the
most unaffected of men, and the most diligent in doing the
duty of his station. And he is well seconded. It was a
grand testimony, borne by an old man at Kenmore,

264 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
' Wherever the Marchioness can help any poor body, she's
There \ ' The year before, we had been invited to a great
entertainment at Taymouth, illustrated by the presence of
divers royalties: whom to behold is to some as a beatific
vision. But we could not go. In any case we did not.
St. Andrews had distinguished visitors this season. The
Princesses Victoria and Louise, grand-daughters of the
Queen, attended by Mrs. Stopford, now Countess of Arran,
and a German Baroness specially bright and pleasant, staid
in a quiet hotel in Queen Street for a month. We were
coming home from Strathtay on Thursday September 2,
when a letter came from the lady-in-waiting that the
Princesses were coming to the parish church on Sunday
morning, and wished to have a seat provided. The seat
used by the magistrates is in fact the Royal pew : and of
course it was gladly given. On the Friday I called and
saw the young ladies : of course they were most frank and
pleasant : and certainly bright and clever beyond what is
usual. It was wonderful how quickly they learned things.
The Princess Victoria asked if I had not two churches,
one called St. Mary's where there was a nice service"; and
said they wished to come there on Sunday evening too.
On Saturday afternoon I went for the little party, and took
them all over the parish church, the University library, and
the Cathedral. Of course they were familiar with incom
parably finer things : but they seemed interested and
pleased. It is singular how the traditional features of
Prince Charly of the Forty-five are perpetuated in that
family. One would say the Stuart blood had been diluted

A BLAZING SUMMER : DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 265
extremely. But it tells, still. And the faculty of recognis
ing faces has grown quite extraordinary. Many months
after this, my Cambridge son was on the platform of the
station there, when a train came in bringing a large party
from Sandringham. The young ladies had spoken to him
here. Instantly, they spotted him in the crowd, and started
up and bowed pleasantly. It is easy for people so placed
to make themselves popular.* And, after all, they are
generally so. In my small experience, with good reason.
On Sunday morning, September 5, a very gloomy
morning, the parish church was full, as usual at that season.
And there, sure enough, in their proper place, facing the
pulpit, the two Princesses and the other ladies. The eldest
sat in the Provost's chair. The music was good, and the
service better than immemorial. I am glad to say that
though many hundreds of the congregation could have
looked straight at our visitors, not a soul did so. This was
as it ought to be. I have seen it very different (long ago)
somewhere else. There was however a crowd to see the
strangers depart : but a passage was formed, and they went
in peace. The philosophical Victoria, the elder of the two,
said to me, very wisely, ' I'm sure if it is any pleasure to
people to look at us, they are welcome.' She recorded that
somewhere else, she had to dig her elbows into the people,
to get through. Not so here. I can testify that after a
few days walking about the streets with those pleasant
young persons, no mortal noticed them. But there was a
general kindly feeling. ' Extremely nice girls,' was the
general voice. There were white mist and drenching rain

266 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
all the rest of the day : and though the resolute Baroness
came through it all to St. Mary's, a letter came to say the
others durst not venture out. St. Mary's was packed : no
doubt in some idea that the visitors would be there. It had
to be another day. And while here, they went to the parish
church and the Episcopal on alternate Sundays. I know
which of the two they liked best, so far as the service was
concerned. But I am not going to say. Only that in Ritual,
it is easier to go up than to come down. And our ways, at
the parish church, seemed bare. St. Mary's was approved.
And, as a general rule, our preaching is better than that
south of the Tweed. It ought to be. For it costs a great
deal more trouble. Our best preachers, in late years, con
tinually press it upon the people, that the church is the house
of prayer. Then they give to their sermon at least twenty
times as much pains. And when people settle themselves,
a first-rate preacher having given out his text, it is too
plain what they came to church for. Well, when the
beloved Liddon preached in St. Paul's, what brought the
thousands there ? And did not Liddon do all he knew to
bring them ? We have among us a good many preachers
who make sure, every Sunday, and from first word of
sermon to last, of the hush in which a pin may be heard
fall. No doubt, there is a great nervous strain. It is one
thing to take a grip of a large congregation and pull it
along with you : and quite another thing to read in the
people's hearing something which they may listen to or
not as they please. Further, even clerics who cannot
preach gain from the existence of those who can. For a

A BLAZING SUMMER : DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 267
congregation, trained to listen with that intentness, will
listen (for a few minutes at least) to almost anybody.
It was interesting, on Monday, to take to the house
where Queen Mary used to live much, long ago, two of her
direct descendants. They are of the thirteenth generation.
And in these days of usefulness being held in honour, it
was pleasant to see a very pretty Princess wheeling a
perambulator along South Street to the spot : and to hear
her inquire if I could recommend her as a nursery-maid.
She failed, however, quite to appreciate her famous
ancestress : insisting that poor Queen Mary squinted.
That same day I heard from Story that Caird had resigned
his chaplaincy, and that Story was to be appointed instead.
I hastened to congratulate Story, heartily. Everybody
approved his receiving the little decoration. And no
mortal suggested that the giving of it was what schoolboys
call ' a Charity.' This has sometimes been seen. It might
be invidious to point out the cases. But it would be
extremely easy.
On Tuesday September 7, several St. Andrews people
went out to dine at Mount Melville, to meet Lord
Moncrieff. This eminent Judge was our second Chief
Justice : known in the North as Lord Justice-Clerk. Such
titles are hard of apprehension to the uninitiated. A
previous holder of the office, one day out shooting, strayed
into a neighbour's land. A gamekeeper speedily discerned
him, and with little respect challenged him. That eminent
man, startled, exclaimed, ' Do you know who I am ? I am
the Lord Justice-Clerk ! ' But the undaunted gamekeeper

268 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
replied, ' I don't care a straw whose clerk you are : clear
out of this ground.' Lord Moncrieff had long been Lord-
Advocate : and had passed several measures through Parlia
ment which were not popular in the Kirk. One was the
abolition of University Tests. Till his time, all Professors
in Scottish Universities had to belong to the Church of
Scotland : or, more accurately, to pretend that they did.
Now, only the Professors of Divinity need to be churchmen.
In distant ages, when Lord Advocate, that clever man said
to me that Dr. X. would like to burn him for what he had
done : naming an irreconcilable Church Tory. But it was
suggested that even better than to burn the Lord Advocate,
Dr. X. would like that the Lord Advocate should burn him.
All present felt the truth. For the saintly man would be
Inquisitor, or Martyr : by preference, Martyr. After Lord
Moncrieff had attained the Bench, of all strange things to
do he wrote a novel. It appeared in Eraser's Magazine,
under the rule of Mr. Froude. I read it with great enjoy
ment, and thought it extremely good. Its title was, A
Visit to my Discontented Cousin. Probably, there was too
manifest a bringing in of Scottish Bar stories. But the
stories were good, and well told. In due time the novel was
published : and it was reviewed with extreme asperity in a
very brilliant organ indeed. Little did the reviewer know
from what dignified pen the work proceeded : for his con
tention was that it was a not unsuccessful imitation of the
humble writer of this page. I am perfectly sure it was not
an imitation of anybody : it was Lord Moncrieff s natural
talk ; and bright talk too. Of course, like Lord Brougham's

A BLAZING SUMMER; DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 269
novel, it was published without an author's name. After
dinner, that day at Mount Melville, I ventured to allude to
the book : saying that perhaps I ought not. But the Chief
Justice, in the most good-natured way, acknowledged the
authorship : and now it appeared that of a considerable
party of men, all of whom had known Lord Moncrieff
for many years, I alone had ever heard of the work in
question. ' Do you mean to say,' said our host, not without
severity, 'that the Justice-Clerk has written a novel?'
And general consternation spread round that hospitable
board at the answer, ' Yes, he did : and a very good novel :
and what for no ? '
I am not going to relate the story of our eminent
visitors and their stay here. But one incident stands out
amid many. The new line of railway which runs south
ward from this city was so far advanced that an engine
could run, slowly, and in places over temporary and very
uneven rails, to Boarhills : four miles and a half by road,
seven by railway. It was arranged that the little party
from Queen Street should be the first passengers. The
line, in fact, was not opened for several months. On the
afternoon of Saturday September 18, cold and bright, I
went as usual for the young ladies and their friends. On
the way, they went into St. Mary's to see it : and they
approved. Then to the railway. There was no platform
whatever, but they went up actively into the carriage
prepared. The carriage was a truck, which had been
nicely fitted up with crimson and green damask, and
provided with seats. There was a ramshackle little engine.

270 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
A small crowd had collected to witness the start. The
story of that journey has been told.1 Under The Bridge :
under Argyle : away up a steep and winding track to
Prior Muir : and Boarhills was reached safely. Then
slowly and cautiously back, the engine now pushing the
truck before it. Many good people along the line were
looking out, most in their Sunday dress, and they raised a
little cheer. I ventured to suggest to the young ladies
that some recognition on their part of this kind welcome
would be valued : and it was pleasant to see them, with
great deliberation and solemnity, bow in a fashion closely
resembling the dignified Original they had in mind. Mon
day morning disseminated widely the history of that run :
but it was not said who were the passengers. With great
approval they read the statement, that ' the party was
small, but respectable and even intelligent.'
On Sunday morning, again in their places in the parish
church. And in the evening at St. Mary's. There was a
crowd : but the people stood on either side as they were
conducted to their place : and at the end of the service
they tripped out, alertly, before any one else moved. They
expressed next day great approval of the music, which
had been at its very best. And the elder Princess
remarked how beautifully my son had read the Lessons.
It was not he : but a Cambridge friend, who attained the
honour of rowing when Cambridge beat Oxford, and who
is now doing well at the English Bar. For the sake of
1 Our Homely Comedy ; and Tragedy : p. 81. The First Run upon That
Railway.

A BLAZING SUMMER : DISTINGUISHED VISITORS 271
such readers as may like to compare the ways of England
and Scotland, let it be recorded that the service began
with ' Brightly gleams our banner.' The Psalms (for that
evening) were 98, 99, 100. The Magnificat and Nunc
Dimittis were Bunnett's. The other hymns were Dr.
Neale's 'Those eternal bowers,' and Mr. Baring Gould's
' Onward, Christian Soldiers.'
On Tuesday November 2, 1886, Principal Donaldson,
the new Head of St. Salvator's College, gave his first
address at the opening of the University. The scarlet-
robed crowd was there, in that decent oaken hall ; and
they poured forth songs, according to a pleasing custom.
A ringing cheer greeted the train of Professors, headed by
the new Principal. And Dr. Donaldson read just as
manly, downright, and interesting an Introductory Dis
course as mortal could desire : full of thought, of life, of
knowledge, of sagacity : in perfect adaptation to the
assembly, young and old ; and listened to with a silent
attention, varied with the hearty cheer, which would be a
sufficient reward to the most charming orator. So a rule
began, which has been wholly a success : and we all felt
that an energetic influence had come into the little com
munity, which has been proved, in the years since then, to
be ever helpful, kind, and wise. It has fallen to me to
be thrown much into contact with the new Principal :
and I have found him ever clear and alert in business,
perfectly firm to rule, and entirely amiable and sweet-
natured. Principal Donaldson was formerly Head-Master of the

272 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
High School of Edinburgh, gloriously housed (in the
judgment of lovers of classical architecture) on the Calton
Hill. Then he was Professor of Latin at Aberdeen ; and
thence came to us. We were assured, from several quarters,
that Revolution would follow in his train : but that has not
yet occurred. And it was stated, strongly, that he is on
terms of special friendship with Lord Rosebery : of whose
extreme brightness and cleverness some stand in fear.
And indeed, though Lord Rosebery is just as wise as
a very brilliant man can be, even his warmest friend could
not claim for him, with any success, credit for safe
stupidity.

273

CHAPTER XXVIII
LOCAL CONQERNS
We have in St. Andrews an interesting little institution
called the Cottage Hospital. It would not have been here,
but for the zeal of good Principal Shairp and his wife.
And when first started, as a very little place, it bore to be
maintained in memory of Lady William Douglas, Mrs.
Shairp's mother. I never saw that admirable woman ; but
-I remember her name with vividness. For there was a
certain day whereon I was dining at a Deanery whose
locality shall not be indicated. Among the guests was
the Canon in residence : a charming cleric. He learnt
that I came from St. Andrews, but had not grasped what
my position was in that city. And as the good Dean was
distinguished for the height of his views, a minister of the
Kirk was hardly to be looked for at his board. By-and-
by, in the drawing-room, the Canon drew me aside, and
asked me if I knew his cousin, the Principal's wife. Then
he went on : ' Her mother, Lady William, was a really
excellent woman : but, between ourselves ' (and here he
lowered his voice to an awe-stricken whisper, as of one about
to say what was not decorous to be said) — 'between
ourselves, she was very little better than a Presbyterian ! '
VOL. II. T

274 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
I replied, in a similar tone, that I feared it was too true :
that, in fact, it was even worse than that : if by a
Presbyterian was meant a member of the National Church :
that she had gone farther, and belonged to a little body
called the Free Kirk. But as I said this, with great
solemnity, I beheld an extremely bright young woman, a
guest in the house, looking on with much amusement : and
as I soon took my leave, I knew the good Canon would
speedily know to what unsympathetic ears he had made
his moan.
I relate the incident precisely as it occurred. And
what I said of the ecclesiastical position of the admirable
lady in question was said in entire good faith. But I
have recently been assured that she, in fact, never joined
the Free Kirk, though she may have sometimes wor
shipped in it ; that she and her husband were members
of the Episcopal Church, and that their children were
brought up in that Communion. A remark concerning
the late Bishop of Bombay ' is therefore erroneous. He
was not brought up in the Free Kirk : but in a family of
Episcopal profession whose sympathies were such as to
draw the remark I have quoted from that unnamed Canon.
The result upon some children would be substantially the
same : and it would be to drive them in an opposite
direction. I have been asked by the Bishop's widow to
correct this blunder ; and I correct it accordingly : though
I do not think either the Bishop, or any of his race, had
any reason to be ashamed of the religious proclivities of
1 Ante : Vol. i. p. 105.

LOCAL CONCERNS 275
those who went before him. They were truly good
people. When I came to St. Andrews, Professor Shairp's
sympathies were very strongly Free Church. He told me
this continually and in the frankest manner. I wrote
down, carefully, what he often said about our Clergy, and
our Students of Divinity. But I am not going to record it.
On Sunday afternoons the Principal used kindly to
visit the inmates of the Cottage Hospital, and some
times to give them a little sermon. For, though a layman,
he would not acknowledge that there was any duty which
he was not accredited to do. Very often has he told me
that he had just as much right to give the Holy Com
munion as I had, or as the Archbishop of Canterbury had :
and that he would willingly give it to any who would
receive it I do not believe that in Scotland he could
have found such a communicant. And this was in the
days when he refused to kneel at prayer in church or
stand in praise. So it may be hoped he ended in another
mind. I am a great deal too busy to conduct needless
services. But, just once, I had a little service in the
Cottage Hospital : there being good reason. There was
as solemn a little congregation as ever I saw : and my
text came to me, as it never fails to come. It was, ' And
the inhabitant shall not say, I am sick.' And I gave my
ten suffering hearers the very best I could. Once again I
had the Communion there. Twelve received : and among
them one dying. I remember a blatant speaker in the
Assembly declare that it was superstition to give this
precious help to the departing : and that it was ' ritualism '

276 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
to have the Communion at the opening of the Assembly's
sittings. But the decent man was far from Thorough. To
have been consistent, he should have proposed never to
have the Communion at all.
I am far from proposing myself as an example to any
of my brethren. But having preached on many occasions,
and being very run down and worn-out, on January 25,
1887, I wrote down a resolution which I think was wise.
Here it is :
' I wish to write down my resolution about these
Functions. It is interesting to preach at them : generally
crowded congregations, and the people seem pleased.
But very great fatigue, and much discomfort : an old
person misses his own surroundings. And there is a
good deal of expense, travelling. Then one comes away
and never sees the congregations or churches again. It is
too much like an actor going for an occasion : only no
pay. I will never again open a church or organ unless
when there is very strong reason : and (if possible) never
at all in the winter.'
One personal matter more. May it be asked, is this,
which stands in the record of Ash Wednesday, February 23,
1887, in the experience of my brothers, whose duty and
pleasure it is to preach ? The writer is not mystical, nor
transcendental : but this statement shall be copied but this
once, and never repeated any more.
' As always, my text and sermon given. After breakfast
rapidly sketched out : No effort. I am helped, in a per
fectly' wonderful way. D. G.'

LOCAL CONCERNS 277
Then there was quite a considerable little congregation
at 4 P.M. The music was very pretty, and everything
most hearty. My brother, do you know the heartiness,
the adaptation, the uplifting, of extempore preaching when
you ' get on ' at your best ; and feel that if you could but
reckon on that always (as apparently Mr. Spurgeon could)
you would never write another line ? A preacher's best
preaching is his best extempore preaching. But ah, with
ordinary mortals, extempore preaching is a hit or a miss.
Attempt it rarely, save in your own pulpit. I remember
yet, vividly, over thirty years, going to a church at
Plymouth, where was a grand and hearty choral service.
There a man about forty, a stranger, ascended the pulpit :
and began to preach without book. One saw he was in
use to do so at home, and successfully : but here he lost
his head, could not find words, and made a truly deplorable
appearance. And he knew this just as well as I did. I
never felt more sorry for any one than for that poor
preacher, when he came down from the pulpit the picture
of misery, and began to wipe his bedabbled face. When
nothing would come, I perceived he fell back on his recol
lections of certain ' Notes ' of good Archbishop Trench.
He made them, nonsense. In fact they were excellent
sense. Yet not all valued them duly. The beloved Helps
did not. But then I believe he had never read them.
Yet it is true that on a departed day he said to a great
and most eminent friend of his and mine, these awful
words : ' You don't know what you might have done if you
had had twelve children. You might have written Notes

278 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
on the Parables? Apparently, in Milverton's mind, this
was the last resort of a man in utter desperation.
Long ago, at Glasgow College, there was no brighter nor
more hopeful student than Henry Dunckley. I never ex
changed words with him : but I remember the keen, fine
face yet, as he went up on the great First of May to get
his prizes. And I never saw him again. But one day,
turning over the visitors' book kept at the parish church, I
read Henry Dunckley, Manchester. Of course, I knew well
how distinguished had been his career : and how he had
proved both a singularly able and influential man, and a
very good one. And I wrote to say how pleased I should
have been to see him, when here. A volume, several times
quoted, had been published in January 1887, and noticed
with much kindness in a very influential paper which
Dunckley was understood to rule. On a day at the end
of February in this year, a pleasant and cordial letter
came from my old fellow-student : most interesting to
read. One gets glimpses of a very attractive person
ality, now and then : and wishes heartily one could have
one long talk with such a man. But it cannot be.
The day came round, in February, on which Tulloch
was laid to his rest : and, with many more, I ' kept ' it.
And I could not but write a little paper, which was called
After a Year. It was duly published where a multitude
could read it : and then it went into a volume.1 Dear and
good Mrs. Tulloch, now very near re-union, wrote me a
letter which I could not have read aloud to save my life.
1 East Coast Days ; and Memories: p. 123.

