M I L I B Ji ^ K Y Theological Se m i n a r y PRINCETON, N. J S/n Bo Macleod, Memoir of M25S M32 1S77 Donald, Norman 1831-191 Macleod MEMOIR OF NORMAN MACLEOD, D.D, John F. Tkow & Son, PrINTEKS AN'l) IjUUKIIINDKRS, 205-213 Edst lit'i St., NEW YOKK. DtHtcatcU TO HIS MOTHER, NOW IN HER NINETY-FIRST YEAR, tN AiTECTIONATE REMEMBRANCE OF ALL THAT HER CHILDREN AND HER children's CHILDREN OWE 10 HER INFLUENCE. PEEFACE. ^T/'HEiS' asked, two years ago, to compile a Memoir ' ' of my brother, I did not accept the task with- out considerable hesitation. Besides the charge of a city parish, heavy responsibilities of another nature had devolved upon me, so that it seemed impossible to undertake additional labour. I felt also that, in some respects, a near relative was not well qualified to fill satisfactorily the office of biographer. These objec- tions were, however, overruled by friends on whose judgment I relied. If afiection should have rendered it difficult to be always impartial, I may be allowed, on the other hand, to derive some comfort from the reflection that a lifelong intercourse, as frank and confidential as could exist between two brothers, gave me oppor- tunities for knowing his thoughts and opinions, which few others^ and certainly no stranger, could have possessed. -Dr. Macleod was a man whom it is almost im- possible to portray. His power was in many ways viii f'RLFACE. inseparable from liis presence. The sympathy, the hnmour, the tenderness depended so much for their full expression on look, voice, and manner, that all wlio knew him will recognise the necessary inadequacy of verbal description. 'Quantum mutatus ab illo' must more esjDecially be the verdict upon any attempt to record instances of his wit or pathos. I must, however, claim for this biography the inerit of truthfulness. In whatever respects it may fail, it cannot, I think, be charged wdth conscious conceal- ment or exaggeration of fact or sentiment. Faults of another kind will, I trust, be forgiven for the sake of the great reverence and love I bore him. I beg gratefully to acknowledge the aid rendered by many friends. The pages of the Memoir indicate that my obligations to Principal Shairp, Dr. Watson, and my brother-in-law, Dr. Clerk, have been great; but there were many others to whom I am indebted for much assistance, and to whom I tender my best thanks. Among these I may mention the Dean of Westminster, Mr. Service, J. A. Campbell, Esq., LL.D., Alex. 11. Japp, Esq., A. D. McGrigor, Esq., and Dr. W. C. Smith. I need scarcely add that ]\Irs. Norman Macleod, by her constant advice and her careful arrangement of her husband's papers, gave me invaluable help. * It may be well to state here that all the illustra- tions are from etchings by Dr. INIacleod, with tlie ex- ception of the view of Aros by ]Mr. Keid, the sketch PREFACE. IX of the Back Study by Mr. Ealston, and of the Monu- ment at Campsie by Mr. Catterns. In conclusion, I must express regret that the appearance of this book has been delayed so long. It can be said in apology, that no available time has been lost during the two years I have been engaged in writing it. Now that it is completed, no one can be more sensi- ble than I am of its imperfections. It will, however, be to me a source of inexpressible gratitude, if, in spite of its many deficiencies, it should convey to those who did not know Norman Macleod, some sense, how- ever inadequate, of the depth of his goodness, of his rich humanity, his childlike faith, catholicity, and devotion. 1, Woodlands Terrace, Glasgow, January, 1S76. CONTENTS. VOL. I. CHAP. I.— PARENTAGE II. — BOYHOOD III. — E.-IRLY COLLEGE DAYS IV.— WEIMAR V. — APRIL. 1835— NOVEMBER, 1836 .... VL— 1836— 7 VIL — EARLY MINISTRY IN LOUDOUN .... VIIL — THE DISRUPTION CONTROVERSY IX. — DALKEITH, DECEMBER, 1843— .lUNE, 1845 X. — 1845. — NORTH AMERICA XI. — EVANGELICAL ALLIANCE, AND TOUR IN PRUSSIAN LAND AND SILESIA XIL — LAST YEARS AT DALKEITH. — 1848—1851 . PAGE 1 13 27 45 63 86 114 170 211 234 253 274 APPENDIX A.— REMINISCENCES WRITTEN BY HIS FATHER IN OLD AGE 331 " B. — A CRACK ABOOT THE KIRK FOR KINTRA FOLK . 340 VOL. IL xiii.— 1851— 1856 ... 1 xrv.— 1857— 1859 ... 57 XV.— 18G0— 61 95 XVI. -1863— 63 117 xvn.— 1864— 65 158 XVriL — SABBATH CONTROVERSY • .188 XIX. — SOME CHARACTERISTICS 213 XX. — INDIA 242 XXL— 1868 281 XXII. — MODERATORSHIP AND PATRONAGE, 1869 — 70 . . . 297 xxm.— 1871— 73 335 XXrV. — HIS DEATH 367 XXV.— THE FUNERAL 393 APPENDIX A 400 B 403 c 403 CHAPTER I. PARENTAGE. AT the end of last century there were two famillef? residing on opposite shores of the Sound of Mull, in Argyllshire, their houses fronting one another across the blue strait which winds in from the Atlantic. From the windows of the Manse of Mr. Macleod, the minister of Morven, on the n ainland, could be seen the dark ruins of the old castle of Aros, in the island of Mull, frowning from its rocky eminence over the Bay of Salen, and behind the castle appeared the house of Mr. Maxwell, the chamberlain of the Duke of Argyll, and 'tacksman'* of Aros. These were the homes where the father and mother (>f Norman Macleod were then enjoying their happy youth. This memoir must begin with a sketch of these families, and of the early life of that youthful pair ; for on few men had early influences a more permanent hold than on Norman Macleod. What he was to the last, in some of the most conspicuous features of his character, could be easily traced to the early asso- * There are few now remaining of the class called ' Gentlemen Tacksmen,' who ranked between laird and farmer, and once formed the bone and sinew of the Highlands. VOL. T. B 2 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. ciations which chistored round ]\[orven .ind ^fiill. Tlio IIij;lilaii(ls of tliosc days no lonj^or oxi^t, hut lie inludod in liis cliihlliood the aroma of an oklcn time, and k'arned from both father and mother so much of its healthy and kindly spirit, as left about his life, to tlic last moment, a fragrance of the romance of which it was full. Except to those immediately concerned, genealopios are uninteresting, and those of Highland families, with their endless ramifications, eminently unprofitable. It will be sufficient to state that I have before me a family ' tree,' — such as used to be so common in the Highlands — in which are the names of the Came- rons of Glcndessary, scions of Lochiel ; of the Camp- bells of Ensay and of Saddell ; of the MacNeils of Crear ; of the MacXeils of Drumdrissaig ; and of the Campbells of Duntroon — names once well known in their own country, although now, alas ! in some instances only found there on moss-grown tombstones. Not far from Dun vegan Castle, in Skye, a roofless house, — its garden weed-grown and abandoned to utter solitude, — marks the place where lived Donald Macleod, the tacksman of Swordale, who married Anne Campbell, a sister of Campbell of Glensaddell. lie was the great-grandfather of Norman, who used to re- peat with grateful memory the tradition of ' Swordale, having been a good man, and the iirst in his neigh- bourhood to introduce regular family worship.' The eldest son of tliis good man, and the grandfather of the subject of this memoir, was called Norman. lie was educated for the Church, and in the year 1774 was ordained minister of the parish of IMorvon, in PARENTAGE. 3 Argyllsliire, that * Iligliland parish' so affectionately described in the ' Eeminiscences.' * The house of Fiunary, as the Manse was called, has given place to a better and more ornamental dwelling. Pleasant woods now cover the green bank beside the bright burn where stood the square house of orthodox Manse architecture — a porch in the centre and a wing at each end— and where grew up the happiest of families in the most loving of homes. Norman thus describes Morven : — "A long ridge of hill, rising some two thousand feet above the sea, its brown sides, up to a certain height, chequered with green strips and patches of cultivation, brown heather, thatched cottages, with white walls ; here and there a mansion, whose chimney^ are seen above the trees which shelter it ;— these are the chief features along its sea-board of many miles. But how different is the whole scene when one lands ! New beauties reveal them- selves, and every object seems to change its size, appear- ance, and relative position. A rocky wall of wondrous beauty, the rampart of the old upraised beach which girdles Scotland, runs along the shore ; the natural wild- wood of ash, oak, and birch, with the hazel-copse, clothes the lower hills, aod shelters the herds of wandering cattle ; lonely sequestered bays are everywhere scooped out into beautiful harbours ; points and promontories seem to grow out of the land ; and huge dykes of whinstone fashion to themselves the most picturesque outlines ; clear streams everywhere hasten on to the sea; small glens, perfect gems of beauty, open up entrances into deep dark pools, hemmed in by steep banks, hanging with rowan-trees, ivy, honeysuckle, and ferns; while on the hill- sides scattered cottages, small farms, and shepherds' huts, the signs of culture and industry, give life to the whole scene." * "Reminiscences of a Highland Parish," by Norman Macleod, D.D. Strahan and Co. 1868. B 2 4 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. Tills minister of Morven was in many ways a re- markable man. Noblc-lookinj^ and elocpient, a ^ood scholar, and true pastor, he lived as a patriarch amoni; his people. lie had a small stipend, and, as its usual concomitant, a large family. Sixteen children were born in the manse, and a number of families — a shepherd, a boatman, a ploughman, — were settled on the glebe with others who had come there in their need, and were not turned away. Never was a simiDlcr or more loving household. The minister delighted to make all around him happy. His piety was earnest, liealthy and genial. If the boys had their classics and the girls their needlework, there was no grudging of their enjoyments. The open seas and hills, boats and dogs, shepherds and fisher- men, the green height of Fingal's Hill, the water- fall roaring in the dark gorge, had lessons as full of meaning for their after-life as any that books could impart. The boys were trained from childhood to be manly, and many an hour taken from study was devoted to education of another kind — hunting otters or badgers in their dens, with terriers whose qualities were discussed in every cottage on the glebe ; shoot- ing grouse, and stalking the wary black-cock (for no game laws were then enforced in Morven) ; fishing through the summer nights ; or sailing out in the ' Sound ' with old Rory, the boatman, when the wind was high, and the Roe had to struggle, close-haukHl, against the cross-sea and angry tide. In the winter evenings old and young gathered round the fireside, where songs and laughter mingled with graver occu- pations, and not unfrequently the minister would tuuo PARENTAGE. k liis violin, and, striking up some swinging reel or blythe strathspey, would call on the lads to lay aside their books, and the girls their sewing, and set them to dance with a will to his own hearty music. Family Avorship, generally conducted in Gaelic, for the sake of such servants as laiew little Eugiish. ended the day. N'orman's grandmother was one of the tenderest and wisest of ministers' wives. The unconscious centre of the every- day life of the household, her husband and children leaned on her at all times, but especially in times of sickness or sorrow ; for if there were days of joy, there were also many days, not the less blessed, of great sadness too, and of mournful partings, when one young form after another had to be laid in the old churchyard. The period when his father* was a boy in Morven was remarkable in many ways. The country was closely inhabited by an intensely Highland people. The hills and retired glens, where now are spectral gables of roofless houses, or green mounds concealing old homesteads, watched by some ancient tree standing like a solitary mourner by the dead — were then tenanted by a happy and romantic peasantry. It is impossible now, even in imagination, to re-people the Highlands with those who then gave the country the savour of a kindly and enthusiastic clan-life — *' The flocks of the stranger the long glens are roamin', Where a thousand bien homesteads smoked bonny at gloamin' ; The wee crofts run wild wi' the bracken and heather, And the gables stand ruinous, bare to the weather." * The late Norman Macleod, D.D., Minister of St. Columba, G asTOW, and Dean of the Chapel Eoj'al. 6 LIFE OF NORMAN MACI.FOD. Tlicre were many men then alive in Morven wlio had been out with ' bonny Prince Charlie,' and the chivalry of the younger generation was kept aglow by the great French war and the embodiment of the 'Argyll Fen- ciblcs.' Among sncli influences as these Norman's father grew up and became thoroughly imbued with their spirit. Full of geniality, of wit, and poetry — fir.^d with a passionate love of his country — wielding her ancient language with rare fi'eshncss and eloquence — he carried into the work of that sacred ministry to which his life was devoted a broad and healthy human sympathy, and to his latest day seemed to breathe the air imbibed in his youth on the hills of Morven.* As the incidents of his life were closely intertwined with those of his son, nothing need here be said of his public career. lie was a remarkably handsome man, with a broad forehead, an open countenance full of benevolence, and hair which, from an early age, was snowy Avhite. His voice was rich and of winning sweetness, and when addressing a public audience, whether speaking to his own flock in tlie name of Christ, or pleading with strangers on behalf of his beloved Highlands, few could resist the per- suasive tenderness of his appeals. He was in many ways the prototype of Norman. His tact and common sense were as remarkable as his pathos and humour. He left the discipline of the children almost entirely to their mother. She was theii* wise and loving in- structor at home, and their constant correspondent iu later life ; while he rejoiced in sharing their com- panionship, entering into their fun, and obtaining the * Soo Appendix A. PARENTAGE. 7 frankest confidence of affection. He seldom if ever lectured them formally on religious subjects, but spread around bim a cheerful, kindly, and truly re- xigious atmosphere, which they unconsciously imbibed. ' Were I asked what there was in my father's teach- ing and training which did us all so much good,' Norman wrote at the time of his father's death, ' 1 would say, both in regard to him and my beloved mother, — that it was love and truth. They were both so real and human ; no cranJcs, ttvisis, crotchets^ isms or systems of any kind, but loving, sympathising — giving a genuine hlowing-iip when it was needed, but passing by trifles, failures, infirmities, without making a fuss. The liberty they gave was as wise as the restraints they imposed. Their home was happy — intensely happy. Christianity was a thing taken for granted, not forced with scowl and frown. I never heard my father speak of Calvinism, Arminian- ism, Presbyter ianism or Episcopacy, or exaggerate doctrinal differences in my life. I had to study all these questions after I left home. I thank God for his free, loving, sympathising and honest heart. He might have made me a slave to any ' ism.' He left me free to love Christ and Christians.' The ancestor of Mr. Maxwell, Norman's maternal grandfather, was a refugee, who, in the time of the ' Troubles,' under Claverhouse, had fled to Kintyre. He was, according to tradition, a younger son of the Maxwells of Newark, and once lay concealed for several weeks in the woods of Saddell, until, being pursued, he escaped to tlu south end of the penin- sula ; again discovered, and hotly chased, he rushed 8 LIFE OF XniUfAX ^^.