FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 
 REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 
 
 THE   LIBRARY  OF 
 
 PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 
 
 DMaion 
 
 Section  /   /Tfhf 
 
LIFE  OF 
 WILLIAM    B.    ROBERTSON,   D.D. 
 
PUBLISHED    BY 
 
 JAMES   MACLEHOSE   AND  SONS,   GLASGOW. 
 
 MACMILLAN   AND   CO.,   LONDON   AND  NEW  YORK. 
 Loudon,  ....     Hamilton,  Adams  and  Co. 
 Cambridge,  .     .     .     Macmillan  and  Bmves. 
 Edinburgh,  .     .     .     Douglas  and  Foulis. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXrX. 
 
Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
 in  2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/williambrOObrow 
 
^J  nw\  W  /1<^A 
 
LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM    B.    ROBERTSON,    D.D. 
 
 IRVINE 
 
 WITH  EXTRACTS  FROM  HIS  LETTERS  AND  POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 l/ 
 
 JAMES    BROWN,    D.D. 
 
 AUTHOR   OF    "THE   LIFE    OF    A    SCOTTISH    PROBATIONER 
 
 WITH  TWO  PORTRAITS 
 
 TOrfc  (Edition 
 
 GLASGOW 
 
 JAMES   MACLEHOSE   &   SONS 
 
 publishers  to  the  ^ntbersitjo 
 
 1889 
 
 All  rights  reserved 
 
PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 
 
 When  I  undertook  to  prepare  this  Memoir,  1  was 
 aware  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  make  those  who 
 did  not  know  Dr.  Robertson  understand  what  manner 
 of  man  he  was.  It  seemed  best  that  he  should  be 
 made  to  reveal  himself  by  the  incidents  of  his  life, 
 by  his  letters,  and  by  his  poems.  Those  who  had  the 
 privilege  of  listening  to  the  brilliant  preacher  and  yet 
 more  brilliant  talker,  are  not  likely  to  be  fully  satisfied 
 with  what  is  here  presented.  I  shall  be  content  if 
 they  think  it  in  any  measure  worthy  of  the  man  they 
 loved. 
 
 I  am  grateful  to  the  many  friends  who  have  placed 
 at  my  disposal  more  material  than  it  was  possible  to 
 use,  and  especially  to  those  who  entrusted  me  with 
 letters  which  they  received  when  they  were  in  sorrow. 
 The  very  tenderness  of  these  letters  made  me  shrink 
 from  publishing  more  than  a  few  of  them. 
 
vi  PREFACE. 
 
 In  addition  to  the  friends  whose  services  are  ac- 
 knowledged in  the  course  of  the  narrative,  I  desire 
 to  express  my  gratitude  to  Dr.  Walter  C.  Smith,  and 
 Mr.  David  M'Cowan  for  their  efficient  help. 
 
 The  study  of  Dr.  Robertson's  head  at  the  beginning 
 of  the  volume  is  by  the  late  Mr.  Robert  Herdman, 
 R.S.A.,  who  most  generously  offered  it  for  the  Memoir. 
 The  engraving,  by  Mr.  James  Faed — in  the  prepara- 
 tion of  which  Mr.  Herdman  took  a  lively  interest — 
 now  stands  as  a  memorial  of  the  distinguished  painter, 
 as  well  as  of  him  whose  features  it  so  vividly  portrays. 
 
 As  the  engraving  represents  Dr.  Robertson  in  his 
 later  years,  a  likeness  taken  in  1870  is  also  given. 
 
 St.  James'  Manse, 
 Paisley,   1st  November,  1888. 
 
 PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 
 
 I  DESIRE  to  express  my  gratitude  to  those  whose 
 generous  appreciation  of  this  book  has  made  the 
 publication  of  a  second  edition  necessary.  I  have 
 availed  myself  of  this  unexpectedly  early  opportunity 
 of  making  some  slight  corrections. 
 
 24th  November,  1888. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP.  PAGE 
 
 I.  Birth-place  and  Early  Surroundings,       .        .  i 
 
 II.     At  College  and  Hall, 17 
 
 III.  In  Germany, 47 
 
 IV.  In  Germany,  Italy,  and  Switzerland,        ,        .  63 
 V.  The  Beginning  of  His  Ministry,         ...  78 
 
 VI.     Pastoral  Work, 99 
 
 VII.     Growing  Power, 117 
 
 VIII.     Life  in  the  Manse, 139 
 
 IX.  Letters  and  Poems,        ......  161 
 
 X.  Revival  and  Church-Building,    .        .        .        .183 
 
 XL  The  Closing  Years  of  His  Irvine  Ministry,     .  208 
 
 XII.  The  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,      .        .  242 
 
 XIII.  Hope  Deferred,      ..,.,...  258 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XIV.  In  and  Around  Florence,     . 
 
 XV.  In  the  Engadine,    . 
 
 XVI.  Again  in  Italy  and  at  Home. 
 
 XVII.  At  Bridge  of  Allan, 
 
 XVIII.  At  Westfield, 
 
 XIX.  The  End, 
 
 PAGE 
 288 
 
 318 
 
 334 
 362 
 
 389 
 442" 
 
LIFE  OF  WILLIAM   ROBERTSON 
 
 OF   IRVINE. 
 
 CHAPTER    I. 
 gsirth-placc  artb  (Earljg  (Surroundings. 
 
 William  Robertson  was  born  at  Greenhill,  in 
 the  parish  of  St.  Ninians,  on  May  24th,  1820.  His 
 birth-place  stands  on  the  high  ground  to  the  south 
 of  the  Carse  of  Stirling.  The  field  of  Bannock- 
 burn,  with  the  Gillies  Hill  and  the  Bloody  Ford,  is 
 a  little  way  to  the  north-west,  and  the  Torwood 
 is  as  near  on  the  south-east ;  while  at  greater  dis- 
 tances in  the  same  directions  are  Stirling  Bridge  on 
 the  one  hand  and  Falkirk  on  the  other.  The  quiet 
 homestead  is  thus  on  the  edge  of  the  battlefield  of 
 Scotland — the  scene  of  all  the  most  famous  fights  in 
 the  War  of  Independence,  and  now  distinguished 
 among  Scottish  landscapes  for  the  abundance  of  its 
 peaceful  harvests. 
 
2     BIRTH-PLACE  AMD  EARLY  SURROUXDLXGS. 
 
 The  house,  shut  in  by  garden  trees  and  well- 
 trimmed  beech  hedges,  has  not  an  extensive  view  ; 
 but  the  prospect  from  the  open  ground  near  it,  and 
 especially  from  the  road  to  Stirling  as  it  descends  on 
 the  village  of  St.  Xinians,  is  peculiarly  beautiful. 
 North-eastward,  across  the  many-coloured  carse,  lies 
 the  range  of  the  Ochils,  like  a  mountain  wall  shielding 
 the  plain  from  northern  blasts.  To  the  westward  of 
 the  Ochils  there  are  in  the  foreground  Abbey  Craig, 
 the  Braes  of  Airthrey,  the  heights  of  Keir,  and  the 
 Castle-hill  of  Stirling,  with  the  ancient  town  clamber- 
 ing up  its  sides,  and  rendered  picturesque  by  the  old 
 tower  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Rood.  In  the  back- 
 ground there  rise  in  impressive  majesty  the  summits 
 of  Ben  Vorlich  and  Stuch-a-Chroan,  with  the  heights 
 of  Uamh'  Var  to  the  right,  and  occasional  glimpses  to 
 the  left  of  the  Braes  of  Balquhidder,  and  the  summit 
 of  Ben  Ledi  peering  above  the  trees  that  crown  the 
 Gillies  Hill. 
 
 William  Robertson  often  told  how  he  used  to  drink 
 in  the  beauty  of  that  landscape  as  it  lay  bathed 
 in  the  light  of  Sabbath  mornings,  when  the  family 
 were  finding  their  way  from  Greenhill  to  the  Back 
 Row  Church  at  Stirling.  Near  the  end  of  his  life, 
 when  his  sister  and  he  were  returning  from  a  visit  to 
 Auchenbowie,  she  said  to  him — "  Surely  we  did  not 
 in  the  old  days  realize  how  beautiful  this  is?"  He 
 answered — "Did  we  not?" 
 
 But  he  owed  even  more  to  the  influences  within  the 
 house  than  to  its  impressive  surroundings.     Pictures 
 
HIS  HOME.  3 
 
 of  the  quiet  "  interior,"  and  sketches  of  John  Robert- 
 son, the  venerable  head  of  the  house,  have  been  given 
 in  another  memoir,1  and  need  not  be  repeated  here. 
 He  was  factor  on  the  two  estates  of  Plean  and 
 Auchenbowie,  and  manager  of  the  joint  coal  mines 
 wrought  by  their  proprietors.  This  position  had  long 
 been  held  by  his  father,  Andrew  Robertson,  and  when 
 he  was  installed  as  his  father's  assistant  and  successor 
 he  was  spoken  of  as  "  the  young  factor."  By  the  time 
 I  knew  him  he  had  become  the  old  factor,  and  the 
 other  title  had  been  transferred  to  his  eldest  son, 
 Andrew,  who  was  in  turn  associated  with  him  in 
 office. 
 
 It  is  difficult  to  write  of  John  Robertson's  qualities 
 of  head  and  heart  without  seeming  to  exaggerate.  His 
 natural  abilities  were  of  a  high  order,  and  they  had 
 been  cultured  by  a  liberal  education.  At  college  he 
 excelled  in  chemistry  and  mathematics.  It  was 
 intended  that  he  should  enter  one  of  the  professions  ; 
 but  though  failure  of  health  led  him  to  return  home 
 and  follow  his  father's  calling,  he  remained  a  student 
 to  the  end,  keeping  himself  abreast  of  the  best 
 thought  and  literature  of  the  time.  He  early 
 devoted  his  chief  attention  to  sacred  themes.  While 
 still  a  young  man  he  made  a  profession  of  the 
 Christian  faith,  and  from  that  hour  his  life  was  con- 
 secrated. Those  who  knew  him  felt  that  certain  deep 
 words    of    St.    Paul    and    St.    John    concerning    the 
 
 1  "  James  Robertson  of  Newington :    a  Memorial  of  his  Life   and 
 Work."     (Edinburgh:  Andrew  Eiliot.) 
 
4    BIRTH-PLACE  AND  EARLY  SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 Christian  life  had  become  more  intelligible  to  them. 
 His  unobtrusive  piety  gave  him  a  commanding  influ- 
 ence in  the  district.  His  employers  implicitly  trusted 
 him,  and  counted  him  among  their  most  honoured 
 friends  ;  while  his  men  looked  on  him  as  a  father  and 
 a  counsellor  to  whom  they  could  confidently  go  in 
 every  difficulty.  The  estimation  in  which  he  was 
 held  was  quaintly  expressed  to  me  by  his  minister, 
 the  late  Mr.  Steedman,  who,  after  speaking  of  Green- 
 hill,  where  I  had  been  visiting,  looked  at  me  with 
 the  peculiar  expression  which  those  who  knew  him 
 will  remember,  and  said,  in  the  vernacular  which  he 
 could  use  so  effectively,  "  Do  ye  no'  think,  Mr.  Brown, 
 that  John  Robertson  is  just  as  guid  a  man  as  there's 
 ony  use  for  ?  " 
 
 By  birth  connected  with  the  Secession  Church  and 
 with  its  mother  congregation,  to  which  Ebenezer 
 Erskine  had  ministered,  that  church  was  his  Jerusa- 
 lem, rather  than  forget  which  he  would  have  had  his 
 right  hand  forget  its  cunning.  Its  ministers  were 
 counted  as  his  personal  friends,  and  were  always  wel- 
 come at  his  fireside.  But  his  outlook  could  not  be 
 limited  by  sectarian  boundaries,  and  it  grew  wider  as 
 he  advanced  in  life.  One  of  the  last  books  he  read 
 was  the  life  of  Frederick  William  Robertson  of 
 Brighton.  When  he  laid  down  the  second  volume, 
 those  about  him  noticed  that  he  sat  for  a  time 
 absorbed  in  thought.  They  had  learned  by  experi- 
 ence that  if  they  washed  him  to  speak  free!}*  it  was 
 better   not   to   question    him.       By  and  by    he  said, 
 
HIS  FATHER  AND  MOTHER.  5 
 
 "They  say  that  man  was  not  orthodox,  but  it  seems 
 to  me  that  he  occupied  a  platform  intellectually  and 
 spiritually  so  much  higher  than  common  men  that  he 
 cannot  be  judged  by  common  standards." 
 
 Margaret  Bruce  Kirkwood,  whom  Mr.  Robertson 
 wedded  in  1809,  was  in  all  respects  an  helpmeet  for 
 her  husband.  Sharing  his  earnest  convictions  and  his 
 spirit  of  self-consecration,  she  brought  into  the  family 
 characteristics  the  touch  of  genius  and  the  play  of 
 humour.  Belonging  by  descent  to  the  straiter  sect  of 
 the  Secession,  the  Anti-burgher,1  she  yet  inherited 
 no  narrowness  of  sympathy.  William  used  to  tell 
 that  the  Burgher  Kirk  of  Denny  was  founded  by  his 
 maternal  grandfather  and  grandmother,  who,  being 
 threatened  with  rebuke  by  the  Anti-burgher  session  of 
 Dennyloanhead  for  some  harmless  violation  of  stern 
 Puritanic  custom,  were  driven  to  seek  a  larger  room. 
 
 There  is  a  pleasant  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Robertson,  as 
 well  as  of  the  distinctive  characteristics  of  her  two 
 
 1  It  may  make  this  and  some  other  paragraphs  more  intelligible  to 
 English  readers  if  we  note  that  the  church  of  the  Secession,  founded  by 
 Ebenezer  Erskine  and  his  associates  in  1732,  was  in  1747  rent  in  two 
 by  a  dispute  as  to  the  lawfulness  of  an  oath,  required  of  burgesses  in 
 certain  of  the  burghs,  to  maintain  the  Christian  religion  as  established 
 in  Scotland.  The  sect,  composed  of  those  who  held  the  oath  to  be  law- 
 ful, was  popularly  known  as  the  Burgher  Church  ;  while  that  composed 
 of  the  opposing  party  was  known  as  the  Anti-burgher.  The  two 
 sections  were  brought  together  in  1820,  and  formed  the  United 
 Secession  Church,  in  connection  with  which  William  Robertson  was 
 ordained.  In  1S47,  three  years  and  a  half  after  his  ordination,  the 
 United  Secession  joined  the  Relief  Church,  which  had  finally  separated 
 from  the  Established  Church  in  1 76 1.  The  Church  thus  formed  was 
 named  the  United  Presbyterian. 
 
6    BIRTH-PLACE  AND  EARLY  SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 most  noted  sons,  in  the  following  story  preserved  in 
 the  family.  When  William  was  about  eight,  and  just 
 after  James  became  tutor  to  his  younger  brother,  a 
 change  of  servants  took  place.  This  was  an  un- 
 wonted event  at  Greenhill,  and  there  was  great 
 curiosity  among  the  children  to  see  a  new  and  tall 
 domestic — Nannie  Brash,  by  name — who  then  came 
 for  the  first  time,  but  remained  a  friend  of  the  family 
 and  frequent  visitor  at  Greenhill  to  the  end  of  her  life. 
 She  had  gone  into  the  byre  to  look  after  the  cows. 
 William  stole  in  to  have  a  look  at  her;  and  was 
 impressed  with  her  great  stature.  He  came  running 
 into  the  house  and  cried,  "  I  have  seen  Nannie,  and 
 her  head  is  up  to  the  couples" — the  joisting  of  the 
 roof.  James  was  shocked  at  the  tendency  to  ex- 
 aggeration thus  revealed,  and  proceeded  to  deal  with 
 William  for  an  offence  against  truthfulness,  insisting 
 that  to  say  that  Nannie's  head  was  up  to  the  couples 
 was  a  lie.  William  stoutly  defended  his  hyperbole, 
 and  refused  to  confess  a  fault.  Ultimately  it  was 
 agreed  to  refer  the  matter  to  the  mother,  James  as 
 prosecutor,  stating  the  case  against  William,  and 
 asking  that  he  should  be  punished,  and  William  being 
 heard  in  his  own  defence.  The  good  mother  gave 
 verdict  of  acquittal  on  the  ground  that  in  Scripture 
 there  is  warrant  for  such  figurative  speech,  as  it  is 
 there  written  that  the  cities  of  the  Anakim  were 
 walled  up  to  heaven. 
 
 When  I   first  went  to  Greenhill,  lines  of  pain  were 
 already  deep   on   Mrs.   Robertson's   face,   and   ere   I 
 
HIS  A  UNT.  7 
 
 returned  again  she  had  passed  away.  But  her  maiden 
 sister,  Miss  Kirkwood — without  notice  of  whom  no 
 picture  of  William's  early  home  would  be  complete — 
 survived  both  her  and  Mr.  Robertson.  She  was  not, 
 till  a  comparatively  recent  period,  an  inmate  of 
 Greenhill  ;  but  the  little  ancestral  cottage  where  she 
 lived  was  close  at  hand,  and  she  was  from  first  to  last 
 a  notable  factor  in  the  family  life.  With  her  erect 
 bearing,  her  keen  eye,  her  shrewd  insight,  her  ready 
 wit,  and  her  unresting  needles,  she  was  a  fine 
 specimen  of  the  maiden  lady  of  the  old  school.  As 
 she  clung  to  her  ancestral  cottage,  so  she  adhered 
 to  her  ancestral  church,  going  regularly,  in  fair 
 weather  and  in  foul,  to  worship  in  Denny — and 
 stoutly  maintaining  the  superiority  of  the  minister  of 
 Denny  for  the  time  being,  over  every  other  member 
 of  the  profession.  It  was  not  easy  to  get  the  better 
 of  Miss  Kirkwood  at  repartee.  There  was  a  tradition 
 in  the  house,  that  when  a  probationer  of  many  years' 
 standing  was  visiting  at  Greenhill,  he  was  on  a  wet 
 day  pacing  up  and  down  the  parlour  floor,  while  Miss 
 Kirkwood  sat  erect  and  busy  with  her  knitting 
 needles.  He  stopped  in  his  walk  and  laying  his  hand 
 on  her  shoulder,  said,  "  You  and  I  are  just  alike, 
 Miss  Kirkwood,  you  never  got  a  husband,  and  I  never 
 got  a  kirk."  "  How  many  calls  had  you,  sir  ?  "  she 
 quickly  asked.  "  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  never  received  a 
 call  at  all."  "  Then  don't  you  be  evenin'  yourself  to 
 me,"  was  her  reply. 
 
 Mr.   and   Mrs.    Robertson    had    fourteen    children, 
 
8   BIRTH-PLACE  AND  EARLY  SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 but  of  these  five  died  in  infancy ;  and  of  the  rest, 
 two  died  before  their  mother,  and  four  before  their 
 father.  The  eldest  son,  Andrew,  after  being  educated 
 at  Mr.  Browning's  school  at  Tillicoultry,  became,  as  I 
 have  said,  his  father's  assistant.  He  was  the  only  one 
 of  six  surviving  sons  who  did  not  go  to  college  with 
 the  view  of  entering  the  Christian  ministry ;  but  few 
 ministers  have  done  more  to  advance  the  interests  of 
 true  religion  than  Andrew  Robertson  did  in  the 
 sphere  in  which  his  lot  was  cast.  Diligent  in  business 
 and  faithful  to  the  interests  of  his  employers,  he 
 passed  among  his  men  like  a  sunbeam,  brightening 
 their  countenances  and  lightening  their  burdens  by  a 
 kindly  word.  He  was  never  weary  of  laying  plans 
 for  their  improvement.  The  school-house  in  which 
 their  children  were  taught  became  a  centre  of  well- 
 directed  effort.  Lectures  and  weekly  sermons  were 
 provided,  temperance  and  other  societies  were  formed, 
 and  a  singularly  effective  Sunday  school  was  con- 
 ducted. In  the  neighbouring  village  of  Bannockburn 
 where  forty  or  fifty  years  ago  the  means  of  grace  were 
 scanty,  Andrew  Robertson  was  mainly  instrumental 
 in  organizing  a  new  congregation.  When  all  pre- 
 liminary arrangements  were  completed,  and  the 
 opening  day  had  come,  it  was  found  that  no  money 
 having  been  left  to  provide  a  beadle,  that  functionary 
 was  wanting  in  the  little  sanctuary.  The  question 
 occurred  as  the  hour  of  worship  was  at  hand,  who 
 should,  according  to  Scottish  custom,  carry  up  the 
 Bible,  and  shut  the  minister  into  the  pulpit.     Andrew 
 
HIS  BROTHER  AX  DREW.  9 
 
 Robertson  at  once  volunteered  to  do  the  service. 
 His  whole  life  was  an  illustration  of  the  words,  "  He 
 that  is  greatest  among  you  let  him  be  as  the  younger, 
 and  he  that  is  chief  as  he  that  doth  serve." 
 
 When  the  long  day's  work  was  done,  Andrew  would 
 retire  into  the  cottage  of  Avenuehead,  that  had  been 
 tenanted  by  his  grandfather  whose  name  he  bore,  and 
 where  he  had  taken  up  his  abode  ;  and  there,  behind 
 the  sheltering  screen  of  flowering  trees  and  shrubs 
 which  almost  hid  it  from  the  highway,  would  carry 
 far  into  the  night  the  work  of  self-culture.  His  books 
 were  well  chosen,  and  thoroughly  mastered.  The 
 college-bred  brothers  were  eager  to  testify  that 
 Andrew  was  to  the  full  their  equal.  In  his  careful 
 study  for  the  work  of  his  Sunday  school,  he  had 
 gained  a  knowledge  of  theology  that  would  have  put 
 many  a  professional  theologian  to  shame.  His 
 modesty  gave  his  attainments  a  peculiar  charm.  In 
 his  unselfishness  he  would  not  even  burden  those  he 
 loved  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  a  habitual  suf- 
 ferer. For  years  he  had  borne  in  silence  and  solitude 
 severe  heart  spasms,  till  at  last  on  a  February  evening 
 a  hurried  message  came  to  Greenhill  that  he  was 
 dying,  and  ere  they  could  reach  him  he  had  passed 
 away. 
 
 The  second  surviving  son  of  the  family,  James 
 Robertson  of  Newington,  has  had  his  portrait  drawn 
 so  faithfully  and  so  lovingly,  in  the  memorial  to  which 
 we  have  already  referred,  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  say 
 anything  of  him  here.      William  was  the  third  of  the 
 
IO   BIRTH-PLACE  AND  EARLY  SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 surviving  brothers.  George,  his  companion  at  college 
 and  hall,  was  the  fourth.  The  two  younger  brothers 
 were  Robert  and  Ninian.  Of  three  sisters,  Sophia 
 died  when  William  was  a  lad  of  fifteen.  Isabella  was 
 his  faithful  housekeeper  and  accomplished  companion 
 through  the  greater  part  of  his  ministry;  and  the 
 youngest  was  privileged  to  minister  to  him  at  the  end, 
 and  survives  to  mourn  him.  No  home  could  have 
 been  happier  than  that  in  which  these  sons  and 
 daughters  grew  up  together,  under  the  care  of  their 
 father  and  mother,  who  so  trained  them  by  the 
 influence  of  love  that  harsh  or  ungentle  words  were 
 never  heard.  Clouds  often  rested  on  the  dwelling, 
 but  they  were  such  clouds  as  are  tokens  of  the  Divine 
 presence.  Alienation  or  bitterness  never  came  to  mar 
 the  family  joy. 
 
 I  am  permitted  to  add  the  following :  "  If  the 
 children  in  the  Greenhill  family  were  guided  not  so 
 much  by  command,  as  by  strong  persuasive  influence, 
 the  same  principle, held  in  a  degree  over  the  domestics 
 of  the  household  and  servants  labouring  outside  on 
 the  farm.  '  Orders,'  in  the  common  sense  of  the  word, 
 were  seldom  heard,  and  yet  authority  was  always 
 maintained  and  never  disputed.  The  relation  between 
 master  and  servants  was  on  a  much  higher  level  than 
 that  of  mere  '  work  '  and  '  wages.'  The  '  place  '  was 
 soon  found  to  be  a  '  home,'  where  yearly  or  half-yearly 
 engagements  were  never  known ;  and  in  several 
 instances  the  service  was  life-long,  the  servants  in  such 
 cases  usually  developing  into  'characters.'     Prominent 
 
OTHER  MEMBERS  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.      II 
 
 among  these  was  '  Hugh,'  who  came  a  young  lad  from 
 Fort-William,  in  tartan  coat  and  hose,  with  nasal  tone 
 and  Gaelic  accent,  and  full  of  weird,  romantic  tales  of 
 his  own  Highland  glens,  to  the  constant  delight  of  the 
 children  who  listened  with  silent  wonder  to  his  stream 
 of  Celtic  eloquence. 
 
 "  There  was  an  air  of  self-importance  about  the  little 
 man,  with,  occasionally  in  later  years,  an  assumption 
 of  authority  that  was  amusing  rather  than  provoking, 
 for  his  heart  was  ever  loyal  and  true.  Nothing  sur- 
 prised Hugh.  '  I  ettled  J  that,  maister  '  was  the  un- 
 failing explanation  of  the  most  atrocious  blunder  01 
 the  most  unlooked-for  accident.  On  one  occasion 
 when  Hugh  was  employed  in  building  a  hay  stack, 
 Mr.  Robertson  was  quietly  looking  on,  and  observing 
 that  it  was  growing  alarmingly  like  the  '  leaning 
 tower,'  he  said,  '  Hugh,  that  stack  is  considerably  off 
 the  perpendicular.'  '  I  ettled  that,  maister/  was  the 
 quick  reply.  No  more  was  said  by  the  '  maister/ 
 who  calmly  awaited  the  result.  In  a  few  minutes 
 over  went  Hugh  and  stack  into  the  yard.  'Did  you 
 ettle  that  too,  Hugh  ? '  said  Mr.  Robertson  with  quiet 
 humour,  as  he  turned  round  without  another  word 
 of  rebuke  and  walked  into  the  house,  leaving;  Hugh 
 to  rectify  matters  as  he  best  could. 
 
 "At  the  'catechising'  on  Sabbath  evenings  Hugh, 
 on  first  coming  to  the  house,  took  his  place  with  the 
 family  in  the  usual  round  of  the  Shorter  Catechism. 
 '  What  is  man's  chief  end  ? '  was  asked.     '  I  dinna  ken 
 
 1  Meant  or  intended. 
 
12    BIRTH-PLACE  AND  EARLY  SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 thae  questions,  maister,'  was  the  reply.  '  Probably  not, 
 Hugh,  but  you'll  have  some  idea  of  your  own  on  the 
 matter.  What  do  you  think  should  be  the  chief  end 
 of  man  ? '  '  Weel,  maister,  I  may  be  wrang,  but  I'm 
 thinking  it  should  be  his  held.' 
 
 "  To  the  young  people  growing  up  around  him 
 Hugh  was  simply  devoted,  and  was  wont  to  speak  of 
 them  as  his  own  personal  property.  '  Do  ye  ken  my 
 young  men  ? '  was  a  question  frequently  asked  of  the 
 casual  passer  by.  Indeed  everything  about  the  place 
 belonged  to  Hugh  after  this  fashion.  It  was  '  my 
 fields,'  '  my  crops,'  '  my  beash  '  (beasts),  and  '  my 
 young  men/  Nor  was  his  faithfulness  unappreciated 
 by  the  circle,  old  and  young,  among  whom  for  nearly 
 forty  years  his  lot  was  cast.  He  lived  to  be  esteemed 
 by  them  as  a  friend,  and  when  he  died  in  a  good  old 
 age  he  was  mourned  as  one  of  the  family." 
 
 Other  and  younger  servants  became  characters  all 
 but  as  quaint  as  Hugh.  One  of  them,  Jamie  by 
 name,  had  unbounded  faith  in  William's  power  to 
 solve  all  intellectual  and  spiritual  perplexities,  and 
 used  to  store  up  every  difficulty  that  occurred  to  him 
 in  his  sermon-hearing  and  Bible  reading,  against 
 "Maister  Weelam's"  next  visit.  On  one  occasion 
 his  difficulty  was  in  connection  with  the  enumeration 
 of  David's  mighty  men,  where  it  is  recorded  of 
 Benaiah,  the  son  of  Jehoiada,  "who  slew  two  lion- 
 like men  of  Moab,"  that  "he  went  down  also  and 
 slew  a  lion  in  the  midst  of  a  pit  in  time  of  snow." 
 "  I'm  no  clear  about  that  story  ava,  Maister  Weelam," 
 
THE  SERVANTS.  1 3 
 
 said  Jamie,  as  he  was  driving  the  young  divine  from 
 Stirling.  "  It's  ma  opeenian  that  as  the  grim'  was  a' 
 covered  wi'  snaw  the  puir  brute  wad  be  snook-snookin* 
 about  seekin'  for  a  drink  o'  water,  and  wad  gang 
 doon  into  the  pit  thinkin'  he  wad  maybe  get  some 
 there,  and  the  man  wad  just  gang  doon  ahint  him,  ye 
 see,  when  he  wasna  lookin'  and  get  the  better  o'  him. 
 I  wus'  that  beast  had  fair  play,  Maister  Weelam  !  " 
 William  was  accustomed  to  tell  this  as  illustrative  of 
 the  reverence  for  Scripture  and  the  love  of  fair  play, 
 which  are  both  characteristic  of  the  Scottish  peasant, 
 and  which,  when,  as  in  Jamie's  case,  they  seem  to  come 
 into  collision,  occasion  serious  perplexity. 
 
 It  was  in  this  genial  atmosphere  and  amid  those 
 pleasant  surroundings  that  William  Robertson  spent 
 his  boyhood.  The  only  school  he  ever  attended 
 beyond  his  father's  roof  was  at  "  The  Camp,"  a  row  of 
 colliers'  cottages  at  the  foot  of  the  road  leading  up  to 
 Greenhill.  It  was  there,  with  colliers'  and  farm 
 labourers'  sons  as  his  companions,  that  he  got  between 
 his  sixth  and  seventh  years  the  rudiments  of  educa- 
 tion. He  often  said  that  he  did  not  learn  much  within 
 the  school,  but  he  learned  a  great  deal  outside  from 
 his  elder  schoolmates — Bob  Davie,  and  Jamie  Durham 
 (pronounced  Diirie) — with  whom  he  went  bird-nesting. 
 Jamie  had  gathered  somehow  a  collection  of  Xorse 
 legends,  which  he  told  to  William  as  they  rambled  by 
 the  hedge-rows.  These  legends  made  a  deep  impres- 
 sion on  the  boy,  and  he  treasured  them  among  his 
 precious  possessions.     To  the  end  of  his  life  he  was 
 
14    BIRTH-PLACE  AND  EARLY  SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 in  the  habit  of  repeating  them,  always  maintaining 
 that  Jamie's  versions  were  much  finer  than  those  he 
 found  in  books.  This  Jamie  had  in  the  after  days  a 
 son  who  won  high  distinction  as  a  scholar  both  at 
 school  and  college,  but  died  early. 
 
 It  was  no  slight  advantage  to  the  future  minister 
 that  his  education  was  thus  begun  at  a  common  school 
 and  in  the  companionship  of  the  children  of  the  poor. 
 Indeed  it  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  the  power  which  the 
 Scottish  clergy  exercise  among  their  flocks  that  the 
 great  majority  of  them  have  enjoyed  a  like  advantage. 
 Xo  subsequent  part  of  their  training,  at  grammar 
 school,  college  or  hall,  is  more  valuable  than  that 
 which  makes  them  feel  their  oneness  with  the  class 
 that  generally  forms  the  major  portion  of  Scottish  con- 
 gregations. They  can  preach  the  gospel  to  the  poor 
 all  the  better  that  they  know  them  as  only  school- 
 boys learn  to  know  each  other. 
 
 Even  at  this  early  period  the  delicacy  of  health, 
 which,  to  the  end,  hampered  William  Robertson's 
 power  of  work,  had  made  its  appearance.  The 
 gastralgia  which  was  his  enemy  through  life  and  the 
 immediate  cause  of  his  death,  afflicted  him  when  he 
 was  a  little  boy.  Often  in  later  years  when  this  or 
 the  other  cure  was  spoken  of,  he  would  say,  "  You 
 need  not  think  of  curing  this,  I  have  had  it  since  I 
 was  a  boy  at  the  Camp  School,  playing  with  Bob 
 Davie." 
 
 When  he  was  about  eight  he  was  withdrawn  from  the 
 school  at  the  Camp,  and  placed  with  younger  members 
 
HIS  EDUCATIOX.  15 
 
 of  the  family  under  his  brother  James,  as  tutor. 
 James  was  only  four  years  his  senior,  but,  along  with 
 Andrew,  he  had  gone  to  Tillicoultry,  and  had  enjoyed 
 the  advantage  of  nearly  two  sessions  in  the  school  of 
 the  Rev.  Archibald  Browning,  who  was  known  in  all 
 that  district  and  beyond  it,  as  a  teacher  of  rare  intel- 
 ligence and  freshness,  devoted  to  learning,  and  with  a 
 peculiar  power  of  awakening  enthusiasm.  In  the 
 brief  curriculum  which  his  constitutional  delicacy  per- 
 mitted, James  had  acquired  sufficient  knowledge  to 
 qualify  him  for  the  charge  of  pupils  the  eldest  of 
 whom  was  only  eight  ;  and  no  one  who  knew  James 
 Robertson  in  later  life  can  doubt  that  he  would  have, 
 even  at  twelve,  sufficient  gravity  to  command  respect, 
 or,  that  whatever  might  be  wanting  in  gravity,  would 
 be  more  than  made  up  in  winning  gentleness. 
 
 William's  education  made  progress  on  Sundays  as 
 well  as  on  other  days.  Xot  only,  as  we  have  seen, 
 did  he  begin,  on  the  weekly  journey  to  church  at 
 Stirling,  to  experience  that  keen  delight  with  which 
 natural  beauty  always  inspired  him  ;  but,  when  the 
 ancient  town  was  reached,  and  its  castle-hill  was 
 ascended  to  the  sanctuary  founded  by  Ebenezer 
 Erskine,  the  air  was  filled  with  influences  powerful 
 to  mould  the  thought  of  the  eager  boy.  The  vast 
 congregation,  gathered  from  a  wide  stretch  of  country, 
 and  composed  of  men  and  women  who  were  still  in 
 living  sympathy  with  the  contendings  of  their  fathers 
 for  truth  and  liberty,  was  itself  an  inspiration  ;  and 
 of  the  two  ministers  who  then  preached  in  this  his- 
 
1 6    BIRTH-PLACE  AND  EARLY  SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 toric  church,  one  at  least  had  power  to  stamp  his 
 individuality  on  the  minds  of  his  hearers.  Dr.  Smart 
 of  Stirling  attained  a  reputation  in  his  own  district, 
 and  throughout  the  whole  Secession  Church,  which 
 is  sufficient  guarantee  of  his  power.  Only  a  volume 
 of  posthumous  sermons  remains  to  attest  that  power  ; 
 but  with  all  the  disadvantages  under  which  such  a 
 volume  is  produced,  no  reader  of  these  sermons  can 
 fail  to  recognize  rare  gifts  of  imagination  and  elo- 
 quence. Those  who  have  heard  William  Robertson 
 at  his  best,  would  be  interested  in  tracing  on  the 
 pages  of  the  old  minister,  to  whom  he  listened  in  his 
 boyhood,  unmistakable  marks  of  a  parental  likeness. 
 
AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL.  iy 
 
 CHAPTER    II. 
 
 5U  College  anb  *)all, 
 
 THE  education  at  Greenhill,  under  James  Robert- 
 son's tutorship,  made  such  progress  that  in  the 
 autumn  of  1832  William  and  George  were  enrolled  as 
 students  in  the  University  of  Glasgow.  William  was 
 then  only  twelve  years  of  age,  and  George  was  two 
 years  younger.  As  they  were  both  below  the  average 
 stature  and  of  slender  build,  the  appearance  of  the 
 little  fellow's  must  have  excited  some  interest  as,  clad 
 in  their  red  gowns,  they  took  their  places  on  the 
 benches  of  the  Latin  and  Greek  class-rooms.  We 
 have  no  record  of  how  William  acquitted  him- 
 self in  Latin  ;  but  his  fellow-student,  Mr.  Andrew 
 Duncan,  nowr  the  venerable  minister  of  Mid- 
 Calder,  says,  "  William  and  his  brother  George 
 were  both  distinguished  in  the  Greek  class  by 
 the  excellence  of  their  metrical  translations  which 
 were  sure  to  be  read  from  the  chair  ;  and  I 
 remember  how  greatly  delighted  the  professor, 
 Sir    Daniel    Sandford,    was   with    William's    render- 
 
 B 
 
1 8  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 ing  of  one  line  in  Anacreon's  song  about 
 women  : — 
 
 '  To  man  she  gave  a  thinking  mind, 
 Wisdom  and  courage  well  combined.' 
 
 And  I  have  an  indistinct  recollection  of  a  very  lively 
 poetical  version  of  one  of  the  Dialogues  of  the  Dead. 
 He  got  the  fourth  of  the  prizes  awarded  by  the 
 votes  of  the  students.  I  voted  for  him  each  time  till 
 he  stood  highest." 
 
 One  of  his  class-fellows  was  William  Barlas,  well 
 known  in  after  years  throughout  the  Church  as  a 
 blind  preacher,  whose  gentlemanly  bearing  and  un- 
 feigned goodness  made  him  welcome  at  the  fireside 
 of  every  manse  he  visited,  and  whose  ability  and 
 earnestness,  made  him  no  less  welcome  in  every 
 pulpit  he  occupied.  William  soon  noticed  the  blind 
 boy  seated  on  the  bench  of  the  class-room,  and  on 
 an  early  day  in  the  session  found  him  standing  at 
 the  door  as  the  class  was  dismissing.  He  went 
 to  him  and  asked  if  he  was  waiting  for  any  one. 
 Mr.  Barlas  replied  that  he  was  waiting  for  his  brother. 
 William  put  his  arm  through  his,  and  saying  "  Come 
 along,  I'll  be  your  brother,"  led  him  homeward.  This 
 was  the  beginning  of  a  friendship  which  only  ended 
 when  Mr.  Barlas  died. 
 
 At  the  close  of  their  first  session  William  began  a 
 correspondence  with  Air.  Andrew  Duncan  which  was 
 continued  for  some  years.  Three  of  his  letters 
 have  been  preserved.     They  are  before  me  now,  on 
 
STUDIES  IN  GLASGOW  AND  AT  HOME.        1 9 
 
 their  faded  paper.  In  the  earliest  of  them,  dated 
 "Greenhill,  Saturday,  17th  August,  1833,"  he  an- 
 nounces that  it  is  not  his  intention  to  attend  college 
 during  the  approaching  winter.  "  I  had  once  thought," 
 he  says,  "  of  taking  the  Logic ;  now,  however,  I  think 
 it  more  advisable  to  try  what  I  can  do  at  home  for  a 
 season,  as  I  shall  have  the  assistance  of  my  brother, 
 who  is  at  the  Hall  at  present.  ...  I  think  myself 
 scarcely  fit  for  such  a  course  as  the  Logic  ;  you  know 
 I  have  no  inclination  to  study  hard."  He  then  gives 
 his  fellow-student  a  sketch  of  his  recess  studies,  which 
 seem  to  have  been  sufficiently  varied,  and,  it  is  to  be 
 feared,  somewhat  desultory.  Logic  and  Hebrew, 
 with  "  a  glance  at  the  elements  of  Moral  and  Natural 
 Philosophy,"  divided  the  attention  of  the  boy  of 
 thirteen  !  "  Of  these,"  he  says,  "  I  think  the  study  of 
 Hebrew  is  the  most  pleasant  and  easy." 
 
 William  and  George  Robertson  returned  to  college 
 for  the  session  of  1834.5.  Besides  the  Greek  class 
 they  attended  during  that  session  the  class  of  Logic 
 and  Rhetoric.  Among  William's  papers  there  is  a 
 descriptive  essay  entitled  "  No  Fiction,"  to  which  this 
 note  is  appended  in  a  handwriting  familiar  to  all 
 Glasgow  students  of  Logic  for  nearly  forty  years. 
 "Given  in,  April  1835 — Rob.  Buchanan."  In  his 
 lecture  on  German  Burschen  Life,  written  during  the 
 earlier  years  of  his  ministry,  he  says  :  "  I  well  remem- 
 ber studying  Logic  (or  what  I  thought  Logic)  in  the 
 Glasgow  College,  and  being  cheered  through  weary 
 hours    of   study    in    the    mysteries    of   syllogism    by 
 
20  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 the  music  of  the  night  waits1  underneath  the 
 window." 
 
 The  brothers  again  intermitted  a  session,  but  re- 
 turned to  Glasgow  for  the  session  1836-7,  and  enrolled 
 as  students  in  the  class  of  Moral  Philosophy.  George 
 writes  to  Mr.  Duncan,  who  was  spending  that  winter 
 in  Edinburgh,  of  date  16th  January,  1837:  "For  a 
 considerable  time  we  thought  of  attending  Wilson  and 
 Forbes  in  Edinburgh.  In  that  case  I  should  have 
 enjoyed  your  company  during  the  session.  But 
 several  weighty  reasons  determined  our  return  to  our 
 old  Alma  Mater.  We  have,  besides  Moral,  taken 
 Natural  Philosophy  in  the  Andersonian  University  ; 
 and  thus  this  session  completes  our  preparation  for 
 those  more  congenial  and  ennobling  studies  which 
 are  themselves  only  preparatory  to  something  beyond 
 them  nobler  still." 
 
 William  Robertson's  course  in  Arts  was  thus  some- 
 what irregular.  It  consisted  of  three  sessions,  spread 
 over  five  winters.  Except  in  the  Greek  and  Logic 
 classes,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  entered  with  any 
 enthusiasm  into  his  work.  He  was  accustomed  to 
 speak  in  after  years  of  the  absurdity  of  a  boy  of 
 twelve  being  sent  to  study  at  a  university.  There 
 is  evidence  in  letters  written  to  him  by  fellow- 
 students    that  even  at  that    early    time   he  had   im- 
 
 1  The  night  waits  are  a  band  of  aged,  and,  I  believe,  blind  musicians, 
 who,  under  license  of  the  Lord  Provost  and  magistrates,  play  through 
 the  silent  streets  of  Glasgow  at  midnight  for  some  weeks  before  and 
 after  Christmas. 
 
FELLOWSHIP   WITH  OTHER  STUDENTS.      21 
 
 pressed  them  with  a  sense  of  his  power  ;  but  his 
 intellectual  quickening  did  not  come  till  a  later  date. 
 
 He  and  George  had  brought,  from  their  father's 
 catechizings  and  James's  teaching  at  Greenhill,  a 
 deeply  religious  spirit  which  led  them  to  seek  fellow- 
 ship with  those  like-minded.  Mr.  Duncan  writes  in 
 reference  to  their  second  session  :  "  They  were  both 
 members  of  a  students'  prayer  meeting  which  was 
 held  in  the  vestry  of  Duke  Street  Church.  Among 
 the  other  members  of  the  society  were  Mr.  James 
 Fleming,  now  of  Whithorn,  Mr.  William  Barlas,  and 
 Mr.  William  Cuthill,  a  relative  of  mine,  who  gained 
 the  highest  honours  in  the  classes  of  Mathematics  and 
 Natural  Philosophy,  studied  at  our  Hall,  and  had  re- 
 solved to  be  a  missionary,  but  died  after  his  fourth 
 session."  Mr.  Duncan  adds  that  the  records  of  the 
 meetings  of  the  society  which  he  has  preserved  are 
 meagre,  but  in  them  he  finds  that  on  one  occasion 
 "  one  of  the  members  having  wondered  if  Lazarus 
 would  die  again,  this  gave  rise  to  a  long  and  keen 
 disputation  about  Hades,  a  subject  which  William 
 and  George  Robertson  had  been  studying  with  the 
 guidance  of  their  brother  James,  and  in  which  they 
 evidently  felt  a  very  special  interest." l 
 
 They  worshipped  in  Greyfriars'  Church,  and  were 
 drawn,  like  so  many  of  the  worshippers  there  during 
 
 1  About  this  time  George  Gilfillan  published  some  now  forgotten 
 sermons,  in  one  of  which  there  was  the  suspicion  of  heresy  about  Hades. 
 This  may  account  for  the  peculiar  subject  on  which  James  Robertson 
 had  been  instructing  his  youthful  pupils  at  Greenhill. 
 
22  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 Dr.  King's  ministry,  to  take  an  active  part  in  church 
 work.  In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Duncan,  accompanying  the 
 one  from  his  brother  already  quoted,  and  dated  17th 
 April,  1837,  William  speaks  of  an  epidemic  of  influ- 
 enza as  "  ravaging  the  city  widely."  He  says  :  "  The 
 funerals  are  literally  crowding  our  streets.  The  poor 
 people  say  '  It  is  as  bad  as  the  cholera,'  not  so  mortal 
 perhaps,  but  more  general  certainly.  Our  agents  of 
 the  Christian  Instruction  Society  find  in  every  house 
 not  '  one  dead '  as  in  Egypt  of  old,  but  generally 
 more  than  one  sick."  He  adds  :  "  I  sometimes  spend 
 an  hour  in  the  business  of  this  society,  and  such  hours 
 are,  perhaps,  the  most  interesting  of  my  time.  I  can 
 scared)7  think  of  an  employment  better  calculated  for 
 the  stimulus  of  personal  religion.  When  you  turn  to 
 the  abodes  of  wickedness  you  naturally  connect  sin 
 with  the  wretchedness' met  in  its  company.  When 
 you  meet  a  Christian  character  in  a  hovel  you  are  as 
 naturally  led  to  admire  the  power  of  that  religion 
 that  makes  the  heart,  even  under  burdens  of  distress, 
 to  hope  and  rejoice.  And  then  the  thought  so  often 
 recurs,  what  if  this  person  or  that  should  find,  or 
 should  see  '  afar  off,'  his  counsellor  on  the  left  '  that 
 day.'  " 
 
 During  the  winter  between  their  second  and  third 
 sessions,  when  George  was  detained  at  Greenhill  by 
 illness,  William  entered  on  an  engagement  as  tutor  in 
 the  family  of  Captain  Aytoun,  of  Glendevon,  among 
 the  Ochil  hills.  There  is  no  record  of  the  precise 
 date  when  he  went,  but  we  find  him  established  there 
 
TUTORSHIP  AT  GLENDEVON.  2$ 
 
 in  May,  1836.  An  undated  letter  from  his  father 
 bearing  the  post-mark  "nth  May,  1836,"  and  ad- 
 dressed to  him  at  Glendevon,  has  been  preserved.  It 
 is  written  to  announce  the  death  of  an  intimate  friend, 
 James  M'Laren,  whom  both  George  and  James  had 
 been  visiting  on  his  deathbed.  It  suggests  reflections 
 on  the  solemn  event,  and  very  earnestly  urges  him 
 "  with  all  the  affection,  and  even  authority  of  a 
 parent,"  to  "  attend  rigidly  to  the  use  of  means  neces- 
 sary for  preserving  health  and  strengthening  the  con- 
 stitution." The  letter  goes  on  to  say — "  Your  brother 
 George  is  again  almost  quite  well.  He  intends  going 
 this  afternoon  to  converse  with  Mr.  Stewart  on  the 
 subject  of  the  approaching  communion  at  Stirling.  I 
 know  your  own  thoughts  have  been  turned  to  this 
 important  subject,  and  I  should  have  been  happy  in 
 seeing  you  go  together.  In  your  present  circum- 
 stances, however,  this  cannot  be.  But  although  he 
 should  get  the  start  of  you  in  publicly  obeying  the 
 dying  command  of  the  Saviour,  this  is  no  reason 
 why  you  should  be  behind  in  being  prepared  for  it ; 
 and  if  this  is  so,  an  opportunity  may  soon,  in  the 
 course  of  Providence,  be  given  you  of  observing  it." 
 In  a  later  letter  the  same  faithful  correspondent  says  : 
 "  When  you  feel  yourself  surrounded  with  all  the 
 charms  of  fashionable  life,  I  hope  you  will  remember 
 that  '  one  thing  is  needful,'  and  that  '  the  fashion  of 
 this  world  passeth  away.'  " 
 
 William  retained  his    connection  with    Glendevon 
 till  near  the  close  of  1840.     His  curriculum  at  the 
 
24  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 Theological  Hall  of  the  Secession  Church  began  in 
 1837  and  ended  in  1841,  but  the  sessions  of  the  Hall 
 were  in  the  autumn,  and  only  lasted  for  eight  weeks, 
 so  that  it  was  easily  arranged  to  make  the  holidays  of 
 his  pupils  coincident  with  them.  Longer  absences 
 were,  however,  rendered  necessary  by  his  attendance 
 at  the  university  during  the  winter  of  1836-7,  and  by 
 more  than  one  serious  illness.  But  the  remarkable 
 power  he  had  of  closely  attaching  to  him  all  with 
 whom  he  had  any  relations  had  so  charmed  Captain 
 Aytoun  and  his  family,  that  even  lengthened  inter- 
 ruptions to  study  were  cheerfully  borne  rather  than 
 part  with  one  who  had  the  happy  art  of  making  study 
 a  delight  to  his  scholars. 
 
 The  following  characteristic  invitation  to  exercise  his 
 gift  in  another  direction  will  be  read  with  interest : — 
 
 Avenuehead,  15th  December,  1837. 
 
 My  Dear  William, — You  do  not  need  to  be  told  that  I 
 never  write  either  to  friend  or  foe  except  on  business,  and 
 seldom  even  then,  if  I  can  help  it.  My  reason  for  address- 
 ing you  at  present  is  to  call  your  attention  to  the  following 
 bill  of  exchange  which  will  be  returned,  I  trust,  duly 
 honoured  : — 
 
 Cold  Water  Company's  Writing  Chambers, 
 15th  December,  1837. 
 
 On  Monday,  the  25th  current,  deliver  to  us  or  our  order, 
 in  Auchenbowie  School,  between  the  hours  of  4  and  8  p.m., 
 a  speech  20  minutes  long,  "  de  omnibus  rebus  et  quibusdam 
 
PUBLIC  SPEAKING.  2$ 
 
 aliis,"  for  value  to  be  then  received  in  tea,  sugar,  oranges, 
 etc. — Durham,  Mackenzie  &  Co. 
 
 To  Mr.  William  Robertson, 
 
 ABC  Prof.,  Glendevon. 
 
 To  be  serious,  I  presume  there  is  no  doubt  you  will  be  here 
 at  Christmas,  and  there  can  be  just  as  little  doubt  that  you 
 •will,  at  the  earnest  desire  of  the  committee  hereby  conveyed, 
 give  us  a  lift  at  our  second  temperance  soiree,  which  is  to 
 come  off  on  the  evening  of  that  holiday.  As  no  refusal  will 
 be  taken  it  will  be  needless  to  offer  any.  If  it  were  not  that 
 vour  humility,  such  as  it  is,  might  suffer  shipwreck  in  conse- 
 quence, I  would  have  told  you  a  secret,  which  is  that  the 
 
 time  of  the  soiree  was  fixed  mainly  to  suit  you 
 
 And  now  that  I  have  finished  my  business  what  shall  I 
 say  more,  except  that  I  am,  my  dear  William,  your  ever 
 affectionate  brother,  Andrew. 
 
 I  am  keeping  this  unsealed  till  I  go  into  Stirling  in  case 
 George  should  have  anything  wherewithal  to  occupy  the 
 blank  space  underneath. 
 
 George,  who  had  been  William's  companion  in  all 
 his  college  classes,  was  then  town  missionary  at 
 Stirling.  No  student  preparing  for  the  ministry  ever 
 dreamed  in  those  days  of  spending  his  recesses  in 
 idleness.  Bursaries  were  not  so  common  as  they  are 
 now,  and  there  are  some  who  think  that  we  have  lost 
 something  in  our  ministry  since  the  pressure  of 
 necessity,  which  forced  students  to  labour  for  their 
 own  support,  has  been  lightened.  It  was  characteristic 
 of  the  two  brothers  that  while  William  chose  a  situa- 
 
26  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 tion  in  which  he  had  larger  opportunity  of  study, 
 George  preferred  to  enter  directly  on  the  work  to 
 which  he  had  devoted  his  life.  This  was  not  because 
 he  was  insensible  to  the  influences  which  were  so 
 powerful  with  William.  It  is  remembered  that  when 
 he  was  toiling  hard  among  the  poor  of  Stirling,  his 
 favourite  retreat  for  quiet  thought  was  underneath  the 
 bridge  by  which  the  Glasgow  road  crosses  the  little 
 Bannock,  just  after  it  has  passed  the  Bloody  Ford, 
 and  before  it  skirts  the  holm  on  which  stands  the 
 house  where  James  III.  was  slain. 
 
 William's  gifts  as  a  public  speaker  were  in  request 
 in  the  neighbourhood  of  Glendevon  as  well  as  at 
 Auchenbowie.  Mr.  Harvey,  the  Secession  minister  at 
 Muckart,  writes  to  him  on  12th  March,  1838,  saying: 
 "  You  will  be  obliged  to  give  us  a  speech  on  Thursday. 
 It  is  expected,  everybody  wishes  it,  nobody  will  be 
 pleased  without  it.  If  a  petition  were  necessary  to  be 
 made  up  to  secure  it,  I  would  get  as  many  names  as 
 we  can  command  for  those  that  are  to  take  the  road  to 
 London.  But  as  it  would  be  insulting  your  goodness 
 of  heart  to  suppose  you  needed  to  be  petitioned  to  do 
 a  good  and  right  thing,  which  only  proud  peers  and 
 perverse  parliamenteers  expect,  I  shall  not  hint  one 
 word  more  about  petitioning  you."  We  have  a. 
 glimpse  into  the  matters  of  public  interest  in  those 
 days,  in  the  postscript :  "  Take  any  of  the  subjects  you 
 incline,  the  abuse  of  human  beings  in  the  colonies,  or 
 the  [here  follows  the  drawing  of  a  mouth  wide  open] 
 for  endowments,  or  both." 
 
WEAKNESS  OF  CHEST.  27 
 
 The  speeches  delivered  on  such  occasions  were  fully 
 and  carefully  written  out,  and,  as  no  aspirant  to  a 
 Secession  pulpit  in  those  days  ever  dreamed  of 
 reading-  a  discourse,  they  must  have  been  committed 
 to  memory. 
 
 So  early  as  the  spring  of  1836,  William  had  suffered 
 from  weakness  of  chest,  and  in  1838  disquieting  reports 
 reached  Greenhill  as  to  the  state  of  his  health.  His 
 father  visited  him  in  May,  and  in  June  the  family 
 physician,  Dr.  Johnstone  of  Stirling,  was  sent  to  con- 
 sult with  the  medical  attendant  at  Glendevon.  The 
 report  was  so  far  favourable  that  it  was  not  then 
 deemed  necessary  that  he  should  leave  his  situation. 
 His  father  writes  to  him  on  16th  June,  urging  the 
 greatest  possible  carefulness,  and  adds,  "  I  hope  our 
 gracious  God  may  see  it  meet  soon  to  restore  to 
 ordinary  health,  and  to  make  your  present  and  late 
 distress  a  blessing  to  you  by  training  into  subjection 
 to  His  holy  will,  and  leading  you  to  take  up  your  rest 
 and  refuge  in  the  hope  set  before  you  in  the  gospel 
 If  these  be  the  happy  results,  the  medicine  of  affliction 
 that  now  tastes  bitter,  will  in  the  end  be  sweet,  and 
 be  the  subject  matter  of  thankfulness  and  praise  to 
 Him  who  sent  it." 
 
 A  return  of  the  more  distressing  symptoms  later  in 
 the  same  summer  compelled  him  to  resign  his  position 
 for  the  time.  The  regret  with  which  his  kind  friends, 
 Captain  and  Mrs.  Aytoun,  parted  with  him  found 
 expression  in  several  letters  which  he  fondly  preserved 
 along  with  those  of  his  father  and  brothers.     But  the 
 
2$  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 separation  seemed  inevitable,  another  tutor  was 
 found  for  the  boys,  and  William,  after  only  a  few  day^ 
 attendance  during  the  autumn  session  of  the  Divinity 
 Kail,  settled  down  for  a  winter's  rest  at  home. 
 
 It  was  some  time  before  this  that  his  enthusiasm 
 for  literature  began.  He  owed  his  intellectual 
 quickening  not  to  any  learned  professor  or  other 
 accredited  agency,  but  to  the  accident  of  his  lighting 
 on  one  or  two  of  the  works  of  Dickens,  then  being 
 issued  as  monthly  serials.  The  reading  of  these  was 
 like  the  revelation  of  a  new  world.  He  found  himself 
 in  a  large  room,  and  began  to  wander  at  will  through 
 the  wide  realm  of  our  English  classics.  There  are 
 among  his  papers  various  copies  of  verses  belonging 
 to  this  period.  One  of  these  is  a  poem  on  "  Imagina- 
 tion "  in  which  we  recognize  the  combined  influence 
 of  the  metaphysical  lectures  of  the  Logic  professor  at 
 Glasgow,  and  of  the  melody  of  Shelley's  poetry. 
 Another  is  a  "  Lament  on  the  death  of  a  favourite  dog," 
 and  an  "  Epitaph  "  for  his  grave  in  the  garden.  From 
 a  letter  written  to  him  by  Mr.  Steedman  (afterwards  of 
 Stirling)  on  28th  November,  1838,  we  gather  that 
 they  and  others  of  their  fellow-students  had  a  literary 
 project  in  hand — the  publication  of  some  miscellany 
 of  which  William  was  to  be  editor,  but  which,  of 
 course,  never  saw  the  light.  Mr.  Steedman  writes  in 
 true  student  style  :  "  You  are  to  be  pilot.  Mind  you 
 have  the  management  of  the  vessel,  and  I  warn  you 
 beforehand,  you  have  engaged  a  most  unruly  crew, 
 M'Kenzie,  Wylie,  and    Steedman !       If  you   venture 
 
LITERARY  ENTHUSIASM..  29 
 
 from  shore  with  these  you  will  have  to  throw  them 
 overboard,  else  the  poor  crazy  wherry  will  suffer  ship- 
 wreck. Peace,  Prudence !  thour't  all  a  liar  and  as 
 false  as — Xorval.  Will  Robertson  can  guide  the 
 helm  '  where  whirlwinds  madden  and  where  tempests 
 roar.'  La,  how  poetical  !  la,  how  metaphorical !  Send 
 me  a  long  letter  soon  and  give  me  all  the  particulars.'' 
 The  impression  made  by  him  on  fellow-students 
 was,  as  might  have  been  expected  from  the  intellectual 
 progress  we  have  noted,  deeper  at  the  Theological  Hall 
 than  at  the  College.  Dr.  Ker  thus  refers  to  a  sermon 
 he  prepared  for  Professor  Mitchell  on  the  text 
 '•This  is  that  King  Ahaz  "  : — l"  He  drew  the  picture 
 of  a  man  moving  in  the  dark  along  a  burial  path  till 
 a  grave  stops  his  footsteps.  He  stoops  to  examine  it, 
 and  gropes  out  the  epitaph.  It  is  the  tomb  and 
 character  of  the  wicked  King  of  Judah  ;  and  then  he 
 proceeded  to  sketch  his  deeds  and  his  doom,  till  there 
 crept  over  us  a  feeling  of  eerie  ai^'csomaitssy  It  must 
 be  to  the  impression  received  from  reading  the  sermon 
 that  Dr.  Ker  refers,  for  it  was  never  delivered  in  the 
 class.  The  state  of  his  health  only  permitted  William 
 Robertson  to  attend  the  Hall  for  a  few  days  about 
 the  middle  of  the  session,  and  Dr.  Mitchell  agreed  to 
 accept  his  discourse  in  writing.  After  William  had 
 ^one  home  the  sermon  was  handed  to  George,  who 
 kept  it  in  his  possession  till  the  end  of  the  session,  and 
 freely  lent  it  to  his  fellow -students.  I  have  found 
 among  his  papers  the  faded  MS.,  and  can  well  under- 
 
 1  '•  Scottish  Nationality  and  Other  Paper?,**  p.  244. 
 