LOCAL CONCERNS 279
There had been losses, in the little company which in this
place is journeying on together. On Thursday March 24,
I read the burial service over a grand old sterling Scotch
woman, Mrs. Louden was her name, who went first, leaving
the husband to whom she had been married sixty-five
years. She had gone to school, as a girl, with Sir David
Vvilkie. That pathetic and humorous genius was the son
of the parish minister of Cults, .not very far from this city.
He had grown a great man, and died at fifty-six, in June
1 84 1 : but in the dear woman's memory he abode as the
minister's little boy. But on Sunday morning, March 27,
the Janitor of St. Mary's College came early, to say Mrs.
Tulloch had died a little before. It was quite unexpected.
I had seen her a day or two before. She had gone
through the wrench of leaving St. Mary's College, her
home for thirty years : she had borne wonderfully the
terrible blow of parting from her husband : and the sad
smile had come back to her pleasant face. Yet I remember
how she broke down, when for the first time she saw in
the Scotsman an advertisement of the books of ' the late
Principal Tulloch.' She held out the paper to me, and
just said the words. The great full-length portrait, by
Mr. Herdman, now in the University Library, hung in
the house in Queen Street while she lived. I remember
the last interview : I had gone to speak of the text of
scripture to be put on the cross above the grave. A little
blank was to be left for another name. It needed not so
to be. An unforgettable passage of scripture was in
many ears that bright March day : ' In their death they

280 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
were not divided.' I went after church and saw the
orphaned girls : Fanny, Amy, and Blanche were there : and /
happily their brother John had come home from China a /
few days before. They were very quiet : but William said,
when he came, that this was even a heavier blow than thf
father's death. Never have I seen death so life-like, or st>
pleasing, as I did that day. It was a young, sweet face :
no trace of care or pain at all, where I had often sepn
much. She seemed asleep. She was but a few weeks
younger than myself : but her hair was not gray. I copy
here what I wrote on that evening : ' As kind, good, brave,
and unselfish a woman as ever lived.' Many can remember
the soft voice saying ' Never mind about me.'
The funeral day was Thursday March 31. First, the
service in the house, by the flower-covered coffin. Then
to the Cathedral churchyard, and I read the service as last
time. All the Professors were there, in their robes : all
the students : South Street was crowded. It was a clear
cold day. Nine of the ten children were present at their
mother's funeral : one married daughter was in Ceylon.
Their homes, and duties, are far apart : and William said
to me, quietly, that it was likely they would never all
meet in the same room again.
In that sorrowful time, I had a very hurried run to
London on business concerning the Madras College. I
travelled up on Monday night, arriving on Tuesday
morning : and came down on Wednesday night, reaching
St. Andrews on Thursday morning. Bishop Thorold was
living this season in Portland Place : and my only evening

LOCAL CONCERNS 281
in town was of course spent with him. A few out
standing men dined. There was Dean Spence of Gloucester,
who had succeeded Thorold at St. Pancras. Also Mr.
Chapman, a fervid and popular preacher, once curate to
Alexander. But I was specially interested in Mr. Rogers,
Rector of Bishopsgate. Most people have read his auto
biography. His influence with many great folk is marvel
lous, and assuredly it is got without subservience. But,
with all his good qualities, he is best known for his peculiar
relation to systematic theology, upon which he once pro
nounced a homely anathema. The Bishop was away, from
morning to night. My business in Whitehall, which was
most satisfactory, was done in an hour and a half. And
awful London crushes some souls down, when left to them
selves. But on Tuesday morning to All Saints, which
was a help. In the afternoon to St. Ethelburga in Bishops-
gate, a strange little city church, where I was just in time
for a good little sermon on the Passion : next Sunday
being Palm-Sunday. It was curious, the devout little
flock in the quiet place, with the roar of the great city
outside. Then into St. Paul's, and sat there in peace
a while. And at five, evensong at All Saints'. I fear the
reader may agree with Tulloch, that I have a morbid
appetite for going to church. Next day was different. For,
business over, I went to the House of Commons, where
I had to see the Lord Advocate, now Lord Justice Clerk
Macdonald. After a talk in his room, he put me under
the gallery : where for three hours and a half I listened to
an Irish debate, and looked with interest on Mr. Bradlaugh,

282 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
till it was time to run. With my London boy, I dined at
the great place in Holborn. The judgment upon it, of
that day, was ' Showy, and very bad.' Then walk through
Bloomsbury Square, Russell Square, and Euston Square,
to King's Cross : and away at 8 P.M. St. Andrews next
morning at 9.30.
I suppose all writers who have tried to give people
what may help and comfort, get many touching letters of
thanks from unknown friends, never to be known. I know
one writer who has been kept up through what otherwise
would have beaten down, by such. Just on May 12, 1887,
a specially hearty letter came from far away in Devonshire,
sending a little volume of very pleasing verses. I had
quite forgot the little book, till it became needful to read
that old history. But I really must give some lines from
a poem entitled ' St. John xiii. 7.' The passage of scrip
ture is sacred in my memory, for strong reason. It is
' What I do thou knowest not now ; but thou shalt
know hereafter.'
Only two old shabby volumes, in torn lids of dusky green,
With some frayed and faded markers, laid the time-worn leaves
between :
But full many a heaven-sent lesson have their pages to me taught,
Breathing sweetly words of comfort, to sore heart and brain o'er-
wrought.
Calmly now, in life's grey autumn, I can read them once again :
Stormy passion long since vanished, peace outweighing all the
pain :
But a tear will start at seeing some beloved, familiar word ;
And the ear is almost listening, for a voice no longer heard.

LOCAL CONCERNS 283.
I can ne'er forget the summer, when they first were given to me,
And the dear delight of reading, in the giver's company :
Or, when some sweet passage touched us, seeming writ for us
alone,
How his lines crept up the margin, — very faint and pale now grown.
Ah, the dear dead hand that traced them lies beneath the daisies
now ;
But each mark recalls the expression, of his eye, and lip, and
brow :
And I ask that these old volumes may my last low pillow be :
Like my own — their mission ended — let them fall to dust with me.
I have an old friend who has several times spoken to
me, with frank contempt, of my ' emotional style of
preaching' : thinking my College days gave promise of
better things. I look with deep respect on preachers, who
essay a higher flight, than to help and comfort common
place souls. Perhaps I might have attempted their line.
But I have (in some humble measure) done what I in
tended : deliberately intended. The two worn volumes were
published respectively thirty and twenty-eight years ago.
They contain what their writer had found out for himself:
and many pages which were not written with dry eyes.
They are called The Graver Thoughts of a Country
Parson. This is Tuesday. On Sunday evening I heard a friend
preach in the parish church here, who was one of the very
first students of his time. Going into the Church, there
was nothing beyond what he might have looked tb. But
he calmly resolved to give himself to practical usefulness,

284 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
and to know no other end. I never heard a sermon which
more searchingiy took hold of the conscience of those who
listened. There was no oratory, no special grace. The
sermon was not written, and many sentences were far from
polished. But a power was present, quite above that of
unaided man. And the self-forgetting preacher compassed
his end. The Sunday was May i, 1892. The preacher
was Dr. McMurtrie : preaching at a summer sacrament
here for the twenty-fifth time. I did not agree with all
he said. It would need Francis Xavier to carry it out
fully. But you had to think, very seriously. And most
certainly, to do something.
Principal Tulloch was Chaplain of the Royal and
Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews. In recognition of his
loss, the office was allowed to remain vacant for a full
year. But at the May Meeting of this year I was unani
mously and very kindly elected in his place. The duty is
light, but it is conspicuous. The emolument is small, but
appreciable. I esteemed it an honour to be asked, in such
a way, to fill such an office. And my relations with those
who rule in this premier Club of the world have ever been
singularly pleasant. I cannot but note how good the
speaking is, now, at the two annual meetings. Long ago,
men who had somewhat of value to say, lacked the gift
of articulate utterance to put it before their fellow-men.
I have seen Lord President Inglis, most fluent and graceful
speaker of his time, sitting silent while the floor was held
by an excellent member who could not say half a sentence
intelligibly, yet who persevered in saying many. Now, every

LOCAL CONCERNS 285
man speaks fluently, clearly, and even gracefully. Surely
the younger generation of Scotsmen has wonderfully im
proved, at least in this respect. I used to think the fluency
of Dublin miraculous. We do not, here, speak quite so
fast yet. But quite as readily, and epigrammatically.
Selsdon Park this early Summer of 1887, as ever: from
May 18 to June 1. Not a word of that time, save one:
the more so as a good deal has been written of it already.1
But there is no mention of a solitary wander, on the slopes
of Croham Hurst, where I lost my way in a perfect maze
of paths, through thick copses and little glades, amid acres
of primroses and masses of wild hyacinths. It was my
last walk there for the season : Tuesday May 31. The
scenery was essentially English. And a confession may
be made which may cheer somebody, in a drooping way :
and which was confided only to the silent page. I felt
that life was lower in me this time at Selsdon, than ever
before : and I had a strong presentiment that I was there
for the last time. I was much less interested in the blos
soms and trees, than I had used to be : and I thought of
Tulloch's ' It will pall, like everything else.' At evening
service on Whitsun-Day I had looked about Sanderstead
church with the like strange feeling : Never to be here
again : and had thought anxiously of some who could
not well spare me yet. The record is, ' I feel life dwindling
within me ; and am losing the desire of it, for myself.'
It was drawing near to the climacteric time. I was happily
1 East Coast Days ; and Memories: The First Quiet Walk; Disillusioned;
That Spot Once More ; An Unwonted Sunday : pp. 193-21 1.

286 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
able to keep all these things to myself, till time proved them
illusory. I was to be at Selsdon four times more : being
again fairly strong and hopeful. But the Bishop is very
sharp : I knew he gauged me wistfully : and when things
had come right he told me that last year he ' had not liked
my look, at all.' If any reader of this page is vexing
himself with fears of breaking down, let us trust they are
needless fears. Cambridge on my way home, all as a year
before : and with my undergraduate lad to Ely, unseen for
twenty years. It was a memorable day.1 And it was
commemorated duly.
Many people in Britain remember the Longest Day in
this year. I was one of a little party of clergy and laity,
who represented the Kirk in Westminster Abbey. The
function there was on Tuesday June 21 : and with others
I travelled up to London on Monday and came home on
Wednesday. There were ten ministers and seven laymen.
The hawthorn blossom on the way up was glorious. The
representatives of the Church of Scotland walked a short
way, in an awfully-arranged procession, to the Abbey :
happily no one looked at them. They were seated in a
gallery in the North Transept by 9.45 : and it was three
hours, 12.45 exactly, when the Queen came. It was a
historical sight ; not to be described here. The magnifi
cent church, at a cost of 30,000/., had been transmogrified
with galleries quite in the manner of the parish kirk of
St. Andrews. The like taste ruled in both cases. It had
to be, at Westminster : but, all the same, the church was
1 East Coast Days ; and Memories : Down the Water: p. 165.

LOCAL CONCERNS 287
sad to see. It is quite consistent with mediaeval taste to
yield to the inevitable. The Lords were opposite us below :
the Judges above. It was an amusing sight when the
small Lord Chancellor, with overdone dignity, came to his
place. The Ambassadors' gallery, near us, never more than
half full, blazed with magnificent dresses. The Queen and
royal family, many in number, were just below us. It was
pathetic : the good woman coming back after fifty years to
the place where she had been crowned as a girl of eighteen.
The heroic sufferer, with death upon him then, who was in
a little to die as German Emperor, was there, looking
indeed a King of men. Three Kings sat in a row just
opposite us, below : but the grandest human presence
visible from where we sat was Archbishop Thomson of
York, in glorious array. Surely, amid that throng in
official robes and uniforms, there was blame to those who
did not advise the Queen to appear in her royal robes and
crown for that once, even if never any more. The bonnet
and ordinary dress of the central figure seemed inconsistent
with all around. But the Queen looked remarkably young
and well ; and absolutely without self-consciousness. She
was nervous, one saw : the copy of the service in her hand
shook conspicuously. And she had soon to sit down in
the coronation-chair.
The function lasted just forty minutes. Archbishop
Benson of Canterbury read the prayers extremely well, and
must have been well-heard. The music, certainly, was dis
appointing. The choice of it was natural ; but it sounded
very thin and poor, and did not in any way flood the

288 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
church. Many who were present both times declared that
it was most inferior to that in Glasgow Cathedral at the
like commemoration there. And surely it had been well
to have had one homely hymn, in which all that congrega
tion might have joined heartily. As it was, the character
of the music made it quite plain that any such lifting-up
of united voices was not to be. We have in this place a
permanent memorial of what people have resolved to call
the Jubilee year in our new railway-station. It is
moderately-handsome ; and it is distinctly clean and
wholesome. I arrived at it for the first time, returning
from Cambridge on June 4 It was an awful place, the
station which Forbes, Shairp, and Tulloch knew. We were
always told it was merely temporary. But so is Ben
Nevis. A system is coming in here, which is distinctly popular
with some. This year we benefited by it. The beautiful
parish of Callander in Perthshire, which contains the in
describable Trosachs, the Pass of Leny traversed of old by
Dugald Dalgetty, and other charming scenery, was vacant
by preferment of its minister : and I was asked to take the
Sunday services of the parish church for much longer than
was possible. But I took them for four Sundays in July,
receiving in return the use of a pretty villa, much hand
somer than I could have afforded to pay for. Lubnaig
Villa was its name. Here we abode from July 1 to
August 2. I went to St. Andrews for only one of the five
Sundays of the month : and made up for that by preaching to
the good people on a Fast-day ; and furthermore by giving a

LOCAL CONCERNS 289
lecture of an hour in length on a week-day evening. There
is a handsome new church : and we sat under our own
trees around the dwelling provided. It was a most inte
resting time. But its story cannot be told here. Only
that on the evening of Thursday July 7, I went to the
famous Dreadnought Hotel, to dine with the Magistrates
of Glasgow, making their annual inspection of their magni
ficent water-works. About a hundred were present : a most
cordial and charming set of men. The Lord Provost, Sir
James King, presided ; and I was much interested in Mr.
Underwood, the American Consul at Glasgow. He was the
first Editor of The Atlantic Monthly : and Bret Harte suc
ceeded him as Consul. By-and-by he sent me his pleasant
Life of Longfellow. I was impressed by the excellence of
the speeches : the local parliament of Glasgow is a training-
place of orators. And Glasgow hospitality, whether at Cal
lander or elsewhere, is magnificent. The large party had
spent that day in tracing their works from Glasgow. Next
day they were to visit Loch Katrine ; and I was kindly
pressed to join them. So next morning at eight I came
back to breakfast. The record says ' Large Glasgow party :
kind above words.' And we set off in three four-horse
coaches : while the Lord Provost, the Consul, and myself
unworthy, went first in a carriage and pair. The brightest
of days. Loch Vennachar : the Trosachs in glory. Then
a steamer on Loch Katrine. At the other end, coaches
waiting for Inversnaid on Loch Lomond ; whence down
the queen of lochs to Balloch, and Glasgow by railway. I
went a bit on a coach : but had sorrowfully to turn back
VOL. II. U

290 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
alone, amid cheers intended to keep up my drooping
spirits. When I got back to Stronaclacher, I sat on a rock
above Loch Katrine and wrote a little paper till the steamer
should go. This was on Friday evening : and on Monday
morning, at St. Andrews, I beheld that piece in the Scots
man. Every one knows the Scotsman is published in
Edinburgh. Many know that there is a certain jealousy
between the two great cities of Scotland. Wherefore I
found, with satisfaction, that immense approval was ex
pressed, in the Western metropolis, of the entire little
composition. I attributed this, in part, to the opening
sentence : which set out a true expression of feeling. It
ran as follows :
' By far the pleasantest, cleverest, and kindest set of
men whom I have companied with for very long, are the
Lord Provost, Magistrates, and Town Councillors of the
great city of Glasgow. The same I am free to maintain.' '
My experience has led me to the conviction, that very
many human beings like being spoken of kindly and
favourably. Glasgow is a singularly hearty place : and
various letters in a few days reached me from it, approving
and indeed 'homologating' that quotation. And next
year, when the waterworks came to be inspected, the
kindest of all kind invitations brought me to accompany
the expedition from first to last.
Let it be added, that offence is sometimes taken when
an unfavourable judgment is expressed, however sincerely.
A great man once said to me, with an air of extreme sim-
1 East Coast Days; and Memories : p. 212. The Water-Works.