\CLFOD into a house where the furmer was carding wool. Immediately apprehending- the cause of this sudden intrusion, the man quickly gave the fugitive his own apron and the ' cartls,' so that Mhen the soldiers looked into the kitchen, they passed on without suspecting the industrious youth, who sat * combing the fleece ' by the peat hearth. This young Maxwell settled afterwards in the neigh- bourhood, and his descendants r(?moving to the half- lowland town of Campbeltown, made good mar- riages and prospered in the world. Mr. Maxwell, of Aros, had been educated as a hiAvyer, and became Slieriff Substitute of his native district; but receiv- ing the appointment of Chamberlain to the Duke of Argyll, he settled in Mull, to take charge of the large ducal estates in that island. He was an ex- cellent scholar, and full of kindly humour. If the grandfather at Morven valued Gaelic poetry, no less did the other take delight in the ancient Border ballads of the Low Country and in the songs of Burns, and read with keen interest the contemporary literature of an age which culminated in Walter Scott. He drew a marked distinction between 'office hoiu's' and the time for amusement. Strict and punctual in his own habits, he attended carefully to the work of the tutor, and the studies of his family ; but, when lessons were over, he entered with a young heart into their enjoyments. In summer the house was continually filled with guests — travellers on their Avay to Staffa, with letters of introduction from the South, and remaining sometimes for days beneath the hosjiitable roof. Many of these were persons whose PARENTAGE. 9 names are famous, such as Sheridan, Peel, and Sir "Walter Scott. Such society added greatly to the brightness of the household, and shed a beneficial influence over the after-life of the children. Agnes Maxwell, Norman's motlier, was brought up with her uncle and aunt MacNeil at Drumdrissaig, on the western coast of Knapdale, until she was twelve 3'ears of age. She there passed her early youth, surrounded by old but wise and sympathetic people ; and, being left much to the companionship of natui-e, wandering by herself along the glorious shore which looks across to islands washed by the Atlantic surf, her mind, naturally receptive of poetic impressions, awoke to the sense of the beautiful in outward things. She not only grew up a deeply affectionate girl, but she also learned to feel and think for herself. Her own words give a vivid picture of the healthy training of her childhood : — " My aunt Mary was a woman of strong sense and judgment, very accomplished and cheerful, and while most exacting as to obedience and good conduct, was exceedingly loving to me while I was with her. She gave me all my instruction, religious and secular ; and used in the evenings to take her guitar and hum over to me old Scotch songs and ballads, till I not only picked up a great number, but acquired a taste for them which I have never lost. From the windows there was a charming view of the hills of Jura and of the sea, and I still recall the delight with which I used to watch the splendid sunsets over the distant point of Islay. I never knew what it was to miss a companion ; for it is extraordinary what a variety of amusements and manifold resources children find out for themselves. I fear that some of the fine young ladies of the present day, attended by their nursery-maids, would have thought me a demi-savage had they seen me helping .o LIFE OF NORMAN AfACLFOD. the (liiiiynmid to Lring in the cows, or standing in a hnrn fishing for eels nndor tlie stones, climhing rocks, or run- ning a niatleai) race against the wind. Our next neighbour was a C.iptain Maclachan, wlio had a flock of goats, and of all delightful thinak, and what a sight it was to behold the golden crowns which the sun placed on the brows of the mountain monarchs who first did him homage, what heavenly dawiiings of lit,dit on peak and 'scaur' contrasted with the darkness of the lower valleys ! What gems of glory in ^•he eastern sky, changing the cold grey clouds of early morning into bars of gold and radiant gems of beauty! and what a flood of light suddenly burst upon the dancing waves as the sun rose above the horizon, and revealed the silent sails of passing ships ! and what a delight to hear BOYHOOD. 25 and see tlie first break of the fisli upon the waters ! With what pleasure I descended and gave the cheer wliich made all the sleepers awake and scramble to the boats, and, in a few minutes, resume the work of hauling in our dozens. Then home with a will for breakfast, each striving to be first on the sandy shore." '"' This was good education for the affections, sym- pathies, and imagination. (3ther influences of a very different natiu'e might afterwards be experienced, but VIEW FROM THE HILL BEHIND FIUNARY. the foundation of his character was laid in the boy- hood spent in Campbeltown, Mull, and Morven. Its associations never left him, and the memory of those hom-s, whose sunshine of love had brightened his early life, made him in no small measure the loving, genial man he always was. What he had found so full of good for himself, he afterwards tried to bestow on " " Highland Parish." 26 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. others ; and not only in his dealing -with his own chil- dren, but in the tone of his teaching and in the ministry of his public life, can easily be traced the power of his first sympathies : — " Oh, sunshine of youth, let it shine on ! Let love flow out fresh and full, unchecked by any rule but what love creates, and pour itself down without stint into the young heart. Make the days of boyhood happy ; for other days of labour and sorrow must come, when the blessing of those dear eyes and clasping hands and sweet caress- ings, will, next to the love of God from whom they flow, save the man from losing faith in the human heart, help to deliver him from the curse of selfishness, and be an Eden in the memory when he is driven lurth into the wilderness of life." ""' * " Hi-'hland Parish." CHAPTEE III. EARLY COLLEGE DATS. IN" tlie year 1825 his father was translated from Campbeltown to the parish of Campsie, in Stir- lingshire, where he remained till 1835. The change was, in many respects, great from Campbeltown and the Highlands to a half-agricultural, half-manufac- turing Lowland district, in which the extremes of political feeling between stiffest Toryism and hottest Radicalism were running high. The parish was large and thickly peopled, and its natural features were in a manner symbolical of its social charac- teristics. The long line of the Fell, its green sides dotted witli old thorns, rises into mountain solitude, fi'om a valley whose wooded haughs are blurred with the smoke of manufacturing villages. The con- trast is sharply presented. Sheep-walks, lonely as the Cheviots, look down on unsightly mounds of chemical refuse, and on clusters of smoking chimneys; and streams which a mile away are clear as morning, are dyed black as ink before they have escaped from print-work and bleaching-green. The Manse was on the borderland of mountain and plain, for it was placed at the o^Dcning of Campsie Glen, famous for its picturesque series of thundering waterfalls and 28 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. rocky pools. Behind the Manse lay the clachan and the old parish church, now in ruin. This was a busy period in his father's life, for, besides taking the pastoral charge of the large parish, he wrote, during the ten years of his ministry in C'ampsie, the greater part of the Gaelic Dictionary, which bears his name along with that of Dr. Dewar. He was editor and chief contributor to a monthly Gaelic magazine, which acquired unrivalled popularity in the Highlands ; * and he also translated, at the request of the Synod of Ulster, a metrical version of the Psalms into Irish Gaelic, for the use of the Irisli Presbyterian Church. Besides these literary labours, he took the chief part in establishing the education scheme of the Church of Scotland, the special sphere of which lay in the Highlands. While these public laboui"s taxed his energy, his increasing family, and the concomitant rc8 angusta clomi^ gave no little anxiety to himself and his partner in life. The Manse maintained the traditions of Highland hospitality, and the ingenuity with which guests were accommodated was equalled only by the skill with which a very limited income was made to cover the expenses of housekeeping, and the many requirements of a family of eleven children. Norman was sent for a year to the parish school, taught, as many such schools then were, by a licentiate of the Church — an excellent scholar, and a man of great simplicity and culture. There is little to record of his schooldays, or of his first years at college. His career at tlie Univer- sity of Glasgow, where he took his curriculum of * The ' Toachdairo Oaelltachd.' EARLY COLLEGE DAYS. 29 Arts, was not distinguished by the number of prizes he carried off, for he gave himself rather to the stud}^ of general literature and of science than the subjects proper to the classes he attended. Logic, admirably taught by Professor Buchanan, was in- deed the only class in Arts which kindled his enthu- siasm, and it was also the only one in which he obtained academical honours. He was frequently di'essed sailor-fashion, and loved to affect the sailor in his speech as well as dress. His chosen com- panions seem to have been lads of precocious literary power — some of them considerably older than himself — whose attainments first inspired him with a passion for books, and especially for poetry. His favourite authors were Shakespear and Wordswoi'th, the fii'st acquaintance with whose works was as the discovery of a new world. He was, besides, passionately fond of natural science, and spent most of his spare houi's in the Museum studying ornithology. There is little in his journals or letters to indicate the impression which these college j^ears made on him ; but one of the favourite subjecits of conversation in his later days was the curious life he then led ; the strange characters it ga\ e him for acquaintance ; the conceits, absurdities, enthusiasms in which it abounded; the social gatherings and suppers, which were its worst dissipations ; the long, speculative talks, lasting far into the night, in which its glory and blessedness culminated — and the hard, although unsystematic, studies to which it was the introduction. The loss of accurate scholarship which the desul- loriness of this kind of training entailed mi Hit not 30 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. have been sufficiently compensated by other adv.in- tages ; nevertheless, contact ■with men, insijiht into character, the culture of poetic tastes, of original thought, and of an eye for nature, were perhaps no mean substitutes for skill in Latin verse and ac- quaintance with the Greek particles. He was, besides, very far from being idle. He read much and thought freshty, and even at a very early period in his University career he seems to have contemplated join- ing a fellow-student in the publication of a volume of tales and poetry. His moral life was at the same time pure, and his religious convictions, though not so strong as they afterwards became, were yet such as prevented him from yielding to the many temptations to which one of his temperament and abounding, as he did, in animal spirits was greatly exposed. Next to the grace of God, his affection for home and its associa- tions kept him steady. A short journey from Glas- gow brought him out on many a Saturday during the session to spend Sunday at Campsie, and the loving welcomes he there received and the thou- sand influences of the Manse life served to keep liis heart fresh and pui'e. These visits sometimes gave no little concern to his father and mother, for coming as he did in a full burst of buovant excitement after the restraint of study, the noisy fun and the ceaseless mimicry in which he indulged, disturbing the very quiet of the Sabbath, made them afraid that he would never be sedate enough for being a minister. Both father and niotlier, who could scarcely repress their own iiinghter at his jokes, wrote to him very gravely on tlie dangerous tendencies Mhieh were nianifestin<^ EARLY COLLEGE DAYS. 31 themselves in him. But they might as well have ashed him to cease to be, and, had they told the secret truth, they would scarcely have wished him different from what he was.