30  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 stand  the  feeling  that  crept  over  the  students  when 
 they  read  it.  The  written  criticism  of  the  Professor 
 is  characteristic  of  its  author.  It  thus  begins  : — "  This 
 is  a  beautiful  discourse,  full  of  tender  feeling  and 
 original  thinking.  It  is  the  product  of  genius  and 
 sensibility.  Nor  do  I  know  that  the  author  could 
 have  chosen  a  better  method  of  illustration  than  that 
 which  he  has,  by  causing  the  character,  like  tints  from 
 different  parts  of  the  fair  canvas,  to  start  into  life  and 
 lineament  from  the  different  passages  of  his  history. 
 Yet  when  I  take  the  discourse  in  connection  with  the 
 end — the  edification  of  a  Christian  audience,  perhaps 
 an  humble  and  illiterate  congregation,  where  there  are 
 many  ignorant,  and  few  persons  of  a  refined  taste,  I 
 cannot  but  feel  that  the  delineation  is  too  fine  and  the 
 language  too  figurative  to  meet  the  case  or  be  suitable 
 to  their  edification.  I  beseech  my  young  friend  to 
 rein  his  imagination  and  study  more  plainness  of 
 speech."  He  then  proceeds  to  give  examples  both  of 
 beauties  and  of  excesses  of  figure  and  colouring.  He 
 characterizes  the  fine  passages  he  commends  as  n  pre- 
 eminently beautiful  and  altogether  original."  Of  the 
 last  of  the  passages  noted  as  "  excesses,"  which  are 
 only  three  in  number,  the  criticism  is  specially 
 interesting.  After  speaking  of  the  burial  of  Ahaz 
 "  not  in  the  sepulchre  of  the  kings,"  and  glancing  at 
 what  comes  after  death,  the  young  preacher  said — 
 4i  Why  should  we  limit  the  power  of  mercy  ?  We  may 
 yet,  when  the  visions  of  hope  are  realized — we  may 
 see  him  arguing  a  higher  right  to  gratitude  with  the 
 
HALL  SERMONS.  3 1 
 
 thief  upon  the  Cross  ;  or  he  may  stand  by  the  Throne 
 and  receive  his  crown  of  glory  while  the  tale  is  swell- 
 ing to  an  anthem,  and  we  hear  in  the  music  of  Heaven, 
 '  This  is  that  King  Ahaz.'  "  On  this  passage  the  Pro- 
 fessor remarks — "  I  fear  we  may  not  venture  to 
 indulge  such  a  supposition,  beautiful  and  benevolent 
 though  it  be  ;  "  and  then  the  criticism  thus  ends — 
 "  But  I  feel  that  I  am  intermeddling  with  a  fine 
 embroidered  fabric." 
 
 The  Rev.  Henry  Erskine  Fraser  writes : — "  It  was 
 during  those  few  days'  attendance  at  that  session  of 
 the  Hall  in  Glasgow  (1838),  which  was  his  second  and 
 my  first,  that  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time.  During  the 
 next  two  sessions  in  Edinburgh  he  and  George  and  I 
 lodged  together,  and  it  was  then  that  I  became  so 
 intimate  with  him.  During  his  fourth  session  he 
 delivered  a  lecture  before  Professor  Duncan,  which 
 caused  some  sensation.  It  abounded  in  condensed 
 poetical  expressions  and  abrupt  literary  allusions,  of 
 great  force  and  beauty  when  the  meaning  and 
 reference  were  caught,  but  very  difficult  at  times  to 
 follow.  I  can  remember  the  puzzled  look  of  the  Pro- 
 fessor as  he  listened,  and  his  saying  at  the  close — that 
 he  had  sometimes  been  at  a  loss  to  catch  the  preacher's 
 meaning,  but  what  he  understood  he  very  much 
 admired.  The  opinion  expressed  among  the  students 
 was  that  he  might  attract  and  interest  a  cultured 
 few,  but  would  never  be  a  popular  preacher.  But  that 
 opinion  was  greatly  modified  the  following  session, 
 which  was  his  last,  and  in  which  the  high  esteem  he  was 
 
32  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 held  in  by  his  fellow-students  was  shown  by  his 
 unanimous  election  as  censor.  The  discourse  he 
 preached  before  Dr.  Balmer  on  '  Pray  without  ceas- 
 ing '  (to  which  I  believe  Dr.  Cairns  alludes  in  his 
 funeral  sermon)  was  the  gem  of  the  session.  It  was 
 listened  to  with  breathless  attention,  and  in  its  com- 
 bined simplicity,  poetry,  and  unction  stamped  him  as 
 one  who  could  touch  the  chords  of  all  hearts.  It  gave 
 me,  besides,  an  insight  into  his  own  spiritual  experi- 
 ence, such  as  from  his  natural  reserve  and  playful 
 humour  I  had  not  had  before,  but  of  which  glimpses 
 were  often  afterwards  obtained.  A  peculiarity  about 
 him  was  that  he  scarcely  ever  seemed  to  study.  His 
 reading  was  mostly  miscellaneous,  and  there  was 
 apparently  not  much  time  given  to  it.  And  yet  on 
 every  topic  he  was  well  informed,  and  expert  in  all 
 theological  and  philosophical  questions,  on  which, 
 when  they  were  under  discussion,  he  would  throw  out 
 original  and  vivid  gleams  of  light.  It  was  difficult  to 
 observe  when  and  how  he  prepared  his  Hall  exercises, 
 but  he  was  always  ready  with  them  when  they  were 
 wanted,  and  had  them  carefully  and  thoroughly 
 thought  out.  He  told  me  once,  while  he  was  still  a 
 student,  of  a  discourse  he  had  mentally  composed, 
 even  to  the  minutest  expression,  and  which  he  carried 
 in  his  memory  without  putting  pen  to  paper.  He  had 
 the  power  apparently  of  carrying  on  trains  of  thought, 
 while  outwardly  engaged  about  something  else." 
 
 A  friend  who  has  been  searching  into  the  records 
 of  the  Edinburgh  University  Library  sends  me  lists  of 
 
VA  RIE  TV  OF  RE  A  DING.  3  3 
 
 the  books  taken  out  by  William  Robertson  from  1836 
 to  1839,  as  well  as  those  taken  out  during  the  same 
 period  by  his  friends,  Dr.  Ker  and  Principal  Cairns. 
 Robertson's  list  is  the  most  voluminous,  and  it  is  also 
 the  most  miscellaneous.  The  only  systematic  reading 
 which  it  reveals  is  in  the  department  of  Roman 
 history.  Hooke,  Gibbon,  and  Goldsmith  were  all 
 laid  under  contribution.  They  are  intermixed  with 
 Moliere,  Byron,  Shelley,  Shakespeare,  Scott,  Moore, 
 Hogg,  Cervantes,  and  a  History  of  Chivalry.  There 
 seems  to  have  been  an  occasional  diversion  into 
 science,  as  we  find  Joyce's  Scientific  Dialogues, 
 Haller's  Physiology,  and  a  work  on  Botany  ;  while 
 some  vague  purpose,  which  never  led  to  anything,  is 
 probably  revealed  by  the  fact  that  he  took  out 
 Walton's  "  Complete  Angler,"  and  "  The  Fly-Fisher's 
 Guide." 
 
 While  studying  in  Edinburgh,  Robertson  formed 
 a  friendship  more  influential  on  his  intellectual  future 
 than  the  books  he  was  reading.  The  "  English  Opium 
 Eater,"  Thomas  De  Ouincey,  was,  in  these  years,  when 
 health  and  fortune  had  alike  declined,  living  at  113 
 Princes  Street,  in  the  house  of  his  lawyer,  Mr.  Thomas 
 M'Indoe,  S.S.C.  He  had  been  in  lodgings  within  the 
 precincts  of  Holyrood,  but  desiring  to  consult  Mr. 
 M'Indoe,  he  came  one  night  to  call  at  his  house.  Mrs. 
 M'Indoe,  finding  that  some  essential  part  of  the 
 dreamer's  outgoing  raiment  was  wanting,  had  asked 
 him  to  stay  till  next  morning.  He  accepted  the 
 invitation,  and   remained  her  guest  for  three  years  ! 
 
34  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 William  Robertson,  being  Mr.  M'Indoe's  second  cousin, 
 was  an  occasional  visitor  at  the  house,  and  discovering 
 who  was  the  mysterious  inmate  occupying  the  bed- 
 room by  the  side  of  the  dining-room,  he  persuaded  the 
 good  hostess  to  give  him  an  introduction.  The  inter- 
 course to  which  he  was  thus  admitted,  he  always 
 reckoned  one  of  the  greatest  privileges  of  his  early 
 life.  It  led  him  into  a  new  world  of  thought  and 
 speculation.  It  quickened  his  imagination,  and  left 
 its  mark  on  his  style  of  speech  and  writing.  He 
 often  said  that  if  he  had  any  power  of  expressing 
 himself  in  good  English,  he  owed  it  to  Thomas  De 
 Ouincey. 
 
 The  following  fragment  has  been  found  among  his 
 papers  : — 
 
 De  Quincey,  whose  literary  style  is  in  the  English 
 language — more  perhaps  in  his  later  than  his  earlier  works 
 — perfectly  unrivalled.  From  him,  through  so  early  an 
 acquaintance  with  the  old  man  eloquent,  I,  still  young, 
 learnt  far  more  than  from  all  other  earthly  masters  of  mine. 
 And  as  his  writings  and  low-toned,  weird,  musical  speech — 
 to  which  I  would,  alone  with  him,  night  after  night,  listen 
 for  hours  together — were  all  upon  the  side  of  Christianity 
 (unlike  the  sceptical  and  godless  litterati  that  babble  around 
 us  now-a-days),  this  had  for  me  an  indescribable  charm 
 which,  like  the  charm  of  a  beautiful  child  of  his  (it  is  long 
 ago,  but  "a  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  for  ever")  has  never 
 passed  away. 
 
 The    young    student    sought    to    repay   his    debt 
 
INTERCOURSE  WITH  DE  QUINCE  Y.  35 
 
 to  the  illustrious  writer  by  every  ministry  of 
 kindness  he  had  the  opportunity  of  rendering.  He 
 gladly  spent  hours  in  his  company,  and  lightened  the 
 gloom  of  his  strange  solitude  ;  so  that  the  dreamer 
 learned  to  look  for  his  coming. 
 
 To  few  besides  was  the  door  of  his  chamber  opened. 
 Mr.  Robertson's  youngest  sister  dimly  remembers  the 
 awe  with  which,  when  she  was  a  very  little  child 
 and  on  a  visit  to  her  kinsman,  she  regarded  that 
 door  and  the  mysterious  man  behind  it,  who  put 
 forth  his  hand  to  receive  his  meals.  The  little  girl 
 asked  the  servant  why  she  handed  in  the  gentleman's 
 meals  and  did  not  go  into  the  room.  The  reply  was, 
 "  The  last  body  who  went  in  there  was  put  up  the 
 lum,  and  never  came  out."  Once  when  she  was  play- 
 ing in  the  lobby  with  his  daughter  Emily,  the  door  of 
 the  dreaded  room  was  opened  softly,  and  the  gentle 
 voice  was  heard.  Emily  said,  "  It  is  you  he  wishes," 
 whereupon  she  ran  screaming  into  the  kitchen,  and 
 hid  behind  the  servant.  But  Emily  followed,  and 
 dragging  her  from  her  hiding  place  to  the  door, 
 pushed  her  in.  She  has  in  her  mind  a  vivid  picture 
 of  the  aspect  of  the  room,  with  its  awful  "  lum,"  up 
 which  she  expected  to  be  thrust.  There  was  not  a 
 spot  which  was  not  littered  with  papers.  De  Ouincey 
 spoke  kindly,  and  said,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  frighten 
 you,  my  dear,  but  only  to  ask  you  whether  your  name 
 is  Rob^r/son,  Rob/son,  or  Rob/;/son,"  putting  the 
 emphasis  on  the  distinctive  syllables. 
 
 In  1883,  when  a  new  club-house  was  about  to  be 
 
36  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 built  in  Princes  Street,  and  the  house  in  which  De 
 Quincey  had  sojourned  was  doomed  to  be  taken  down, 
 William  telegraphed  to  his  sister  to  tell  him  by  return 
 whether  the  number  was  113  or  114,  and  he  wrote  a 
 few  days  later,  "  I  have  had  a  sketch  made  of  the 
 wall  of  113  Princes  Street,  including  the  '  lum  '  up 
 which  you  should  have  been  put." 
 
 There  was  at  that  time  no  lack  of  intellectual  stimu- 
 lus among  the  students  at  the  Secession  Hall.  In 
 addition  to  those  with  whom  Robertson  had  formed 
 friendships  at  college,  he  was  now  admitted  to  a 
 goodly  fellowship  of  the  sons  of  the  prophets.  He 
 had  among  his  chosen  companions,  in  addition  to  the 
 two  already  named,  John  Cairns  and  John  Ker,  such 
 men  as  Alexander  MacEwen,  A.  L.  Simpson,  William 
 Graham,  and  Alexander  Renton.  The  professors  of 
 the  time  were  men  of  note  in  their  denomination,  and 
 one  of  them,  at  least,  Dr.  John  Brown,  has  left  his 
 mark  on  the  theology  of  Scotland.  But  we  can  well 
 believe  that  Robertson  was  even  more  indebted  to 
 the  men  with  whom  it  was  his  lot  to  associate  in  that 
 peculiarly  delightful  intercourse  which  only  fellow- 
 students  know  how  to  enjoy. 
 
 During  his  Hall  session  in  1839  a  proposal  reached 
 him  from  Captain  Aytoun  that  he  should  return  to 
 Glendevon,  and,  after  consultation  with  his  father  and 
 mother,  he  resolved  to  do  so.  Captain  Aytoun  wrote 
 of  date  9th  October,  1839  : — 
 
 I  hope  you  will  come  here  as  soon  after  you  receive  this 
 
RETURN  TO  GLENDEVON.  37 
 
 as  may  be  quite  convenient  for  you.  It  will  really  be 
 delightful  to  have  you  once  more  amongst  us ;  but  you  must 
 submit,  I  tell  you,  to  very  strict  military  discipline.  I  shall 
 have  all  the  lights  out,  particularly  yours,  at  half-past  ten 
 every  night ;  and  you  must  fall  asleep  precisely  at  eleven 
 o'clock,  and  not  presume  to  awake  one  minute  before  6h. 
 15',  3"'i298764328777777 — one  minute  did  I  say?  I 
 meant  not  one  of  the  last  decimal  of  seconds  which  stands 
 above,  which,  if  you  can  turn  into  words,  it  is  more  than  I 
 can  do.  ...  I  really  think  your  ministers  ought  to 
 interfere  to  prevent  that  self-murder  amongst  so  many  of 
 your  students  by  over-exertion.  .  .  .  How  great  a 
 mistake  to  suppose  that  the  mind  can  acquire  much  if  the 
 bodily  health  be  neglected,  or  rather  ruined,  by  want  of 
 sleep  and  neglect  of  exercise,  not  to  speak  of  over-excite- 
 ment of  the  nervous  system  at  its  centre — the  brain.  I  do 
 hope,  my  dear  young  friend,  you  will  allow  me  to  keep  you 
 a  little  in  order.  I  shall  have  no  dissipation,  no  going  out 
 in  winter  nights,  no  sitting  up  till  daylight,  etc.  In  short,  I 
 am  afraid  you  will  mutiny;  but,  if  you  will  follow  my 
 advice,  you  will  acquire  more  in  half-an-hour  with  proper 
 care  of  your  health  than  in  a  week  without  care. — Ever 
 affectionately  yours,  etc. 
 
 It  would  seem  from  the  hour  at  which  the  following 
 letters  were  written  that  even  Captain  Aytoun's  "  strict 
 military  discipline "  failed  to  overcome  Robertson's 
 early  acquired  habit  of  sitting  far  into  the  night. 
 
 To  Mr.  Henry  Erskine  Fraser. 
 
 GLENDEVON,  Midnight,  Hallowe'en,  1839. 
 
 My  Dear  Erskine, —  ....  When  one  is  going 
 to  write  to  a  friend,  he  has  to  wait  till  the  kitchen  chimney  go 
 
33  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALE 
 
 a-fire,  or  tlie  next  river  go  a-flood,  or  the  mercury  rise,  or  the 
 rain  fall,  or  something  occur  that  may  be  worth  the  telling. 
 Neither  is  he  likely  to  wait  long,  I  trow,  since  Nature,  like 
 the  most  of  her  sex,  has  so  much  of  the  "  varium  et  muta- 
 bile  semper."  Though,  if  he  do,  he  is  quite  entitled  then, 
 to  be  sure,  to  make  a  letter  out  of  his  disappointment ;  and  in 
 that  case,  too,  it  is  recommended  that  the  post  be  just 
 a-going  as  he  writes,  this  being  always  the  best  excuse  for 
 not  writing  more  or  having  begun  earlier.  So  while  I  had 
 at  first  been  meditating  the  latter  expedient  for  you,  since, 
 indeed,  nothing  would  happen  at  all  .  .  .  did  the  old 
 earth  stumble  in  the  hurry  and  treated  us  to  a  ***.  Now  I 
 had  meant  to  shroud  that  word  in  all  the  mysteries  of  gram- 
 matical astrology  until  I  might  have  burst  forth  upon  you 
 from  some  corner  (of  a  page)  in  the  dignity  of  having  felt  an 
 earthquake!  But  in  the  meanwhile  I  came  to  learn  that 
 your  own  citizens  had  felt  the  shock.  Well,  thought  I,  this 
 is  very  provoking.     .     .     . 
 
 Seriously,  I  had  written  fifty  lines  of  blank  verse  on  the 
 subject,  with  "  Dear  Erskine  "  for  the  first  three  syllables 
 and  "  Here's  a  go  "  for  the  next  three.  As  I  sacrifice  them 
 to  the  flames  now — (Oh,  dear !  but  it's  all  out  of  spite,  you 
 see,  for  your  having  felt  the  earthquake  too) — I  mark  such 
 words  as  these  very  prominent — "  Death  !  ghosts  !  church- 
 yard !  knell !  "     (How  very  grand  it  must  have  been  !) 
 
 Talking  of  "  knells,"  you  must  know  that  we  have  strange 
 music  here  by  way  of  accompaniment  to  that  grand  opera  of 
 Nature — (the  earthquake,  not  the  poem).  Tradition  says  it 
 is  the  dead  of  former  ages  singing  at  times  their  own  for- 
 gotten dirges,  and  probably  from  this  wailing  sound  the 
 Ochils  have  taken  their  Gaelic  names.  It  may  result  from 
 the  vapour  heated  in  their  bosoms,  breathing  sonorously 
 through  their  porous  rocky  lips.  Perhaps  it  is  only  the 
 winds  of  heaven  vibrating  into  music  between  these  glens. 
 
A  MIDXIGHT  LETTER.  39 
 
 But,  hark  you  !  there  it  is,  booming  away  at  this  midnight 
 hour.  So  I  was  just  thinking,  as  I  threw  me  back  in  my 
 chair  to  listen,  that  you  must  have  often  looked  towards 
 these  hills  amid  the  sports  of  your  childhood,1  and  in  your 
 early  fancies,  I  suppose,  they  may  have  assumed  many 
 fantastic  similitudes.  But  perhaps  you  never  thought  of 
 them  till  now,  as  the  chords  of  a  magnificent  ^Eolian  lyre, 
 framed  by  the  hand  of  Nature,  and  tuned  to  her  own  ear  and 
 moved  into  music  under  her  own  breath,  and  played  to  her 
 own  wild  dance  of  an  earthquake  ! 
 
 "  How  do  you  like  Glendevon  now  ?  "  You  see,  as  to 
 the  geography  of  the  matter,  I  may  still  like  it  very  much, 
 though  it  be  at  this  season  of  the  year,  when  (to  be  poetical 
 once  more),  the  country,  with  its  sudden  alternations  of 
 smiles  and  tears,  its  fitful  breathing  and  ruddy  flush  over  the 
 face  of  all  things  (not  to  mention  its  well-stocked  farm- 
 yards !),  exhibits  all  the  symptoms  of  consumption.  But  I 
 have  written  a  fearful  word,  and  must  go  to  bed,  for  the  one 
 candle  is  out  and  the  vital  spark  of  the  other  will  be  fled 
 almost  simultaneously  as  in  the  case  of  the  Siamese  twins,  or 
 
 Pyramus  and  Thisbe,    or  Romeo   and  Juliet 
 
 So  then  good  night ;  ''tis  pleasant  to  utter  it  though  you 
 cannot  hear.  The  thought  of  living  friends,  like  the  remem- 
 brance of  the  lost,  comes  upon  one  more  sweet  and  soothing 
 and  sacred  at  the  gentle  fall  of  the  hour  of  sleep.  (To  be 
 continued.) 
 
 Saturday  Xight. 
 
 A  letter  from  home  has  brought  me  the  first  notice  I  have 
 had  of  the  death  of  William  Thomson,  and  you  will  not 
 doubt  that  it  has  saddened  me.  It  has  indeed  cast  a  gloom 
 over  mirth,  defying  one  to  laugh  at  it,  and  given  melancholy 
 
 1  Mr.  Fraser  was  a  son  of  the  Rev.  WilHam  Fraser,  of  Alloa,  about 
 three  miles  frcm  the  foot  of  the  Ochils. 
 
40  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 a  deeper  shade  of  sadness,  and  you  may  easily  conceive 
 how  everything  around  seems  to  have  caught  up  the  strange 
 sympathy.  It  is  a  foolish  thought,  I  know,  but  I  cannot 
 help  it, — the  cold  blast  without  appears  to  blow  more  wildly 
 and  fall  more  fiercely  when  I  think  how  they  have  laid  him 
 in  the  cold  ground.  And  then  that  wailing  sound  I  told  you 
 of,  it  never  seemed  so  mournful  before.  Oh,  the  grave  !  the 
 grave  ! 
 
 It  is  easy  to  say  we  had  expected  it  all, — this  will  not 
 satisfy  the  heart.  I  have  known  it,  even  when  the  dead  was 
 yet  unburied,  think  itself  less  lonesome.  Let  that  moment 
 come  as  softly  and  long  lingering  as  it  may,  it  is  still  the 
 passing  of  a  spirit  into  the  presence  of  its  God  !  away  from 
 all  our  fondness  and  sympathies  and  prayers.  Then  as  we 
 begin  to  think  how  our  thoughts  and  feelings  had  mingled 
 with  his.  and  that  he  has  gone  to  his  account — if  there  is  not 
 a  deeper  seriousness  settling  down  upon  us,  Erskine,  we  are 
 mad. 
 
 To  Mr.  Thomas  MTndoe,  S.S.C. 
 
 Glendevox,  Midnight,  Hallowe'en,  1839. 
 
 Writing  to  a  friend  to-night  I  have  made  an  engagement 
 which  presupposes  my  being  in  town  about  Christmas  (not 
 sooner),  being  conscious  of  no  inducement  to  this  above  that 
 of  spending  an  hour  with  you,  and,  by  your  permission,  De 
 Quincey  (of  course  to  write  that  name  with  a  "  Mr."  would 
 argue  as  much  ignorance  of  literature  as  to  write  mine  with- 
 out it).  By  the  way,  if  Mrs.  M.  will  still  insist  that  the 
 opium  eater  possesses  all  the  attraction  that  ever  draws  me 
 to  113  Princes  Street,  I  should  like  to  be  told  how  I  first 
 came  to  meet  him  there  at  all.  She  seems  to  suspect  I  look 
 on  her  as  something  like  that  cipher  in  arithmetic  which  is 
 0  in  itself,  but  acquires  a  value  from  the  figure  beside  it. 
 
A  QUEER  FISH  IN  THE  STREAM  OF  TIME.  41 
 
 Very  well ;  but  then,  you  know,  it  multiplies  that  other  by 
 ten  again,  and  indeed  so  did  she  by  the  indulgence  she  gave 
 me  to  see  him  so  late  and  so  often,  and  as  you  know  every 
 
 opportunity  of  this  kind  could  only  enhance  his .     Eut 
 
 I  am  becoming  mathematical  when  I  should  be  sentimental, 
 and  should  only  say  that  I  am  very  thankful  to  them  both. 
 
 To  Mr.  Henry  Erskine  Fraser. 
 
 GLENDEVON,  23rd  April,  1840. 
 
 My  Dear  Erskine, —  ....  You  brought  me  so 
 far  onward  from  Alloa  as  to  have  left  little  scope  for  disser- 
 tation on  the  sequel  of  the  journey  in  the  style  of  your  first 
 unanswered  letter  that  lies  before  me.  About  half-way  up 
 the  glen  a  sleepy  herd  boy  started  from  the  silent  hillside, 
 and  sung  out  in  hearty  welcome  a  cock-i-leerie-la  !  This 
 salute  I  of  course  charitably  construed  as  a  compliment,  and 
 at  once  conceived  myself  to  have  been  greeted  as  the  morn- 
 ing sun  returning  from  the  east  with  a  light  and  with  a  glad- 
 ness to  the  natives  of  this  benighted  glen  ! 
 
 Nothing  of  more  importance  crossed  my  way,  unless  it 
 were  an  old  man  fishing  beneath  the  Black  Linn  Bridge.  A 
 real  Isaac  Walton  he  was,  and  altogether  I  should  think 
 rather  a  queer  fish  in  the  stream  of  time. 
 
 He  complained  that  the  day  was  so  bright  and  the  river 
 not  a-flood  !  What  will  somebody  not  be  complaining  of ! 
 I  wondered  that  so  very  old  a  man  should  be  trifling  his 
 days  away  with  such  amusements.  He  told  me  he  was 
 weary  of  the  world  altogether,  and  very  glad  of  any  recrea- 
 tion in  which  he  might  forget  it.  I  asked  him  how  he  could 
 be  weary  of  a  gently  coming  summer,  bright  streams  and 
 soft  breezes,  and  the  flowering  earth  and  the  beautiful  sky ; 
 and  when  he  took  off  his  hat  and  looked  up  devoutly  into 
 heaven.  I  understood  him  to  say  that  green  fields  and  stream- 
 
42  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 ing  music  and  his  friends  and  his  hopes  were  all  there.  I 
 loved  the  old  man,  and  wished  a  blessing  on  his  hoary  head, 
 especially  as  he  had  given  me  a  snuff. 
 
 But  I  won't  lead  you  further  into  the  glen  as  you  have 
 been  here  already,  and  I  daresay,  whatever  you  may  have 
 gained  in  reality,  must  have  been  all  lost  in  romance.  Be- 
 sides, I  know  you  will  have  no  patience  just  now  with  any- 
 thing but  revivals,1  and  I  hope  you  will  give  me  credit  for 
 sympathizing  with  you.  To  be  sure  I  hate  all  sentimental- 
 ism  in  real  life.  I  admire  the  character  that  can  even  frown 
 on  you  while  he  is  doing  a  hidden  kindness.  And  you  do 
 not  talk  to  a  mourner  about  his  grief  just  because  it  is  so 
 very  deep ;  but  there  is  a  restraint  upon  your  actions,  a  better 
 tribute  than  words,  and  a  whistle  or  a  jest  would  be  an  insult 
 and  a  mockery.  I  have  always  felt  a  great  temptation  to 
 carry  the  same  principle  into  religion,  but  it  will  not  alto- 
 gether do, — when  motives  may  be  mistaken,  they  must  be 
 stated, — where  God  is  forgotten  He  must  be  acknowledged, 
 — where  a  Saviour  is  unknown  He  must  be  preached.  I 
 have  seen  nothing  in  the  least  extravagant  to  quarrel  with. 
 There  may  be  not  so  much  artifice  in  a  revival  as  is  sus- 
 pected by  those  who  are  unacquainted  with  the  "  demon- 
 stration of  power,"  and  if  there  were  I  do  not  know  how 
 much  it  should  be  condemned.  Sighs  and  starts  and  tears 
 are  certainly  not  conversion.  There  is  a  great  difference 
 between  the  features  and  expressions  of  a  living  countenance 
 and  the  hideous  mimicry  produced  by  galvanism  on  the 
 dead.  But  the  latter  experiment  may  yet  issue  in  resusci- 
 tation. 
 
 Soon  after  the  date  of  this  letter,  he  was  compelled 
 again  to  leave  Glendevon  for  a  time.  He  returned  to 
 Greenhill  suffering  from  an  illness  which  developed 
 
 1  Meetings  in  Alloa  in  which  his  brother  James  took  part. 
 
A   WINTER  IN  EDINBURGH,  43 
 
 into  small-pox,  one  of  his  brothers  being  also  laid 
 down  with  the  same  disease.  The  remarkable  re- 
 cuperative power,  which,  spite  of  the  delicacy  of  his 
 constitution,  always  distinguished  him,  enabled  him 
 to  throw  off  the  malady  and  return  to  duty  in  the 
 month  of  June.  But  he  finally  resigned  his  situation 
 at  the  close  of  that  summer,  his  place  being  taken  by 
 his  friend,  Mr.  Erskine  Fraser.  The  winter  of  1840- 
 41  was  spent  in  Edinburgh,  where  we  find  him  busily 
 engaged  v/ith  a  number  of  his  fellow-students  in 
 the  study  of  German,  and,  in  supplement  to  the 
 theological  education  provided  by  the  Secession 
 Church,  attending  the  lectures  of  Dr.  Chalmers  in  the 
 University. 
 
 From  valuable  notes  of  his  conversations,  kindly 
 furnished  to  me  by  his  early  friend,  the  Rev.  John 
 Haddin,  I  find  that  so  late  as  1882,  William  Robert- 
 son thus  estimated,  with  perhaps  the  exaggeration  of 
 off-hand  speech,  the  various  influences  that  contri- 
 buted to  mould  him  at  the  period  of  which  I  am 
 writing.  "  I  have  had  two  kinds  of  education,  that 
 derived  from  books  and  teaching,  and  that  derived 
 from  play  and  the  exercise  of  my  own  mind.  The 
 latter  I  can  testify  is  that  from  which  I  have  obtained 
 the  most  profit.  If  I  have  developed  into  any  power, 
 it  is  by  casting  aside  all  to  which  I  was  trained,  and 
 cultivating  every  faculty  that  was  repressed.  I  gained 
 enthusiasm  from  Sir  Daniel  Sandford,  but  no  Greek. 
 I  gained  no  theology  from  Dr.  Chalmers,  but  I  gained 
 enthusiasm.     I  gained  no  theology  from   Dr.  Brown 
 
44  AT  COLLEGE  AND  HALL. 
 
 but  what  I  gained  was  encouragement.  I  gained 
 more  from  De  Ouincey  than  all  I  obtained  from  all 
 my  teachers.  Dr.  Brown  said  after  hearing  my  first 
 discourse  that  it  was  such  a  discourse  as  De  Ouincey 
 would  have  written  had  he  been  a  student  of 
 divinity." 
 
 Pleasant  traditions  have  been  preserved  of  the 
 thorough  enjoyment  with  which  he  entered  into  the 
 "  play  "  of  which  he  spoke  to  Mr.  Haddin.  We  hear 
 of  him  now  in  Alloa  with  Mr.  Erskine  Fraser  or  Mr. 
 Ramsay,  and  now  at  Cairneyhill,  where  the  Secession 
 manse  was  brightened  by  the  presence  of  young 
 ladies  sent  from  far  and  near  to  get  good  learning 
 and  motherly  kindness  combined,  at  the  hands  of 
 Mrs.  More,  the  minister's  wife.  But  it  was  at  Green- 
 hill  that  he  was  at  most  pains  to  exercise  the  happy 
 art  of  bringing  brightness  into  the  lives  of  those 
 with  whom  he  was  associated.  As  we  have  seen, 
 he  first  went  to  college  when  he  was  a  boy  of  twelve, 
 became  a  tutor  when  he  was  sixteen,  and  was  never 
 afterwards,  except  for  one  winter,  a  continuous 
 resident  under  his  father's  roof.  But  Greenhill  was 
 still  his  home,  and  his  visits,  at  Christmas  and 
 other  holiday  times,  brought  to  himself  and  to  all 
 the  household  keen  enjoyment.  Sometimes  he  would 
 make  elaborate  preparation,  and  select  and  arrange  a 
 classic  play  to  be  performed  by  himself  and  his 
 brothers  and  sisters  ;  or  have  readings  from  Shake- 
 speare or  Milton  or  Cowper.  The  manner  in  which 
 he    succeeded    in    putting  on   the   family  stage,  and 
 
INTERCOURSE  WITH  FRIENDS.  45 
 
 having  acted  to  its  close,  the  Mask  of  Comus,  was  a 
 fond  tradition  in  the  house.  And  yet  it  is  note- 
 worthy that  he  never  claimed  the  freedom,  hardly 
 denied  even  to  students  of  theology,  of  occasional 
 visits  to  the  theatre.  One  of  his  friends  remembers 
 that  late  in  life  he  told  him  this,  and  added  the  reason, 
 "  I  somehow  always  felt  that  my  mother  would  not 
 like  it." 
 
 During  his  winter  in  Edinburgh,  1840-4^  he  en- 
 joyed frequent  intercourse  with  De  Quincey.  He 
 often  met,  and  talked  of  the  books  they  were  reading 
 with  Mr.  Halkett — afterwards  of  the  Advocates'  Lib- 
 rary, and  his  partner,  Mr.,  afterwards  Sir  George 
 Harrison.  Alexander  Logan,  a  rising  advocate,  and 
 then  the  acknowledged  wit  of  the  Scottish  bar,  was 
 his  frequent  companion.  He  and  his  brother  John, 
 being  sons  of  the  Relief  minister  of  St.  Ninians,  had 
 been  the  friends  of  his  boyhood.  Samuel  Brown, 
 the  chemist,  of  whose  marvellous  genius  and  early 
 death  he  used  to  speak  to  the  close  of  his  own  life, 
 was  then  in  Edinburgh  following  his  speculations, 
 and  dreaming  his  dreams,  and  Robertson  was  much 
 with  him.  Samuel  Brown's  kinsman,  Dr.  John 
 Brown,  the  author  of  "  Rab  and  his  Friends,"  had 
 not  then  risen  into  fame,  but  his  genius  and  his  ten- 
 derness had  already  drawn  very  close  to  him  a  circle 
 of  friends,  among  whom  Robertson  was  one  of  the 
 most  appreciative.  Robertson  and  his  friend,  Mr. 
 Simpson,  had  begun  to  cultivate  that  love  of  art, 
 which    made  both   of  them  in   after  years    so    com- 
 
46  AT  COLLEGE  AXD  HALL^. 
 
 petent  guides  in  the  study  of  the  great  masters.  In 
 their  early  days,  they  enjoyed  together  the  friendship 
 of  David  Scott,  when  he  was  laying  the  foundations 
 of  the  fame  which  even  his  early  death  did  not  render 
 evanescent.  From  shreds  of  correspondence  which 
 have  been  preserved,  we  can  gather  that  amid  these 
 congenial  surroundings  he  was  not  merely  receptive 
 but  was  trying  to  give  expression  to  his  thought.  Mr. 
 Simpson  writes  to  him  of  date  17th  November,  1840, 
 "  How  is  your  poem  advancing  ?  Let  me  have  a 
 stanza  or  two  in  your  next,  and  let  your  next  be 
 forthwith." 
 
IN  GERMANY.  47 
 
 CHAPTER    III. 
 
 £n  (Scrmanj). 
 
 William  Robertson  was  now  qualified,  as  far  as 
 the  requisite  attendance  at  classes  in  arts  and  theology, 
 and  ability  to  pass  the  requisite  examinations  were 
 concerned,  to  offer  himself  for  license  as  a  preacher. 
 But  he  was  only  twenty-one  years  of  age  ;  and  there 
 had  come  to  him  a  great  thirst  for  wider  knowledge, 
 and  for  deeper  insight  into  the  problems  with  which 
 it  was  to  be  the  work  of  his  life  to  deal.  On  the 
 advice  of  De  Ouincey  he  resolved  to  study  for  a 
 year  at  one  of  the  universities  of  Germany.  It  was  an 
 ancient  habit  of  Scottish  theologians  to  complete  their 
 studies  at  continental  seats  of  learning.  The  habit 
 had  fallen  into  disuse  for  fully  a  century,  and  Scottish 
 religious  thought  had  in  consequence  tended  to 
 become  to  some  extent  insular.  To  William  Robert- 
 son belongs  the  honour  of  reviving  the  ancient  custom. 
 He  was  followed  to  Germany  by  a  long  succession  of 
 students,  headed  by  his  own  friends,  John  Cairns, 
 John  Ker,  Alexander  MacEwen,  William  Graham,  and 
 Erskine  Fraser. 
 
4§  IN  GERMANY. 
 
 The  difficulties  he  described  in  his  lecture  on 
 "  Burschen  Life  "  as  thrown  in  the  way  of  the  young 
 student  proposing  to  study  in  Germany  were  not 
 encountered  by  him.  Mr.  Robertson  of  Greenhill, 
 though  deeply  and  intelligently  attached  to  the  doc- 
 trine of  his  church,  was  too  wise  to  fear  the  effect  on  a 
 student  of  theology  of  contact  with  divergent  or  even 
 adverse  forms  of  thought.  From  a  paragraph  in  a  letter 
 to  William  dated  17th  September,  1839,  we  gather  that 
 thus  early  he  was  looking  forward,  not  disapprovingly, 
 to  what  took  place  two  years  later.  He  says:  "If 
 yourself,  or  George  either,  is  desirous  of  learning 
 German,  let  any  necessary  books  be  got  for  the  pur- 
 pose, and  perhaps  some  general  instructions  from  a 
 living  teacher  might  be  had  before  you  leave  Edin- 
 burgh. James  has  some  money  to  give  you  when  he 
 arrives,  and  if  more  is  wanted  let  me  hear  and  it  will 
 be  sent  next  week." 
 
 William  Robertson  was  accompanied  to  Germany 
 by  his  friend,  Alexander  Renton,  afterwards  minister 
 at  Hull,  and  subsequently  theological  tutor  in  con- 
 nection with  the  Montego  Bay  Academy  of  the  United 
 Presbyterian  Mission  in  Jamaica.  Like  Robertson, 
 Mr.  Renton  was  the  son  of  remarkable  parents,  more 
 than  one  member  of  whose  family  have  done  distin- 
 guished work  in  the  Church.  His  mother  was  widely 
 known  in  Edinburgh  and  far  beyond  it  for  her  keen 
 insight  and  unwearied  philanthropy  ;  and  his  brother, 
 the  Rev.  Henry  Renton  of  Kelso,  was  an  honoured 
 minister,  and   fearless  champion   of  the  cause  of  civil 
 
HIS  COMPAMOX.  49 
 
 and  religious  liberty,  while  other  brothers  and  sisters 
 in  less  public  spheres  were  no  less  faithful  and 
 effective  in  service.  Robertson  had  a  peculiar  affec- 
 tion for  this  companion  of  his  youth.  Addressing  the 
 annual  missionary  meeting  of  the  Synod  in  the  Music 
 Hall  of  Edinburgh,  in  the  year  1S64,  he  spoke  of  him 
 as  : — 
 
 A  missionary  of  your  own  on  whom  the  grave  has 
 closed  and  heaven  opened  some  six  months  ago.  He  was 
 my  dearest  friend  and  fellow-student  twenty  years  ago  in 
 Germany.  A  man  of  gentlest  manners,  princely  bearing,  rich 
 gifts,  and  rare  accomplishments,  he  gave  himself  with  all 
 his  gifts  and  accomplishments  to  the  comparatively  humble 
 task  of  teaching  your  poor  blacks  over  in  Jamaica,  and 
 literally  worked  himself  to  death  at  God's  work  there  :  and 
 when  he  had  come  home  in  the  green  summer  time  to  die, 
 and,  as  the  winter  darkened,  to  place  an  honoured 
 missionary's  grave  in  the  Grange  Cemetery,  "  beside  the 
 grave  of  Chalmers,"  I  said  to  his  venerable  mother  who  still 
 survived  at  his  return.  "  Your  son  is  really  a  martyr  to  the 
 missionary  cause."  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  if  I  had  a  hundred 
 sons,  I  would  be  proud  to  see  them  ail  the  same."  The 
 noble  spirit  of  the  Spartan  mother  has  not  died  out  yet  .' 
 The  spirit  of  the  brave  old  Roman  mother  that  could  give 
 her  sons  to  die  in  battle  for  the  commonwealth  and  conquest 
 of  the  world — or  rather,  shall  I  say,  the  spirit  of  the 
 Abraham,  who,  "  by  faith  offered  up  his  son  upon  the  altar," 
 and  of  those  holy  women  also,  in  the  days  of  old,  that  "  by 
 faith  received  their  dead  raised  to  life  again,"  as  this  most 
 noble  mother  also  did — following  her  martyr  son  in  a  short 
 time  to  glory. 
 
 William   Robertson   has  left  a  record  of  his  voyage 
 
50  IN  GERMANY. 
 
 to  Germany,  of  his  arrival  in  Halle,  and  first  experi- 
 ences and  impressions  there. 
 
 THE    STEAMBOAT. 
 
 I  sailed  from  Hull  by  the  "  Tiger."  It  was  in  the  dark 
 of  a  November  afternoon.  The  lamps  were  lighting  up  the 
 quay  and  the  neighbouring  streets,  and  I  was  reminded  that 
 it  made  no  difference  at  all  to  Hull  whether  I  stayed  or 
 went  away.  "  But  there  are  hearts,"  said  I  to  myself,  "that 
 may  have  been  touched  with  my  farewell — one — beauti- 
 ful   "      "  Hold  out  of  the  way  there,"  said   a  sailor 
 
 roughly,  who  was  slipping  a  rope  along  the  quarterdeck. 
 The  roar  of  the  engine  was  suddenly  stifled  into  a  hollow 
 thunder.  The  boat  moved  off,  and  stopped  again — splash, 
 splash — and  I  took  a  farewell  look  of  my  native  shore — that 
 is  to  say,  of  a  very  dirty  stone  pier,  including  certain 
 wooden  posts,  and  chains,  and  cables,  and  a  heap  of  coals, 
 and  an  old  woman  selling  gingerbread.  Splash,  splash, 
 splash 
 
 A  few  hours  later  and  we  were  really  at  sea.  I  was 
 sitting  half  asleep  over  a  volume  of  the  ''Mysteries"  (which, 
 by  the  by,  is  the  safest  way  of  reading  that  book),  and  felt 
 myself  suddenly  pitched  right  into  the  floor.  I  looked 
 round  and  the  cabin  was  now  empty,  save  only  a  very  fat 
 Dutch  captain  "spinning  a  yarn"  over  a  bottle  of  porter  to 
 a  tall  gentleman,  who  was  growing  pale  in  the  face,  and  not 
 paying  the  least  attention  to  what  the  fat  captain  was 
 saying 
 
 I  went  on  deck.  A  solitary  passenger,  muffled  up  closely 
 in  his  topcoat,  was  attempting  to  walk  up  and  down  as 
 swiftly  and  as  straight  as  possible.  Suddenly  he  retreated  to 
 the  one  side,  and  leant  over.  I  heard  a  deep  drawn  breath, 
 and  recognized  the  voice.      "  Ha,    ha,    Renton,"    said    I, 
 
THE  STEAMBOA  T.  5  l 
 
 "  what  are  you  doing  there  ?  "  Of  course  he  was  only  look- 
 ing at  the  bright  phosphoric  stars  that  were  dancing  in  the 
 paddle  foam. 
 
 I  walked  on  deck  till  long  past  midnight.  The  wind 
 filled  the  white  sails,  and  tossed  up  the  white  waves  also. 
 I  looked  at  the  bright  stars  above,  and  then  I  turned  to 
 look  at  the  last  red  light  in  the  mouth  of  the  Humber, 
 which,  like  a  faint  star,  was  twinkling  and  disappearing, 
 and  then  I  went  to  look  at  the  phosphoric  stars  in  the 
 paddle  foam  also 
 
 Next  morning  all  assembled  at  the  breakfast  table.  We 
 had  entered  the  Elbe.  The  river  is  very  shallow,  and  the 
 navigation  difficult.  We  took  in  a  pilot  at  Cuxhaven. 
 Presently  he  came  on  board,  he  threw  off  about  half-a-dozen 
 suits  of  clothes  without  seeming  to  come  at  all  nearer  to  his 
 skin,  and  then,  taking  his  station  upon  the  gangway,  com- 
 menced a  series  of  sundry  motions  and  gestures  with  his  legs 
 and  arms,  which  were  faithfully  copied  off  into  the  helm  by 
 the  steersman  abaft. 
 
 .  .  .  .  The  wind,  rain,  and  darkness  had  all  passed 
 off  together.  The  sunshine  glanced  on  the  river  and  the 
 fields,  and  made  a  hazy  brightness  in  the  air.  The  country 
 on  the  Hanoverian  side  is  flat,  offering  nothing  of  more 
 interest  to  the  view  than  a  simple  sloop  of  war,  riding  in  a 
 ditch  hard  by,  from  which  several  figures  in  red  coats  came 
 out  to  challenge  toll  for  his  Majesty  of  Hanover.  The 
 Danish  side  is  more  picturesque,  with  here  and  there 
 cottages  among  trees,  or  a  painted  wooden  village  with  its 
 church  and  spire.  Under  the  clear  cold  light  of  a  November 
 morning,  it  lay  like  a  quiet  landscape  in  water  colour.  The 
 scenery  grew  bold  and  even  romantic.  We  had  all  got  on 
 deck  to  admire  it,  and  a  heavy  dark  cloud  burst  over  us, 
 which  for  a  moment  or  two  enhanced  the  effect,  and  then, 
 in  a  shower  of  hail,  we  were  swept  into  the  port  at  Hamburg. 
 
52  IN  GERM  AX  V. 
 
 "  And  this  is  Germany,"  said  I,  as  our  droskey  came  to 
 a  sudden  stop  under  one  of  the  gates  of  Hamburg.  "  What 
 is  your  name  ?  "  inquired  a  dirty-looking  fellow,  poking  in 
 his  head  at  the  coach  window.  The  answer  to  this  and 
 other  such  queries  being  given  and  spelt  over  to  his  satis- 
 faction, and  recorded  on  the  fragment  of  a  slate  which  he 
 rested  on  his  coat  sleeve,  the  coachman  was  roused  up, 
 and  once  more  requested  to  get  along.  "  Yes,  to  Streits  on 
 the  Jwigfernstieg"  replied  he,  by  way  of  showing  that  we 
 were  quite  mistaken  if  we  supposed  he  had  been  asleep,  and 
 then  drove  off  quick  enough,  performing  a  series  of  loud 
 ringing  cracks  with  a  heavy  whip  to  the  manifest  discomfiture 
 of  his  own  horses  and  the  dismay  of  all  dogs,  porters,  and 
 old  ladies  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  "It  is  Germany," 
 I  repeated,  pulling  up  the  window  again. 
 
 The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath,  but  to  me  it  seemed  more 
 like  a  Saturday.  There  was  the  same  clattering  of  carriages 
 and  cracking  of  whips,  the  same  knocking  with  invisible 
 hammers  and  sound  of  street  music,  and  voices  in  conversa- 
 tion, with  song  and  laughter,  quite  out  of  the  grave  and 
 solemn  Sabbath  key.  It  was  only  by  the  ringing  of  bells 
 you  could  know  it  to  be  Sabbath  at  all,  and  to  me  the  sound 
 of  the  deep-mouthed  bells,  quite  jars  on  the  hum  of  the  city. 
 In  the  quiet  of  a  Scotch  Sabbath  they  mingle  with  their  own 
 echoes.  Here  they  seemed  more  like  the  growling  of  angry 
 spirits  from  the  vaults  of  the  old  cathedrals 
 
 HALLE. 
 
 We  had  come  by  a  very  early  morning  train  from  Magde- 
 burg, and  to  think  of  the  place  we  had  left  was  much  like  look- 
 ing back  through  the  deepening  twilight  of  a  tunnel,  upon 
 dimly  lighted  streets  at  the  far  end  and  the  red  glare  of  the 
 engine  and  the  flickering  of  the  guard's  lamps  to  and  fro 
 
ARRIVAL  IN  HALLE.  53 
 
 upon  the  Eisenbahn.  We  were  glad  enough  at  the  Halle 
 station  to  commit  our  bags  to  the  railway  porter,  and 
 feel  ourselves  once  more  in  open  daylight,  as  you  may 
 sometimes  have  seen  a  collier  deposit  his  picks  at  the  pit 
 mouth,  and  extinguish  the  little  black  lamp  on  his  forehead 
 as  he  looks  up  and  sees  the  white  blazing  lamp  of  the  sun, 
 hanging  high  on  the  forehead  of  Heaven. 
 
 It  rained  heavily,  so  that  we  saw  Halle  first  in  its  glory. 
 For  you  must  know  that  Halle  is  celebrated  over  Germany 
 for  many  things,  chiefly  for  its  dirty  streets.  Everybody 
 talks  of  schmutzige  Halle.  "  Schmutzige  "  is  a  Christian 
 name  indeed,  as  it  has  been  baptized  in  rain  a  thousand 
 times 
 
 After  two  months  here  I  can  feel  pretty  much  at  home. 
 Have  taken  lodgings  in  the  Kleiner  Sandberg ;  stuck  up  my 
 card  outside  the  door;  carry  the  key  in  my  P. -coat  pocket. 
 My  landlady  is  a  respectable  old  dame,  who  swears  a  good 
 deal  without  thinking  any  harm  of  it ;  her  husband  is  an 
 "officer  retired  on  a  pension.  He  has  fought  in  the  battle  of 
 Leipsic,  was  present  at  the  field  of  Waterloo,  and  declares 
 our  Scottish  Highlanders  are  the  finest  soldiers  in  the  world. 
 The  old  gentleman  makes  himself  useful  in  the  way  of 
 cleaning  my  boots,  running  out  for  cigars  and  the  like  ;  or 
 when  such  duties  fail,  he  sets  a-scouring  and  polishing  at  the 
 brass  handle  of  my  sitting-room  door,  till  he  can  see  himself 
 laughing  in  miniature  inside.  I  can  now  recognize  the 
 voices  of  the  different  church  bells  in  the  vicinity,  have  got 
 quite  reconciled  to  the  invisible  being  who  practises  the 
 piano  in  some  adjoining  room  every  night,  have  exchanged 
 nods  with  the  old  gentleman  in  a  window  opposite,  who  lies 
 the  most  of  the  day  with  his  head  and  shoulders  out  into 
 the  street,  smoking  a  meerschaum  and  smacking  his  lips 
 like  a  rabbit  eating  clover.  "  How  do  you  do,  old  boy  ?  " 
 This  is  what  I  call  feeling  at  home. 
 
54  IN  GERMANY. 
 
 Almost  the  first  acquaintances  I  made  in  Halle  was  with 
 
 H ,  a  student  and  member  of  a  Burschenschaft  in  '34. 
 
 At  that  time  these  societies  fell  under  suspicion  of  the 
 Government.  He  was  arrested,  and  along  with  seven  others 
 condemned  to  death.  Subsequently  his  sentence  was  com- 
 muted into  imprisonment  for  life  ;  and  on  the  death  of  the 
 old  king,  I  know  not  how,  he  has  regained  his  liberty.  All 
 the  while  he  had  never  seen  his  accuser,  nor  known  what 
 his  crime  had  been.  I  believe  it  consisted  chiefly  in  sing- 
 ing a  stupid  song,  with  a  chorus  of  Trara,  Trara,  or  some 
 nonsense  of  that  sort. 
 
 He  is  a  good-looking  young  man  of  28,  speaks  English 
 well,  and  is  altogether  very  accomplished.  He  had  just 
 about  finished  his  studies  in  law,  but,  of  course,  can  never 
 practise  now  in  the  Prussian  court ;  and  from  so  long  con- 
 finement in  the  darkness  of  a  dungeon,  has  almost  com 
 pletely  lost  his  eye-sight. 
 
 How  fond  his  mother  is  of  her  handsome  son  who  was 
 confined  so  many  ^ears  in  that  fortress  on  the  Baltic,  and 
 she  had  never  seen  him  all  the  while  !  Every  other  minute 
 she  rests  her  knitting  on  the  table,  and  looks  at  him  so 
 fondly,  for  she  is  a  widow  and  he  is  her  only  son.  The 
 story  has  something  romantic  in  it  besides.  A  young  lady 
 of  Colberg,  the  castle  in  which  he  was  immured,  had  by 
 some  chance  seen  the  handsome  prisoner,  and  become 
 passionately  attached  to  him.  They  are  betrothed  now,  as 
 the  custom  is  in  Halle,  and  she  is  at  present  on  a  visit  to  his 
 mother's  house.  She  sits  on  his  knee  sometimes,  and 
 pushes  back  the  black  hair  from  his  brow  playfully.  I  even 
 think  I  saw  him  kiss  her  once  or  twice  to-night,  and 
 that  I  could  excuse,  for  he  is  going  to  leave  her  for  a  long 
 while.  He  goes  into  Switzerland  to-morrow.  A  thorough 
 romp  in  the  eyes  of  everyone  else,  yet  how  tender  and 
 gentle  she  is  with  him 
 
A  FIRS  T  ACQl  'A  I  XT  A  XCE.  5  5 
 
 And  he  is  not  one  of  your  peevish,  sullen  spirits  that 
 refuse  to  be  amused.  He  talks,  and  sings,  and  laughs  too, 
 whenever  they  want  him;  but  I  have  observed  that  he 
 slides  back  as  easily  into  melancholy  again,  as  if  it  were  the 
 constant  habit  of  his  mind.     I  suspect  his  spirit  is  broken. 
 
 To-night  I  prevailed  on  him  to  play  me  that  forbidden 
 revolutionary  air,  and  joined  with  all  my  heart  in  its  stupid 
 chorus  of  Trara,  Trara.  Still  while  I  was  laughing  at  it,  his 
 ringers  had  mechanically  begun  touching  the  soft  notes  of  a 
 Sehnsncht  waltz  of  Beethoven's,  and  then  passed  into  a  wild 
 and  melancholy  air  which  Oginsky,  the  Pole,  wrote  before 
 committing  suicide.  In  the  silence  that  ensued  I  felt 
 embarrassed  and  took  my  leave.  "That  is  my  favourite 
 music  now,"  he  said  to  me,  as  we  shook  hands  at  the  door. 
 
 Letters  to  his  brothers  Andrew  and  George,  and  to 
 his  friend,  Mr.  Erskine  Fraser,  supplement  the  record 
 from  which  the  foregoing  extracts  are  taken,  and  give 
 us  yet  more  vividly  his  early  impressions  of  Halle  and 
 its  university. 
 
 To  Mr.  Andrew  Robertson,  Auchenbowie. 
 
 Halle,  14th  January,  1842. 
 
 Your  digest  of  general  information  was  just  the  very  thing 
 that  was  wanted  for  a  couple  of  poor  fellows  that  had  been 
 two  months  out  of  their  own  country,  and  had  no  certain 
 means  of  knowing  that  it  was  not  all  swallowed  up  in  the 
 Atlantic !     .     .     .     . 
 
 Tholuck  took  me  the  other  day  into  a  reading  room,  and 
 brought  me  some  English  periodicals.  In  a  little  he  came 
 and  asked  if  I  had  got  anything  to  amuse  me.  I  showed 
 him  a  passage  in  the  Mirror,  extracted  from  the  Stirling 
 Advertiser.     "Ah,"  said  Tholuck,  "the  Stirling  Advertiser  I 
 
56  IN  GERMANY. 
 
 That  must  please  you  very  much,  although  I  suppose  it  is 
 no  great  shakes."  How  comically  this  sounded  from  Tholuck 
 you  cannot  think.     I  have  laughed  at  it  ever  since  !   .   .    .    . 
 
 You  wish  to  hear  of  the  university  and  its  professors — 
 orthodox  and  rationalistic,  and  the  difference  between  them. 
 There  you  have  proposed  to  me  a  task.  I  have  not  yet 
 been  into  one  third  of  the  lecture  rooms,  and  I  suppose 
 scarcely  any  two  professors  here  have  the  same  opinions  in 
 philosophy  and  theology.  This,  which  confuses  one  at  first, 
 turns  out  to  be  a  great  advantage.  Here  you  can  study  the 
 German  mind  in  all  its  shades  and  distinctions.  We  have 
 come  to  the  right  shop  for  that.  "  Halle  is  the  Menagerie 
 of  German  Philosophy,"  said  Tholuck,  the  first  time  we  saw 
 him.  Here  you  have  Rationalists  and  Supernaturalists, 
 Pietists,  Mystics,  Fichteans,  Schellingians,  and  Hegelians  of 
 all  kinds.  To  explain  these  in  the  shortest  manner  possible, 
 would  require  one  to  begin  from  Kant  at  least,  and  write  a 
 few  volumes.  This  you  must  excuse  me  doing  till  I  come 
 home 
 
 I  have  been  sitting  for  half-an-hour  translating  my  ideas 
 into  English,  to  see  if  I  might  not  give  you  some  account  of 
 this  Hegelian  system — but  I  understand  it  much  too 
 partially  to  give  any  comprehensive  view,  and  as  the 
 remaining  page  cannot  contain  all  I  know  about  it,  I  shall 
 defer  the  task. 
 
 Hegel  has  his  best  expounders  in  this  University,  Hein- 
 richs  and  Erdmann.  More  than  half  of  the  students,  and 
 these  the  most  gifted  (Tholuck  says),  are  his  followers. 
 
 Gesenius  belongs  to  the  old  school  of  Rationalists.  He 
 is  driving  away  at  Genesis  just  now,  and  is  paying  a  great 
 deal  of  attention  to  it  for  a  man  who  does  not  believe  the 
 half  of  it  to  be  true.  It  is  pleasing  to  turn  from  these  to 
 Tholuck.  He  and  Miiller,  professors  of  theology,  and  Leo, 
 professor  of  history,    all  very  talented    men,   are   the  de- 
 
THE  UNIVERSITY  AND  ITS  PROFESSORS.      57 
 
 fenders  of  Evangelical  religion  in  Halle.  Leo  was  formerly 
 a  Deist,  and  highly  esteemed  among  his  party.  I  have 
 heard  that  he  has  been  brought  over  by  Tholuck's  instru- 
 mentality. I  should  think  the  evil  influence  which  may  be 
 derived  from  hearing  the  other  professors  may  be  much 
 more  than  counterbalanced  by  mingling  with  these  men. 
 Tholuck  has  his  answer  ready  for  them  all.  He  enters  on 
 every  difficulty  you  propose  to  him  with  the  fearlessness  of  a 
 man  who  has  studied  the  subject  and  quite  made  up  his 
 mind. 
 