LOCAL CONCERNS 291
plicity (he was the keenest of his time), ' I can't imagine
what's the matter with Stiggins. He'll hardly speak to
me. And yet I never gave him the least offence. The only
thing I can remember at all, is, that one day Smith came
to me at the table of the House and asked me to do some
thing. I replied, I'll do anything you like : but I'll have
nothing to do with that leein' body Stiggins. Just as I
said that, I found Stiggins was just at my shoulder, and
heard me. But that's the only thing I can think of.' My
natural reply was, ' And of course that's nothing'
Sometimes, when one is beaten and failing, a succession
of blows fall upon the poor heart and head. But through
this Summer and Autumn, when I was barely equal to my
duty, quite a number of cheering circumstances occurred :
of which nothing shall be said. Only that from divers
lands (even from Scotland, which seemed strange) an un
usual succession of unknown friends came to our churches.
Small matters interest humble folk. I have always
known them accurately : that is a matter of certain natures.
But on September 17 I carefully recorded the number of
steps from this door to the parish church: the number to
St. Mary's : the number to the railway station (which is
one-third the number to the old one) : the number to the
post-office by all possible routes. When I knew this city
first, there were but the chief office and one pillar- post.
Now, in every corner, you find let into a wall an iron
receiving-box. Life is being made easier than of old. At
Marlee, it was three miles to the post-office. At Grand
tully it was a daily and appreciable enjoyment to have

292 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
one just across the road. It has been said that he who
posts his own letters is possibly a good man, but certainly
a wise one : it was said first by Shirley Brooks. I can go
from this table where I write, post my letters, and be back
in just three minutes. It is a great luxury. Privileges,
indeed, are sometimes less valued than they ought to be.
This is Friday ; on Wednesday this week I heard forty-
two sermons. This is too much for man. Six bright
young fellows, candidates for Orders, appeared before the
Presbytery of St. Andrews and read seven discourses each.
Six discourses were in Latin. The Presbytery meets in
the Session House of the parish church, which is our
Vestry. It is not recognisable for the same place as on
Sundays. Sitting there, listening to the sermons, I thought
of the suspicions of good men. The sermons are read
from a little pulpit, above which, on the wall, is a plain
cross of wood. Principal Shairp, entering that chamber
in the season when he hated innovation, said to me,
austerely, pointing to the cross, ' Yes, I see your hand
here.' But I had nothing earthly to do with its erection :
which had taken place years before I saw that chamber.
It was even as when an admirable woman told my Col
league, that she discerned my tendencies in the fact that
the gaslights at the pulpit were continually burning. I
had not been aware of the fact. They were lighted, wholly
at the discretion of our first church-officer, when he
thought they would be needed. And indeed on most
Sundays (I now know) they are needed. For an ancient
beadle said to me, when I first came here (I trust he spoke

LOCAL CONCERNS 293
in simplicity and did not intend to convey reproach),
' There's no a darker pulpit in Scotland than the pulpit
here ! ' Possibly some may agree with him.
I note, looking back over the record of that weary
time, how often the serious resolution is recorded that
henceforth Monday shall always be made a day of rest. I
suppose many preachers make it such. But I have never
been able to manage it. Saturday afternoon has ever
been my little blink of leisure. But on Monday morning
the neck goes to the collar, regularly. Sometimes wearily
enough. But I fancy that in every parish, though the
parson does a good deal more than he has either time or
strength for, one or two may be found who think his work
very easy. And I have known a parish-minister, here and
there, who really did next to nothing Such are commonly
treated with great tenderness by their Presbyteries. Here
it is that our system practically breaks down. Each
incumbent, in consideration of being let alone himself, lets
his brethren alone. And no doubt this is better than a per
petual fussy intermeddling. Practically, under Presbyterian
church-government, if any parson is eager to pull up a
neighbour for neglect of duty, it is (unless indeed he be a
very venerable and saintly man himself), because he has
conceived an enmity against the neighbour, or because he
is a meddling soul. Tulloch used to tell, with sympathy,
of the keeper of a public-house in his parish, who, learning
that a gentleman living near had complained of the noises
proceeding from the public-house, accosted him one day
with the startling statement : ' Weel, sir, I'll just say this

294 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
for ye : ye're a confounded interferin' individual.' And
the wise and good Helps maintained that the grand thing
is to get men to do with as little governing as possible.
In the fall of this year Dr. Story, now Professor of
Church History at Glasgow, with his wife and daughters,
abode in St. Andrews for several weeks. He was hard
at work writing his lectures. Not without difficulty, I
persuaded him to preach on Sunday October 2. He had
the morning at the parish church, and the evening at
St. Mary's. We have no Scotch preacher in these days
more likely to interest cultured people. And that Sunday
he was at his best : admirable in the morning, and in the
evening better still. The sermons abide in memory : but
even more, the miraculous sunset of the evening before.
On that Saturday we walked along South Street as a
magnificent red sunset filled the whole Western sky to the
zenith. When we turned, under a great pointed arch of
inexpressible perfection, and looked due West, the vast
expanse of red sky, the rows of fading limes, the gray
long street, bending naturally as mediaeval streets bend,
we both exclaimed, A glorious sight. And truly it was so.
A pilgrim from beyond the Atlantic who visited this city
ten years ago, when he went back put it upon record that
never, till he entered the New Jerusalem, did he look to
have his heart so stirred as walking along that street on a
still autumn day, and thinking of its associations. Some
of us can sympathise with that enthusiast. And it was a
Glasgow merchant (one of outstanding culture and feeling)
who, looking at the city from the Links when the sunset

LOCAL CONCERNS" 295
of mid-September fell upon it, gilding the towers and
making the circling sea to blaze, said to me, with eager
face, that it reminded him of Jerusalem the Golden. And
indeed, for a glimpse of time, a blink of a few minutes'
duration, St. Andrews was a Golden City, bounded by a
sea of glass mingled with fire.
It was very quickly over, but it was a memorable event
in our history, the visit of the Lprd Rector of the University.
Only for part of two bright frosty days in December, we
had that most outstanding man among us. And among
all our eminent Rectors, I fancy there has not been one
whose movements, at this season, were more eagerly
watched both by friend and foe. Mr. Balfour was Irish
Secretary : and, agree with him or not, few could deny the
pluck with which he did the duty of that most difficult of
all offices in the public service. And knowing the imminent
peril amid which he was living his daily life (even in this
quiet, law-abiding place, he was diligently watched by two
detectives at least) one wondered how he had the heart
to prepare that elaborate and well-thought-out, though
graceful, gay, and sparkling inaugural address. There
stood a brave man : besides whatever else. And there
was a vast deal else. There were keen frost and bright
sunshine on Friday December 9 when the Rector came :
and that evening there was a great reception in St. Salvator's
Hall : the same place where the awful fright possessed the
beloved Dean Stanley. Possibly Mr. Balfour, with all his
courage, might have been frightened under like circum
stances too : might have fled in terror, as did the Dean*

296 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
But everything went off admirably : the Rector, and the
brave sister who shared his dangers, delighted everybody.
Politics had nothing to do with the matter. Most of us,
on the great question of the period, were of Mr. Balfour's
way of thinking. But such as thought quite differently
were quite as much charmed. That Friday evening we
had a great congregational tea-party. It was held in the
same hall where the guest of the University was to speak
next day. It had appeared that it is not a thing to be
approved that people should worship in the same church
for years, and know each other perfectly well by sight and
reputation, yet never exchange a word. Hence this very
successful social gathering : now for the second time. Some
sixteen hundred were there. There was hardly any speak
ing, but there was abundance of enjoyable music : there
were seats for such as wished to sit, and abundant space
to walk about. The cup which cheers was present in
abundance : and everybody was cordial and happy. The
entertainment began at 7, and ceased not till 10.45 P-M-
So it was that such as were bound to be there present
could but reach the College in time to pay due respect to
the Rector and Miss Balfour ; and speedily to go. They
had said a word to every student ; and had gained all
hearts, including some which had been resolved not to be
gained. I thought it a touching thing, to see the brave
brother and the devoted sister standing together in St.
Salvator's Hall.
Saturday December 10 was a beautiful frosty day, with
bright sunshine and sapphire sky. The function was at

LOCAL CONCERNS 297
2 P.M. in the Recreation Hall. There was a dense crowd.
The Professors walked in first in procession : then graduates
in their robes followed them to the great platform. The
Rector's address was listened to in deep attention. He
had an enthusiastic reception. He made himself perfectly
heard. At first, there was a certain air of weariness and
languor : but as he warmed to his work that quite went :
and keen, bright cleverness, thoughtfulness which never
grew dull, were the characteristics of that discourse. Like
all rectorial addresses which I have heard, it was fully
written out : and in a day or two most of the educated
people of Britain had read it. We have had addresses as
good : never a better address in its own line. But surely
never had an elaborate discussion of an interesting subject
been prepared under circumstances so likely to distract
any ordinary mind. How Mr. Balfour lived through those
years of constant tension, some could not in any way
understand. But he made the place easier, for a time at
least, to any successor. When the address, and the pro
ceedings, were over, the Rector rested a space in West
Park, which (in a far more modest development) had been
the dwelling of our great Professor Ferrier : and here a
deputation attended him, with expression of thanks and
confidence. Principal Cunningham was spokesman, and
spoke excellently. But though I was one of that deputa
tion, I doubted (with many others) the fitness of a political
demonstration on occasion of a Rector's visit. The Lord
Rector has no politics. But Mr. Balfour, with consummate
tact, having listened with an extremely wistful face to all

298 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
that was said to him, gave a short reply which any candid
political opponent would have thoroughly approved. The
thing could not have been better done. And it is ever a
pleasant thing to see cautious wisdom combined with
unquestionable brilliancy. Many good folk believe that
wisdom can go only with dulness. And they have a pro
found fear of what a very clever man may say or do.
The instant that little interview was over, the Rector
departed. The inauguration had been at 2 ; and he was
off by 4.20 : by railway. Nobody had known beforehand
the hour of his arrival. But the students saw him off.
And any man might have been cheered by the fervour of
their greeting. Mr. Balfour may be popular or not else
where. But no mortal can doubt what he is at St.
Andrews. There was a point in the inaugural discourse where the
Rector said, very firmly, that stupidity is a grace, a natural
gift, not an attainment. Here certain of his hearers recalled
a well-known passage of Samuel Johnson's, from which it
appears that the great lexicographer believed that stupidity,
like other gifts, may be cultivated. ' Why, sir, X is dull,
naturally dull : but he must have worked very hard to
become as stupid as he is now. No, sir : God never made
any man as stupid as X is now.'
On December 22 I received a communication to the
effect that I was a Jesuit, but did not venture to avow my
real character. And it is certain that if I were a Jesuit,
, , being placed where I am, it would be highly inexpedient
/ to say so.

299

CHAPTER XXIX
THE YEAR 1 888
The year 1888 was full of incidents of extreme interest in
this house, but not of much public concern. Yet a good
many people would have listened, very intently, to a docu
ment which was read here on the evening of Tuesday
January 3. A little party dined that day. First, was that
most distinguished barrister and Member of Parliament
who used to stay at St Andrews sometimes in those days ;
and who (somehow) was generally called Finlay, Q.C. His
eminence in his profession is acknowledged : he is in the
very first flight of political speakers : and in society he is
most bright and charming. Still more so is his wife : who
is daughter of Mr. Cosmo Innes, a great man in the Parlia
ment House and in Scottish letters in his time. I remem
ber well how pleased Froude was to meet him on his first
coming to Edinburgh. Bishop Wordsworth dined that
evening: also Principal Donaldson of St. Salvator's College :
and Butler, our Professor of Natural Philosophy : nephew
of the Master of Trinity, and grandson of that Head-Master
of Harrow who was Senior Wrangler when Lord Lyndhurst
was second. There were two or three others. But the
event of that evening was when, the ladies having retired,

300 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
the dear old Bishop took out of his pocket a great old-
fashioned letter, which had lately come into his possession
on the death of his brother the Bishop of Lincoln. Charles
Wordsworth, being at Christ Church, Oxford, had written
this letter to Christopher at Cambridge on May 24, 183 1.
It was the time of intense feeling as to the earliest Reform
Bill. A petition against the Bill, setting out the most
obstructive Toryism, had been prepared by Mr. Gladstone,
Lord Lincoln, and Bishop Charles Wordsworth : and was
signed by four-fifths of the undergraduates and bachelors.
And the letter gives a lively description of the politics of
the University : and specially of a great debate, kept up
with the greatest spirit for three nights. Many eloquent
speakers are named, and their honours : but chief of all, on
the side of fixedly sitting still, was ' Gladstone (a certain
Double First) ' who made ' the most splendid speech, out
and out, that was ever heard in our Society.' The speaker
that ran him nearest was Bruce, who became Earl of Elgin :
brother of the incomparable Lady Augusta Stanley. The
party which desired reform consisted wholly of con
temptible fools. ' They possess no aristocracy either of
rank or talent.' And they never could come to anything.
For among them were ' Lowe, Univ. (nobody) : Tait, Bal.
(nobody).' There is a list of names, each ticketed nobody.
Lowe (nobody) came to be known as a Cabinet minister of
great weight : and Tait (nobody) was a competent Arch
bishop of Canterbury. As Bishop Wordsworth read the
ancient document, occasionally interjecting a remark, all
listened intently : and when he ended, the great advocate

THE YEAR 1888 301
said to me, ' One of the most interesting bits of contempo
rary history I ever listened to.' The venerable Prelate
added, ' You see the foolish things young men write.'
Then, addressing me, he said, ' Now, you must promise not
to say anything in print of this letter while I live.' Much
interesting talk followed. For Principal Donaldson is a
politician of fixed views : whereas some of us here tend to
wobble. For we have open rninds. I should not have
spoken of that letter here, but for the fact that the good
Bishop in his Autobiography, published in October 189 1, has
printed it at length.1 All may read it now. And many
reflections will follow the reading of it.
Tulloch, though President of the Church Service
Society, cared as little as Carlyle for the lesser details of
outward seemliness. Principal Cunningham, though not a
member of that society, is well aware of their importance
in the present development of mankind. Soon after enter
ing on his office, he introduced the decorous fashion of the
Professors of Divinity attending church in gowns and hoods.
And on Sunday January 15, 1888, the students of divinity,
for the first time, came duly vested. To give due emphasis
to the change, the professors and students had come in
procession from St. Mary's College (the distance is but a
few yards), preceded by the mace. I took that morning
service ; and was extremely pleased. And I said a kind
word of the removal of Dr. Phin : long a prominent
Assembly speaker, and a useful doer of Church work. He
was not a preacher : and he had given up the living of
1 Annals of My Early Life : 1 806- 1 846, pp. 84-7.

302 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Galashiels to devote himself to the management of our
Home Mission. He had no liking at all for hymns
organs, or read prayers. But he was a wise man : and
bowed his head to the inevitable course of events, which
he was quite powerless to resist It was pleasant to some
of the ' Innovators ' that the acerbity of former days had
quite passed away : and that, at the Westminster function
of June 1887, Phin and they had met and parted in the
kindliest fashion. I was exactly at the opposite pole from
him in my views as to the Worship, Government, and
Doctrine of the Church. Establishment kept us in
visible unity. It was when Phin was Moderator that Arch
bishop Tait came to the General Assembly, sitting for a
space beside the Commissioner. The Assembly rose to
receive the Archbishop : an almost unprecedented mark of
/respect. And some good men, who would have deposed
any Scotch parson for doing the like, hastened to humble
themselves before the Primate who had thanked God that
in the Anglican Church a clergyman might now cherish
the hope of Universal Restoration. It is possible they did
not know this. But if they had known it, they would have
humbled themselves all the same.
Beginning with Ash Wednesday this year, February 15,
I diligently got up the Aristotelian logic from the lectures
of my dear old Professor Buchanan of Glasgow. There
was reason for this Lenten penance. It took me just three
months. I found it extremely interesting work : and gave
it the hour from five to six daily. I have my notes of the
lectures, in two closely-written volumes : they were taken

THE YEAR 1888 303
when I was eighteen. Yet I, grown old, had no difficulty
in feeling my identity with the lad, past away. At first, it
was humbling to find it hard to understand them : and one
thought (to compare small with great) how Isaac Newton,
grown old, could not follow his Principia. And the Moods
and Figures, with all the details, are tough. Gradually, the
work became easy. My old Professor's lectures make the
whole subject beyond comparison clearer than Archbishop
Whately's book : clearer than any book I know. And it
is a grand mental gymnastic. I have always hated Mathe
matics : but I love Logic. I am aware my readers may not
have thought so. Curiously, Archbishop Whately knew
not that every Scotch student must study Logic for a year.
He once said to me he ' was a resurrection-man ; he had
revived a dead subject : Logic' I hastened to explain to
him that the subject had not been dead, North of the
Tweed. He appeared to think the fact of little moment.
It brought back departed days to read Sir Frederick
Pollock's pleasant volume of remembrances, which came
out in February 1888. I read therein :
' 23rd May (i860). Dined with J. W. 'Parker. Theodore
Martin, Boyd (A. K. H. B.), Buckle, Arthur Helps, Canon
Robertson, Smiles.' Also,
' 1st August (1862). We had at breakfast Arthur
Stanley, Venables, Lacaita, Boxall, Knight Watson,
Spedding, and A. K. H. Boyd, the Country Parson of
Blackwood' s (sic) Magazine?
I remember both days vividly. I had hardly ever seen
any eminent author till then : and it was profoundly

304 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
interesting. Ages before, I had been at school with two
of Sir F. Pollock's brothers : Henry and Richard I think
were their names. With the peculiar humour of school
boys, not wholly amenable to grammar, we used to call
them ' Geminus Pollux : the two Pollocks.' That first of
August was my first sight of Stanley. He wore a large
collar, a good deal serrated ; and was carelessly dressed all
over. It was my only glimpse of Venables, who wrote
the first article in the first number of the Saturday Review.
He was a man of commanding presence, and ready speech.
Tulloch told me that he and others wrote their articles at
the Athenaeum Club : and that they used to writhe about
and glare at the ceiling in the agony of composition.
Then Tulloch sat down and writhed about awfully, and
glared upwards in an alarming way. I thought most men
would prefer to go through these efforts where they would
be unseen. On March 7 there was sent me from America a pretty
little quarto-shaped volume, called A Characteristic of
Modern Life. The title was new to me. But, opening it,
I seemed to recognise what I saw. I found the volume
consisted of five essays, reprinted from the First Series of
Our Little Life. Leave had been given to reprint them.
But I was unprepared for the new title. Nor did I know
what essays were to be taken.
I doubt whether any preacher was ever asked to
minister in places so deeply severed, as I was in May 1888.
On May 19 and 20 I had the great privilege of being one
of those who were present at the consecration and opening