* And so he passed the four years of his study of 'the Arts,' with happy summers interspersed, sometimes in the Highlands, sometimes in Campsie, until, in 1831, he v/ent to Edinburgh to study theology. Dr. Chalmers was then professor, and Norman listened with delight and wonder to lectures, which were delivered with thrilling, almost terrible, earnest- ness. The Professor's noble enthusiasm kindled a * There were some most original characters then in Campsie, who afforded much amusement to Norman ; but his great iriend was old Bell, the author of ' Bell's Geography,' and editor of ' RoUin's Ancient History.' This man had been a weaver, but, im- pelled by a powerful intellect and literary taste, he devoted himself to study. He lived with his wife in a mere hut, and sat surrounded by books, a Kilmarnock night-cap on his head, and conversing with an emphasis and an originality, not unworthy of Johnson, on every subject — literary, political, theological. Some of his sayings are worth recording. There was a hawker in the parish, a keen controversialist, ever talking of his own perfect assurance of salva- tion, but withal very greedy and worldly. "Humph!" grunted old Bell, when asked his opinion of him ; " I never saw a man so sure o' goin' to heaven, and sae sweart (unwilling) to gang till't." He used to utter aloud in church his dissent to any doctrine he disliked, or sometimes his impatience expressed itself by his long black stick being twirled gradually up through his fingers till it reached well over his head. On one occasion, a young preacher having chosen as his text, "There shall be no more sea," proceeded to show the advantages of such a condition of things. Higher and higher rose Bell's stick as his favourite principles of geography were being assailed under every ' head,' till at last it came down with a dash on the pavement, accom- panied by a loud ' Bah ! the fule ! ' When he was dying, an excel- lent young man, whose religious zeal was greater than his ability, volunteered to pray with him. Bell grunted assent; but as the prayer assumed throughout that the old man was a reprobate, he could scarcely restrain himself to the Amen, before he burst out, " I'm saying, my man, nae doubt ye me:in well ; but ye'd better gang hame and learn to pray for yoursel' afore ye l)ray for other folk.'' When Norman remonstrated with him afterw'ards for his rudeness, Bell ?a:d, " Mnybe ye're richt; but, sure as death, Norman, I canna thole [bear] a fule ! " 3X LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. responsive glow in the young hearts wliich gatliorod to listen to him, and the kindly interest he took in their personal welfare inspired them with affection as well as admiration. Dr. Welsh, a man of kindred spirit and powerful intellect, then taught Church History. iSucli influences did not fail to waken in Xorinan loftier conceptions of the career to which he looked forward. As might have been expected, Chalmers had a pecu- liar power over him, for professor and student had many similar natural characteristics. The large- heartedness of the teacher, his missionary zeal, and the continual play of human tenderness pervaded by the holy light of divine love, roused the sympathies of the scholar. He heartily loved him. And Chal- mers also valued the character of the student, for when asked by a wealthy English proprietor to re- commend for his only son a tutor in whose character and sense he might have thorough reliance, Chalmers at once named Norman. This connection became of great importance to him. The gentleman alluded to was the late Heniy Preston, Esq., of Moreby Hall, theu High Sheriff of Yorkshire. For the next three years Norman acted as tutor to his son ; and whether resid- ing at Moreby or travelling on the Continent, the simple-hearted old squire treated him with the utmost confidence and affection. In the autumn of 1833 ho went for a few weeks to Moreby, but retiu-ned shortly afterwards with his pupil to Edinburgh, and was tlius able to attend his theological classes, while he also superintended the studies of young Mr. Preston. During his second session at Edinburgh, besides the usual classes, he attended Professor Jamieson's Ice- EARLY COLLEGE DAYS. 33 tures on geology, and studied drawing and music. His broth er-in-law, the Rev. A. Clerk, LL.D., who was then his fellow-student, contributes the following re- miniscence : — " It Avas in the social circle Norman displayed the wondrous versatility, originality, and brilliancy of his mind. With a few of his chosen companions round him he made the evening instructive and delightful. He fre- quently, by an intuitive glance, revealed more of the heart of a subject than others with more extensive and accurate scholarship could attain through their acquirements in philosophy or history. He was often disposed to start the wildest paradoxes, which he would defend by the most plausible analogies, and, if forced to retreat from his position, he would do so under a shower of ludicrous retorts and fanciful images. He was ever ready with the most apt quotations from Shakespear, Wordsworth, Cole- ridge, and Keats, or with some telling story ; or, brimming over with fun, he would improvise crambo rhymes, some- times most pointed, always ludicrous ; or, bursting into song, throw more nature into its expression than I almost ever heard from any singer. The sparkling effer- vescence of his mind often astonished, and always charmed and stirred, the thoughts, feelings, and enthusiasm of his companions." It was at this time he experienced the first great sorrow of his life. His brother James, his junior by three years, was a lad of fine promise. Like Korman in many things, he was his opposite in others, and the unlikeness as well as similarity of their tastes served only to draw them nearer to each other. Clever, pure-minded, and affectionate, he was also — what Nor- man never was — orderly, fond of practical work, and mechanics. Norman was rollicking in his fun, James quietly humourous. He was the delegated manager of glebe and garden, and of so sweet and winning a VOL. I. D %x L//V-: OF A'UA'JLLV MACLEOD. iKitui'o, that wlion lie died the tokens of sorrow dis- phiycd by many in the parish were a surprise, as well as a consolation, to his parents. Ilitherto Norman had given little expression to the religious convictions Avhich had been increasing with liis growth since childhood. Now, however, he broke silence. In the sick-room, with none but their mother present, the two brothers opened their hearts to one another ; and, on the last evening they were ever to spend together, the elder asked if he might pray with the younger, Tliis was the first time he had ever prayed aloud in the presence of others, and with a full heart he poured out his supplications for himself and his dying brother. When he left the room, James, calling his mother, put his arms round her neck, and said, ' I am so thankful, mother. Norman will be a good man.' This was a turning-point in Norman's life ; not, indeed, such a crisis as is usually called con- version ; not tliat the scene in the sick-room marked his first religious decision; but the solemnity of the circumstances, the frank avowal of his faith, and the tremendous deepening which his feelings received by the death which, occurred a few days afterwards, formed an epoch from which he ever afterwards dated the commencement of earnest Christian life. The anniversary of his brother's death was always kept sacred by him. Othei* critical times arrived, other turning-points no less important were passed ; but, as in many other instances, this first death in the family, with the impressions it conveyed of the reality of eternity and of the grandeur of tlu^ life in Christ, was to him ' the beginning of days,' EARLY COLLEGE DAYS. 35 At the close of the winter session he returned, with Mr. Preston, to Moreby, and in the following May ho and his pupil started for the Continent. Tii his Mother, written by him when a mere boy ?— Campsie Manse, Friday. " I know how very difficult it is to ease the yearnings of a mother's heart when far from her beloved offspring ; yet I am sure, when she hears that ' all are well,' the wan and wrinkled face of anxiuty will give way to the bloom of youth that makes you look at all times so beautiful. The garret windows being nailed, none of the children have fallen over, and the garden door being locked, none have died of gooseberry or cherry fevers. " But the children are the least of my thoughts ; no, no, let them all die if the housekeeping succeeds ; this is the point. The Principal''"' and Mr. Gordon came here to-night, and don't go otf till Monday ! I and Betty are dying of lamb fevers with the very thoughts of preparing dinners out of nothing ; tliese two nights I have been smothered alive by salmon and legs of roasted lamb crammed down my throat by Jessy and Betty. Oh, my dear mamma, it is only now that a fond mother is missed, when dangers and misfortunes assail us. If you but saw me without clothes to cover, or shoes to put on my feet, all worn away with cooking. I am quite crusty. " But I will not mar your enjoj^nents or hurt your feelings by relating more of this melancholy tale. " Betty, my worthy housekeeper, has told me to-day that she has forty-five young birds and ducks. I think a sixth is to be added in the laundry — if it be so, I intend to get a share of Donald Achalene'sf hed in the asylum." * Principal Baird, of Edinburgh. f A Highland character. D 2 36 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. From his MoTllEii, •when ho was a student in Glasgow :— " While younger, ami under tlie immediate eye of your father and myself, I could watch every little tendency of your disposition, and endeavour as much as I could to give it the right bias ; but now, my beloved child, you are seldom with me, you are exposed to many temptations, and oh, if you knew the many anxious thoughts this gives rise to ! Not, my dear, that I fear anything wrong in principle, in the common acceptation of the word ; but how many shades are there between what is glaringly and broadly wrong to the generality of observers, and the thousand acts and thoughts and words that must be watched and cor- rected and repented of and abandoned, in order to become a Christian ! Avoid whatever you have found hurtful, be it ever so delightful to your taste, and persevt-re in whatever you have found useful towards promoting piety and heavenly-mindedness. You must not look on this as a mother's dry lecture to her son ; no, it is the warm affec- tion of a heart that truly loves you as scarce another can do, and which prays and watches for your eternal interest." Frovi his Father :■■ — Campsie, February 23, 1829. " I rejoice to see your companions, if you would conduct yourself with calmness and seriousness on the Sabbath day, and cease your buffoonery of manner in tone of voice and distortions of countenance, which are not only offensive, but grievous. You carry this nonsense by much too far, and I beg of you, my dear Norman, to check it. Imitation and acting a fool is a poor field to shine in ; it may procure the laugh of some, but cannot fail to secure the contempt of others. I was much pleased with the manner of the Stewart boys — their steady, grave, sedate manner formed a very striking contrast to the continual mimicking and nonsense at which you aim. I imi)lore of you, by the tenderness of a father, and by the authority of one, to desist from it in time, and to despise it, and to assume a more manly, sedate manner. EARLY COLLEGE DAYS. 37 " I liope you will take in good part, as becomes yv:,ii, all I lia\e stated, and evince to nie that you do so when I have the happiness, my dear boy, to see you. I rejoice to see everybody happy ; but there is a manner that gains on a person if indulged in, which must be guarded against, and none more dangerous than that buffoonery which, by making others laugh, causes us to think ourselves very clever. You, even alread}', seldom use your own voice or gestures or look — all is put on and mimicked ; this nmiist cease, and the sooner the better. After this I shall say no more on the subject. I leave it to your own good sense to correct this. " Ever your dutiful Father." To his Aunt Jane : — Fehruary, 1831. " I read your letter over and over, and chuckled over its coruscations of wit and brilliancy ; swallowed, and finally digested all the advices. In fact, it brought me back to Fiunary once more — to Fiunary with all its pleasures and its many enjoyments. I could, Avith a little effort of fancy, picture myself sitting with J. in the garret, giving way to my mimicking propensities to please her, in what- ever character she chose, or one of the social" circle round a happy tea-table, or taking an intellectual walk along the beach ; and no sooner is this imaginary train set a-going than many a happy day spent among the rocks, and in the woods, hills, or glens, rises ghost-like before me, till my too pleasing dream is broken by a dire reality — the college bell summoning poor wretches from their warm beds to trudge through snow and sleet to hear a crude lecture on philosophy, and reminding me that I have so much to do that I cannot expect to see my dream realised for another year. There is no use in fighting against fate, though I long for the day that I shall escape from prison, and ' visit those blessed solitudes from toils and towns remote.' " 38 LIFE OF XURMAX MACLEOD. ¥r\j)i\ his MoTiiKK :^ Campsie, Novrmher 27. " It given mo pleasure to observe the warm and genuine feelings and confessions of fin affectionate disposition — ■ freely spoken. Yes, my dear Norman, long may I find you frankly owning your thoughts and feelings ; this is the true way to a parent's heart, and the true and only com- fortal)le footing for parent and child — the only way ia which a parent can really be of use ; and never Avill you repent trusting yourself to me. Wonderful would be the fault that, when candidly acknowledged, I could not excuse, or at least try to help you to remedy. In all I said I wished to cure you of an ugly habit of arguing that has crept in on you, before it becomes a confirmed habit, and leads you (just for argument's sake) to maintain wrong views ; from first beginning to argue you will by- and-by think these views right." To his Aunt Jane : — ■ June, 1832. *' Where, in the name of wonder, did you light on that lovely poem, Jane ? Talk no more to me of the powers of music to lull the angry feelings or to excite the more gentle ones. Poetry, poetry, for ever ! " We have had four cases of cholera here, and two deaths. My father was down at the Torrance every day, and had no small trouble between keeping down roivs, coffining the bodies, and quelling all those disgraceful and riotous feelings that have been too much the attendants of this sad complaint. " All the children are half ill with chicken-pox ; Polly's face is like a rock with limpets. Limpets ! How that word does conjure up a thousand associations ! — the fish- ing rock, the rising tide waving the tangle to and fro at my feet ! Out comes a fine cod, see how he smells the bait ! I am already sure of him ; I know the bait is good, and the hook of the best Limerick. He snitfs it, and away he slowly sails, gently moving his tail from side to side as he goes off. Uut lu repeiics and turns back and EARLY COLLEGE DAYS. * 39 casts a longing look at the large bait ; slowly his jaws open, and in the most dignified manner close on the meal, and now the line strains, the rod bends, I see something white turning in the water, my eyes fill till I hear ' Whack ' on the rock, and there he lies as red as — as what's the man's name, at Savarie — John Scallag's father ? as red as he. Pardon me, Jane ; this night is oppressively hot, it is perfect summer. They are turning the almost dry hay on the glebe — a calm sleeps on the woods and hills, and this, too, vividly recalls the Sound of Mull, as J fxncy it to be on such an evening. I am at this moment in fancy walking uj) the road to Fiunary with a gadd of fish, knowing that thanks and a good tea await me. " I confess that when I indulge in such fa icies I invo- luntarily wish myself away from my books to feast and revel in the loveliness of the Salachan shore, or ' Clach na Criche ; ' but, as I told you before, I wish to have some summer to look back to as one usefully employed." Letter to his Brother James. (Inside of this letter was found placed a lock of James's hair) : — MoREBY Hall, October, 1833. " I went on Sabbath to church. There Avas no orgnn ; but what think you ? a flute, violin, and bass fiddle, with some bad sinofing. However, I liked the service much. Monday was a great day at York, all the town and country Avere there, it being the time at Avhich, once every three or four years, Lord Vernon, the Arch- bishop of York, confirms the children of this part of the diocese. The scene was beyond all description. Fancy upwards of three thousand children under fifteen, the females dressed in white, with ladies and gentlemen, all assembled in that glorious minster — the thousand stained glass windows throwing a dazzling light of various hues on the white mass — the great organ booming like thunder through the never-ending arches ! The ceremony is intensely simple ; they come in forties and fifties, and surround the bishojD, who repeats the vows and \a.ys his hand