 It  is  noble  to  hear  him  tell  it  in  the  face  of  a  class,  two 
 thirds  of  which  are  opposed  to  him,  that  he  knows  they 
 reject  the  Bible  just  because  they  have  no  heart  to  it. 
 The  warm  glow  of  passion,  that  runs  through  all  his  dis- 
 courses on  Sabbath,  and  addresses  to  the  students,  is  even 
 more  delightful  than  the  cool  clear  light  in  which  he  places 
 a  subject  of  criticism  or  philosophy. 
 
 To  Mr.  George  Robertson. 
 
 Halle,  Prussian  Saxoxy,  25th  January,  1842. 
 
 I  have  found  Germany  very  much  what  I  expected. 
 People  with  broad  faces  and  very  long  pipes,  waggons  with 
 four  horses,  a  boor  astride  the  hindmost  and  a  peasant  girl 
 sitting  on  the  top,  bands  of  apprentices  with  knapsacks 
 singing  as  they  pass,  linden  trees  and  windmills.  Halle  is 
 a  good  specimen  of  a  university  town — wooden  houses  with 
 low  flat  windows,  old  ladies  sitting  inside  knitting,  or  a  lazy 
 student  smoking  his  meerschaum,  with  his  head  and 
 shoulders  thrust  out  into  the  street,  reminding  one  of  those 
 beavers  we  used  to  read  about  in  the  Plean  school  collec- 
 tion. Halle  contains  some  fragments  of  antiquity,  besides 
 such  as  are  to  be  found  in  the  heads  of  Gesenius  and  Tho- 
 luck.    It  has  one  old  castle    several  old  churches,  and  a 
 
58  IN  GERMANY. 
 
 great  number  of  old  women  with  their  heads  done  up  in 
 towels. 
 
 As  a  modern  town,  Halle  is  not  a  very  busy  one.  Ex- 
 cepting the  salt  works,  perhaps,  which  are  its  chief  support, 
 the  principal  trade  seems  to  be  done  in  coffins  !  I  have 
 seen  about  a  dozen  shops  with  the  doors  and  windows  full 
 of  them.  They  are  gay-looking  articles,  with  nothing  that 
 is  black  or  dismal  about  them.  The  Germans  are  very  par- 
 ticular about  that  sort  of  thing.  The  churchyard  is  a 
 favourite  walking  place  in  Halle — "  God's  Acre  "  they  call 
 it,  but  I  hate  that  name.  The  ground  is  thickly  planted 
 with  crosses  over  the  common  buried  dead.  The  side 
 ranges  of  family  vaults  are  more  interesting.  You  look  in 
 through  the  iron  grating  upon  an  ascending  series  of  coffins 
 in  historical  order — a  gloomy  calendar.  The  parents  of 
 some  remote  century  side  by  side  at  the  bottom,  and  their 
 family  in  its  successive  generations  piled  one  above  another 
 on  their  breast.  Loose  flowers  are  scattered  on  the  top- 
 most, or  wreaths  are  hung  round  about  on  the  walls,  but  as 
 it  is  winter  time,  the  flowers  are  withered,  and  nothing  but 
 snow  wreaths  are  going  just  now. 
 
 .  .  .  .  Renton  has  just  finished  an  appendix  to  his 
 letter,  and  he  urges  that  we  send  them  immediately,  or  some 
 of  his  remarks  will  be  out  of  date — and  we  are  going  out 
 just  now  to  "Tholuck's  Encyclopaedia,"  which  is  a  very 
 interesting  series  of  lectures  and  I  could  not  pardon  myself 
 for  missing  one.  Then  we  have  yet  to  practise  "  God  Save 
 the  Queen  "  for  that  dinner  to-morrow  which  Renton  has 
 told  you  about.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  many  songs  I  have 
 had  to  sing  in  parties  here — songs  which  I  never  dreamt 
 of  being  able  to  sing  at  home.  The  Scotch  ones  are  greatly 
 in  request.  Of  course  I  have  the  words  to  make  for  myself 
 in  many  cases ;  and  already  I  have  written  two  songs  to  the 
 music  of  the  Rowan   Tree,  that  favourite  of  yours,  and  of 
 
SCOTCH  SONGS  IN  REQUEST.  59 
 
 mine  also  I  may  tell  you,  and  of  several  other  people  here 
 besides,  "though  I  say  it  that  shouldna  say  it.''  .... 
 Be  sure  to  write  if  you  want  to  hear  from  me  again  at  full 
 length.  Meanwhile,  I  must  refer  you  to  Andrew  for  infor- 
 mation on  the  civil  and  philosophical  department,  Erskine 
 Fraser  on  the  literary  (I  shall  write  to  him  immediately), 
 James  on  the  ecclesiastical,  and  I  shall  send  a  packet  of  the 
 miscellaneous  to  the  care  of  G.  Mackenzie. 
 
 From  this  letter  it  would  appear  that  the  gift  of 
 writing  verse,  of  which  we  have  already  found  traces 
 in  earlier  student  days,  was  still  cultivated.  The  fol- 
 lowing song,  written  to  the  music  of  an  old  Scotch 
 ballad,  probably  belongs  to  this  period.  He  was 
 accustomed  to  sing  it  in  later  years.  The  tune  to 
 which  it  was  sung  gave  a  most  ludicrous  effect  to  the 
 refrain  of  each  verse. 
 
 \Lht  (Guifo  3luli>  ping. 
 
 The  guid  auid  king  went  a  May  wooing, 
 And  oh  !  but  the  beggar  lass  was  bonnie, 
 The  auld  king  said — my  very  pretty  maid, 
 I'll  marry  you  rather  than  ony. 
 
 Marry  you,  marry  you.  marry  you,  marry  you, 
 I'll  marry  you  rather  than  ony. 
 
 The  bells  did  ring,  and  the  choirs  did  sing, 
 And  they  rade  to  the  kirk  on  the  causeway, 
 And  the  guid  auld  king  had  a  mem-  wedding. 
 When  he  married  the  bonnie  beggar  lassie. 
 Married,  married,  married,  married — 
 When  he  married  the  bonnie  beggar  lassie. 
 
<50  IN  GERMANY. 
 
 The  guid  auld  king  was  a  waefu'  man, 
 And  oh  !  but  he  lo'ed  her  rarely ; 
 When  aff  she  ran,  with  a  gaberlunzie  man, 
 And  the  auld  king  grat  fu'  sairly. 
 
 Grat — grat — grat — grat — 
 And  the  auld  king  grat  fu'  sairly. 
 
 She  hadna'  been  but  a  fortnicht  queen, 
 When  the  bonnie  beggar  lassie  grew  weary, 
 She  took  aff  her  croon,  and  she  laid  it  doon. 
 And  she  said,  "  Whaur's  Jock,  my  dearie  ?  " 
 
 Jock — Jock  —Jock — Jock — 
 And  she  said,  "  Whaur's  Jock,  my  dearie  ?  " 
 
 Oh  !  there  comes  Jock,  wi'  his  auld  meal  pock, 
 It  was  in  the  mornin'  early ; 
 
 And  afore  the  king  rase,  and  had  gotten  on  his  claes, 
 She's  up  and  she's  aff  wi'  him  fairly. 
 
 Aff— aff— aff— aff— 
 She's  up  and  she's  aff  wi'  him  fairly. 
 
 Oh  !  whaur  are  ye  gaen,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  wean, 
 But  Jock  said,  "  Never  to  mind  him  ;  " 
 So  aff  they  ran,  the  gaberlunzie  man, 
 And  his  ain  true  luve  behind  him. 
 
 Luve — luve — luve — luve — 
 And  his  ain  true  luve  behind  him. 
 
 To  Mr.  Henry  Erskine  Fraser. 
 
 Halle,  27th  January,  1842. 
 
 I  hope  when  I  return  to  be  able  to  give  you  some  sort  of 
 information  also  which  may  save  you  a  good  deal  of  trouble 
 and  expense  when  you  come  to  make  this  journey,  for  until 
 very  lately  we  have  been  going  on  quite  at  random  and  in 
 
BEST  HEBREW  SCHOLAR  OF  THE  AGE.      6 1 
 
 the  dark.  To  be  sure  I  like  that  sort  of  thing  very  much, 
 and  if  it  had  only  been  in  a  country  where  I  could  not  un- 
 derstand one  word  of  the  language  I  might  just  have  liked 
 it  all  the  better.  "  But  the  dollars,"  Erskine,  "  the  dollars," 
 as  Renton  says — aye,  there's  the  rub,  when  you  don't  un- 
 derstand the  language  and  have  to  change  your  coin  every 
 two  or  three  days.  A  Tew  on  board  the  steamer  to  Ham- 
 burg asked  me  if  I  could  speak  German.  "  Very  imper 
 fectly,"  said  I.  "  Sovereigns,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  Jew, 
 "  English  sovereigns  are  the  thing.  They  speak  all  lan- 
 guages on  the  Continent."  "  But  they  suffer  very  much  in 
 translation,  I  believe,"  said  I.  The  Jew  laughed  immoder- 
 ately— I  daresay  the  rascal  knew  it  very  well 
 
 You  must  come  to  Halle,  of  course,  and  take  a  session  at 
 Berlin  also,  if  you  can  afford  it.     These  are,  out  of  question, 
 the  two  best  theological  schools.     Halle  represents  best  the 
 German  mind  in  its  present  moods  and  variations.     .     . 
 Gesenius  holds  on  by  the  old  Rationalistic  school.     I  hear 
 
 him  now  and  then If  you  only  saw  the  old 
 
 fellow  coming  into  his  lecture  room  with  a  P. -coat  fringed 
 with  fur,  and  boots  and  spurs,  or  cutting  capers  on  horse- 
 back. The  best  Hebrew  scholar  of  the  age  !  He  is  quite 
 a  man  of  the  world  is  Gesenius,  and  they  say  a  little  avari- 
 cious withal.  .  .  .  Tholuck  I  like  best  of  all  yet.  I 
 know  him  almost  better  than  any  one  in  Halle.  I  had  a 
 request  from  him  yesterday  morning,  as  I  have  very  often, 
 to  bring  Renton  that  we  might  have  a  walk  with  him,  in  half 
 an  hour  or  so.  I  wrote  in  reply  that  we  would  certainly 
 come,  but  as  a  heavy  shower  of  sleet  was  falling  at  the  time, 
 hoped  the  weather  would  change  within  the  half  hour. 
 Tholuck  doesn't  seem  to  understand  these  scruples  about 
 walking  in  wet  weather.  "  To  be  sure,"  said  he,  after  we 
 did  go,  "  I  expect  to  catch  cold  in  this  walk,  but  I  must 
 walk  for  the  benefit  of  my  health  ;  so,  if  you  please,  come 
 
62  /A7  GERMANY. 
 
 away."  And  we  did  walk,  and  the  sleet  did  fall,  and  we 
 kept  ourselves  as  warm  as  possible  talking  about  English 
 
 fires  and  German  stoves But  I  must  tell  you 
 
 what  like  he  is.  Tholuck  is  slightly  made,  and  bears  in  his 
 appearance  the  marks  of  ill-health  and  severe  study.  .  .  . 
 He  is  very  short-sighted,  and  in  the  class  wears  sometimes 
 a  pair  of  round-eyed  spectacles  with  a  black  rim,  which  gives 
 him  a  very  odd  appearance.  When  you  bow  to  him  in 
 walking  he  takes  off  his  hat  in  a  great  hurry,  looking  straight 
 before  him  all  the  while,  and  without  having  the  least  idea 
 who  you  are.  He  does  not  dress  very  elegantly,  and  throws 
 a  mackintosh  over  all  when  he  goes  out.  He  walks  with  a 
 quick,  irregular  and  springing  motion,  in  which  his  hat  seems 
 to  describe  a  succession  of  parabolic  curves.  But  you  cease 
 to  observe  such  oddities  when  he  begins  to  address  you,  and 
 by  and  by  you  forget  them  altogether.  His  conversation  is 
 exceedingly  engaging.  Altogether,  his  manner  is  rather 
 earnest  than  great.  A  deep  passion  runs  through  his 
 discourses.  It  breaks  out  sometimes  in  the  midst  of  cool 
 exegesis,  when  he  comes  upon  a  passage  that  has  been 
 desecrated  by  the  opposite  party.  In  his  descant  on  the 
 Psalms  to  his  private  meeting  of  students  on  Wednesday 
 evening  he  is  peculiarly  impressive. 
 
LATER  IMPRESSIONS.  63 
 
 CHAPTER     IV. 
 En  (Germany,  Jtalg,  anb  ^hntecrlanb. 
 
 In  the  record  of  his  German  experiences,  resumed 
 three  months  after  the  date  of  the  extracts  already 
 given,  William  Robertson  gathers  up  some  of  the  re- 
 sults of  his  observation  and  study. 
 
 Halle,  9th  April,  1842. 
 
 The  everyday  religion  of  Germany  is  a  very  ambiguous 
 kind  of  thing.  It  seems  to  consist  very  much,  for  one  thing, 
 in  swearing.  I  am  quite  serious  in  this  remark.  It  is  one 
 of  the  first,  indeed,  that  might  occur  to  a  stranger  in  this 
 country.  You  can  hardly  talk  a  minute  with  any  one  of 
 these  Germans,  without  hearing  him  use  such  expressions  as 
 "  God  save  us  !"  "  Lord  Jesus  ! "  "  Dear  Heaven  ! "  and  so 
 forth.  Tholuck  does  not  do  so.  He  is  almost  the  only  ex- 
 ception I  have  met  with.  .  .  .  In  a  former  age,  when  a 
 living  piety  had  spread  itself  among  social  and  family  circles, 
 they  have  been  brought,  perhaps,  very  imprudently  into 
 colloquial  use,  and  now  they  remain  as  the  dregs  where  the 
 better  spirit  has  been  quite  drained  off. 
 
 After  describing  the  Christmas  trees  with  their 
 lighted  tapers,  etc.,  he  goes  on  to  say  : — 
 
64    IN  GERMANY,  ITALY,  AND  SWITZERLAND. 
 
 The  idea  of  the  symbol,  as  Tholuck  explains  it,  is  this  : — 
 "  As  the  evergreen  in  winter,  as  those  lights  burning  in  the 
 dark  night,  even  so  came  Christ  upon  our  desolate  and 
 blighted  world."  I  thought  the  whole  affair  looked  very 
 childish,,  but  I  was  told  the  beauty  of  it  just  lay  in  this — it 
 was  a  season  for  Christians  to  "  humble  themselves  and  be- 
 come as  little  children." 
 
 The  present  festival  of  Easter,  again,  is  celebrated  chiefly 
 with  magnificent  music.  I  have  already  heard  several 
 oratorios  performed  in  public.  A  friend  of  mine,  of  whose 
 sincere  piety  I  have  no  doubt,  assures  me  that  to  him  these 
 are  always  seasons  of  the  deepest  devotion.  I  cannot  well 
 understand  this,  for  although  there  were  certainly  passages 
 of  overwhelming  power  such  as  I  have  never  heard  before, 
 yet  in  general  the  blowing  of  French  horns  and  scratchings 
 of  fiddle  strings,  seemed  much  too  profane  a  mode  of  expres- 
 sion for  subjects  so  sacred.     .     .     . 
 
 I  wonder  under  what  mutilated  forms  real  Christianity 
 •may  appear.  I  wonder  how  much  a  man  may  disbelieve 
 without  being  an  unbeliever,  for  there  are  yet  many  among 
 those  I  am  describing  whose  real  Christian  character  I  should 
 not  like  to  call  in  question,  till  I  was  a  little  more  confident 
 about  my  own. 
 
 I  find  a  very  instructive  chapter  in  the  history  of  Rational- 
 ism. The  longest  and  stoutest  opposition  to  its  outspread 
 seems  to  have  been  given  by  the  practical  clergy.  Whatever 
 dreams  might  please  the  philosopher  in  his  study,  something 
 else  was  necessary  for  them.  The  truth  of  the  Bible  only 
 could  avail,  when  they  came  to  deal  with  the  hearts  and 
 consciences  of  living  men. 
 
 At  Easter  he  began  to  keep  a  journal.  It  would 
 seem  from  its  earliest  entry  that  in  doing  so  he  acted 
 upon  the  suggestion  of  one  or  both  of  the  correspond- 
 
HIS  JOURNAL.  65 
 
 ents — William  Barlas  and  George  Gilfillan,  from 
 whom  at  that  date  he  received  letters.  A  note  on  the 
 title  page  of  the  journal  warns  any  stranger  into  whose 
 hands  the  book  may  fall  from  peering  into  it.  We 
 shall  so  far  respect  the  warning,  as  to  give  only  a  few 
 extracts.  These,  with  a  letter  to  his  brother  Andrew, 
 will  complete  our  account  of  his  student  life  in  Ger- 
 many. 
 
 Halle,  April  11,  1842. 
 
 Received  a  letter  from  W.  B.,  with  an  appendix  from 
 G.  G.  Resolved  therefrom  to  begin  this  journal.  Tholuck 
 sent  for  me  to  have  a  walk  with  him  yesterday,  and  quar- 
 relled with  me  very  tenderly  for  my  reserve.  The  Fran 
 had  remarked  that  there  seemed  no  bridge  between  us.  I 
 promised  to  build  one.  Renton  he  would  excuse,  as  he  was 
 schweigsatn  at  anyrate.  Once  he  thought  I  was  coming 
 out  on  Coleridge,  but  the  moment  he  touched  me  I  retreated 
 like  a  snail,  and  had  kept  my  shell  ever  since.  (He  had 
 asked  if  I  had  had  many  struggles  with  infidelity.)  I  said 
 snails  only  came  out  in  wet  weather.  He  supposed  I  had 
 found  him  very  dry,  eh  ! 
 
 13th. — Finished  Schleiermacher Sent  a  note 
 
 to  Ulrici,  and  followed  it  up  by  walking  with  him  at  12. 
 He  likes  Lanssing  most,  of  their  modern  painters ;  all  that  he 
 does  is  ausgefuhrt.  In  Berlin  I  must  visit  Count  Ran- 
 cischky's  Gallery,  and  see  particularly  the  Battle  of  the 
 Huns,  by  Kaulbach.     The  spirits  of  the  slain  armies  rise 
 
 at  midnight  and  resume  the  battle Saw  Koch 
 
 from  six  to  eight,  and  read  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "  till  ten. 
 
 14th. — Dreamt  a  good  deal  last  night  and  unpleasantly, 
 though  I  have  forgot  what  about.      The  thoughts  of  the 
 
 E 
 
66      IN  GERMANY,  ITALY,  AND  SWITZERLAND. 
 
 day  are  said  to  reproduce  themselves  in  dreams.  This 
 seems  to  be  a  stating  of  the  truth  in  one  of  its  subordinate 
 illustrations,  in  too  limited  a  form  to  be  quite  exact.  It  is 
 the  disposition  and  character  in  general  which  works  itself 
 out  thus  unconsciously,  creating  and  then  realizing  its  own 
 pleasures  and  punishments.  The  state  of  health,  of  course, 
 being  always  taken  into  account,  and  the  same  conditions 
 required  as  in  judging  of  character  in  waking  life,  for  it  were 
 too  bad  to  refer  a  frightful  dream  to  some  dreadful  sin  or 
 sins  unknown,  when  the  greatest  sin  in  the  case  may  have 
 
 been  eating  toasted  cheese  to  supper Spent 
 
 the  evening  with  Treuherz.  He  tells  me  that  when  young 
 he  heard  Schleiermacher  preach.  He  was  about  four  feet 
 high,  and  had  a  large  head  and  nobly  chiselled  countenance 
 like  a  statue.  He  leant  forward  on  the  pulpit  and  spoke 
 almost  in  a  whisper.      But  he  was  distinctly  heard,  and 
 
 seldom  used  a  gesture 
 
 17th. —  ....  Yes,  I  must  confess  I  would  be 
 ashamed  to  tell  all  that  I  dream.  I  dreamt  last  night  that  I 
 was  a  boy  again.  My  younger  brothers  and  sisters  were 
 eating  something  nice,  and  they  were  not  very  sure  about 
 the  propriety  of  it,  and  I  as  greedy  as  any  of  them,  though  a 
 little  more  reserved,  as  became  my  more  advanced  age,  I 
 suppose.  Then  hearing  my  mother's  footsteps  approaching 
 I  began  walking  very  determinedly  up  and  down  the  room  to 
 let  her  hear  just  as  she  was  entering.  "  Now,"  says  I,  "  you 
 will  see  what  mother  will  say  to  all  this."  "  Oh,  poor 
 things,"  said  she,  when  she  saw  what  it  was,  "let  them  eat 
 it ;  it  will  do  them  no  harm."  This  was  dreaming  my 
 childhood  back  to  the  life.  I  can  almost  say  it  without 
 shame,  as  Lamb  has  said,  one  can  talk  of  what  he  was  when 
 a  child  without  egotism.  In  future  years  will  I  be  so  much 
 estranged  as  this,  I  wonder,  from  my  present  self.  Thou, 
 William  Robertson  of  18 — ,  if  perchance  thou  deignest  to 
 
HIS  DREAMS.  6? 
 
 cast  an  eye  upon  these  pages,  say  do  I  seem  to  thee  as  quite 
 another  being.  Dost  thou  think  of  me  as  the  German 
 student  whom  thou  mightst  yet  find  in  his  Wohnung  of 
 the  Klei?ier  Sandberg  by  the  dim  light  of  his  oil  lamp  ?  Yet, 
 believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  the  best  wishes  of  my  soul  are 
 quite  concerned  about  thee  !  Aye,  sir,  and  let  me  tell  thee 
 if  thy  faith  and  hope  and  love  are  not  the  same  as  mine, 
 only  greatly  more  sincere  and  true  and  ardent,  thy  past  self 
 of  the  K.  S.  Halle— this  17th  day  of  April,  1842. — W.  R., 
 Esq.,  student,  rises  up,  sir,  as  an  accuser  against  thee.  "  I 
 would  wish  my  days  to  be,  '  Bound  each  to  each  by  natural 
 piety.' "  I  do  not  know  if  I  quite  agree  with  Wordsworth  in 
 the  word  natural,  but  it  would  be  unfair  to  mangle  a  quota- 
 tion by  leaving  it  out,  and  the  whole  passage,  "  My  heart 
 leaps  up,"  etc.,  has  to  me  a  deep  and  sacred  meaning,  let 
 Lord  Jeffrey  and  all  critics  say  what  they  can. 
 
 But  eleven  has  struck,  the  watchman  is  blowing  his 
 whistle,  and  the  remaining  reflections  of  this  night  I  shall 
 shut  up  in  the  secret  chambers  of  my  soul,  or  tell  to  One 
 alone. 
 
 2 1  st. — "Fast,"  or  rather  I  should  say  Busstag,  in  Halle 
 and  over  all  Prussia — the  one  annual  fast.  Walked  with 
 Ulrici  at  twelve.  We  met  Tholuck.  He  asked  me  if  I 
 had  hingegeben  myself  to  the  Gefuhl  which  such  a  day 
 as  this  entspricht.  Now,  the  weather  being  exceedingly 
 beautiful,  and  the  question  exceedingly  long  and  intricate, 
 and  Ulrici  laughing  in  the  middle  of  it,  I  thought  he  must 
 certainly  mean  if  I  was  quite  in  the  mood  for  walking.  But 
 I  asked  him  what  Gefuhl?  and  he  then  asked  me  if  I  had 
 been  doing.  Busse.  I  said  "  No,"  or  not  very  much. 
 Ulrici  said  I  did  not  acknowledge  Prussian  fast  days.  Tho- 
 luck then  asked  Ulrici  "  if  he  found  anything  so  laughable 
 in  that."  Ulrici  lifted  his  hat  and  begged  Tholuck's 
 pardon,  but  argued  his  point  very  seriously  nevertheless  that 
 
6S   IN  GERMANY,  ITALY  AND  SWITZERLAND. 
 
 I  was  in  the  right.     On  parting,  I  thought  Tholuck  said  to 
 me,  rather  coldly,  "  Good  morning,  Herr  Robertson."  .   .   . 
 
 Tholuck  was  an  intense  student,  and  could  not 
 understand  any  one  who  did  not  work  hard.  He 
 never,  Mr.  Erskine  Fraser  tells  us,  understood  Wil- 
 liam Robertson.  When  his  name  was  mentioned 
 Tholuck  would  shake  his  head  gravely  and  say,  "  Ah  ! 
 he  will  never  come  to  anything  ;  he  is  a  great  idler." 
 Mr.  Fraser  was  in  Germany  about  a  year  before 
 Tholuck  died,  and  called  to  see  him.  His  face  was 
 shrivelled  up  like  a  mummy's,  but  his  intellect  was 
 clear.  They  talked  of  Robertson  and  of  his  brilliant 
 career  as  a  preacher  ;  but  the  old  man  shook  his  head 
 as  of  old,  and  said,  "  Ah  !  but  he  never  did  any  work. 
 He  was  a  great  idler." 
 
 To  Mr.  Andrew  Robertson,  Auchenbowie. 
 
 Halle,  29th  April,  1842. 
 
 I  received  your  letter,  as  I  was  saying,  on  Sabbath  at 
 breakfast  time,  and  as  the  morning  looked  very  well,  and  as 
 I  myself  looked  nothing  of  the  sort,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
 rather  pale,  from  having  sat  up  too  late  the  night  before,  I 
 just,  look  you,  took  a  walk  out  to  the  village  of  Giebich- 
 enstein,  in  the  outskirts  of  which  is  a  very  neat  and  pretty 
 cottage  of  the  Roman  Catholic  priest,  in  which  Renton  has 
 taken  lodgings  and  is  going  to  hang  out  for  the  summer. 
 Now,  if  you  could  only  think  how  precious  we  reckon  a  letter 
 from  home,  you  could  easily  divine  the  purpose  of  this 
 morning's  visit. 
 
 But  Renton  had  just  gone  out  at  nine  to  morning  service. 
 
A  SABBATH  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  69 
 
 On  a  knoll  at  the  distance  of  a  few  stone  casts  stood  the 
 church  with  its  old  steeple  and  churchyard,  and  already  the 
 deep  breathing  of  the  organ,  with  the  accompaniment  of 
 many  voices,  might  be  heard,  though  somewhat  faint  and 
 distant  like.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  lovely  it  was — so  much 
 so  as  to  make  me  sad  and  thoughtful.  No  other  sound  but 
 that  of  the  Psalm,  now  swelling,  now  fainting,  the  wor- 
 shippers unseen.  The  morning  was  exceeding  beautiful.  I 
 rested  myself  in  an  arbour  in  the  garden  which  looks  over 
 to  the  church,  and  read  the  diary  of  an  old  Pietist  while 
 the  service  lasted.  Did  you  ever  linger  in  the  neighbour- 
 hood of  a  church  at  the  hour  of  prayer  and  feel  how  lonely 
 it  was  ?  A  little  dog  came  snuffing  about  my  feet,  looked 
 up  in  my  face  as  if  surprised,  but  without  barking,  and  ran 
 away  as  quick  again. 
 
 By  and  by  the  congregation  thronged  across  the  church- 
 yard and  down  the  sunny  slope,  while  the  organ  music 
 swelled  louder  and  faster  and  seemed  to  be  rushing  out  at 
 all  the  doors  and  windows. 
 
 Then  the  people  disappeared  in  the  dell,  among  the  trees, 
 and  by  the  stream  side.  Here  and  there,  after  a  little,  ap- 
 peared a  straggling  party  on  the  neighbouring  heights — only 
 some  children  were  left  laughing  and  playing  about  the 
 churchyard.  Why  I  should  be  wasting  a  whole  page  de- 
 scribing all  this  to  you  I  do  not  very  well  know ;  but  I  had 
 your  letter  still  in  my  hand  all  the  while,  and  that  its  con- 
 tents and  associations  mingled  themselves  up  with  the  still- 
 ness and  the  scenery,  is  that  which,  most  of  all,  I  cannot 
 help  remembering. 
 
 Nothing  of  importance  has  occurred  since  I  last  wrote 
 you,  except  the  arrival  of  your  letter.  I  have  been,  indeed, 
 to  Leipzig,  and  seen  that  great  Easter  fair.  It  has  lasted  for 
 more  than  a  month.  As  the  Highlander  could  not  manage 
 to  see  London  for  houses,   so  one  might  find  it   difficult 
 
70  IN  GERMANY,  ITALY,  AND  SWITZERLAND. 
 
 to  see  the  Leipzig  fair  for  stalls  and  crowds  of  people.  In- 
 deed I  could  not  feel  like  being  in  a  fair  at  all,  till  I  had  got 
 into  the  confectionery  division,  or  still  more  into  the  corner 
 where  the  man  with  the  miniature  organ  and  the  three  mon- 
 keys was  exhibiting,  and  the  half  groschen  peep  show,  and  the 
 great  show  with  the  giant  painted  outside,  and  the  circling 
 hobby  horse  !  Oh,  ye  joys  and  dreams  of  the  young  heart ! 
 Ye  remain  the  least  unchanged  by  climate  or  country  all  the 
 world  over.  I  have  indeed  been  often  struck  by  the  simi- 
 larity of  the  rhymes  they  use  here  in  play  upon  the  streets 
 to  our  own  at  home,  but  you  will  say,  "  What  has  all  that 
 got  to  do  with  the  purpose  of  a  Leipzig  fair?  " 
 
 The  common  streets  were  almost  superseded,  each  of 
 them  comprising  ranges  of  smaller  ones — built  up  in  one 
 place,  of  shoes,  in  another,  of  pots  and  pans,  and  so  on 
 through  all  the  branches  of  merchandise,  towards  the  market 
 place  as  a  centre,  which  comprised  within  itself  a  duodecimo 
 edition  of  a  city  with  streets,  the  booths  and  stalls  crowding 
 up  through  all  the  streets,  clustering  even  outside  the  gates, 
 on  the  promenades,  and  under  the  linden  trees.     .     .     . 
 
 This  is  the  only  instance  in  which  I  have  been  beyond 
 the  distance  of  a  walk  from  my  Kleiner  Sandberg.  In  Halle 
 itself  I  have  witnessed  one  of  those  things  I  have  heard  and 
 read  about — a  torch  procession.  On  Monday  evening  one 
 was  given  in  honour  of  one  of  the  wealthiest  and  most 
 esteemed  fellow-citizens,  by  the  burghers  of  Halle.  There 
 were  not  fewer  than  1,000  torches  in  the  procession,  with 
 flags  and  bands  of  music,  and  gendarmes  riding  about  in  all 
 directions  to  clear  a  passage.  From  a  point  of  view  which 
 I  occupied  in  the  market  place  the  effect  was  very  striking. 
 The  procession  moved  slowly.  Its  approach  had  for  some 
 time  been  announced  by  a  lurid  glare  covering  the  sides  of 
 the  houses.  Every  window  and  every  sort  of  eminence  and 
 crevice,  when  lighted  up  by  the  gleam,  disclosed  scores  of 
 
A   TORCH  PROCESSIOX.  7 1 
 
 curious  faces  packed  together  like  the  angels'  heads  in  a 
 baby's  picture,  and  presenting  a  most  grotesque  appearance. 
 The  procession  stretched  itself  across  the  market  place,  and 
 looked  like  a  long  stream  of  fire  banked  in  by  the  black  and 
 pressing  crowd  on  either  side,  above  whose  heads  the  torches 
 were  seen  undulating  like  waves  of  flame  and  moving  to  the 
 sound  of  music. 
 
 Returning  by  accident  into  the  market  place  between  ten 
 and  eleven  I  found  the  procession  just  filing  back,  from  the 
 other  side.  Directly,  the  torches  were  formed  into  a  large 
 circle,  the  music  playing  in  the  centre,  from  which  point 
 also  I  could  hear  something  like  the  sound  of  speech-making 
 from  some  person  or  persons  unknown.  Then  the  national 
 air  was  sung,  thousands  of  voices  joining  and  the  bands 
 accompanying. 
 
 Finally,  the  torches  were  all  thrown  rather  riotously  to- 
 wards the  centre  to  be  burned  in  a  heap.  The  horsemen 
 riding  about  among  the  fire  and  smoke,  attempting  to  keep 
 some  sort  of  order,  were  very  picturesque ;  and  ere  all  was 
 over,  the  pale  moon,  whose  interference  in  the  matter  was 
 very  much  dreaded  all  along,  was  already  looking  over  the 
 roofs  of  the  houses. 
 
 Having  completed  his  course  at  Halle  about  the 
 middle  of  August,  1842,  he  planned  a  journey  up  the 
 Rhine,  thence  through  Switzerland  and  over  the  Alps 
 into  North  Italy.  A  portion  of  the  money  he  had  got 
 still  remained,  though  not  enough  to  enabie  him  to 
 carry  out  his  project  ;  but  a  letter  to  Andrew  brought 
 such  supplement  as  was  necessary,  and  so  he  set  forth 
 with  a  glad  heart  to  make  the  grand  tour  before  return- 
 ing to  address  himself  to  the  work  of  his  life. 
 
72  IN  GERMANY,  ITALY,  AND  SWITZERLAND. 
 
 Tuesday,  16th  August,  1842. 
 
 I  paid  no  parting  visits  of  form.  If  attachment  may  be 
 measured  by  the  unwillingness  to  part,  I  parted  most  unwill- 
 ingly of  all  with  Koch,  Ulrici,  and  the  Frau  Rathin.1  The 
 "God  bless  you"  of  the  last  especially  was  uttered  with 
 such  fervour,  exquisite  and  touching,  most  like  the  blessing 
 itself.  I  could  not  feel  as  if  my  wish  were  any  equivalent  in 
 return — as  if  my  prayers  were  half  the  value. 
 
 On  the  other  hand,  my  Wirthin  kissed  me  most  passion- 
 ately on  the  cheek  at  parting,  wept,  and  called  me  her  second 
 son,  and  yet  I  could  almost  leave  her  without  any  regret  at 
 all.     Is  love  such  a  selfish  thing  ?     Is  mine  ? 
 
 His  journal  from  this  point  becomes  fragmentary, 
 consisting  of  little  more  than  jottings  by  the  way, 
 from  which,  however,  we  are  able  to  trace  his  course, 
 and  to  learn  something  of  the  impressions  he  gathered, 
 and  to  obtain  here  and  there  vivid  glimpses  of  what 
 he  saw.  His  travelling  companions  at  the  outset 
 included  a  certain  Herr  Lechermann,  of  whom  he 
 says : — 
 
 Lechermann  used  to  play  with  Prince  Albert  when  a  boy. 
 A  most  lovely  boy  was  the  Prince,  about  twelve,  had  a  little 
 horse  he  rode  on,  the  beautiful  boy  of  Coburg.  They  used 
 to  joke  him  and  say  he  should  have  the  Queen  of  England 
 for  a  wife. 
 
 From  Halle  they  went  by  Leipsic,  Xaumburg, 
 Jena,  Gotha,  Eisenach,  and  Frankfurt  to  Mayence.  A 
 great  part  of  the  journey  was  on  foot. 
 
 19th     August. — Walked    to     Kuhla    and      RudolstadL 
 1  Tholuck's  wife. 
 
yOURXEYIXG  TOWARDS  ITALY.  73 
 
 Thoroughly  lame.  I  was  so  ashamed  of  it.  When  at  school 
 I  used  to  practise  standing  on  my  head  a  little  and  walking 
 on  my  hands,  but,  unfortunately,  never  got  on  so  far  with  it 
 as  to  be  able  to  turn  it  to  any  practical  advantage  now. 
 
 At  Mayence  he  was  joined  by  two  of  his  Scottish 
 friends — Mr.  John  Ramsay,  of  Alloa,  and  Mr.  Curie,  of 
 Melrose,  who  were  his  companions  on  the  Rhine  for 
 about  a  week. 
 
 Heidelberg,  2nd  September. — Ramsay  and  Curie  went 
 off  to  Mannheim.  I  was  dull  out  of  endurance,  and  unwell 
 into  the  bargain.  .  .  .  3rd  September. — Ascended  the 
 valley  of  theXeckar,  eating  fruit  all  the  way  from  the  trees, 
 and  resting  when  weary.  I  was  recovering  from  parting 
 sickness.     .     .     .     4th  September. — Crossed  the  Danube. 
 
 At  Munich  he  met  by  appointment  his  friend,  Mr. 
 Renton,  with  whom  he  spent  some  days  in  the  picture 
 galleries.  Here,  too,  he  had  his  first  view  of  the 
 distant  Alps — 
 
 From  September  13th  to  20th. — Walked  over  one  of  the 
 principal  passes  of  the  Alps  with  a  guide. 
 
 It  was  on  the  last  of  these  days  that  the  incident  so 
 vividly  described  in  his  lecture  on  German  Burschen 
 Life  took  place — 
 
 We  had  crossed  a  mountain  pass  on  the  High  Alps, 
 with  dazzling  pinnacles  of  snow  on  either  side,  skirted  by 
 the  dark  pine  woods,  out  of  which  ran  the  rivers  of  ice,  the 
 deep  blue  glaciers,  down  into  the  meadows  with  their  sheep- 
 folds,  their  cattle  with  the  tinkling  bells  that  lined  on  either 
 side  the  mountain  torrent,  up  whose  steep  course  we  were 
 
74  IN  GERMANY,  ITALY,  AND  SWITZERLAND. 
 
 climbing  :  a  scene  that  everywhere  repeats  itself  in  Switzer- 
 land, but  all  bathed,  that  morning,  in  the  yellow  mists  of 
 sunrise  behind  us,  and  the  dark  purple  of  a  thunderstorm 
 before.  One  gets  to  feel  amid  these  Alpine  solitudes 
 and  silences,  broken  only  by  the  scream  of  the  eagle, 
 the  shout  of  the  chamois  hunter,  the  ringing  song  of  the 
 herd-boy  far  down  the  vale,  as  Moses  may  have  felt  amid  the 
 solitudes  of  Midian,  till  every  hill  becomes  a  Horeb,  every 
 bush  is  burning  with  God's  presence,  and  every  spot  is  holy 
 ground,  where  you  must  put  your  shoes  from  off  your  feet 
 and  commune  with  the  living  Presence  and  the  living  Voice 
 that  speaks  to  you  out  of  the  burning  glory,  saying,  "  I  AM 
 that  I  am."  In  such  a  scene  I  was  walking  with  this 
 Pantheist,  my  fellow-tourist,  the  denier  of  the  personality  of 
 God.  And  as  we  walked  along  I  asked  him — "  Vanslow, 
 did  you  ever  pray  ?  "  "  Pray,  pray  !  "  said  he,  "  What's  that  ?  " 
 "  Pray  to  God  ! "  "  What's  God  ?  That  cloud  is  God, 
 yon  rising  sun  is  God,  that  ground  there  (kicking  it  with 
 his  feet)  is  God,  and  I  am  made  of  that,  and  so  I  am  God, 
 and  when  I  pray  I  summon  up  myself!"  The  scorner 
 laughed,  I  shuddered  !  And  the  thunder  pealed  along  the 
 cliffs  as  if  God  called  "  I  am,"  and  the  reverberation  of  the 
 distant  mountains  answered  "  Yea,  Thou  art !  "  And  after 
 a  little  while  we  had  a  narrow  escape  from  a  considerable 
 danger.  An  Alpine  waggon,  heavily  laden  with  timber,  and 
 dragging  up  the  steep  incline  of  zigzag  terraces  before  us, 
 suddenly'  broke  its  traces,  and  down  it  came  with  a  terrific 
 crash  not  far  from  where  we  were.  I  said,  "  Vanslow,  had 
 you  been  killed  just  now  where  would  your  soul  have  gone  ?" 
 And  he  said,  "  My  soul  gone  ?  gone,  gone  to  the  Absolute, 
 relapsed  into  the  All,  mingled  with  the  elements,  melted 
 like  a  snowflake  in  the  ocean,  melted  into  wind  and  rain 
 and  sunshine,  gone  to  feed  the  flowers,  I  suppose,  the  worms 
 perhaps."    He  laughed  and  I  shuddered  ;  and  we  two  walked 
 
A  THUNDERSTORM  AMONG  THE  ALPS.       7$ 
 
 on.  And  again  the  thunder  pealed  along  the  cliffs,  as  if 
 God  called  "  I  am  " ;  and  the  reverberation  of  the  distant 
 mountains  to  the  Brenner  and  the  Bernina  answered  "  Yea, 
 Thou  art ! "  After  a  little  it  came  on  to  rain  heavily,  and 
 we  had  no  shelter,  and  no  view  through  the  curtain  of 
 cloud  and  mist,  and  Vanslow  was  very  angry,  and  lifting  his 
 dark  face  to  heaven  he  spat  into  the  cloud,  and  said,  "  If 
 there  be  a  God  above  us,  it  is  thus  that  I  would  treat  him," 
 and  he  laughed  wildly.  I  shuddered  and  shrank  aside  lest 
 a  thunderbolt  should  leap  from  the  cloud  and  smite  down 
 the  blasphemer ;  but  the  thundercloud  passed  and  all  was 
 silent,  and  nothing  was  heard  but  the  tinkling  of  the  cattle 
 bells  and  the  rushing  of  the  torrents  and  the  deep  music  of 
 the  pine  woods,  "the  silent  magnanimity  of  nature  and 
 her  God."  I  tell  you  that  I  turned  back  eagerly  upon  the 
 Alpine  waggoners,  rude  Roman  Catholics  although  they 
 were,  I  turned  kindly  to  the  hooded  monks  who  had  come 
 down  begging  from  the  mountain  hospice.  I  turned  with 
 unutterable  relief  to  the  Alpine  woodman  who  greeted  you 
 as  he  passed  with  "  Praised  be  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,"  ex- 
 pecting you  to  answer  "  For  ever,  Amen  !  "  To  these  rude 
 Roman  Catholics  I  felt  a  thousand  times  nearer  than  to  that 
 dark-souled  blasphemer. 
 
 Entering  Italy  by  Trent,  he  passed  along  by  Padua 
 and  Verona  to  Milan  and  Como — 
 
 21st  September. — I  leapt  for  joy  when  I  saw  the  Adriatic, 
 and  ran  for  half  a  mile  with  my  hat  off. 
 
 Parted  with  Vanslow  on  Sunday  the  2nd.  He  took  me 
 into  the  thicket  that  the  soldiers  standing  near  might  not  see 
 our  parting — kissed  me,  and  asked  me  to  forgive  wherein  he 
 had  been  hasty — to  think  on  him  that  morning  four  weeks. 
 I  said  I  should  be  in  Scotland  and  going  to  prayer  at  that 
 
76  IN  GERMANY,  ITALY,  AND  SWITZERLAND. 
 
 hour,  and  asked,  "Shall  I  pray  for  you?"  He  smiled, 
 thought  a  moment,  and  assented — bowing  back  to  me  till  he 
 disappeared. 
 
 Robertson  crossed  the  St.  Gothard  into  Switzerland, 
 reaching  home  on  20th  October  by  way  of  Lucerne, 
 Basle,  and  Paris. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  Adam  L.  Simpson,  Forres. 
 
 Berne,  14th  October,  1842. 
 
 The  occasion  of  my  writing  you  from  Milan  was  this — I 
 had  just  been  taking  a  walk  on  the  roof  of  the  Cathedral, 
 and  been  calling  to  mind  some  of  your  architectural 
 criticism  written  me  from  some  preaching  excursion  in  the 
 north  of  England  ;  for  ever  since  that  time  your  image  has 
 haunted  me  in  every  cathedral  I  have  visited.  Your  face 
 has  grinned  down  from  all  the  groined  arches,  though  not 
 the  face  of  a  saint  or  angel  by  any  means,  nor  even  of  a 
 sinner  doing  everlasting  penance  on  a  pillar.      No,  no.    .    . 
 
 And  home  I  am  coming,  and  no  mistake.  The  whistling 
 wind  which  to-day  is  bitter  cold,  the  yellow  leaves  showered 
 into  the  running  streams,  put  me  in  mind  more  than  any- 
 thing else,  that  I  am  just  a  year  from  home.  For  in  that 
 year  I  have  lived  many.  Even  the  seasons  have  been 
 multiplied.  I  have  found  a  summer  in  Italy  after  the 
 German  one  was  over,  and  twice  I  have  crossed  winter 
 slumbering  on  the  summits  of  the  Alps. 
 
 Three  days  ago  I  was  on  the  top  of  the  St.  Gothard,  and 
 have  scarce  got  warm  again  since.  I  can  scarce  think  that 
 it  is  more  than  a  week  since  I  was  wandering  among  vine- 
 yards and  orange  groves,  under  the  deep  azure  of  an  Italian 
 sky.  Waggons  laden  with  black  grapes  were  standing  in 
 the  lanes,  or  drawn  slowly  by  white  oxen,  their  flanks  stained 
 
HOME  AGAIN.  77 
 
 with  the  juice.  Children  were  singing  in  the  vineyards, 
 young  men  were  treading  the  wine-presses,  and  the  girls 
 smiled  archly  from  beneath  their  broad  straw  bonnets,  and 
 handed  grapes  to  the  passing  traveller.  The  slanting  rays 
 of  the  sun  fell  through  the  arch  of  the  neighbouring  church 
 tower  and  reddened  over  the  deep  green  of  the  citron  and 
 acacia  leaves — a  scene  of  loveliness  sweet  as  a  dream — a 
 dream  not  to  be  forgotten 
 
 Greenhill,  by  Stirling,  Wednesday  Morning,  5th  Dec.,  1842. 
 
 What  interrupted  me  at  this  point  I  remember  was  that 
 having  succeeded  in  getting  an  excellent  fowl  served  up  for 
 supper,  the  delightful  odour  steaming  up  into  my  brain 
 rendered  me  all  at  once  quite  oblivious  of  dreams  and  citron 
 groves,  and  Adam  Simpson.  Having  hunted  it  out  now — 
 I  don't  mean  the  fowl — I  wish  it  were  ! — but  the  letter,  I 
 make  no  scruple  of  sending  it  off  without  apology. 
 
 I  did  come  home  almost  directly,  only  spending  a  few 
 days  in  Paris  by  the  way,  and  have  been  here  already  a 
 week  or  two. 
 
 To  find  you  a  minister  in  a  manse  with  a  Mrs.  Simpson, 
 and  I  a  poor  vagabond  of  a  student  still,  floundering  on 
 among  trials  for  license — I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  it. 
 I  wonder  what  you  will,  and  am  anxious  to  know  if  you 
 may  still  acknowledge  me 
 
 When  I  publish  my  "  Wanderin'  Willie,"  in  three  volumes 
 post  octavo,  I  shall  be  able  to  repay  you  in  some  sort  for 
 your  portfolio  of  sketches  which  still  continue  to  illustrate 
 our  best  parlour  table. 
 
7$  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 CHAPTER   V. 
 
 ^hz  beginning  of  his  .iBmistrjg. 
 
 In  the  spring  of  1843  William  Robertson  was  licensed 
 to  preach  the  gospel  by  the  Secession  Presbytery  of 
 Stirling  and  Falkirk.  To  distinguish  him  from  another 
 William  Robertson  then  on  the  list  of  probationers,  he 
 adopted  the  maternal  family  name  of  "  Bruce,"  and  from 
 his  entrance  on  public  life  was  known  as  William  Bruce 
 Robertson.  His  first  appointments  to  vacant  churches 
 led  him  into  Ayrshire.  He  was  sent  to  the  county 
 town,  and  to  Irvine.  W7hen  he  appeared  as  a  candi- 
 date in  the  pulpit  which  he  was  destined  to  occupy 
 so  long,  his  stock  of  sermons  was  confessedly  slender. 
 Even  if  he  had  not  returned  so  recently  from  his 
 studies  in  Germany,  and  his  long  excursion  among 
 the  Alps  and  into  north  Italy,  it  is  questionable 
 whether  it  would  have  been  larger;  for  he  never  could 
 bring  himself  to  prepare  any  kind  of  discourse  till  the 
 time  for  delivering  it  was  close  at  hand.  Be  this  as 
 it  may,  he  said  to  Mr.  Haddin  in  1884,  "When  I 
 went  to  preach  as  a  candidate  in  Irvine,  I  had  only 
 
CALL  TO  IRVIXE.  79 
 
 four  discourses.  My  appointment  was  for  two  Sab- 
 baths, and  three  sermons  each  day.  I  had  a  prayer 
 meeting  address.  This  I  turned  into  a  sermon,  and 
 made  one  new  sermon,  and  so  got  through.  At  the 
 prayer  meeting  I  gave  an  account  of  some  religious 
 meetings  I  had  been  attending.  They  asked  me  to 
 preach  on  the  Fast-day  following,  but  from  this  I 
 excused  myself." 
 
 When  he  was  fulfilling  a  preaching  engagement  in 
 Shrewsbury,  a  call  to  become  the  Secession  minister 
 of  Irvine  reached  him  and,  after  due  consideration, 
 was  accepted. 
 
 In  those  days  the  Church  of  the  Secession,  on  the 
 ministry  of  which  William  Robertson  was  about  to 
 enter,  was  agitated  by  a  doctrinal  controversy,  which 
 at  one  time  threatened  to  rend  it  asunder.  3-Ir.  James 
 Morison,  whom  all  the  Churches  now  honour  for  his 
 personal  worth,  and  for  his  contributions  to  the  exposi- 
 tion of  the  New  Testament,  was  then  a  youthful 
 preacher  noted  for  his  zeal  in  evangelistic  labour.  In 
 connection  with  that  department  of  work,  he  had 
 preached  and  published  certain  statements  with 
 regard  to  the  extent  of  the  Atonement,  which  were 
 reckoned  at  variance  with  the  Calvinistic  doctrine  of 
 "  particular  redemption,"  as  set  forth  in  the  Confession 
 01  Faith.  This  led  to  some  hesitation  on  the  part  of 
 the  Presbytery  of  Kilmarnock  when  they  were  about 
 to  ordain  him.  Explanations  were  given  which 
 removed  the  difficulty  for  the  time,  and  the  ordination 
 was   proceeded   with.      But   in    a    few   months    the 
 
80  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 charges  against  Mr.  Morison  were  revived,  with  the 
 result  that  in  May,  1841,  he  was  suspended  from  his 
 ministry.  This  did  not  prove  a  settlement  of  the 
 question.  Three  ministers  avowed  their  adherence 
 to  Mr.  Morison's  views,  and  were  also  excluded  from 
 the  Church.  But  still  the  spirit  that  had  been 
 awakened  was  not  laid.  Two  of  the  professors  of 
 theology,  Dr.  John  Brown  of  Edinburgh,  and  Dr. 
 Balmer  of  Berwick,  while  consenting  to  Mr.  Morison's 
 exclusion,  gave  expression  to  views  on  the  question 
 at  issue  which  greatly  alarmed  some  of  their  brethren, 
 and  stirred  bitter  controversy.  But  threatened  divi- 
 sion was  happily  averted,  and  the  Church  emerged 
 from  the  controversy  with  a  recognized  liberty  of 
 opinion  as  to  certain  aspects  of  Calvinism  which,  more 
 than  thirty  years  later,  was  regularly  formulated  in  a 
 Declaratory  Act  anent  the  Subordinate  Standards. 
 
 When  William  Robertson  appeared  on  October  31st 
 before  the  Presbytery  of  Kilmarnock  to  undergo  trials 
 for  ordination,  he  found  as  might  have  been  expected 
 that  the  trials  were  not  to  be  in  his  case,  as  they  so 
 often  are,  a  mere  form.  His  reverend  judges  were 
 abnormally  vigilant.  It  was  they  who  had  first  or- 
 dained and  then  deposed  Mr.  Morison,  and  they  were 
 resolved  thenceforth  to  proceed  more  warily.  There 
 were,  besides,  certain  circumstances  which  seemed  to 
 justify  special  caution  in  dealing  with  the  minister- 
 elect  of  Irvine.  It  w  as  known  that  his  elder  brother, 
 Mr.  James  Robertson,  had  been  associated  with  Mr. 
 Morison  in  evangelistic  labour,  before  the  latter  came 
 
TRIALS  FOR  ORDINATIOX.  Si 
 
 into  collision  with  the  courts  of  his  Church  ;  and 
 though  the  orthodoxy  of  James,  who  had  by  this 
 time  been  for  three  years  minister  at  Musselburgh, 
 was  established  beyond  suspicion,  who  could  tell  how 
 far  the  evil  communications  of  his  earlier  years  might 
 have  corrupted  the  theology  of  his  younger  brother  ? 
 And,  moreover,  that  brother  had  just  returned  from 
 a  German  university,  and  there  was  no  saying  what 
 strange  doctrines  he  might  have  brought  from  the 
 land  of  Hegel  and  of  Strauss.  The  members  of 
 presbytery  were  therefore  on  the  alert  when  he  rose 
 to  deliver  his  first  sermon  ;  but  he  had  not  gone  far 
 when  he  was  relieved  by  hearing  one  of  them,  of 
 whose  zeal  for  the  form  of  sound  words  he  had  been 
 specially  warned,  whisper  to  his  neighbour,  "  That 
 young  man  is  perfectly  orthodox."  From  that  point 
 he  felt  himself  safe.  The  discourses,  five  in  number, 
 were  accepted  without  cavil.  In  the  examination 
 which  followed,  one  of  the  fathers  of  the  court,  ex- 
 amining in  church  history,  bethought  him  that  this 
 opportunity  should  be  employed  for  obtaining  a  dis- 
 tinct disavowal  of  sympathy  with  Mr.  Morison's 
 peculiar  "  heresy."  He  asked  the  candidate  to  state 
 the  five  Arminian  points  condemned  at  the  Synod  of 
 Dort.  Having  got  the  required  statement,  he  then 
 asked,  "Was  the  Synod  of  Dort  right  or  wrong  in 
 condemning  these  doctrines?"  Robertson  embold- 
 ened by  the  reception  his  sermons  had  met  with,  and 
 feeling  that  the  time  had  come  to  claim  some 
 measure   of  freedom,  replied  that   he   did  not  think 
 
 F 
 
82  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 that  was  a  fair  question  in  an  examination  on  church 
 history.  So  entirely  had  his  discourses  disarmed 
 suspicion,  that  his  objection  was  sustained,  and  his 
 examinations,  as  well  as  his  sermons,  pronounced 
 satisfactory.  His  ordination  was  fixed  for  the  26th 
 of  December,  1843. 
 
 All  his  friends  will  recognize  it  as  characteristic, 
 that  in  setting  out  for  his  ordination,  he  was  late  for 
 the  train.  Hugh  had  gone  on  before  with  his  lug- 
 gage in  a  cart,  and  being  always  punctual,  had 
 arrived  at  Castlecary  station  a  good  while  before  the 
 hour.  The  faithful  servant  was  in  great  anxiety  as 
 the  time  drew  near  and  there  was  no  sign  of  tt\e 
 young  master,  whom  he  had  left  to  follow  with  one  of 
 his  brothers  in  the  gig.  The  train,  the  last  by  which 
 he  could  be  conveyed  in  time  for  the  ordination,  was 
 standing  at  the  platform  when  the  gig  appeared. 
 The  starting  whistle  had  sounded,  and  the  gates  were 
 locked.  Hugh  shouted,  "Jump  that  yett,"  but 
 before  the  command  could  be  obeyed,  the  train  was 
 off.  What  was  to  be  done?  It  was  discovered  that 
 a  train  of  cattle  trucks  was  presently  to  pass,  and  in 
 the  urgent  circumstances  leave  was  obtained  to  travel 
 by  it.  The  last  his  brother  and  Hugh  saw  of  him 
 when  he  started  from  home  to  begin  the  work  of  his 
 life,  showed  him  standing  in  the  last  truck  of  the 
 train,  with  his  hand  at  his  mouth,  uttering  "  Bey,"  in 
 imitation  of  the  cry  of  his  fellow-travellers. 
 
 Irvine,  the  name  of  which  was  thenceforward  to  be 
 linked  with  his,  proved  a  congenial  residence.      Lying 
 
THE  SCE.XE  OF  HIS  MINISTRY.  S3 
 
 along  the  level,  and  on  the  old  shore  line  of  the 
 Ayrshire  coast,  overlooking  the  sandy  dunes  through 
 which  the  Irvine  and  the  Garnock  find  their  way  to 
 the  sea,  it  is  very  different,  in  its  air  and  in  its  out- 
 look, from  the  heights  on  which  stands  the  home  of 
 his  boyhood.  Yet  it  is  not  wanting  in  a  sense  of 
 breadth,  or  in  grandeur  of  view.  Across  the  sand- 
 hills and  the  belt  of  blue  water,  there  rise  the  peaks 
 of  Arran,  which,  evening  by  evening,  are  bathed  in 
 splendour  as  the  sun  dips  behind  them.  Up  the 
 Garnock,  and  across  the  breezy  moor,  the  level  is 
 bounded  by  the  Eglinton  woods — to  the  glades  of 
 which,  all  comers  were  in  these  old  days  welcome ; 
 while,  on  the  other  side,  the  fields  through  which  the 
 Irvine  flows,  lead  upward  to  the  heights  of  Dun- 
 donalcl.  The  outlook  was  not  marred,  but  rather 
 made  more  picturesque,  when  in  the  course  of  years 
 ironworks  were  founded  at  the  safe  distances  of 
 Kilwinning  and  Ardeer,  and  furnace  fires  gleamed 
 out  on  the  western  horizon,  blending  not  inharmoni- 
 ously  with  the  colours  of  the  sky  at  sundown. 
 
 The  ancient  burgh  itself  is  by  no  means  unsightly 
 in  the  Dutch  quaintness  of  its  principal  street,  that, 
 widening  out  at  either  end  and  narrowing  at  the 
 centre  where  once  its  continuity  was  broken  by  the 
 old  Tolbooth  which  has  in  recent  years  been  swept 
 away,  presents  a  strange  medley  of  crow-stepped 
 gable  ends,  thatched  cottages,  last  century  mansions 
 with  outside  stairs,  and  new  buildings  for  banks  and 
 shops  and  residences  of  well-to-do  burghers.     When 
 
84  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 Robertson  went  to  Irvine,  and  during  the  greater 
 part  of  his  ministry,  its  chief  industries  were  seafaring 
 and  weaving ;  and  so  it  wore  for  the  most  part  the 
 aspect  of  a  sleepy  hollow.  Even  down  at  the  har- 
 bour, there  wras  little  bustle,  and  at  most  hours  of  the 
 day,  a  cannon  ball  might  have  been  fired  along  the 
 High  Street  without  peril  to  life  or  limb. 
 