THE YEAR if

305

of the parish church of Govan : where doctrine and ritual
are quite the highest in Scotland. And just the following
Sunday I was asked to preach at just the opposite pole of
the ecclesiastical world : to wit, at the opening of the
Gilfillan Memorial Church at Dundee. This is an Inde
pendent place of worship : and the minister is my old
friend David Macrae ; who is one of the very cleverest
men in Scotland, and. who had been turned out of the
U. P. Body (much to his own advantage) for venturing to
hold the same precise doctrine whereof Archbishop Tait
of Canterbury had spoken so charitably. I had to be at
Edinburgh on Sunday May 27, and so could not be at
Dundee. But on the evening of Sunday June 17 I
preached for Mr. Macrae. For so doing I was severely
blamed by some. I was indeed strongly told by an old
friend that any one who would recognise the unattached
and unsound Macrae was unworthy to take part in the
beautiful worship of the beautiful church of St. Constantine
at Govan. The Dedication service was on Saturday May 19 at
2.30 P.M. Seventy clergy met in the vestries, and walked
into church in long procession, two and two, the crowded
congregation arising as Psalm 122 was sung. The church
can hold 1,800 : but it did hold many more. The choir
was of immense power, and the organ a grand one. The
church is the stateliest built for the Church of Scotland
since the Reformation : the worship is the most fully
developed that has been with us for two centuries. This
dedication service was the grandest function I ever
VOL. II. X

306 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
witnessed in Scotland : this quite beyond doubt. There
is a great double chancel. On the right-hand side of the
altar (looking towards the congregation) were Donald
Macleod, Dr. Lees, of St. Giles', and the minister of
Govan, the saintly and eloquent John Macleod himself.
On the left-hand were Norman Macleod of St. Stephen's,
Edinburgh (the minister's brother), Professor Story, and
myself. The Consecration service was done by John
Macleod. Never was such service done with greater
solemnity. He also preached the sermon : the record of
that day says 'wonderfully.' The function lasted two
hours and a quarter. Most extraordinary solemnity was
given to it by what could not have been foreseen. The
afternoon had been one of drenching rain : the day grew
dark as night : and at the most solemn moment there
burst over Glasgow the most awful thunderstorm which
had been for years. Vast flashes of lightning made the
church blaze for an instant : and the thunder was like the
Voice from Sinai. No one who was present will ever
forget that hour. It seemed, as that beautiful church was
given over to Almighty God, as though an awful Hand
were stretched forth to take it from those who presented
it. One thing was remembered. Several, who had never
been able to get over a nervous terror of thunder and
lightning, felt how grand it all was, but felt not the
smallest fear.
Next day it was recorded, ' No flies in the ointment
yesterday. All the worship was solemn as the best
Anglican. Norman Macleod and Lees read the Lessons,

THE YEAR 1888 307
very finely. It was altogether a wonderful sight. And
there was the deepest seriousness. Every one seemed
awe-stricken. John Macleod has worked hard for this,
nearly killing himself. But he has his reward. A very
great day, for the Scotch Kirk.'
This was Saturday. Sunday was bright and beautiful,
as becomes Pentecost, day of rejoicing. There was an
immense crowd at the morning service, 1 1 o'clock. The
worship was most delightful and uplifting. .The music
was grand. The Nicene Creed was splendidly sung. I
had the great privilege of preaching at that first Sunday
service in the consecrated church. Of course I had pre
pared a sermon for the occasion : to the very best of my
ability. The Holy Communion was celebrated as reverently
as ever in this world : 1,000 received. Dr. Dykes' Te
Deum was sung beautifully, 'with intention of thanks
giving,' at the end of all. The service was long. It began
at 11, and was not over till 2.10 p.m. Afternoon service
was to be at 3 : Caird was to preach : I would have given
much to hear him : but I was weak and weary, and had to
go home and sleep. I missed much : for Macleod said
Caird preached as grandly as forty years before. The
evening service was at 7. As John Macleod and I walked
round the church to the vestry, in sunshine that sparkled
and gleamed, there passed solemnly by, within a hundred
yards of the chancel, a huge Atlantic steamer, going up to
rits berth. It was a strange and wonderful sight. But it
made one think of the deep stillness of the Ayrshire
Sunday, when one was a boy. There was a dense crowd

308 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
that evening. The praise was all that could be wished,
for overwhelming heartiness. And as Macleod read the
beautiful prayers, so fervently responded to : as the great
choir, with solemn faces, and with never a look at the
prayer-book in their hands, intoned the Apostles' Creed,
looking as if they meant it : one could but thank God, and
say one never thought to see the like in Scotland. Any
preacher would have been lifted up by that congregation,
that worship. There was dead silence : but the exertion
of holding such a crowd, in an unfamiliar church, was
killing. The record says, ' Home, all thankful. I shall go
down deep again ; but God be thanked for this.'
I had staid at Macleod's fine manse since Friday : not
without thought of the homelike little dwelling of old, hard
by the Clyde, then running through green fields. But the
pleasant old manse and the green fields were gone. You
lose something, by abiding in the second city of the
empire. On Monday, with hearty good wishes, I bade
Macleod farewell, and in a blazing summer day came
through the living green to St. Andrews. Nearly four
years have passed since then. The promise of that fair
beginning has been nobly fulfilled. And a man, not
second to any of our preachers, has a church worthy of
him. And he is turning it to worthy account. They are
a bright race, the Macleods. But since the great Norman
went, John is first : without one worthy to be placed
second to him.
On Thursday May 24, the General Assembly met I
was a member : not having been such for twelve years.

THE YEAR 1888 309
For in our Presbytery, it comes round just once in six
years. And six years before, I had not gone : thinking,
like my predecessor, Robert Blair, that I was better else
where. In the year 1652, that good man was so dis
heartened by what he saw, that he 'did, with grief of
heart, looking on all growing differences as a sad prognostic
of our ruin and desolation, leave the Assembly and re-
•
turn to St. Andrews : judging that he could do more good
among his flock and in his family than in the Assembly.'
In the Assembly of 1876, the last at which I had been,
several blatant persons, with a few pettifoggers, had done
their little worst to crush the saintly man from whose
beautiful church I now came : whose shoestrings they
were not worthy to tie. But there was an end of all that
now. That unspiritual and debasing element was quite
eliminated. The record of June 1888 says, ' No kinder,
more brotherly, more wise, tolerant, and truly liberal
Assembly ever met. To one grown old in the Kirk, it was
a hopeful and pleasant sight, that mass of bright and
energetic faces : the real strength, courage, culture, and
devotion of clergy and laity there.'
I have always felt myself warmly drawn to my great
predecessor : never more than for another incident in his
history. For, though a saintly soul, he was not soft by any
means. Coming out from an interview with Cromwell,
' Mr. Dickson, rubbing his elbow, said, I am very glad to
hear this man speak as he does. Mr. Blair replied, And
do you believe him ? If you knew him as well as I do,
you would not believe one word he says. He is an egre-

310 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
gious dissembler, and a great liar. Away with him, he is
a greeting devil ! ' Well said, Mr. Blair. Let the English
reader know that greeting means blubbering. Blair had far
better opportunity to understand his man, than Carlyle had.
In various ways, that Assembly of 1888 treated an
undeserving member of it with great kindness. An ex-
Moderator (who had deserved to be Moderator) informed
me that I was regarded as a prodigal who had returned.
But I had not changed my views by a hair's breadth : it
was the Assembly (which means the majority of it) that
had come over to the party led by Story and of old by
Tulloch. I was appointed to preach in St. Giles' before
the Commissioner on the morning of the first Sunday.
It was Trinity Sunday, May 27. I had done the like 32
years before. How things were changed ! Neither church,
nor worship, were recognisable for the same. The prayers
were beautifully read by Story, and the Lessons admirably
by one of the Cathedral staff. Such services generally
attract. The church was crammed : a great many had to
stand. It was curious, to sit at the North end of the altar
during the prayers : and then, preceded by the mace, to go
to the pulpit (which is set under the crossing) at the proper
time. Just last week, a Lord of Session told me that
a brother-Judge had said to him, the Sunday before, ' Is
this a Scotch kirk ? ' Being assured it was, the Judge
went on (he was a humourist) ' Have the Covenanters died
in vain ? ' The Commissioner was Lord Hopetoun. Both
he and 'Her Grace' succeeded in charming everybody.
There is no dinner-party at Holyrood on Sundays. The

THE YEAR ij

3H

only guests beyond the people in the palace were the
Solicitor- General Robertson (now our Scottish Chief-
Justice) and myself. We came away together. His father
and mine were the closest of friends : my father christened
him. We met as the sons of these good men ought.
I remember, sorrowfully, the night of Friday June 8.
It had been a day of December cold and darkness. It
does not do to ' think of things ' (though John Bright
thought of his speeches then), when you ought to sleep.
And being awake and anxious all that night, I did not
know that a little way off a good girl whom I knew well
was finding this life too heavy. Cheerful, quiet, good, with
nothing to vex her, she had yet felt the awful cloud stoop
down upon her : and when daylight came in, they found
she was gone. On Tuesday June 1 2 I read the service over
her in the Cathedral churchyard : with firm faith that the
poor soul had found elsewhere the peace and light which
had not been here. The rain came down in torrents on
the narrow grave : and one thought of the old rhyme. She
had left a pathetic word of farewell : very short and simple.
Sunday June 17 was a beautiful Summer day. After
morning service here, away to Newport, 1 1 miles : cross
the broad Tay : and evening service in that Gilfillan
Memorial, already named. It was very unlike Govan. I
found it a theatre-looking place, with two rows of galleries.
But the great thing about any place of worship is the
congregation. I was told the building holds 2,000, and it
was crowded. There was an excellent organ : an excellent
choir. I followed exactly the order prescribed : the good

312 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Macrae was away on a holiday. It is the use here for a
minister to break down after building a church or chapel. '
The worship was very enjoyable, and I came home in a
grand sunset. The next day I purged my schismatic
action by passing to the region of undoubted orthodoxy.
For the first time, leaving St Andrews at 7.20 A.M., I went
straight to Selsdon Park, arriving at 9. 1 5 P.M., and at ten
the usual evening service in the pretty chapel, when the
Bishop and Chaplain read prayers. It appeared of the
nature of gain, that one should be able, pleasantly, to feel
at home in places so unlike as those of Sunday and
Monday evenings. Nor was I much aggrieved when a
very wooden churchman said to me, by way of reproach,
' Oh yes : you can sympathise with anything.'
Two things are memorable about that episcopal dwell
ing this June. One was that having forgotten to carry
quills with me for my individual use, I found with sorrow
that not a quill existed in that house whence letters go out
by hundreds weekly. All the writing there is done with
steel pens : hateful to me. The other (and greater) was
my first meeting with the beloved and charming Bishop
Whipple, of Minnesota, U.S.A. With his wife and grand
daughter he came to stay. I knew before that he was the
outstanding Bishop of the American Episcopal Church : I
had heard how Abraham Lincoln said that when the
Bishop spoke to him, pleading for the poor Indians, he
' felt it to the heels of his boots.' And I knew by photo
graphs the sad, ascetic face. Surely never was man of
sweeter nature. His diocese was about as big as England.

THE YEAR 1888 313
And the hardships of his early years in it passed belief.
He gave us a vivid idea of how to sleep in the open air in
winter with the frost far below zero. Self-denying, heroic,
modest : such was that saint. On Sunday evening, June
24, he preached in the chapel at evening service : giving
one of the most beautiful and touching sermons I ever
heard. It appeared to me (prejudiced) that there was
something republican in the fashion in which, in his ser
mon, he made mention more than once of the ' Lord
Bishop of Rochester.' I certainly should not have given
the title in speaking from the pulpit. But that was nothing.
Possibly the American Prelate thought he was doing what
we should expect. And I can never forget his extra
ordinary kindness towards myself. He and his little party
went on Tuesday morning. The record of the time says,
' Very sorry to part. We shall never meet again, here.' I
did not know that we were to meet once again under
Bishop Thorold's roof: and still less dreamt that the day
would come on which Bishop Whipple was to walk into
my study at St. Andrews.
On the Longest Day, Thursday June 21, 1 had gone to
the Diocesan Conference at Gravesend. The day before,
I had been received in the beautiful vicarage of Cobham
by Mr. Berger and his Wife, a charming Scotswoman, one
of the Colquhouns of Luss. Her mother, the reader pro
bably does not know, wrote the larger part of the well-
known hymn, ' Much in sorrow, oft in woe.' Kirke White
wrote only the first six lines of it. I listened to a debate at
Gravesend for two hours and a half, and then departed

314 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
with Mr. Berger to Rochester. We lunched in the room
which Mr. Pickwick knew ; and walked about the street
where Trabb's boy exclaimed ' Ton my soul, don't know
yah.' All about the Cathedral, thinking of Edwin Drood :
and then my first walk through Cobham Woods, five
miles, to the Vicarage ; thinking of Dickens. But the
story has been told.1
A handsome stained window was put into the parish
church in August : it was first seen by the congregation on
Sunday August 19. It was given by the family of Dr.
Watson Wemyss of Denbrae, in memory of their father.
It is the first recognition, in three centuries, in that church,
of the fitness of beauty in God's house. For many a day,
the great Puritan principle was, ' The uglier and more dis
agreeable anything is, the likelier it is to be the right thing.'
And as it was extremely cheap to carry out this principle,
it was faithfully carried out here. The Master of Jesus
College, Cambridge, and Mrs. Morgan, were in church that
Sunday morning, and beheld the national worship for the
first time. Of course, the terrible weakness is, that it is
whatever the officiating minister may choose to make it.
And it is precisely the men who stand most in need
of liturgical aids, who will not use them.
St. Andrews had just a glimpse, in September, of
Bishop Harold Browne of Winchester. He was seventy-
seven : a most benignant and lovable old Prelate. He
came with his wife and daughter on the evening of
Tuesday September 18. He had taken rooms at the
1 East Coast Days ; and Memories: p. 178. That Longest Day.

THE YEAR 1888 315
Alexandra Hotel, a quiet pleasant house close to the
railway station. Bishop Wordsworth was to have taken
care of him, but was laid up in bed, and asked me to do
so. Accordingly I met him when he arrived, and took the
little party to their destination. Anglican-fashion, they
overflowed with cordiality. Next morning, they went very
fully the regular round : ending with this house. It is a
pleasant remembrance, that the grand old prince-bishop
was for a space in this room. Strange to say, he regretted
being Bishop of Winchester. He said that was the mis
take of his life : he ought to have staid at Ely. He was a
Cambridge man, a Cambridge Professor : in Ely Cathedral
he was ordained Deacon and Priest, and consecrated
Bishop : that was his home. And he looked wistfully at
the little model of the chair of St. Augustine which is in
my study : I knew what was in his mind. But we knew
not that from the wall the face of his successor at Win
chester looked down upon him : a good and pleasant
picture, in the robes. I note that certain kindly critics say
that I am easily pleased in the matter of Anglican
Bishops. It may be so : and if the critics had met as
much hearty kindness from such as I have met, they would
(I think) be pleased too. But every one under this roof
retained the same impression of dignified and fatherly
benignity, thinking of one who appeared pretty close to
the ideal of the man for the great place he filled.
A little bit of that incident which is real life, our little
life, comes back. We had Mrs. Oliphant in St. Andrews
this season. Her Life of Tulloch was soon to be ready.

316 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
On the evening of Thursday September 27, I was coming
up from the Club : when she looked out of her window,
which opens on the Links and beach, hard by ; and called
me in, to say good-bye : she departing on the morrow. I
have seen that most eminent woman much, through more
than thirty years : I never once, nor for one moment, saw
her fall short of the beautiful ideal of genius, sweetness,
and goodness, which all who know her link with her name.
For many a day, one could not make out when it was she
wrote. But this year, in an afternoon, one sometimes saw
the sheet of paper lying on a table near her, covered with
the minute handwriting. It was felt as presumptuous to
talk to her of her work. But when, now and then, one
ventured, there was the unaffectedness, there was the
frankness, which characterise all she says and does. The
hearty good wish of the smallest may somewhat help the
biggest : and in the record of that evening, which never mor
tal saw save its writer, there stands the warm God bless her.
An interesting work was this season done in our
Cathedral. I saw it complete in the keen cold twilight of
St. Michael's day. The outline of all the vanished piers
and walls was marked out in the turf. The precise size
and outline were shown ; and the space so filled in with
ashes of coal, beaten flat, that weeds cannot grow. It was
most skilfully done. The North Transept, with a side-
aisle on its East side, had wholly disappeared. But so
accurately had the calculations been made, that digging
down some feet, there were the foundations exactly where
they were looked-for. You have the ground-plan shown to

THE YEAR i?

317

perfection. It came to be known that builders, eight
centuries since, did not much regard the work of those
who had built before them. Several Celtic crosses, covered
with characteristic and elaborate ornamentation, and of
immemorial age, had been laid on their sides and built
into the foundations of the East gable of the Cathedral.
They are a foot or more beneath the surface of the ground.
It has lately been proposed to take them out and place
them in the museum of the University. It may be hoped
this Vandalism will not be perpetrated. It is of great
interest to see these crosses where the builders of the
church placed them. Here is a characteristic fact of
history. To which may be added the less worthy reasons,
that fifty visitors see them where they are for one who
would see them elsewhere : and that to underpin a huge
gable of a hundred feet in height, standing without support
to meet the fiercest blasts of the German Ocean, and which
has stood for more than seven hundred years, would be
very risky work indeed. And hanging would be a great
deal too good for the mortal who should bring that sacred
gable-wall down.
I had to be at Aberdeen on Sunday October 7, and
thus had with regret to miss meeting the Bishop of
Salisbury in the house of his uncle here. He is son of
Bishop Wordsworth of Lincoln : and his learning is such
that he might be an efficient professor of half-a-dozen
different things. His visit was extremely brief. But he
preached in the Episcopal church on Sunday. Scotch folk
cannot judge of recondite learning. But they are keen

ji8 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
judges whether a man be an attractive preacher or not.
The verdict was quite decided. The Bishop had gone
elsewhere. But going to Edinburgh at 7.20 on Thursday
morning, I recognised him in the steamer on the Forth :
he had come from Dundee. I knew him from a photo
graph ; and found him pleasant and unaffected, but not
without the shyness of a great scholar. He was making
for Auckland Castle, and did but pass through Edinburgh.
I knew Waverley Station well, and he did not : so I helped
him to find his train. And I was impressed by the fact
that this distinguished Prince of the Church adopted an
economical method of travelling which we humbler folk do
not. So he disappeared. But I met him once again.
The biographies of two very diverse men came to me
this October : Tulloch's on October 20, Lord Westbury's
on October 23. Of course I cannot pretend to do work
with the immense rapidity of men who are strung up by
great London. And I am unable to review a book without
reading it carefully through. Far apart as were the
Principal and the Lord Chancellor, both faces were most
familiar to me. My admiration of Lord Westbury was
intense. With Tulloch affection was mingled : and it
exceeded. I wrote careful notices of both biographies in
great time for the December periodicals. That on Tulloch
was published in the Contemporary Review : that on the
Chancellor in Longman? I think they were generally
approved as fair. A good many people, known and
unknown, wrote me about them both. Both articles were
1 East Coast Days ; and Memories : pp. 219-266. Two Diverse Lives.