successively on each head. I could not help com- 40 LIFE OF XURMA.Y MACLEOD. \\\\x\\\^ tliis with ii sacramcntiil occasion in the Higlilands,* where there is no niinster but the wide heaven, and no offjan but the roar ot" the eternal sea, the church with its kincly churcliyard and primitive congregation, and — tliink of my Scotch pride ! — I thought the hitter scene more grand and more impressive. I ascended to-day to the top of the great tower in the minster, two hunlay. — It is j^ast twelve. The wind blows loud, and the rain falls. I am alone in body, but my mind is in my brother's room, where, I am sure, my dear mother is now Avatching her boy with a heavy heart. May God be with them both ! " Saturday. — I heard the waits last night play ' The Last Rose of Summer' beautifully. It went to my heart ; I thought of my poor James. The week is j)ast, the most memorable, it may be, in my existence. "Monday, 16th Dec. — I saw James, Wednesday morn- ing. Such a shadow ! Still the same firm mind, with the same dependence upon his Saviour. I shall never, I hope, come to that state in Avhich I can forget all the kindness wdiich God has shown me for the last six days ! I had many earnest conversations with dear James. " Alas, this day I parted from one I loved as devotedly as a brother can be loved ! Thank God and Christ, we shall meet. I went to his bedside : ' I am going away, James, my boy ; but I trust to see you for a day during the holi- days.' ' Norman, dear, if I'm spared I'll see you. But what is this to end in ?' I liardly knew Avhat to say. * I know your firmness of mind. But, James, it is but the husk, the mere shell.' ' I am very weak.' ' Yes, Jamie ; but I shall be weak, and all weak. I part Avithout sorrow, for I know you are Christ's, and Christ is God's.' ' I have, Norman, got clearer views since we met. I know on Avhom I can lean.' "Friday evening, ^Oth Dec. — It is all past. My dear brother is now with his own Saviour. I do heartily thank God for His kindness to him ; for his patience, his man- liness, his love to his Redeemer. May I follow his footsteps ! May I join with James in the universal song ! I know not, my own brother, wdiether you now see me or not. If you know my heart, you will know my love for you, and that in passing through this pilgrimage, I shall never forget you who accompanied me so far. ' Thy will be done on earth as it is done in heaven.' 42 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. From Ilia Mother : — Fi'h-uary 7, 1834. " Now, Avrite mc everything as you would to your oivn heart, and do not hide even 2)assing uneasy feehngs, foi fear of making me uneas}^ Beheve me, I will just give everything its own value, and from ' the heart to the heart' is all, you know, I care for." From his JouKNAL : — " Friday. — Went in the evening Avith Uncle Neil to a meeting of the Shakespear Club — Vandenhotf, }3all, MacKay, &c. A very pleasant evening ; fine singing ; two scenes I won't forget : the noble feeling of Vandenhotf when his daughter's health was drunk, and Ball's acclamations (! !) interrupting a very humbugging, stupid speech, 2:)roposing the memory of Lord Byron. There is blarney all the world over. I plainly see the stage, as it now is, and the Church are at com2ilete antipodes. " Sunday. — Not two months dead — my dearest brother — and yet how changed am I ! I thank God Avith my whole heart and soul that He has not forsaken me. I seem a merry, thoughtless being. But I spend many a thinking and pleasant hour in that sick-room. That pale face, all intel- ligence and love — the black hair — the warm and gallant heart of him I loved as well as a brother can be loved — • shall never be forgotten." To his Mother : — York, March 9, 1834. "In an old, snug garret, in the city of York, upon Good Friday, with the minst(;r clock chiming twelve of the night, do I sit down to have a long chat with you, my dearest mother. " I intend upon Sabbath to take the sacrnmont at Moreby. I have reflected on the step, and Avliile I see no objection, I can see every reason in showing forth the Lord's death with Christian brethren of the same calHng ; as to me, individually, it signifies little whetlier I take it kneeling at an altar, or sitting at a table." EARLY COLLEGE DAYS. 43 To his Aunt: — SiON Hill, April 12, 1834. " One peep of Locli Aline or of Glen Dim is worth all in Yorkshire. Their living is certainly splendid ; but, believe me, I shall never eat any of their ragouts, or drink their champagne, with the same relish as I ate the cake and drank the milk beside my wee bed when I returned from tishing. If only the white can had not been broken ! " To his MoTHEu : — • Near MoiiEBY, April 15, 1834. " The house is full, and I am now sleeping at the farm, a quarter of a mile from the house. We have very j^leasant people — Lady Vavasour and her son and daughter. They have been abroad for six or seven years in different parts of the Continent. She and I are great friends. We get letters from her for the Court of Weimar, and she has been drilling me how to speak to her 'Imperial Highness' the Grand Duchess, sister to the late Emperor of Russia." Frvvi his Journal : — "22nd April, Monday. — Upon Easter Sunday I partook of the sacrament in York minster, and although the formulas are of course different from ours, yet, ' as there is no virtue in them, or in them that administer them,' I found God was present with me to bestow much comfort. "During the next week all was gaiety. A party or ball every night. The next week we spent at Sion Hill and, between fishing, riding, seeing the railroad, and, above all, Fountain Abbey, I must say I was very happy. " I start to-morrow morning for London. But what hangs heavy on my mind is the deep sense of responsibility I am under : I have not only the superintendence of my pupil, but I am about to be j^laced in hard trial in a thou- sand circumstances which are eminently calculated to draw my mind off from God. But ni}^ only confidence is in +4 LIFE or NORMAN MACLEOD. Him. O Thou wlio liast brought mc to this — Thou who tlidst make me wliat I am wlieu I had no stroiigtli of my own — to Tliy loving and merciful hands I conuncnd my- self, wholly trusting that I may, through the aid of Tliy Holy Spirit, be every day more sanctified in my atVections, and ever constant in the peiformaaco of my duty." CEAPTEE IV. WEIMAR. WEIMA"R, the capital of the little Duchy of Saxe- Weimar, was chosen by Norman Macleod find young Preston as headquarters during their residence on the Continent. It was at that time a desirable place for those who wished to see German life as well as to study German language and literature. Not that the external features of the town are possessed of interest, for the Palace, with its sur- rounding park, and the Eound Tower, containing its excellent free library, do not redeem Weimar from an aspect of quiet dulness. Yet it was anything but dull in those days. The people prided themselves on the memory of their great citizens — Goethe, then recently departed, Herder, Schiller, and Wieland — and kept up the tradition of literary culture derived from that golden age of their history; while the Grand Duke, with his court, sustained its reputation for hospitality and for gaiety of the old-fashioned order. The town could also boast of a good theatre, an excellent opera, and music ad libitum in public gardens and cafes. The Grand Duke was of a most amiable disposition, and the Duchess, sister of the 4.6 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. Hussian Emperor, was a woman of Lrilliancy and culture, and of great kindness of lieart. There was an early dinner at the Palace every Sunday, followed by an evening reception for all foreigners who had been introduced; and various balls and state cere- monies, scattered at short intervals throughout the year, averted the normal stagnation of the place, and made it a cheerful and pleasant residence. 'With a five-and-twenty years' experience since those happy days of which I wi'ite,' says Thackeray, who had lived in Weimar a year or two previous to the time we are speaking of, ' and an acquaintance with an unusual variety of human kind, I think I have never seen a society more simple, charitable, courteous, gentlemanlike, than that of the dear little Saxon city where the good Schiller and the great Goethe lived and lie buried.' * The charge Avas certainly great from Dr. Chalmers and the Divinity Hall, from the simple habits of the Manse, and from the traditionary beliefs, bigotries, and customs— some true, some false — which hedged the religious life of Scotland, to this Weimar, with its rampant worldliness and rationalism. It was, never- theless, an excellent school for the young Scotchman, who at every turn found some insular prejudice trampled on, or the strength tried of some abiding principle. The most remarkable man at Weimar, and the great friend of all English travellers, was Dr. Weis- senborn. He was a cultivated scliolar, and com- bined the strangest eccentricities of character and * T ettor to G. U. Lowes iu tlio " Story of the T.ifo of Goethe." WEIMAR. 47 belief with the gentlest and most unselfish of natures. He was a confirmed valetudinarian. ' My side ' had become a distinct personality to him, whose demands were discussed as if it were an exacting member of his household rather than a jDart of his body ; yet Weimar would have lost half its charm but for old Weissenborn, with his weak side, his dog Waltina, his chameleon (fruitful source of many a theory on the ' Kosmos '), his collection of eggs, and innumerable oddities of mind and body. All the English who went to Weimar loved ' the Doctor : ' and no father or brother could have taken a greater interest than he did in promoting their happiness and in directing their studies. 'Thou wert my instructor, good old Weissenborn,' writes Thackeray lovingly. 'And these eyes beheld the great master himself in dear little Weimar town.' * Norman entered on this new life with great zest. It doubtless had its dangers. But although he often swung freely with the current, yet his grasp of cen- tral truth, and his own hearty Christian convictions, so held him at anchor that, through the grace of God, he rode safely through many temptations, and was able to exercise an influence for good over the group of young men fi'om England or Scotland who were residing that year at Weimar. The very fact that he entered with them into all their innocent enjoyments and gaieties gave him greater power to restrain them in other things. He may, indeed, have often given too great a rein to that ' liberty ' which was so congenial to his natural temjierament, but it is marvellous that the * " Eoiuidabout Papers, De Fiuibus." 48 LIFE OF NORMA X MACLEOD. reaction was not p;roator in one "who, bronglit np in a strict school, was suckleiily tliiown into the vortex oi fashionable life. He was passionately fond of mnsic, sang well to the guitar, sketched clcv^erly, was as keen a Avaltzer as any attache in Weimar, and threw himself with a vivid sense of enjoyment into the gaieties of the little capital. His father and mother frequently Avariied him against going too far in all this ; and he often reproached himself for what lie deemed his want of self-restraint when in society. Nevertheless, the experience he gained in "VVeimar became of immense practical importance to him. His own healthy nature repelled the evil, while he gained an insight into the ways of the world. In what was new to him he saw much that was good ; much that in his own country was called unlawful, whose right use he felt ought to be vindicated ; and he also per- ceived the essential "vrickedness of much more — in the ' utter rottenness' (as he used to call it) ' of what the world terms life.' Weimar also brought him another influence which told with indirect, rather than direct, power on his cliaracter. It was his fate, in common with many others, to come under the fascination of the great court beauty, the Bareness Melanie von S . Thackeray used often to describe her exti-aordinary charms — ' the kind old Hof-Marschall Yon S (who had two of the loveliest daughters eyes ever -looked upon).' * And she could have been no ordi- nary woman who had the genius thus to evoke, as by a spell, a poetic and ideal life in the young minds sho * Letter to O. U. Lc-wes in the " Stoiy of tlio Life of Goethe." WEIMAR. 49 attracted to her. With Norman she became a kind of romance. She touched his imagination rather than his affections, and awakened a world of aesthetic feel- ings which long afterwards breathed, like a subtle essence, through the common atmosphere of his life. When working against vice and poverty in his parish in Ayrshire, during the heats of the Disruption con- troversy, amid prosaic cares as well as in the enjoy- ment of poetry and art and song, Melanie haunted him as the sweet embodiment of haj)py memories, the spirit of gracefulness and charm and culture ; and thus, for many a day, the halo of the old associations, in which the real Melanie was etherealised, served to cast a delicate light of fancy over the rough details of j)ractical daily work. When he and Preston returned to Moreby, IN'orman had become in many ways a new man. His views were widened, his opinions matured, his human sym- pathies vastly enriched, and while all that was of the essence of his early faith had become doubly precious, he had gained increased catholicity of sentiment, along with knowledge of the world. To A. Clerk : — WeimAB, May 30, 1834. " . . . . Let us pass Frankfort ; half-way to this we visited Eisenach. The approach to the town is through the loveliest scenery of wooded and broken knolls. Oil the top of the highest stands Wartzburg, where Luther was held in friendly captivity to brood over the fate of his country amidst the solitude of a German forest. Would to God there was a second Luther ! Germany is in a VOL. I. E 50 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. most extraordinary state. The clergyman here (Ruhr) is the head of tlie rationalist school ; of religion there is none, and most of the clergy merely follow it as a power in the hands of the State. I am credibly informed by competent judges that ninety-nine out of a hundred are infidels. If you but heard a rationalist talk on religion ! I had a talk with one yesterday. He believed in Hume on miracles, and, moreover, said that he thought it of no conse- quence for our fjiith in Scripture whether miracles were true or not ; in short, he believed in the Scriptures, and yet said they were ' pious frauds.' Devils and all are to be saved at last (tell this for his comfort). If you wish to culore your own Church, country, and profession, come abroad. Here once lived and died Goethe, Schiller, Herder, and Wioland. The souls of the men still cast a halo on the town, brighter than most in Germany. There are many clever fellows here ; a splendid library, open free to all ; a glorious park, likewise open, in which the nightingale never ceases to sing. I am in a very nice fomily. The lady is a countess by right, and yet they have boarders. Such is German society ! They often dine at the Grand Dulse's. The music glorious. Every third night an opera, witli best boxes for two shillings. The Grand Duke supports