 The  place,  quiet  as  it  was,  had  a  measure  of  in- 
 tellectual activity.  An  academy,  founded  by  King 
 James  out  of  the  revenues  of  the  White  Friars,  whose 
 memory  lingers  in  the  "Friars'  Croft,"  has  sent  a  suc- 
 cession of  scholars  to  the  universities,  and  kept  up 
 the  standard  of  education  in  the  burgh.  Irvine 
 claims  with  the  county  town,  and  with  Kilmarnock 
 and  Mauchline,  a  share  of  the  lustre  which  the  genius 
 of  Burns  has  shed  on  Ayrshire — though  in  truth  she 
 has  little  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  part  she  took  in 
 his  upbringing.  John  Gait,  whose  "Ayrshire  Lega- 
 tees" and  "Annals  of  the  Parish"  are  themselves 
 sufficient  to  disprove  the  charge  that  Scotchmen  are 
 devoid  of  humour,  was  a  native  of  Irvine.  But  she 
 has  traditions  yet  more  congenial.  The  memories  of 
 the  saints  Winning  and  Inan  are  associated  with 
 her  twin  streams ;  and  not  the  least  saintly  of  the 
 apostolic  men  who,  in  the  heroic  days  of  the  Scotti.-h 
 Church,  had  their  centres  of  influence  in  Ayrshire 
 towns,  was  minister  cf  the  parish.  John  Welsh  of 
 Ayr,  William  Guthrie  of  Fenwick,  Robert  Baillie  of 
 Kilwinning,  and  David  Dickson  of  Irvine,  together 
 sowed   the  good   seed   which   flowered   the  Ayrshire 
 
DAVID  DICKS  OX.  85 
 
 moors  with  martyrs.     Robertson  was  wont  playfully 
 
 to  speak  of  Baillie  riding  through  Irvine  as  he  set  out 
 to  attend  the  Westminster  Assembly,  and  to  speculate 
 what  the  effect  on  the  future  creed  of  Presbyterian  ism 
 might  have  been  had  the  delegate's  horse  stumbled 
 and  fallen.  But  his  enthusiasm  was  more  stirred  by 
 the  memory  of  David  Dickson,  who  laboured  two 
 hundred  years  before  him  in  his  own  favourite  field, 
 bringing  from  the  ancient  and  the  mediaeval  Church, 
 material  to  enrich  our  treasury  of  sacred  song.  It  is 
 remarkable  that  the  quiet  burgh  should  have  had  no 
 fewer  than  four  sacred  singers  so  noteworthy  as 
 David  Dickson,  the  author  of  "  O  Mother,  dear  Jeru- 
 salem," James  Montgomery,  the  author  of  "  Hail  to 
 the  Lord's  Anointed,"  Mrs.  Cousin,  the  author  of 
 "  The  sands  of  time  are  sinking,"  and  William 
 Robertson. 
 
 Though  he  was  to  wear  David  Dickson's  mantle, 
 Robertson  was  not  called  to  be  his  successor  in  the 
 church  that  crowns  the  one  rising  ground  in  the  burgh. 
 His  light  was  to  shine  from  a  lowlier  and  less  visible 
 candlestick.  The  Secession  Kirk  stood  out  of  sight  in 
 a  back  lane  named  Cotton  Row.  It  was  utterly  free 
 from  architectural  pretensions,  though  not  altogether 
 ungainly  in  its  square  simplicity,  with  its  two  arched 
 windows  facing  the  narrow  street.  Between  these  was 
 a  wooden  box,  where  sat  the  imprisoned  elders  who 
 watched  the  collection  plate  into  which  the  congrega- 
 tion put  their  offerings  when  they  had  entered  by  the 
 gate,  and  before  they  parted  right  and  left  to  go  into 
 
S6  THE  BEGINNING  OE  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 the  church  by  the  doors  on  either  hand,  or  by  that  at 
 the  back  of  the  building  facing  the  pulpit,  or  by  either 
 of  the  outside  stairs  leading  to  the  gallery.  In  the 
 right  hand  corner  of  the  pleasant  enclosure  in  which 
 the  church  stood  were  the  session-house  and  vestry, 
 built  soon  after  Robertson's  ordination,  and  near  them 
 a  pump  well,  from  which  the  worshippers  refreshed 
 themselves  before  and  after  sermon.  This  well  was 
 the  subject  of  many  a  characteristic  reference  ;  it  was, 
 of  course,  a  fountain  "  fast  by  the  oracle  of  God,"  and 
 especially  at  the  time  when  the  old  church  was  left  for 
 the  new,  it  was  likened  to  Beersheba — the  well  of  the 
 oath. 
 
 The  congregation  worshipping  in  this  humble 
 sanctuary,  which  had  the  wit  to  discern  the  gift  of 
 the  boy-like  probationer,  had  an  honourable  history. 
 It  was  founded  by  men  who  cherished  the  memory 
 of  David  Dickson's  evangelical  fervour,  when  that 
 memory  had  for  the  time  died  out  of  the  sanctuary  in 
 which  he  ministered.  In  the  18th  century  there  was 
 no  church  of  the  Secession  nearer  Irvine  than  Kil- 
 maurs,  a  distance  of  eight  miles,  but  thither  the  Irvine 
 Seceders  had  cheerfully  gone.  In  1802  six  of  them 
 began  a  movement  for  a  congregation  in  the  burgh, 
 and  by  1807  the  congregation  had  been  formed.  Its 
 early  meeting  place  was  a  malt  barn,  or  rather  kiln, 
 in  which  grain  was  made  into  malt  for  the  innkeepers 
 and  beer  sellers  of  the  burgh,  and  for  the  use  of  which 
 the  congregation  paid  a  weekly  rent  of  two  shillings. 
 In  his  speech  at  laying  the  foundation  stone  of  Trinity 
 
A  PRIMITIVE  SANCTUARY.  S? 
 
 Church  in  1862,  Robertson  referred  to  this  primitive 
 sanctuary  "  that  had  no  windows,  and  the  door  must 
 be  left  open  to  admit  the  light,  when  some  worthy  old 
 minister — young  man  then,  dead  now — Ellis  of  Salt- 
 coats, Schaw  of  Ayr,  or  Blackwood  of  Galston — rode 
 over  on  his  pony  to  Irvine  on  Sabbath,  and  preached 
 to  the  little  handful  of  burghers  clustering  for  worship 
 in  the  dusk  and  chiaroscuro  of  such  manger  cradle — 
 such  outhouse  of  an  inn." 
 
 On  the  same  occasion  he  thus  referred  to  his  pre- 
 decessor, the  first  minister  of  the  congregation  : — 
 
 Under  the  ministry  of  Mr.  Campbell,  a  homely,  hearty, 
 hale,  and,  I  believe,  a  heavenly-minded  man,  whose  portly 
 person  I  have  never  seen,  but  yet  with  whose  portrait  I  am 
 familiar  as  pictured  and  preserved  in  gown  and  bands,  with 
 his  bluff  face  and  silvered  head,  in  several  houses,  and  as 
 pictured  and  preserved  in  fond  remembrances  in  many 
 hearts,  though  these  too  now  are  dying  away  ;  under  his 
 ministry  the  congregation  grew,  first  outwardly,  then 
 upwardly,  for  thirty  years  and  more. 
 
 When  the  young  minister  occupied  the  pulpit  on 
 the  Sunday  following  his  ordination,  it  was  felt  by  all 
 his  hearers  that  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  the  congre- 
 gation had  indeed  begun.  The  Scripture  reading  was 
 the  first  eight  verses  of  the  sixth  chapter  of  Isaiah — a 
 passage  which  was  chosen  by  him  many  a  time  for 
 reading  and  preliminary  exposition  to  crowded  con- 
 gregations in  the  after  years.  His  text  was  from  Luke 
 x.  42 — "  One  thing  is  needful ;' — a  word,  it  may  be 
 remembered,  sent  to  him  by  his  father  in  kindly  coun- 
 
S3  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 sel  when  he  was  a  student.  A  lady,  then  a  girl  in  her 
 teens,  thus  writes  of  the  sermon  : — "  I  do  not  remem- 
 ber a  single  sentence  of  it,  but  it  touched  the  key-note 
 of  all  his  after  ministry.  It  was  like  a  new  atmosphere 
 come  into  the  old  church  at  Irvine.  Instead  of  the 
 dry  doctrines  that  we  young  people  had  found  it  so 
 hard  to  follow,  we  got  the  figure  of  the  living,  loving 
 Saviour  constantly  set  before  us." 
 
 The  following  letters,  written  to  Mr.  Erskine  Fraser, 
 who  had  just  returned  from  Germany,  illustrate  well 
 the  period  of  transition  through  which  the  light- 
 hearted,  merry  student  passed  into  the  hard-working, 
 devoted  minister.  It  will  be  seen  that  he  carried  the 
 brightness  of  his  student  days  into  his  ministry,  and  it 
 was  one  of  the  peculiar  charms  of  that  ministry  that 
 this  brightness  never  died  out  of  it.  His  latest  holi- 
 days were  enjoyed  with  as  much  zest  as  was  the  first, 
 o{  which  we  have  a  glimpse  in  one  of  these  letters. 
 
 To  the  Rev.   Henry  Erskixe  Fraser,  M.A. 
 
 Irvine,  18th  April,  1844. 
 
 .  .  .  .  By  this  time,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  are  a 
 licentiate  of  "  the  Church  of  the  Erskines,"  and  sickening  in 
 the  agonies  of  your  first  discourse  !  By  a  letter  from  Green- 
 hill  I  learn  that  you  are  to  be  licensed  on  Tuesday— the 
 first  notice  I  have  had  of  your  being  in  the  country  again. 
 How  glad  I  am  to  hear  it  ! 
 
 Do  you  remember  what  you  said  to  me  at  parting? 
 -'When  I  come  back"  (so  you  said)  "  I  will  visit  you  at 
 Irvine."     The  words  were  prophetic.     Often  have  I  remem- 
 
HIS  MINISTRY  BEGUN.  89 
 
 bered  them  since,  often  have  I  repeated  them  here,  and 
 many  people  are  quite  impatient  to  see  this  marvellous 
 prophet,  so  soon  as  he  shall  come  from  the  land  of  prophecy 
 and  mist.  Es  ist  ja  wahr  !  I  am  the  minister  at  Irvine. 
 Since  I  saw  you  the  Aufgabe  of  my  life  has  wholly  changed. 
 It  is  not  yet  a  year  since  we  parted,  if  you  calculate  time  by 
 the  Belfast  almanacs  ;  but  if  you  calculate  it,  as  Locke  says, 
 by  the  succession  of  one's  thoughts,  it  is  a  great  deal  more 
 than  that.  In  the  last  few  months  I  have  lived  through 
 many  years  of  changes — years  of  thought  and  experiences, 
 sick  headaches,  and  sleepless  nights,  lone  Saturdays,  and 
 bustling  Sabbath  days,  strange  new  anxieties,  and  newer  and 
 stranger  joys.  Since  I  saw  you  I  have  become,  by  many 
 years  of  thought,  older,  and  wiser  too  I  trust,  and  better. 
 The  idle,  reckless  "wandering  Willie"  has  become  the 
 sober,  staid  minister — drinking  tea  with  old  maids,  baptizing 
 and  marrying  and  funeralizing,  preaching  to  the  sinner  and 
 visiting  the  sick,  comforting  the  dying  and  the  mourners  for 
 the  dead — into  all  this  I  have  grown  since  I  saw  you  last. 
 But  let  me  tell  you  the  so-genannte  minister  at  Irvine  ist  dir 
 eben  so  gut  as  when  of  old  we  roamed  hand  in  hand  by  the 
 banks  of  Devon,  or  slept  together  in  the  garret  of  21 
 Broughton  Place.  Heigh-ho  !  these  were  delightful  days  in 
 their  own  way,  and  I  look  back  on  them  as  into  a  former 
 world.  Now  look  you,  mein  Theurer,  I  suppose  your  first 
 day  is  engaged  for  Alloa,  and  that's  right ;  but  if  you  don't 
 come  to  Irvine  for  your  second  I  declare  I  shall  never  speak 
 to  you  again  in  the  flesh  !  Die  Sonne  des  Lebens  werde  ich 
 aaf  meinen  Zorn  untergehen  lassen.  It  is  not  so  much  to  have 
 your  sermons  as  it  is  to  have  yourself;  it  is  not  so  much  to 
 have  that  highest  of  preacher's  favours,  commonly  called  a 
 "  day,"  as  it  is  to  have  the  "  week  "  of  the  context — days 
 and  nights  of  glorious  Zweigesprach  of  Halle,  and  Tholuck 
 and    his    Tholuckism,    and    Erai/en,    and    Alddc/ien,    and 
 
90  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HIS  MIX  IS  TRY. 
 
 Siudenten,  and  He/ten,  and  Voi'lesiuigen,  and  Seyn  and  Nicht 
 Seyn,  and  dear  old  DeutscJiland. 
 
 And  withal  this  is  just  the  place  you  would  like — a  quiet 
 •town  and  a  loud  sounding  bay — some  of  the  streets  not 
 unlike  Halle  !  and  warm  firesides  and  warmer  hearts.  Do 
 come 
 
 I  would  gladly  write  on.  I  have  iooo  things  to  say,  999 
 of  which  I  must  leave  till  I  see  you.  I  go  to  Dundee  on 
 Sabbath  eight  days.  Logan  is  to  be  with  me  in  the  begin- 
 ning of  the  week  after  next.  He  is  coming  through  to  the 
 Ayr  Circuit.    This  might  help  to  tempt  you  to  come 
 
 And  now  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  be  strengthened  and 
 sustained  through  the  trying  duties  of  your  first  day.  Gott 
 segne  dich !  und  hilte  dich,  mein  lieber  Erskine  !  It  is  a 
 solemn  work.  May  God  acknowledge  and  assist  you  in  it. 
 I  can  sympathize  with  you.  Ich  werde  deinetwegen  nicht 
 entlassen  viel  zu  betm.     Es  hilf  dir  Gott  !    .     .     .     . 
 
 Irvine,  4th  July,  1844. 
 
 Dr.  Balmer  dead !  I  had  the  note  of  it  on  Tuesday 
 evening  when  going  in  to  my  meeting.  It  gave  the  tone  to 
 the  meeting.  The  services  were  all  in  a  doleful  minor  key. 
 I  felt  it  keenly  and  so  I  feel  it  yet ;  and  so  I  am  sure  you 
 do. 
 
 August,  1844. 
 
 I  have  come  home  to-day  from  the  Western  Highlands 
 — parted  from  my  fellow-tourists  yesterday  at  the  head  of 
 Loch  Long.  We  were  a  party  of  live.  Messrs.  Ramsay  and 
 Curie  with  a  sister  each ;  a  happy  party  you  may  guess. 
 The  anniversary  of  our  meeting  on  the  Rhine  on  the 
 27th  August,  two  years  ago,  was  celebrated  with  a  dinner 
 at  Inveraray  on  Tuesday  last. 
 
 The  details  I  shall  give  you  when  you  come.     Some  of 
 
GEORGES  ORDINA  TION  AND  DEA  TH.         9 1 
 
 them  will  be  interesting  to  you  as  they  have  been  most 
 intensely  so  to  me.  The  scenery  romantic — the  colouring 
 of  the  season  most  beautiful — the  lights  and  shades  of  the 
 weather  just  the  thing — clear  moonlight  at  nights,  and  blue 
 shining  Highland  lochs ;  all  in  a  little  boat  passing  in  and 
 out  from  the  shadow  of  the  black  rocks,  with  the  light 
 dash   of  oars  :  and  voices  in  song.     ...  I  am  just 
 
 awaking  as  from  a  dream. 
 
 But  I  cannot  afford  to  be  sentimental  for  want  of  time, 
 and  as  it  is  getting  on  the  road  to  Sabbath  I  cannot  dream 
 any  longer.  I  shall  expect  you  here  as  soon  as  you  can 
 possibly  come.  I'll  be  at  home  till  George's  ordination — 
 1 2th  September. 
 
 The  ordination,  to  which  he  refers,  of  his  brother 
 George  as  minister  at  Busby,  took  place  on  the 
 expected  day.  It  is  memorable  as  the  beginning  of  a 
 ministry,  which,  lasting  only  six  and  a  half  months, 
 was  yet  so  earnest  and  so  spiritual,  that  it  left  a 
 fragrance  which  still  lingers  in  the  hearts  and  homes  of 
 the  people  of  the  village.  William  had  of  course  a 
 very  special  joy  in  the  settlement,  so  near  him  in  the 
 West,  of  his  brother  who  had  been  his  fellow-student 
 and  companion  at  college  and  hall.  He  had  the 
 pleasure  of  his  presence,  as  well  as  that  of  his  elder 
 brother  James,  at  the  first  anniversary  of  his  own 
 ordination.  But  his  joy  was  soon  clouded.  George 
 died  suddenly  at  Greenhill  on  1st  May,  1845.  On  that 
 night  Mr.  Ronald  of  Saltcoats  was  addressing  the 
 prayer  meeting  at  Irvine.  William,  ill  at  ease  on 
 account  of  a  thoughtless  remark  he  had  made  on  the 
 way  to  church,  was   haunted,  as  he  listened  to    Mr. 
 
92  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HJS  MINISTRY. 
 
 Ronald's  discourse,  with  a  distressing  fear  that,  if 
 occasion  called,  he  could  not  bow  in  submission  to 
 the  divine  will.  Next  day  brought  the  heavy  tidings 
 from  Greenhill.  This  was  the  first  of  a  succession  of 
 family  trials  and  bereavements,  which,  without  taking 
 any  of  the  brightness  out  of  his  ministry,  gave  that 
 ministry  deeper  consecration. 
 
 The  exhilarating  effect  of  "  the  new  atmosphere 
 come  into  the  old  church  at  Irvine"  soon  became 
 manifest.  The  members  of  the  congregation  began  to 
 bethink  themselves  that  the  Christian  Church  exists 
 for  other  ends  than  self-improvement.  Their  old 
 building,  with  only  the  accommodation  necessary  for 
 the  Sabbath  assembly,  was  fairly  symbolic  of  the 
 conception  of  a  church  which  had  till  then  prevailed 
 among  them  ;  and  the  first  sign  that  they  were 
 attaining  a  worthier  conception,  was  that  before  the  end 
 of  the  first  year  of  Mr.  Robertson's  ministry  a  move- 
 ment was  set  on  foot  to  build  a  hall  and  vestry.  This 
 was  immediately  followed  by  a  successful  effort  to 
 liquidate  a  debt  which  had  from  the  first  burdened 
 the  church  property. 
 
 When  the  necessary  accommodation  had  been  thus 
 provided  and  when  the  restraining  incubus  had  been 
 removed,  a  Sabbath  evening  school  was  organized  in 
 August,  1845.  Soon  after  this  a  morning  school  was 
 opened  in  the  same  premises ;  and  ere  long  other 
 premises  were  secured,  and  teaching  was  begun,  in  one 
 of  the  narrow  vennels  that  open  on  the  High  Street. 
 
 The    new    hall    and   vestry  were   also   utilized   for 
 
NEW  ATMOSPHERE  IN  THE  OLD  CHURCH.   93 
 
 meetings  in  connection  with  enterprises  of  yet  further- 
 reachine  beneficence,  in  which  the  interest  of  the 
 congregation  was  enlisted.  It  was  in  these  opening 
 years  of  Mr.  Robertson's  ministry  that  Foreign 
 Missions  began  to  engage  the  earnest  attention  of  the 
 Scottish  Church.  Early  in  the  century  good  men  in 
 all  the  branches  of  that  Church  recognized  their  duty 
 to  the  heathen  ;  but  they  had  hitherto  chiefly  wrought 
 through  societies  with  no  direct  ecclesiastical  connec- 
 tion. At  the  time  of  which  we  write  the  churches  as 
 churches  had  awakened  to  a  sense  of  their  responsi- 
 bility. The  missions,  begun  by  the  outside  societies, 
 had  passed,  or  were  passing,  into  their  hands,  and,  with 
 new  missions  then  instituted,  were  being  conducted 
 under  the  supervision  of  their  supreme  courts.  The 
 cause  of  missions  lay  near  the  heart  of  the  young 
 minister  of  Irvine.  In  writing  with  regard  to  the 
 arrangements  for  the  social  meeting  which  followed 
 his  ordination,  he  had  said  that  "  the  subject  of  missions 
 must  not  be  omitted,"  and  at  his  first  anniversary 
 soiree  the  same  subject  had  a  prominent  place.  In 
 response  to  his  call,  and  stimulated  by  his  example, 
 the  congregation  began  to  subscribe  liberally. 
 
 These  and  other  signs  of  quickened  life  appeared  as 
 the  fruit  of  the  new  minister's  work,  even  before  he 
 had  acquired  that  peculiar  power  by  which  he  was 
 distinguished  in  later  years.  He  was  accustomed  to 
 tell  that,  not  long  after  his  ordination,  he  was  led 
 to  change  his  style  of  preaching.  We  are  indebted  to 
 the  Rev.  John  Haddin  for  the  following  memorandum 
 
94  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 made  immediately  after  Dr.  Robertson  gave  him  the 
 information  it  contains  : — 
 
 Mr.  Robert  Bartholomew,  an  extensive  millowner  in 
 Glasgow,  during  the  early  years  of  Dr.  Robertson's  ministry, 
 occupied,  as  his  summer  residence,  Montgreenan  House, 
 near  Kilwinning.  Mrs.  Bartholomew  was  a  Miss  Graham, 
 of  the  family  of  the  Grahams  of  Lancefield,  Glasgow.  From 
 the  first  they  placed  themselves  under  the  ministry  of  Dr. 
 Robertson,  with  whom  they  soon  became  very  intimate. 
 Mrs.  Bartholomew  was  a  lady  of  great  ability,  and  distin- 
 guished for  cordiality  of  spirit  and  frankness  of  speech. 
 After  she  had  heard  him  for  some  time,  she  called  on  him 
 one  day,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Robertson,  in  your  preaching  you 
 fail  to  do  yourself  justice.  Your  manner  of  speaking  in  the 
 pulpit  is  not  in  harmony  with  the  structure  of  your  mind 
 and  your  peculiar  talents.  It  must  be  altered.  In  conver- 
 sation you  are  most  natural  and  powerful.  Bring  your 
 conversational  manner  of  thinking  and  speaking  into  the 
 pulpit.  Adopt  it  there  and  your  discourses  will  be  much 
 more  effective.  The  result  will  surprise  both  yourself  and 
 your  people."  Mrs.  Bartholomew  talked  on  in  this  strain, 
 and  made  such  an  impression  on  his  mind,  that  he  determined 
 to  follow  her  counsel — he  would  make  the  attempt.  Next 
 Sabbath  accordingly,  taking  as  his  subject  of  discourse,  the 
 appearance  of  Christ  to  Mary  at  the  sepulchre,  he  spoke  in 
 a  way  which  riveted  attention,  and  satisfied  him  that  he  had 
 found  wherein  his  strength  lay.  The  improvement  was 
 unmistakable,  and  from  that  day  his  former  mode  of 
 preaching  was  laid  aside. 
 
 The  change  of  style  involved  a  change  in  his  manner 
 of  writing  his  sermons.  His  earlier  sermons  are  written 
 out  fully  and  continuously  in  long  hand,  just   as   his 
 
A   CHAXGE  OF  STYLE.  95 
 
 college  essays  and  hall  discourses  had  been.       But  at 
 
 the  period  when  the  change  we  have  noted  took  place, 
 he  began  to  write  in  broken  fragmentary  paragraphs, 
 with  an  admixture  of  shorthand,  and  on  only  one  side 
 of  loose  sheets,  which  he  pinned  on  to  successive 
 leaves  of  the  pulpit  Bible,  and  turned  over  as  the 
 discourse  proceeded,  though  he  hardly  ever  even 
 glanced  at  the  notes  thus  kept  before  him. 
 
 His  preparation  was  made  at  high  pressure.  He 
 seldom  began  till  the  afternoon  of  Friday,  and  he  was 
 accustomed  to  say  that  he  considered  that  he  had 
 made  satisfactory  progress,  if,  by  the  time  he  went 
 to  bed — which  he  never  did  till  well  on  in  Saturday 
 morning — he  had  reached  the  point  of  thinking  that 
 his  text  would  not  do  at  all,  and  that  he  would  need 
 to  look  for  another.  On  Saturday  he  appeared  at 
 meals,  but  hardly  ever  spoke,  and  only  made  a 
 pretence  of  eating.  The  whole  day — which,  however, 
 in  his  case,  did  not  begin  till  near  noon- — was  spent  in 
 his  study,  and  he  seldom  retired  to  rest  till  four  or  five 
 o'clock  on  Sabbath  morning.  He  wrote  at  a  small 
 bedroom  table  on  which  a  portable  writing  desk  lay 
 open.  Somewhat  late  in  his  ministry  he  bought  a 
 study  table — saying  to  a  friend  whom  he  met  in 
 Glasgow,  when  he  was  on  the  way  to  make  the 
 purchase,  that  as  he  had  been  more  than  twenty  years 
 a  minister  he  thought  it  was  time  to  begin  to  study ! 
 But  the  study  table  was  never  used  except  as  a 
 repository  for  books  and  papers.  He  wrote  to  the 
 last  at  the  portable  desk  on  the  small  table,  which  he 
 
96  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 could  easily  shift  about  from  the  window,  beside  which 
 he  sat  during  the  day,  to  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
 fire  and  the  gaslight  at  night.  A  Bagster's  pocket 
 Bible,  so  well  thumbed  through  the  long  years  that 
 some  of  its  pages  were  hardly  legible,  invariably  lay 
 open  to  the  left  of  his  manuscript,  his  arm  resting 
 on  it  as  he  wrote.  So  long  had  it  undergone  that 
 pressure  that  the  binding  had  acquired  a  set,  and  the 
 Bible  would  not  remain  closed. 
 
 On  the  Sabbath  morning  he  seldom  rose  till  the 
 hour  of  service  was  perilously  near.  He  hardly  left 
 himself  time  to  dress,  and  often  did  not  even 
 attempt  to  breakfast ;  but  had  to  hurry  away  as  soon 
 as  he  came  down  stairs,  followed  on  the  road  by  the 
 straggling  members  of  his  household,  who  had  all  been 
 occupied  to  the  last  in  the  effort  to  get  him  ready  in 
 time.  On  one  occasion  when  he  was  assisted  at  a 
 Communion  by  Dr.  Johnstone  of  Limekilns,  one  of 
 the  calmest  and  most  methodical  of  the  elderly 
 ministers  of  the  Church,  that  divine,  who  had  withal  a 
 gift  of  kindly  humour,  said  with  a  smile  that  the 
 manner  in  which  the  household  found  their  way  to 
 church  reminded  him  of  the  close  of  the  record  of  St. 
 Paul's  shipwreck :  "  And  the  rest,  some  on  boards, 
 and  some  on  broken  pieces  of  the  ship.  And  so  it 
 came  to  pass  that  they  escaped  all  safe  to  land." 
 
 When  Robertson  reached  the  pulpit,  generally,  it 
 must  be  admitted,  a  few  minutes  late,  there  was 
 no  sign  of  haste  or  flurry,  but  the  most  becoming 
 reverence,  as  with  deep  sonorous  voice  he,  after  the 
 
CONDUCT  OF  DIVINE  SERVICE.  97 
 
 good  old  Scottish  manner,  announced  and  read  the 
 opening  psalm.  Sometimes,  if  a  thought  struck  him  as 
 he  read  it,  he  would  throw  in  a  word  of  exposition  to 
 make  the  service  of  song  more  intelligent  and  hearty. 
 This  was  a  survival  of  another  Scottish  custom,  now 
 obsolete,  but  in  which  some  of  the  old  ministers  greatly 
 excelled,  of  "  prefacing  "  the  morning  psalm.  When 
 the  psalm  had  been  sung  he  rose — the  congregation 
 in  those  early  days  rising  with  him — and  with  clasped 
 hands  began  the  morning  prayer.  No  liturgy  ever  ex- 
 celled the  stately  march  of  his  well-ordered  sentences, 
 or  the  deep  spirit  of  devotion  which  they  breathed, 
 as  with  perfect  freedom  in  the  words  and  arrangement, 
 he  yet  embraced  all  that  should  be  remembered  in 
 common  prayer.  Then  followed  the  reading  of  the 
 Scriptures,  which  he  generally  accompanied  with  some 
 comment  or  exposition — often  the  most  impressive 
 and  instructive  part  of  the  service.  After  another 
 psalm  or  hymn,  came  the  sermon.  He  did  not  read 
 it,  neither  did  he  deliver  it  memoritcr ;  but,  though 
 every  sentence  was  prepared,  and  every  thought 
 represented  by  some  marking  more  or  less  legible  on 
 the  manuscript  before  him,  he  spoke  as  one  who  was  at 
 the  moment  in  communion  with  the  truth,  and  setting1 
 it  forth  as  it  revealed  itself  to  him.  I  once  asked  him 
 with  reference  to  a  powerful  description  I  had  heard 
 him  give  of  the  passage  of  the  Israelites  through  the 
 Red  Sea,  how  he  had  given  it.  He  said  that  he  had 
 called  up  the  scene  before  him.  The  church,  the 
 listening  congregation, — everything  was  for  the  time 
 
9§  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 out  of  sight,  and  he  was  looking  on  at  the  procession 
 of  the  tribes  through  the  depths,  simply  telling  what 
 he  saw. 
 
 The  effect  which  his  preaching  produced  may  be 
 judged  of  by  the  testimony  of  two  men  of  widely 
 different  temperament,  when  they  had  heard  him  for 
 the  first  time.  One  of  these  was  Dr.  Andrew  Sommer- 
 ville,  the  foreign  mission  secretary  of  the  United 
 Presbyterian  Church,  a  man  of  great  shrewdness  and 
 intelligence,  but  entirely  unimaginative.  He  had 
 been  assisting  at  the  communion  services  at  Irvine, 
 and  on  his  return  to  Edinburgh  met  Mr.  James 
 Robertson,  who  asked  him  what  kind  of  sermon 
 William  had  preached.  "  Sermon  !  "  was  the  reply, 
 "  it  was  not  a  sermon  at  all  ;  it  was  an  epic  poem." 
 The  other  was  Dr.  John  Service,  himself  a  preacher 
 of  no  mean  distinction  in  after  years,  but  then  a 
 student  of  theology.  He  wrote  to  the  friend  on  whose 
 recommendation  he  had  gone  to  hear  Robertson,  that 
 the  sermon  sent  him  away  in  the  same  mood  as  the 
 Campsie  fiddler  who  having  heard  Paganini,  hastened 
 home  and  thrust  his  own  fiddle  into  the  fire. 
 
LOVE  OF  CHILDREN.  99 
 
 CHAPTER     VI. 
 ffostotal  SSork. 
 
 THE  power  which  Mr.  Robertson  acquired  in  Irvine 
 was  not  won  by  his  preaching  alone.  He  had  peculiar 
 aptitude  for  the  other  departments  of  pastoral  work. 
 The  Sunday  schools  which,  as  we  have  seen,  were  the 
 first-fruits  of  his  ministry,  were  fostered  by  him  with 
 loving  care.  It  was  his  delight  to  be  among  children, 
 and  he  had,  in  a  rare  degree,  the  gift  of  winning  their 
 affection.  On  one  occasion  when  he  was  leaving 
 Johnstone,  where  he  had  been  visiting  the  Rev.  James 
 Inglis,  Mr.  Inglis  opened  for  him  the  door  of  a  railway 
 carriage,  and  he  was  about  to  enter,  when,  seeing  two 
 or  three  children,  he  drew  back  and  went  into  another 
 compartment.  Mr.  Inglis  said  in  astonishment,  "  I 
 thought  you  were  very  fond  of  children  ?  "  "  So  much 
 so,"  he  replied,  "  that  I  don't  want  to  know  these  chil- 
 dren, it  will  be  such  a  pain  to  part  from  them."  But 
 that  was  when  he  was  older,  and  had  experience 
 above  most  of  the  pain  of  parting.  In  earlier  days  he 
 sought  the  company  of  children.     It  was  a  refresh- 
 
CO  PASTORAL  WORK. 
 
 ment  to  him,  even  after  two  long  services,  to  visit  their 
 schools  and  address  them;  and  at  their  annual  excur- 
 sion into  the  country  he  was  as  happy  as  the  youngest 
 scholar. 
 
 He  had  special  joy  in  hearing  the  children  sing,  and 
 was  in  the  habit  of  writing  little  carols  specially 
 adapted  for  their  young  voices.  Some  of  these  were 
 the  germs  out  of  which  grew  later  poems  that  will  be 
 given  in  their  order.  On  the  death  of  one  of  the 
 female  teachers,  whose  work  in  the  school  he  greatly 
 valued,  he  prepared  a  little  dirge  and  set  it  to  music — 
 teaching  the  children  to  sing  it.  It  contained  at  least 
 one  verse  which  lingered  in  their  memories  through 
 the  after  years  : — 
 
 Children's  little  hands  will  dress 
 All  the  sod  with  lilies  round, 
 
 Children's  little  feet  will  press 
 Softly  on  the  holy  ground. 
 
 It  was  one  of  Mr.  Robertson's  earliest  efforts  to  in- 
 spire his  congregation  with  his  own  love  of  sacred 
 song,  and  gradually  to  make  the  service  of  public 
 praise  more  worthy.  When  he  entered  on  his  pastorate, 
 the  singing  was  led  by  a  precentor  of  the  old  school, 
 and  till  he  could  see  his  way  to  introduce  a  really 
 effective  reform,  the  young  minister  was  in  no  hurry 
 to  disturb  the  time-honoured  arrangement.  But  he 
 early  addressed  himself  to  the  task  of  preparing  a 
 choir  which  should  in  due  time  take  its  place  in  the 
 church.     He  had  a  hisrh  ideal  of  a  church  choir,  both 
 
SCHOOLS  AXD  CHOIR.  101 
 
 as  to  Christian  character  and  as  to  musical  attain- 
 ment. To  realize  as  far  as  possible  his  ideal  in  the 
 first  particular,  he  had  it  laid  down  as  a  fundamental 
 rule  that  no  one  should  be  admitted  to  the  choir 
 who  was  not  a  member  of  the  church  :  and  to  realize 
 it  in  the  second  particular  he  spared  neither  time  nor 
 pains  in  the  work  of  instruction.  The  young  people, 
 whom  he  carefully  selected,  met  for  weekly  practice 
 in  his  lodgings.  It  was  three  whole  years  before  he 
 pronounced  them  qualified  to  sing  in  church  ;  and  he 
 would  sometimes  insist  on  their  practising  a  tune  for 
 six  months  before  he  would  permit  them  to  introduce 
 it  in  public  worship.  The  fruit  of  his  labour  was 
 reaped  not  only  in  the  excellence  of  the  first  choir, 
 which  thus  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  training  at  his 
 own  hand,  but  in  the  establishment  of  a  high  standard 
 which  has  ever  since  been  maintained.  He  found  it 
 impossible,  as  his  labours  multiplied,  to  continue  the 
 work  of  training  ;  but  he  was  at  pains  to  secure  the 
 appointment  of  conductors  who  could  sympathize 
 with  his  aspirations  and  understand  his  methods. 
 
 The  following  has  been  furnished  with  regard  to 
 the  Irvine  singing  and  the  principles  upon  which  it 
 was  guided  : — 
 
 In  the  matter  of  choosing  a  precentor  he  used  often  to  say 
 that  congregations  almost  invariably  looked  out  for  a  man 
 with  a  voice,  instead  of  a  man  who  could  train  other  people's 
 voices,  and  select  and  arrange  them  so  as  to  blend  harmoni- 
 ously in  a  choir,  instead  of  letting  them  go  off  like  a  volley 
 of  fireworks,  or  the  general  cracking  of  fiddle  strings.     He 
 
102  PASTORAL  WORK. 
 
 would  often  tell  that  one  of  the  best  precentors  they  ever  had 
 in  Irvine  was  a  man  who  could  not  sing  at  all.  Then,  with 
 regard  to  chanting,  he  maintained  that  it  was  not  only  the 
 most  scriptural,  but  the  most  natural  and  intelligent  mode  of 
 praise.  "  Get  a  man,"  he  would  say,  "  to  feel  what  he  is 
 singing,  and  he  is  sure  to  chant  well,  although  he  has  no 
 education  whatever."  Perhaps  the  most  impressive  part  of 
 the  Trinity  Church  praise  in  later  days  was,  when  at  the 
 communion  table,  the  congregation,  without  help  of  choir, 
 chanted  in  unison,  to  some  old  Peregrine  or  Gregorian,  the 
 53rd  chapter  of  Isaiah.  He  was  peculiarly  sensitive  to 
 the  intelligent  rendering  of  the  words ;  and  after  one  of 
 these  occasions,  on  going  into  the  vestry,  he  said  to  the 
 precentor,  "James,  I  didn't  know  you  had  given  up  the 
 doctrine  of  substitution."  The  man  asked  what  he  meant. 
 "Because,"  he  said,  "you  did  not  emphasize  the  proper 
 word.  You  should  have  led  it  so  :  '  He  was  wounded  for 
 our  transgressions  ;  He  was  bruised  for  our  iniquities.'  "  The 
 hint  was  taken,  and  the  emphasized  word  was  remembered 
 ever  after. 
 
 The  rule  which  made  church  membership  a  condi- 
 tion of  admission  to  the  choir  was  held  binding ;  but 
 when  younger  voices  were  wanted  they  were  accepted, 
 on  the  principle  explained  by  him  in  the  following 
 note  to  the  secretary,  written  in  answer  to  a  question 
 as  to  whether  two  candidates  who  had  been  nominated 
 were  eligible  : — 
 
 Your  rule  is  that  none  but  church  members  are  admissible 
 to  the  choir.  Both  of  those  you  name  are  church  members 
 by  baptism,  though  not  in  full  communion  ;  and,  belonging 
 as  they  do  to  my  class,  are  on  their  way  to  that  too  it  may 
 be  presumed.     If,  then,  the  choir  really  wants  them,  they 
 
EVENING  INTERCESSIONS.  103 
 
 may,  I  think,  be  chosen,  since  in  one  sense  they  are  both 
 members  of  the  church.  It  would  be  better,  however,  if 
 such  cases  were  exceptional,  and  if  the  entrance  to  the  choir 
 and  the  Lord's  Supper  took  place  as  nearly  as  possible  to 
 each  other.  .  .  .  The  persons  not  to  admit  are  those 
 who  are  expressly  not  church  members.  If  others  who  are 
 partly  so,  and  who  are  on  their  way  to  be  so  fully,  ask 
 admission,  they  may  be  accepted,  just  as  students  who  are 
 on  their  way  to  the  pulpit  are  sometimes  admitted  to  preach, 
 and  the  nearer  to  the  end  of  their  course,  the  more  so. 
 
 Most  of  Mr.  Robertson's  early  hymns  were  written 
 to  be  sung  by  the  choir.  Of  these  the  earliest  we  have 
 found  is  the  following,  which  was  sung,  according  to 
 his  own  arrangement,  to  the  grand  old  German  chorale, 
 Straf  mich  nicht  in  deinem  Zoru  : — 
 
 (Ebcntng  Intercessions. 
 
 God's  bright  temple  in  the  skies, 
 
 Night  is  opening  slowly, 
 Let  our  song  like  incense  rise 
 
 From  a  priesthood  holy. 
 
 Sacred  flame,  in  Christ's  name, 
 
 In  our  censers  laying, 
 
 We  come  humbly  praying. 
 
 For  our  loved  ones  all  we  pray; 
 
 Thou  God  looking  hither 
 Dost  see  the  near  and  far  away 
 
 In  one  glance  together ; 
 
 Seen  by  Thee,— they  and  we, 
 
 Both  that  one  eye  underr 
 
 Are  not  far  asunder. 
 
104  PASTORAL  WORK, 
 
 When  the  sailor  on  the  deep 
 
 Rests  on  his  rude  pillow, 
 Rocked  a  little  hour  to  sleep 
 
 On  the  heaving  billow  ; 
 
 Save,  Lord,  save  from  storm  wave, 
 
 Guide  with  gentle  motion 
 
 Through  the  pathless  ocean. 
 
 Where  the  sick  lie  wearily 
 
 Tossing  in  their  sorrow, 
 Murm'ring  oft  the  plaintive  cry, 
 
 "  Would  that  it  were  morrow  !" 
 Oh  !  repress  sore  distress, 
 
 Give  them  calm,  sweet  sleeping 
 
 In  their  night  of  weeping. 
 
 Where  the  tempted  may  have  strayed 
 
 Into  scenes  of  danger, 
 Let  not  virtue  be  betrayed, 
 
 Rise,  Lord,  to  avenge  her  ! 
 
 With  strong  arm,  shield  from  harm, 
 
 Or  from  the  trial  rather 
 
 Keep  them,  Holy  Father  ! 
 
 Where  the  penitent  has  gone 
 To  his  chamber  weeping, 
 
 Leave,  ah  !  leave  him  not  alone, 
 Bitter  vigil  keeping ; 
 
 Breathe,  oh  Lord  !  some  soft  word, 
 All  that  true  peace  speaking, 
 His  vexed  heart  is  seeking. 
 
 Star  lamps  now  are  filled  with  fire, 
 Heaven's  broad  dome  revealing, 
 
 Lord,  we  are  a  lowly  choir  ! 
 At  Thy  threshold  kneeling, 
 
BIBLE  CLASS.  105 
 
 Yet  our  song,  even  among 
 Angels'  songs  ascending, 
 Holds  Thine  ear  attending. 
 
 Another  department  of  pastoral  work  in  which  he 
 laboured  most  faithfully  was  the  teaching  of  his  Bible 
 class.  It  met  on  Sunday  evenings  in  the  little  hall, 
 built  in  the  corner  of  the  church  grounds,  and  was 
 attended  chiefly  by  the  young  people  who  had  left  the 
 Sunday  school,  and  had  not  yet  entered  into  the  full 
 communion  of  the  church  ;  but  there  were  not  a  few 
 who  valued  the  instruction  so  much  that  they  clung  to 
 it  after  they  had  passed  the  usual  age.  It  was  con- 
 ducted as  a  real  class,  and  not,  like  many  advanced 
 classes,  a  mere  lecture  or  third  service  of  preaching. 
 The  members  had  lessons  prescribed  to  them  and 
 were  expected  to  prepare  them  carefully. 
 
 One  of  his  favourite  exercises  was  to  go  through  a 
 book  of  the  Bible,  taking  a  chapter,  or  prescribed  por- 
 tion of  a  chapter,  each  evening.  The  pupils  were 
 required  to  tell  him  the  doctrines  or  duties  taught  in 
 the  lesson,  indicating  in  what  particular  verse  the  doc- 
 trine or  duty  was  set  forth,  and  answering  any  ques- 
 tions he  might  put  to  them  as  to  the  deductions  they 
 had  drawn. 
 
 He  was  accustomed  to  defend  his  method  as  in 
 all  respects  preferable  to  the  common  one  of  asking 
 pupils  to  bring  texts  in  support  of  certain  doctrines 
 or  duties  formulated  for  them.  That  method  he  con- 
 demned  as   tending  to  foster  the  habit  of  looking 
 
106  PASTORAL  WORK. 
 
 at  Scripture  texts  in  isolation  from  their  context,  and 
 without  reference  to  the  person  by  whom,  or  the  time 
 and  circumstances  in  which,  the  words  were  uttered. 
 The  method  he  adopted,  fostered,  on  the  other  hand, 
 the  habit  of  reading  the  Scriptures  with  attention,  and 
 with  intelligent  desire  to  ascertain  what  they  really 
 teach.  He  found  the  exercise  profitable  to  himself,  as 
 it  enabled  him  to  see  how  the  Word,  which  it  was  his 
 calling  to  expound,  presented  itself  to  the  unaided 
 minds  of  the  young  people  under  his  charge.  There 
 are  traditions  that  there  was  sometimes  an  attempt  to 
 make  practical  application  of  something  in  the  lesson 
 for  the  admonition  of  the  teacher.  On  one  occasion 
 when  he  had  been  absent  from  his  pulpit  with  more 
 than  usual  frequency,  the  subject  of  lesson  was  the 
 1 2th  chapter  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  A  young 
 woman,  being  called  in  turn,  said — "We  learn  from 
 verse  25th  that  when  ministers  require  to  go  to  other 
 places  on  the  business  of  the  Church,  they  ought  to 
 return  to  their  own  congregations  as  quickly  as  pos- 
 sible :  '  And  Barnabas  and  Paul  returned  from 
 Jerusalem  when  they  had  fulfilled  their  ministry.'  " 
 
 Another  exercise  given  to  the  class  was  to  prescribe 
 passages  of  Scripture  apparently  divergent,  or  contra- 
 dictory, and  to  ask  the  pupils  to  exercise  their  judg- 
 ment or  their  ingenuity  in  suggesting  a  possible  recon- 
 ciliation. He  was  much  interested  in  noticing  how 
 native  shrewdness  was  often  sufficient  to  get  over 
 difficulties  that  had  perplexed  the  learned.  And  he 
 was  sometimes  amused  bv  the  use  of  the  forcible  ver- 
 
"A  FLYING  BUTT T ESS."  107 
 
 nacular,  as  when  he  asked  them  how  to  reconcile  St. 
 Matthew's  version  of  our  Lord's  words,  "  Are  not  two 
 sparrows  sold  for  a  farthing  ?  "  with  the  version  given 
 by  St.  Luke,  "  Are  not  five  sparrows  sold  for  two 
 farthings  ? "  and  received  in  reply,  "  Becus'  ye  get  them 
 cheap  if  ye  tak'  a  wheen." 
 
 His  relation  to  the  Sunday  schools  and  Bible  class 
 endeared  him  to  the  younger  members  of  his 
 flock.  As  he  passed  along  the  street,  they  would 
 stop  at  their  play  and  smile  to  him,  taking  pains  to 
 attract  his  attention  if  by  chance  he  failed  to  notice 
 them.  Once  when  he  was  hurrying  to  the  train  with 
 a  literary  friend  who  had  been  visiting  him,  a  little 
 child  ran  up  and  touched  the  skirt  of  his  coat,  and 
 was  sent  away  happy  with  a  kindly  word.  His  friend 
 quoted  Goldsmith's  lines  : — 
 
 "Even  children  followed,  with  endearing  wile, 
 And  pluck'd  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile." 
 
 On  another  occasion  when  a  distinguished  preacher 
 was  his  guest,  a  young  woman,  running  across  the 
 street  carrying  a  pat  of  butter,  gave  him  kindly  re- 
 cognition. His  friend  said,  "  One  of  the  pillars  of 
 your  church,  I  suppose?"  "No,"  said  he,  "she  is  a 
 flying  butt'ress." 
 
 The  custom  of  "  pastoral  visitation  "  is  one  of  the 
 secrets  of  the  strong  hold  which  the  Scottish  Church 
 has  on  the  affection  of  its  people.  That  Church 
 which  makes  light  of  any  artificial  "  Apostolic  succes- 
 sion,"  has   always   been    careful   to   follow  apostolic 
 
ic-2  p.-isrss..-:. 
 
 :        friendliest,  n.  :st  brttheriy  sri  it 
 bhied  zz  receive  a   ciraiei  v.eiezrr.e.       His 
 .:    * es    ea~er.y   .:;.:;:    :  :r    ere    t;  :     e 
 ei    :ver.    his    sayings   -ere   ftrdiy  rem 
 rereetA    till   the   tbr.e    :f  his   next 
 
 relatiir.  ::  sine  recaliar  family  :ir:an:stances.  V.'e 
 have  a  ii::ie  rd.imase  At:  the  manner  :f  his  vh  :a- 
 :.:  as.  in  the  ree  :r:  ::"  z:.±   A  tie   rr.  by  a  ~: 
 
 a  ::  be  sire, -be:    ::   e      :b.ere;:-_r        After  Mr. 
 ::     e   bee  Ait  her  htuse.  :r.e   :f  her  r.ei~i 
 said  t:  her.  "Ye  had  y    tr  rr.ir.ister  the    iay,  A     ; 
 he  saying  to  you,  na  ?  "    a  (LVd  woman/'  was  the  reply, 
 he  had~an  unco  wark  wi'  that  :'-.:.--  et  E     bey  the 
 ; 
 
 His  visits  --ere  terv.ih  b;    '■   .'.zz  rr.e  vA.ere  tie 
 sickness  or  sorrow   in   the  house.      The  depths  of 
 tenderness   v,hich   were  in   his  heart  welled  out   in 
 
visitat::::.  ::,- 
 
 sym:  =  thy  with  the  -urterir.zr.     He  never  reckzr.ee:  uy 
 the    number    ::"  his    visits    t:    the    eying-.    :r    zicr.zea 
 them  matter  of  "duty     at  ah.  but 
 a:.:  i  ti.-r.es  in  a  cay.     T:  see  hint,  as  he 
 
 t  out  and  in,  burdened  in  spirit,  where  there 
 special  suffering  in  any  of  the  homes  of  his  people, 
 helped  one  to  understand  the   Scripture  which    St 
 M   tthev;   teiis   us    -     -    fcihiieci    in    Ikrist.       Himsei: 
 took  our  infirmities  and  bare  our  sickness  e 
 
 When    I    -  r.vaer.t    c:    the  :iz  ~y     I    ere    ye : 
 
 the  great  advantage,  on  more  than  cne  occasion, 
 c:  aczzmr  euyir.u  1-1:.  Rzb.rtrzr.  :n  his  nunis 
 among  the  sick,  and  I  can  never  forget  the  hght 
 that  came  into  wan  ana  as  the  minister 
 
 ;.-;•  eareei  at  the  a:  :r  ::"  the  :  :  a.  His  zr  trance  v.- as 
 like  a  beam  of  sunlight — a  light  shining  in  a  dark 
 uia:_.  His  n  tanner  v.uas  ztrztzz'.y  natural.  He  aia 
 not  school  his  features  or  his  voice  into  the  exj  - 
 sion  or  tone  deemed  appropriate  in  a  sick  room, 
 neither  did  he  put  en  that  affected  cheerfulness, 
 winch  s:nte  visiters  ::"  the  sick  think  it  the  rieuu 
 thine;  t:  There  zir.g      :'  the  natrtn- 
 
 izing  air,   which  strength   sometimes    .ears    t: 
 
 He    would     inquire     with    an    interest 
 which   was    manifestly   real   into  the     :   -_   of   each, 
 and  would  somehow,  by  a  few   well-chosen  words, 
 sr.zceed  in  lifting  part  at  least    ::   the   burden 
 the   sufferer's    shoulders.       One    case  -    in    the 
 
 memory  :  A  poor  woman,  with  some  sad  internal 
 malaclv.  had  been  sent  t:    Glasgow  in  the  hope  that 
 
no  PASTORAL  WORK. 
 
 an  operation  might  save  her  ;  but  "  the  professor " 
 had  pronounced  the  operation  impossible,  and  she 
 had  come  home  to  die.  Ke  let  her  tell  him  her 
 story,  and  made  her  feel  that  he  thoroughly  under- 
 stood how  hard  it  is  to  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done  "  ;  but 
 he  managed  so  to  lead  her  out  of  herself,  and  away 
 from  the  sense  of  disappointment,  that  when  his  prayer 
 was  over,  and  we  rose  to  go,  the  look  of  hopelessness 
 had  gone  from  her  face,  and  the  light  of  a  better  hope 
 had  taken  its  place. 
 
 Some  interesting  reminiscences  of  his  conversation 
 have  been  furnished  by  Mrs.  M'Cunn  of  Liverpool, 
 whose  friendship,  when  she  was  Miss  Florence 
 De  Quincey  Sellar,  he  valued  not  only  for  her  own 
 sake,  but  because  she  was  a  friend  of  Dr.  John 
 Brown,  and  moreover  bore  the  name  of  her  god- 
 mother, one  of  the  daughters  of  De  Quincey.  With 
 reference  to  the  time,  and  to  the  department  of  his 
 work,  which  are  now  in  hand,  she  writes  : — 
 
 I  remember  two  beautiful  anecdotes  he  told  of  his  early 
 ministry,  one  of  which  shows  his  unrivalled  power  of  bring- 
 ing the  Scriptures  into  close  relation  with  daily  life.  I  am 
 sure  you  know  it,  but  I  can't  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of 
 telling  it  over  again.  During  his  ministry  at  Irvine,  among 
 the  pupils  of  the  "  minister's  class  "  was  a  girl  whose  special 
 glory  was  her  long  beautiful  hair.  She  fell  ill  of  some 
 fever — brain  possibly,  but  I  don't  remember;  and  the 
 doctor  and  her  friends  thought  it  necessary  to  cut  off  her 
 hair.  But  she,  girl-like,  would  not  part  with  her  glory,  and 
 they  did  not  like  to  press  the  point  for  fear  of  exciting  her. 
 Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  Mr.  Robertson  came  to 
 
"A  XEEDLE  SUPPORTIXG  FIVE  ANGELS."   1 1 1 
 
 see  her.  "  I'll  soon  put  that  right,"  and  in  he  went,  and 
 said  nothing,  but  sat  down  beside  her.  and  read  her  the 
 story  of  Mary  Magdalene  washing  the  Lord's  feet,  and 
 wiping  them  with  her  hair.  When  he  had  done,  he  saw  by 
 the  girl's  face  that  she  was  considering,  and  said,  "How 
 long  and  beautiful  your  hair  is.  If  Christ  were  here,  and 
 asked  for  your  hair,  wouldn't  you  be  glad  to  lay  it  at  His 
 feet."  "  Send  in  the  barber,"  said  the  girl,  and  the  victory 
 was  won. 
 
 The  other  has  a  delightful  element  of  humour  in  it.  A 
 few  voung  students  in  his  company  fresh  from  church 
 history  were  talking  of  the  quaint  old  scholastic  question, 
 How  many  angels  are  supported  on  the  point  of  a  needle  ? 
 "Five,"  said  Dr.  Robertson,  with  decision,  and  justified  his 
 answer  with  the  following  story.  One  wild  stormy  night 
 he  was  coming  home  late  through  some  side  street  at 
 Irvine,  and  saw  a  light  burning  in  the  window  of  a  low- 
 room  where  he  knew  a  poor  woman  lived  whose  husband 
 was  at  sea.  He  wondered  what  kept  her  up  so  late,  and 
 looking  in,  he  saw  her  busily  sewing  by  her  dim  lamp — 
 while  the  five  fair  rosy  children  were  sound  asleep  round  her. 
 u  And  there  was  a  needle  supporting  five  angels  1 " 
 
 Irvine  being  a  seaport  town,  he  had  a  large  number 
 of  sailors  among  the  members  of  his  flock.  A  good 
 old  lady,  a  sailor's  widow,  remembers  when  he, 
 "'  very  boyish  looking  in  a  long  coat,"  paid  his  first 
 visit  to  the  Friar's  Croft,  which  was  the  sailors'  dis- 
 trict. He  said  when  he  came  into  her  house  that 
 "'he  didn't  know  that  his  congregation  was  so  much 
 afloat."  He  used  to  boast  playfully  that  it  "  was  like 
 the  British  empire — the  sun  never  set  on  it."  The 
 good  old  lady  just  referred  to  remembers  being  at  "'  a 
 
112  PASTORAL  WORK. 
 
 skippers'  tea "  at  the  manse,  when  Mr.  Robertson 
 entertained  all  the  sea  captains  and  their  wives  be- 
 longing to  the  congregation,  who  were  then  on  shore. 
 There  were  thirteen  of  them,  including  the  harbour 
 master. 
 
 This  peculiarity  of  his  congregation  involved  a 
 painful  duty.  He  had  often  to  go  to  mothers  and 
 wives,  and  break  to  them  the  tidings  of  the  loss  at  sea 
 of  sons  and  husbands.  To  one  poor  mother  he  went 
 on  this  sad  errand  three  several  times.  He  used  to 
 speak  with  admiration  of  her  calmness.  She  always 
 received  the  intelligence  with  a  silent  tear. 
 
 Early  in  his  ministry  he  wrote  the  following  verses, 
 which  he  described  as  "  a  story  from  real  life  in  the 
 Irvine  churchyard."  The  parish  church  and  church- 
 yard are  on  a  height  from  which  the  harbour  bar  can 
 be  seen. 
 
 "%-sdl  ani  glUmc.' 
 
 Tall  and  alone,  on  the  flat  headstone 
 
 Where  her  sailor  husband  lay, 
 She  stood  looking  down  o'er  the  sloping  town 
 
 To  the  harbour  and  the  bay, 
 With  face  set  fast  'gainst  the  biting  blast, 
 
 And  the  freezing  sleet  and  spray. 
 
 The  only  son  of  this  widowed  one 
 
 Was  toiling  to  cross  the  bar, 
 And  she  saw  his  boat  to  the  leeward  float, 
 
 With  the  breakers  stretching  far ; 
 And  she  held  her  breath,  for  she  knew  that  death 
 
 Must  be  where  the  breakers  are. 
 
"  TALL  AND  ALONE."  1 1 3 
 
 Still  slowly  he  rowed  ;  oh  !  pitiful  God  ! 
 
 The  widow  and  orphan's  stay  ! 
 A  strange  hour  passed,  and  the  bitter  blast 
 
 Still  drove  the  boat  away 
 To  the  leeward  far  of  the  harbour  bar, 
 
 And  the  entrance  to  the  bay. 
 
 And  there  she  stands,  with  her  praying  hands, 
 
 Like  sculptured  marble  form, 
 Statuesque  on  the  tomb  of  the  husband,  whom 
 
 They  had  laid  in  the  earth,  one  morn  ; 
 While  her  boy  to  save,  from  a  watery  grave, 
 
 She  prays,  and  he  fights  the  storm. 
 
 Darkness  came  down  over  bay  and  town, 
 
 As  the  steeple  clock  struck  three, 
 A  heavy  rain  squall  so  blackened  all, 
 
 That  nothing  could  she  see ; 
 And  a  hollow  roar  went  down  the  shore. 
 
 Where  the  hollow  breakers  be. 
 
 But  still  she  stands,  with  her  praying  hands 
 
 That  succour  from  heaven  sought, 
 Till  after  the  rain,  when  it  cleared  again, 
 
 Oh,  God  !  where  is  the  boat  ? 
 Gone  down  a  wreck — and  only  a  speck 
 
 Is  seen  on  the  waters  afloat ! 
 
 She  did  not  shrink,  she  could  not  think, 
 
 She  stood,  like  marble,  dumb ; 
 Only  tears  to  her  eyes  in  silence  rise, 
 
 Not  floods  of  tears — but  some, 
 While  the  spirit  moans  with  the  speechless  groans, 
 
 That  with  deepest  anguish  come. 
 
 H 
 
U4  PASTORAL   WORK. 
 
 They  brought  her  down  to  her  house  in  town 
 
 And  laid  her  on  a  bed  : 
 She  never  spoke — for  her  heart  it  broke, 
 
 And  no  more  tears  were  shed  ; 
 But,  like  marble  still,  as  pale  and  chill, 
 
 Next  morning  she  lay  dead. 
 
 On  the  brown  seaside,  at  the  ebb  of  tide, 
 
 A  breathless  form  was  found. 
 When  the  hollow  roar  went  down  the  shore, 
 
 Had  the  noble  boy  been  drowned  ! 
 So  not  alone,  by  the  flat  headstone, 
 
 They  rest  in  holy  ground. 
 
 I  hope  all  three,  where  there's  no  more  sea, 
 
 Have  met  before  the  throne, 
 And  that  the  twain,  now  living  again, 
 
 Shall  hear  Christ  say,  to  the  one, 
 Behold  thy  mother,  and  to  the  other, 
 
 Woman,  behold  thy  son  ! 
 