THE YEAR 1888 319
written in days when it was very hard for me to write
anything at all. I was little fit to write. That 1888 was
the heaviest year I have ever known. And I have had
my share.
But it ended pleasantly, with what must be named in a
word. On St. Andrew's Day, my daughter was married
at St. Barnabas', Kensington, to Granby Burke, of the
Marble-Hill family. It had* been found impossible to
collect those who desired to be present except in London :
where the bridegroom's parents reside. They were married
by Bishop Thorold of Winchester. He came straight
from a consecration of Bishops at Westminster Abbey,
and was bright in Convocation robes. He was assisted by
Mr. Thornton, the Vicar. The service was beautifully
done : and the Bishop gave an admirable exhortation. He
had known the bride all her life, and had confirmed her.
The great race of Burke are most of them Catholic.
Several had never been in a Protestant church before.
The saintly Lady Mary said to me that she would have
come all the way from Ireland to hear that exhortation.
Yet she added, ' Little did I think ever to find myself
kneeling under the roof of a Protestant church.' But that
is permitted to such as hold the ancient way. A good
Monsignor, a frequent visitor to St. Andrews, was there
too. Let it be added, that at such a time, one is pro
foundly sensible how much hearty kindness is in this
world. Further, that amid all the innumerable marriages
my very dear friend has performed, not one can by
possibility have turned out more happily.

320 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
The next day my wife and I went down to Selsdon
Park, and began the Christian Year hopefully there. I
never had seen the place, indeed, in all these years, save in
high Summer : and I was there for the eleventh time. I
went soon to look at my blossoming trees, and found, with
sad satisfaction, that in mid-winter, Kent and Surrey are
just as bleak as Fife. On Advent Sunday, the Bishop
went, after a magnificent red dawn, to a Confirmation at
Lambeth. Among those confirmed was Dorothy, the
elder daughter of the house. I went in the morning to the
parish church, where my old friend the Rector managed
wonderfully, though nearly blind. The Bishop had com
manded me to preach in the chapel at evensong : as often
times before. Let the reader note that the chapel is not
consecrated. I could not ask God's blessing on a breach
of the law : even of that Act of Uniformity which excludes
from Anglican pulpits some of the warmest friends of the
Anglican Church. I had not a sermon, nor any other
requisite : I had never thought to preach now. But my
little message came. And that service was (to me) specially
pleasant. Mr. Marriott, the Chaplain, read prayers ; the
Bishop said only the Absolution and the Blessing. Of
course, I said a great deal more about Advent than
would have been said by the Bishop. As is natural, in
the circumstances. Long before, on a Rogation Sunday,
I had gone to church with him in the morning. He
preached : and spake no word about the subject of the
day. And he was pleased to find that my subject that
evening was Prayer : also that if any one came to service

THE YEAR 1888 321
ignorant that it was Rogation Sunday, that ignorant person
knew the fact remarkably well long ere departing. That
which the Prelate had lacked, the Presbyter amply supplied.
Let it be confessed, too, by one who has habitually to
preach in the black silk gown, and who has also on many
occasions preached in the surplice, how much pleasanter
wear the surplice is. It is much lighter. It is incomparably
fresher than a gown which has been worn for years. And
most gowns are old. My entire array on a Sunday is just
ten years old. That which goes on to be drenched at a funeral
(where no umbrella is permitted) is more than five and
twenty. Then, the colour of mourning does not worthily
befit the conduct of church-services. The note is 'joyful
in the house of prayer.' And our robes, all but the bands
(which in Scotland denote full orders), are merely academic.
Those among us who are Doctors both of Divinity and of
Laws (let us trust, knowing more of the former than they
do of the latter), make a point, in celebrating the Com
munion, to wear the D.D. hood, which none but a clergy
man can wear. To all which considerations add this serious
one : that the surplice is very much cheaper. Our vest- "
ments are costlier than people think. Even a Bishop, as
he stands, costs only about thirty guineas. A Moderator
of the Kirk, in like circumstances, is worth a good deal
more than sixty. Where the luxury of lace is added in an
extravagant degree (as through the kindness of parishioners
I know it occasionally to be), it is difficult to fix a limit
to the decent man's temporary value. And then it is very
surprising to himself.
VOL. II. Y

322

CHAPTER XXX
OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER
My dear and old friend Dr. MacGregor, who to-day has but
another week in the dignity of Moderator (if he goes to
Court, ' his rank in precedence is above a Baron, as that of
a Lord Bishop in England '), is a man who takes time by
the forelock. On January 5, 1889, he wrote, in contempla
tion of the rebuilding of St. Cuthbert's Church, and with
due authority, ' You must come and open the new building.'
Here was a case in which it was impossible to say No.
And my answer was that should both of us be permitted
to see the completion of the grand church designed, I
should esteem it a great honour to minister at its Dedica
tion. But beyond the long time needful for the erection of
a fabric on such a scale, legal difficulties came in (as they
are sure to do in Scotland) : and the foundation stone is
to be laid by the Lord High Commissioner to the General
Assembly, the Marquis of Tweeddale, on Wednesday May
18, 1892. Then, I fancy, two years more. But I shall
hope to be allowed to see the day, still equal to a great
function : I mean equal so far as I ever was. I confess
that in making engagements only a short way in advance,
one has come very solemnly to say If it please God. The

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 323
reader will remember how seriously Dickens always said
the like.
Any suspicion of insincerity in such a matter is very
grievous. And there have been good men who suspected
insincerity, approaching to humbug. Lord Provost Brown
,Douglas of Edinburgh told me he was present when a
worthy minister, being invited by Dr. Guthrie to dine with
him next day at an Assembly "time, replied, with what Dr.
Guthrie thought undue solemnity, — ' Well, if I am spared.'
The great orator listened with displeasure ; and replied, in
the most unsympathetic manner, and putting the con
tingency in the most disagreeable possible light, — ' Oh, we
won't expect you, if you are a Corp? Such is the name
which homely Scotch folk give to the deserted tenement.
And it always affects one with a certain horror. The
worthy minister had in fact not realised the contingency in
just that particular way. And he was startled. Which
was what the humourist intended.
Quite the outstanding feature in the life of St. Andrews,
entering on 1889, was the delivery of the Gifford Lectures
by Mr. Andrew Lang. As we in this city are specially
proud of this brilliant writer, holding that we in a measure
' raised ' him, and are entitled to credit for all he does, it is
to be admitted that, in token of affection, he is always
called Andrew Lang. This has ever been. Many years
ago, coming up from the Club one evening with Tulloch, a
young man of very striking appearance, dark and keen,
walked rapidly by us. He had left this University before
I came to St. Andrews ; and in answer to the question who

324 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
he was, Tulloch's answer was ' That's Andrew Lang' Lord
Gifford, a Scotch Judge, who suffered much from sceptical
doubts and wished to deliver others from them, left 80,000/.,
the interest to be applied in maintaining theological lecture
ships in the four Scotch Universities. The office is held
for two years : the lecturer may be re-elected. At Glasgow,
Max Miiller had two terms of office. The Judge desired
that a number of able men should apply their minds to the
contemplation of this universe, in the hope that light
might be brought to darkened souls, and assurance to per
plexed. I cannot but say that the lecturers, in several
cases, appear to me to have been eminently successful in
bringing their hearers to the state of mind from which
Lord Gifford designed to deliver them. The resultant
conclusion, in more than one case, has been briefly this :
Nobody knows anything at all about the matter. I should
say that Professor Flint's Baird Lectures on Theism are
much liker what the Judge wanted, than any of the courses
which have yet been delivered under the Gifford bequest.
Mr. Lang gave his Introductory Lecture in St. Salvator's
Hall on Thursday January 17, at 5 P.M. There was a great
crowd : which (as weeks went over) gradually lessened till
the attendance was small. There was a procession of Pro
fessors. The lecture was a very remarkable one. There
was an extraordinary amount of recondite knowledge.
There was a wonderful brightness and liveliness of treat
ment. In a clear, high-pitched voice, heard in every corner,
and without a shade of nervousness, the lecturer went on •
and held breathless attention. There was abundance of

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 325
applause, and the occasional hearty peal of laughter. I
heard two of each three lectures this season ; and nearly
as many in the next. Sometimes they were read. Much
oftener they were spoken from notes. But though treating
matters where vague extempore talk was excluded, and
entire accuracy of statement was essential, the lecturer was
always equal to his work. Indeed, as he went on, week
after week, the impression of his marvellous power was
deepened. And though Mr. Lang has long studied the
matters on which he commonly lectured, it must have been
unaccustomed work to address a large mixed audience, of
men and women, undergraduates and grown-up and aged
folk, in this particular way. ' Very clever ' : ' wonderfully
bright ' : is the brief record written at the time, on return
ing from hearing Mr. Lang. Yet the dreariest Professor
of Divinity never filled his prelection fuller of weighty
thought and rare learning. I never, besides, was more
impressed than at this time, with the fact how natural it is
to suppose that what is sparkling and effervescent must be
lacking in weight : that what is brilliant cannot be solid.
' Wonderfully smart, but very slight,' one often heard :
when the lecture had in truth been as massive as if given
by Dr. Dryasdust. One felt that in this world it is not safe
to be too bright. And brightness of thought, and a certain
lightness of touch in speaking of all things, are charac
teristic of our distinguished Gifford Lecturer. Yet it must
be said, that the occasional bit of serious counsel and deep
feeling came home in a singular way. No preacher, de
signedly seeking to influence and help, could have quite so

326 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
startlingly impressed a congregation, as did Mr. Lang,
notably in his last lecture : when, as though in spite of
himself, he got at the conscience and heart of all. One
thought, ' Now this is not said because it is his business to
say it : it is forced out of him.' And I can testify how
seriously he impressed certain souls, which would have put
Mr. Moody and Mr. Spurgeon contemptuously aside : ay,
and would have felt that even Caird went by them and hit
them not.
I have not said that on October \6, 1888, my latest
volume of sermons reached me, which I think likely to be
my last. The title, The Best Last, has been explained. A
second edition was wanted in December. And a good
Anglican parson, as old as myself, wrote to me that as their
wedding day came round, his wife and he each provided a
little gift for the other. Each had provided this volume.
And on Advent Sunday, at Selsdon Park, I had made a
beginning of the book entitled To Meet the Day : Through
the Christian Year. I had long been anxious to prepare
a text-book for the use of devout people. For of the few
I had seen, all appeared either repellently Low, or absurdly
High. Also it seemed as if those who prepared them
had a very limited acquaintance with English poetry. A
text of Scripture, a little meditation, and a verse or two,
were provided for each day in the Church Year. I worked
very hard upon this book, daily, from December 10, 1888, till
March 20, 1 889, when with great thankfulness I finished it.
I had intended, at first, to gather the meditations from all
quarters : but found I had not sufficient acquaintance with

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 327
devotional literature : and it was easier to provide them all
myself. A great many were written new for this book :
these were generally drawn from the notes of the short
discourses for week-day services. Others were taken from
volumes already published. I had a fair knowledge of
sacred poetry : this from my boyhood : and it had grown
in my quarter of a century as convener of the Committee
of the Kirk which prepared the Scottish Hymnal. No
volume I ever published cost so much thought as this : at
the beginning the work was very perplexing. Many an
hour I lay awake at night, trying to see my way. But the
work was pleasant : was helpful : and, growing old, help is
what we want. The book was published at the end of
August 1 889 : and in March of next year a second edition
was published. Of course, I knew such a work would not
be much used in Scotland : where Church people have (till
lately) been unhappily trained away from the observance
of the Christian Year. And, with many devout Anglicans,
a devotional book is placed at a disadvantage through
being written by one outwardly parted from the English
Church. But the proofs were read by the Bishop of Win
chester : and I do not think he was aware of the smallest
deviation from the orthodox teaching of his own grand
communion. It would be most ungrateful if I failed to record
that on Maundy Thursday, April 18, 1889, I received
from the University of St. Andrews the degree of LL.D.
It was just twenty-five years before, April 20, 1864, that I
had been made a D.D, by the University of Edinburgh.

328 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
And it was on April 29, 1846, that, being a lad of twenty,
I was made a B.A. of Glasgow. Dr. Lees of St. Giles'
was made a Doctor of Laws along with me : the crowd
was dense in the old library-hall : and I may say we were
very kindly received. I got quite a host of cordial congra
tulations. And this final degree came, like my Edinburgh
one, in the only way in which it is any honour to get it,
absolutely unsought : absolutely unexpected. I had not
dreamt of such a thing : and was more than content with
what degrees I had already. The St. Andrews hood is far
too splendid for common use. It is scarlet silk, ribbed ;
lined with white satin. It shows out splendidly upon our
black robes. But a damp finger would mark it. I keep it
for special occasions : Easter-Day, and the like : and for
weddings. And I generally wear the modest Edinburgh
hood : black cloth lined with purple silk : which with our
robes is almost invisible. With the surplice it is very
manifest. On Easter-Even, Saturday April 20, the youth from
Calcutta came home for the second time : and staid till
November 6. These things must be recorded. But they
cannot be further spoken of. But that Easter-Even was a
tremendous day of joy and thankfulness, under this roof.
Save when he left us, that youth never gave his parents a
moment's pain. I know there are hosts of good sons. But
there never was a better.
On Saturday May 25, under the brightest of May sun
shine, and when the fresh turf around was blazing with
daisies and buttercups, we laid to his rest in our sublime

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 329
churchyard a son of the University whose renown as a
scholar had spread wide over the world of learning : and
who, in his own field of oriental scholarship, stood second
to no living man. Professor Wright had filled various places
with singular success and goodwill ; and for seventeen
years had held the eminence of the professorship of his
own subject in the great University of Cambridge. His
modesty and goodness equalled his intellectual distinction.
And it touched many, to know that from the glories of
that grand place, now in the season when its gardens and
colleges are a dream of magnificence, he charged those
dearest to him that his mortal part should be borne to the
sacred city of his birth ; and laid in that solemn burying-
place amid the dust of his kindred, and in the sight and
hearing of the sea. He was a son of St. Andrews : his
heart was here. They began the burial service at Cam
bridge, with a pomp to which we cannot attain. But it did
not express feeling more sincere than when I read the great
words of Christian hope over his quiet grave : in the
presence of a silent little company of real friends.
Tuesday June 11, St Barnabas' Day, is memorable in
this house. At St James's, Hatcham, close to New Cross,
our lad Herbert Buchanan was ordained deacon by Bishop
Thorold. I had gone to London the day before, on my
yearly visit to the Bishop : and was present, and received
the communion. Then I hastened away to Victoria : and
with a considerable party, outstanding in which were Mr.
Frederick Locker and Mr. Andrew Lang, by rail to Sole
.Street : whence various carriages conveyed us to beautiful

330 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Cobham Hall. Most sightseers know something of that
princely place : all readers of Dickens, works and life, are
familiar with the name of Cobham Woods : and, standing
just second in the first volume of the charming work called
The Stately Homes of England, you may read a full
account of the dwelling and its history. The scenery is
English, all over : vitally English : and exquisite for
beauty. Many have heard of the 'magnificent avenue,
with three rows of grand trees on either side, which leads
to Cobham church. The superstitious legend which even
Dickens has given concerning it is absolutely without
foundation. There was a large party in the house : and a
specially pleasant one. Here I abode till Friday afternoon.
On Thursday afternoon Lord Darnley led certain of his
guests through the woods, a walk of a good many miles.
The trees were quite the most magnificent I have ever
seen ; and the deer were countless. As strange a sight as
ever I beheld was from a crow's-nest, a wooden tower fifty
feet high, near to Gadshill. Never were more contrasted
pictures than you had in the views to left and right. On
the left-hand below, and seemingly within a mile, was the
great Thames, covered with greater and lesser steamers, a
marvellous watery highway : was cockney Gravesend,
wholly unpoetical. A vast Indian steamship passed up as
we looked on, and was instantly identified. And turning
from that scene of life and bustle, on the right-hand
stretched the quiet woods, silent as though human worry
were a hundred miles away. Looking due East, there were
places identified with the personality of Dickens : Shorne,

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 331
Chalk, where he spent his honeymoon, getting a little
money advanced on the security of Pickwick : and Cooling,
marvellously depicted at the outset of Great Expectations.
Never, in this life, can I abide for a little space in lovelier
surroundings, than I did through these wonderful days of
blazing light and glow. And I may venture only to say
that the human denizens are worthy of them. On Friday
afternoon Lady Darnley took me to Cuxton Vicarage. I
had married two sons of that pleasant house to two
daughters of Tulloch : so do people meet those of whom
they know some little. Thence by rail to Aylesford, a few
miles off; where the Cambridge undergraduate of former
days had been appointed junior curate. It was strange
indeed to meet the Vicar and Mrs. Grant again : and to
recognise the young lady to whom I had presented the
rose from Gadshill in Rochester Cathedral, long ago. The
church is most beautiful : the vicarage all it ought to be :
and never was young curate more happily placed in this
world. On Saturday morning only the vicarage family went to
church : but the worship was solemn and calming. That
afternoon to Maidstone, three miles off. The Medway
which flows through Aylesford village, flows also under the
west end of the grand parish church of Maidstone, a
building of cathedral dignity. June 16 was Trinity
Sunday. I had begun the Christian Year at Selsdon : and
was again in England on the day which ends its round of
marked remembrances. Never was lovelier morning : and
to one starved in such details, it was delightful to hear the

332 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
eight fine bells of the church flood the blue air. I did
not go to early communion : for I wished to go when my
boy should minister for the first time. At 1 1, the exquisite
building was full : in the evening it was fuller. The sur-
pliced choir entered in silence : vicar and curate last. The
vicar preached an admirable sermon. At the communion,
my boy gave me the cup : a strange and touching thing in
one's little history. In the afternoon to a pretty little
mission-chapel : where was a shortened service : and the
youth, who had had some months' practice as a lay-helper
there, preached a capital little sermon, lively and sensible,
and without book : in a manner absolutely free from self-
consciousness. So I* cheered myself by saying to myself,
There is a preacher, by-and-by. And coming home, and
noting that the youth, quite naturally and easily, had a kind
word for every little child and every old person we met, I
said to myself, thankfully, There is a pastor. In the even
ing, at the parish church, the service was full choral. The
choir entered, singing ' Through the night of doubt and
sorrow.' The youth, with accurate ear and good tenor
voice, intoned the service : we had the Ely confession.
There was not a hitch. We had the grand Nicea to
Bishop Heber's grand Trinity hymn, morning and evening,
And, after another excellent sermon from Mr. Grant, which
I noted was listened to in the hush which recalled St.
Andrews, the procession went out, the recessional hymn
being Bishop Mant's ' Round the Lord in glory seated.'
I never heard a choral service better done. And so ended
that beautiful summer day. Only in one thing, at that

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 333
season, we have the distinct advantage. Our wonderful
twilight, here in the North, makes the day last more than
two hours longer. Indeed, for a space about June 21,
materially, ' there is no night ' here.
I pass over Selsdon this year. For next summer was
my last there ; and was in divers ways memorable ; and
must have its record. Only let it be said that the Chap
lain now was Mr. Parry, son of the admirable Bishop of
Dover, met many years before in Dean Alford's house at
Canterbury : a bright, clever, attractive young parson.
Also that on my last whole day I wrote the last essay of
four, bearing the general title of When We Come to be
Tried, which had been given me in London darkness in
the early morning of St. Andrew's Day. This was called
All -my Sheaves. They were given to me, truly. In a
moment, the general thought, and all details, flashed upon
one. They were written for our Parish Magazine already
named, which circulates more than 100,000 copies monthly :
and then were collected, as usual.1 One memory more.
My kind and eminent friend Professor Crombie, our great
scholar, who had held the chair of Biblical Criticism for
many years, and to whom I had bidden farewell on leaving
Scotland, died. Though I am very little out of the parish,
it continually happens that I am specially needed when I
am away. Dr. Crombie had left instructions as to his
funeral : specially directions that I was to read the service
over his grave. It could not be. But the service was just
as well read by his good friend and my good colleague Dr.
1 East Coast Days ; and Memories : p. 335.