it, and so it is good. The great amusement of the people on Sunday is going to gardens to take coffee, wine, &c., or to play at nine- pins ; a band of music, of course ; smoking everywhere. The postilion who drives the Eilwagen smokes a pipe the whole way. A man would commit suicide were you to deprive him of his pipe. " The country is a mighty field without a hedge. A steeple here and there surrounded by houses ; no farm- steadings, no gentlemen's houses; corn, rye, 'and grass; ugly bullocks, ugly cows drawing ugly ploughs, followed by ugly women or men ; low, undulaung pine hills. "It is odd the inclination I have here to speak Gaelic. Often have I come out with words. A German asked me something, when I answered plump outright, ' Diabhaull fhios agam!' As another instance of German reason, I may mention that my friend, Dr. Weissenborn, told me gravely to-day that he believed matter in motion to be the WEIMAR. SI same as spirit ; and that as animals arose from our bodies, so we may be mere productions of the planets." To hxs Mother : — Weimar, June 4, 1834. " Yesterday happened to be my birthday — twenty-two is not to be laughed at ; it is a good, whacking age — ' a stoot lad at that age, faith ! and proud may you be for having such a lad this day.' This evening last year I was at home from Edinburgh. The winter months are past ; their effects are felt — have a substantial existence, and must be felt for ever. A knowledge of the world either spoils a man, or makes him more perfect. I feel it has done me good in a thousand ways. I have been made to look upon man as inaii. I see mankind like so many dif- ferent birds in the same atmosphere, alike governed aud elevated by the same feathers. This a clergyman should know ; to feel it is invaluable. "... How are they all at Mull and Morven ? ]\Iany a time I shut my eyes, and, while Avhistling a Highland tune, carry myself back to fishing at the rock or walking about the old castle at Aros ; at other times I am in tlie glen or on the hill. Although it is really nonsense (as I believe there are few periods in our lives really happier than others), I often think those days must have been paradise — I was so perfectly unshackled ; while, at the same time, I remember well my many wishes to go abroad. Every person has his ideal. That was mine ; a , plain Manse is my only one now." From his Mother : — Campsie, Jiim "0. " You ought not even to witness the profanation of the Sabbath — wherever you are. In the first place, you are bound to set an example to your pupil ; in the next place, it is the Christian Sabbath, wherever you are, and to be kept sacred in th )ught and deed before the Lord." E 2 52 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. From his Journal : — " Scotland is, in sooth, in a strange state. But in all this ' noise and uproar,' there are signs of activity and life — that men at least wish good, and this is some- thing. I must say I have much confidence in the sound sense and morality of the people of Scotland. It is absurd to measure them by the turbulent eftervescence of ranting radical town fools, who make theories and speak them, but do no more. There is a douceness (to use a phrase of our own) about the mass and staple bulk of farmers and gentlemen that Avill not i)ermit violent and bad changes. " But how different is the case in Germany 1 There is an apathy, a seeming total indifference, as to what religion is established by law. The men of the upper classes are speculators, and take from Christianity as it suits their separate tastes. They seem to have no idea of obligation. True, the lower classes are not so drunken as ours, just because they have nothing to drink, and their tastes lie in other directions. Not one of them, I believe, is regulated by its moral tendency. In other vices they are worse — much worse. May Germany have anotlier Luther ! "13^/t July, Tuesday night. — I have to-day received a letter from my mother announcing that my old and dear friend Duncan Cam[)bell is dead ' I reverence his memory. He was a friend worthy of the warmest attachment and deepest regard. We were at school together. For many years, I may say, I lost sight of him, until in 1829, in the moral philoso[)hy class in Glasgow, we met as students. From that hour an intimate andclose friendship commenced, shared with a third, James Stuart. We were called ' the thi-eo insc^parables,' or ' the trio.' That winter we were literally every day six or seven hours out of the twenty-four iu one another's company. k. more simple, amiable, and deeply delicate heart tlujre never lived : generous, unsi'lrish, and noble ; one of the few who retain in colU\ge lite the purity which nature stamps. He is gone before me. His memory is associated with happy days. I am far from WEIMAR. 53 his resting-place, but I need never seek it, as I may exclaim in the beautiful words of the translated Persian poet — " Dicebant mihi sodales si Sepulchruiti amici visitarem, Curas meas aliquantulura fore levatas Dixi autem — au ideo aliud prooter hoc pectus habet Sepul- clirum." * "July 17th. — To-day I Avalked with the doctor to the Gottes-acker (the churchyard). I hate the style of foreign burying-grounds. The deeper feelings of our heart, and especially grief, are far removed from the rank, overgrown bushes or from the flowers that are associated with neat beds in a lady's garden. No ; simplicity is unalterably con- nected with deep passion. " Upon Saturday, Halley, the two Millers, Preston, and I, had good fun on the Ettersberge playing ' I spy ! ' and drinking Wurtzburg. Well, we enjoyed ourselves much, and not the less as it reminded us all of school- boy days. " 27th July. — And now this day on which I write is a Sabbath later. I have read my Bible, my only good book. I have then read over my letters again, as I receive plea- sure from refreshing my mind with expressions of love and affection. " Tell me, is it weakness or childishness to have home and friends ever present to your eye ? Honestly, I think I am neither the one nor the other, and yet at times I feel as if a single change by death would make the world quite different to me. I am sometimes frightened to think upon what a small point in this respect hang my pleasure and my pain. In truth, the Continent is a horrid place for the total want of means — no good books, no sermons, no church ; I mean for me. " I would renew my confidence and trust in Him who has said, * Ask and ye shall receive ^ I will never leave you, I will never forsake you.' The past is still the same." * This College friend was the original from which he drew the character of ' Curly ' in " The Old Lieutenant." 5+ LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. SONNET CiN HEARING OF COLERIDGE's DEATH (in WEIMAR). Oft \vx\G I watch'd, in meditative mood, A sunbeam travel over liill and dale : Now searching the deep valley, now it fell, With gorgeous colouring, on some ancient wood, Or gleam'd on mountain tarn ; its silver flood Bathed every cottage in the lowly vale ; 1'ho brook, once dark amidst the willows grey, Danced in its beams, and beauties, dimly seen. Were lighted into being by that ray : The glory ceas'd as if it ne'er had been, But in the heart it cannot pass away — There it is immortal ! Coleridge, friend of truth, Thus do I think of thee, with feelings keen And passions strong, thou sunbeam of my youth 1 To A. Clerk : — Weimar, Odoler 12, 1834. " I have just returned to Weimar after a fine tour. Look at the map, and draw your pencil from Weimar through Cobourg, Nuremberg, Augsburg, Munich, Innsbruck, Saltzburg, Linz, down the Danube to Vienna ; back to Briinn, Prague, Dresden, Leipsic, Weimar ; and you have our course. And you may well suppose I saw much to interest and amuse me. The three Galleries of Munich, Dresden, and Vienna are glorious ; I feasted upon them. I was there every hour, so that many of the greatest works of art are engraved in my memory. The Tyrol is mag- nificent beyond words : the eye is charmed, and the heart filled still more, with an overflowing sense of the beautiful. In religion the people there are as yet in the Middle Ages. Fancy a sacred drama acted in one of the love- liest scenes of nature before about six thousand people, and representing the Crucifixion !* * This must refer to the Ammergau Play. WEIMAR. 55 " Vienna is a strange place — Greek, Jew, and Gen- tile ; I know not wliicli is worst ; I do not like the place ; fine music, good eating, fine sights, and a nasty people. I hate Austria — tyranny and despotism ! Slaves and serfs from Hungary and Moravia walk under the nose of the ' Father ' of his people ! They, poor souls, eat and drink while Metternich picks their brains and pockets. There is no danger of revolution there ! They are ignor- ant and stupid. You may be sure I visited the fields of Wagram and Aspern. When in Briinn — where I staid a week — I saw 40,000 men encamped. A splendid sham fight took place, lasting two days, with everything like a real battle except the wounds— taking of villages, &c. — and this upon the mighty field of Austerlitz. Was that not worth seeing ? And how fine, how strange, in the still, cool evening, to ride along that great camp stretching over a flat plain for tliree or four miles, the watch-fires scattered over it, and each regiment with its band playing such music as I never heard ! " At Prague I saw a Jewish synagogue. It almost made me weep. Such levity and absurdity I never saw.. The spirit had fled J " To his MoxnEE: — Weimar, Odoher 28, 1834. * « 45- % I have made my debut as a courtier ! ! The court days are Thursday and Sunday. Every Sunday fortnight you are -.nvited to dinner in full court dress. Hem ! I am nervous on approaching the subject. I7n2)rimis a cocked- hat ! under it appeareth a full, rosy, respectable-looking face, in which great sense, fiiie taste, the thorough gentle- man, and a certain spice of a something which an acute ol)server would call royal, are all exquisitely blended ! A cravat of white supporteth the said head. Next comes a coat which, having the cut, has even more of the modesty, of the Quaker about it. The sword (! !) which dangles beside it, however, assures you it is not a Jonathan. Now, the whole frame down to the knees is goodly — round ant] 56 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. plump. I say to the knees, for tliere two small bueklos mark tlio ending of tlie breeches and the commencement of two handsome legs clothed in silk stockings, l^uckled shoes sui)port the whole figure, which, with the excej)lion of white kid-gloves, is ' black as night,' The hour of dinner is three ; you sally forth to the Palace, gathering, in going, like a snowball, every Englishman in town. You mo-ve among servants to the first of a finely-lighted suite of rooms. Ladies and gentlemen are scattered about chatting (most of the gentlemen in military uniforms). You mingle with the groups, bowing here and chatting there, and every now and then viewing yourself in one of the fine mirrors which adorn the Avails {'stoat lad, faith!' *) The rooms become more crowded ; a bustle is heard ; the Grand Duke and his Duchess enter, sliding along between two rows of people, who return their bows and becks. The Duke chats round the circle. If you are to be introduced, a lord or master-in- waiting watches an oppor- tunity and leads you up, announcing your name, and, after making your most profound salaam, a few questions are put as — How do you like Weimar ? How long do you intend staying ? — and the Duke bows and passes on. I speak nothing but German at court. Is that not bold? but I get on uncommonly well. You are generally addressed every time you go. The dinner is very good ; sixty people or so sit down. You leave after dinner, and return again in the evening. There is nothing done but conversation, though some play cards. You may retire when you like. I do so as soon as I can, as this is not the way I like to spend Sunday evening. Every night we have some prince or other ; the brother of the King of Prussia was there last time. How much more have I felt at a small party at Craigbarnet ! But thanks to these and the worthy woman t who gave them, that society comes now so easy to me. * This expression was one which occurred in one of his Highland stories, and was a favourito quotation, being always given with the full native accent. t Mrs. Stirling, Craigbarnet, Cumpsie. : WEI3IAR. 57 " If you but heard that best of men, the honest Doctor, and me planning how to keep all the young fellows in order ! and when ten or so meet it is no easy task. It has, however, been done. Winter has almost begun, we had snow yesterday. I have a good stove and abundance of wood, so with a good easy-chair — called in German Grossvaterstuhl, — I am in great comfort. But now this throws me back to ' our ain fireside,' and then I long to be among you all to get my heart out, for except on paper it has very little exercise. I am studying hard — Greek and Latin every day. I read (this is for my father, as you are not a German blue) Horace and Cicero de Officiis day about with Preston, the Greek Testament every morning. Ask my father to write to me. He has a ' vast of news ' to tell me, about Church, Irish, and Gaelic matters, all of which give me much interest. " By-the-bye, mother, give me your advice. Now, don't be sleepy, I am nearly done. What would your well- known economical head suggest as to — my court dress ? First of all ascertain whether there may not be in some of the old family chests a relic of the only sprig of no- bility in your blood — Maxwell of Newark's sire. I think old Aunty Bax, if she were bribed or searched, could turn out an old cocked hat or sword. If this scent fail, we must try the Scandinavian side. But my idea is, all such relics perished during the Crusades ! Donald Gregory Avould give some information. If no such thing exists, then my determination is fixed, that a room in the Manse be kept called the court-room, in which my clothes be pre- served for my descendants : I mean — and have no doubt by your looks you have hit on the same idea — that this does not take place until I have worn them first as moderator. " I think of taking drawing and singing lessons time about. I think I have a taste for both, and my idea is that it is a man's duty as well as pleasure to enlarge every innocent field of enjoyment which God has put in his way. S8 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. " Oh dear, I almost thought myself at home ; but the stove is nearly out, and it is still Dcutschland. *' I am, your rising To his Mother :— Weimar, Novemher 19, 1834. " Here 1 sit on a wet, nasty evening — Sunday. All are at court but myself. A Sunday evening here is detestable. If I can spend it by myself, good and well ; if not ! No church, no sermon, no quiet, no books but German." To an old Fellow Student : — Weimar, Decemher 2, 1834. " I have just received your long-wished-for epistle. Within the last half-hour I have speculated more upon your condition (on what the Germans call your Inneres, or inward being) than I have ever done before. In Heaven's name, why that doleful ending of a merry letter ? Can it be a joke ? ' One that was ' — ' tomb.' This must not be. If you are really ill, I grieve for you as a dear friend ; but if it is but fancy, away with it to the shades ! Look out on nature in all her simple glory ; feel your- self a part and being of the universe ; feel your own eternal dignity, that is beyond and above all the matter WEIMAR. 