 He  had  above  most  the  gift  of  consolation.  He 
 used  to  say  that  the  secret  of  power  in  that  direction 
 is  silence.  To  sit  and  be  an  interested  and  sympa- 
 thetic listener  while  mourners  tell  the  story  of  their 
 grief,  is  much  better  comfort  to  them  than  any  words. 
 When  he  did  speak  he  had  the  rare  art  of  so  speaking 
 as  to  reach  the  heart.  Once  he  was  asked  to  see  a 
 young  widow,  not  of  his  own  congregation,  who  had 
 only  enjoyed  a  few  months  of  wedded  happiness  when 
 her  husband  was  taken  from  her.  She  was  sitting  in 
 a  stony,  tearless  grief,  and  her  friends  had  failed  to 
 rouse  her.     Mr.  Robertson  went  and  sat  clown  by  her 
 
INCIDENTS  IN  VIS  IT  A  TIOX.  1 1  5 
 
 side.  When  at  last  he  spoke  he  said  to  her,  "  I  am 
 sure  you  must  be  most  thankful  that  you  were  married 
 to  him  and  had  these  months  of  happiness."  She  said 
 at  once,  "  O,  why  has  no  one  ever  said  that  to  me 
 before,"  and  then  the  fountain  of  her  tears  was  opened. 
 
 As  he  went  about  among  his  people  he  came  across 
 many  an  incident  which  appealed  to  his  keen  sense  of 
 humour.  On  his  first  visitation  among  the  farmers 
 and  farm-servants  in  the  country,  the  young  scholar, 
 fresh  from  Germany  and  full  of  literary  enthusiasm, 
 was  towards  afternoon  beginning  to  find  the  talk  about 
 the  crops  and  the  cattle  a  little  monotonous.  Enter- 
 ing a  farm  parlour  before  the  master  of  the  house 
 came  to  him,  he  was  delighted  to  find  a  copy  of 
 "  Paradise  Lost "  lying  on  the  table.  He  said  to  him- 
 self, we  shall  get  something  else  to  talk  of  now  ;  and, 
 taking  an  early  opportunity  of  turning  the  conversa- 
 tion, he  said,  "  I  see  you  have  Milton  here.  Are  you  a 
 great  admirer  of  his  poetry  ?  "  "  Ou,  aye,"  was  the 
 reply,  "but  there's  ane  John  Thamson  o'  Kilmarnock 
 that  has  written  some  rale  fine  things  tae."  He  let 
 the  talk  return  into  its  wonted  grooves. 
 
 On  another  occasion,  he  went  on  a  Sunday  evening 
 to  see  a  newly-made  widow,  who  was  not  specially 
 noted  for  regularity  in  her  church  attendance.  He 
 found  her  brother  seated  with  her  when  he  entered. 
 This  brother  was  a  zealous  elder  of  the  Relief  Church, 
 who  was  earnest  that  his  sister's  bereavement  should 
 be  improved  to  her,  and  especially  in  the  matter  of 
 u  observing  ordinances."     The  sister  on  her  part  was 
 
Il6  PASTORAL   WORK. 
 
 as  resolute  that  the  conversation  should  not  be  allowed 
 to  take  an  inconveniently  practical  turn.  And  so,  as 
 Mr.  Robertson,  following  his  usual  course,  was  willing 
 to  be  a  listener,  she  started  certain  difficulties  of  a 
 philosophical  kind,  which  she  said  had  been  perplexing 
 her  very  much  of  late.  One  of  these  was  this — "  What 
 for  had  God  nae  beginnin'  ?  "  "  What  would  ye  bother 
 the  minister  wi'  sic  a  question  as  that  for  ? "  said  the 
 brother  ;  "  it  wad  be  mair  like  ye  if  ye  wad  gang 
 reglar  to  the  kirk  than  tak  up  yer  mind  wi'  nonsense 
 like  that."  "  It's  nae  nonsense,"  said  the  widow,  "  it's 
 a  question  I'm  sair  troubled  wi'.  What  for  had  God 
 nae  beginnin'  ?  I  can  understand  his  havin'  nae  end, 
 for  I  can  think  on  and  on  and  on,  and  no  stop.  But 
 that  He  had  nae  beginnin' — I  canna  get  at  it  ava." 
 11  An  awfu'  like  question  that ! "  exclaimed  the 
 brother  at  last,  losing  all  patience,  "  What  for  had  God 
 nae  beginnin'  ?  For  a  very  good  reason.  He  had  no 
 need  o'  ane  ;  He  was  there  already." 
 
 One  other  feature  of  Mr.  Robertson's  pastoral  work 
 falls  to  be  noted — his  faithfulness  in  the  exercise  of 
 church  discipline.  He  inherited  from  his  father  a 
 high  ideal  of  the  Christian  Church,  and  of  the  conse- 
 cration involved  in  church  membership ;  and,  even 
 when  he  was  a  young  minister,  he  was  never  tempted 
 by  the  desire  for  an  increasing  communion  roll  to 
 lower  his  ideal,  or  to  permit  open  inconsistency  to 
 remain  unvisited  by  censure. 
 
GRO  WING  PO  WER.  I  1 7 
 
 CHAPTER     VII. 
 
 (Srotomg  #otDcr. 
 
 DURING  the  first  decade  of  his  ministry  Mr.  Robertson 
 lived  in  lodgings.  His  three  landladies,  the  Misses 
 Cochrane,  were  enthusiastic  in  his  service,  and  made 
 his  rooms  a  real  home  to  which  his  friends  were  always 
 welcome.  It  was  then  that  he  began  to  dispense  the 
 unstinted  hospitality  for  which  he  was  distinguished 
 to  the  end.  His  early  companions  had  standing 
 invitations  to  visit  him,  of  which  they  did  not  fail  to 
 avail  themselves.  Even  De  Ouincey  plucked  up 
 courage  to  face  the  journey  to  the  west,  that  he  might 
 renew  his  fellowship  with  the  youth  whose  presence 
 had  lightened  the  gloom  of  his  solitary  chamber  in 
 Princes  Street.  It  was  a  grievous  disappointment 
 to  Mr.  Robertson  that  he  missed  him.  De  Quincey 
 came  unannounced.  The  youngest  Miss  Cochrane 
 opened  the  door  to  the  stranger.  His  appear- 
 ance did  not  prepossess  her  in  his  favour,  and  she 
 told  him  curtly  that  the  minister  was  not  at  home. 
 He  offered  to  await  his  return,  but  was  told  that   he 
 
I  1 8  GRO  WING  PO  WER. 
 
 would  not  be  back  that  night.  He  then  proposed  to 
 leave  a  note,  but  the  landlady  dreading  that  the 
 stranger  might  have  felonious  intentions  with  regard 
 to  the  minister's  books,  showed  him  into  a  little  side 
 apartment  with  only  a  table  and  a  chair,  and  fetched 
 him  writing  material — standing  guard  over  him  while 
 he  wrote.  Whether  this  annoyed  him  or  not,  he  tore 
 up  what  he  had  written  and  went  away  somewhat 
 abruptly,  leaving  his  name,  the  foreign  sound  of  which 
 confirmed  her  suspicions.  She  went  into  the  room  of 
 her  eldest  sister  who  then  lay  dying,  and  told  with  no 
 little  satisfaction  how  she  had  disposed  of  the  suspic- 
 ious looking  visitor  with  the  strange  name.  Her  sister, 
 whose  literary  tastes  had  led  her  to  take  an  occa- 
 sional peep  into  the  minister's  books,  recognized  the 
 name  as  known  to  fame.  At  her  request  Gilfillan's 
 "  Gallery  of  Literary  Portraits  "  was  brought,  and  on 
 the  likeness  being  turned  up,  the  self-complacency  gave 
 way  to  self-reproach ;  but  the  distinguished  man, 
 "  whose  picture  was  in  a  book,"  had  gone  beyond 
 recall,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  await  with 
 trembling  the  minister's  return.  The  minister  had  too 
 much  imagination  not  to  fully  appreciate  the  situation, 
 and  pardon  the  well-meant  caution ;  and  an  early  post 
 brought  a  charming  letter  from  De  Ouincey,  in  which 
 he  took  upon  himself  the  whole  blame  of  the  contre- 
 temps, and  said  it  would  not  now  be  so  difficult  for 
 him  to  bestir  himself  to  visit  his  friend,  since  he  had 
 seen  the  "  quaint,  clean,  quiet  old  town."  But  he  never 
 came. 
 
OPINION  OF  STERNE.  1 1 9 
 
 A  friend  who  had  written  to  him  in  these  days  to 
 consult  him  as  to  the  furnishing  of  his  library  received 
 a  reply  from  which  we  make  this  extract  : — 
 
 To  Mr.  John  Ramsay. 
 
 Irvine,  1847. 
 
 Sterne  is  a  blackguard,  morally  speaking;  a  pleasant  enough 
 sort  of  person  in  other  respects.  His  "  Sentimental  Journey  " 
 must,  with  all  its  wickedness,  have  impressed  me  much,  for 
 although  I  have  not  read  it  I  am  sure  for  a  good  many 
 years,  its  successive  stages  and  incidents  are  about  as 
 familiar  as  those  of  our  own  tour  along  the  Rhine.  That 
 monk,  that  imaginary  prisoner,  that  dead  ass,  that  melan- 
 choly girl,  Marie,  I  think,  that  grace  before  meat,  I  am  sure 
 I  shall  never  forget  them  in  this  world.  I  wish  I  may  be 
 able  to  forget  them  in  the  next,  for  there's  a  dash  of  the 
 "earthly,  sensual  and  devilish "  in  them,  that  makes  them 
 unsuitable  companions  for  a  better  world.  It  strikes  me  that 
 Sterne  is  sentimental  at  times — at  least  I  liked  him  extra- 
 vagantly at  that  age  when  /was — when  to  me  Beauty  was  a 
 pale  form,  walking  in  evening  twilight,  crying  into  a  white 
 pocket  handkerchief,  and  dying  of  consumption.  My  ideal 
 has  died  of  its  consumption  and  been  buried  now  some 
 years,  and  instead  of  it,  a  healthy  laughing  girl,  rather 
 inclined  to  be  fat  than  otherwise,  with  more  of  common 
 sense  than  genius,  and  equally  ready  to  give  you  a  kiss  or  a 
 
 box  on  the  ear  as  you  deserve I  should  like  to 
 
 read  Sterne  again.  I  doubt  if  I  should  like  him  so  well 
 now.  If  I  remember  he  has  much  of  that  inimitable 
 pathos  that  is  closely  allied  and  "next-door  neighbour" 
 to  great  humour,  which  are  indeed  but  opposite 
 poles,  positive  and  negative,  of  the  same  thing;  and  the 
 power  of  his  scenes  lies  in  the  mixture  of  the  two,  some- 
 
120  GROWING  POWER. 
 
 thing  as  in  "  Hyperion,"  who  however  is  much  inferior  to 
 Sterne  in  that ;  very  much  as  in  Paul  Richter,  who  is  far 
 superior  to  both  of  them  ;  very  much  as  in  real  life  which  is 
 immensely  superior  to  the  whole  of  them.  But  the  truth  is 
 as  you  will  see  very  well — as  I  might  just  have  said  at  once 
 — I  am  not  prepared  to  give  any  definite  opinion  of  Master 
 Sterne. 
 
 To  another  friend  who  had  written  to  tell  him 
 of  the  death  of  an  infant  daughter,  he  sent  an  answer, 
 which  is  interesting,  not  only  in  itself,  but  as  the  first 
 specimen  we  have  of  a  kind  of  a  letter  which  he  wrote 
 more  frequently  and  more  carefully  than  any  other. 
 The  sorrows  of  his  friends  drew  forth  his  tenderest 
 sympathy.  If  he  could  not  go  to  them  in  their  grief, 
 he  never  failed  to  write.  The  variety  which  we  find 
 in  his  letters  of  consolation  is  marvellous.  He  entered 
 into  all  the  circumstances  and  surroundings  of  each 
 individual  case,  and  thus  sent  letters  which  were  as  cold 
 water  to  souls  thirsting  in  the  wilderness  of  grief.  The 
 recipient  of  one  such  letter  said  to  me,  "  She  would 
 be  a  rebellious  mother  indeed  who  would  not  be  made 
 submissive  by  such  a  letter  as  that." 
 
 To  the  Rev.  Alex.  MacEwen. 
 
 Irvine,  13th  March,  1848. 
 
 Your  "  little  daughter  dead,"  you  say.  Not  dead,  but 
 sleeping.  What  a  brief  waking  for  her,  and  a  long  sleep  ! 
 A  sleep  on  the  cold  bosom  of  earth,  that  shall  yet  unveil 
 her  bosom  and  give  her  forth  again  in  a  second  birth,  most 
 beautiful,    to  die  no   more.       So  you   must   have    thought 
 
SYMPATHY.  121 
 
 when  you  put  her  into  that  black  cradle  for  her  first  and 
 final  sleep. 
 
 Such  an  event  as  that  in  the  mystery  of  human  life  is  surely 
 quite  inexplicable,  except  under  the  light  of  the  gospel. 
 One  may  wonder  why  God  does  not  make  an  angel  at  once, 
 rather  than  a  mortal  to  be  changed  forthwith,  by  death,  into 
 one.  It  must  surely  be  to  honour  the  Lord  His  Son,  by 
 adding  to  the  number  of  His  redeemed,  by  swelling  the 
 retinue  of  palm  branch  bearers,  the  band  of  chorus  singers 
 in  the  temple.  For  children's  voices,  with  their  clear,  sweet 
 trebles,  seem  to  be  wanted  in  that  choir !  God  plants  lilies 
 in  earth's  gardens  that  His  "beloved"  may  go  down  and 
 gather  them,  and  wreathe  them  in  His  chaplet.  God  hides 
 precious  pearls  in  earth's  dark  chambers,  that  the  Saviour  of 
 the  lost  may  seek  them  and  find  them,  and  set  them  to  shine, 
 star-like,  in  His  crown.  For  their  own  sakes,  too,  for 
 there  are  joys  never  to  be  known  but  by  those  that  have 
 tasted  first  the  bitterness  of  sorrow.  The  gate  to  the  very 
 summit  and  to  the  very  heart  of  heaven's  joy  is  Death,  and 
 your  infant  child  has  been  sent  round  to  come  in  by  that 
 gate — has  stooped  a  moment  into  the  sphere  of  sorrow  that 
 she  might  rise  by  the  reaction  into  higher  joy — has  been 
 plunged  a  little  moment  into  grief  that  she  might  come  out 
 of  tribulation  and  have  a  place  "  before  the  throne."  Mys- 
 terious little  stranger  !  She  has  risen  very  quickly  out  of 
 her  baptism  of  sorrow,  and  put  on  her  white  robes  ! 
 
 For  your  own  sake,  too.  If  you  cannot  have  a  daughter 
 living  it  is  much  better  to  have  a  daughter  dead  than  none  ! 
 Let  there  be  no  truth  in  the  fancy  that  departed  babes  be- 
 come guardian  angels,  no  objective  truth,  but  there  is  a 
 great  deal  of  subjective  truth  and  meaning  in  it.  Having 
 laid  up  treasure  in  heaven,  your  first  and  your  only  pearl, 
 where  the  treasure  is  there  will  the  heart  be  also.     .     .     . 
 
122  GROWING  POWER. 
 
 Mr.  Robertson  not  only  kept  up  his  intercourse  with 
 old  friends,  but  was  soon  on  terms  of  brotherly  kind- 
 ness with  his  new  neighbours.  The  ministers  of  the 
 Presbytery,  having  once  had  their  suspicions  of  heresy 
 set  at  rest,  began  to  discover  that  the  minister  ol 
 Irvine,  at  whom  they  had  been  disposed  to  look 
 askance,  was  fast  taking  possession  of  their  hearts. 
 They  carried  home  from  Presbytery  dinners  reports 
 of  his  geniality  and  humour,  till  his  promised  visits  to 
 their  manses  were  looked  forward  to  with  eagerness  ; 
 and  when  at  last  he  arrived,  it  seemed  to  many  of  the 
 young  folks  of  these  manses  as  if  there  had  come  into 
 their  little  worlds  a  sunlight  and  a  music  of  which 
 they  had  not  dreamed  before.  When  he  went  to  assist 
 his  neighbours  at  communions,  the  "  new  atmosphere" 
 that  had  come  into  the  old  church  at  Irvine  spread 
 itself  abroad  over  the  Ayrshire  towns  and  villages. 
 Just  then  a  new  atmosphere  was  needed  ;  for  the  air 
 was  heavy  with  the  smoke  of  the  Morisonian  contro- 
 versy. That  local  incident  in  the  controversy  of  ages 
 had  greatly  exercised  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the 
 good  people  in  the  Secession  Presbytery  of  Kilmar- 
 nock. Those  who  remained  within  the  Church  of  their 
 fathers  had  ranged  themselves  on  two  sides  as  sup- 
 porters of  the  "  old"  and  the  "  new  views"  respectively; 
 while  in  almost  every  district  some  had  withdrawn 
 and  formed  little  communities  adhering  to  Mr.  Mori- 
 son.  To  those  who  heard  Mr.  Robertson  the  all-en- 
 grossing controversy  seemed  to  fall  out  of  sight.  Here 
 was  a  man  whom  neither  side  could  claim.     Pie  led 
 
AYRSHIRE  FRIENDS  AND  NEIGHBOURS.    123 
 
 into  regions  of  thought  in  which  distinctions  between 
 old  and  new  views  somehow  disappeared  ;  and  it  be- 
 gan to  reveal  itself  that  in  Christ  Jesus  neither  old 
 views  nor  new  views  availed  anything.  It  was  noticed 
 that  of  all  considerable  towns  in  the  district,  Irvine 
 was  the  only  one  in  which  there  was  no  attempt  to 
 plant  the  new  sect.  Mr.  Robertson  was  asked  at  a 
 Presbytery  dinner  if  he  could  explain  this.  He  replied 
 that  the  explanation  was  easy  enough — the  people 
 got  all  they  wanted  in  their  own  church,  without  going 
 to  seek  it  elsewhere. 
 
 And  yet,  withal,  the  highest  Calvinists  in  the  Pres- 
 bytery were  his  warm  friends.  There  was  never 
 any  disposition  to  recall  the  early  verdict,  "  That  young 
 man  is  perfectly  orthodox."  Rugged  old  men  like 
 Mr.  Ellis  of  Saltcoats,  and  Mr.  Cairns  of  Stewarton, 
 keen-scented  theologians  like  Mr.  Robertson  of  Kil- 
 maurs,  and  gentle-hearted  dreamers  like  Dr.  Bruce  of 
 Newmilns,  were  at  one  in  their  affection  for  this  new 
 presbyter  who  had  come  among  them.  He,  in  turn, 
 found  delight  in  their  marked  individuality,  and 
 there  was  no  one  who  more  sincerely  mourned  their 
 loss,  as  one  after  another  of  them  was  gathered  to  his 
 fathers. 
 
 In  the  year  1849  his  work  was  interrupted  by  an 
 attack  of  scarlet  fever.  The  first  of  the  following 
 letters  was  written  when  he  was  under  the  fever.  He 
 had  no  recollection  afterwards  that  he  had  written  it. 
 
124  GROWING  POWER. 
 
 Irvine,  Friday  afternoon,  December,  1849. 
 
 My  dear  Father, — As  they  wrote  you  yesterday  by  the 
 doctor's  order,  so  I  write  you  to-day  by  my  own  hand,  to 
 assure  you  of  my  being  better,  almost  quite.  It  was  a  smart 
 attack,  but  brief.  If  none  of  you  have  set  out  for  this,  I 
 think  it  would  not  be  right  for  you  to  do  so  at  this  time  of 
 the  year.  May  God  preserve  all  your  healths  to  you,  as 
 He  is  restoring  mine  to  me,  and  we  shall  both  thank  Him 
 together. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  Alexander   MacEwen. 
 
 Irvine,  18th  January,  1850. 
 
 For  more  than  three  weeks  I  have  been  ill  of  scarlet 
 fever — a  sharp  and  somewhat  dangerous  attack.  For  a  few 
 days  I  was  not  quite  myself.  How  terrible  are  the  wander- 
 ings of  fever  !  What  an  Apocalypse  of  horror  its  burning 
 hand  throws  open  !  The  soul,  like  the  "  spirit "  in  the 
 parable,  wanders  through  dry  places  seeking  rest  and  finding 
 none.  Once  or  twice  I  lost  the  consciousness  of  identity, 
 and  mingled  and  melted  away  into  the  universal  spirit.  I 
 seemed  to  become  the  god  of  Hegelians,  pervading  all 
 things,  yet  evermore  having  a  keen  sense  of  grief  unutter- 
 able. After  a  few  days,  sleep  came — gentle  sleep,  it  was 
 like  music  from  the  lyre  of  David,  disenchanting  the  evil 
 spirit — and  I  awoke  refreshed. 
 
 I  am  now  recovering  slowly,  but  steadily.  Yesterday  I 
 crossed  the  threshold  of  my  prison  for  a  minute  and  breathed 
 the  free  air,  and  though  I  did  not  just  feel  like  the  con- 
 valescent, of  whom  it  is  said  : — 
 
 *'  The  common  air,  the  sun,  the  skies 
 To  him  are  opening  Paradise," 
 
ATTACK  OF  SCARLET  FEVER.  125 
 
 yet    I    feel    greatly   pleased   with     myself    and    with     my 
 exploit     .      .     . 
 
 2\Iy  poor  landlady,  Miss  Cochrane,  who  had  been  very 
 ill  for  some  time,  got  much  worse,  they  say,  with  anxiety 
 about  me.  Perhaps  this  snapped  the  thread  which  was 
 already  worn  and  wasted.  She  died  on  Tuesday  morning 
 peacefully.  The  funeral  has  just  gone  from  the  door.  It 
 snows  heavily  ;  the  black  coffin  and  the  white  snow  remind 
 one  of  the  contrast  between  death  and  glory.  She  was  a 
 good  woman,  and  the  sky  has  resolved  to  clothe  her 
 mourners  in  white. 
 
 To  the  spring-time  of  one  of  these  years  belongs  a 
 carol  which,  thirty  years  later,  he  expanded  and 
 printed  as  a  triptych,  which  may  be  given  as  illus- 
 trating his  Herbert-like  love  of  conceits,  revealed  also 
 in  his  correspondence,  as  for  example  at  the  close  of 
 the  letter  just  quoted.  In  sending  a  copy  of  the  carol 
 to  a  friend,  he  speaks  of  it,  and  of  some  other  verses 
 he  had  previously  sent,  as  "  the  leaves  that  have 
 dropped  in  great  numbers,  in  the  shaded  woods  of 
 the  past — my  Ayrshire  Vallombrosa,"  and  thus  con- 
 tinues : — 
 
 The  triptych  (three  leaved)  written  thirty  years  agor 
 was  made  to  show  how  easily  the  divinest  sacred  history 
 could  be  rendered  into  natural  myth,  which  blockheads  of 
 the  Strauss  school  might  regard  as  all  the  root  or  germ 
 from  which  the  history  had  grown,  and  which  other  block- 
 heads of  the  orthodox  school  might  regard  as  an  irreverent 
 parody  with  a  decided  ritualistic  meaning  and  broad  school 
 significance,  neither  of  them  having  an  ear  to  discern  the 
 hidden  harmonies  that  underlie  all  "nature  and  grace  "  in 
 
126  GROWING  POWER. 
 
 creation  and  redemption,  and  give  a  beauty  (as  of  subtle 
 echoes)  to  the  most  remote  and  delicate,  and  even  fanciful 
 resemblances  betwixt  them. 
 
 Innocent  children  that  belong  to  neither  party  sing  it  to 
 the  pretty  carol  it  is  set  to,  and  for  the  rest  it  was  thrown 
 aside  out  of  sight  of  any  Unintelligent  People,  i.e.  not,  of 
 course,  U.P. 
 
 ©aster  (Echoes. 
 
 I  have  seen  the  buried  corn, 
 Under  ground  in  Spring-time  borne. 
 Rise  with  Christ  on  Easter  morn. 
 
 When  the  sunlights  and  the  rain, 
 To  the  tomb  where  it  has  lain, 
 Coming,  find  it  risen  again. 
 
 Angels  in  those  sunlights  seen  ; 
 While  each  weeping  shower  between 
 Is  a  weeping  Magdalene. 
 
 She  sweet  spices  brings  with  her, 
 For  the  corn  in  sepulchre, 
 But  the  stone  she  cannot  stir. 
 
 Frozen  ground  is  hard  as  stone, 
 Under  which  the  seed  lies  sown, 
 With  the  seal  of  frost  thereon. 
 
 Ne'er  can  rain  pass  with  her  spices, 
 Valued  at  most  costly  prices, 
 Through  the  glittering  guard  of  ices — 
 
 Guard,  with  glittering  shield  and  spear, 
 Keeping  watch  around  the  bier, 
 In  the  moonlight  cold  and  clear ; 
 
EA  S  TER  ECHOES.  I  2  7 
 
 Keeping  watch  till  break  of  day  : 
 And  the  sobbing  sisters  say, 
 Who  shall  roll  the  stone  away  ? 
 
 Lo  !  at  dawn  from  Eastern  skies, 
 God's  strong  Angel,  Morning,  flies, 
 With  his  flashing,  flaming  eyes, 
 
 When  the  keepers  fall  as  slain, 
 Seal  and  stone  are  all  in  vain ; 
 The  dead  corn  is  up  again. 
 
 From  its  husk  and  winding  sheet, 
 Where,  behold  at  head  and  feet, 
 Sunlights  twain  have  ta'en  their  seat. 
 
 And  those  shining  sunlights  twain 
 Tell  the  weeping,  sobbing  rain, 
 The  dead  corn  is  risen  again. 
 
 So  the  Christ,  and  so  the  corn, 
 Under  ground  in  Spring-time  borne, 
 Rise  again  on  Easter  morn  ! 
 
 As  he  cultivated  the  art  of  writing  verses,  the  habit 
 so  grew  upon  him,  that  in  the  preparation  of  his  ser- 
 mons his  thoughts  often  took  rhythmic  form.  This 
 was  the  origin  of  the  lines  he  entitled,  "Able  to  Save." 
 They  are  really  part  of  a  sermon  on  Hebrews  vii.  25, 
 which  was  preached  in  the  winter  of  1 850.  The 
 second  last  couplet  was  added  in  1858,  in  which  year 
 Donati's  comet  was  visible  on  many  successive  nights. 
 With  reference  to  these  early  verses,  he  thus  wrote  in 
 1884  to  a  friend — the  same  to  whom  he  had  sent  the 
 carol — who  had  asked  leave  to  print  them  : — 
 
128  GROWING  POWER. 
 
 They  were  broken  off  from  a  sermon  on  "  Christ  able 
 to  save,"  out  of  which  they  had  flowed  in  the  preaching,  as 
 not  seldom  with  me  in  old  Irvine  a  song  did  flow  out  of  a 
 sermon,  when  at  a  certain  heat  the  speech  would  boil  up, 
 or  rather  the  glacier,  descending,  melt  down  when  crossing 
 the  snow  line,  into  a  stream  of  rhyme  ;  which  stream  most 
 commonly  (like  that  which  issues  from  the  mountain  ice) 
 flowed  brown  and  turbid,  and  filled  with  rolling  stones  from 
 the  debris  and  the  moraine  above,  so  that  it  could  seldom 
 afford  to  be  severed  (as  those  lines  can)  from  the  sermon  it 
 belonged  to.  For  which  reason  few  of  these  things  have 
 gone  out  into  the  world  by  permission,  nor  have  they  been 
 collected  and  sent  out  How  little  that  is  spoken  is  worth 
 the  printing — how  much  less  that  is  printed  is  worth  the 
 speaking?  Amid  the  more  than  tropical  luxuriance — of 
 weeds  mostly  in  these  days — I  really  am  not  ambitious  of 
 adding  to  the  wilderness  and  undergrowth  of  hymns  and 
 other  such  herbs.  I  subscribe  to  the  horticultural,  but  never 
 exhibit  except  in  my  own  garden 
 
 ^Vblc  to  <Sabr. 
 
 A  lowly  Man, — He  takes  my  sins,  and  bears  the  heavy  load  ; 
 A  lowly  Man, — He  takes  my  hand,  and  leads  me  up  the  road  ; 
 And  when  I  know  the  lowly  Man  is  my  Creator,  God  ! 
 Oh  !   this  has  solved  much  darksome  speech,  and    loosed 
 
 tongues  that  were  dumb  ; 
 For  all  creation  round  me  now  a  gospel  has  become, 
 And  what  had  seemed  to  me,  before,  mere  wild  confused  Babel 
 Isnowanre-tongued  Pentecost,  proclaiming  "Christ  is  able." 
 
 The  thunders  in  the  crashing  skies  announce  it  as  they  roll, 
 The  lightnings  on  the  black  storm  wall  write  it  in  lurid  scroll, 
 And  stars  repeat  it  down  the  dark,  in  mystic  gleaming  light, 
 The  Urim  and  the  Thummim  on  the  breastplate  of  the  night. 
 
DISSOLVED  SERMONS.  1 29 
 
 And  strong  Orion  shouts  to  me,  what  slumbered  in  old  fable, 
 And  echoes  from  eternal  night- vaults  answer  ''Christ  is  able !" 
 And  comet,  cresting  bended  heavens,  wafts  echo  to  the  word, 
 Like  waving  white  plumes  in  the  star-mailed  helmet  of  the 
 
 Lord  ; 
 For  all  creation  its  evangels  utters  forth  abroad 
 In  man's  ear,  when  I  know  in  truth  my  Saviour  Christ  is 
 
 God. 
 
 To  the  same  period  (1850)  belong  the  following 
 verses,  which  had  evidently  a  similar  origin.  In  send- 
 ing them  to  a  friend  in  Mentone,  when  he  was  residing 
 there  in  1872,  he  prefixed  this  note  : — 
 
 In  the  fourth  century  Ephraim  the  Syrian  used  to  preach 
 in  metre.  So  did  mediaeval  preachers  frequently.  Dean 
 Ramsay  (in  his  "  Pulpit  Text  Book  ")  asks  why  clergymen 
 may  not  do  so  still  ?  Why  not  ?  asks  the  pew  opener.  She 
 will  try  it  herself.  She  has  a  habit  of  dissolving  the  sermon 
 in  part,  after  hearing  it,  into  rhyme.  She  did  so  last  Sunday. 
 Take  the  text  1  Cor.  vii.  29-31  and  try.  "  The  time  is  short." 
 Literally,  compressed — shut  in — by  the  expected  second 
 coming.  "It  remaineth  therefore,"  etc.,  "for  the  fashion" 
 i.e.,  stage  scenery,  "  of  this  world  passeth  away." 
 
 (Stage  cSccncvg. 
 
 Scenery,  nothing  more  I  ween, 
 Painted  on  a  shifting  screen, 
 Painted  river,  wood  and  hill, 
 Painted  city,  sun  and  star, 
 Things  that  rather  seem  than  are — 
 Nothing  real — hearts  to  fill, 
 Mere  illusion  for  the  eye, 
 Stage  play  and  stage  scenery  ! 
 
130  GROWING  POWER. 
 
 Stage  griefs  are  not  really  sad, 
 Stage  joys  are  not  really  glad, 
 Real  bargains  are  not  made 
 On  the  streets  of  masquerade. 
 Crown'd  kings,  when  the  play  is  ended, 
 Lay  aside  their  robes  of  pride, 
 Sceptred,  throned,  and  slave-attended, 
 Yet  poor  men  enough  outside. 
 
 Weddings  on  the  stage  !     No  !     Both 
 Bride  and  bridegroom  plight  their  troth, 
 Endless  as  the  ring  between  : 
 Yet  full  soon  the  marriage  oath 
 Comes  dissolved  behind  the  screen  ; 
 For  these  stage  brides  are  not  wed. 
 And  their  dead,  too,  are  not  dead, 
 Though  across  the  stage  with  pall 
 Sadly  borne  by  mourners  all 
 In  a  doleful  funeral  ! 
 
 Then — "  the  time  is  short  " — the  time 
 Shut  in  by  a  second  coming, 
 Deeds  of  long  years,  deeds  sublime 
 In  a  little  night  play  summing, 
 And  droll  little  Pantomime 
 Playful  plucks,  in  passing  by, 
 Thy  black  robe  !  grim  Tragedy  ! 
 
 On — the  mystic  drama  moving — 
 Hoping;  fearing,  hating,  loving, 
 And  the  angel  over  all, 
 With  the  trump  of  God  down-bending, 
 At  whose  blast  the  screen  shall  fall, 
 And  another  curtain  rending, 
 
STAGE  SCEXERY.  13 1 
 
 'Twixt  the  seeming  and  the  true, 
 Brings  the  Eternal  Real  to  view  ! 
 
 How.  then,  does  the  lesson  run  ? 
 "  Having  wives  as  having  none. 
 Weeping  as  not  weeping  be, 
 And  rejoice  not  merrily. 
 
 "  Buy — thy  grasp  on  bought  things  loosing, 
 
 Use  this  world  as  not  abusing  :  " 
 
 For,  as  actors  well  should  know, 
 
 It  is  all  mere  passing  show — 
 
 Passing  show,  and  seeming  all, 
 
 And  the  curtain  soon  to  fall 
 
 On  things  seen  and  temporal  ! 
 
 Weep  !  weep  truly,  for  dead  souls. 
 Lest  when  bell  of  judgment  tolls. 
 Darkness,  with  her  hearse  and  pall, 
 Gives  them  dismal  funeral  : 
 For  the  rest  refrain  from  weeping, 
 For  they  are  not  dead  but  sleeping. 
 
 Rachel  weeps  no  more  at  Rama 
 In  the  last  act  of  the  drama, 
 For  her  children's  shroud  and  clay 
 Are  the  things  that  pass  away. 
 
 He  sent  to  the  same  friend,  at  the  same  time,  another 
 copy  of  verses  of  early  and  probably  similar  origin, 
 prefixing  the  words  : — 
 
 With  such  plain  chant  the  Ritualist  pew  opener  ventures 
 to  go  on,  in  measure  without  measure. 
 
132  GROWING  POWER. 
 
 "£t(Dtmcto£hiss." 
 
 Passing  !  all  tilings  come  to  pass, 
 As  we  often  thoughtless  say — 
 Generations  are  like  grass, 
 And  our  fathers  !  where  are  they  ? 
 Cross'd  the  stage,  and  passed  away. 
 Marriages  have  come  to  pass, 
 Funerals  have  not  come  to  stay, 
 Nothing  ever  comes  to  stay, 
 All  things  only  "  come  to  pass." 
 
 On — flows  the  phantasmal  river. 
 Passing  always — pausing  never, 
 Joys  and  sorrows,  mingled  ever. 
 Bridal  dresses  glancing  white, 
 And  black  hearses  plumed  in  night  ; 
 Now  red  lips  and  laughing  eyes, 
 Now  clasped  hands  and  bitter  cries, 
 Now  the  ringing  of  sweet  bells, 
 Now  the  tolling  of  deep  knells 
 With  most  sorrowful  farewells. 
 On — flows  the  phantasmal  river, 
 Passing  always — pausing  never ! 
 
 Pausing  never  ! — like  the  stream, 
 And  yet  pausing — like  the  beam 
 Shining  with  a  steady  gleam, 
 Shining  in  that  running  stream. 
 
 For  amidst  this  whirl  and  flow, 
 In  which  all  things  come  and  go, 
 What  remaineth  ?   Lord,  'tis  Thou  \ 
 In  Thine  Everlasting  Now  ! 
 
"IT  CAME  TO  PASS.r'  1 33 
 
 Though  the  days  are  passing  ever, 
 Yet  "  to-day  "  departeth  never  : 
 And  though  withereth  the  grass, 
 Grass  anew  the  fields  are  giving  ; 
 And  though  men — men  come  to  pass, 
 Yet  "  the  man  "  is  always  living. 
 Liveth  the  Divine  Ideal. 
 And  the  ideal  shapes  the  real ; 
 And  the  rest  is  shadow,  all 
 Passing  and  phantasamal. 
 Liveth  the  creating  Word 
 Of  the  I  am, — of  the  Lord, — 
 Who  amidst  all  change  is  true, 
 Evermore  makes  all  things  new  ! 
 
 It  was  about  the  same  date  that  Mr.  Robertson 
 delivered  his  first  public  lecture,  and  thus  entered  on 
 a  department  of  service  in  which  he  peculiarly  ex- 
 celled. His  power  as  a  lecturer  was  not  attained 
 without  great  labour.  He  was  at  pains  to  make  him- 
 self thoroughly  master  of  his  subject,  and  in  the  con- 
 struction of  his  lectures  he  gave  full  play  to  that 
 dramatic  power  which,  as  those  who  knew  his  preach- 
 ing are  aware,  he  did  not  restrain  even  in  his  sermons. 
 He  was  not  content  with  one  writing,  but  re-cast  and 
 re-wrote  from  time  to  time,  so  that  there  are  extant, 
 fragments  of  many  versions.  As  in  the  descriptive 
 passages  of  his  sermons,  he  seemed  to  be  telling  what 
 he  was  vividly  seeing — nay,  he  often  seemed  to  be 
 himself  the  actor  in  the  events  he  was  picturing. 
 
 The  subject  of  his  earliest  lecture  was  "  German 
 Student  Life,"  for  which,  as  we  have  seen,   he  had 
 
134  GROWING  POWER. 
 
 ample    material    in    his    note-books.      The    lecture 
 opened    with    a    life-like    picture    of    the    Rev.    Mr. 
 Burgher's     manse,    at    the    tea-table    of    which    the 
 crood    minister,   with   the   aid    of  Mrs.    Burgher,  and 
 Uncle  Antiburgher,  the  elder,  discusses  with  his  son 
 John,   a    student    of   theology,   a   project  which   has 
 come  into  the  head  of  the  said  John,  to  complete  his 
 studies  at  a  German  university.     Then  came   a  de- 
 scription  of  "  how  things  have  gone   in    Lutherland 
 since  the  Reformation  era,"  illustrated  by  a  conversa- 
 tion between  the  lecturer  and  a  German  student — a 
 disciple  of  the  Hegelianism   of  the  left — with  a  most 
 vivid  description  of  the  mountain  pass  in  the  High 
 Alps   where  the  conversation  took  place,  and  of  the 
 incidents  that  befell  as  it  proceeded.     This  was  fol- 
 lowed by  a  picture  of  the  BurscJi,  leaving  the  Pfarr- 
 haus,    the    German     manse — which     a    few    touches 
 brought  before  the  audience — and  approaching  Halle 
 by  the  Leipsic  road.    Then  his  characteristics  were  set 
 forth,    and    he   was    shown    at    work    as  ''he    stands 
 at    his   writing  desk  enwrapped   in   his  long  Schlaf- 
 1-ock,  and  the   long   pipe  depending    from    his   lips." 
 The  audience  were  invited  to  follow  the  BurscJi  as, 
 "  exchanging  his  pipe  for  a  cigar,  his  dressing  gown 
 for  his  velveteen,  he  sallies  forth  to  hear  the  lectures." 
 They  were   led   to  the   university,  and  in  succession 
 into  the  class  rooms  of  Gesenius,  Wegscheider,  Erd- 
 mann,   Heinrich,   Miiller,  and   Tholuck.     Then   back 
 with  the  Bursch  to  dinner,  and  out  with  him  again 
 to   church   on    Sunday,   where   the   Lutheran   service 
 
LECTURES.  135 
 
 proceeds  and  Tholuck  preaches.  They  had  even  a 
 glimpse  into  the  Sunday  evening-  theatre  to  which 
 he  goes,  and  into  the  concert  room,  and  the  ora- 
 torios at  St.  Ulrich's,  where  he  finds  better  influences 
 to  guide  him.  They  were  introduced  to  Louisa,  the 
 Bursctis  betrothed,  and  overheard  a  conversation 
 between  the  lovers  as  to  the  mysteries  of  the 
 Hegelian  philosophy,  which  closed  with  a  song  by 
 Louisa,  and  answering  verse  of  Schiller  by  the 
 Bursch.  Then  followed  a  most  marvellous  descrip- 
 tion of  the  BurscJis  funeral  (for  "  there  are  two  doors 
 to  go  out  by  from  the  University — the  door  of  doc- 
 torship  and  the  door  of  death  "),  attended  by  a 
 torch  procession  ;  and  the  lecture  closed  with  a 
 hopeful  outlook  on  the  future  of  the  religious  life  of 
 Germany. 
 
 Another  lecture,  prepared  somewhat  later,  was  on 
 "  Poetry."  Taking  the  well-known  line  from  Collins' 
 Passion  Ode, 
 
 "  Palo  melancholy  sat  retired," 
 
 he  showed  how  that  could  be  expressed  equally  well 
 by  Canova  in  sculpture,  by  Coreggio  in  painting,  by 
 Beethoven  in  music,  and  by  William  of  Wykeham  in 
 architecture,  there  being  the  three  fixed  and  the  two 
 flowing  arts  that  are  in  essence  the  same.  He  then 
 discussed  the  question,  What  is  poetry  ?  He  showed 
 that  it  is  not  mere  rhyme  or  rhythm  ;  neither  is  it 
 mere  imitation,  or  copying  after  nature  ;  it  is  creation 
 ■ — fictitious  creation,  which  has  the  power  of  giving  life 
 
I  36  GEO  WING  PO  WER. 
 
 to  its  creations,  and  the  exercise  of  which  is  lawful, 
 but  limited  by  reality,  reason,  and  revelation.  Prepared 
 originally  for  an  Ayrshire  audience,  some  of  the  most 
 striking  illustrations  of  the  successive  points  of  the 
 lecture  are  taken  from  Burns  and  "  that  fearful  rider 
 Tarn,"  who,  though  "  Burns  is  dead  and  buried  in 
 Dumfries  kirkyard,  still  lives,  and  must  hold  on  to 
 ride  so  long  as  this  strange  life  of  ours  can  sport  with 
 its  own  misery,  and  blaze  out  rockets  of  wild,  drunken 
 laughter  upon  the  very  night  of  its  terrible  despair." 
 
 In  a  lighter  department  of  service,  Mr.  Robertson 
 early  acquired  a  great  reputation  among  the  Ayr- 
 shire churches,  and  latterly,  alas !  for  his  health  and 
 peace  of  mind,  in  more  distant  places.  As  a  speaker 
 at  church  soirees,  he  had  a  unique  power  of  combin- 
 ing serious  instruction  and  stimulating  address,  with 
 the  sparkling  fun  that  never  failed  to  set  the  tables  in 
 a  roar.  As  the  fun  generally  came  first,  and  was, 
 moreover,  the  part  of  his  speeches  most  interesting  to 
 the  gentlemen  of  the  press,  it  happened  that  often  in 
 the  reports  of  such  gatherings,  the  minister  of  Irvine 
 was  represented  only  by  a  succession  of  jokes  or 
 mirth-moving  anecdotes  ;  but  in  reality  he  never  did 
 speak  on  such  occasions  without  leaving  a  deep  and 
 profitable  impression.  A  favourite  theme  was  the 
 seven  departments  oi  Christian  service,  set  forth  in 
 Romans  xii.  6-8,  which  he  likened  to  the  seven 
 branches  of  the  golden  candlestick  in  the  temple — 
 the  prophets  or  singers,  the  ministers  or  managers 
 the  teachers,  the  exhorters  or  preachers,  the  givers, 
 
CALL  TO  GLASGOW.  137 
 
 the  rulers  or  elders,  and  the  mercy  showers,  or 
 deacons,  Dorcas  visitors,  and  the  like.  Often  he 
 never  got  beyond  the  "prophets,"  for  he  deemed  it  one 
 of  his  special  callings  in  the  church  to  seek  to  im- 
 prove the  service  of  worship.  At  other  times  he 
 would  give  peculiar  prominence  to  the  givers,  and  to 
 the  apostolic  exhortation  addressed  to  them,  that  they 
 should  give  "  with  simplicity,"  on  which  he  based  a 
 condemnation  of  bazaars  and  such  like  devices  for 
 raising  money. 
 
 Gradually  his  fame  spread  beyond  his  own  neigh- 
 bourhood, to  the  great  cities,  and  wherever  he  went 
 to  preach,  crowds  gathered  to  hear  him.  In  Glasgow, 
 especially,  where  there  is  a  close  connection  with 
 Ayrshire,  he  early  attained  popularity,  and  in  185 1  a 
 strenuous  effort  was  made  to  get  him  to  accept  a  city 
 charge.  The  congregation  of  Shamrock  Street  which 
 called  him  was  an  extension  charge,  founded  to  meet 
 the  wants  of  a  growing  population  in  the  north-west 
 of  Glasgow,  and  offered  as  eligible  a  sphere  of  labour 
 as  any  hard  working  minister  could  desire.  The 
 church  was  so  situated  that  it  had  rich  and  poor 
 within  easy  reach  on  either  hand.  Among  its  pro- 
 minent office-bearers  were  some  of  Mr.  Robertson's 
 earliest  friends.  Great,  therefore,  was  the  anxiety 
 among  the  people  in  Irvine  lest  they  should  be 
 deprived  of  the  minister  who  had  taken  such 
 hold  of  their  hearts.  The  comings  and  goings  of 
 Glasgow  deputations  were  eagerly  watched,  and  the 
 face  of  the  minister  was  scanned  for  any  indication  of 
 
1 3 8  GROWING  PO WER. 
 
 what  his  decision  was  likely  to  be.  But  he  showed 
 no  sign  to  relieve  the  anxiety  of  his  flock,  nor  were 
 the  Glasgow  deputations  mere  successful.  It  is  told 
 that  one  of  these  deputations,  of  which  the  old 
 friend  of  his  boyhood,  Mr.  John  Logan,  was  a 
 member,  having  spent  hours  in  vainly  trying  to  get 
 from  him  some  word  of  hope,  were  at  last  leaving  by 
 the  train,  and  Mr.  Robertson  was  seeing  them  off; 
 Mr.  Logan  put  his  head  out  at  the  carriage  window, 
 and  said,  "Good-bye,  you're  a  queer  fish,  Willie"; 
 to  which  he  replied,  "  And  you're  a  queerer  fisher, 
 John." 
 
 On  the  day  of  the  decision — which,  according  to 
 Presbyterian  order,  had  to  be  given  at  a  meeting  of 
 Presbytery  at  Kilmarnock — omnibuses  were  hired, 
 and  all  the  members  of  the  Irvine  congregation  who 
 could  leave  their  employments  attended  the  meeting. 
 When  his  resolution  to  remain  with  them  was  de- 
 clared, and  the  call  which  had  disturbed  their  peace 
 was  set  aside,  their  joy  knew  no  bounds.  Meetings 
 were  held  for  thanksgiving— in  which  it  is  remem- 
 bered that  an  old  elder  prayed  that  the  Glasgow  con- 
 gregation might  be  forgiven  for  their  covetousness  ; 
 poems  were  written  and  printed,  and  resolutions 
 were  adopted  to  give  substantial  evidence  of  the 
 gratitude  which  filled  the  good  people's  hearts. 
 Among  other  additions  to  his  comfort,  it  was  deter- 
 mined to  build  a  manse,  that  he  might  be  no  longer 
 a  mere  lodger,  but  an  accredited  householder  among 
 them. 
 
LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE.  139 
 
 CHAPTER     VIII. 
 X\U  in  th*  ^f&anse. 
 
 IN  the  early  summer  of  1S52,  the  year  following  his 
 refusal  of  the  call  to  Glasgow,  Mr.  Robertson  was 
 sent  to  preach  in  London.  This  was  his  first  professional 
 visit  to  the  metropolis,  where,  as  in  other  districts  of 
 England,  he  was  ultimately  recognized  as  one  of  the 
 most  powerful  of  Presbyterian  preachers.  On  this 
 occasion  his  appointment  was  to  Albion  Chapel, 
 London  Wall,  an  old  centre  of  Presbyterianism  now 
 swept  away. 
 
 His  autumn  holiday  that  year  was  spent  in  Switzer- 
 land, his  travelling  companions  being  his  old  friends 
 John  Logan  and  Alexander  Anderson,  who  were  both 
 office-bearers  of  the  congregation  whose  call  he  had 
 declined,  and  Mr.  Smith  of  Hamilfield,  a  prominent 
 member  of  the  Irvine  church. 
 
 On  his  return  he  set  himself  to  a  kind  of  work  which 
 he  could  seldom  be  induced  to  undertake.  The  Synod 
 of  the  United  Presbyterian  Church  had,  in  the  May  of 
 that  year,  sanctioned  a  collection  of  hymns  for  use  in 
 
140  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 public  worship,  and  Mr.  Robertson  consented  to  review 
 
 the  book  in  a  series  of  articles  in  the  denominational 
 
 Magazine.       The    first    of    the    series    appeared    in 
 
 November,  1852.     Its  most  memorable  passage  is  a 
 
 footnote  in  which  he  expresses  strong  doubts  as  to  the 
 
 propriety  of  versifying  the  Psalter.     He  asks,  "  How 
 
 could  Rouse,  Sternhold,  Tate,  or  any   man  however 
 
 gifted,  succeed  in  discoursing  the  varied  and  ever- 
 ts '  o 
 
 changing  music  of  the  many-stringed  lyre  of  inspir- 
 ation on  the  solitary  string  of  a  quatrain  stanza  ?" 
 
 Of  the  further  articles  projected  only  one  appeared. 
 It  was  published  in  April,  1853,  under  the  title,  "  On 
 Praising  God  in  Hymns,"  and  contains  the  germs  of 
 many  lectures  and  addresses  afterwards  delivered  on 
 his  favourite  theme  of  church  music. 
 
 Meanwhile  the  manse,  which  his  congregation  had 
 resolved  to  build  in  token  of  their  gratitude  that  he 
 had  not  left  them,  was  approaching  completion  ;  and 
 he  was  busy  making  the  necessary  preparations  for 
 entering  it. 
 
 He  had  such  horror  of  the  initial  letters  "  U.P.,"  to 
 which  common  usage  had  reduced  the  somewhat 
 unmeaning  name  of  the  Church  of  his  fathers,  that  to 
 avoid  the  otherwise  inevitable  designation  "  U.P. 
 Manse,"  he  resolved  to  give  the  house  a  name,  and  so 
 he  called  it  "  Ravensbrook."  There  was  a  Ravens- 
 croft  not  far  away,  and  the  rookeries  in  Eglinton 
 woods  sent  enough  of  crows  across  the  plain  to  justify 
 the  former  part  of  the  name  ;  but  his  friends  were 
 puzzled   to  know  where  he  found  the  "brook."     He 
 
PREPARA  TION  FOR  ENTERING.  1 4 1 
 
 was  quick  to  defend  himself  by  pointing  to  a  slow- 
 runnel,  which  crosses  the  road  at  a  little  distance 
 from  the  manse  gate,  and  which  a  tradition,  preserved 
 in  the  name  "  The  Minister's  Cast,"  says  was  cut  by 
 good  David  Dickson,  for  the  drainage  of  the  waste 
 land  on  Irvine  moor. 
 
 To  His  Younger  Sister. 
 
 IRVINE,  17th  January,  1853. 
 
 Miss has  a  laburnum  in  her  garden  called  Mary 
 
 destined  to  be  transplanted  into  the  manse  garden — 
 
 and  she  is  now  ready  for  transplanting.  The  spring  is. 
 almost  in  sight  and  I  can  scarcely  tell  you  how  busy  I  am 
 with  planning  and  counterplanning  shrubbery,  gravel  and 
 grass  walks,  belts  of  limes  and  poplars,  ivy  screens  for 
 Major  Todd's  old  wall,  climbing  rose  and  clematis  rails, 
 etc.  I  wish  I  had  Andrew's  ingenuity  or  the  loan  of  it  for 
 six  weeks.  The  manse  is  nearly  ready  for  habitation  .  .  . 
 You  mind  old  Jean  in  the  back  court — the  "  old  witch  ?  " 
 She  died  yesterday — strange  old  creature  !  She  was  afraid 
 she  would  die  of  want,  and  to  save  a  little  money  half 
 starved  herself  and  brought  on  illness.  Palsy  with  its 
 hammer  struck  her — felled  her  like  an  ox,  and  they  found 
 her  the  other  morning,  lying  half  dead  on  her  cold  hearth- 
 stone. Great  quantities  of  unused  clothing  were  found  in 
 her  house  and  between  one  and  two  hundred  pounds  ! 
 The  neighbours  agreed  to  use  the  money  in  getting  for  her 
 soups  and  wines,  and  all  such  things  as  the  doctor  ordered, 
 and  old  Jean  partook  of  them  very  heartily,  under  the 
 idea  that  her  neighbours  had  provided  them,  and  seemed 
 recovering  fast  till,  wakening  up  her  attendant  two  mornings 
 since  at  2  a.m.  to  ask  after  her  monev.  she  was  stunned  to  hear 
 
142  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 that  she  had  been  eating  and  drinking  her  "ain  siller" — 
 and  so  shocked  was  she  that  she  swooned  away  and  died 
 ■soon  after.  What  a  mystery  is  human  life  and  character  ! 
 Queer  specimen  of  it  this  !  I  tried  again  and  again  to  speak 
 to  her  of  the  most  solemn  things,  but  her  heart  was  sheathed 
 in  gold  and  silver ;  and  let  no  one  defer  these  matters  till  the 
 last  ! 
 
 At  the  beginning  of  summer  he  took  possession  of  his 
 new  home,  and  Isabella,  the  elder  of  his  two  surviving 
 •sisters,  came  to  live  with  him.  Her  coming  brought  an 
 element  of  peculiar  grace  and  tenderness  into  his  life. 
 She  was  his  equal  in  grasp  of  mind,  and  in  that  love 
 of  the  beautiful  in  poetry  and  music  for  which  he  was 
 distinguished ;  yet  she  was  so  shrinkingly  modest  that 
 the  casual  visitor  would  never  discover  that  she  had  any 
 other  qualities  than  those  which  were  revealed  in  the 
 quietness  and  dignity  and  refinement  with  which  she 
 ordered  the  house.  The  relation  between  the  brother 
 and  sister  was  very  beautiful ;  and  as  the  years  passed 
 with  their  joy  and  sorrow  their  lives  were  linked 
 together  by  sacred  bonds. 
 
 He  had  the  delight  of  receiving  his  mother — whose 
 health  had  been  causing  him  anxiety  in  the  earlier 
 months  of  the  year — as  one  of  his  first  visitors  in  the 
 manse.  Her  presence  gave  him  the  deeper  sympathy 
 with  his  fellow-student,  William  Barlas,  and  his  brothers 
 and  sisters,  in  the  sudden  death  of  their  mother  of 
 which  intimation  had  reached  him  when  he  was  on 
 a  preaching  tour  in  Ireland 
 
HIS  SISTER  AND  MOTHER.  143 
 
 To  Mr.  James  Barlas. 
 
 Irvine,  ioth  September,  1853. 
 
 Accept,  dear  friends,  my  sympathy,  which  though  belated 
 in  the  expression  of  it,  is  not  assuredly  the  less  sincere. 
 Though  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  lose  a  mother  (God 
 grant  that  sorrow  may  be  long  postponed),  I  look  up  to  her 
 across  the  table  where  she  is  sitting  now  quietly  knitting,  and 
 try  to  fancy  for  a  moment  how  awfully  distressing  it  would 
 be,  to  see  that  calm  face  which  for  more  than  thirty  years, 
 since  first  it  hung  radiant  with  maternal  love  over  my  cradle, 
 has  always  seemed  to  me  the  sweetest  and  most  expressive 
 in  the  world — to  see  it  muffled  up  in  the  white  veil !  No  I 
 cannot  think  of  it,  and  if  the  very  thought  be  so  repulsive, 
 what  must  it  have  been  to  you  to  have  it  realized 
 
 His  first  year  in  the  manse  was  like  all  the  years 
 that  followed  it  in  one  particular.  He  was  never  with- 
 out visitors.  Thomas  Aird,  the  author  of  "  The  Devil's 
 Dream,"  and  of  the  charming  idyllic  sketches  collected 
 under  the  title,  "  An  Old  Bachelor  in  a  Scottish 
 Village,"  came  to  join  George  Gilfillan  of  Dundee, 
 and  John  Cairns,  then  of  Berwick,  round  his  table.  In 
 some  interesting  reminiscences  of  these  years  the  Rev. 
 John  Kirkwood  of  Troon,  says  : — 
 
 Dr.  Robertson  was  specially  kind  to  the  younger  brethren 
 ordained  in  his  neighbourhood,  and  friendships  were  formed 
 with  some  of  us  which  lasted  through  life.  Soon  after 
 our  settlement  we  were  asked  to  take  part  in  some  service 
 that  we  might  become  mutually  acquainted.  My  first  oppor- 
 tunity was,  I  think,  the  evening  of  a  Fast-day,  when  I 
 preached  for  him  ;  for  that  ordinance  which  has  now  ceased 
 
M4  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 altogether  amongst  us  was  then  consecrated  by  three  diets 
 of  worship.  That  was  to  me  the  beginning  of  nights.  I 
 learned  then  that  an  "  evening  "  with  Robertson  embraced 
 nearly  all  the  hours  of  darkness,  and  yet  always  seemed  too 
 short.  His  flashes  of  genius  and  humour  were  a  new  revela- 
 tion to  me ;  and  yet  he  was  perfectly  brotherly,  putting  me 
 at  once  on  a  footing  of  equality. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  John  Kirkwood. 
 
 Irvine,  26th  September,  1853. 
 
 Thursday  evening  first,  at  six  o'clock,  we  have  a  conver- 
 sazione of  Sabbath  school  teachers  at  my  house.  If  you 
 are  not  better  occupied  I  shall  be  glad  to  introduce  them  to 
 you,  and  to  get  better  acquainted  with  you  myself.  The 
 form  of  the  meeting  is  quite  extemporaneous.  The  chief 
 elements  are  tea,  music,  and  palaver — the  latter  conversa- 
 tional only,  not  oratorical.  You  might  enjoy  yourself,  and 
 would  certainly  help  to  increase  our  joy. 
 
 Mr.  Kirkwood  remembers  that  "several  had  pre- 
 pared speeches  for  the  occasion,  but  whether  from  the 
 novelty  of  the  circumstances  or  from  inexperience 
 there  were  a  few  breaks  down.  The  genial  way  in 
 which  Robertson  helped  them  through,  removing  all  re- 
 straint, and  making  every  one  feel  at  home,  was  a  study 
 and  a  model.  When  the  company  departed  the  richest 
 treat  remained  in  the  private  chat  till  morning." 
 
 In  the  year  1854  he  published  specially  for  the  use 
 of  his  own  Sunday  schools  a  collection  of  hymns  for 
 children  and  teachers  under  the  title  "  Hosanna.v  In 
 the  preface  he  says  : — 
 
HYMN  BOOK  FOR  CHILDREN.  1 45 
 
 It  may  be  thought  that  a  somewhat  severe  taste  has 
 governed  the  selection,  to  the  exclusion  of  some  well-known 
 children's  melodies ;  but  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  good 
 hymns  for  children  are  something  else  than  hymns  for  adults 
 written  after  a  childish  manner. 
 
 He  was  much  exercised  by  the  writing  of  this 
 preface.  Then,  and  to  the  close  of  his  life,  it  was  only 
 by  a  great  effort  that  he  could  bring  himself  to  prepare 
 anything  for  publication.  For  about  six  months  before 
 the  hymn  book  appeared,  he  constantly  pleaded  the 
 writing  of  the  preface  as  an  excuse  for  not  visiting  his 
 friends.  Great  was  their  amusement  to  find,  when  at 
 last  the  book  appeared,  that  the  preface  extended  to 
 some  thirty-two  lines  ! 
 