334 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Anderson, and at the hour I went into the chapel at
Selsdon Park, and solemnly read the service through, being
alone. It did not matter to the brother who had gone
before us. But it was soothing to one's self.
At the beginning of July to Perthshire, just for that
month. First, Marlee : where we saw the last of good
Mr. Rae, our parish-minister and kindest of friends there.
Then to a lovely spot where the Tay ran at the door of a
little dwelling covered with roses : just opposite beautiful
Murthly, and with the noble Dunkeld hills hard by.
Millais, for long, has painted that scene in all ways. That
year, his two pictures in the Academy were Murthly Water,
which was the reach of the Tay seen from our door : and
The Old Garden, the garden of Murthly Castle two hun
dred yards off. And the fine picture, Christmas-Eve, is
Murthly Castle itself. Sir Douglas Stewart, the aged
Lord of that magnificent estate (there is nothing finer in
the Highlands) was more than kind. Lady Stewart was
a great deal more than charming. Everybody found her
so. But the Laird was a humourist, sometimes of a grim
kind. It was put about that he had directed his keepers
to shoot the parish-minister if he ever entered the Park :
which contains certain of the finest drives and walks in
this world. The old Baronet, of course, had not intended
anything of the sort. But I knew how the thing got
about. For one day, when I was walking with him in TJie
Old Garden, he severely condemned Millais for transposing
a turret of the castle in the picture. He said, ' If you let
a man paint your garden, he should do it accurately.' I

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 335
ventured to suggest that the great painter thought what he
did would improve the picture : adding, ' There the turret
is, exactly as he has shown it : only the place changed.'
But the Laird would not yield. After a pause, he said,
with apparent seriousness, 'Do you think I should be justi
fied in telling my keepers to shoot Millais ? ' With great
solemnity, grasping the situation, I replied : these were the
very words : ' Well, Sir Douglas, I am sometimes asked
questions which I have a difficulty in answering. But, in
this case, I see my way, clearly. I have no hesitation
at all in saying, that it would be better Not to tell the
keepers to shoot Millais.' ' I dare say you're right,' was
the dignified rejoinder. Who, out of Bedlam, could have
dreamt that the Baronet's question was anything but
a characteristic joke? I came away, having received
kind invitation to come back and stay a week. But I
never went. In a very little the old man departed (let
us trust) to a far more beautiful place than even Murthly,
or Dunkeld. Sunday, August 25, 1889, is memorable. Mr. Grant
of Aylesford, and his wife, were staying with us, the most
welcome of guests. And on the morning of this day, the
Vicar preached at St. Mary's. Notwithstanding his Scotch
name, the Vicar had never been at a Scotch service before.
But, after the ornate services of Aylesford, our ritual (even
where advanced) is simplicity itself: and no mortal would
have guessed but that Mr. Grant was as familiar with our
worship as I was. The church was tightly packed, all
over, with educated folk. I had not the opportunity of

336 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
assuring the Vicar that our music was usually much better :
for it was at its very best. We began (as at Aylesford)
with Through the night. Then came the Psalms, Te Deum,
and Benedictus, precisely as there. The other hymns
were Miss Waring's fine Father, I know that all my life ;
and the distinctly St. Andrews hymn The sands of time
are sinking, which is founded on the (traditional) last
words of Samuel Rutherford, Principal of St. Mary's Col
lege centuries before Tulloch. The Lord's Prayer, and
Creed, were said just as heartily as at Aylesford. The
Vicar read the Lessons ; and then preached just about his
best : though in a strange place and extempore. He gave
his sermon just as heartily as we do. Everybody was
delighted. Somebody said (sic) ' Better than Caird.' And
I took the opportunity of conveying, generally, that people
should have heard him in his own church, at home, far
away in Kent. Of course, even as I wear the surplice in
England, he wore our sombre robes here.
Mr. Jowett was in St. Andrews for a brief visit in Sep
tember : of course with Professor Campbell. Campbell,
always delightful, was always even more so in such days.
I remember well Shairp saying, with a beaming face,
' Campbell is in a state of vague spiritual elevation, because
Jowett is here.' One could but say it was an enviable
thing to be in a state of spiritual elevation, from whatever
cause. Then Shairp added, ' I don't believe Campbell can
swim at all. But if Jowett told him to plunge into the sea,
and swim across the bay to Forfarshire, he would do it,
though sure to be drowned in the first fifty yards.' Then

¦• t«.
i

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 337
Shairp smiled, with that beautiful smile which made sun
shine around ; and rapidly departed. On September 20,
Jowett called. The record is, 'A long pleasant talk.' I
was reading Marcus Dods on Genesis : noted as 'very wise
and good ' : and we discussed it. I don't always agree
with Jowett. But I am thankful to be able to sympathise
with all good earnest men. I tried to get Jowett to preach.
But he had not a sermon ; and could not stay over Sun
day. He promised it next time. But that is not yet.
East Coast Days ; and Memories : my twenty-seventh
volume, was published on October 15. To Meet the Day,
August 30. The volume of essays contained all I had
had time to write for a good while. And after this time, I
was too busy with inevitable duty to write more in that
line, till I came to the first volume of the present book.
And that was begun, as the reader knows if he cared to
know, on September 3, 1891.
Let young writers be told that no volume of mine ever
was received by the reviewers with such unanimous favour
as East Coast Days ; yet that it did not sell nearly so well
as usual. One takes such things quietly. And every now
and then, I get a letter from people getting up a bazaar
for some good purpose which I know nothing about, in a
region of Britain quite unknown. That letter says the
writer could not possibly ask for a contribution in money :
but that a few of my inestimable books would be much
prized. These books, the writer plainly dreams cost me
nothing. Which is not the fact. And I hasten to direct
a few copies of East Coast Days to go. Literary success,
VOL. II. z

33& TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
as tested by selling, is a curious thing. Though this
volume has done fairly well, it has not sold in the least as
others did ; which appeared to me far less readable. I
fancy that after many years the manner grows tiresome.
And glancing at the sixpenny edition of my first volume,
which has just been published, I am startled to find that
thirty-three years ago I wrote very much as I write now.
That is, in the regard of style. But I have learned an
immense deal since then, by sorrowful experience.
On Tuesday November 12 Dr. Menzies, who had
succeeded Crombie as Professor of Biblical Criticism, gave
his Introductory Lecture. It was extremely good. He is
a very competent scholar, and a most amiable man. He
came from Abernyte, a pretty parish in the Carse of Gowrie :
where, long ago, James Hamilton had ministered : he who
wrote The Mount of Olives and other very popular books.
Professor Menzies is an excellent preacher : but best
suited for educated folk : and he found his proper niche in
a Chair of Theology.
Once in each month through the winter session, the
students ask some eminent preacher to discourse to
them in their fine chapel in St. Salvator's College. On
November 17, the preacher was Bishop Boyd Carpenter
of Ripon. We had dined with him on the Friday evening
at Professor Campbell's. He is a most admirable preacher
and lecturer : though, like Dean Stanley (as old Dr.
Hunter said), ' somewhat lacking in personal presence.'
Things come round, strangely. I had met him before at
St. Pancras Vicarage, when Thorold was made a Bishop,

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 339
and would have liked that Mr. Boyd Carpenter of remote
Holloway should have succeeded him at St. Pancras. But
it was not to be. The Bishop of Ripon very deeply
impressed all who heard him. Besides preaching on
Sunday, morning and evening, he lectured on Dante in
St. Salvator's Hall on Monday afternoon. His fluency,
and memory, appeared quite marvellous. I had asked him
to preach at the parish church* on Sunday evening : but
he thought it better to preach at the Episcopal. On the
Monday forenoon I showed him some of our sights.
Long time we sat in the St. Mary's College pew in the
parish church, which he beheld with wonder. His criti
cism was, ' You could easily make this a fine church :
whereas my old church at Holloway was hopeless.' He
left with one the impression of great brightness and vivacity ;
and of great amiability. Surely a sweet-natured man ;
and absolutely without pretension. When next I saw
him, it was in the Lords, in his robes* I was hard by.
His face was that of a pleasing boy, with a decided look
of a kindly and sagacious Newfoundland dog.
When I said the students brought eminent preachers
to instruct them, I did not advert to the fact that after
going far afield they returned home, and that for December
they were content to invite a very old friend indeed. I
went most willingly : having diligently prepared a sermon
for them. With some change in local colouring, that dis
course served, just that day four weeks, for the vast
University Chapel at Glasgow. My morning here was
that of December 15. There was a bright daffodil sky

340 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
that morning. I noted, with pleasure, divers innovations :
all for the better. For, as the procession of professors and
ministrants entered (by no means accurately arranged),
the congregation stood up to receive us. The music was
extremely good : there is a really fine organ. But the
arrangement of the praise was not ecclesiological at all :
and it might just as easily have been right as wrong. The
ministrant there does not say the blessing from the pulpit,
but standing in front of the altar. Yet, with all this, the
amens were not responded, save after the blessing. The
prayers were said from the pulpit. The Lord's Prayer was
not joined in. The Creed was not said at all. But the
prayers were devoutly rendered by Dr. Rodger of St.
Leonard's parish in this city, whose congregation is per
mitted to worship in that beautiful little chapel. And
I gave my hearers just my very best. It was accepted
with a cordial kindness which I shall long remember.
And we knew to come out of church in reverse order.
It is one thing to preach to academic people, old and
young, when they are lost in a general congregation.
Quite another to address them specially : not knowing the
presence of any one else.
It is the use of the Kirk that when the Commission of
Assembly meets in November yearly, the name should be
announced in the papers of the person fixed on by the
little electoral college to be Moderator of Assembly in the
following May. This was done as usual on Wednesday
November 20, 1889. Owing to circumstances which need
not be named, the selection, in fact made near six months

OUR FIRST GIFFORD LECTURER 341
before, was generally anticipated. It would be affectation,
and ingratitude, if I did not say that the announcement
was received with extraordinary kindness. I have a great
list of those who offered congratulations : both known and
unknown friends.
On Sunday December 22, 1 enjoyed the great privilege
of being at Govan church at the Communion. The beau
tiful building, still lacking spire "and bells, and all interior
decoration, had cost till now 27,000/. And besides this,
Dr. John Macleod had built other churches in the parish
at a great cost : all of which had now been paid. The
service, that Sunday morning, the fourth in Advent, was
most solemnly rendered. But it began at 11, and was not
over till 1.40. Too long for most. Macleod preached : at
his best. The Lessons were admirably read by his
nephew William : who is now appointed to the charming
parish of Buchanan, which contains the finest part of Loch
Lomond. I note that in the evening, ' the congregation
was an awful sight to see from the pulpit ' : a thing not
easily forgotten. But killing to an old preacher, who in
preaching forgets that he is old.

342

CHAPTER XXXI
THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY
SECOND, in the Scottish Kirk, only to Govan, is the fine
new church of the Barony parish at Glasgow. In some
respects, indeed, the Barony church excels. It has taken
the place of the frightful erection where Norman Macleod
ministered through his Glasgow years. And it has been
built mainly through the energy of John Marshall Lang,
who succeeded the great Norman. On Sunday January 1 2,
1890, Dr. Lang entered his eighteenth year in that great
charge. He is a very popular preacher and speaker : most
energetic in all good works : an outstanding parish-minister
in the vast city. Nor do I know, anywhere, a man of
kindlier or more sympathetic nature.
Special services were held that Sunday, in recognition
of the day. It was a beautiful Spring day, after a wild
night of storm. The prayers in the morning were read
by Dr. Lang, and I gave the same discourse which I had
given some months before, on entering my own twenty-
fifth year in St Andrews. The organ and choir left
nothing to be desired : the church was quite full : and one
could not but speak heartily of an old friend, known since
his student-days, whose record is as honourable as that of

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 343
any man among us. Then I drove away, three miles, to
the University : for the service in the chapel. There is
but one : at 2.30 P.M. It was a strange and touching
scene, to one going back to the place of hard study these
long years ago. There were many Professors : and as we
walked in, two and two, the crowd of students arose, and
the general congregation. The chapel is the vast place
which the University owes mainly to the Marquis of Bute.
It stands on a grand cloister of granite shafts : the gift of
another. Professor Story read prayers. A very little
would have made one break down, preaching to those
youths of whom I had been one thirty-nine years before.
But, like dear Dr. Watson, I felt ' It was nothing : it was
no time at all.' I had walked in side by side with
Principal Caird. His hajr was gray : but otherwise the
very man one had reverenced as a lad, a boy. Curious,
we both wore the St. Andrews LL.D. hood. It was twelve
years, within a month, since I had been there before : I
had come on Story's kind invitation : and I felt it was for
the last time. .
We had an immensely-hearty service at the Barony
church in the evening. The crowd was dense, the music
uplifting, and the silent attention of the people inspiring.
But, notwithstanding, the solemn resolution was put in
writing : ' I will never preach three times any more.'
On the evening of Thursday February 20 I was present
at the University play. This year it was Professor Camp
bell's Aias. It was made plain that a Greek tragedy does
not hold the sympathy of a St. Andrews audience of the

344 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
present age. Possibly, to duly impress, the play demanded
surroundings which were not here. But it must be re
corded that no farce was ever received with such yells of
laughter. A Cambridge man near me, who had acted in the
same play when rendered there in the Greek, became quite
hysterical : hid his face, and sank down on the floor con
vulsed, uttering shrieks. One of the most popular authors
of the day lost all command of himself: and produced
such prolonged, high-pitched yowls, as I had not thought
the human organs capable of. Fergusson, our best student-
actor, was Aias. But it was not acting at all : it was mere
roaring recitation. And the death of Aias was received
with wild hilarity.1
This city had its only visit of Max Miiller at the
beginning of March. He came from his work at Glasgow.
On Sunday March 2, coming home from afternoon service
and the Sunday Schools, I found the eminent man had
called : and I hastened to Professor Campbell's house,
where he was to be found. I had never seen him before.
I was greatly delighted. The record says, ' A long
pleasant talk. He mentioned several curious facts, un
known to any of us. He was full of accurate and
recondite information. He was frankness itself. And he
was absolutely devoid of what our students call side?
Next day he went : and returned no more.
On Friday March 14, just a glimpse of a man eminent
in quite another way. Dr. Pierson, the great American
advocate of foreign missions, was in St. Andrews just from
1 See Vol. i. p. 27,

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 345
12 to 4.20. I received him at the railway, never seen
before : he lunched here, and then in fine sunshine we looked
at our sights. I was pleased to see that he seemed inte
rested. At 3 we had a missionary meeting. It was in
the Free Kirk. I presided. We sang the inevitable 'From
Greenland's icy mountains ' : Mrs. Macrae, the wife of the
minister, playing the harmonium beautifully. Then Mr.
Troup, our Independent minister, a devout and excellent
man, prayed. Then Dr. Pierson spoke, with an extra
ordinary quiet impressiveness, for just an hour. A carriage
waited, and I took him to his train, which he just caught.
He was to speak again that evening in Edinburgh. Sim
plicity, sincerity, enviable belief in his work, seemed this
good man's characteristics. I note that during Mr. Spur-
geon's last illness, he took the services of his great
Tabernacle. I can quite believe he would keep the con
gregation together. But as he is not a Baptist, the people
must have been content to treat as an open question what
we understand they hold as vital.
Thursday March 27, in this 1890, was a memorable
day with many. It was the Centenary Festival of the
Glasgow Society of the Sons of the Clergy. The Council
had asked me to preach : and I had the privilege of
ministering on an occasion as outstanding as can ever
come to a minister of the Kirk. I had gone to Glasgow the
day before: and at noon on that Thursday (which has been
the day of the Sons' service for a hundred years) I went
over with Story, whose guest I was, and heard him give
his concluding lecture to his students. It was admirably