59 before which, alas ! it often bows, but to which it owes on allegiance ! ' We receive but what we give, And in our life alone does nature live : Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud ! ' Read your Bible, and, if you want the joy, the meditative joy, which finds religious meanings in the forms of nature, read dear Coleridge, or his brother Wordsworth. But the former I love, I adore. Buy his works should you have no more in the world to spend. "This moment I have read your P.S., which I did not notice. ' Blood to the head !' What a setting sun your face must be ! Did you ever hear since the days of Hip- pocrates of a fellow of your age and strength having blood to the head ? Why, man, I suppose you sometimes feel dizzy and get blind, and stagger, when you had parti- cularly simple biliousness ; for all these symptoms I have had a thousand times, and half killed myself thinking then as you do now. Take a great deal of exercise every day; read a few novels, and send those blue devils to their master." From his Mother :— Decen^J^er 8, IBS*. " You complain of want of books, and a sad want it is ; but you can meditate and pray, and set no wrong example ; and you have your Bible — his Bible who, to his last moment, loved you with more than a brother's love. It will, I trust, be but a secondary motive with you, but I know his image, as you last parted from him, his love, and a recollection of his virtues, will ever rise up to keep you sober in pursuit, and steady in principle. I feel that when I write to you, dearest, I will not seem tiresome or preaching too much." SONNET. The time had been when this bright earth and sky, At dewy morn, calm eve, or starry night, Inspired the passionate and wild delight 6o LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. Which only dwell Avith lofty purity Of heart and thoiiglit ; but soon that lioly light, Which conies from heaven to beautify The things of sense departed, and deep night Concealed their glor}'- from the seeking eye. My soul Avas dinnned by all-destroying sin, Which o'er my inner sense and feelings crept Like frost at early monj. Still oft Avithin This darken'd heart a sudden gleam, a share Of former joy, was mine ; and I have Avept, And thought 'tAvas from a distant mother's prayer ! To his Mother: — "Weimar, Dtcember, 1834. " You knoAV, mother, there are very fcAv, if any, upon Avhose good sense, in matters of the Avorld, I Avould rely more than on yours. I have seriously thought of all you say about my acquiring tastes and habits uncongenial to my future profession. To tell you the honest truth, this sometimes does give me pain. To battle against a thou- sand little things Avhich insidiously collect round your mind like iron filings on a magnet, till it is all covered, is impossible. There is a style of life Avhich has charms, talk of it as you please, and somehoAV or other it comes quite naturally to me. " But yet, on the other hand, I trust I feel too highly those mighty things Avhich constitute real greatness, whether found in cloAvn or king ; and the grand position a zealous clergyman takes in human society ; together Avith the world of knowledge I am now acquiring of human character, and of the ivay to maTuige men — so that I shall enter, under God's blessing, uj^on the Avork Avith spirit and success, and be above all discontent. " Say to my isither, Avith my love, that I have paid jiarticular attention to his part of the letter. My next shall be to him ui)on German theology and sundry other matters, " As for the girls, keep none of them cramped up at piano Avith crooked backs. Air and liberty for the young, WEIMAR. 6? and then two hours or so of hard earnest work. When I have chiUh'en, I shall certainly act on this principle ! " You predicted a great many things about me which have turned out true, and which make me ashamed of the weakness of my character. I leave Weimar in a month, at the very furthest ; and the regret with wliich I leave it makes me blush. Why am I sorry ? Am I not going home to tliose who love me more than any on earth ? I am ; and this is invaluable. But still — still there are a thousand things which I am destined for, and which I shall fulfil, but to Avhich my last year's edu- cation has been directly opposed. Mother, you have taste yourself, so excuse my rant. When you only remember the beau-ideal life I have been leading, call me weak, call me fool, but let me speak it out, and, like a great ass, turn W) my poor nose against Scotch lairds and their pride, and Scotch preachers with their fanatical notions. I agree with my fiither to a ' T ' about them. And to be obliged to have my piety measured by my reading a news- paper on a Sunday, or such trash ; or by my vote on this side or that ; or by my love of music ; or Don't be angry, for I am done, and in better humour. " I trust to see you in July. In the meantime I am looking forward to coming back here this time next year. Hurrah for old Germany again ! Next to Scotland I love her. I am upon the qui vive for a letter as to our route. " I long to tell you all my adventures, and how I fell in love with the beautiful ' La Baronne.' If you only saw her, mother ! None of your ' blockheads ! ' You were once in love yourself, and I don't blame you, for m}^ father is a good- looking man — 'Jine stoot 7nan, faith !' She has made me a poet ! " How do my poor crocuses look ? What happy feel- ings does the question recai 1 — Campsie long ago and spring contentment — home and happiness I I have no news. The same routine of reading, balls, court concerts, and ojieras. I long to hear if my father has been made Moderator. I should like to be at the head of everything. It is a grand thing." 62 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. From Db. Weissenborn (written to N. after bis return to Scotland) : — Weimar, JuJh, 1833. " You appear to be a thoroughly revised and im- proved edition of yourself. Happy man, whose feelings are not alienated from his native country and early connections by a residence abroad, yet keeps a lively remembrance of his friends there ; whose sound constitution throws out foreign peccant matter, after having assimilated the whole- some principles. Don't smile if I become a little pathetic on the subject. I really was afraid that your residence here would have an injurious effect on your tendencies, inclina- tions, future plans, and prospects ; in short, your haj^piness and usefulness to your fellow-creatures. I therefore looked forward towards your return not as a happy event, but as one fraught with evil consequences and uneasy feelings to myself, the more so because my health is so very bad and fluctuating, that I would have felt all the misery you might fiave brought upon yourself without being able to remedy or lessen it. You'll forgive a sick man if he take, perhaps, too gloomy a view of things ; but you may judge how happy I feel to find that all my evil anticipations are dispelled by your letter. As to the difference of opinion which exists between you and me with respect to religion, I trust it is only formal, and I hoi)e German rationalism has not made you a whit less inclined to dispense the blessings of religion to your future parishioners under those forms which are most suited to their circumstances, or most likely to produce the best practical results ; though I am convinced myself that we can't stem the torrent of the age so effectually here as it may be possible on your insulating stand of old England. We must first experience its devastations before "wo can reap tue fruit of its inunda- tion." CHAPTEK Y. APIUL, 1835 NOVEMBER, 1836. WITH the exception of a brief yisit to Scotland, he remained at Moreby from April, 1835, when he returned from the Continent, till October of the same year. He then went to Glasgow to re- sume his theological studies. As his father was at that time leaving Campsie for his new charge of St. Columba, Glasgow, he lived with his valued friend and relative, Mr. William Gray, in Brandon Place. .He at once devoted himself to hard study. Not only do his note -books show the extensive field of reading he went over, but his former fellow- students were surprised at the rapid mastery he had obtained over various branches of theological learning in which he had before shown only a passing interest. For although his previous education had not been favour- able to scholarship in the technical sense, yet from this time to his latest day he cultivated accurate methods, read extensively on whatever subjects he was professionally occupied with, worked daily at his Greek Testament, and kept himself well informed as to the results of modern criticism. He had the rare faculty of rapidly getting the gist of a book, and 64 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. without toiling over every page, he seemed always to grasp the salient points, and in a marvellously short time carried away all that was worth knowing. In the May of 183G, his father having been elected Moderator of the Church of Scotland, he went to Edinburgh, and listened with great interest to the debates of an Assembly, the attention of which was dii'ected to Church work rather than to Church jiolity. The passages from his journals referring to his spii'itual condition, which are given throughout this memoir, while no more than specimens of very copious entries, are yet thoroughly just representations of the self-scrutiny to which he subjected himself during his whole life. Those who knew him only in society, buoyant and witty, overflowing with animal spirits, the very soul of laughter and enjoyment, may feel surprised at the almost morbid self-condemnation and excessive tenderness of conscience which these joiu-nals display, still more at the tone of sadness which so fre- quently pervades them. For while such persons may remember how his merriest talk generally passed imperceptibly into some graver theme — so naturally, indeed, that the listener could scarcely tell how it was that the conversation had changed its tone — yet only those who knew him very intimately were aware that, although his outer life had so much of api)arent abandon he not only preserved a habit of careful spiritual self-culture, but was often subject to great mental depression, and Avas ever haunted with a con- sciousness of the solenniity, if not the sadness, of life. In point of fact, much of his self-reproach arose from the earnestness of the conflict which he waged APRIL, i%ii— NOVEMBER, 183b. 65 against his own natural tendency to self-indulgence. For if on one side he had deep spiritual affinities and a will firmly resolved on the attainment of holiness, \\Q had on the other a temperament to which both ' the world and the flesh ' appealed with tremendous power. His abounding humour and geniality had, as usual, their source in a deeply emotional region ; rendering him quickly susceptible to impressions from without, and easily moved by what appealed strongly to his tastes. This rich vein of human feeling which constituted him many-sided and sym- pathetic, and gave him so much power over others, laid him also open to peculiar trials in his endeavour after a close life with God. Besides, as if to be the better fitted for dealing with others, there was given to him more than the usual share of the experi- ences of ' life ; ' for he was frequently brought strangely and closely into contact with various forms of evil — subtle and fascinating ; thus gaining an in- sight into the ways of sin — though, by God's grace, he remained unscathed by its evil. And not only this self-scrutiny, but the tone of sadness also which pervades these journals must sound strange from one generally so buoyant. The tendency to reaction common to all sanguine na- tures, combined wdth his Celtic blood, may perhaps have helped to give it the shape it so frequently takes, for the way in which he moralises even in youth upon approaching age, and ever and anon speaks of death, and of the trausitoriness of the pre- sent, is quite typical of the temperament of the High- landers of the Western Islands. But there was an eio- VOL. I. F 66 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. mcnt in his own character strong yet subtle in its in- fluence, which produced finer veins of mehmcholy. The more than chihllike intensity with which his :i flections chmg to persons, places, associations, made him dread separation, and that very dread suggested all manner of speculations as to the future. He was continually forecasting change. There was assuredly throughout this more of a longing for ' the larger life and fuller' than a mawkish bewailing of the vanishing ijresent. Ilis views of the glorious purpose of G od in creation were from the first healthy and hopeful, and became one of the strongest points in his creed. Nevertheless, it served to produce a side of character which was deeply solemn, so that when left alone with his own thoughts a kind of eerie sadness was cast over his views of life. The deep undertones of death and eternity sounded constantly in his ear, even when he seemed only bent on amusement. His favoui'ite quotation literally expressed his experi- ence— ' I hear the mighty -naters rolling evermore.' From his Journal : — " Morehy, April 30, 1835. — I have at last returned from the Continent this morning. With how many feelings of the past do I write it ! I read over many old letters and jour- nals, and I felt the old man, which I supposed one little year had crushed, to be as strong as ever. No, not quite so strong ; but still he was there, and I could recognise many of his old familiar features. This last year lias been quite an episode in my life ; it does not seem to chime in with the rest of the story, and yet it is a material and iiaportant part of it. APRIL, 1835 — NOVEMBER, 1836. 