 The  collection  has  long  been  out  of  print,  but  it 
 will  bear  favourable  comparison  with  any  that  has  since 
 appeared.  It  is  manifest  that  the  compiler  had  a  high 
 ideal,  and  that  he  was  seeking  gradually  to  educate 
 the  Church  in  Scotland  to  a  worthier  service  of  praise. 
 It  was  in  this  little  volume  that  he  gave  his  earliest 
 translation  of  the  "Dies  Irse,"  a  fuller  version  of 
 which  was  included  in  the  Presbyterian  Hymnal  of 
 1876. 
 
 At  the  close  of  1855  he  was  called  to  bear  the  great 
 loss,  the  very  thought  of  which  had  so  distressed  him 
 two  years  before.  His  mother  died  on  7th  December, 
 aged  68  years.  The  trial  was  the  greater  that  he  was 
 suffering  from  an  attack  of  gastric  fever,  and  could  not 
 see  her  during  the  closing  weeks  of  her  life,  or  be  pre- 
 sent at  her  funeral.    I  remember  being  with  him  about 
 
146  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE, 
 
 three  years  later  when  he  was  recovering  from  an  ill- 
 ness. The  first  evening  he  was  to  come  down  stairs  1 
 had  prepared  the  little  back  drawing-room  for  his 
 comfort,  bringing  the  sofa  near  the  fire,  and  putting  up 
 a  screen  to  shelter  it.  When  he  came  down  he  asked 
 me,  abruptly  as  I  thought  at  the  time,  to  alter  the 
 arrangement  of  the  room.  He  explained  afterwards 
 that  I  had  put  it  exactly  as  it  was  when  his  mother 
 was  dying  and  he  lay  there  in  sorrow,  unable  to  go  to 
 her.     On  the  day  berore  the  funeral  he  wrote  : — 
 
 To  the  Rev.  James  Robertson. 
 
 Irvine,  12th  December,  1855. 
 
 My  Dear  James, — "  Peace  ! "  You  read  this  in  a  solemn 
 place  and  at  a  solemn  hour.  "  How  dreadful  !  "  but  is  it 
 not  the  "gate  of  heaven"  ?  Alas  !  that  I  cannot  be  with 
 you — not  to  give  comfort,  but  to  get  it.  I  almost  feel  as  if 
 I  could — in  spite  of  all  the  doctor  says — but  ail  is  well,  and 
 I  submit. 
 
 There  is  deep  snow  on  the  ground  here — reminding  me 
 (how  forcibly)  of  the  white  vestures  of  those  who  have 
 "  washed  their  robes,"  and  are  therefore  "  before  the  throne  ;" 
 for  when  I  was  recovering  from  scarlet  fever  my  mother  was 
 here,  and  Miss  Cochrane  was  lying  in  her  shroud,  and  there 
 was  then  deep  snow  on  the  ground,  of  which  we  could  not 
 choose  but  talk  in  that  way.  May  the  hand  of  Love  gather 
 up  all  these  sweet,  though  sad,  remembrances,  and  knit  them 
 together  for  the  times  of  restitution  and  re-union  in  the 
 blessed  future  ! 
 
 I  will  be  with  you  to-morrow  all  day — in  spirit.  May  the 
 Lord,  the  Comforter,  be  with  you  in  deep,  deep  reality,  and 
 the  "  peace  of  God  that  passeth  understanding." 
 
HIS  MO  THER'S  DEA  TH.  1 47 
 
 Thanks  for  your  train-written  letter  and  all  the  beautiful 
 and  consoling  things  it  says.  I  should  say  something  in 
 reply,  but  cannot  elevate  my  mind  to  the  power  of  thinking 
 anything  whatever,  and  therefore  your  letter  is  the  more 
 acceptable.  I  can  only  lie  in  my  weakness  and  see  a  funeral 
 moving,  and  faces — dear  faces — bitterly  weeping,  but  with 
 glimpses  of  contrasted  glory  overhead,  when  our  wailing  in 
 the  valleys  is  answered  by  shouting  on  the  mountains,  and 
 One  in  the  midst  saying,  "  Fear  not,  I  am  He  that  liveth  and 
 was  dead."  Give  them  all  my  sorrowful  love  at  this  sad  time. 
 "We  sorrow  not,"  certainly  not,  "as  those  who  have  no 
 hope."     Thanks  over  again  for  your  kind  visit. 
 
 In  one  of  his  conversations  with  the  Rev.  John 
 Haddin  at  Westfield  House  in  February,  1882,  Dr. 
 Robertson  said,  "  The  best  sermon  I  ever  preached 
 was  that  which  I  preached  last  at  Irvine  from  2 
 Timothy  i.  10,  '  Our  Saviour,  Jesus  Christ,  who  hath 
 abolished  death  and  hath  brought  life  and  immortality 
 to  light  through  the  gospel'  It  was  first  delivered 
 twenty-six  years  ago,  after  the  death  of  my  mother. 
 It  is  substantially  the  same,  and  had  not  to  be  altered 
 in  any  way  in  regard  to  matter  and  spirit.  It  is  strik- 
 ing how  free  it  is  from  specialities  of  doctrine,  and 
 how  completely  it  accords  with  my  preaching  at  the 
 present  time." 
 
 His  time  of  mourning  for  his  mother  had  its  out- 
 come not  only  in  powerful  preaching,  but  in  verses 
 which  often  in  the  after  years  he  sent  to  friends  in 
 sorrow,  whom  thus  he  sought  to  comfort  with  the 
 comfort  wherewith  he  himself  had  been  comforted  : — 
 
143  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 pcpartcK 
 
 Departed,  say  we?  is  it 
 
 Departed  or  come  nigh  ? 
 Dear  friends  in  Christ  more  visit 
 
 Than  leave  us,  when  they  die. 
 What  thin  veil  still  may  hide  them 
 
 Some  little  sickness  rend?, 
 And  lo  !  we  stand  beside  them — 
 
 Are  they  departed  friends  ? 
 
 Their  dews  on  Zion  mountain 
 
 Our  Hermon  hills  bedew, 
 Their  river  from  the  fountain 
 
 Flows  down  to  meet  us  too, 
 The  oil  on  the  head  and  under, 
 
 Down  to  the  skirts  hath  run, 
 And  though  we  seem  asunder, 
 
 We  still  in  Christ  are  one. 
 
 The  many  tides  of  ocean 
 
 Are  one  vast  tidal  wave, 
 That  sweeps  in  landward  motion 
 
 Alike  to  coast  and  cave  ; 
 And  life  from  Christ  o'erflowing 
 
 Is  one  wave  evermore, 
 To  earth's  dark  borders  going, 
 
 Or  heaven's  bright  pearly  shore. 
 
 Hail  !  perfected  immortals  ! 
 
 Even  now  we  bid  you  hail — 
 We,  at  the  blood-stained  portals, 
 
 And  ye,  within  the  veil. 
 The  thin  cloud  veil  between  us 
 
 Is  mere  dissolving  breath, 
 
HYMNS   OF  COMFORT.  149 
 
 One  heaven  surrounds  and  screens  us, 
 And  where  art  thou  ?  O  Death  ! 
 
 About  the  same  time,  and  probably  in  connection 
 with  some  ministry  of  consolation  to  which  he  was 
 called,  he  wrote  the  following  for  the  comfort  of 
 stricken  parents  : — 
 
 %Ehe  Chilli's  ^Ingel. 
 
 "  In  heaven  their  angels  do  always  behold  the  face  of  my  Father 
 which  is  in  heaven." 
 
 Elder  sister,  elder  brother, 
 Come  and  go  around  the  mother, 
 
 As  she  bids  them  come  and  go  : 
 But  the  babe  in  her  embrace 
 Rests  and  gazes  on  her  face, 
 
 And  is  most  happy  so. 
 
 Christ,  our  Lord,  in  his  evangel, 
 Tells  us  how  the  young  child's  angel, 
 
 In  the  world  of  heavenly  rest, 
 Gazes  in  enraptured  trance 
 On  his  Father's  countenance, 
 
 And  is  supremely  blest. 
 
 Other  angels  come  and  go 
 As  the  Lord  will,  to  and  fro, 
 
 Some  to  earth  on  missions  fleet, 
 Some  stand  singing,  some  are  winging 
 Their  swift  flight,  and  homeward  bringing 
 
 The  saved  to  Jesus'  feet. 
 
 Angel  hosts,  all  mingling,  changing, 
 Circle  above  circle  ranging, 
 
 Marshalling,  throng  God's  holy  place  ; 
 
I  50  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 But  the  children's  angels,  dearest 
 To  the  Father's  heart,  come  nearest, 
 They  always  see  His  face. 
 
 And  oh  !  if  every  beauty  beaming 
 From  frail  mother's  face,  rush  streaming 
 
 Deep  into  her  infant's  heart, 
 What  rare  beauty  theirs  must  be, 
 Heavenly  God,  who  gaze  on  Thee  ! 
 
 Who  see  Thee  as  Thou  art  ! 
 
 It  was  probably  in  the  days  when,  under  the  shadow 
 of  his  mother's  death,  he  was  recovering  from  the 
 fever,  that  he  wrote  the  following  powerful  verses ;  or, 
 they  may  have  been  struck  off  in  the  heat  of  pre- 
 paring a  sermon,  after  his  return  to  duty.  In  any 
 case  they  belong  to  the  period  of  which  we  are  now 
 writing.  They  are  included  in  the  notes  of  a  sermon 
 of  later  date  on  "  the  Desire  of  all  nations  "  ;  but  there 
 they  are  manifestly  introduced  as  a  quotation  and  are 
 not  an  outgrowth  of  the  thought. 
 
 "cSItut  Ux  (Sfetn." 
 
 Well  said  the  devil  in  days  of  old 
 "  Skin  for  skin,"  and  gold  for  gold  ! 
 "  All  that  a  man  hath  will  he  give," 
 Only  to  live  !  to  live  !  to  live  ! 
 
 Who  would  leave  life's  bright  warm  halls 
 For  death's  dank,  dripping,  mouldy  walls  ? 
 Who  would  exchange  life's  laurel  wreath 
 For  cypress  black  as  thine  ?  O  death  ! 
 
"  SKIN  FOR  SKIN."  1 5  I 
 
 Go  to  the  slaughter  the  silly  flocks, 
 Goes  to  the  slaughter  the  stupid  ox, 
 But  shall  man  quietly  yield  and  go  ? 
 Never — oh  never,  never,  no  ! 
 
 Loth  were  I  to  lie  as  a  clod, 
 Trodden,  and  rotten,  and— Oh  !  good  God  ! 
 Give  me  breath,  and  tears,  and  strife, 
 But  only  give  me  life  !  life  !  life  ! 
 
 To  the  same  period  when  the  shadow  was  over  him 
 belong  the  following  : — 
 
 Beneath  o'erhanging  mountains 
 
 The  stars  are  hid  from  view, 
 Those  light  besprinkling  fountains 
 
 That  fret  the  vaulted  blue  ; 
 But  as  the  pilgrim  passes  on, 
 
 The  mountains  fade  from  light, 
 The  starry  hosts  return  anon 
 
 And  march  with  him  all  night. 
 
 And  stars  are  lofty  centres, 
 
 That  spread  their  golden  rays, 
 Where  nothing  earthly  enters, 
 
 To  break  or  mar  their  blaze; 
 So  griefs  are  passing  showers  and  storms 
 
 That  haunt  our  earthly  road, 
 But  joys  are  ever-during  forms 
 
 That  dwell  in  heaven  with  God  ! 
 
 The  friend  to  whom  the  following  letter  is  addressed 
 was  one  of  his  fellow-students  to  whom  he  was  drawn 
 by  kindred  sympathies.      The  fact  that  Mr.  Graham. 
 
I52  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 probably  induced  by  his  example,  went  to  Germany 
 to  complete  his  course  of  theological  study,  was 
 another  link  between  them.  After  they  became 
 ministers,  the  one  in  Irvine,  the  other  in  Liverpool, 
 distance  did  not  hinder  frequent  intercourse  and  ex- 
 change of  service.  They  had  much  in  common. 
 They  both  brought  great  freshness  and  originality  to 
 bear  on  the  theology  which  it  was  their  calling  to 
 study  and  expound ;  they  both  recognized  its  place 
 in  the  circle  of  the  sciences,  and  enriched  their 
 private  conversation  and  public  teaching  with  the 
 results  of  a  wide  and  varied  culture  ;  they  both  over- 
 flowed with  genial  kindliness  and  ready  wit,  and  both 
 of  them  were  distinguished  for  their  readiness  to 
 sympathize  with  and  be  helpful  to  any  brother  in 
 sorrow  or  in  need.  Their  friendship  deepened  as  the 
 years  went  on.  Graham,  who  had  by  that  time  become 
 Professor  Graham,  of  the  Presbyterian  College  in 
 London,  was  one  of  the  last  who  visited  Dr.  Robert- 
 son when  he  was  dying,  and  in  little  more  than  a 
 year  he  followed  him  to  the  grave.  It  was  then 
 revealed  that  there  was  yet  another  point  of  resem- 
 blance between  the  friends.  Both  of  them  had  long 
 hidden,  beneath  a  veil  of  sunny  mirthfulness,  sore 
 internal  pain. 
 
 To  Rev.  William  Graham,  Liverpool. 
 
 Irvine,  2nd  October,  1856. 
 
 My  Dear  Graham, — If  you  were  ashamed  at  not  writing 
 me   sooner,  to   have  replied  immediately  would  have  made 
 
LETTER  TO  WILLIAM  GRAHAM.  153 
 
 you  more  so,  and  that,  of  course  (out  of  tender  consideration 
 for  your  feelings)  is  the  reason  of  this  belated  reply  to  your 
 last. 
 
 I  was  glad  to  find  that  you  were  not  implacably  angry 
 with  me  for  making  you  preach  twice — no  other  body  was — 
 and  hundreds  would  have  been  disappointed  sorely  if  you 
 had  not  mounted  the  second  time.  Your  sermons,  I  think, 
 have  done  real  and  much  good,  and  so  I  am  happy  to 
 learn  that  you  are  not  totally  vol/endet,  but  still  able,  after 
 your  extra  exertions  here,  to  do  a  little  at  home. 
 
 Thanks  for  the  journal  of  your  tour  among  the  ruins  of  a 
 world  that  was.  I  found  it  very  interesting,  both  for  their 
 sake  and  yours,  and  it  strengthened  in  me  the  desire  to  have 
 a  ramble  among  ruins  with  you  somewhen  and  somewhere. 
 Let  us  keep  that  in  view,  pray,  unless,  to  be  sure,  we  get 
 numbered  among  ruins  ourselves. 
 
 Ruins  !  Will  any  antiquary,  I  wonder,  ever  think  it  worth 
 his  while  to  renew  the  letters  on  our  headstones?  It 
 doesn't  matter.  Let  there  be  as  much  life  and  laughter  in 
 the  world  as  ever  !  Let  us  do  our  work  and  consent  to  be 
 forgotten.  One  is  not  unrighteous  to  forget.  The  Lord 
 will  remember  us  (I  hope)  when  He  comes  into  His  king- 
 dom.    To  that  extent  I  confess  to  a  desire  for  immortality  '. 
 
 For  the  last  week  there  has  been  a  shadow  over  me.  Dr. 
 Samuel  Brown  is  dead.  Eight  days  before,  I  went  into 
 Edinburgh  to  see  him,  but  failed,  as  he  was  having  some- 
 thing done  to  him,  and  was  very  ill  at  the  time  I  went — so 
 that  I  had  to  slip  away  in  spite  of  his  wish  that  I  should 
 stay  till  he  could  speak  again.  It  was  Friday,  and  I  was 
 hastening  home  to  preach.  Some  memorials  that  he  has 
 left  for  me  have  come  to  hand  this  morning.  They  recall 
 some  of  at  once  the  wisest  and  the  wildest  hours  of  my  life, 
 spent  in  his  company. 
 
 What  a  brilliant  life  has  been  quenched  !  and  that,  too, 
 
154  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 when  it  had  been  purified  by  sore  affliction  into  "a  burning 
 and  a  shining  light,"  in  which  we  had  been  willing  to 
 rejoice ;  not  quenched  indeed,  but  risen  as  a  star  upon 
 some  higher  firmament,  yet  set  too  early  upon  our 
 horizon.  I  suppose  God  can  do  his  work  well  enough 
 without  any  of  us,  however  gifted.  Mind  jr^  that.  There 
 are  others  on  whom  the  rock  at  Arthur's  Seat  may  be  in 
 much  less  danger  of  falling. 
 
 You  should  read  Dr.  Samuel's  "  Itinerating  Libraries  and 
 their  Founder,"  not  scared  by  the  unpromising  title.  He 
 has  revised  it  on  his  deathbed,  and  it  has  come  to  me  with 
 the  dead  man's  blessing  !  I  believe  he  has  been  "  chosen 
 in  the  furnace,"  and,  after  long  wrestling  writh  the  angel  in 
 the  "night  of  weeping,"  has  vanquished,  and  won  the  bless- 
 ing. The  image  of  the  "fairest  of  men"  has  been  deeply 
 graven  on  his  spirit  by  the  encaustic  of  grief;  or  rather, 
 being  there  latent  and  invisible,  though  real,  it  has  been 
 brought  out  in  its  beauty  and  fulness  by  the  fire.  May  we 
 meet  him  in  the  Hesperides  of  the  future  ! 
 
 You  have  now  set  to  work,  I  suppose,  in  earnest  for  the 
 winter,  and  are  reckoning  it  winter.  It  is  not  that  here. 
 The  finest  season  perhaps  in  the  circle  of  the  year  still  lies 
 before  us.  To  be  sure,  the  morning  service  of  the  singing 
 birds  is  over,  and  the  first  course  of  the  feast — green  peas, 
 vegetables  and  the  like  ;  but  the  golden  tables  of  Autumn 
 are  now  drawn  out,  a  finer  tapestry  is  hung  upon  the 
 woods,  purer  lights  are  in  the  sky,  the  dessert  of  fruits  in 
 leafy  baskets  is  serving  up  (not  to  speak  of  vintage  and 
 October  ale),  while  the  evening  service  of  the  black  friars 
 and  the  crows,  and  the  occasional  solo  of  the  red-caped 
 cantor,  the  robin,  are  very  much  to  my  taste.  Were  you 
 only  with  me  to  hear  and  see  ! 
 
 The  week  before  last  I  spent  not  far  from  you  at  the 
 lakes,  but  had  to  return  and  preach  twice  on  Sabbath.     We 
 
LECTURES  ON  EPISTLE  TO  THE  ROMANS.    155 
 
 were  a  six-fold  party,  two  thirds  of  it  belonging  to  the 
 fair  sex,  and  we  were  very  merry.  Isabella  would  have  liked 
 vastly  to  go  on  to  Liverpool  and  you,  but  that  I  hope  lies 
 in  the  Zukunft.  .... 
 
 In  these  years  he  was  engaged  with  a  course  of 
 Sabbath  morning  lectures  on  the  Epistle  to  the 
 Romans.  He  had  already  by  his  vivid  picturings 
 won  the  younger  members  of  his  flock ;  and  their 
 elders  were  not  only  well  pleased  to  see  the  juniors 
 so  deeply  interested  in  the  sermons,  they  were  them- 
 selves charmed  by  the  beauty  of  the  preacher's 
 thought  and  the  earnestness  of  his  spirit.  But  when 
 he  successfully  grappled  with  the  theological  pro- 
 blems of  St.  Paul's  great  epistle,  their  admiration 
 grew.  Old  men,  who  found  their  hearing  not  so 
 sharp  as  once  it  had  been,  would  change  their  seats 
 and  draw  nearer  to  the  pulpit  that  they  might  not 
 miss  a  word  of  his  argument,  as  he  led  them  to  the 
 standpoint  from  which  to  see  the  harmony  between 
 the  apparent  contradictions  that  had  perplexed  them 
 so  long.  The  great  truth  by  which  he  solved  the 
 difficulties  that  beset  the  doctrine  of  predestination 
 was  the  eternity  of  God.  He  was  wont  to  insist  that 
 it  is  only  because  of  the  poverty  of  our  language  that 
 we  speak  of  past  or  future  in  relation  to  the  Eternal. 
 He  is  not  only  the  same  yesterday  and  to-day  and 
 for  ever,  but  yesterday  and  to-day  and  for  ever,  which 
 are  distinguished  to  our  finite  minds,  are  with  Him 
 one  eternal  now.     He  set  the  thought  to  music : — 
 
I  5^  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 ^jgrnn  to  the  (Eternal. 
 
 The  dead  still  live  to  Thee,  0  God  ! 
 
 The  unborn  are  living  now, 
 O'er  past  and  future,  spread  abroad 
 
 Eternal  wings  dost  Thou  ! 
 
 To  Thee,  old  priest,  by  altar  fires, 
 
 His  sacrifice  still  brings  ; 
 And  still  to  Thee  the  prophets'  choir 
 
 God's  holy  anthem  sings. 
 
 Our  fathers'  morning  song  gone  by, 
 
 Thou  still,  O  God,  dost  hear ; 
 And  still  the  crucifixion  cry 
 
 Is  sounding  in  Thine  ear. 
 
 And  so  Thou  seest  us  in  our  shrouds, 
 
 And  standing  at  Thy  bar ; 
 Already  with  Thee  all  the  crowds 
 
 Of  unfleshed  spirits  are. 
 
 The  risen  dead  in  white  array 
 
 Are  singing  round  Thy  throne, 
 As  if  already  judgment  day 
 
 A  thousand  years  were  gone. 
 
 With  Thee,  who  driest  the  mourner's  tears, 
 
 Great  God  to  whom  we  pray  ! 
 One  day  is  as  a  thousand  years, 
 
 A  thousand  years  one  day. 
 
 He  had  at  this  time  a  special  stimulus  to  the 
 writing  of  hvmns.  The  introduction  bv  Mr.  Curwen  of 
 the  tonic  sol-fa  notation  had  led  to  a  revived  in- 
 terest in  church  music.    William  Robertson  welcomed 
 
TONIC  SOL-FA  NO  TA  TION.  I  5  7 
 
 the  new  system  because  it  made  it  much  easier  to 
 teach  the  art  of  singing.  He  used  to  say  that 
 students  of  the  art  had  long  been  discouraged  by 
 finding  across  their  path  a  five-barred  gate,  with 
 curious  looking  creatures  called  minims,  crotchets, 
 and  quavers,  grinning  at  them  through  the  bars  ;  and 
 that  it  had  cost  himself  thrice  as  many  years  to  learn 
 music  as  to  learn  any  of  the  languages  he  had  ac- 
 quired. He  believed  that  it  was  only  through  the 
 sol-fa  notation  that  there  was  any  hope  of  teaching 
 congregations  to  sing  correctly.  He  accordingly  did 
 everything  he  could  to  encourage  the  use  of  it  in  his 
 own  congregation,  and  had  at  this  time  classes  for 
 teaching  it.  It  was  for  these  classes  that  he  wrote 
 and  set  to  music  several  of  his  hymns.  In  addition 
 to  the  one  we  have  just  given,  he  wrote  at  this  time  a 
 baptismal  hymn,  which  was  ultimately  sung  in  part, 
 at  the  public  dispensation  of  the  ordinance.  It  fol- 
 lowed the  rhythm  of  the  German  Seelenbrautigam. 
 Its  first  and  last  verses  were  : — 
 
 Sprinkle,  sprinkle,  now. 
 
 Blessed  Saviour,  Thou  ! 
 Thou  baptize  this  young  immortal. 
 Ent'ring  through  the  church's  portal; 
 
 Hands,  and  feet,  and  brow, 
 
 Sprinkle,  sprinkle,  Thou  ! 
 
 Come  then,  blessed  Dove  ! 
 Through  cleft  heavens  above. 
 
I  58  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 Crown  this  babe,  white-robed,  ascending, 
 While  we  on  this  shore,  down-bending 
 
 O'er  the  depths  of  love, 
 
 Cry,  Come,  blessed  Dove  ! 
 
 For  the  same  classes  he  also  wrote  : — 
 
 'TEhc  ^molting  <#lax  anb  grxtiszb  Bccb. 
 
 When  evening  choirs  the  praises  hymned 
 
 In  Zion's  courts  of  old, 
 The  high  priest  walked  his  rounds,  and  trimmed 
 
 The  shining  lamps  of  gold  ; 
 And  if,  perchance,  some  name  burned  low, 
 
 With  fresh  oil  vainly  drenched, 
 He  cleansed  it  from  its  socket,  so 
 
 The  smoking  flax  was  quenched. 
 
 But  Thou  who  walkest,  Priest  Most  High, 
 
 Thy  golden  lamps  among, 
 What  things  are  weak,  and  near  to  die, 
 
 Thou  makest  fresh  and  strong ; — 
 Thou  breath  est  on  the  trembling  spark, 
 
 That  else  must  soon  expire, 
 And  swift  it  shoots  up  through  the  dark, 
 
 A  brilliant  spear  of  fire  ! 
 
 The  shepherd  that  to  stream  and  shade 
 
 Withdrew  his  flock  at  noon, 
 On  reedy  stop  soft  music  made, 
 
 In  many  a  pastoral  tune  ; 
 And  if,  perchance,  the  reed  were  crushed, 
 
 It  could  no  more  be  used, 
 Its  mellow  music  marred  and  hushed  ; 
 
 He  brake  it,  when  so  bruised. 
 
EVANGELICAL  ALLIANCE  AT  BERLIN.       1  59 
 
 But  Thou,  Good  Shepherd,  who  dost  feed 
 
 Thy  flock  in  pastures  green, 
 Thou  dost  not  break  the  bruised  reed, 
 
 That  sorely  crushed  hath  been ; 
 The  heart  that  dumb  in  anguish  lies, 
 
 Or  yields  but  notes  of  woe, 
 Thou  dost  re-tune  to  harmonies 
 
 More  rich  than  angels  know  ! 
 
 Lord,  once  my  love  was  all  ablaze, 
 
 But  now  it  burns  so  dim  ! 
 My  life  was  praise,  but  now  my  days 
 
 Make  a  poor  broken  hymn ; 
 Yet  ne'er  by  Thee  am  I  forgot, 
 
 But  helped  in  deepest  need, 
 The  smoking  flax  Thou  quenchest  not, 
 
 Nor  break'st  the  bruised  reed. 
 
 I  am  indebted  to  Principal  Cairns  for  an  account  of 
 a  meeting  of  the  Evangelical  Alliance  at  Berlin  which 
 Mr.  Robertson  attended  : — 
 
 The  meeting  of  the  Evangelical  Alliance,  held  in  Berlin 
 from  9th  to  -17th  September,  1857,  is  one  of  the  most 
 picturesque  of  all  the  meetings  of  that  great  confedera- 
 tion. It  succeeded  the  first  ecumenical  meeting  held  in 
 London  in  185 1,  the  year  of  the  first  Exhibition,  and  the 
 second  held  in  Paris  in  the  agony  of  the  Crimean  War  in 
 1855.  A  violent  effort  was  made  to  stop  it  by  the  High 
 Lutheran  party ;  but  King  Erederick  William  IV.  stood 
 fast  to  it,  assisted  by  Baron  Bunsen,  his  friend,  and  Dr. 
 Ivrummacher,  his  chaplain,  and  it  proved  a  great  success, 
 dealing  a  final  blow  to  that  fraction  as  a  Church  party, 
 The  Gariiisnn  Kirche,  holding  nearly  3,000  hearers,  was  filled 
 
160  LIFE  IN  THE  MANSE. 
 
 with  a  most  various  audience,  addressed  by  many  of  the 
 most  able  men  from  all  parts  of  the  Protestant  world,  the 
 great  majority  of  whom  were  Germans,  though  about  ioo 
 were  from  other  parts  of  the  Continent,  20  or  30  from 
 America  and  about  170  from  the  United  Kingdom,  the 
 whole  enrolled  members  being  nearly  1,500.  John  Hender- 
 son and  David  King,  the  founders  of  the  Alliance,  were 
 present.  Many  remarkable  papers  were  read  and  discus- 
 sions held  on  the  state  of  theology  and  the  Christian  statistics 
 of  the  world ;  and  one  unusual  feature  was  a  greeting, 
 extending  over  a  whole  meeting,  from  different  missionary 
 societies.  But  the  most  singular  incident  was  the  reception 
 of  about  a  thousand  guests  by  the  King  in  the  new  Palace 
 at  Potsdam,  followed  by  an  address  to  them  on  the  green 
 sward,  amidst  associations  connected  with  Voltaire  and 
 Frederick  the  Great.  The  closing  meeting  was  attended, 
 as  several  others,  by  the  King  and  other  members  of  the 
 Royal  Family.  The  late  Emperor  William — then  Crown 
 Prince — was  present  at  an  earlier  meeting.  Dr.  Robertson, 
 whose  name  stands  in  the  list  of  delegates  (Robertson, 
 W.  B.,  Prediger,  Irvine),  contributed  a  striking  account, 
 especially  of  this  last  meeting,  to  Evangelical  Christendom, 
 and  speaks  of  the  royal  party  rising  up  to  sing  "  Nun 
 danket  alle  Gott"  as  a  homage  of  the  world  to  Christianity. 
 
THE  YEAR  185S.  16: 
 
 CHAPTER     IX. 
 
 fetters  -tint)  $ocms. 
 
 The  year  1858  was  one  of  great  mental  activity  to 
 Mr.  Robertson.  He  was  much  interested  in  the 
 phenomena  of  the  summer, — in  the  excessive  heat,  in 
 the  thunderstorms  of  peculiar  splendour  by  which  it 
 was  followed,  in  the  richness  of  the  foliage,  and,  last  of 
 all,  in  the  comet  which  blazed  in  the  heavens  for  so 
 many  weeks.  He  often  spoke  to  his  friends  of  his 
 growing  delight  in  nature,  and  of  how  it  is  not  true 
 that  our  joy  in  "the  green-leaved  earth"  is  greater  in 
 childhood  than  in  later  life.  It  was  in  that  year  that 
 I  first  heard  him  read  his  "  Dream  of  the  Foolish 
 Virgin,"  and  I  have  the  impression  that  it  had  just 
 been  written. 
 
 jpream  cf  the  foolish  <3irgrn. 
 
 Hair  with  lilies  braid  en, 
 
 All  for  marriage  drest, 
 Bridegroom-waiting  maiden 
 
 Laid  her  down  to  rest ; 
 
102  LETTERS  AND  POEMS. 
 
 Why  tarries  he  so  weary  long  ? 
 
 A  little  slumber  sweet, 
 To  bridge  the  night,  until  the  throng 
 Comes  sweeping  through  the  street ! 
 Slumb'ring  all  the  number, 
 
 Wise  and  foolish  both, 
 Sin  may  come  with  slumber, 
 Sisters  sin  and  sloth. 
 
 White  enclasping  fingers 
 
 Round  her  lamp  are  clenched, 
 Leaping  light  that  lingers, 
 
 Ah  !  how  quickly  quenched  ! 
 And  not  by  blasts  nor  dropping  rains, 
 
 Nor  thick  besmothering  damp, 
 But  all  because  no  oil  remains 
 To  feed  the  dying  lamp. 
 Oil  the  lamp  is  needing, 
 
 Oil  for  wasting  fires, 
 Grace  the  heart's  flame  feeding, 
 Grace  the  heart  requires. 
 
 Through  sleep's  ebon  portals 
 
 The  maiden  walks  in  dreams, 
 Life  to  dream-eyed  mortals 
 
 Is  not  what  it  seems  ; 
 Through  flower' d  arcade  in  citron  grove, 
 
 To  the  hidden  sound  of  flutes, 
 A  fair  youth  leads  her,  talking  love, 
 Under  the  golden  fruits. 
 Flick'ring  lamp  is  burning 
 
 Dimly  and  more  dim, 
 Faithless  heart  is  turning 
 More  and  more  from  Him. 
 
DREAM  OF  THE  FOOLISH  VIRGIN.  1 63 
 
 Rosen  wreath  he  chooses 
 
 For  her  braiden  hair, 
 Laughing  then  he  looses 
 Lilies  wreathen  there  ; 
 *'  Hold  back  !  rash  youth,  this  lily  knot 
 
 The  Bridegroom's  friend  gave  me, 
 And  it  were  ill  exchanged,  1  wot, 
 Fair  tho'  the  roses  be." 
 
 Flick'ring  lamp  that  burnetii 
 
 Mingled  bright  and  dim, 
 Heart's  temptation  spurneth, 
 And  yet  not  true  to  Him. 
 
 More  to  tempt  the  maiden, 
 
 Softer  sound  the  flutes, 
 Arching  branches  laden 
 With  the  golden  fruits 
 Lead  to  cushioned  banquet  hall, 
 
 Blazoned  with  pearls  and  wines, 
 Ah  !  maiden  wake — if  wake  at  all ! 
 How  dim  the  watch-lamp  shines  ! 
 Flick'ring  lamp  is  burning 
 
 Dimly  and  more  dim, 
 Faithless  heart  is  turning 
 All  away  from  Him. 
 
 Tinted  lights  are  glancing 
 
 Over  floor  and  wall, 
 Shapes  of  beauty  dancing 
 
 Round  and  round  the  hall ; 
 And  music  runs  in  thrilling  showers, 
 
 Dissolving  heart  and  brain, 
 Till  she  has  lost  all  will  and  power 
 
 To  drive  him  back  again. 
 
1 64  LETTERS  AND  POEMS. 
 
 Flick'ring  lamp  is  burning 
 Xe'er  till  now  so  dim, 
 
 Faithless  heart  is  turning 
 More  and  more  from  Him. 
 
 Strokes  the  tressed  maiden, 
 
 Strokes  her  arched  brow, 
 
 "  Give  me,  queenly  maiden  ! 
 
 Give  the  lilies  now." 
 Languid  denial  murmur'd  half, 
 
 His  honied  words  have  drown 'd, 
 He  plucks  the  lilies  with  a  laugh, 
 And  strews  them  on  the  ground. 
 Out  !  the  lamp  it  burneth 
 
 Never  as  before, 
 Grace  abused  returneth 
 Never,  never  more. 
 
 Lightning  !     Cracking  thunder  ! 
 Lights  out  !     Black  as  death  ! 
 Flooring  split  asunder, 
 
 Red  hell  glares  beneath. 
 Spectres'  arms  her  waist  enclasp, 
 
 In  snakes  her  tresses  stream, 
 And  downward  drawn  in  lightning's  grasp 
 She  shrieks,  and  breaks  the  dream  ! 
 Oh,  the  doleful  waking  ! 
 
 Now  the  lamp  is  quenched, 
 Heart  with  anguish  breaking, 
 Face  with  weeping  drenched. 
 
 Dream  !  still  rolls  the  thunder, 
 
 Bridegroom  in  the  street, 
 Dream  !  'twas  that  shout  stunned  her, 
 
 Shouting  Him  to  meet. 
 
DREAM  OF  THE  FOOLISH  VIRGIN.  1 65 
 
 His  train — a  shining  river  flows 
 
 Between  black  shades  of  night, 
 And  in  the  midst  the  Bridegroom  goes 
 Attired  in  blaze  of  white. 
 Midnight  cry  that  summeth 
 
 Every  joy  and  woe, 
 Lo  !  the  Bridegroom  cometh  ! 
 Out  to  meet  Him  go  ! 
 
 Torches  brighter  blazing, 
 
 Louder  sound  the  hymns, 
 Now  her  dead  lamp  raising 
 
 All  in  vain  she  trims  ; 
 The  vessel's  oil  is  spent,  and  none 
 
 Has  any  oil  to  spare  ; 
 She  runs — for  they  have  bid  her  run 
 To  buy — in  wild  despair. 
 Tresses  all  dishevelled. 
 Bridal  dress  all  torn, 
 The  laughter  of  the  street  is  levelled 
 All  at  her  in  scorn. 
 
 Knocking  stands  she,  knocking, 
 
 Knocking  at  the  gate, 
 Echo  answers  mocking, 
 
 "  Maiden  comes  too  late." 
 *"  Too  late,"  words  from  within  declare, 
 
 "  Too  late,"  "  I  know  thee  not ;" 
 Xo  wedding  guest  can  enter  there, 
 When  once  the  door  is  shut. 
 Saints  in  glory  singing, 
 
 "  Blest  are  they  who  wait ;  " 
 Hands  with  anguish  wringing, 
 Sorrow  cries,  "  Too  late  I" 
 
1 66  LETTERS  AND  POEMS. 
 
 Mr.  Smith  of  Hamilfield,  who,  since  Mr.  Robertson  s 
 removal  into  the  manse,  had  been  his  nearest  neigh- 
 bour, spent  the  summer  of  1858  in  America,  leaving 
 his  daughters,  who  were  at  school  in  England,  under 
 the  minister's  special  care.  Mr.  Robertson  wrote  to 
 them  regularly,  and  arranged  for  their  enjoyment 
 when  they  were  at  home  on  holiday. 
 
 To  Miss  Agxes  Smith. 
 
 Irvine,  Friday  (early  in  1858). 
 
 Your  little  letter  was  a  very  welcome  one.  It  met  me  at 
 the  "  landing  stage  of  Monday  morning,"  and  was  the  first 
 to  salute  me  on  coming  ashore  from  the  Arabia  (the  happy) 
 of  my  bed.  I  understand  your  hints  on  "  early  rising,"  and 
 hope  I  may  profit  by  them  and  by  your  example.  In  fact  I 
 have  improved  already,  and  though  you  may  not  know  it,  I 
 owe  it  all  to  you,  and  to  that  present  you  made  me  of  the  little 
 white  dog  of  the  Otto-Ida  (and  fairy)  race,  by  name  Fido. 
 I  shall  tell  you  how  this  is,  and  you  will  see  how  much  I  am 
 obliged  to  you  for  Fido,  upsetting  little  thing  although  he  is. 
 
 Every  morning  here's  what  I  do. 
 
 (Little  Mary,  with  Fido  on  her  lap,  is  sitting  beside  me, 
 and  for  her  diversion  I  shall  make  this  to  rhyme) : — 
 
 10  a.m.,  or  even  before, 
 Upstairs  comes  your  little  Fido, 
 
 Barking  at  my  chamber  door, 
 And  if  Fido  gets  no  answer, 
 
 Gets  no  answer  save  a  snore. 
 "  Oh  !  you  are  a  lazy  man,  sir," 
 
 Fido  barks  out  more  and  more. 
 
EARLY  RISING.  1 6/ 
 
 And  if  still  he  gets  no  answer, 
 
 None  but  silence  or  a  snore, 
 
 Fido  pushes  up  my  door. 
 Little  gipsy,  mad  or  tipsy, 
 
 Puffing,  snuffing,  sneezing,  wheezing, 
 Frisky,  like  a  dog  in  whisky, 
 
 Up  he  dances  pirouetting 
 To  the  centre  of  the  floor, 
 
 Where  up  on  his  hind  legs  getting 
 Fifteen  inches  tall  and  more  ! 
 
 His  raised  eyes  on  a  level  setting 
 With  the  nose  that  gives  the  snore. 
 
 Gipsy  !  neither  mad  nor  tipsy, 
 Sober  now  as  judge  or  Gough, 
 He  says,  "  Rauf  !  " — 
 
 Fido  speaks  German — 
 
 And  this  is  his  little  sermon, 
 Sum  and  substance  of  his  speech  is, 
 "Rauf!  herauf !  herauf!  rauf!"  which  is 
 
 The  dogmatics  Fido  preaches, 
 Standing  surpliced  on  my  floor. 
 
 And  if  still  I  give  no  answer, 
 None  but  silence  or  a  snore, 
 
 Pirouettes  my  little  dancer, 
 Pirouettes  mad  as  before, 
 Pirouettes  across  the  floor, 
 
 To  the  clothes  I  have  been  wearing, 
 Clothes  that  yesterday  I  wore  ; 
 
 Takes  them,  pulls  them,  tossing,  tearing, 
 Strews  them  up  and  down  the  floor, 
 
 Coat  and  vest,  and  shoe  and  stocking, 
 
 "  Ho  !  you  dog  you,  this  is  shocking  ! 
 Auf!  du  Hundchen  !  rauf!  hor  'auf:" 
 
 Then,  his  head  on  one  side  cocking, 
 
1 63  LETTERS  AND  POEMS. 
 
 Wags  his  tail,  and  my  words  mocking, 
 Barks  in  answer,  "rauf!  rauf!  rauf !" 
 Till  at  last  he  beats  me  fairly, 
 I  must  get  up,  get  up  early. 
 This  is  what  each  morning  I  do, 
 Many  thanks  to  you  for  Fido  ! 
 
 To  Mr.  John  Smith. 
 
 Oxford,  20th  May,  1858. 
 
 .  .  .  It  is  past  midnight,  and  the  landlord  of  the 
 "  Mitre"  has  this  moment  knocked  at  my  door  to  say  that 
 I  have  forgot  to  put  out  my  light.  However,  let  him  knock 
 as  often  as  he  likes  I  must  finish  this  epistle. 
 
 What  a  pleasant  afternoon  and  evening  I  have  had  with 
 Oxford  men,  some  of  whom  I  knew  before,  and  others  whose 
 acquaintance  I  have  made  now.  I  am  glad  to  find  that  my 
 friends  are  among  the  first  men  at  this  far-famed  University. 
 (Well  done,  Scotland  !)  What  with  architectural,  musical, 
 and  literary  celebrities,  a  boat  race  on  the  Isis,  strolls 
 through  classic  ground,  visits  to  distinguished  men,  and  a 
 splendid  evening  with  Oxonians,  who  have  all  been  rung  into 
 their  rooms  at  twelve,  the  time  has  passed  very  swiftly,  and 
 I  am  left  alone  at  midnight  with  the  thought  of  you  across 
 the  Atlantic. 
 
 .  .  .  (There's  that  "  Mitre  "  official  ringing  his  curfew 
 at  my  door  again.  He  seems  to  think  me  amenable  to 
 university  regulations.) 
 
 .  .  .  I  have  been  in  Bristol  for  two  Sabbaths,  with 
 a  stroll  through  old  cathedrals — Glastonbury,  Wells,  Salis- 
 bury, Winchester,  and  then,  too,  Isle  of  Wight  and  London, 
 of  course.  .  .  .  There's  that  man  at  the  door  the  third 
 time  saying,  "  Please,  sir,  it's  half-past  one."     Good-night. 
 
IN  OXFORD  AND  THE  HIGHLANDS.         1 69 
 
 To  the  Same. 
 
 Irvine,  18th  June,  1858. 
 
 .  .  .  You  are  missing  little,  perhaps,  by  your  absence, 
 unless  it  be  some  grand  thunderstorms,  the  like  of  which,  I 
 suppose,  have  not  before  been  seen  here — not  inferior  to 
 our  famous  Alpine  one  of  happy  memory.  The  country  has 
 been  in  a  fever  of  tropical  heat,  and  then  it  has  taken  to  the 
 cold  water  cure. 
 
 In  ecclesiastical  affairs  the  organ  question  is  not  stifled,1 
 but  rather  merged  into  a  broader  question  on  the  relation  of 
 literature  and  fine  art  to  religion.  I  wish  some  wave  of 
 genuine  revival  would  visit  us  from  the  West.  Couldn't  you 
 bring  some  of  that  home  with  you  ?  It  would  go  to  settle 
 many  questions  here,  that  would  be  swept  out  of  sight  in  a 
 high  current  of  religious  life.  Do  you  think  it  will  tend  in 
 the  West  to  the  abolition  of  slavery? 
 
 A  pleasant  excursion  into  the  Highlands  in  com- 
 pany with  his  sister,  the  Misses  Smith,  and  some 
 other  friends,  brightened  the  opening  week  of 
 August. 
 
 To  Miss  Agnes  Smith. 
 
 August,  1858. 
 
 After  leaving  you  I  went  by  Edinburgh  to  Melrose  and 
 sunned  myself  in  the  light  of  a  new  and  brilliant  circle  of 
 friends.  It  was  a  rendezvous  of  gifted  heads,  bright  faces, 
 and  warm  hearts,  such  as  one  seldom  meets  with,  and  we 
 feasted  and  sang,  reasoned  and  romanced,  strolled  in  sun- 
 
 1  There  had  that  May  been  no  small  stir  in  United  Presbyterian 
 circles  by  the  proposal  of  the  congregation  of  Claremont  Church,  Glas- 
 gow, to  introduce  an  organ,  and  by  the  resolution  of  the  Synod  forbidding 
 its  introduction — a  resolution  rescinded  in  1872. 
 
I/O  LETTERS  AND  POEMS. 
 
 throug      gardens  and     rchards  and    .bout   the   old 
 
 Abbey,  drove  to  Drybmgh,  eta,  etc— quite  a  carnival  of 
 intellectual  and  social  delight.  But  all  could  not  make  me 
 f  rget  the  I  sautiful  '  y-past  week,  and  especially  the  sunrise 
 on  Ben  Lomond  and  the  Sal  I   Glenerchy.     Shall  we 
 
 not  remember  these  for  ever?  May  we  remember  them  for 
 ever  without  regret  excepting  the  regret  that  they  are  gone. 
 They  have  placed  some  green  and  sunny  spots  in  our 
 memory. 
 
 At  Dryburgh  Abbey  I  found  a  monument  to  the  Erskines, 
 the  fathers  oi  our  (Secession)  Church,  built  into  a  ruined 
 wail  of  the  Abbey  behind  the  altar.  On  one  side  of  it  a 
 slain  lamb  scul]  tured  in  stone,  and  on  the  other  an  inscrip- 
 tion which  could  ::■  :.  I  read,  but  I  found  it  to 
 i  e  a  •"  Kurie,"  as  i:  is  called,  in  <  1  1  Greek  characters,  - 
 Eying  "  0  Christ,  have  men  y  uj  on  v.s." 
 
 Think  of  these  venerable  fathers  of  all  strict  Burghers  and 
 Anti-burghers   being   immortalized  in  such  a  popish  p] 
 and  with  such  popish  ries  ! 
 
 To  Mr.  John  Smith. 
 
 Plean.  by  Bannockbuhn,  15:':  August,  1858. 
 
 .     .     .     They  have  probably  written  and  told  you  how 
 much  they  enjoyed  it.  esj  :  the  quiet  Sal  1  i  th  in  beauti- 
 
 ful Glenorchy.     I  preached  in  the  parish  church  at  request  of 
 int  old  minister,  who  said  Mr.  Scott  of  Kenuth  was 
 his  best  friend,  for  he  had  once  tried  to  get  a  wife  for  him. 
 The  1  had  only  seven  tunes  in  his  stock,  and  could 
 
 oly  four  of  them.     The  congregation  numbered  about 
 50,  four  times  the  usual  number,  I  believe  :  and  the  collection, 
 red  by  a  ladle,  had  a  corresponding  increase.     We  had 
 afternoon  worship  on  the  hillside.     I  wish  you  could  have 
 
A   LARK  PIE  \  JEDV."  : ;  r 
 
 been   with   ns.     You  and  I  must  i 
 promised  to  preach  once  more  for  th 
 
 holiday  has  been  realized  already  in 
 seeing  them  off  at  Greenock,  I  burn* 
 in  a  few  hours  I  had  to  lecture  to  tl 
 appointment  of  a  committee  of  Syn 
 to  Melrose,  where  my  friend,  Mr. 
 r.umher  ::" hmthm  arm  sistm  s:  :.:.  t 
 pleasant  plans  for  our  enjoyment 
 ing  my  holiday  and  may  do  so  2. 
 
 13UKX,  aoth  Angust,  1858L 
 
 .     .     .     But  I  am  hardly  in  a  mood  for  mirth  just  now. 
 
 writing   in  the  shadow  of  a  very  melancholy  event.     You 
 
 .lie  Smith  of  Bannockburn,  whom  you  beat 
 
 some  50  in  learning  "Bone  Pastor,"  though,  by  the 
 
 x  first-class  Latin  scholar  now. 
 
 r    T  "illie  I  he  has  been  suddenly  made  fatherless  in  a 
 
 very  rr.  .  Mr.  Smith  hemr  c        ..    :   last    -     .  ■'.:.  . 
 
 in  bathing  at  Aberdeen.     A  bold,  expert  swimmer,  as  most 
 
 Oriarliar.s   am     Mr.  S.  ■■■:..-.   fr  m   '    rl-::.e y  .  he  venture::    :u: 
 
 tsj  far.     Tite  lift-'   :at  "  ::  ar.i  :ame  very  n ear  rim. 
 
 _  u.  if.  ir._   eyes.    !•:  :hirm   ;.:  them   v  i;r  a 
 
 one  or  two  oars'  lengths,  but  suddenly  he  sank   and  dis- 
 
 :.;  ;  rare  i. 
 
 A  dark  piece  of  tragedy — dark  on  this  side,  though  rerj 
 
 bright  no  doubt  on  the  other  side  that  he  has  got  to.     H  e 
 
 assec  thr:    .     ;    :        ■ .  .1  gate    they  say  i:  is  -;_:        =  :'-  = 
 
 gentlest   er.t: ::    the  eternal  sunlight.     X:   2: .'.:    : :" 
 
 that.   f:r  Mr.   Smith        -    1   true.   _  :  u  1  y  man.      I   mrmmher 
 here  his  Sa'math  ever.     _   text  -'hen  he  assisted  me  at  the 
 
172  LETTERS  AND  POEMS. 
 
 communion — "  Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the 
 death  of  His  saints." 
 
 The  casket  of  the  body,  though  rifled  of  its  jewel  by  the 
 "  angel  of  the  waters,"  has  been  searched  for,  and  has  at 
 length  been  found  on  the  Aberdeen  coast.  Some  consola- 
 tion to  the  poor  widow  and  Willie  that  it  shall  not  be  tossed 
 as  a  waif  on  the  ocean,  or  entombed  in  what  Tennyson  has 
 called  "  the  vast  and  wandering  grave."  The  dews  of  grief 
 have  been  glittering  on  all  eyes  for  miles  round  Bannock- 
 burn,  for  Mr.  Smith  was  much  loved  in  the  neighbourhood. 
 Providentially  I  have  been  here,  and  been  able  to  devote 
 myself  to  the  service  of  sorrow  till  relatives  from  a  distance 
 should  arrive. 
 
 And  this  is  what  I  referred  to  as  occupying  my  hands, 
 head,  and  heart  here,  and  checking  playfulness  a  little; 
 though  playfulness,  indeed,  is  always  better  than  peevish- 
 ness, and  laughter  admits  of  being  sanctified  as  well  as 
 tears.  In  truth,  I  often  think  a  holy  laugh — a  frank,  good- 
 hearted,  holy  laugh — is  a  much  higher  attainment  in 
 spiritual  life  than  a  holy  prayer  or  tear.  Many  get  the 
 length  of  the  latter — few  get  so  high  as  the  former.  I  hope 
 you  can.  God  bless  your  young  gladness,  and  keep  your 
 eyes  from  tears  ! 
 
 To  the  Same. 
 
 Irvine,  25th  August,  1858. 
 
 .  .  .  I  am  back  in  quiet  Irvine  again,  having  arrived 
 a  few  hours  ago.  The  Mary-mass  fair  is  over  last  week, 
 and  public  pleasure,  that  seems  to  have  got  more  than 
 usually  drunk  on  the  occasion,  being  somewhat  sobered 
 again,  is  looking  forward  to  some  grand  festival  of  archery 
 in  Eglinton  grounds  to-morrow  and  Friday.  Abominable 
 thing  that  drunkenness,  but  a  very  pretty  sport  the  archery, 
 innocent  in  itself,  beautiful  in  the  attitude  it  develops — not 
 
"  BE  A  UTIFUL  SPOR  TS. "  173 
 
 useless  in  the  healthful  exercise  and  pleasant  excitement 
 that  it  gives,  and  suggestive  of  romantic  old  times,  so 
 I  think  I  must  go  and  see  it.  But  what  a  pity  that  these 
 beautiful  sports  are  so  often  married  to  mischief.  .  .  . 
 May  we  be  able  to  take  our  pleasure  with  true  gladness. 
 I  wonder  if  beautiful  public  sports  shall  ever  be  quite 
 redeemed  from  the  devil's  hands — at  the  millennium,  per- 
 haps ! 
 
 On  getting  up  into  my  study  and  looking  out  at  the  north 
 window,  the  first  thing  that  arrests  my  attention  is  the  flag- 
 staff erected  in  front  of  Hamilfield  like  a  tall,  thin  mast  of 
 a  sloop  amid  the  cordage  and  rigging  of  your  poplar  trees, 
 and  the  house  for  the  quarterdeck.  And  with  what  do  you 
 think  it  is  surmounted?  A  fish — one  that  looks  at  this 
 distance  like  a  French  prince  among  fishes — that  is,  as  you 
 know,  a  dolphin,  a  queer  fish  to  swim  so  high  !  A  silver 
 fish  just  now  in  the  silver  sunshine,  a  gold  fish,  no  doubt, 
 at  golden  sunset.  But  there  it  turns  and  veers  with  the 
 changing  wind  to  all  the  points  of  the  compass.  It  will  tell 
 me  always  how  the  wind  blows.     Thank  you,  good  fish  ! 
 
 To  the  Same. 
 
 Irvine,  ioth  September,  1858. 
 
 .  .  .  Pardon  the  question,  Do  you  think  sometimes 
 of  joining  the  church  sacramentally?  By  and  by,  but  you 
 feel  young  enough  yet  ?  But  you  have  been  placed  among 
 the  flock  at  the  baptismal  well,  and  I  am  sure  you  wish  to 
 follow  in  its  "  footsteps  " — the  flock  of  the  Good  Shepherd, 
 that  "  hears  His  voice  "  and  "  He  calleth  them  all  by  name." 
 He  has  called  you  by  name,  as  He  called  Mary  by  name  at 
 the  empty  sepulchre,  and  you  have  said,  Rabboni,  Master. 
 
 Out  of  our  Sabbath  class  I  have  seen,  with  much  joy,  one 
 and  another  go  forth,  through  the  gate  of  decision  for  Christ, 
 
174  LETTERS  AND  POEMS. 
 
 perhaps  to  teach  a  little  Sabbath  class.  May  not  the  day 
 come  when  you,  too,  with  your  better  education,  and  per- 
 haps your  higher  gifts,  shall  be  a  shepherdess  with  some 
 little  flock  of  lambs  at  the  well.  I  must  not  say  more  about 
 that  here,  but  only  this  :  Be  brave,  be  good,  be  true,  and  be 
 sure  that  the  great  future  (veiled  as  it  is)  will  rise  up  and 
 bless  you !     .     .     . 
 
 ^aliifts  Cumi. 
 
 Maiden  to  my  twelfth  year  come, 
 
 I  had  read  in  Scripture  story 
 Of  a  damsel  cold  and  dumb, 
 
 Wakened  by  the  Lord  of  Glory ; 
 And  it  seemed  to  me  he  spoke, 
 
 And  His  living  word  thrilled  through  me, 
 Till  in  me  new  life  awoke, 
 
 As  He  said,  Talitha  Cumi ! 
 
 I  had  to  my  chamber  gone, 
 
 Eyes  all  swollen  and  red  with  weeping, 
 For  my  heart  felt  like  a  stone, 
 
 And  my  life  a  dream  in  sleeping ; 
 Jesus  in  my  chamber  stood, 
 
 Jesus  stretched  His  hands  unto  me — 
 Hands  all  pierced  and  dropping  blood, 
 
 As  He  said,  Talitha  Cumi ! 
 
 Friends  and  neighbours  gathered  in, 
 Made  no  small  ado  and  weeping, 
 
 Dead  I  was,  yes,  dead  to  sin, 
 Dead,  but  I  was  only  sleeping  ; 
 
 For  Thy  word  renewed  me,  Lord. 
 Freed  from  the  disease  that  slew  me, 
 
TALITHA  CUMI.  1/5 
 
 And  to  pious  friends  restored, 
 Crown'd  with  Thy  Talitha  Cumi. 
 
 Now  with  lamp  I  watch  and  wait 
 
 For  my  Lord's  returning  to  me  ; 
 Should  I  slumber  when  'tis  late, 
 
 Let  that  word  rouse  and  renew  me  ; 
 And  when  long  laid  in  the  tomb, 
 
 Long  forgot  by  those  who  knew  me, 
 Thou  wilt  not  forget  to  come, 
 
 Come  with  Thy  Talitha  Cumi. 
 
 It  was  probably  at  the  close  of  some  unusually  bright 
 day  when  he  had  been  brimful  of  mirth,  which  in  its 
 overflow  had  made  his  companions  glad,  that  the 
 undertone  of  sadness  which  ran  through  all  the  music 
 of  his  life  found  expression  thus  : — 
 
 Jttart  is  23oru  unto  TLrcutbk. 
 
 Whatever  is  not  made  human 
 
 Is,  while  it  lives,  quite  glad ; 
 But  man,  that  is  born  of  woman, 
 
 His  days  are  few  and  sad. 
 
 The  tiny  insect  in  gladness 
 
 Its  little  lifetime  plays  ; 
 But  man  that  is  born  to  sadness 
 
 Goes  darkly  all  his  days. 
 
 The  jaded  hack  has  his  stable, 
 
 The  hunted  fox  his  den  ; 
 But  nothing  on  earth  is  able 
 
 To  eive  true  rest  to  men. 
 
*/6  LETTERS  AND  POEMS. 
 
 The  eagle  has  her  high  eyrie, 
 
 The  lark  her  lowly  bed  ; 
 But  the  Son  of  Man,  when  weary, 
 
 Had  nowhere  to  lay  His  head. 
 
 Toward  the  close  of  this  year  a  great  calamity 
 befell  an  old  and  valued  friend.  John  Logan,  son  of 
 the  St.  Ninian's  manse,  and  brother  of  the  Sheriff,  had 
 become  more  and  more  associated  with  Mr.  Robert- 
 son ;  and  Mrs.  Logan,  the  memory  of  whose  bright- 
 ness will  ever  linger  in  the  hearts  of  those  who 
 had  the  privilege  of  knowing  her,  was  one  of  his 
 dearest  friends.  Amid  the  shadows  of  the  winter 
 a  commercial  crisis  involved  Mr.  Logan  in  difficulties, 
 and  made  the  years  that  remained  to  him,  and  to  his 
 wife,  years  of  anxiety  and  struggle.  The  following 
 verses  accompanied  a  letter  of  sympathy : — 
 
 \Lhe  Verting  ittnifc. 
 "  Dedicated  (31st  Dec,  1858)  to  Lady  Logan. 
 
 W.  B.  R." 
 Good  to  Evil  said, 
 
 "  Evil — might  I  borrow, 
 For  a  serving  maid, 
 
 Your  dark  daughter,  Sorrow  ?" 
 "  Surely,"  Evil  said, 
 
 "  Take  her — oh  !  my  goodness, 
 A  nice  serving  maid 
 
 Free  from  every  rudeness."' 
 
 Evil  laughed,  and  quick 
 Ran  to  tell  the  Devil. 
 