346 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
wise and good ; likewise extremely smart and incisive.
It was received with the applause which is permitted in
the lecture-rooms of that University. The great Function
was at 2 p.m., in Glasgow Cathedral. The magnificent
Choir was quite crowded. There were some 1 50 Sons : the
President for the year being the Lord Advocate Robert
son : now our Chief- Justice. It was not unfit that his
Father's son, and mine, should thus be together. The
Magistrates always attend, in their robes : they looked
every inch the men for their place. The service was liturgi
cal, and special. It was mainly drawn from the Book of
Common Order of the Church Service Society : but there
were special prayers for that day. Everything, prayers,
praise, lessons, had been diligently arranged to reach the
heart of Sons of the Manse. And even Liddon, who
liked not the Kirk, thought the office a very fine one.
The music was just as grand as could be heard anywhere :
Dr. Peace at the magnificent organ. The prayers were
read by Dr. Burns of the Cathedral, and Professor Story.
The Lessons by Dr. Lang of the Barony, and Dr. Donald
Macleod. All of us five who ministered were Sons of the
Manse. As, in fact, nearly the entire offertory comes from
Sons, I had often chafed at hearing preachers appeal in
an abject manner to the general congregation. One might
put one's dignity in one's pocket, if immense gain were
to follow : but not when nothing is to be got by it. I
recall yet, with wrath, ' We are not beggars, and we do not
ask your alms : but we are poor ' (this word with a dolo
rous whine), ' and we appeal to your liberality.' As a lad

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 347
in the Moral Philosophy (that is, an undergraduate) I had
said in the presence of three who had preached for the
Society that surely the right thing for the preacher (if a
Son) was to appeal to the rich Sons on behalf of the poor
Sons and daughters, I hear distinctly, yet, the sneer with
which one of them answered, ' Oh, you'll do that, when
you preach' : which he plainly fancied was an unlikely
event. I knew better (aged 19) than to make audible
answer to what was meant to shut me up. But I said to
myself, Please God, I will: and, preaching to a congrega
tion which was (no thanks to me) as big as all the congre
gations of the last twenty-five years put together, I did.
The first words were My Brothers of the Manse : and I
spoke to them, only, all through. I had a good deal to
stir me that day. It was that day twenty-five years that
my revered Father died. The Psalms for the day were
splendidly chanted, in their proper place : and Liddon
wrote fervently of his thankfulness to find the Magnificat
between the Lessons. There was a grand Anthem, grandly
sung. But these were not what came home that day. I
saw the tears run down many an old man's cheeks, as
Such pity as a jather hath was sung to Martyrdom : 0
God of Bethel to Salzburg: and Pray that Jerusalem may
have, to St. Paul's. Never, that I can remember, have I
seen such feeling stirred by any service, as by the worship
of that solemn Centenary. And I need not say that every
word of my sermon was written for that day, and bore
upon it. I did not care, not a grain of dust, for one or
two who cynically spoke of ' emotional preaching ' ; nor

348 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
for others who said it was ' not a sermon at all.' It was
what it was meant to be : and I had my reward a thousand
times over : in things said and written by brothers and
sisters of the Manse, from the highest to the humblest.
/ The English reader must be told that Jerusalem, in our
. conventional phrase, means the Church of Scotland. The
text for that function really came to me : ' But Jerusalem
«
which is above is free, which is the Mother of us all.'
At the meeting after service, my Brothers asked me to
publish the sermon in a fashion not to be resisted. And
the special service was given with it.
According to use, there was a great dinner-party that
evening, the President in the Chair. One toast is always
The Manse. Of course, it is not difficult to praise Athens,
speaking to the Athenians. I do not think I ever got
such general and warm commendation in my life, as that
day. But the thing to be remembered while I live, is how
more than two or three old men, whom I knew not, came
up and took my hand in a tight grasp, and then could not
speak a word at all. The old time had come over them.
Each was, for a space, again the minister's little boy.
There are drawbacks : not great, indeed. Next day
one of the papers gave a picture of the Cathedral pulpit,
and its occupant for that half-hour. The title printed
above it is, ' A.K.H.B. preaching the Centenary Sermon in
the Cathedral.' That picture is preserved : the inscription
beneath is Most Awful I If I were on a jury, and a man
of that aspect were placed in the dock, I should offer to
find him guilty of any offence which might be named,

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 349
without hearing the evidence. But some days later the
Daily Graphic set things right : giving a view of all the
officiating clergy in their places : also of Dr. Peace, vehe
mently going for his vast organ. And all these likenesses
were favourable enough. As for the pulpit, it was quite
splendid. And the wonderful arches, carrying the roof of
ninety feet in height, were skilfully suggested.
On the evening of Thursday May 1, the kind and good
ladies of the congregation here presented me with the entire
array worn by a Moderator.. The :robes, and the Court
dress, were all the handsomest that could be provided.
But their value was made about ten thousand times greater,
by the extraordinary kindness and heartiness with which
they were given.
Two men, far apart, each first in his own way, wrote very
kindly about that Glasgow service. They were Liddon ; and
the Archbishop (Benson) of Canterbury. May 5 brought
another letter from the Archbishop, very interesting and
remarkable. I had sent him the order for Holy Com
munion at the Assembly, now for the first time printed.
I had prepared it : but it was approved by a committee
appointed to take charge.
On Sunday May 18 we had an ordination of elders at
the parish church. My Colleague preached the sermon :
I ordained. Nineteen were ordained, and one admitted
who was already an elder. The function was a striking
one. It made the Kirk-Session of St. Andrews up to 58
members : 56 elders and 2 ministers. But we have
3 churches to take charge of: so the number is not so

350 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
great. In Edinburgh I used to have 24, for one church.
This is the first Kirk-Session organised after the Reforma
tion. Two volumes of its minutes have been printed :
anything but pleasant reading. Things were very strange
in the parish, three hundred years ago. The fresh green of
the limes in South Street was beautiful on that showery day :
also of the trees which in Summer veil the parish church.
Now, this last public duty here being over, it was needful
very seriously to set one's face to the General Assembly.
It is just possible that if a Moderator were frankly to
tell all about the view of the Venerable House from the
Chair, some might read his story with interest. I note that
on Monday May 19 I spent the evening in carefully reading
in the Lives of Macleod, Tulloch, and Principal Hill, all
that is related concerning the Assemblies over which they
presided. But, on the other hand, a much greater number
of readers might feel no concern about the matter. I
confess that when one went to the Supreme Court as a
youth, it never occurred to one to think how the Moderator
might be feeling. Worse than this : in the record of the
time it is never mentioned who was Moderator ; save in
the case of Tulloch and Macleod, and one or two more.
And I grieve to say that the dignitary's closing address is
generally despatched with such brief criticisms as ' Very
dull ' : ' Extremely stupid ' : ' Nobody could hear ' ; and
the like. Now and then, the words were ' Really splendid.'
And then, the speaker's name was given.
But, interesting or not, the story of the General
Assembly of 1890 cannot be told here, in any detail.

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 351
William Tulloch was of course my Chaplain and
Secretary. The work is very hard. But a Moderator,
when elected to the Assembly by his Presbytery out of
his turn, is allowed to name the elder who is to go with
him. I named a youthful elder whom I found as a little
boy of four when I came to the parish, and had seen
grow up into a clever lawyer : Charles Grace, whose father
is a member of Session also,: and he worked hard as a
Secretary too. Sixty or seventy letters came daily.
These were opened by W. T, and he gave me only those
which I must see. I suppose some days he sent out 300
letters. Each morning the Moderator has a large party at
breakfast. Our greatest number was 161. The details to
be thought of are innumerable. And do all you can, a
Secretary is sure to forget to invite somebody who ought
to be asked : either to breakfast, or to the dinner on the
day after the close of the Assembly.
I had never thought of the office till shortly before my
nomination. It lay quite out of my line. Not only had
I not put myself in the way of it, but I had quite decidedly
put myself out of the way of it. Yet gradually, from all
parts of the Church, there came what I regarded as a call.
The invitation of the Old Moderators would certainly not
have brought me to the Chair. For I never cared for
Church Courts, and had a keen dislike for the ways of
some Church Court men. I was not afraid of the con
cluding address : for, after all, that is like a sermon, or an
article in a review : and the Assembly Hall cannot by any
crowding take in more than 1,400 souls. But I shrank

352 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
from the business : the keeping order : the many little
formal speeches. All these proved unexpectedly easy
and pleasant. The kindness of the Assembly was quite
beyond words. It cost no effort to be civil to everybody :
and never a discourteous word was said to me. And, in
the Chair, one had the best and wisest of all counsel
always near. Always next to me on my left, was my
dear friend Story, Junior Clerk of Assembly. On my
right, Professor Milligan, once Moderator, whose book on
the Resurrection is known south of the Tweed. Next
him the Procurator Sir Charles Pearson, now Lord
Advocate, the very pleasantest of eminent lawyers : and
beyond Story Mr. Menzies, W.S., the 'Agent ' : that is, the
Church's Solicitor. Surely never was keen energetic
business faculty so genially blended with unfailing helpful
amiability, as in Dr. Scott of St George's, Convener of the
Business Committee, who practically arranges the sequence
of matters brought before the House. These, with an old
Moderator or two, form what some call the ' circumtabular
oligarchy.' Every man was kinder than another. And
there never was any desire in the mind of one of them
but to get through the business accurately, fairly, and
promptly. Dreary speeches, I found, are just as tiresome
when one is sitting in the Chair as when one is sitting
anywhere else. But these were few.
My last duty in St. Andrews was to read the burial
service over a good old man of 92 in the Cathedral, on
Tuesday May 20. On Wednesday May 21 my wife and
I departed from this city by the 10 o'clock train : my

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 353
good colleague being there to send me away with kind
wishes. And travelling by Alloa Bridge for the last time
(the great Forth Bridge was opened during the Assembly)
I read a lengthy and kind account of myself in the Dundee
Advertiser, wishing it were all true. All Moderators stay
at the Waterloo Hotel, where is a grand room for their
entertainments : where are many apartments which they
and their party always occupy. The dear Secretary was
already hard at work, addressing breakfast invitations.
Though recommended by the College, a man is not
Moderator till elected by the House, and no invitation can
go till after that event. Here was our home for just a
fortnight, till Wednesday June 4. And our party, which
was at first no more than William Tulloch, my wife and
myself, gradually grew large. With Story and the
Secretary, I had my last walk for a while : save crossing
the pavement to and from the carriage. Even then, many
gazed at the old-fashioned dress. In the evening to
Holyrood, to dine with the Commissioner and ' Her Grace.'
The Marquis and Marchioness of Tweeddale held office
for the first time. Everybody knows they won golden
opinions. I had gone to Yester for a night, a few days
before, to talk over things. But after dinner, according to
old rule, the outgoing Moderator Dr. Gloag whom they knew
not at all, solemnly presented his successor whom they knew
quite well. The more than charming Marchioness said,
with deep gravity, ' I am extremely happy to make your
acquaintance.' It had been pleasant to find, at Yester, that
the grand title is given as it ought to be : Tweed-dale. It is
VOL. II. A A

354 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
very horrible to hear people call it Tweddle. Among
the guests was the titular Archbishop of St. Andrews,
Roman Catholic. I had pleasant talk with the Marquis
of Bute. But I liked not to see the Marchioness of Bute
kneel down and kiss Archbishop Smith's ring.
Next day, Thursday May 22, was the great day. It
had been a dark rainy morning, but by 10 A.M. was a
beautiful summer day. Our windows looked upon the
Commissioner's state procession : always very impressive.
I could not go to the Levee, or to service at St. Giles'.
But having got into the dress, I drove up with W. T. to
the Assembly Hall, and slipped in unseen, taking shelter
in the Moderator's private apartments, high in Pugin's
grand spire. In a little Dr. Gloag came : then the Com
missioner, By-and-by the Senior Clerk Dr. Milligan, to
say ' Unanimously elected.' There is always another possi
bility. One is really quite strung-up. I went away down
stairs more coolly than I had often entered my little
country kirk. The Hall was densely crowded. I got
the kindest reception. All rose up. The Ex-Moderator
took my hand : he had proposed me very gracefully, as I
found in a little : and I went to my place and bowed thrice
as I had seen others : forward, right, left : then to the
High Commissioner. Then all was done in order. The
Commissioner gave an excellent address, with due dignity.
I read my little speech to him : which I think was audible,
and was kindly received. Then various formal business,
which I think I got through with favour. All was over at
2.45 P.M., and I said the Blessing as I always do. The

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 355
Moderator dines at Holyrood daily, sitting next Her
Grace. The party to-day were the Provosts and Bailies
of Scotland ; and of course many others. Dr. Ramsay,
the Pursebearer, looked grand in his antique array. He
had held the office since I came as a lad to my first
Assembly. One of the ladies in waiting was the daughter
of my old acquaintance of Invergarry, now Speaker. One
of the Commissioner's sisters* is wife of Sir Robert Peel,
son of the Premier. Another was the beautiful Duchess
of Wellington. On the morning of Friday May 23 was our first
breakfast-party. It numbered 104. Prayers were said by
my old friend Dr. McMurtrie. The Lord Provost, a Boyd,
took in my wife : I took Lady Boyd. The hour is 8.40.
At 10.30 the Holy Communion in St Giles' Cathedral : all
most solemn and touching. I celebrated, being assisted
by the ex-Moderator Dr. Gloag, a learned and devout
minister, whose brother is a Judge under the name of Lord
Kincairney ; and by Dr. Story. The church is very beau
tiful : the Elders who ministered were representative
men : the music was fine : the communicants were many.
I had carefully prepared a service, which had old and high
authority : it was printed. The prayers were read, the
amens being duly responded. The Creed and Lord's
Prayer were said by all. The service was used again the
year following, 1891. But yesterday, May 20, 1892, it
was somewhat ostentatiously cast aside by the Moderator
of this year. Here is the weakness of our offices : they
are absolutely at the will of those who officiate. The

356 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Moderator did what he was quite entitled to do. I had
no more right to impose my order on him, than he to
impose his on me. And there are those who hate devout
and beautiful Catholic ways, as deeply and sincerely as
others hate vulgar and ugly Puritan ways. It is, happily,
hard to quite spoil a Divine sacrament. And one can at
least try to withdraw one's attention from what is too
painful to bear.
One innovation, I am thankful to say, dates from my
Assembly. Every morning I closed the prayers with
which the Assembly is opened with the Lord's Prayer ;
and the Assembly, I thank God, joined with a thunderous
voice. I never, anywhere, heard the Lord's Prayer joined
in more heartily. The time had come. Some suspicious
soul put it about that I had pre-arranged this. But I had
not spoken of the matter to a human being, save one.
The doing was absolutely spontaneous. I had hoped that
this great improvement would never be lost. I am not in
the least sure of that, to-day.
Some time after the Assembly rose, I read some
account of it, written by a decent man to whom I would
willingly offer a copy of our Book of Common Order if I
had any hope that he would know how much he needs . it.
In this little legend, it was stated that I habitually read
the prayers at the opening of the meetings. It was not
so. On Friday May 23, opening the Assembly for the
first time, my prayers were written and read. After this,
I felt at home. And every morning, on till Saturday
May 31, not merely were the prayers not read but they

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 357
were given me on the moment. They were quite extem
poraneous. But I ventured on this, simply because I
felt I might. Had it not been so, I should have read
the prayers regularly, as Chalmers did when he was
Moderator. But I am not to tell the story of that Assembly of
1890. In the papers of the day it was very fully given.
Nor am I to name the outstanding speakers. Only I will
say, quite confidently, that the best speaking in the General
Assembly is quite equal to the very best in either House
of Parliament. One thing is pleasantly remembered. We
had lovely summer weather ; and each morning, driving
with the Chaplain up the High Street, it was fine to see the
grand spire of the Assembly Hall piercing the blue sky.
Nor can I ever forget William Tulloch's constant thoughtful
kindness. He was full of resources, and always bright and
cheery. The record of the time, very brief indeed, says
' the kindness of everybody is quite beyond words.' As that
long week went on which began with Whitsun-Day, the same
authority says ' getting very confused and bemuddled.' I
remember vividly on the second Saturday afternoon going
to the Deaconesses' Home in George Square. The place,
the good and saintly women, the work, were all profoundly
interesting. For this, and for very much other Church-
work, the credit is due to Professor Charteris. He is a
man of statesman-like mind, and will not be disheartened.
And he is a very amiable man. But in all that concerns
the worship and offices of the Kirk, he and I are a
thousand miles apart. Frankly, I should not regard the

358 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Kirk as worth keeping up, if it were made what he would
make it. I should be pleased if he were to come to me :
for it is absolutely certain I shall never go to him.
That Saturday evening the most welcome of guests
came from London : Bishop Thorold of Winchester. All
of our own household who were within the seas had before
this time gathered. The Bishop was in time to dine at
Holyrood. He was greatly interested in the old palace,
and the old-fashioned ways. But nothing thrilled him
quite so much as when seven pipers came in and walked
round the dinner-table, making a sound delightful to a
Scottish ear. How the long picture-gallery re-echoed !
Then the three Toasts given in just a word. The Queen ;
and Prosperity to the Church of Scotland, by His Grace the
High Commissioner. Finally, Her Grace the Marchioness
of Tweeddale, by the Moderator. I do not venture to speak
of that lady : save to say that the human being never was
who spoke of her other than in one way. And it is abso
lutely true that a homely civic person, having gazed on her
for about a minute, said to her, with emotion, ' Oh Wum-
man, I was a Wumman-hater till this day, but I'll never be
a wumman-hater any more.' It was a tremendous triumph,
to have so easily overcome a mortal antipathy. And it
recalled to some poor scholars a famous statement of
Anacreon, read in early youth.
The two Assembly Sundays were Whitsun-Day and
Trinity Sunday. With no small state the Commissioner
comes to morning and evening service at St. Giles'
Cathedral. The Bishop and my Curate-son went in the

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 359
morning where they felt they ought : in the evening the
Prelate came with me to St. Giles'. The service there is 0{
liturgical, and the prayers beautiful. The music was ex
tremely fine. The great church, in the evening light,
crowded from end to end, is an inspiring sight to any
man who can be called a preacher. And a man who is
not a preacher has no business in that pulpit on such a
day. The Moderator has no .voice in the selection of the
preachers in his year.
On Monday morning June 2 I arose somewhat anxious.
We had 161 at breakfast: the numbers on Friday and
Saturday had been 139 and 140. Morning prayers were
admirably said by Mr. Carrick of Newbattle, a devout
young Churchman : the blessing by the Bishop of Win
chester. The Prelate was interested in the breakfast
party, which reminded him of America. Then he came
up and saw the opening of the Assembly. But he soon
departed, and drove away with my brother to see the great
Forth Bridge. Mr. Grant of Aylesford arrived in time to
dine at Holyrood. I had my great task in view. The
Assembly had adjourned to 10 P.M. Its close is a very
solemn and touching function. We drove up at 9.45 : and
the Bishop was taken at once to a chair at the table.
Never Bishop had sat there for two centuries. He was
received with loud applause : the hall was densely crowded.
My predecessor said prayers : and I came in at 10.10. In
a few minutes came the Commissioner and his party. I
bowed low to him as usual : and then began my closing
address. I shall never again do so conspicuous a duty. I