67 "It was a dream ; its people were images in a dream, never seen before or to be seen again. Everything was, and flashed upon me. I am awake, and the dream is past. " Haiues, Aug. 1 3^/^. — Spent this morning in fishing, and, after walking eight or nine miles, returned as I went. I had, however, for my guide and companion a most rare speci- men of a Yorkshireman. He is the village cobbler. He and his have been here from generation to generation ; and what part of the shire is more secluded than Hawes ! We spent the time ' in chat and clatter ;' and with his pecuhar drawl and stories I was much amused : — ' Ise deena believe mea- sell what foaks sea like, boot t' wutches beean in 'deals like, boot thea sea hoa there weas yance in t' time ot t' wear maebea hoondred year and mear a man wid ceart an harse gang i-oop bye t' Fell theare, an in t' ceart was a kist and gooald ; an t' neame ot hoarse was Ham. Soa t' driver sead, ' Che wo hoop, Ham. We God's mind or noa oop heel thou man gang.' Soa t' heel opened like, and t' keest fell een, and thear weas nought mear aboot eet ! Boot yance seex parsons were tae conjor it oot, and toald t' wae or 'tfoar leads we them to say nout ; and soa they prayed and prayed teelt they gat thee keest and youked t' harse, boot yan o' t' leads said — " Gad lads ! wese geet eet yeet." When t' keest howped oop t' heel an' weas seen nea meer.' " The cobbler once talked with a man who had gone to Kendall to see the Highlanders pass north. They had no shoes, and looked miserable ; plundering, but not slaying. The landlord with whom he staid had his shoes taken off him thrice by successive parties. "Ambleside, Idth August. — I have to-day accomplished what I have long sought. I have seen, talked, and spent two or three hours with Wordsworth. I set off in the morning with a note of introduction by myself, for myself. I arrived at the door of a sweet, beautiful cottage, and was ushered into a small parlour with a small hbrary, chiefly filled with books of poetry, among which was a fine edition of Dante. Presently the old man came in in an old brown jrreat coat, larsfe straw hat, and umbrella, and ushered me into a small, plainly furnished parlour. Here we sat some time, talking about Germany, its political state, and the F 2 68 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. character of its inhabitants, — of tlic Scotcli Churcli and the levelling system, and right of voting ; and here he read me the note from his last volume. We then Avent out and stood on the lovely green mound commanding views of Rydal and Windermere. There I said to him ' We arc sorry that you are not a friend of Ossian.' This set him a-going, in which he defended himself against the charge, and saying ' that although self-praise was no honour, yet he thought he might say that no man had written more feelingly than he in his favour. Not the Ossian of McPherson, w'hich was trash, but the spirit of Ossian, was glorious ; and this he had maintained.' He then brought his works and read many passages in the bower showing this. He said that he had more enemies in Scotland than elsewhere ; that his little volume could not fight against all the might of a lonfj-established Review — it was stupidity or envy ;- -but that his book had now got greater circulation than they or it ever had. His books must be studied to be understood — they were not for ladies, to be read lounging on a sofa. " He said that Professor Wilson Avas an exceedingly clever man, and that it was such a pity that his talents and energies were not directed to one point. On our return to the house, he said he had suffered much distress. His dear sister was dead, his daughter was lying ill Avith spine, and now an old family servant Avas dying, ' but I endeavour to amuse myself as I can.' " I blessed the dear old man, came aAvay ; and he said he might Avander into my house some day or other in Scot- land. Oh, hoAV I felt as I heard him read in his deep voice some of his OAvn imperishable verses — the lovely evening — the glorious scene — the poetry and the man ! " Aug. 2-ith. — I received from home a parcel, and a letter from my father Avho is in London about the Psalms, The event Avhich he communicates is to me all important — he leaves Campsie and goes to GlasgoAv. \\'liat are my feelings ? I can hardly express them. It is a struggle between tlie ideal and real ! On calmly consider- ing it, I do think that the change is nuich for the better. A large family is nowhere in such an advantageous posi- APRIL, \%ii— NOVEMBER, 1836. 69 tion for every improvement and advancement as in a town ; which is also, I beUeve, more economical Yet, to leave Campsie ! Spot of my earnest feelings, and of the dearest associations of the happiest period of my life ! Gone is the continued presence of green fields and free air — gone the identifying of every lovely spot with the bright thoughts of youthful existence. " I wish I could write a series of sonnets entitled * Influences ; ' viz. : all those projections which turn the stream of life out of its course, bending it slightly without giving it a new direction. Nothing makes a man so contented as an experience gathered from a well- watched past. As the beauty of the finest landscape is sometimes marred on actual inspection by a nauseous weed at your feet, or painful headache, or many little things which detract from a loveliness only fully felt in the recollection when those trifles are forgotten — so, our chief happiness is too often in recollection of the past, or anticipation of the future. Now, it is knowing what the past really was, which we now recal with so much pleasure, and over which there seems ' a light which never was on sea or land,' that we are able to estimate the amount of happiness and value of the present. And I think he who does this will seldom be discontented ; for the miseries of life are few, and its blessings are ' new to us every morning and evening.' " I have just returned from a pleasant walk, with a lovely sunset, and the cushats weeping and wailing in the wood. " Septemhe7' 15th. — The long-expected festival-week is past ! I never have, in my life, nor ever expect again to have, such a glorious treat — I have heard The Creation. ^ " I shall not attempt to offer a criticism upon the music which I heard during the festival. Whoever has seen York Minster, may fancy the effect of a grand chorus of 640 performers before an assembled multitude of perhaps 7,000 people, with Braham, Philipps, Rubini, Lablache, Grisi, &c. We had very delightful company in the house — Sir Charles Dolbiac, (M.P.)'and daughter; Milnes Gaskill, M.P., wife and sister-in-law ; Miss Wynn Smith ; Wright, with 70 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. his wifo and tlanghter ; Lady Sitwell ; Mr. and ^fr... Xor- ton ; Mr. and Miss Forbes, Edinburgh; Captain Canijtboll, 7th Hussars ; Lord Grey. I had the most interesting con- versation with Gaskill, Wright, and Lady Sitwell. " Gaskill mentioned the following things: — Peel does not confide sufficiently in his own party, he tells nothing to them ; but if you do make a good speech, he will shake you by the hand and talk kindly. His difficulties on the Catholic question were great. His principal adviser and confidential friend was Dr. Lloyd of Oxford. The Duke, who looks at a question of politics like men in a field of battle, after two hours' conversation, told Peel that he had agreed. Peel knew there was no use fighting in the council, and he determined to resign. He went to Windsor to do so. The King, who had all the feelings of his father on the subject, remonstrated, and asked Peel if he could form a Ministry which would resist. Peel saw it was im- possible. The King then said, that what he would not do as an individual he was compelling him to do by asking him to change. Would he desert him ? Would he leave the onus on him ? Peel came home, and for two nights never Avent to bed. Wrote to his friend Dr. Lloyd that he knew that in sticking to the King, from the most loyal motives, he was sacrificing his political character, &c. ; and so he passed it : and now he would willingly change his i^iind ! " Peel's memory is amazing. ' Can you forget all this trash ?' said he to a friend, as a member was speaking. ' / can't;' and so he never did, but would recall words and circumstances a year afterwards. " One night Mr. Gaskill Avas at a party at the Duke of 's ; Peel, Wellington, and some others, were playing whist ; Croker was learning t^cart^ at another table. ' Go,' said Peel to one of his friends — ' go and ask if he ever learned the game before.' ' Never ! ' said Croker, 'upon my soul' * Well,' said Peel to his friend, who returned, ' I'll bet, in twenty minutes by my watch, Croker tells his teacher that he does not know how to play.' In jive minutes Croker was hoard saying, ' Well, do you know, I should not have thought iluit the best way of playing.' This was received with a roar of laughter. APRIL, 1835 — NOVEMBER, 1836. 71 "September l()th. — 0 God, I am a weak, poor, sinful man, unmindful of past mercies, and of a hardened heart. Merciful Father, I implore pardon from Thee for my sins, and entreat the aid of thy Holy Spirit, by which alon(3 1 can light the evil one. Hear me, for the sake of the atoning blood of thy dear Son, in whose eternal merits I trust alone for salvation. "September 28th, 1835, — G. was staying with ns. He is the editor of a periodical called The Churchman, and is a most violent Episcopalian of the old school, as he was once as violent a dissenter of the new. There are few liberal Churchmen — very few ; and to me nothing is more absurd than the violence of men professing tlie same faith in all its essentials, and, in the present state of things, cutting one another's throats. England is beginning to reform her clergy ; and good morals, with a sound Calvinistic theology, are rapidly gaining ground. I have myself seen so much wickedness in manners and opinions that my heart bows before a good Christian wherever I meet him. We had good sacred m.usic on Sunday evening. This may be abused ; and then, jier- haps, it is wrong. But certainly to me it is infinitely more sacred than the chatter round a fireside on stufl* and nonsense, such as I have frequently heard. But remember Paul and the 'meats.' " September 29th. — I had to-niglit a long argument Avith an atheist, Mr. C . I have known intimately many strange thinkers, from fanatics to atheists. All sceptics whom I have ever met have been very ignorant of the argument and facts of the case. This has been my con- firmed experience in Germany and England. Fanatics knew and felt ten times more. Believing too much is more philosophical than believing nothing at all, " I finished Heine's ' History of Modern German Litera- ture.' His German style is beautiful ; his remarks astonish- ingly striking, original, and pointed ; his character of tho poetry, painting, architecture of the Middle Ages admir- able. " Sunday, 11th. — This is the last Sunday I shall spend in Moreby for some time. How many pleasant ones have I 72 IJFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD had in tlic old church at StilHncfflcet, in its antique pew and oak scats, worn away by nuniherloss generations ! I trust I have seen enoufjh of the Enfjlish Cliurch to love her capabilities and to admire her mode of worship ; and while I enter with heart into that mode and form in which I have been born and bred, I trust to have for ever an aticction foT the venerable Liturgy and those institutions which so well accomplish their purpose of dift'using the Gospel of Christ among the nations. O Lord, I thank Thee for the many peaceful Sabbaths which I have enjoyed. Forgive their much abuse, and still preserve my mind more and more for that eternal Sabbath which I ho})e one day, through the blood of the Atonement, to spend with Thee in heaven. " Oci'oher VMh. — The last night at j\Ioreby. How much could I now say on my leaving this excellent family whom I esteem so much and highly ! Mr. Preston has been as a father. God bless them all ! " I thank Thee, 0 God, through Jesus Christ, for all Thou hast done for me since I came into this family. Lord, may thy kindness not be thrown away, but may everything work for my good. Amen, Amen. " Glasgoiu, 2Srd Deceviher. — This day two years ago James died. I shall ever consider this day as worthy of my remembrance, because to me it marks the most im- portant era of my life. Amidst temptations it has warned me ; in my Christian course it has cheered me. In far other scenes than these I have I'cmembered it with solemn feelings, and I trust I may never forget it or the habits it has engendered. The more I see of the world, the more I look upon the dear boy as the purest being I ever met with ; and now I rejoice he is in heaven. Lord, may I never forget that time. " 27^/i; last Smulay o/1835. — I never felt a greater zest for study than now. The truth, sincerity, simi^licity, and the eloquence, of the older divines is a source of much pleasure. I have adopted the plan of keeping a note-book which I call ' Hints for Sermons,' in which I put down whatever may prove useful for my future ministrations. ITnfortunately what is useful is not nowadays the most tidcing, and we have lost muc'li of our simple-lKai'ted APRIL, 183: — NOVEMBER, 18:56. 73 Christianity. Our very dergy are dragging us down to lick tlie dust, and the influence of the mob is makinrr our young men a subservient set of fellows. I see among our better-thinking clergy a strong episcopalian spirit ; they are beginning to see the use of a set form oi' worship. And who can look at the critical, self-sufficient faces of the one-half of our congregations during prayers, and the labour and puffing and blowing of some aspirant to a church, and not deplore the absence of some set prayers which would keep the feelings of many right-thinking Chris- tum from being hurt every Sabbath. "January Qth, 1836. — I went down to Campbeltown, and I returned to-day with Scipio and George Beatson. What were my feelings when I saw Campbeltown — aye, what were they ? Almost what I anticipated ; — a half break- ing up of the ideal. Gone was the glory and the dream — gone the old familiar faces. Everything seemed changed, save the old hills ; and it was only when I gazed on them that I felt a return of the old feelings, glimpses of boyhood, short but beautiful, that soon passed away, and I felt I was a changed man — how changed since those days ! " We were gay to our ' hearts' content :' a ball every night and breakfasts every morning, with interludes of dinners. I never received more kindness in my life. " Be honest! In Campbeltown I forgot God altogether. If ever there was a cold, forgetful sinner, I am the man. If it was not for my peculiarly fortunate circumstances of life I would have been a thorough-going sinner. My heart is blunt ; every time I fall back I am so much the worse — it quenches faith, resolution, hope. Well may I say, * Lord save me, or I perish.' " Poor dear ! I received such a letter from him in ansAver to an earnest exhortation to him to change his ways. The Lord bless him ! " Is it proper to endeavour to convert a man by any other but Christian motives — prudential or moral ? I think it is. A hardened sinner must have motives addressed to him which he can feel and understand. Let this be a matter for thought. My mother denies its truth." 