THE  SERVING  MAID.  1 77 
 
 Of  this  clever  trick, 
 
 Played  on  Good  by  Evil ; 
 Ne'er  more  guest  will  come 
 
 To  the  house  of  Goodness, 
 When  this  maid  comes  home, 
 
 With  her  dreadful  rudeness. 
 
 Yet  in  house  of  Goodness 
 
 Sorrow,  altered,  grows, 
 Puts  off  all  her  rudeness, 
 
 On  soft  footstep  goes. 
 Ne'er  more  word  of  cursing, 
 
 She  is  meek  and  mild, 
 And  she  takes  to  nursing 
 
 Goodness'  little  child — 
 
 Patience  ;  pale  and  sickly 
 
 Is  this  child  to  nurse, 
 He  seems  dying  quickly, 
 
 Getting  worse  and  worse. 
 Till  she,  strange  drink  giving, 
 
 Feeds  him  with  her  tears, 
 Then  the  child  gets  thriving 
 
 Nobly,  for  his  years. 
 
 Lullabies  she  sings  him, 
 
 In  most  mournful  strain, 
 Nourishment  she  brings  him, 
 
 All  in  cups  of  pain  ; 
 Nursed,  apart  and  lonely, 
 
 In  the  darkest  rooms, 
 And  she  walks  him  only 
 
 Out  among  the  tombs. 
 
 Dressed  like  him  in  mourning, 
 Blacker  every  year, 
 
 M 
 
I78  LETTERS  AXD  POEMS. 
 
 With  the  sole  adornim 
 
 *s 
 
 Of  the  jewell'd  tear — 
 Tear,  on  white  face  glistening 
 
 In  the  dim  lamp  light, 
 When  she  sitteth  listening 
 
 To  his  moan  all  night. 
 
 Him  for  schooling  too  sick, 
 
 She  herself  must  train, 
 So  she  gives  him  music 
 
 From  the  sobbing  rain, 
 From  the  lone  wind's  sighing, 
 
 From  the  murm'ring  brooks ; 
 And  the  strewed  leaves  lying 
 
 Round  him,  are  the  books — 
 
 Books,  which  none  but  Sorrow 
 
 Sibyl-like  has  read, 
 Of  a  green  to-morrow 
 
 For  the  withered  dead. 
 Pictures  too,  portraying 
 
 Red  cross,  and  white  throne, 
 And  a  knelt  child,  praying, 
 
 Lord  "  Thy  will  be  done." 
 
 So  through  Sorrow's  teaching, 
 
 Patience  perfect  grows, 
 Till  to  manhood  reaching, 
 
 Forth  to  war  he  goes. 
 Forth,  meekly  defiant 
 
 Of  all  danger  wild, 
 Stronger  than  a  giant, 
 
 Gentler  than  a  child. 
 
 "Who  is  this?"  cries  Evil, 
 Coining  down  this  way, 
 
THE  VEILED  BRIDE.  1 79 
 
 "Who  !  "  thunders  the  Devil, 
 
 li  Friend  or  foeman,  say?" 
 Com'st  to  help  or  harm  him, 
 
 Pale-faced  warrior — thou, 
 Mailed  with  grief-worn  armour, 
 
 Plumed  with  pensive  brow  ? 
 
 Down  together  rushing 
 
 On  him  so,  these  twain, 
 Through  meek  endurance  crushing, 
 
 He  has  smote  and  slain. 
 Thus  through  endured  temptation, 
 
 Blessing  springs  from  curse, 
 And  to  Victor  Patience 
 
 Sorrow  must  be  nurse. 
 
 It  was  probably  the  change  of  fortune  that  had  so 
 unexpectedly  come  to  his  friends  which  impressed  him, 
 at  this  new-year  time,  with  the  proverbial  uncertainty 
 of  the  future,  and  led  him  to  write  the  following 
 verses  which  afterwards  appeared  in  an  early  number 
 of  Good  Words,  under  the  editorship  of  his  friend, 
 Dr.  Norman  Macleod  : — 
 
 Wm  Veiled  £x&t. 
 
 Veiled  the  future  comes  refusing 
 
 To  be  seen,  like  Isaac's  bride, 
 Whom  the  lonely  man  met  musing 
 
 In  the  fields  at  eventide. 
 
 Round  him  o'er  the  darkening  waste, 
 
 Deeper  shades  of  evening  fall  j 
 And  behind  him  in  the  past, 
 
 Mother  Sarah's  funeral. 
 
180  LETTERS  AXD  POEMS. 
 
 Mother  Sarah  being  dead, 
 
 Cometh  then  his  destiny  ; 
 Veil'd  Rebecca  he  must  wed, 
 
 Whatsoe'er  her  features  be. 
 
 On  he  walks  in  silent  prayer, 
 
 Bids  the  veil'd  Rebecca  hail  ! 
 Doubting  not  she  will  prove  fair, 
 When  at  length  she  drops  the  veil. 
 
 When  the  veil  is  dropt  aside, 
 
 Dropt  in  Mother  Sarah's  tent, 
 Oh  !  she  is  right  fair,  this  bride, 
 
 Whom  his  loving  God  has  sent  ! 
 
 So  then  walking  'twixt  the  two, 
 
 'Twixt  the  past,  with  pleasures  dead, 
 
 And  the  future  veil'd  from  view, 
 The  veil'd  future  t/wu  must  wed. 
 
 Walk,  like  Isaac,  praying  God, 
 
 Walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight, 
 And  tho'  darker  grows  the  road, 
 
 Doubt  not  all  will  yet  come  right. 
 
 Things  behind  forgetting,  hail 
 
 Every  future  from  above  ! 
 Doubt  not  when  it  drops  the  veil, 
 
 'Twill  be  such  as  thou  canst  love. 
 
 The  following,  which  will  again  remind  our  readers 
 of  some  of  George  Herbert's  conceits,  was  sent  to  his 
 niece  Margaret  on  her  tenth  birthday;  but  it  was 
 written  in  the  album  of  many  another  Margaret  both 
 before  and  after.  It  belongs  to  the  time  of  which  we 
 arc  now  writing. 
 
A  BIRTHDAY  WISH.  I  Si 
 
 JEtajarct. 
 
 A    BIRTHDAY    WISH. 
 
 Minstrel  monks  in  days  of  old, 
 
 Sang  some  quaint  conceits  and  pretty, 
 
 Of  those  twelve  pearls  set  in  gold, 
 
 That  make  gates  into  the  city. 
 Such  a  gate  amongst  us  set, 
 Such  a  pearl  and  fairer  yet, 
 Mayst  thou  be,  pearl  Margaret ! 
 
 Jasper  2  like  the  earth  is  green, 
 
 Sapphire,2  azure,  like  the  sky ; 
 
 And  like  fires  that  glance  between, 
 
 The  pale  flamed  chalcedony.3 
 Such  like  pearl,  or  fairer  yet, 
 All  pearl  beauties  in  thee  met, 
 Mayst  thou  be,  pearl  Margaret ! 
 
 Emerald,4  greener  than  the  soring, 
 
 Black  sardonyx,5  red  and  white  ; 
 
 Sardius,6  with  its  crimson  ring, 
 
 And  the  gold  flamed  crysolite.7 
 Such  like  pearl,  or  fairer  yet, 
 All  pearl  beauties  in  thee  met, 
 Mayst  thou  be,  pearl  Margaret  I 
 
 Beryl s  hath  tears  that  sunlight  hold, 
 Topaz9  flashes  dazzling  blaze, 
 And  with  sprinkled  drops  of  gold 
 Shines  the  purple  chrysoprase.10 
 
 1  Betokens,  they  say,  evergreen  faith. 
 
 8  Heavenly  mindedness.  3  Humble  and  earnest  prayer. 
 
 4  Great  faithfulness.  5  Grief  for  sin,  and  purity. 
 
 6  Cross-bearing.     7  Charity.     8  Hope  in  sorrow.     9  Holiness. 
 
 10  Love  or  chanty  amid  suffering. 
 
1 82  LETTERS  AND  POEMS. 
 
 Such  like  pearl,  or  fairer  yet, 
 All  fair  beauties  in  thee  met, 
 Mayst  thou  be,  pearl  Margaret ! 
 
 Jacinth  1  changing  with  the  sky, 
 Vies  with  rose  flamed  amethyst , a 
 But  what  pearl  can  ever  vie, 
 With  young  lips  no  guile  has  kissed, 
 And  all  stars  must  wane  and  set, 
 Where  pure  eyes  dawn,  Margaret  ! 
 
 Good,  be  thou  then — more  than  fair, 
 For  mere  beauty  may  befool, 
 
 Though  our  hearts  to  temple  prayer 
 Go  best  through  "  Gate  Beautiful." 
 
 So  to  the  holy,  nearer  yet 
 
 Through  thee,  pearl  gate  'mongst  us  set, 
 May  we  come,  pearl  Margaret ! 
 
 1  Adaptation  to  circumstances.  2  Spiritual  beauty. 
 
REVIVAL.  183 
 
 CHAPTER     X. 
 jglebitmJ  anb  (Chttrclt-guiliiing. 
 
 THE  revival  of  religion  in  America,  to  which  Mr. 
 Robertson  had  referred  in  his  letters  to  Mr.  Smith, 
 began  in  the  year  1859  to  make  its  influence 
 felt,  first  in  Ireland,  and  then  in  Scotland.  There 
 were  signs  of  deeper  earnestness  in  the  church  at 
 Irvine,  which  cheered  its  minister.  He  had  greater 
 joy  than  heretofore  in  preaching  to  the  eager  listeners 
 who  filled  the  pews,  and  in  conversing  with  those  who 
 sought  his  guidance  in  their  spiritual  perplexities. 
 There  were  no  physical  manifestations  as  in  Ireland — 
 no  excitement,  nothing  inconsistent  with  that  Kingdom 
 of  God  which  cometh  not  with  observation. 
 
 Mr.  Robertson  had  special  delight  in  preaching  to 
 the  miners  in  and  around  the  village  of  Dresrhorn 
 some  three  miles  distant,  at  meetings  arranged  by  a 
 Free  Church  student  in  the  neighbourhood,  afterwards 
 one  of  the  succession  of  ministers  who  laboured  in  the 
 Wynd  Mission  of  Glasgow,  now  the  Rev.  Robert 
 Howie,  of  Free  St.  Mary's,  Govan. 
 
1 84  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 His  attitude  in  relation  to  the  i:  Revival  " — his 
 earnest  desire  to  avail  himself  of  every  opportunity  of 
 good  which  it  brought,  and  at  the  same  time  to  guard 
 against  the  risk  of  fanaticism  which  it  involved — is 
 illustrated  by  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  written 
 about  this  time  to  one  of  his  elders,  who  had  sent  him 
 an  account  of  a  meeting  addressed  by  the  Rev.  Mr. 
 Gebbie  of  Dunlop. 
 
 To  Mr.  John  Wright. 
 
 London,  Wednesday  Night,  past  12. 
 
 The  narrative  you  relate  from  his  address  is  a  very  inter- 
 esting one,  and  most  profitable  for  "  instruction  in  righteous- 
 ness," even  the  righteousness  of  God,  to  those  that  can  make 
 the  proper  use  of  it.  Such  cases  require  to  be  delicately 
 handled,  both  for  the  sake  of  the  persons  themselves,  lest 
 they  should  be  exalted  above  measure  by  thinking  they  have 
 got  special  revelations,  and  by  having  their  case  set  forth  for 
 public  admiration  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  hearers,  lest  they 
 should  be  dissatisfied  with  the  ordinary  mode  of  entering  the 
 kingdom,  and  demand  and  wait  for  a  sign  from  heaven,  and 
 seek  for  some  other  light  to  guide  them  than  that  which  shines 
 from  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ  in  the  mirror  of  the  Word  as  the 
 glory  of  the  Lord,  and  which  we  all  are  bidden  with  unveiled 
 face  to  behold.  Even  in  respect  of  real  visions  and  voices, 
 does  not  the  Apostle  say  that  we  have  a  more  sure  word  of 
 prophecy,  unto  which  we  do  well  to  take  heed  as  unto  a  light 
 shining  in  a  dark  place.  The  visions  no  doubt  were  purely 
 subjective,  *.*.,  the  product  of  the  imagination,  yet  under  the 
 guidance  of  God's  holy  converting  Spirit,  I  trust,  who  can 
 certainly  make  the  imagination  an  organ  of  his  converting 
 and  sanctifying  offices — as  well  as  the  intellect — and  whose 
 
MEE  TINGS  A  T  DREG  HORN.  1 8  5 
 
 work  in  that  remarkable  faculty  is  probably  not  sufficiently 
 recognized  in  our  theology.  But  whether  it  was  the  Holy 
 Spirit's  work  or  no  remains  to  be  seen  by  the  woman's  future 
 conduct.  Let  us  hope  it  will  prove  so,  and  be  neither  faith- 
 less nor  credulous. 
 
 The  only  surviving  daughter  of  Mr.  Paterson, 
 Corsehill,  an  Irvine  elder,  whose  farm  was  near 
 Dreghorn,  writes  to  me  :  "  The  meetings  were  begun 
 in  the  cottages  of  the  colliers.  As  the  numbers  in- 
 creased they  met  sometimes  in  the  corner  of  a  field 
 on  my  father's  farm  ;  and,  as  the  dark  autumn  evenings 
 came  on,  in  an  empty  byre  on  Corsehill  homestead, 
 while  a  mission  hall  was  being  put  up  by  Mrs.  Mure 
 Macredie  of  Perceton,  in  which  the  mission  work  was 
 afterwards  conducted."  "  Without  doubt,"  my  corre- 
 spondent adds,  "  the  whole  neighbourhood  got  an 
 impetus  to  '  higher  life.'  " 
 
 I  remember  a  letter  which  Air.  Robertson  wrote  to 
 me  at  the  time,  but  which  unfortunately  has  not  been 
 preserved.  He  described  the  crowds  of  eager  faces 
 seen  in  chiaroscuro  in  the  cattle  stalls,  and  likened 
 the  scene  to  the  adoration  of  the  Magi,  on  which 
 subject  I  had  been  preaching  at  Irvine  some  time 
 before. 
 
 Airs.  M'Cunn  remembers  his  once  bidding  her 
 remark  "  how  religious  feeling  glorified  and  refined 
 the  roughest  natures  ;  and  he  illustrated  this  by  his 
 experience  in  a  mining  village  in  Ayrshire,  where 
 during  a  religious  revival  the  women  grew  to  look 
 Jike  Madonnas,  and  both  men  and  women  sung  like 
 
1 86  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 angels.  Of  course  it  could  not  last,  but  it  was 
 wonderful  how  the  spiritual  light  transformed  the 
 material  man." 
 
 In  the  midst  of  his  hard,  hopeful  work,  the  tidings 
 reached  him  that  his  brother  Robert  was  dying,  and 
 he  at  once  went  to  him.  Robert  was  one  of  the  most 
 richly  gifted  of  the  family  to  which  he  belonged.  He 
 had  completed  his  studies  for  the  ministry,  and  re- 
 vealed to  those  who  heard  him  remarkable  power  as 
 a  preacher,  in  which  a  measure  of  William's  imagin- 
 ation was  combined  with  James's  intensity  and  direct- 
 ness. Shrinking  modesty  kept  him  from  taking 
 license,  and  he  contented  himself  with  working  as  a 
 city  missionary  under  Dr.  Eadie  in  Glasgow,  till  his 
 health  gave  way.     He  died  on  13th  November,  1859. 
 
 To  His  Father. 
 
 Irvine,  November,  1859. 
 
 I  heard  you  say  by  the  grave  that  "  this  was  a  dark 
 passage,  but  there  was  light  at  the  other  end." 
 
 Let  us  not  be  impatient  for  the  light  coming  too  soon.  We 
 shall  all  meet  in  it  I  hope  by  and  by,  and  surely  we  should 
 thank  God  for  having  lifted  the  darkness  off  our  dear  Robert's 
 eyes  !  A  more  lamb-like,  Christ-like  sufferer  I  never  saw  j 
 and  as  I  stood  by  his  breathless  form  at  midnight  and  closed 
 his  weary  eyes,  I  thought  he  looked  like  a  picture  of  "  the 
 dead  Christ."  And  as  I  brought  it  home  in  the  train,  I  had 
 no  doubt  that  shining  ones  were  watching  at  the  head  and 
 feet  in  the  dark  van,  and  the  funeral  was  largely  attended, 
 if  our  eyes  could  have  seen  them  in  that  dim  drizzly  yester- 
 day. 
 
HIS  BROTHER  ROBERTS  DEATH.  1 87 
 
 Was  he  not  about  the  same  age  with  the  dying  Saviour? 
 and  buried  on  a  Friday  too  ?  I  hope  the  third  day  (when 
 this  may  reach  you)  will  have  brought  much  balm  of 
 comfort  and  sweet  spices,  and  rolled  away  any  stony  doubt 
 that  may  be  lying  about  the  door  of  the  sepulchre,  "  for  now 
 is  Christ  risen  from  the  dead." 
 
 To  His  Younger  Sister. 
 
 Irvine,  7th  Dec,  1859. 
 
 Do  you  think  Andrew  could  get  some  other  for  Thursday 
 first  for  evening  service  in  Auchenbowie  School,  and  let  me 
 off  for  a  week  or  two  ?  Almost  every  day  I  am  getting 
 some  new  inquirers,  and  don't  like  to  turn  them  off  for  want 
 of  time,  or  because  I  am  going  from  home.  One  must  be 
 as  little  absent  from  the  farm  as  possible  when  the  fields 
 are  white,  or  whitening,  to  the  harvest. 
 
 To  Rev.  William  Blair,  Dunblane. 
 
 Iryixe,  10th  January,  i860. 
 
 It  is  now  high  time  to  acknowledge  your  letter  received 
 some  time  in  the  course  of  last  year.  Let  me  hope  that  you 
 have  had  ...  a  safe  crossing  from  the  old  year  to 
 the  new,  and  a  pleasant  landing  on  the  shore  of  '60,  and  ten 
 joyous  days  journey  up  through  the  undiscovered  land. 
 
 Concerning  revivals,  there  is  a  decided  movement  of  "  the 
 kingdom  that  cometh  not  with  observation  "  among  us.  It 
 gives  one  more  work  than  one  can  well  manage,  preaching 
 every  second  night  at  least,  and  holding  private  meetings 
 daily.  But  it  is  blessed  work,  and  even  in  present  results 
 has  a  thousand  times  more  than  its  reward.     .     .     . 
 
 Mrs.  Risk,  whose  death  called  forth  the  letter  from 
 which  the  following  extracts   are  made,  was  a  kins- 
 
1 88  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 woman,  sister  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  William  Bruce,  Edin- 
 burgh : — 
 
 To  Provost  Risk,  Dumbarton. 
 
 15th  Feb.,  i860. 
 
 .  .  .  The  pure  and  quiet  stream  that  flowed  so 
 gently  and  so  long  in  the  shadow  of  death  has  dropped 
 now  into  the  eternal  ocean.  But  you  must  be  glad  for  her 
 sake  that  her  sufferings  are  for  ever  over,  and  the  weary  night 
 watch  of  sickness  replaced  with  the  joy  unspeakable  of  serv- 
 ing Him  day  and  night  in  His  temple.  For  what  were  her 
 sufferings  but  a  preparation  for  a  more  exceeding  weight  of 
 glory,  realized  now,  when  the  days  of  preparation  are  accom- 
 plished, and  at  the  midnight  cry  the  chamber  of  the  body  has 
 been  thrown  open,  and  the  sainted  spirit  gone  forth  in  her 
 beauty  to  meet  the  Lord  ?  The  weeping  of  survivors  in  the 
 valleys  has  been  answered  by  the  shoutings  of  the  blessed 
 on  the  hills  above  us,  and  the  funeral  here  was  but  a  dark 
 shadow  of  a  shining  procession  in  the  heavens. 
 
 We  have  been  very  busy  here  of  late,  both  sowing  and 
 reaping  in  revival.  I  am  afraid  it  is  now  passing  by 
 — that  it  has  "  come  to  pass  "  as  all  things  do — as  death  and 
 funeral  with  you  have  come  not  to  stay,  but  come  to  pass. 
 So  our  revival  too,  and  yet  I  think  the  Phenomenal  has  not 
 passed  without  leaving  a  deep  deposit  of  the  Eternal  Real 
 among  us.     .     .     . 
 
 Another  of  the  frequently  recurring  family  bereave- 
 ments came  in  the  midst  of  his  labours.  His  eldest 
 brother,  Andrew,  died  on  27th  February,  i860. 
 
 To  Mr.  John  Smith. 
 Greenhill,  Bannockburx,  3rd  March,  1S60. 
 The  shadow  of  death  has  darkened  again  over  our  house, 
 but  with  creat  mixture  of  heavenly  light.      I  have  just  lost 
 
HIS  BROTHER  ANDREW'S  DEATH         1 89 
 
 one  of  the  best  of  brothers,  the  eldest,  Andrew.  He  has 
 been  carried  off  by  cramp-spasms  that  have  been  assailing 
 him  periodically  for  some  time,  and  that  have  struck  the  heart 
 at  last.  He  died  suddenly,  but  very  peacefully,  and  death 
 has  hardly  changed  his  pleasant  look. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  James  M'Owan,  M.A. 
 
 Greenhill,  Saturday. 
 
 The  shadow  of  death  has  had  little  darkness  in  it  to 
 Andrew.  How  much  in  it  to  comfort  us,  as  well  as  in  that 
 life  which  it  transfigured  and  carried  up  on  high.  Though 
 these  cramp-spasms  made  short  work  when  they  got  to  the 
 heart  of  mortal  life,  they  could  not  touch  the  higher  life,  but 
 only  released  it.  I  think  the  Lord  has  been  here,  and  our 
 brother  has  not  died.  Let  us  not  say  "  departed  " ;  per- 
 haps he  is  nearer  than  ever,  and  may  be  with  you  to-morrow 
 still. 
 
 This  private  sorrow  was  ever  afterwards  linked  in 
 his  memory  with  a  calamity  which  took  place  on  the 
 same  date,  and  deeply  moved  his  sympathy.  The 
 schooner  "  Success,"  of  Nantes,  was  wrecked  on  Irvine 
 bar  on  February  27th,  and  the  bodies  of  her  crew  of 
 seven  were  washed  ashore.  Mr.  Robertson  was  busily 
 occupied  during  the  whole  day  with  the  arrangements 
 for  their  funeral.  With  characteristic  consideration 
 he  proposed  that,  as  the  men  had  manifestly  belonged 
 to  the  Roman  Catholic  communion,  they  should  be 
 buried  according  to  the  rites  of  their  Church,  urging 
 the  plea  that  if  those  who  loved  them  ever  came  to 
 learn  where  they  lay,  it  would  be  a  comfort  to  them 
 
190  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 to  know  that  the  last  offices  for  their  dead  had  been 
 rendered  in  the  form  they  deemed  most  sacred.  His 
 proposal  met  with  opposition,  and  only  served  to  stir 
 up  bitterness.  He  had  at  length  to  yield,  and  content 
 himself  with  making,  in  the  funeral  service,  as  large  use 
 of  the  "  office  for  the  dead,"  as  was  possible  for  a 
 Protestant  minister. 
 
 When  he  returned  home  from  the  contention, 
 weary  and  worried  in  spirit  because  of  the  perversity 
 that  could  let  sectarian  exclusiveness  assert  itself  in 
 presence  of  a  mystery  of  human  sorrow,  he  threw 
 himself  into  an  easy  chair  by  the  study  fire,  and  in  the 
 dusk  of  the  February  evening  fell  asleep.  The  chair, 
 made  by  an  Auchenbowie  joiner,  was  of  so  comfort- 
 able a  shape,  that  each  member  of  the  Greenhill  family, 
 on  leaving  home  to  set  up  house  for  himself,  took  one 
 of  the  same  pattern  with  him.  As  he  lay  in  that 
 chair  he  had  a  most  vivid  dream.  His  brother,  Andrew. 
 seemed  to  come  into  the  room,  and,  as  he  rose  to  meet 
 him,  he  thought  there  was  a  far-off  look  on  his  face,  on 
 which,  too,  he  saw  lines  of  pain.  And  then  he  awoke. 
 The  dream  dwelt  on  his  mind ;  and  when  next  morning, 
 as  he  sat  at  breakfast,  he  saw  a  messenger  from 
 Auchenbowie  coming  up  to  the  manse,  he  was  sure 
 that  he  was  the  bringer  of  heavy  tidings.  He  learned 
 that  at  the  very  hour,  the  night  before,  at  which  he 
 had  awakened  from  his  dream,  Andrew  died  in  the 
 chair  of  the  same  pattern  as  that  in  which  he  had 
 been  sleeping. 
 
 When  a  monument  was  erected  to  mark  the  grave 
 
BURIAL  OF  STRANGERS.  191 
 
 of  the  seven  strangers,  Mr.  Robertson  furnished  the 
 following  verses  which  are  carved  on  the  stone : — 
 
 'S3 
 
 (Epitaph  in  Ev'oinc  (thurchrari. 
 
 Seven  dead  the  sea  gave  to  the  shore, 
 
 To  wrap  beneath  the  sod, 
 Till  they  and  we  shall  stand  before 
 
 The  judgment  seat  of  God. 
 
 Their  names,  their  lives,  their  faith  unknown, 
 
 These  dumb  dead  here  arrive ; 
 But  what's  hid  now  shall  then  be  shown, 
 
 When  here  they  stand  alive. 
 
 Sail  on  !  dark  coffined  fleet  of  seven  ! 
 
 On  to  revealing  day ; 
 And  may  we  make  the  harbour  Heaven, 
 
 Xot  lost  nor  cast  away. 
 
 As  might  have  been  expected,  in  the  case  of  one 
 whose  eloquent  preaching  was  heard  in  so  many 
 places,  frequent  overtures  were  made  to  Mr.  Robertson 
 to  induce  him  to  accept  charges  in  one  or  other  of  the 
 great  cities.  Whenever  he  could,  he  took  measures  to 
 prevent  a  formal  invitation.  But  he  was  not  always 
 successful.  In  1S61  two  "calls"  came  to  him  from 
 Glasgow — one  from  the  congregation  of  Regent  Place, 
 and  the  other  from  his  old  friends  of  Shamrock  Street 
 Church,  whose  pulpit  was  vacant,  through  the  death 
 of  the  minister  who  had  accepted  the  charge  Mr. 
 Robertson  declined  ten  years  before.  His  speech  in 
 dealing  with  the  Regent  Place  call  was  brief;   but  he 
 
1 92  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 seemed  to  feel  that  the  Shamrock  Street  people  who, 
 after  an  interval  of  ten  years,  had  not  forgotten  him, 
 were  entitled  to  a  full  statement  of  his  reasons  for  a 
 second  refusal.  The  pleadings  in  the  Presbytery,  which 
 met  on  nth  June,  1 86 1,  were  memorable.  The  Irvine 
 commissioners  put  forth  all  their  strength,  and  one  of 
 them,  a  plain,  homely  elder,  made  a  speech  at  which 
 all  who  heard  it  wondered,  because  of  its  spiritual 
 insight  and  its  nobility  of  tone.  A  member  of 
 Presbytery  came  to  Mr.  Robertson  when  the  pro- 
 ceedings were  over,  and  asked  who  that  remarkable 
 elder  was.  "  He's  a  man  who  lives  in  communion  with 
 God  and  makes  s/ioo/i"  was  the  characteristic  reply. 
 
 In  his  speech  Mr.  Robertson  told  how  he  had 
 become  bound  up  with  his  people. 
 
 "  Where  is  the  household  in  that  Irvine  church  into 
 which,  some  time  or  other,  during  these  seventeen  years — 
 into  whose  inmost  heart  of  love  the  angel  of  joy,  or  the 
 stronger  angel  of  grief,  has  not  admitted  me  ?  ... 
 Do  city  brethren  rightly  apprehend  the  close  relationship 
 between  a  country  pastor  and  his  people  ?  Child  of  their 
 childless,  father  of  their  orphans,  brother  of  them  all ; 
 entering  into  all  their  household  joys  and  griefs  in  the  most 
 homely  and  familiar  way  ;  interested  in  the  father's  work 
 and  wages,  in  the  children's  education,  in  the  son's  going  to 
 sea,  in  the  daughter's  going  out  to  service,  in  the  grand- 
 father's ailments,  in  the  very  baby's  frolics,  and  in  the 
 mother's  earnest  prayers  and  keen  heart-wrestlings  for  them 
 all.  He  lives  in  them  and  he  lets  them  live  in  him,  and 
 seeks  to  interpenetrate  their  common  life  with  his  own  more 
 sacred  life  ;  and  their  sorrows,  and  their  troubles,  and  their 
 
CALL  TO  GLASGOW  DECLINED.  193 
 
 triumphs,  are  reproduced  on  Sabbath  in  the  pulpit ;  and  the 
 moans  of  their  suffering,  and  the  music  of  their  joy,  and  the 
 questions  of  their  inner  life  return  upon  them  through  his 
 Sabbath  prayers  and  sermons,  idealized,  corrected,  sub- 
 limated in  the  light  of  the  Cross  and  of  eternity — he  is  one 
 with  them  and  they  with  him  identified.  Was  not  this 
 something  different  from  preaching  two  discourses  eloquently 
 to  a  crowded  city  audience  upon  the  Sabbath,  and  losing 
 sight  of  them,  as  one  must  do,  in  a  great  measure,  amid  the 
 roar  and  bustle  of  the  following  week  ?     .     .     . 
 
 An  elder,  a  commissioner  from  Irvine,  has  gone  to  the 
 heart  of  my  reason  for  wishing  to  remain — has  spoken  of 
 blessed  revivals  that  have  been  changing  not  so  much  the 
 face  as  the  heart  of  my  church  of  late,  bringing  in  among 
 us  a  great  increase  of  spiritual  life,  and  making  all  things 
 new.  I  may  almost  say  that  the  church  has  been  born  again 
 within  the  last  few  years.  Veils  have  been  rent  from  the 
 faces  of  the  sleepers,  and  dead  eyes  awakened  to  the  visions 
 of  the  Eternal  Real.  The  church  that  could  hardly  be 
 built  outward  has  I  believe  been  building  upward.  I  could 
 tell  of  souls  awakened,  of  souls  saved,  of  souls  sanctified, 
 and  of  sanctified  souls  ascending  triumphant  to  glory. 
 I  am  no  enthusiast  and  have  no  sympathy  with  the  parading 
 of  the  holiest  secrets  of  men's  hearts  before  all  eyes,  but 
 there  are  secrets  there  of  the  kingdom  that  cometh  not  with 
 observation,  which  will  come  out  when  the  books  are  opened 
 — and  there  lies  the  deepest  reason  of  my  attachment  to  my 
 present  charge.  Why  should  I  forsake  a  work  that  God 
 seems  to  be  blessing,  and  has  blessed  ?     .     .     . 
 
 Some  worldly  people  may  give  me  credit  for  making 
 a  sacrifice.  They  know  nothing  of  the  lofty  spiritual  regions 
 in  which  such  questions  are  discussed.  To  them  it  is  a 
 mere  question  of  a  lower  or  higher  position,  of  a  less  or 
 greater  salary ;  therefore  I  crave  leave  to  say  the  question 
 
 N 
 
194  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 in  this  form  has  never  been  present  to  my  mind,  and  I  will 
 not  take  credit  for  making  sacrifice  when  I  do  not  feel  in 
 my  heart  that  I  am  doing  anything  of  the  kind.  Some 
 Christian  Epicureans  seem  to  think  that  the  way  of  duty  is 
 always  that  which  is  lighted  with  the  silver  and  golden 
 lamps,  while  Christian  Stoics  think  it  is  that  which  is  marked 
 with  the  most  numerous  crosses  and  the  sharpest  thorns. 
 For  my  part  I  believe  that  it  is  neither,  or  that  it  may  be 
 either,  but  that  it  is  always  that  on  which  the  Spirit  of  the 
 Lord  leads,  whose  prayer-sought  guidance  I  seek  to  follow, 
 undeterred  alike  by  the  splendour  on  the  one  side,  or  the 
 comparative  obscurity  on  the  other.     .     .     . 
 
 The  good  people  of  Irvine  were  so  delighted  with 
 their  pastor's  resolution  to  remain  with  them  that  they 
 felt  bound  to  give  substantial  expression  to  their  joy. 
 Ten  years  before,  his  refusal  of  the  first  call  from 
 Shamrock  Street  Church  had  been  signalized  by  the 
 building  of  a  manse ;  and  now  the  second  refusal 
 led  to  the  resolution  to  build  a  new  church.  Not 
 the  congregation  only,  but  the  whole  community 
 interested  themselves  in  the  project  of  providing  a 
 sanctuary  more  in  harmony  with  the  sermons  of  the 
 poet- preacher  and  the  services  which  he  conducted, 
 than  the  old  kirk  in  the  Cotton  Row.  When  it  was 
 known  that  the  site  on  which  Mr.  Robertson  wished 
 the  church  to  be  erected  was  on  the  hill  Mizar,  over- 
 looking the  river,  in  line  with  the  Established  Church 
 to  the  south  and  the  Free  Church  to  the  north,  the 
 proprietors  of  the  ground,  though  the  chief  of  them  was 
 a  prominent  member  of  the  Established  Church,  came 
 
PLAN  OF  NEW  CHURCH.  195 
 
 forward  and  asked  to  be  permitted  to  present  it  as  a 
 free  gift. 
 
 After  competitive  plans  had  been  examined,  the 
 work  was  entrusted  to  Mr.  F.  T.  Pilkington,  Edinburgh, 
 in  whom  Mr.  Robertson  found  an  artist  who  entered 
 with  enthusiasm  into  all  his  ideas  with  regard  to 
 ecclesiastical  architecture,  and  the  possibility  of  adapt- 
 ing it  to  the  purposes  of  Presbyterian  worship.  The 
 church,  which  was  built  in  the  Venetian  Gothic  style 
 with  variegated  colour  in  the  stone,  is  cruciform,  the 
 adaptation  to  Presbyterian  worship  being  obtained  by 
 treating  three  members  of  the  cross,  the  chancel  and 
 the  two  transepts,  as  apses,  so  that  the  sitters  in  all 
 parts  of  the  building  can  see  the  pulpit.  As  the  site 
 chosen  was  on  the  summit  of  a  rising  ground  sloping 
 down  towards  the  west,  a  most  effective  western  facade 
 overlooking  the  river  was  secured  by  the  underbuild- 
 ing, in  the  form  of  an  arcade,  on  which  the  gable, 
 pierced  by  a  fine  St.  Catherine's  window,  rests.  The 
 tower  and  spire  are  at  the  north-western  corner.  The 
 roof  is  supported  by  four  pillars  at  the  corners  of  the 
 transepts.  The  platform-pulpit  occupies  the  whole  of 
 the  chancel,  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  building 
 by  a  stone  balustrade,  on  which  are  bas  reliefs  repre- 
 senting the  Last  Supper,  the  baptism  of  our  Lord,  and 
 the  marriage  at  Cana  of  Galilee,  with  figures  of  the 
 four  evangelists  in  niches  between. 
 
196  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 To  Miss  Crum,  Auldhouse. 
 
 Irvine,  18th  Nov.,  i36i. 
 
 There  is  work  enough  and  word  enough  to  keep  any  one 
 from  being  miserable,  and  if  these  two  are  not  enough,  then 
 there  is  weeping  enough.  For  "  into  each  life  some  rain 
 must  fall "  to  keep  it  green,  since  constant  sunshine  would 
 be  wearisome  and  withering — 
 
 "  Prithee  weep,  May  Lilian  ! 
 Gaiety  without  eclipse 
 Wearieth  me,  May  Lilian." 
 
 Miss  Brown,  I  hear,  has  been  with  you.  I  hope  she  has 
 not  carried  you  off  with  her.  Some  faint  design  she  had  of 
 coming  here  on  Saturday  last.  I  wish  she  had  come,  and 
 you  too,  for  indeed  I  do  not  at  any  time  remember  a  finer 
 Sabbath  day  altogether  than  yesterday  was — with  the  grace 
 within  the  church  and  the  glory  outside.  I  mean  the  glory 
 of  the  fine  blue  winter  day;  and  at  dusk,  what  a  glory  ! 
 The  dim  earth  lying  between  golden  moonrise  and  flaming 
 sunset — like  "the  one  at  the  head  and  the  other  at  the 
 feet" — or  like  those  shining,  burning  ones  on  either  side  the 
 mystic  ark,  that  continually  do  cry  "  Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  the 
 whole  earth  is  full  of  Thy  glory." 
 
 You  know  the  glory  of  our  winter  sunsets  here.  I  wonder 
 if  they  are  really  finer  on  Sabbath  evenings,  if  Nature  too 
 has  a  Sunday  dress,  and  shows  her  jewellery  and  silks  in 
 going  home  from  church,  as  they  say  too  that  birds  and 
 timid  little  hares  are  not  so  frightened  for  us  on  Sabbaths. 
 But  I  suppose  it  is  the  outcome  of  the  deeper  sense  of 
 peace  and  sense  of  glory  in  ourselves.  Let  us  be  in  the 
 Spirit  on  the  Lord's  day,  and  we  too,  in  our  way,  shall  get 
 the  Apocalypse. 
 
TRIP  TO  HOLLAND.  197 
 
 Irvine,  21st  November,  1861. 
 
 What  a  tunnel  of  clouds  and  darkness  Miss  Brown  would 
 have  to  travel  through  !  May  it  brighten  and  calm  for  you 
 ere  to-morrow — for  how  it  has  changed  since  I  wrote.  These 
 three  days  so  royally  dark,  fit  for  the  burial  of  a  hundred 
 kings,  and  it  rains  over  the  sands  and  the  water-reaches, 
 out  to  the  misty  sea,  the  wind  roaring  down  the  chimneys 
 like  a  score  of  sweeps.  Isabella  comes  up  smiling  and 
 pokes  my  study  fire,  and  the  fire  irons  ring  like  a  peal  of 
 bells. 
 
 To  His  Younger  Sister. 
 
 Irvine,  27th  June,  1862. 
 
 In  my  last  note  I  told  you  of  a  trip  to  England,  and 
 now  I  am  going  to  Holland.  Mr.  Henderson  of  Park, 
 the  Christian  Croesus,  has  asked  Dr.  Robson  and  me  to  go 
 over  and  visit  the  Dutch  churches  there,  and  we  mean  to 
 start  on  Monday  night  or  Tuesday  morning,  and  stay  a 
 fortnight  or  so  among  the  Low  people.  The  arrangement 
 has  been  come  to  rather  suddenly,  and  of  course  I  have 
 some  packing  and  preparing  to  do  ere  going  to  the  Mynheers. 
 I  wish  I  could  come  and  see  you  on  the  way,  but  this  I 
 doubt  will  not  be  possible. 
 
 Please  tell  father,  and  ask  him  if  he  has  any  word  to 
 Amsterdam.  It  is  very  kind  of  Mr.  H.,  who  of  course  pays 
 travelling  expenses  and  handsomely.  It  is  not  a  Synodical 
 deputation,  but  a  private  embassage.  In  fact  Mr.  H.  just 
 wants  I  suppose  to  give  Dr.  Robson  and  me  a  trip.  Thank 
 you,  good  Mr.  H.  Our  church  is  now  laid  out  and  well 
 begun. 
 
 The  Rev.  William  France  of  Paisley,  was  added  to 
 the  travelling  party,  and  the  trip  was  thoroughly 
 enjoyed. 
 
193  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 To  His  Younger  Sister. 
 
 Arnheim,  nth  July,  1862. 
 
 If  you  have  not  forgot  your  geography  you  may  know 
 that  the  Rhine  divides  hereabout,  that  one  of  its  branches 
 becomes  the  Yssel,  and  running  through  Gelderland  and 
 Overyssel  falls  into  the  Zuider  Zee.  From  the  shores  of 
 that  Zuider  Zee  up  the  banks  of  that  Yssel,  we  have  come 
 to-day  by  diligence,  and  are  tabernacling  here  over-night,  in 
 the  prospect  of  going  up  the  Rhine  to  Bonn  to-morrow,  and 
 spending  the  Sabbath  there.  I  think  of  setting  out  again 
 for  Irvine.  We  have  finished,  as  far  as  visitation  is  con- 
 cerned, the  work  we  came  out  for,  that  is  inquiring  into  the 
 state  of  the  Dutch  Secession  Church.  The  duty  has  taken 
 us  to  Amsterdam,  Utrecht,  Leyden,  Hague,  and  a  great 
 many  places  besides ;  but  especially  to  a  pretty  little  town 
 called  Kampen,  on  the  border  of  Friesland,  where  the 
 professor  and  students  are,  where  we  had  to  hold  forth  in 
 the  church  on  Sabbath  last,  where  we  had  a  grand  meeting 
 with  the  heads  of  the  church  yesterday — a  most  singular 
 mixture  of  Christianity  and  coffee,  prayers  and  pipes,  all  the 
 ministers  smoking  from  the  beginning  of  the  meeting  at  four  to 
 the  end  of  it  at  half-past  ten — and  where  we  wound  up  with 
 a  supper  after  that  at  Professor  Brummelkamp's,  when  I  did 
 my  best  in  the  way  of  speaking  Dutch  to  his  daughters  Kate 
 and  Jenny. 
 
 Dr.  Robson  and  Mr.  France  are  excellent  travelling 
 companions,  and  though  they  neither  speak  Dutch  nor 
 German,  English  is  spoken  100  for  1  to  what  it  was  when  I 
 was  on  the  Continent  first. 
 
 On  his  return  from  Holland,  Mr.  Robertson  found 
 the  church  building  so  far  advanced  that  arrangements 
 had  to  be   made  at  once  for  laying  the  foundation 
 
FO  UNDA  TION- STONE  LA  VI AG.  1 99 
 
 stone.  At  the  request  of  the  building  committee, 
 the  pastor  himself  performed  the  ceremony  on  August 
 26th,  1862.  He  was  supported  by  a  goodly  number 
 of  his  ministerial  and  other  friends,  and  by  a  large 
 assembly  of  the  townspeople,  including  the  Magistrates 
 and  Council  of  the  ancient  burgh,  who,  preceded  by 
 their  halberdiers,  formed  a  picturesque  feature  in  the 
 procession  from  the  King's  Arms  Inn  to  the  site  of 
 the  new  church  on  the  Mizar  Hill.  The  scene  there 
 on  a  lovely  autumn  afternoon,  with  the  river  and  the 
 dunes  in  the  foreground  and  Arran  in  the  distance, 
 was  very  striking ;  and  Mr.  Robertson  seemed  to 
 speak  under  the  influence  of  his  surroundings  : — 
 
 In  laying  the  foundation  stone  of  even  an 
 ordinary  dwelling-house,  much  interest  will  naturally  gather 
 round  it.  We  think  on  to  the  time  when  the  building  shall 
 be  finished,  and  human  life  astir  beneath  its  roof;  the 
 drama  of  domestic  life  begun  within  its  walls,  with  mar- 
 riages crossing  its  threshold,  birth  cradled  in  its  chambers, 
 and  funerals  departing  from  its  doors ;  with  mother  nursing 
 the  children,  and  father  returning  from  his  work  at  eventide, 
 and  sons  and  daughters  growing  up,  and  old  age  sitting  in 
 the  chimney  corner,  and  all  together  eating,  drinking,  sleep- 
 ing, waking,  mourning,  and  rejoicing,  in  that  mingled  play 
 of  human  life  upon  the  household  stage,  on  which  the  cur- 
 tain rises  at  the  cradle  and  drops  in  heavy  folds  around  the 
 tomb.  Forecasting  all  this,  as  we  naturally  do,  what  wonder 
 if  an  interest  gathers  round  the  laying  the  foundation 
 stone  even  of  an  ordinary  house  !  But  how  much  more 
 around  the  laying  of  the  foundation  stone  of  a  new  church — a 
 church  !  a  House  of  the  Lord,  as  my  learned  friends  know 
 that  that  is  the  literal  meaning  of  the  word — a  house  devoted, 
 
200  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 dedicated,  set  apart  to  God — a  house  to  stand  among  the 
 other  houses  of  the  town  like  a  Christian  among  other  men, 
 or  a  Sabbath  among  other  days — a  church  !  in  which,  when 
 once  it  shall  be  opened,  shall  come  and  go  the  scenes  of  the 
 divinest  drama  of  our  human  life  :  with  marriages — yes, 
 marriages,  we  trust,  of  souls,  when  "  He  that  hath  the  bride 
 is  the  Bridegroom,  and  the  friend  of  the  Bridegroom  that 
 standeth  and  heareth  him  shall  rejoice  greatly  because  of  the 
 Bridegroom's  voice;"  of  births — yes,  births,  we  trust,  of 
 souls,  when  "  it  of  Zion  shall  be  said,  this  man  and  that  man 
 was  born  in  her;"  and  where,  too,  holy  grief  shall  sit,  within 
 these  walls,  bemoaning  her  dead,  till  He  who  is  the  Resur- 
 rection and  the  Life  shall  come  to  her  and  say,  "Weep  not," 
 and  bid  her  dead  arise.  A  church  where,  Sabbath  after 
 Sabbath,  penitence  shall  weep,  prayer  supplicate,  praise  sing, 
 and  preaching  sound  the  silver  trumpet  of  the  Gospel ;  and, 
 somewhere  thereabout,  babes  shall  be  brought  for  baptism ; 
 and  where,  too,  season  after  season,  gathering  in  from  the 
 surrounding  town  and  neighbourhood,  souls  dressed  in  white 
 shall  sit  together  at  the  table  of  the  Holy  Supper,  where 
 God's  own  presence  shall  look  down,  and  where  the  mystic 
 ladder  shall  be  placed,  with  its  ascending  and  descending 
 angels,  and  where  the  worshippers,  awaking  from  their 
 earthly  dreams  into  a  higher  life,  shall  cry,  "  This  is  none 
 other  than  the  house  of  God,  and  it  is  the  gate  of  heaven." 
 Surely  the  laying  of  the  foundation  stone  of  such  an  edifice 
 as  this  ought  to  be  done  with  great  solemnity.  We  do  not 
 lay  it  with  masonic  honours,  we  do  not  lay  it  with  great 
 pomp,  parade,  and  pageantry,  with  rattling  drum  and  ring- 
 ing clarion  and  salvos  of  thundering  artillery,  as  they  may 
 lay  the  foundation  stone  of  a  new  college  or  a  palace, 
 a  senate  house  or  an  exchange;  but  in  far  simpler,  and, 
 I  think,  far  sublimer  style,  we  lay  it  with  simple  song  and 
 speech  and  prayer — earnest  dedicative  prayer  to  God.   .    .    . 
 
USES  OF  A   CHURCH.  201 
 
 I  am  told  that  when  our  spire  is  built  it  will  be  a 
 signal  seen  far  out  at  sea;  and  if,  perhaps,  we  put  an 
 illuminated  clock  in  it,  ship-masters  say  that  it  will  be  a 
 very  excellent  beacon  light,  to  guide  ships  into  harbour. 
 However  that  may  be,  I  trust  the  church  itself  will  be  a 
 lighthouse  in  a  dark  and  dangerous  sea,  and  that  the  con- 
 gregation, as  the  peaceful  family  within,  doing  all  things 
 without  murmurings  and  disputings,  will  shine  as  lights  in 
 the  world,  holding  forth  the  Word  of  Life,  that  immortal 
 souls,  tossed  to  and  fro  upon  the  dark  and  angry  waters, 
 may  not  suffer  shipwreck  and  go  down  with  all  their 
 precious  treasures  to  the  depths  of  everlasting  woe. 
 
 And  now,  on  this  beautiful  site,  we  would  lift  up  our 
 eyes  to  those  heavens  and  say  unto  Him  who  has  brought 
 us  hitherto,  Master,  it  is  good  for  us  to  be  here,  let  us 
 build  !  And  now  unto  Him  that  loved  us  and  washed 
 us  from  our  sins  in  His  blood,  and  hath  made  us  kings 
 and  priests  to  God,  even  the  Father,  to  worship  Him 
 both  in  the  earthly  and  heavenly  temple,  both  in  the 
 God's  house  made  with  hands,  and  in  the  house  of  God 
 not  made  with  hands ;  to  Him  by  whom  the  handling  of 
 the  mallet  and  the  trowel  and  other  offices  of  masonry 
 and  carpentry  are  numbered  with  the  arts  and  sacrifices 
 of  His  holy  priesthood  ;  to  Him  who  has  instructed  us  to 
 lay  the  rule,  and  square,  and  compasses,  and  other  sym- 
 bols of  our  skill  and  industry  upon  His  altar,  to  find  their 
 consecration  there ;  to  Him  who  wrought  with  His  own 
 hands  at  Xazareth,  and  wreathed,  in  doing  so,  a  crown  of 
 glory  round  the  sweating  brow  of  manual  toil ;  to  Him  from 
 whom  comes  forth  the  skill  to  plan,  the  power  to  execute, 
 the  patience  to  toil  on,  and  the  reward,  and  without  whom 
 nothing  is  strong,  nothing  is  beautiful,  nothing  prospers — 
 to  Him  do  we  commit  this  work  which  we  this  day  so  auspi- 
 ciously begin  :  for  except  the  Lord  build  the  house,  they 
 
-'--        : .z""'ai  aj'z  : :-: .  7 ::-:•  s:\~i~:. '~. 
 
 -.'    T     .     - 
 
 ; 
 
 "  -      -  '  ■ 
 
 ..:  '■' :. : 
 
THE  IDEAL  7 ."."  TI         V  -3 
 
 •  :::':.:.. ;  •  :        -     \        -         -  -    '  -    -  ■ '    ■'- 
 
 -  .    —  asmal  "  -   •     : 
 
 ;        a       -  .   ■  ■-   - .  ■    ■  -  I 
 
 »  as  near  1  :     -      : - . .    :  i       .     -        •      - 
 
 j  the  Less.  I  -  lictmqg  I     I     - 
 
 1         ,  .    -  -    -  -  ■  "     ■' s      .        ."    " 
 
 cent  f  t  s       .  arc    c : 
 
 Them,  too*  I  got  ]  h     m    I 
 
 - . .     _  .  -         r  yet  a 
 
 _:.::'-      g 
 
 -  :  :--r.  .       ■  .  — 
 
 :      d  .  .                  _  .  .  .                       .               s    :       : 
 
 .   .  ■                      ' .  - .                       -            -               - 
 
 Ft  _    :       :    i  . 
 
 ■   "  -    -                   -            -              - 
 
 .:-.-.-.:■■..  i  time  is 
 
 /- ' .  .  :  g      :    .    . 
 
 S        ths  - 
 
 _  :  3    SUM  -     -       .     .  .  S  . 
 
 series';-,    it  has  c      ...:.       .    -     .  g  Mxs 
 
 jour:::   bag  in  the  same  Iliad       Pleas     .        -    nags 
 ■    .   -     .  is      .  a  ]         -  £  Prince  E* 
 
 How  colossal  -       »Tements 
 
 IE    As  tineas        s  .    . 
 Draged  i  sceptic  .. : 
 
 .  '■    '   .  as  he  not  afta         I  evei 
 
 ial   as   that   ;.'      ?   :. 
 [sal  .     '  :       I   DOOld  -•    QOS&]  ' :.  3   5     ■      .      . 
 
 thougl    :  s   .  .  3   -     ..:  the  cost  of     s   .        dtestm 
 
204         REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 Dark  !  only  on  this  side  doubtless.  The  aeronaut  emerges 
 into  dazzling  sunshine  immediately  when  he  has  pierced 
 through  the  black  cloud — "  It  may  be  we  shall  reach  the 
 golden  shore  and  see  the  great  Achilles."  I  should  like  to 
 know  what  you  think  of  him  after  having  seen  him  to  "  the 
 crypt."  Will  you  not  make  another  pilgrimage  to  that  crypt 
 for  his  sake  ?     I  shall  the  first  time  I  am  again  in  Glasgow. 
 
 In  this  winter  of  1862-3  Mr.  Robertson  prepared  his 
 lecture  on  Luther.  It  was  first  delivered  in  the 
 Abbey  of  Paisley  for  the  benefit  of  Paisley  Infirmary. 
 Even  there,  where  he  was  hampered  by  a  pulpit  and  by 
 the  restraints  which  the  sacred  associations  of  the 
 ancient  building  put  upon  him,  it  produced  a  deep 
 impression.  But  when  familiarity  made  him  inde- 
 pendent of  the  manuscript,  when  he  had  the  free 
 scope  of  a  platform  for  its  delivery,  when  there 
 was  nothing  to  hinder  the  fullest  outflow  of  his 
 humour,  or  to  make  the  heartiest  response  on  the 
 part  of  the  audience  unseemly,  the  power  of  the 
 lecture  was  owned  by  all  who  heard  it.  His  famili- 
 arity with  Germany  and  with  German  modes  of 
 life  gave  reality  to  his  pictures.  His  intense  doctrinal 
 convictions,  which  were  in  entire  accord  with  the 
 leading  positions  of  the  Reformation  theology,  gave 
 earnestness  of  tone  ;  while  his  sympathy  with  the 
 broad  humanity  of  the  German  reformer,  with  his  love 
 of  music  and  of  laughter,  made  the  lecture  bright  with 
 ringing  mirth.  It  seldom  occupied  less  than  two 
 hours,  but  there  was  never  any  sense  of  weariness, 
 €ven  on  the  part  of  sterner  auditors,  who  were  dis- 
 
LECTURE  OX  LUTHER.  205 
 
 posed  to  condemn  it  as  a  histrionic  display.  They 
 were  carried  away  spite  of  themselves,  as  the  lecturer 
 played  upon  his  audience  as  on  a  many-stringed 
 instrument,  now  thrilling  them  with  pathos,  and  now 
 convulsing  them  with  laughter  ;  now  hushing  them 
 to  breathless  silence,  and  now  awaking  the  echoes 
 with  tumultuous  applause. 
 
 The  manuscript  had  many  adventures.  It  was 
 often  amissing,  and  only  came  to  light  again  after 
 anxious  search.     Mr.  Kirkwood  writes  : — 
 
 There  is  an  incident  in  connection  with  the  delivery  of 
 this  lecture  in  Troon  which  is  illustrative  of  the  doctor's 
 character.  A  few  days  after  it,  he  wrote  saying  that  Martin 
 had  taken  flight,  and  could  by  no  means  be  found.  He 
 hoped  he  had  not  made  his  long  migration.  He  drove  over 
 with  a  friend  (the  doctor  was  fond  of  driving  with  his  friends 
 instead  of  taking  the  train),  still  saying  Martin  had  not 
 come  back  to  his  breeding  place.  Search  was  made  in  the 
 house  and  church,  and  at  last  he  was  found  nestling  under  a 
 pew  beneath  the  spot  where  the  platform  had  been  raised. 
 It  was  a  narrow  escape,  for  had  the  manuscript  remained  a 
 little  longer  where  it  was,  it  might  have  been  tossed  by  an 
 ignorant  hand  into  the  vestry  fire. 
 
 On  Tuesday,  29th  December,  1863,  the  new  church 
 was  opened  for  public  worship  by  Mr.  Robertson's  old 
 friend  and  fellow-student,  Dr.  Cairns  of  Berwick,  now 
 Principal  Cairns  of  Edinburgh,  and  on  the  following 
 Sabbath  the  minister  was  assisted  by  another  old 
 friend  and  fellow-student,  Dr.  Alexander  MacEwen, 
 of  Claremont  Church,  Glasgow,  and  by  his  brother,  Mr. 
 
206  REVIVAL  AND  CHURCH-BUILDING. 
 
 Robertson  of  Newington.  He  conducted  the  after- 
 noon service  himself.  The  lesson  which  he  read  was 
 the  record  of  Jacob's  dream,  and  in  commenting  on 
 it  he  told  the  German  legend  of  the  Lost  Church. 
 His  text  was  from  the  Apocalypse — "And  the  four 
 beasts  said,  Amen  " — the  idea  of  the  sermon  being 
 that  the  throne  bearers,  the  ideals  of  all  excellence, 
 human  and  divine,  the  upholders  of  the  holiness  of 
 God,  were  satisfied  in  Christ.  He  thus  spoke  at  the 
 close — 
 
 I  am  glad  to  say  that  we  have  been  enabled,  by  the  help 
 of  God,  and  through  the  liberality  of  others  as  well  as  your- 
 selves, to  rear  so  far  an  edifice  that  is  not  only  meant  for  the 
 accommodation  of  the  worshippers,  however  excellently  that 
 has  been  attained,  but  that  is  also  meant,  through  the 
 language  of  the  architectural  art  that  makes  the  "  very 
 stones  cry  out,"  to  utter  something  of  that  homage  and  that 
 honour  we  render  to  the  worthy  Lamb  that  was  slain,  whom 
 we  proclaim  as  King,  not  only  of  the  good  and  true,  but  also 
 of  the  beautiful ;  and  who,  we  believe,  does  not  disdain  the 
 worship  rendered  Him  through  the  art  of  the  Bezaleel,  or 
 Aholiab  the  artificer,  or  the  Asaph  the  harmonist,  or  the 
 Aaron  the  orator.  I  am  glad  to-day  that  here  upon  this  hill 
 on  this  sea  shore,  we  have  been  raising  a  protest  in  stone 
 a  gainst  that  notion  which  has  been  so  prevalent  amongst  us, 
 that  while  our  business,  our  pleasure,  our  domestic  love  and 
 joy,  may  dwell  in  ceiled  houses,  any  sort  of  house,  however 
 mean,  is  good  enough  for  worshipping  God  in — against  that 
 unhappy  divorce  of  truth  and  goodness  from  beauty,  which, 
 upon  the  part  of  our  noble  Covenanting  and  Seceding  fore- 
 fathers, was  indeed  a  matter  of  stern  duty,  conscience,  and 
 necessity,  but  upon  the  part  of  us,  their  children,  seems  to 
 
OPENING  OF  THE  CHURCH.  207 
 
 be  no  longer  so.  We  place  this  house,  then,  at  the  feet  of 
 Jesus  ;  to  Him  we  devote  it,  and  it  is  enough  for  us  if  He 
 shall  be  pleased  to  accept  of  it.  We  seek  to  link  it  on  to 
 that  grand  orchestral  anthem  that  is  rising  to  Him  through 
 the  very  stones  themselves,  from  every  creature  in  heaven 
 and  in  earth,  and  under  the  earth  and  in  the  sea. 
 
 The  building  so  auspiciously  opened  was  named 
 "  Trinity  Church  ;  "  and  the  minister  thus  vindicated 
 the  departure  from  Presbyterian  usage  : — 
 
 It  is  better  than  the  "  Burgher  Kirk ; "  better  than 
 calling  it  by  the  name  of  the  minister,  as  is  so  often  done, 
 as  if  the  minister  was  some  Roman  saint,  or  rather  some 
 sort  of  shopkeeper  who  displays  his  ecclesiastical  wares  on 
 his  pulpit-couLter  Sabbath  after  Sabbath  to  church-going 
 customers, — a  theory  of  the  ministry  which  I  entirely 
 repudiate ;  better  too  than  calling  it  after  St.  Paul,  or  St. 
 Peter,  or  St.  James,  or  any  other  of  "  the  glorious  company 
 of  the  Apostles;"  and  much  better  than  calling  it  after 
 Augustine,  or  Ambrose,  or  any  Roman  saint,  or  any  Presby- 
 terian saint  either,  such  as  Knox,  Erskine,  or  Gillespie.  I 
 cannot  admire  the  consistency  of  those  who  refuse  to  call 
 their  churches  by  the  names  of  any  of  the  Apostles  and  yet 
 name  them  after  their  own  Presbyterian  saints  and  fathers. 
 We  get  rid  of  all  that  by  getting  away  from  men's  names 
 altogether,  and  calling  it  Trinity  Church.  We  enter  the 
 church  through  the  gate  of  baptism  in  the  name  of  the 
 Trinity,  and  are  dismissed  every  Sabbath  by  the  benediction 
 in  the  name  of  the  Trinity;  and  we  worship  God  the  Father, 
 through  Christ  the  Son,  in  and  by  the  Holy  Spirit. 
 