360 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
read the address from print : it took an hour and twenty-
three minutes. I never addressed quite so delightful and
sympathetic a multitude. I was able to make myself
heard : and to say I was received with immense warmth,
is nothing. Of course my address had been written in my
own way, and it was not much like the regulation thing.
My position in the Kirk is exceptional : but I kept to the
field in which I was at one with all my Fathers and
Brethren : and I did not say a word but what I felt.
Some men are fond of saying, after any public appearance,
that they did not get on nearly so well as usual : but I
have to confess that my good friends, soon to be parted,
heard me at my very best. It brought the tears to one's
eyes, when at one point very many started to their feet
and cheered : one dear white-headed old man whom I
knew not at all wildly hallooing and gesticulating. Then
the solemn liturgical sentence which closes : all rising to
their feet :
And now, Right Reverend and Right Honour
able, AS WE MET IN THE NAME OF THE LORD JESUS
Christ, the Alone Head and King of this
Church, so in the same great Name I now
dissolve this general assembly : and appoint
the next General Assembly of the Church to
convene in Edinburgh on Thursday the Twenty-
first day of May, 1891.
It is something in any man's history, that in the most
solemn circumstances, .he should have said these words.
Then what delighted Stanley : the reminder of the

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 361
drawn battle between Church and State. After a little
parting address to the Commissioner, he gave a quite
admirable discourse to the Assembly : and concluded by
dissolving the Assembly in the Queen's name. He ignored
my words : as I had ignored his claim. There is no need
to fight that question out. We, practically, have got on
beautifully for 202 years. No one ever forgets the closing
psalm : the Pray for the peace of Jerusalem : sung (to St.
Paul's) in thunder. It is always heard with tears. Then I
said the blessing at 12.15 A-M- : and my Assembly was over.
The papers next day gave the address verbatim : and
Messrs. Blackwood published it in handsome form. It was
called Church Life in Scotland : Retrospect and Prospect. I
kept utterly away from those contentious matters for which
I have neither heart nor head. And I cannot speak too
gratefully of the way in which that discourse was received.
I noted that the adjective used by some critics was mag
nificent: these were (of course) the more intelligent.
Others, less confidently, spoke of my prose-poem. And
some complained that it was a new chapter of the Recrea
tions of a Country Parson.
The Moderator's Dinner comes on Tuesday evening.
About 80 sat down. It was a very distinguished and
good party. I was particular about invitations. For I
remembered, rather vividly, how sitting down at table on
such an occasion beside a very eminent man, he said ' I
can't imagine why the Fellow asked me. I never spoke
to him in my life.' And I had resolved that the speeches
should be the best. I remember the bright face of the

362 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
Solicitor-General, now Lord Stormonth-Darling, returning
thanks for the Commons ; surely as charming a lawyer
as was ever seen. And now, for the very first time,
the toast which followed The Kirk, was The Church
of England. I proposed it. It was most heartily received.
And Bishop Thorold replied in a speech of twenty minutes,
perfect in brightness, cordiality, and wisdom. I never have
pretended the warm affection for those who want to pull
down the National Church, to which some of my brethren
¦ have attained. I attach not the smallest importance to Pres
bytery. The tie I acknowledge is to the National Establish
ment. When in England, I__belong to the Church of
England ; and that most heartily. A few days since I
heard a statement that all true Scots are essentially Presby
terian. It was interesting to remember that, if this be true,
Sir Walter, and the late Duke of Buccleuch, and Dean
Ramsay, and Professor Aytoun, and he who gave us
Tulloch-Gorum, were not Scotsmen. Neither, of course,
was Archbishop Tait of Canterbury.
One calls on a very special friend, at such a time. As
I had proposed Tulloch's health at his dinner, so now
Story proposed mine. And not even Story ever did any
thing more gracefully. It was somewhat incisive, too.
Next morning, by the Flying Scotchman, the Bishop
was away to Selsdon Park. I was to follow, the day after.
The record says, ' Never mortal had more reason for grati
tude. But very confused and bemuddled.' It was sad,
that Wednesday at 5 P.M., when William Tulloch said
good-bye, and parted. It was closing a most interesting

THE CENTENARY AND THE ASSEMBLY 363
chapter of this life. My own people went away to St.
Andrews, by the Forth Bridge for the first time. And on
the morning of Thursday June 5, the Vicar, the Curate,
and I, away to London. We went at an awful rate.
These mathematicians made out that our speed was some
times above 70 miles an hour. Leaving York 8 minutes
late, we were at King's Cross 3 minutes too soon. They
saw me away by the Brighton, train, a helpless traveller,
ere going to their own : and by 8.30 I was under the
Episcopal roof, my thirteenth visit there. I was to have a
month's quiet time. And the Prelate had written that he
wished my last stay to be a specially pleasant one. It was
so, indeed. The apple blossoms were over, and the lilacs.
But the laburnums were fine still, and the hawthorn was
in glory. My little friends of old were growing into big
girls. Which has to be. Parry was Chaplain. Nearly as
charming a man as my own. My old room : the grand
view from its windows : the double doors through which,
at morning-tide, I had heard a comparatively-young Bishop
sponge himself with such incredible energy, that I knew
he was to rise. Which he did. And that very high.

J64

CHAPTER XXXII
AFTER THE ASSEMBLY
Of course, when the pressure was taken off, one felt
very far run-down. But it was pleasant to make a little
speech at a meeting for the restoration of beautiful St.
Saviour's. On Friday June 13, the Bishop's birthday,
Story came from London, and was able to stay six hours :
three of which were given to his first drive in Kent. That
evening a dinner party. And here a parson asked me
if St. Andrews was 'just outside of Edinburgh.' On
Monday June 16 a long drive by Wimbledon to the
House of Lords. A good deal of talk in the robing-
room with Archbishop Magee, and Bishop Goodwin of
Carlisle. Magee made his great speech, well-remembered,
on Infant Life Insurance. But he complained of the chilly
atmosphere : though it did not seem to affect him. I had
the privilege of being at the steps of the Throne, and
heard excellently. It is not always so in that dignified
House. Next day my first great City feast. It was at
Mercers' Hall : a grand oaken -chamber. Here I first
beheld the quaint old fashion of the loving cup ; and noted
the consternation of two ex-Lord-Mayors, when I declined
a second plate of turtle. They told me it ought not so to be.

AFTER THE ASSEMBLY 365
A grand old butler came and expostulated, kindly, but
firmly. What is best remembered is a most eloquent
speech by Bishop Temple of London. We Scotsmen *
must be permitted our ways : it was ' as good as Norman ^
Macleod.' Next day, it is written, ' Touched by the
extraordinary kindness of many letters from ministers
of the Kirk : it is quite overpowering' Then that
Waterloo evening, June 18, to dinner at Goldsmiths' Hall.
There, behind the Prime Warden, is displayed the finest
gold plate in the world. We were told we should each
have a sovereign, fresh from the Mint. But it did not
appear. ,
Quite my most interesting party came next day,
Thursday June 19. Of course, I owed all these to my
kind host. To Fulham, where the Bishop of London,
on the anniversary of the Queen's accession, has all the
Bishops at dinner. A drive of an hour and a half,
through beautiful sunshine, covered the distance. First,
there was tea : then, at 7 P.M., service in the fine chapel,
built by Archbishop Tait. Dinner was at 8. There were
only Bishops. The custom arose when Bishops had no
wives, and Mrs. Temple and her friends did not dine. All
honour was done to the Kirk. The Bishop of London put
the Archbishop of Canterbury on his right hand, and the
Moderator on his left Next me was Magee, not yet
Archbishop. ' We are only the Heads of Dioceses, you
are the Head of a whole Church ' : were the words of the
great Irishman. There they were, the whole Anglican
Hierarchy. Save Archbishop Thomson of York, I do not

366 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
think there was one lacking. And what a weary, over
worked set of men they looked ! Their cordiality was
quite extraordinary. The record of the day says (such is
human assurance), ' I certainly did not feel overawed.' The
Bishop of London is teetotal : but his champagne flowed,
and was the very best. Magee told all his finest stories,
and told them marvellously. I thought, under the
influence of his presence, that he was the greatest story
teller I had ever listened to. I say, yet, second to none.
He told us who it was that of a surety preached the great
sermon in which the passage came, ' Not A calf : but The
Calf: the old familiar calf which had grown up in the
family year after year ' : and so the orator went on. Of
course I know that if any man tells amusing stories, this
means that he is a melancholy man. I believe it was so,
oftentimes, with that most charming Prelate. Beyond
Magee was Ely : opposite were Carlisle, Hereford, Lich
field. A Bishop near the farther end of the long table
said to me, afterwards, that hearing the obstreperous merri
ment which came from Magee's vicinity, they tried hard to
hear, and were mortified they could not
An erroneous impression went abroad that the Kirk
had largely contributed to that excessive hilarity. The
Bishop of London told two or three stories with great
effect. The Patriarch of the Anglican world had his
share too. And here it was that, speaking of the two
Established Churches, I ventured to say that I thought
one note of difference was that while in Scotland the men
were generally better than the buildings, in England the

AFTER THE ASSEMBLY 367
buildings were often better than the men. The Arch
bishop held up his hands in horror : with the exclamation
'You mustn't say that' But the Bishop of London
(very safe in saying such a thing) replied, ' He's per
fectly right. Just think of St. Paul's, and then think of
me!'1 The long fifteen miles between Fulham and Selsdon
Park were covered in just the hour and a half : arriving at
midnight exactly. The Selsdon horses were extremely
good. As indeed they needed to be.
On Thursday June 24, St. John Baptist's Day, in
beautiful St. Mary Overie, commonly called St. Saviour's,
I saw my boy Bertie receive Priest's orders at the hands
of my very dear and old friend. The morning was ot
drenching rain and darkness : the afternoon was lovely.
The unworthy Nave was in process of demolition ; to be
worthily replaced : a memorial of a memorable episcopate.
The long procession entered, singing ' Through the night
of doubt and sorrow.' The sermon, admirable for in
genuity and brightness, was preached by the Vicar of
Aylesford. But I thought it hard on an extempore
preacher to have to deliver his message at the beginning
of a function : not warmed-up by any preceding worship.
My lad was the first priest ordained. Of course, to the
Communion. The service was long : it began 10.30 A.M.,
and ended 2.15 P.M. At 3.45 a shortened Evensong,
where the Bishop gave a kindly and helpful little sermon.
All was over at 4.30. Then the Bishop and I drove home
' Ante : p. 62.

368 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
in a lovely summer day. As we passed a beautiful suburban
church, the Bishop said, ' That is one of the pleasantest
charges in my Diocese ; and it is in the gift of no matter
who : a very big Prelate. I replied, ' You should ask him
to hand it over to you : you ought surely to be the patron,
if it is in episcopal hands.' But the Bishop gazed on me
sorrowfully : and uttered the quotation, ' I give thee six
pence ? I will see thee further first ! ' From which I
gathered that such a request would be made in vain.
Very grateful was the perfect quiet of the beautiful garden,
walking about it before dinner, after the hurry of several
driving days. A friendly letter waited, proposing to inter
view me for a famous evening paper. But by this time
it could not be.
Sunday, June 29, St. Peter's Day, at Aylesford. At the
1 1 o'clock service, my son took the chief part in the Com
munion for the first time. I was the first person to whom he
gave it. At afternoon service in the pretty mission chapel.
I gave a little sermon. In the evening the beautiful parish
church was crowded. After an uplifting service, I listened
to the sermon with rather more concern than I had ever
listened to a sermon before. The record of the day says,
thankfully, ' He is a true preacher.' And if there be any
thing in heredity, he has a good many generations of
preachers behind him. I derive my Christian name from
my great great great grandfather : once minister of Kells
in Galloway, and a laird besides. As for the fabric, the
same history says (this was on Saturday), ' Much about
the church. Splendid. Oh the awful difference ! ' The

AFTER THE ASSEMBLY 369
recessional hymn was ' The Church's One Foundation.' I
had once said, to the Prelate, how touching it was in such
circumstances. But I recalled now, as once before, his
somewhat unsympathetic reply : 'If you had it about a
hundred times a year, you would get tired of it.'
The last evening in London, Wednesday July 2, to the
great feast at the Mansion House, where the Lord Mayor of
London yearly entertains the Bishops, and very many more.
Three hundred dined. Here I met Newman Hall, with
whom I had been charmed at Chamouni twenty-seven
years before, and who did not look much older. The
Lord Mayor spoke excellently : and, though very far
away from Her pale, proposed the Church of England
gracefully. The Archbishop made a long reply, very
sensible and good, but quiet. But now the drive home
took two full hours. And one could not but think how
pleasant it would be to be housed in a few minutes. And
so it came about, the following Summer.
On Friday morning July 4, at St. Andrews. First, to
face the great trial of our youngest boy leaving us for
India on the Wednesday after. It came on us quite
suddenly : but it was an opening not to be put away.
And his closing days had been made as happy as such
can be. July 6 was his last Sunday : the last hymn he
heard at evening service was ' Abide with me.' The record
says (and some readers will understand), ' Strange, to look
at Harry in his usual place : and to think. But we can't
take it in. A little would have made me break down.'
The sad Wednesday came : and the good lad went, not
VOL. II. B B

370 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
to be twenty till the end of September. ' The house looks
very empty without him. And his little room he liked so
much and kept so pretty. All very strange.'
But one must gather up heart for what little remains of
the story. On Sunday July 20, the famous Volunteer
corps, the Fife Light Horse, came at morning service to
the parish church. It was quite crammed : 2,500. The
Band accompanied the praise, very finely. The grand old
Colonel Anstruther Thomson read the Lessons finely. He
was long Master of the Pytchley Foxhounds : then of the
Fife. And it appeared to me that the exercise his voice
had enjoyed as M.F.H. had made it a really magnificent
voice for reading in church. Never were Lessons better
read. I never will miss a chance of getting a Master to
read for me. Unluckily, such chances are few. Mr.
Nasmyth, the Chaplain of the Light Horse, with great
judgment, preached a very short sermon. It was not
for the sermon that the great congregation had assembled.
We all knew that. It was the fourteenth time a brass
band had played in that church. Not a soul had a word
of objection. We have not as yet ventured on the drums,
which do nicely under the sublime roof of Glasgow Cathe
dral. Still less on the bagpipes, which the patriotic
Scotsman Archbishop Maclagan has had in York Minster.
Apparently the congregation there quite enjoyed the music
of the Prelate's native land.
On Tuesday August 5 Miss Dove, Head-Mistress of our
great Girls' School, opened her charming grounds to all, for
a bright afternoon. The band of the Mars training-ship

AFTER THE ASSEMBLY 371
played excellently. The grounds are beautiful : they are
large in extent : they spread behind some of the most
characteristic buildings of old St. Andrews : they command
a magnificent sea-view. St. Regulus looks down grimly,
as it has looked for eight hundred years. It was a pleasant
sight to see a multitude of good people (so far as a multi
tude can be here) quietly enjoying a scene of great natural
beauty. .
The Girls' School is a great institution in this city :
very characteristic, and most successful. It began, fourteen
years ago, on quite a small scale. But Miss Lumsdaine,
the first Head-Mistress, is a very remarkable woman : out
standing in ability, and in every way charming : and the
School never looked back. When Miss Lumsdaine went, Miss
Dove most worthily succeeded her. Gradually, the num
bers grew, till now for several years the School has been
quite full. Gradually, all the attractive old houses with
pleasant gardens in the eastern section of the city were
annexed : a house-mistress of high capacity ruled each :
and the Head- Mistress herself became possessor of the
interesting buildings of old St. Leonard's College. What
was built for a students' resident hall passed into a use
analogous to its first : being now filled with girl-
graduates and undergraduates. And a really beautiful
common-hall was lately erected in what Samuel Johnson
called ' the most academic-looking bit of St. Andrews ' :
which, in its attractive Gothic features, has caught the tone
of all the surroundings. The ancient University itself,
beginning with the Session of 1892-3, has opened its

372 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF ST. ANDREWS
venerable halls to women as to men. And many look with
warm interest to the issue of so marked a new departure.
Let it be added, that a large contingent of the girls from
several houses comes to St. Mary's church : forming a
specially interesting part of the congregation of that quiet
little sanctuary.
All this year, and round till May 1891, it was my duty
to hold myself at the service of the Church at large in the
matter of preaching upon occasions. Although I could
accept only one in ten of the kind invitations which
came, I had to be absent from my own parish to a degree
which my parishioners bore with in the pleasantest way.
And in all parts of the country I beheld manifestations of
the energy of my brethren which were wonderfully cheering
to a very decided Churchman. It may likewise be con
fessed that it makes one feel very amiable, to be made
much of.
I mention only one of these occasions : as it was my
first such duty, and is sure to be my last. On the afternoon
of Wednesday September 3, amid beautiful sunshine light
ing up the yellow fields around, I laid the corner-stone of
a decorous church at Ruthrieston, a suburb of Aberdeen.
About thirty clergy walked in procession, in their robes :
and the service was done with a solemnity very pleasant to
see. We had three hymns. Of course, ' The Church's One
Foundation.' It was a touching and solemn function, not
to be forgot.
Thus genially ended my Twenty- Five Years of St. An
drews. But time will not stand still : and to-day I have

AFTER THE ASSEMBLY 373
held my charge a year and a half longer. And, thinking
only of my first quarter of a century, I feel I have ever so
much more to say of it. Some day, these things may be
related. And the further story may be told of this greatly-
changed city.
Only, concluding, let it be confessed that it is a very
strange thing, in these latter days, when one has grown
more than a little weary, and* all the surroundings are so
changed, and so many of the old familiar faces gone, to
look at a sentence written by the young man of thirty-three,
who wrote the first chapter of the Recreations of a Country
Parson. It spoke of that quiet lovely church-yard of
Kirkpatrick-Irongray: and of the silent walk about it on
summer mornings long ago, when the turf blazed with
great widely-opened daisies amid the mossy stones.
' You sit on the grave-stone of your predecessor who
died two hundred years since : and you count five, six,
seven spots where those who served the cure before you
sleep. Then, leaning your head upon your hand, you look
thirty years into the Future ; and wonder whether you are
to grow old.'

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