74 T.IFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. To A. Clerk : — 10, Brandon Place, Glasgow: January 13, 1836. " For once in my life I am working for the class, writing essays for a prize ! Are you not astonished ? Fleming gives out five or six subjects. The first was on the Mosaic account of the Creation ; and I sent him in one of eiglity pages crammed with geology, which even ' the Doctor's ' (Sniclair) most scientific conversations (which used to bore you) were nothing to. Fleming had the good sense to appreciate it ; and ho said privately to my father that ' it had more in it than all the others put together.' But you never saw such fellows ! Some of them open their goggle eyes, when I dare to speculate on some of the great doctor'^; ipse dixits. Think of them the other day ! there was a meeting in the Hall, and M'Gill in the chair, to determine whether Blackwood should be kicked out of the Hall Library and sent in search of the Edinhnrgh Revieiv, long ago black- balled ! Poor Maga was peppered with a whole volley of anathemas ; and if it Avas not for some fellows of sense who were dotonnined to give old Christopher a lift on his stilts, he would have hobbled down the turnpike stair to make room for a dripping Baptist or oily-haired Methodist. Oh, I hate cant — I detest it, Clerk, from my ' heart of hearts !' There is a manliness about true Christianity, a conscious- ness of strength, whicli enables it to make everything i^s own. "The people .are becoming all in all. And v bat are the forthcoming ministers ? The people's slaves or deceivers. It is, I admit, the opinion of a young man ; but I feel that we are going down hill — talk, talk, talk — big words — popularity — that god which is worshipped wherever a ehapel stands. This is what I fear we are coming to — our very prayers are the subjects of display and criticism. I rejoice to think there is One who guides all to good, that tlie world on the whole is ever advancing in the right, tlu)ugh poor Scotland may, perhaps, lag behind for a season." During the session of l8o5-3(j ii ootcrio of young men, possessed of kindred genius and humour, used to APRIL, 1S35 — NOVEMBER, 1836. 75 meet for the interchange of wit, and of literary produc- tions whose chief merit was their absurdity. Horatio M'Culloch, the landscape painter, and his brother artist, MacNee ; the late Principal Leitch, and his brother, Mr. John Leitch, a well-known litterateur ; the Dean of Argyll, and his brother, Mr. MacGeorge ; M'Nish, the author of the ' Anatomy of Drunkenness ; ' and Norman Macleod, were the leading spirits of the fraternity. One of the chief ties which bound them in fellowship was the presence of Dugald M , poet and local celebrity. M was not without talent, and made several creditable attempts in verse ; but his extraordinary self-importance, his nncon- sciousness of ridicule, and the bombastic character of many of his productions made him a ready butt for the shafts of drollery with which the young fellows who met at those suppers were abundantly armed.* Before the year was out they printed a series of squibs written for their gatherings. The volume was entitled, ' Sparks of Promethean Fire ; or Chij)s from the Thunderbolts of Jove,' and professed to be published at Stromboli, for the firm of Gog, Magog, and Co. * Once, at a public dinner, when the toast of "the poets of Scot- land, coupled with the name of Dugald M " was proposed, in terms which seemed to disparage the practical importance of their art, Dugald, rising in great indignation, determined to give the ignoramus a lesson on the grandeur of the offended muse. "I will tell the gentleman," he shouted, " what poetry is. Poetry is the language of the tempest when it roars through the crashing forest. The waves of ocean tossing their foaming crests under the lash of the hurricane — they, sir, speak in poetry. Poetry, sir ! poetrj'- was the voice in which the Almighty thundered through the awful peaks of Sinai ; and I myself, sir, have published five volumes of poetry, and the last, in its third edition, can be had for the price of five shillings and six- pence ! " 76 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. Thoso poems were indirectly meant as caricatures of the pompous emptiness, the incongruous magnificence, and tlie grandiose scene-painting of the poet Uugald. Hades and the Arctic Pole, the volcanic fires and sulphurous craters of Etna and Hecla, whales, mam- moths, and mastodons, had therefore to lend their aid in the production of a jumble of astounding nonsense. Only one specimen of the volumes has been reprinted — ' The Death of Space,' by Mr. John Leitch, which was engrossed in ' lion Gualtier.' Norman Macleod con- tributed four pieces — ' The Eeign of Death,' ' The Phantom Festival,' ^Professor Boss's* Drinking- Song,' and 'Invocation to Professor Boss, who Fell into the Crater of Hecla.' We give the two last. PROFESSOR BOSSS DRINKING-SONG. Air — ' Bckninzt niit Laub den licben vollen Bccher,' or—* The Rhine ! the Rhine! ' &c., &c. Drink, drink and swill, ye jolly old Professors, You'll find it royal stuff, You'll find it royal stutf ; What tlioui^li tlie waves of ocean roll above us, We do not care a snuft' 1 We do not care a snutT 1 * ' Bosh' was the bj'e-namo ho liad for \\\^ very dear friend, the late Principal Luitch, ono ot the ablest uud best of men. APRIL, 1835 — NOVEMBER, 1836. Diodati, Kant, Gleim, Mendelssohn Swighausen, Icli bin Ihr Bruder Boss ! Ich bin Ihr Bruder Boss ! Pass round the jorum, and with all the honours. Drink to Commander Ross ! Drink to Commander Ross ! Ices I've ate in Paris at Tortonl s , Broiled chicken too in Wien, Broiled chicken too in Wien : But who would talk of such barbaric messes. Who our turns-out had seen ! W^ho our turns-out had seen ! For here we dine on Avhales and fossil mammoths, With walrus for our lunch, With walrus for our lunch ; We've Hecla's flames to warm our glass of toddy, And ice to cool our punch ! And ice to cool our punch ! See how our smoke is curling up the crater ; Ho, spit and rouse its fires ! Ho, spit and rouse its fires ! Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Deutschland's old Professors, We're worthy of our sires ! We're worthy of our sires ! 77 78 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. INVOCATION TO PROFESSOR HOSS, WHO FELL INTO THE CRATER OF MOUNT HECLA, OH what a grim gigantic tomb is thine, Innnortal Loss ! The se- jnilchres which yawn For the obscure remains of common men Were all unworthy thee ! Their narrow bounds Thou heldest in unutterable disdain, And souq:htest for a g^rave amid the vaults Of Iceland's belching, bellow- in tj, Sfroanino- Mount. Stupendous walls of flame surround tlicc now ; Thy mausoleum is a hell on earth, Where spluttering bursts of Pandemoniac fire Shake their rude tongues against the vault of heaven, And lick the stars, and sirge the comet's tail. Peace to thine ashes, Boss ! Thy soul shall tower, Like an inflated Phoenix, from the mouth Of that infernal hill ; whose crater wide, Like a vast trumpet, shall thy praises sound What time its ashes rise beyond the moon, And blind with clouds of dust the mornintr star. And from thy lofty watch-tower in the sky Spitzbergen thou shalt see, and Greenland, where The spermaceti whale rolls floundering on. And dares to combat the pugnacious shark; The morse, with teeth of steel and snout of brass. The mighty kraken, and the ocean snake. The salamander, with its soul of flre, The mamuioth and the mustodon sublime, — APRIL, 1S35 — NOVEMBER, 1836. 79 Them slialt thou see, and with tlieir spirits tliou Shalt hold sweet converse, as they move along, Shaking the curdling deep with shaven tails, And drowninij Hecla's thunder in their own. And from the mountain's bosom thou shalt call The swarthy Vulcan, and his one-eyed sons-— The Atlantian Cyclops — to thine aid, While thou assailest Woden, Teusco, Tlior, And all the Scandinavian gods accursed AVho in Valhalla hold their dreaded reiiifn. And Vulcan, at thy bidding, shall appear. With Polyphemus and his brethren vast ; And, armed with Jove's resistless thunderbolts, And Hecla's flames, the huge Monopian brood Shall rise with fury irresistible And from their gory seats of human skulls Hurl the grim tyrants down with muttering yell ; While thou ascendest the Valhalla throne And at the prostrate gods dost shake thy fist ! Immortal Boss ! while seas of dark ribbed ice Lock the leviathan in their solid jaws. While the substantial firmament resounds With yells and curses from the frozen tongues Of shipwrecked mariners, thy sceptre gaunt Shall thunder on the grim Icelandic shore, And loose the chains that fetter Nature round ! Then, then shall Hecla sing aloud to thee A dread volcanic hymn ; his monstrous throat, In honour of thy name, shall swallow up The sun, the moon, the stars : all, save thy throne, Shall be absorbed in that enormous maw ; And ghosts of mighty men shall crowd around Thine ample table in Valhalla spread And feast with thee ; the hippopotamus. The whale, the shark, shall on thy table lie, Cooked to thy taste before grim Hecla's fire ; And all shall eat, and chaiuit thy name, and drink Potations deep from Patagonian skulls. 8o LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. My song is done : Oceans of endless bliss Shall roll within thy kingdom ; cataracts Of matchless eloquence shall hymn thy praise ; ^loimtains of mighty song — mightier by far Than Hecla, where thine ashes lie entombed, Shall lift their heads beyond the top of space, And prove thy deathless monuments of fame ; While thou with kingly, bland, benignant smile, Look'st down upon the earth's terra(|ueous ball, And quell'bt with thunder Neptune's blustering mood, " March 2nd. — Strange, marvellous, and unintelligible world ! My brain gets dizzy when I allow myself to retieet upon the extraordinary journey we are all pursuing. I heard old Weimar tunes upon the piano. Was it a dream ? am I here ? am 1 the same being ? What means this spring- ing into existence, the joys and sorrows, hai)})inoss to ecstasy, friendships formed and decaying, death at the end of all ? Are we mad ? Do our souls inhabit bodies which are dying about us ? Lut I write like a fool, for my heart is overHowing with thoughts which I cannot utter. " 12th March. — Exactly, Norman. You wrote the above the other night whon some old tunes roused up the old man which you thought was dead. Tell us how he iloes ? "Saturday, April 23. — After studying to-day and yestcr day, 1 have had an evening stroll down the street. Tho APRIL, 1835 — NOVEMBER, 1836 81 aurorO' was bright and lovely — now forming an arch along the sky, now shooting up like an archangel's sword over the world, or forming streaming rays of light, which the soul of mortal might deem a seraph's crown. How strange are the glimpses which we sometimes have of something beyond the sense — a strange feeling, flitting as the aurora but as bright, of a spiritual world, with which our souls seem longing to mingle, and, like a bird wdiich, from infancy reared in a cage, has an instinctive love for scenes more congenial to its habits, and flutters about when it sees green woods and a summer sky, and droops its head when it feels they are seen through the bars of its prison ! But the door shall yet be opened, and the songs it has learnt in confinement shall yet be heard in the sunny sky ; and it shall be joined by a thousand other birds, and a harmonious song will rise on high ! " Oh, if we could but keep the purity of the soul ! but sense is the giant which fetters us and gains the victory. We have dim perceptions of the pure and elevated spiritual world. We truly walk by sight, and not by faith. " Mere descriptive poets may be compared to those who have shrewdness enough to copy the best sets of hieroglyphics, but who have not skill enough to give to them more than a partial interpretation. They decipher enough to know that the writing has much fine meaning, w-hich, as it pleases themselves, may also give pleasure to others. The reflective poet is one who de- ciphers the writing which he copies, appropriates its truth to himself, and makes it a part of his own existence ; and when he gives it to the world he adds to it his own glorious comments and illustrations, and thus makes others feel like himself And yet the highest and brightest world in w^hich the poet exists cannot be shown to another. It is incommunicable. If in his spirit he reaches the high peaks of the Himalaya, he can bring none there with him ; and should he know there are others there, the rarity of the air prevents any communic ition. "June Qth, Gotirock. — My journal has been sadly neglected, and that too at a time when sunshine and cloud have not been unfrequent in my trivial history. VOL. I. G 82 LIFE OF NORMAN MACLEOD. " I fiiiislicd my college labours by getting the essay prize — not much, in truth ; but I shall not venture to .express my little opinion of prizes. They a test of talent or labour — bah ! Last winter was, however, a useful one to me. How different from the one before — hardly an ounce of the ideal, and a ton of the real. " After 1st ot May I came down here, where I staid for a short time, until I went to the Assembly on the 1 6 th, when my father was Moderator. When I think of that fortnight, my head is filled Avith a confused mass of speeches, dinners, suppers, breakfasts, crowded houses, familiar faces, old acquaintances, and all that makes an Assembly interesting and tiresome to one who is in the middle of the bustle. I became acquainted Avith a great many people — the most interesting was Dr. Cooke, of Belfast — a splendid man, who I think beats Chalmers in thinking, and equals him in genius. The concluding scene of the Assembly is the finest thing I ever saAv — the Avhole clergy and people singing a psalm, and praying for the peace of Jerusalem ! Grieved on my return to find poor Mary so unAvell : for my OAvn part, I have little hope. " To-morrow I start for the Highlands, intending, God Avilling, to return in a month. Into Thy hands I commit myself. " Fiunary, Sth. — Tlie name, AA-hich stares me in the face, alone convinces me that I am here. Against this I have a thousand melancholy feelings to persuade me that I am not. Yes, it is so : for the first time in my life, I have walked up the * brae face ' without a smile upon my face. The jDast Avas too vividly present — Avhen a revered old man was blessed in his old age by a large and dear family — Avhen my OAvn days, young though I be, Avere yet ' clothed in no earthly light,' and had all the ' glory of a dream,' and myself the object of 'kind Avords, kind looks, and tender greetings.' " It is a solemn thing Avhen the faces and voices of the lost and gone are vividly recalled — Avhen chambers are again peopled by their former inmates — and Avhen }'0U start to find it all a dream ; — that Avhat Avas life is now death ! " We, too, are passing on ! Can I forget this here ? Oh, APRIL, 1835 — NOVEMBER, 1836. 83 may I be enabled, in much weakness and sin, still to fight so as to gain the prized ''Portree, 2\st June. — I have been reading for threo days back Coleridge's ' Table Talk,' and Byron. " What a contrast is there between the two ! I pretend not to fathom Byron's character : it has puzzled wiser heads than mine. But how different were these men, as far as their characters can be gathered from their conversation ! Coleridge ever struggling after truth ; diving into every science, and discovering affinities between them ; holding communion ever Avith ideas and principles, and caring for things only as they led to these ; and, as a consequence from this pursuit and love of truth, a humble believing disci]3le of Christ. Byron viewing everything through his own egotism ; selfish in the extreme ; anxious to be the man of fashion, and ' receiving his inspiration from gin and water ;' laughing at England and admiring Greece ; doubting Scripture and admiring Shelley. Coleridge wish- ing to publish his philosophy for the glory of God and the good of men ; Byron writing his poetry ' to please the women.' In short, I believe Byron's fame is on the decline. His literature has never sent a man a mile on in the mighty pursuit after truth. Coleridge must live and be beloved by all who study him. He was a truly noble fellow ! -