208         CLOSLXG  YEARS  OF  HIS  MIXISTRV. 
 
 CHAPTER     XL 
 %\\t  Closing  f3r.trs  of  his  Erbittc  -fttuustru. 
 
 THE  new  church  brought  to  Mr.  Robertson  an  added 
 joy  in  his  ministry.  It  was  a  delight  to  him  to 
 conduct  divine  service  and  preach  the  gospel  in  a 
 building  which  to  some  extent  realized  his  ideal  of  a 
 place  of  Christian  worship.  There  are  lines  in  St. 
 Aldhelm's  version  of  the  84th  Psalm  which  were  then 
 often  on  his  lips  :  — 
 
 "  Lord,  Thy  minsters  to  me  are 
 Courts  of  honour  passing  fair, 
 And  my  soul  doth  love  right  well 
 There  to  be  and  there  to  dwell. " 
 
 His  delight  in  the  new  church  was  not  the  less,  that 
 the  structure  as  designed,  remained  to  the  end  of  his  life 
 unfinished.  It  resembled  the  better,  on  that  account, 
 the  great  cathedrals,  and  was  a  fitter  type  of  the 
 spiritual  house  which  "  groweth  into  a  holy  temple  in 
 the  Lord."  His  interest  was  kept  alive  by  schemes  for 
 completing  the  design  and  adding  fitting  adornments 
 
STAINED  GLASS  WINDOWS.  209 
 
 Members  of  the  congregation  contributed  painted 
 windows  for  the  principal  lights  in  the  chancel  and 
 north  transept,  while  the  St.  Catherine's  window  in 
 the  west  gable  was  the  gift  of  Nix.  J.  H.  Young  of 
 Glasgow. 
 
 He  took  special  interest  in  the  filling  of  the  prin- 
 cipal window  in  the  south  transept,  which  was 
 contributed,  two  years  after  the  church  opening,  by 
 Mr.  and  Mrs.  David  M'Cowan  of  Glasgow,  as  a 
 memorial  of  their  nephew,  Melville  Walker,  whose 
 early  death  called  forth  Mr.  Robertson's  brotherly 
 sympathy,  and  thus  deepened  and  hallowed  their 
 friendship  with  him. 
 
 He  threw  his  whole  heart  into  their  project,  and 
 took  counsel  with  the  architect,  Mr.  Pilkington,  and 
 with  Mr.  Heath  Wilson,  under  whose  supervision  the 
 windows  of  Glasgow  Cathedral  had  just  been  filled 
 with  Munich  glass.  The  idea  which  he  wished  to  have 
 expressed  was,  Mothers  representing  the  leading  types 
 of  the  human  race  bringing  their  children  to  Christ. 
 After  long  delay,  which  often  called  forth  from  Mr. 
 Robertson,  in  his  voluminous  correspondence  on  the 
 subject,  such  words  as,  "Germans  are  slow,"  "No  word 
 yet  from  these  slow  Munichers,"  a  design  was  furnished 
 and  admirablycarriedoutbyafirm  of  Munich  artists.  It 
 is  the  opinion  of  competent  judges  that  no  better  speci- 
 men of  German  glass  is  to  be  found  in  Scotland.  Mr. 
 Robertson  gave  repeated  warnings  against  the  danger 
 of  "vulgarizing  angels  into  Bavarian  peasants  sausage- 
 fed,"  and  we  find  in  his  letters  manv  such  sentences 
 
2  10         CLOSING  YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 as  this,  which  reveals  how  truly  earnest  he  was  that 
 the  gift  of  his  friends  should  serve  the  highest  ends: 
 "  I  hope,  wish,  pray  that  our  artist  in  Munich  may  be 
 guided  by  Him  who  inspired  Bezaleel  and  Aholiab  of 
 old  to  carve  the  cherubim,  that  he  may  be  enabled  to 
 put  much  of  divine  truth  and  heavenly  beauty  and 
 childish  innocence  and  sweetness  into  the  pictured 
 window,  which  is  to  preach  in  its  own  way  comfort  to 
 Rachels  weeping  for  their  children,  and  the  Evangel 
 of  Him  who  said,  Suffer  the  little  children  and  forbid 
 them  not  to  come  unto  Me." 
 
 One  interesting  feature  of  the  window  is  that  the 
 representative  of  the  Caucasian  type  among  the 
 children  brought  to  Christ  is  a  striking  likeness  of  the 
 child  in  whose  memory  it  was  erected.  With  reference 
 to  the  window,  and  to  a  monument  as  to  the  design  of 
 which  Mr.  M'Cowan  had  consulted  him,  he  writes  of 
 date  30th  August,  1865  : — "I  hope  and  am  sure  you 
 will  never  have  cause  to  regret  laying  the  hands  of 
 your  grief  and  generosity  on  the  head  of  stones  and 
 glass  and  ordaining  them  in  their  own  way  to  preach. 
 May  the  monument  tend  to  comfort  you  also  through 
 instructing  others." 
 
 Some  time  later,  the  spire  of  the  church  was  built 
 with  the  aid  of  friends  beyond  the  congregation,  who 
 sought  thus  to  testify  their  regard  for  one  who  served 
 not  his  own  flock  only,  but  the  whole  Church. 
 
 The  following  reminiscences  of  her  childhood,  fur- 
 nished by  Miss  Maxwell  of  "  The  Cottage,"  which 
 stands  on  the  Kilwinning  road,  next  door  neighbour  to 
 
A  CHILD'S  IMPRESS  IOXS.  2  1 1 
 
 the  manse,  refer  to  the  time  of  which  we  have  been 
 
 I  can  give  you  some  small  idea  of  what  Dr.  Robertson 
 was  to  ns  in  our  childhood.  Though  in  these  days  we 
 esteemed  him  great,  because  we  were  told  he  was,  it  only 
 seemed  to  us  that  he  was  quite  unlike  other  men  in  his  ways. 
 his  home,  his  sayings,  and  doings.  His  utter  disregard  for 
 his  dinner  hour  struck  us  as  strange,  and  one  of  the  great 
 desires  we  had  respecting  him  was  that  he  would  spend  more 
 time  over  his  meals.  His  student  ways  we  did  not  under- 
 stand, and  when  he  would  receive  us,  his  early  morning  visi- 
 tors, and  begin  tales  of  Greek  mythology,  we,  knowing  that 
 he  had  not  yet  breakfasted,  were  in  despair.  We  could  not 
 enjoy  the  stories,  feeling  that  he  was  breaking  some  unwrit- 
 ten code  by  which  breakfast  was  made  an  early  and  first  duty 
 of  the  day,  and  so  our  pity  for  Cassiopeia  weeping  over  the 
 untimely  fate  of  her  sisters  was  mingled  with  compassion  for 
 the  narrator.  Or  it  might  be  he  would  tell  in  his  own 
 imaginative  way  the  allegory  of  Orion, — of  how  that  mighty 
 giant  after  freeing  Chios  from  all  evils  was  imprisoned,  and 
 made  blind  by  the  old  king  ^Enopian  ;  but  when  the  spring 
 returned  the  giant  escaped,  and  the  bright  beams  of  the  sun 
 restored  his  sight,  and  he  wandered  again,  his  sword  by  his 
 side,  free  and  life-giving,  over  the  vine-clad  hills,  only  again 
 to  be  crushed  and  imprisoned  when  the  time  of  vintage  was 
 fully  come.  Sometimes,  however,  our  visit  was  passed 
 almost  in  silence,  till  perhaps  he  would  seat  himself  at  the 
 organ  and  play  on  and  on,  till  his  childish  audience  wearied 
 and  non-comprehending,  would  stray  softly  out  of  the 
 drawing-room  window,  leaving  him  playing  dreamily  to 
 himself,  till  summoned  by  some  one  to  the  sterner  duties  of 
 the  day.  Or  it  might  be,  if  one  went  in  alone  towards 
 evening,  he  would  speak  of  the  things  of  the  kingdom  of 
 
2  12         CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 God  with  mystic  language  and  far-away  look,  till  the 
 listener  felt  that  like  Moses  of  old  he  had  gone  up  into  the 
 mount,  and  the  child  only  was  left  below. 
 
 To  Mrs.  Maxwell. 
 Ravensbrook,   Irvine,  14th  February,  1865. 
 
 You  may  be  sure  that  in  my  hermitage  by  the  unseen 
 brook  Cherith  I  do  not  cross  my  arms  in  daily  and  nightly 
 supplication  without  enfolding  you  all  in  them  ;  and  may  I 
 say  again,  dear  sister,  like  John  Newton  to  his  friend,  "  When 
 you  are  with  the  King  and  getting  good  for  yourself,  speak 
 a  word  for  me."  I  must  quote  more — the  words  are  truly 
 beautiful—"  I  have  reason  to  think  you  see  him  oftener  and 
 have  nearer  access  to  Him  than  myself.  Yetlam  not  wholly 
 without  His  notice.  He  supplies  all  my  wants,  and  I  live 
 under  his  protection.  My  enemies  see  His  royal  arms  over 
 my  door  and  dare  not  enter." 
 
 Should  you  find  any  leisure  to  write  me,  please  to  say  how 
 the  classes  are  getting  on,  and  the  singing  of  "Brief  Life,"  etc.. 
 and  whatever  you  may  be  sure  will  be  interesting  to  a  loving 
 Uncle  Ecclesiastical.  I  hope  the  Good  Shepherd,  dividing 
 the  flock  with  the  crook — the  cross — has  already  put  your 
 lambs  all  on  the  right,  as  the  blessed  who  shall  inherit  the 
 kingdom. 
 
 "  And  now  we  fight  the  battle, 
 But  then " 
 
 You  say  you  are  in  the  thick  of  the  battle.  I  suppose  we 
 must  be  somewhere  while  here.  But  let  us  keep  a  brave 
 heart  and  clear  armour.  What  beautiful  armour  for  a  Chris- 
 tian lady  that  "armour  of  light,"  "having  on  the  breastplate 
 of  righteousness."  I  was  talking  of  that  at  our  prayer  meeting 
 an  hour  since.  It  was  suggested  by  going  into  my  study  late 
 last  night.     The  windows  were  open — shutters  not  to  ;  but 
 
A  DEFENCE  OF  SNOW.  21 3 
 
 as  I  looked  out  into  the  moonlight  I  saw  there  was  a  fine 
 defence  of  snow  round  the  house  ;  for  no  robber  would  ven- 
 ture to  come  and  leave  his  footmarks  there.  Think  of  the 
 Angel  of  Snow  defending  our  houses,  i.e.,  pure,  white,  new 
 fallen  snow,  for  if  the  snow  is  trampled  on  and  turned  into 
 slush  it's  no  longer  of  use  that  way.  It  is  only  in  its  purity 
 that  it  is  a  guard  and  a  defence. 
 
 About  Mrs.  S .     She  sadly  longs  to  hear  the  music 
 
 of  your  footstep  on  the  stair ;  but  the  weather  is  so  severe, 
 and  I  am  afraid  she  will  never  hear  it  till  she  hear  it  on  the 
 golden  stair  of  a  very  different  house,  where  she  may  be  able 
 to  distinguish  it  among  all  others,  and  sure  to  welcome  it. 
 Is  not  this  what  is  meant  by  "  making  to  yourselves  friends  of 
 (by  means  of)  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness,  that  when 
 ye  fail  they  may  receive  you  into  everlasting  habitations." 
 
 nth  May,  1865. 
 
 Poor  Mrs.  S died  yesterday  morning.    Xot  for  some 
 
 time  had  I  seen  her,  having  been  two  Sundays  in  England 
 since  Easter,  and  on  making  inquiry  to-day  I  found  her  dead. 
 I  hope  she  has  now  got  up  those  golden  stairs,  at  the  foot  of 
 which  she  has  so  long  lain,  and  on  which  too  she  is  to  listen 
 for  other  footsteps  coming — coming  to  Him  who  said  "  I 
 was  sick  and  ye  visited  me."  Shall  we  not  believe  that  there 
 has  been  a  visit  of  angels  in  that  little  dark  untidy  garret  in 
 the  Town-end  ?  Yes,  coming  down  the  golden  ladder  of  that 
 sky-lit,  campceiled  garret  room  (where  sits  that  tiny  child  on 
 her  wee  stool  before  the  fire,  into  which  her  little  face  gazes 
 silently)  to  carry  up  the  soul  of  the  dying,  poor  mother — 
 though  the  visit  must  have  been  in  the  darkness  and  silence 
 of  night,  for  in  the  morning  the  neighbours  say  they  found 
 her  dead. 
 
 We   have    already    referred     to    the    pleasure    Mr. 
 
2  14        CLOSING  YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 Robertson  had  in  the  near  neighbourhood  of  his 
 kinsman  and  co-presbyter,  Dr.  Bruce  of  Newmilns. 
 That  venerable  pastor's  jubilee  fell  in  July,  1865, 
 and  we  are  indebted  to  his  son-in-law  and  colleague, 
 Mr.  Alston,  now  of  Carluke,  for  this  account  of  the 
 services  by  which  it  was  celebrated  : — 
 
 Dr.  Robertson  was  in  the  early  years  of  his  ministry  a 
 frequent  visitor  at  Newmilns,  often  officiating  for  Dr.  Bruce; 
 and  the  people  listened  with  equal  wonder  and  delight  to  the 
 eloquence  of  the  young  preacher.  These  visits  were  the 
 more  frequent  and  the  more  relished  because  of  the  name 
 which  he  bore,  William  Bruce,  a  name  which  indicated  that 
 he  stood  to  the  venerable  minister  of  the  congregation  "  in 
 a  relationship,"  as  he  himself  used  to  say,  "  too  near  to  be 
 disputed,  and  too  dear  to  be  disowned."  When  Dr.  Bruce's 
 jubilee  was  celebrated  in  1865,  an  immense  gathering  of 
 members  of  the  congregation  and  friends  of  the  aged  minister 
 from  far  and  near  came  together — a  gathering  all  the  greater 
 that  "  Robertson  of  Irvine,"  was  announced  as  the  preacher. 
 The  text  which  he  gave  out  was  Matthew  xi.  6 — "  And 
 blessed  is  he,  whosoever  shall  not  be  offended  in  Me."  As 
 the  sermon  went  on  the  congregation  were  at  a  loss  to  see 
 where  the  preacher  would  find  the  point  of  transition  to  the 
 jubilee,  but  the  link  was  found.  At  the  close  he  suddenly 
 lowered  his  voice  to  its  deepest  tones,  and  said — "  John  the 
 Baptist  is  not  the  only  John  of  whom  we  read  in  Scripture. 
 There  is  another  John,  of  different  character  and  history  from 
 his  :  for  while  the  Baptist  was  a  preacher  stern,  majestic, 
 terrible,  this  other  John  was  gentle,  amiable,  mild ;  and 
 while  the  Baptist  was  cut  off  in  the  midtime  of  his  days, 
 this  other  John  lived  to  see  his  jubilee,  and  beyond  it  too. 
 Jf  in  present  times,  among  our  fathers  and  brethren  in  the 
 ministry,  there  is  one  rather  than  another  upon  whom  the 
 
SERMON  ON  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST.  2  I  5 
 
 mantle  of  the  beloved  John  has  fallen,  it  is  he  whose  happy 
 jubilee  to-day  we  celebrate,  whose  praise  for  sweetest  gentle- 
 ness of  holy  life  is  in  all  the  churches." 
 
 The  sermon  spoken  of  by  Mr.  Alston  was  first 
 preached  in  Wellington  Street  Church,  Glasgow,  on  a 
 Christmas  day,  to  the  Society  of  the  Sons  of  Ministers 
 of  the  United  Presbyterian  Church.  The  audience 
 which  assembled  to  hear  it  was  one  of  the  most  re- 
 markable ever  brought  together  in  the  western  city.  It 
 comprised  not  only  representatives  of  all  the  churches, 
 but  a  goodly  number  from  the  debatable  land,  where 
 neither  presbyter  nor  bishop  has  sway.  Mingling 
 with  the  intelligent  merchants,  who  have  long  been  the 
 strength  of  the  Church  of  the  Erskines,  and  many  of 
 whom  are  sons  of  the  manse,  were  representatives  of 
 the  University,  and  of  the  faculties  of  law  and  medi- 
 cine. Here  and  there,  Bohemian-looking  men  of  the 
 pen  and  pencil,  who  sat  as  if  they  were  little  accus- 
 tomed to  the  restraints  of  a  church  pew,  were  rubbing 
 clothes  with  famous  preachers,  who  had  come  to  see 
 whether  this  country  minister  was  a  reed  shaken  by  the 
 wind,  or  perchance  a  prophet.  All  were  alike  hushed 
 to  silence  as  soon  as  the  deep,  rich  voice  was  heard 
 announcing  and  reading  the  opening  Psalm.  The  new 
 book  of  that  Christmas  season  was  a  volume  by  Long- 
 fellow, and  it  was  remarked  that  the  echo  of  the  poet's 
 verse  could  be  heard  in  all  the  devotional  services  of 
 the  day.  When  the  text  was  announced — "  Blessed  is 
 he  whosoever  shall  not  be  offended  in  Me, "  it  was  at 
 once  linked  on  to  the  occasion  by  the  opening  sentence : 
 
2l6         CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 "  These  words  were  first  spoken  of  a  minister's  son — of 
 John,  the  son  of  Zacharias,  minister  of  the  Hebrew 
 sanctuary,  whose  quiet  manse  lay  far  from  the  bustle 
 of  the  city  in  the  hill  country  of  Judah."  Then  fol- 
 lowed a  picture  of  the  manse,  with  father  Zacharias, 
 and  mother  Elizabeth,  and  their  kindly  hospitalities 
 when  friends  came  to  visit  them.  It  was  evident  that 
 he  had  made  a  study  for  his  picture  in  some  country 
 manse,  at  Newmilns,  or  elsewhere.  He  then  spoke  of 
 how  the  minister's  son,  coming  forth  from  the  retire- 
 ment of  the  manse  into  the  midst  of  the  great  world, 
 is  specially  liable  to  be  offended  in  Christ ;  and  set 
 forth  four  reasons  why  John  might  have  been  offended, 
 on  each  point  turning  the  lessons  of  the  Baptist's  life 
 to  account  in  view  of  the  intellectual  and  spiritual 
 perplexities  of  the  time. 
 
 In  the  spring  of  ]  866,  Mr.  Robertson  had  a  de- 
 lightful excursion  as  the  guest  of  Mr.  Samuel  Stitt  of 
 Liverpool.  They  went  by  way  of  Tours,  Bordeaux, 
 Pau,  Montpelier,  and  the  Riviera  to  Florence.  His 
 letters  home  were  brief  and  hurried,  but  they  reveal 
 thorough  enjoyment  of  the  holiday. 
 
 To  His  Younger  Sister. 
 
 Irvine,  7th  August,  1866. 
 
 I  am  paying  the  penalty  of  my  spring  tour  by 
 having  to  work  on  without  holiday  in  the  summer  months, 
 and  since  I  was  at  Greenhill  I  have  not  been  a  Sabbath 
 away,  so  that  I  have  not  got  back  again  to  see  you. 
 
 Did  they  tell  you  the  tragedy  of  poor  Oscar  ?     He  never 
 
A  DOGS  BROKEN  HEART.  21J 
 
 lifted  his  head  after  his  wickedness  in  slaughtering  the  hens. 
 I  spoke  to  him  without  beating  him,  and  showed  him  one 
 of  his  victims,  bidding  him  "just  look  at  that,"  and  he 
 turned  away  in  sore  compunction  and  distress,  and  died,  I 
 believe,  of  a  dog's  broken  heart.  The  shame  was  too  much 
 for  him  ;  for  he  was  a  respectable  dog,  not  to  say  a  minis- 
 ter's, and  had  always  borne  a  blameless  reputation,  at  least 
 since  the  days  of  sowing  his  wild  oats  in  his  youth,  when  he 
 is  suspected  of  having  slain  at  least  one  sheep. 
 
 Prince  of  dog-fanciers,  Rab  !  Did  you  hear  how  ill  he 
 has  been,  and  I  am  afraid  still  is.  Miss  Brown  has  written 
 to  tell  me. 
 
 I  am  asked  for  this  and  the  next  month  to  open  more 
 churches  than  there  are  Sabbaths  in  them.  One  offer  I 
 have  accepted  which  will  bring  me  your  way  next  month  at 
 least,  if  not  before.  By  this  post  I  decline  another  invita- 
 tion to  come  and  lecture  this  next  session  to  the  Stirling 
 School  of  Arts.  It's  such  a  queer  place,  Stirling,  though  I 
 like  it  too.  But  it's  close  on  post  hour,  and  this  is  the 
 seventh  epistle  I  have  written  to-day-  My  best  of  elders, 
 William  Cunningham,  is  dying — I  shall  miss  him  most  of 
 all. 
 
 To  the  Same. 
 
 Irvine,  January  16th,  1867. 
 
 What  extraordinarily  cold  weather.  But  I  like  it,  and 
 try  to  keep  myself  warm  doing  a  good  deal  of  out-door 
 work  in  visiting,  which  had  got  sadly  behind.  Then  I 
 come  in  at  ten  or  eleven,  and  read  till  three  or  four  in  the 
 cheery,  well-warmed  dining-room  where,  Isabella  being 
 absent,  I  allow  myself  ane  quiet  smoke.  What  volumes  I 
 have  gone  through,  Whately's  Life  (by  his  daughter),  High 
 Church  Essays,  Venice  (Mrs.  Hall's),  Savonarola  (Villari), 
 Italian   Monks,  Gardenhurst,  etc.,  any  of  which  almost   I 
 
21 8         CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 could  send,  as  some  of  them  I  have  bought  from 
 MacLehose. 
 
 I  have  a  long  letter  from  Curwen  (sol-fa)  asking  me  to 
 help  him  for  some  lectures  he  has  to  deliver  at  the  Glasgow 
 Andersonian.  You  will  be  pleased  with  the  way  our  music 
 is  getting  on  here.  The  Sabbath  evening  choir  sings  Litany, 
 Benedictus,  Te  Deum,  etc. 
 
 I  am  getting  a  good  name  for  staying  close  at  home, 
 refusing  every  invitation  to  go  out  right  and  left,  only  some 
 long-made  engagements  are  coming  on  that  I  cannot  escape. 
 
 One  of  the  long-made  engagements  that  he  could 
 not  escape  was  to  preach  in  London.  Professor 
 Roberts  of  St.  Andrews,  then  in  London,  gives  us  the 
 following  reminiscences  of  his  visit  : — 
 
 "  Robertson  of  Irvine,"  as  the  great  preacher  was  familiarly 
 and  affectionately  called,  came  up  from  Scotland  on  one 
 occasion  to  assist  me  at  the  communion  when  I  was  minis- 
 ter of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  St.  John's  Wood,  London. 
 It  was  a  truly  memorable  visit.  The  date  was,  I  think, 
 July,  1867,  but  though  twenty  years  have  thus  passed  away 
 since  then,  I  still  have  a  very  vivid  recollection  of  the  wealth 
 of  imagery,  and  weight  of  thought,  which  distinguished  the 
 pulpit  utterances  of  Robertson.  He  might  have  been  com- 
 pared to  a  man  with  a  bag  of  diamonds  in  his  hand,  and 
 scattering  them  at  will  among  those  around  him.  The  series 
 of  rich  poetical  thoughts  which  crowded  one  upon  the  other, 
 as  he  spoke,  seemed  inexhaustible,  and  fairly  entranced  his 
 audience.  The  sermon  which  I  heard  him  deliver  far 
 exceeded  the  ordinary  length,  but  regret  that  it  was  finished, 
 mingled  with  admiration  of  its  beauty  and  power  when  it 
 came  to  a  close.  A  chime  as  of  silver  bells  seemed  still  to 
 linger  on  the  ear. 
 
PREACHING  IN  LONDON.  219 
 
 Two  things  especially  cling  to  my  mind  in  connection 
 with  that  visit  of  Dr.  Robertson.  One  is  the  very  striking 
 way  in  which  he  commenced  the  service.  He  began  as 
 usual  by  reading  four  verses  of  a  metrical  psalm.  The 
 psalm  he  chose  was  the  seventy-third  from  the  twenty-third 
 to  the  twenty-sixth  verse.  That  is  an  extremely  rich  and 
 beautiful  passage,  but  every  Scotch  minister  must  have  felt 
 how  awkwardly  it  opens  with  the  prosaic  and  almost  gro- 
 tesque line — "  Nevertheless  continually."  Yet  Robertson 
 taught  me  to  love  the  line  by  the  few  simple  remarks 
 which,  ere  reading  farther,  he  made  upon  it.  "  Neverthe- 
 less," he  said,  "  that  is  always  the  utterance  of  the  faith  of 
 the  Christian.  He  feels  his  un worthiness  in  the  sight  of 
 God,  nevertheless  he  must  come  into  the  Divine  presence ; 
 he  is  guilty  and  polluted,  nevertheless  provision  has  been 
 made  for  his  pardon  and  purification ;  he  is  weak  and  help- 
 less, nevertheless  through  Christ  he  can  do  all  things." 
 Thus  he  showed,  in  the  most  striking  way,  what  a  sugges- 
 tive expression  was  that  apparently  strange  and  uncouth 
 "nevertheless,"  as  always  indicating  the  up-springing  of 
 hope  in  the  heart,  and  as  containing  an  expression  of  un- 
 faltering confidence  in  God. 
 
 The  other  thing  I  remember  so  vividly  is  that  Robertson 
 told  me,  after  the  service,  that  he  hesitated  long  as  to  the 
 text  from  which  he  should  that  day  preach.  He  said  he 
 was  very  much  inclined  to  base  his  discourse  on  these 
 words  in  Rev.  v.  14,  "And  the  four  beasts  said,  Amen." 
 He  changed  his  mind,  however,  almost  at  the  last  moment, 
 and  took  another  text.  He  held  that  the  Apocalypse  was 
 constructed  on  something  like  the  lines  of  a  Greek  drama  ; 
 and,  he  added,  "All  this  is  in  favour  of  your  view  as  to  the 
 habitual,  use  of  Greek  by  the  Jews  of  Palestine  in  the  time 
 of  Christ,  for  no  one,  whose  mind  was  not  familiar  with  the 
 Greek  drama,  could  have  written  the  Apocalypse." 
 
220         CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 On  the  return  journey  from  London  he  made, 
 in  company  with  an  Irvine  artist,  an  excursion 
 into  Cowper's  country,  and  thus  wrote  to  a  young 
 friend  at  school,  whom  he  had  visited  when  in  the 
 metropolis : — 
 
 Olney,  13th  July,  1867. 
 
 From  the  Wolverton  station  my  compagnon  de  voyage  and 
 I  had  to  drive  through  nine  miles  of  moonlight  to  this 
 Olney,  and  it  was  so  late  when  we  arrived  that  it  became 
 this  morning  ere  I  could  (not  remember,  but)  redeem  my 
 promise  to  send  you  another  note. 
 
 This  one  must  be  of  the  briefest  as,  if  I  do  not  overtake 
 this  post,  which  goes  within  ten  minutes  !  they  tell  me  there 
 is  no  other  from  this  for  thirty-six  hours. 
 
 From  the  windows  of  the  Bull  Hotel  we  see  out  through 
 the  triangular  market  place  (a  great  elm  in  the  centre)  to 
 what  was  Cowper's  Olney  house,  and  have  just  been  sitting 
 in  the  room  where  Lady  Austin  (who  had  been  shopping  at 
 the  draper's  opposite,  and  had  been  asked  in  to  tea)  told 
 him  the  diverting  history  of  John  Gilpin ;  and  we  have  been 
 pacing  the  hall  where  the  tame  hares  played  about.  On  the 
 way  through  the  garden  to  the  summer  house  where  he  wrote 
 "  Truth,"  whom  did  we  get  a  glimpse  of  but  "yon  cottager 
 that  sits,"  etc.  I  now  understand  the  mystery  of  "pillows 
 and  bobbins,"  and  as  I  thought  you  might  like  to  see  a  bit 
 of  the  lace  that  "  she  "  makes,  I  send  the  accompanying. 
 And  indeed  it  must  do  for  the  rest  of  the  letter  for  the  waiter 
 says,  Instantly — or  too  late. 
 
 On  the  same  date  he  wrote  to  his  sister: — 
 
 We  have  been  along  to  Weston  too,  and  through  the 
 scenery  so  graphically  described  in  The  Sofa.  Likewise  in 
 John  Newton's  church  and  the  pew  where  Cowper  used  to 
 
VISIT  TO  OLNEY.  22  T 
 
 sit.     How  like  Olney  is  to  Irvine,  Mackinlay  says,  and  so 
 it  is. 
 
 To  the  same  young  friend  to  whom  he  wrote  from 
 Olney,  this  birthday  letter  was  sent : — 
 
 Ravexsbrook,  Irvine,  19th  September,  1867. 
 
 I  wrote  you  a  little  note  yesterday  conveying  the  birthday 
 wish  that  you  might  never  grow  old.  Shall  I  tell  you  how 
 to  keep  from  growing  old  ?  Most  young  ladies  would  like 
 to  know,  and  oldish  people  like  papa  and  me  don't  like  to 
 feel  that  they  are  growing  old.  If  ever  you  come  to  the 
 like  age  (it  will  be  a  long  time  of  course)  you  may  feel  the 
 same.  It  is  a  good  feeling  too,  it  ';  also  cometh  forth  from 
 the  Lord  of  Hosts."  It  is  designed  to  lead  us  to  the 
 fountain  of  perpetual  youth. 
 
 Well,  in  our  bodies  we  can't  keep  from  growing  old. 
 They  are  part  of  the  material  universe  (the  vesture  of  the 
 spirit)  that  is  all  destined  to  decay  and  wax  old.  The  very 
 sun  himself  is  growing  old,  poor  Sol !  And  the  moon 
 walking  in  her  brightness,  poor  Luna  !  and  the  stars,  Lady 
 Venus,  and  Cassiopeia,  and  all  the  rest  of  them  that  are 
 starring  it  in  the  nightly  drawing-room  upstairs,  are  growing 
 old.  And  mother  earth  of  ours  has  long  since  passed  her 
 teens,  according  to  the  last  return  in  the  census  of  the 
 planets,  and  the  geological  register,  though  not  so  old,  per- 
 haps, as  the  wise  men  that  are  descended  (they  say)  from 
 monkeys  would  make  her — yet  she  is,  no  doubt,  a  very 
 venerable  lady,  an  old  grandmother  Gaia  !  And  the  stars 
 (I  am  told)  have  a  tendency  to  group  themselves  into 
 clusters,  which  star-clusters  are  just  like  the  disc  of  some 
 great  sunflower  or  daisy,  and  the  time  must  come  (though 
 my  arithmetic  cannot  count  when)  at  which  the  floral  giants 
 of  the  sky  must  bow  their  heads  and  shed  their  golden  stars, 
 
222         CLOSING  YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 like  flower  dust  on  a  windy  day.  Yea  (says  the  Word  that  is 
 more  lasting  than  them  all)  they  shall  all  wax  old  as  doth  a 
 
 garment.      And  Lady too,  with  her  pretty  face  and 
 
 rounded  form,  and  lightsome  step,  and  graceful  attitude, 
 and  sparkling  eye,  must  go  a  far,  far  shorter  journey  the 
 same  road  to  old  age  and  decay  !  What  a  vain  little  old 
 woman  you  will  make,  won't  you,  when  you  are  a  great- 
 grandmother,  whoever  lives  to  see  it.  Xo  help  for  it  !  You 
 must  come  to  the  "end  of  days,"  and  "the  years  without 
 pleasure,"  if  you  live  long  enough,  as  finely  described  in 
 Ecclesiastes  xii.,  where  you  are  earnestly  besought  before- 
 hand to  "remember  now  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy 
 youth,"  and  then — the  silver  cord  is  loosed,  and  the  golden 
 bowl  broken  at  last.  For  there  is  no  road  to  perfect  beauty 
 of  outward  form  but  through  the  black  door,  and  the  dark, 
 underground  valley,  and  the  gate  of  resurrection,  which  shall 
 
 open  and  lead   into   the  city  of  the  angels,  where , 
 
 too,  will  walk  among  them  clothed  in  white  ! 
 
 But  while  you  cannot  in  the  body,  in  the  spirit  you  may 
 keep  from  ever  growing  old.  But  for  this  it  needs  to  be 
 born  again.  You  "  must  be  born  again,"  Christ-  says. 
 Don't  think  this  is  not  needed  for  the  like  of  you.  You 
 know  the  little  daughter  of  Jairus  needs  the  Lord's  awaking, 
 just  as  well  as  the  young  man  whose  funeral  is  at  the  city 
 gates,  or  the  Lazarus  that  has  been  rotting  four  days  in  his 
 grave.  Some  of  the  dead  are  very  beautiful,  "  before  decay's 
 effacing  fingers  have  swept  the  lines  where  beauty  lingers." 
 "  But  they  are  dead  all  the  same.  And  so  too  with  the 
 dead  in  trespasses  and  sins."  That  is  the  birthday  that  is 
 kept  in  heaven  with  joy  in  the  presence  of  the  angels  of 
 God,  when  one  is  born  again.  For  if  you  are,  then  you 
 will  have  a  life  that  never  more  can  die,  and  never  more 
 grow  old,  and  so  I  hope  that  on  her  birthday,  this  19th 
 September,  when  "the  fields  are  white  unto  the  harvest,"  a 
 
BIR  THDA  Y  LE  TTER.  223 
 
 certain  Scottish  maiden  with  her  pitcher  on  her  shoulder 
 is  going  alone  to  the  well,  the  well  where  Jesus  sits,  thirsting 
 as  He  always  does  for  our  salvation,  and  singing  as  she 
 goes,  "  Just  as  I  am,"  and  asking  of  Him,  and  getting  the 
 living  water.  And  what  a  gift  on  your  birthday  from  Him  ! 
 He  died  for  love  that  He  might  give  it  you,  and  it  will 
 be  in  you  as  "  a  well  of  water  springing  up  to  everlasting 
 life." 
 
 And  then  by  being  always  humble,  you  will  be  always 
 young.  Humility  is  a  "  little  child."  This  is  Christ's  picture 
 of  it.  But  Pride  is  old,  as  old  as  that  old  serpent,  the  devil. 
 If  you  indulge  in  pride  you'll  make  the  pretty  face  of  your 
 soul  old  and  wrinkled  in  no  time.  And  Faith  too  is  "  a 
 little  child,"  and  makes  you,  and  keeps  you,  always  young; 
 and  Hope  is  young,  and  Love  is  young,  and  Joy  is  young, 
 and  Generosity  is  young.  The  graces  are  all  young,  but  sin 
 is  an  ugly  old  hag.  And  so  I  hope  you  will  be  dressed 
 afresh  to-day  in  the  beauties  of  holiness,  and  baptized  afresh 
 
 into  the  dew  of  youth,  and  this,   my  dear  is  my 
 
 birthday  wish  for  you. 
 
 On  the  24th  December,  1867,  his  father  died. 
 To  Mrs.  Maxwell. 
 
 Greenhill,  Bannockburn,  28th  December,.  1867. 
 
 You  would  not  be  ashamed,  dear  Mrs.  Maxwell,  to  call 
 me  brother  had  you  known  what  a  noble  father  I  had.  I 
 wish  you  had  seen  him,  if  it  had  only  been  for  an  hour.  In 
 the  reverend  old  man — a  disciple  that  Jesus  loved — sitting 
 cheerfully  in  the  apocalyptic  lights  of  a  serene  and  holy  age, 
 you  would  have  seen  what,  with  your  sympathy  with  all  that 
 is  true  and  good,  you  could  never  have  forgotten  till  you  see 
 him,  as  you  will,  with  your  own  honoured  and  beloved  father 
 in  the  circle  of  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect. 
 
224        CLOSING  YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 At  the  great  age,  I  find,  of  87,  he  has  been  numbered 
 with  the  immortals,  has  renewed  his  youth  as  the  eagles. 
 
 At  noon  he  died.  "  The  path  of  the  just  is  as  the  fore- 
 noon sunlight "  that  shines  in  fine  crescendo  of  the  light  to 
 mid-day,  and  has  no  afternoon  declension  to  the  west,  but 
 dawns  and  rises  on  the  horizon  of  another  and  a  higher 
 sphere.  So  he  died  at  noon.  The  chariots  of  Israel !  Our 
 fathers,  where  are  they?  We  know  well  where  they  are,  yet 
 let  us  not  seek  them,  but  rather  Him,  "  the  Lord  God  of 
 our  fathers."  May  He  be  the  Lord  God  of  their  children 
 after  them. 
 
 Isabella  is  quietly  sad ;  but  neither  she  nor  any  of  us  is 
 without  great  comfort.  One  "  who  lived  and  died  "  is  here 
 in  the  still  darkness,  with  a  lamp  in  His  hand  that  "  turns 
 the  shadow  of  death  into  the  morning." 
 
 Kindest  remembrances  to  my  good  brother,  and  all  love 
 to  the  dear  children — those  at  home,  and  dear  daughters 
 that  are  away,  and  yet  always  near. 
 
 After  our  dark  pilgrimage  on  Monday  to  St.  Ninians  (on 
 the  road  the  everlasting  light),  I  hope  to  get  back  to  see 
 you  all  well  on  some  early  day  of  the  new  year. 
 
 To  Miss  Helen  Rankin  (afterwards  Mrs.  Battiscombe). 
 
 Irvine,  21st  January,  1868. 
 
 The  shadow  of  death,  as  you  know,  has  fallen  of  late  on 
 all  the  movements  of  my  hands  and  heart.  I  have  had 
 scores  of  letters  of  sympathy,  but  truly,  I  think,  the  last  is 
 the  sweetest  of  all.  God  bless  you  for  a  sweet  comforter! 
 and  make  you  "  a  succourer  of  many  and  of  me  also,"  filling 
 you  evermore  with  His  grace,  with  the  comfort  of  His  Holy 
 Ghost  in  your  young,  guileless  heart,  which  I  pray  may  be 
 ever  free  from  sorrow  of  its  own. 
 
 Had  you  known  my  father  (one  of  the  grandest  men,  I 
 
HIS  FA  THERS  DEA  TH.  225 
 
 think,  God  ever  made)  you  would  not  disdain  to  let  me  call 
 you,  as  I  sometimes  wish  to  do,  my  sister  Helen  ! 
 
 The  telegraphic  message  of  his  death  met  me  going  out 
 to  our  "  service  "  on  Christmas  Eve.  But  I  went  on  with 
 it — children's  carols,  church  decked  with  evergreens,  and  so 
 forth — and  went  through  with  it,  without  either  betraying 
 the  disturbing  thought,  or  being  able  for  a  moment  to  forget 
 it.  Strange  what  good  hypocrites  we  can  become  when 
 there  is  need  for  it.  Nor  were  the  old  man's  death  and  the 
 young  child's  birth  felt  after  all  to  be  at  variance  ;  and, 
 though  the  mistletoe  of  my  last  Christmas  was  changed  into 
 cypress,  there  were  still  voices  singing  the  "  Abide  with 
 me."  My  sisters  have  been  with  me  for  a  week,  but  are 
 yesterday  returned  to  the  fatherless  house. 
 
 Let  me  thank  you  truly  for  your  kind  letter.  It  is  not 
 only  the  words  that  it  contains,  and  that  are  indeed  "good 
 words,"  but  a  certain  delicate  aroma  that  it  breathes,  that 
 you  must  have  shed  into  it  unconsciously  from  a  heart- 
 shaped  alabaster  box  of  yours — as,  indeed,  you  would,  and 
 could  not  help  doing,  in  writing  to  any  one,  but  which  it  is 
 not  every  one  that  might  so  readily  perceive  or  so  richly 
 prize  as  I  do. 
 
 To  Miss  Amy  Maxwell  (returning  from  School). 
 
 Irvine,  1st  July,  1868. 
 
 What  joy  the  return  of  our  two  young  princesses  of  the 
 West  End — that  everybody  rejoices  to  hear  are  coming- 
 must  make  in  The  Cottage,  where  the  Misses  have  been  so 
 sadly  missed  ;  though  pretty  large,  and  with  a  good  margin 
 of  lawn  and  garden  ground,  and  many  hearts,  none  of  which 
 is  small,  but  all  capable  of  holding  many  firkins  of  joy 
 apiece,  it  will  yet  not  be  able  to  contain  all  the  joy  that  the 
 return  of  these  daughters  of  The  Cottage  will  give,  so  that  it 
 
 p 
 
226         CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 must  overflow  the  dyke  between  us  and  flood  my  house 
 with  its  brightness  also. 
 
 So  we  will  give  you  hearty  welcome  home.  Todie  will  bark, 
 and  Oscar  over  the  wall  will  answer  him,  and  the  trees  will 
 wave,  and  all  of  us  will  be  glad. 
 
 Only,  as  every  rose,  they  say,  has  its  thorn  and  every 
 sunbeam  its  shadow,  so  this  bright  home-coming  of  yours 
 brings  to  me  the  shadow  that  it  shall  cut  off  the  opportunity 
 that  I  have  so  long  had,  and  so  shabbily  neglected,  of 
 writing  a  little  letter  to  "  dear  Amy  "  at  school.  Well,  if  I 
 had  written  you  always  when  I  thought  about  you,  I  should 
 (ong  ago  have  ruined  your  purse  with  the  postages;  and  as 
 I  was  going  to  write  you  every  day  that  I  forgot  you,  I  never 
 wrote  to  you  at  all. 
 
 To  Miss  Crum,  Thornliebank. 
 
 Irvine,  6th  August,  1868. 
 
 Your  welcome  letter  reached  me  yesterday  morning  when 
 setting  out  on  a  pic-nic  with  some  200  children  and  their 
 teachers,  belonging  to  our  Trinity  Church  Sunday  school — 
 their  mid-summer  festival,  and  I  thought  I  should  go  and  en- 
 joy it  with  them — a  brave  little  army  of  tiny  forms  and  feet  and 
 faces,  marching  through  fields  and  woods  to  find  the  "San- 
 greal"  in  the  enchanted  castle  of  happiness — a  castle  in  the 
 air  as  it  is  to  most  of  us ;  yet  they  seemed  to  find  it  in  a 
 green  field,  where  we  encamped,  and  with  music,  sports,  and 
 sweetmeats,  laid  siege  to  it  for  several  hours,  and  having  won 
 as  much  joy  as  their  little  hearts  could  hold,  returned  trium- 
 phant at  sunset,  all  with  palms  in  their  hands  and  crowns 
 (none  of  them  broken)  on  their  heads.  And  so  I  left  this 
 for  a  while  and  read  your  letter  in  a  shady  nook  of  summer 
 and  quiet  corner  of  the  kingdom  of  green  leaves. 
 
 During  all  his  ministry,  Mr.  Robertson  took  a  deep 
 
IMPROVEMENT  IN  PUBLIC  WORSHIP       227 
 
 interest  in  the  improvement  not  only,  as  we  have  seen, 
 of  the  singing,  but  of  the  other  parts  of  public  worship 
 as  well.  His  prayers  were  always  carefully  arranged 
 and  expressed  in  chaste  and  well-chosen  language. 
 In  the  later  years,  when  in  the  new  church  he  had 
 more  harmonious  surroundings, hebestowed  yet  greater 
 pains  on  the  conduct  of  the  devotions.  He  sought 
 to  give  unity  to  each  service  of  worship  by  making 
 one  dominant  thought  run  through  it,  from  the 
 opening  psalm  to  the  closing  benediction,  the  thought 
 developing  and  expanding  as  the  service  proceeded. 
 So  far  from  having  any  sympathy  with  those  who 
 would  prescribe  a  liturgy,  he  claimed  even  greater 
 freedom  than  is  common  in  our  Scottish  churches. 
 He  revived  old  customs  that  have  fallen  into  disuse, 
 such  as  "  prefacing "  the  opening  psalm  with  such 
 comment  as  helped  the  people  to  sing  it  more  intelli- 
 gently, and  giving  a  running  exposition  of  the  chapters 
 read. 
 
 Mrs.  M'Cunn  thus  recalls  his  conversations  on  this 
 subject  after  his  retirement  : — 
 
 Delightful  as  was  his  talk  about  Italian  art  and  mediaeval 
 belief,  and  vivid  and  picturesque  as  were  his  stones  of 
 Scotch  history,  there  is  nothing  that  remains  so  delightfully 
 in  my  memory  as  his  occasional  references  to  his  early 
 ministry  and  life  at  Irvine.  He  told  me  once  about  a 
 Christmas  service,  possibly  the  first,  when  he  had  gone  up 
 into  the  pulpit,  and  had  begun  with  o  Aoyos  iyevero  crdpg, 
 and  again  Das  Wort  ward  E/eisc/i,  and  again  the  Latin 
 equivalent  (which  I  have  forgotten),  and  then  paused  and 
 
22S         CLOSING  YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 said— "But  all  this  is  an  unknown  tongue  to  us,"  and  then 
 clear  and  full  and  triumphantly  he  gave  out,  "  The  Word 
 was  made  flesh  and  dwelt  among  us."  And  then  he  went 
 on  ta  show  how  it  was  only  by  becoming  flesh,  by  speaking 
 to  us  in  our  own  human  language,  that  God  could  make 
 Himself  known  to  us.  How  wise  was  his  attitude  of  mind 
 towards  all  the  innovations  which  this  earnest,  cultured, 
 ration  wants  to  introduce  into  our  dear  old 
 ••  National  Zion."  "  When  the  spirit  in  the  people  gets  too 
 full  and  rich  for  the  old  forms  let  them  make  new  ones,  but 
 let  the  inner  feeling  be  there  first.'''  In  connection  with 
 this,  he  told  us  how  he  had  explained  the  nature  of  the 
 Litany  to  his  people,  and  had  bidden  them  respond  to  such 
 of  the  petitions  as  they  felt  came  home  to  them ;  and  how. 
 at  an  evening  service  in  the  gathering  twilight,  he  had  stood 
 up  before  them  and  given  out  each  petition,  and  how  full  and 
 spontaneous  and  heartfelt  the  response  had  swelled  out — 
 "  We  beseech  Thee  to  hear  us,  good  Lord.'"' 
 
 Another  valued  correspondent  [Miss  Margaret  Xairn, 
 niece  of  his  friend  Dr.  Ker),  has  preserved  notes  of  his 
 conversations  in  his  later  years,  and  thus  writes  : — 
 
 He  was  firmly  attached  to  the  principles  of  his  own 
 denomination,  and  used  to  say,  "  There  is  no  doubt  that  we 
 are  in  the  right."  Yet  his  breadth  enabled  him  to  take  in 
 the  good  of  other  churches,  just  as  his  keen  discernment 
 showed  him  their  weaknesses.  He  complained  of  the 
 practice  in  the  English  Church  of  repeating  the  psalms  in 
 alternate  verses,  and  described  to  us  the  true  meaning  of  the 
 old  antiphone,  in  which  each  verse  of  the  psalm  naturally 
 divides  itself  into  two  parts,  the  second  either  an  answer  to, 
 or  a  deepening  of,  the  other  ;  whereas  the  modern  system  is 
 meaningless,  and  merely  a  degeneration  of  the  old.     He 
 
greater  innovation*  229 
 
 often  condemned  what  he  chara 
 
 .  imitation  in  our  churche 
 
 Episcopal  mode  of  worship,  b 
 
 rd  form  should  al 
 within,  and  not  the  controller  o 
 
 rs    of  the    English  Pray 
 could  never  be  fettered  by  a  Lit 
 
 As  might  have  been  expected,  the  changes  intro- 
 duced into  the  forms  of  worship  in  Trinity  Church, 
 though  they  were  strictly  on  Pi  yterian  lines,  w 
 spoken  of  as  "  innovations,"  and  caused  some  anx.. 
 to  persons  of  the  "  straiter  sect"  A  good  lady, 
 belonging:  to  another  communion,  once  remonstrated 
 with  Mr.  Robertson.  She  said — "I  hear  you  are 
 introducing  some  dreadful  innovations  into  your 
 church  service/'  "  Indeed,"  he  replied,  u  what  innova- 
 tions have  we  introduce  h,"  she  said,  "  I  hear 
 read  the  commandments  at  the  communion." 
 
 Is  that  all  you  have  heard  o:~?  "  was  his  reply, 
 "  we  have  introduced  a  far  greater  innovation  than 
 that."  "What  is  it?"  said  the  good  lady  in  some 
 alarm.  tc  keep  them,"  he  replied. 
 
 He  to  tell  gleefully  of  the   caution  of  his  old 
 
 beadle,  Andrew,  that  suspicions  were 
 
 abroad  as  to  the  decorations  and  services  in  the 
 church.  Dr.  Robert  Buchanan  had  come  to  preach  at 
 an  anniversary,  and  in  the  interval  of  worship  was 
 going  over  the  building,  while  Mr.  I ' :  bertson  was  busy 
 in  the  vestry  with  has  afternoon  sermon.  Dr.  Buchanan 
 called  Andrew,  to  ask  him  some  questions  about  the 
 
230         CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 has  reliefs  in  front  of  the  pulpit;  but  Andrew,  afraid 
 lest  the  great  Free  Church  leader  meant  to  make  some 
 sinister  use  of  the  information  sought,  became  dry  and 
 uncommunicative.  "  I  canna  lay't  aff  to  ye,  sir  ;  ye'll 
 need  to  ask  himsel',  "  was  all  that  could  be  got  from 
 him. 
 
 The  Christmas  service  to  which  Mrs.  M'Cunn  refers 
 was  the  innocent  occasion  of  no  small  stir.  It  had 
 been  the  custom  from  the  time  of  his  ordination  to 
 celebrate  the  anniversary  of  the  event  by  a  congrega- 
 tional soiree.  But  Mr.  Robertson  grew  weary  of  the 
 annual  gathering  with  its  inevitable  personal  references; 
 and,  as  he  had  been  ordained  at  Christmas  time,  it 
 occurred  to  him  to  substitute  for  the  soiree  a  service 
 of  worship  which  took  its  complexion  from  the 
 season  of  the  year.  It  came  to  be  held  regularly  en 
 Christmas  Eve.  He  encouraged  the  young  people  to 
 give  expression  to  their  joy  by  decorating  the  church 
 with  flowers  and  evergreens,  and  great  pains  were 
 taken  by  himself  and  by  the  choir  to  make  the  service 
 beautiful  and  harmonious.  The  children,  with  their 
 hymns  and  carols,  had,  as  was  meet,  a  special  place  in 
 the  celebration,  and  they  and  their  elders  alike  looked 
 forward  to  it  as  one  of  the  brightest  and  happiest 
 nights  in  all  the  year.  This  had  gone  on  for  several 
 seasons,  and  no  objection  had  been  taken  or  offence 
 dreamed  of,  till  a  report  of  the  1S6S  celebration, 
 written  by  a  friendly  hand,  gave  a  detailed  account  of 
 the  service,  which  was  simple  enough,  with  its  alterna- 
 tion of  hymns,  prayers,  readings  of  the  Scriptures,  and 
 
SERVICE  ON  CHRISTMAS  EVE.  23  I 
 
 addresses.  But  the  singing  of  the  Adeste  Fidclcs  (at 
 least  under  its  Latin  name),  the  Te  Deicni,  Christmas 
 carols,  and  the  anthem,  "  In  the  Beginning,"  and  the 
 repetition  of  the  Creed  and  Lord's  Prayer,  with 
 responsive  "  Amens"  from  the  choir,  had  a  more 
 alarming  appearance  twenty  years  ago  than  they 
 would  have  now.  It  was  not  wonderful  that  Mr. 
 Robertson  had  letters  from  leading  ministers  of  his 
 Church  asking  with  some  concern  what  these  things 
 meant,  or  that  an  article  in  the  denominational 
 Magazine  should  sound  a  note  of  alarm.  With  per- 
 haps more  kindness  than  discretion  the  Presbytery  of 
 Kilmarnock  took  the  matter  in  hand,  and  rebuked  the 
 Magazine  for  its  unconstitutional  attack  on  their 
 brother.  Of  course  the  Magazine  must  have  its  reply, 
 and  the  matter  threatened  at  one  time  to  assume  the 
 proportions  of  a  "controversy"  ;  but  counsels  of  peace 
 prevailed,  and  the  Christmas  Eve  celebrations  went 
 on  from  year  to  year  undisturbed.  In  his  vindication 
 before  the  Presbytery,  Mr.  Robertson  took  the  ground 
 that  the  "  ritualism "  which  alarmists  feared  had  its 
 essence  not  in  a  beautiful  service,  but  in  sacramen- 
 tarian  doctrine,  and  that  its  inroads  could  be  most 
 effectually  resisted  by  making  our  non-ritualistic 
 worship  as  beautiful  as  possible. 
 
 "  Rome  and  Ritual,"  he  argued,  shall  be  most  effectively 
 put  down  by  taking  out  of  them  anything  that  may  be  good 
 in  them  and  using  it  ourselves.  If  they  sing  well,  let  us  not, 
 therefore,  sit  dumb  and  put  our  fingers  in  our  ears  or  act 
 "the   howling  wilderness,"   but  let  us  try  and  sing  all  the 
 
232  CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 better.  Ulysses'  way  of  resisting  the  singing  of  the  sirens, 
 when  he  had  himself  bound  to  the  mast  and  the  ears  of  his 
 sailors  stopped  with  wax,  ordering  them  on  no  account  to  let 
 him  loose,  however  urgently  he  might  entreat  them,  when  the 
 sirens  were  singing  as  the  ships  sailed  by,  was  not  accounted 
 so  good  as  Orpheus'  way  when  he  took  his  lyre  aboard  and 
 sung  to  it  aloud  hymns  of  praise,  and  so  drowned  the  singing 
 of  the  sirens. 
 
 To  Mr.   David  M'Cowan. 
 
 Irvine,  7th  January,  1869. 
 
 Your  wine  comes  from  the  vintage  of  the  grapes  of  Eshcol. 
 1  know  before  ever  tasting  it :  for  you  live  in  that  region,  do 
 you  not? — on  the  border  of  the  land  of  promise;  so  that  a 
 present  from  your  stores  has  the  aroma  of  "afield  and  a 
 garden  that  the  Lord  has  blessed."  May  He  bless  you  and 
 yours  more  and  more  !  May  the  new  year  of  '69  be  full  of 
 happy  days  for  you  ! — 365  in  a  row,  like  the  water-pots  at 
 the  marriage  at  Cana — each  of  them  holding  a  good  deal,  say 
 two  or  three  firkins  apiece,  and  all  of  them  filled  to  the  brim 
 with  the  water  of  gladness ;  or  if  any  of  them  should  be 
 filled  with  the  water  of  grief,  you  know  One  who  can  turn 
 that  water  into  wine. 
 
 Some  of  us  who  have  been  over  40  years  in  the  pilgrimage 
 ought  to  be  thinking  of  crossing  the  river  by  and  by.  How 
 many  of  our  caravan  of  pilgrims  have  gone  on  before  us,  to 
 enter  and  search  out  the  promised  land,  but  they  have  not 
 returned  to  tell  us  what  it  is  like. 
 
 I  am  glad  you  liked  our  Christmas  service.  Your  presence 
 would  have  enriched  it.  It  was  almost  wholly  devotional. 
 I  hope  there  is  a  new  spirit  of  worship  awakening  amongst 
 us,  requiring  new  forms  to  hold  it  all,  new  wine  requiring 
 new  bottles,  otherwise  the  old  bottles  would  be  more  than 
 enough. 
 
WATER  INTO   WINE.  233 
 
 You  may  guess  that  I  have  been  writing  the  above  after 
 midnight  when  very  sleepy,  having  returned  late  from  weary 
 country  walking,  where  I  have  had  two  days  of  pastoral 
 visitation  this  week,  so  that  I  can  hardly  spell,  not  to  say 
 write  legibly. 
 
 On  reading  over  the  allusion  to  Cana  above,  your  gift  of 
 wine  sets  me  to  try  a  rhyme — New  Year,  '69. 
 
 ggtatcr  into  Want. 
 
 Like  water-pots  at  Cana  stand 
 
 Behind  us  stony  years, 
 That  have  been  filled  at  Christ's  command 
 
 With  grievous  rain  of  tears. 
 
 Some  fewer  firkins,  others  more, 
 
 These  stony  urns  contain  ; 
 Xot  into  every  year  could  pour 
 
 An  equal  fall  of  rain. 
 
 But  firkins  two  or  three  apiece, 
 
 That  fill  them  to  the  brim  ; 
 When  all  are  filled  so,  rain  will  cease, 
 
 Waiting  the  word  from  Him. 
 
 The  word  comes,  "  Draw  out  now  and  bear"-- 
 
 When — miracle  divine  ! 
 They  draw  and  bear  to  banquet,  where 
 
 The  water  now  is  wine. 
 
 The  best  wine  first,  the  last  the  worst — 
 
 Man's  feasts  are  ordered  so ; 
 They  run  to  waste,  pall  on  the  taste, 
 
 From  bad  to  worse  they  go. 
 
 Joy  loses  joy  in  course  of  years, 
 And  is  quite  lost  when  past ; 
 
234        CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 But  rain  of  tears  such  vintage  bears 
 As  yields  the  good  wine  last. 
 
 And  as  Lord  Christ  in  vineyard  still 
 
 Makes  yearly  wine  from  rain, 
 So  His  first  miracle  He  will, 
 
 Returning,  work  again. 
 
 When,  His  own  marriage  being  come, 
 
 He,  seated  by  her  side, 
 Shall  order  to  the  banquet-room 
 
 The  new  wine  for  His  bride. 
 
 And  her  cup-bearer,  Memory, 
 
 From  urns  of  ancient  years, 
 Shall  fetch  those  choicest  draughts  that  be, 
 
 The  wine  that  once  was  tears. 
 
 Which,  if  it  were  good,  I  would  dedicate  to  you.  Excuse 
 first  copy.  So  with  both  rhyme  and  reason,  I  am,  your 
 much  obliged,  W.  B.  R. 
 
 In  the  spring  of  1869,  the  Senate  of  the  University 
 of  Glasgow,  in  which  his  friend  Dr.  Caird  had  become 
 professor  of  theology,  conferred  on  him  the  degree  of 
 Doctor  of  Divinity.  The  honour  was  the  more 
 appreciated  that  it  was  given  at  the  same  time  to  one 
 of  his  most  valued  friends,  Walter  Smith. 
 
 A  powerful  sermon  that  he  prepared  in  these  closing 
 years  of  his  active  ministry,  was  from  the  text  Exodus 
 xxxiv.  29 — "  And  Moses  wist  not  that  the  skin  of  his 
 face  shone."  The  main  idea  of  the  sermon  was  rendered 
 into  verse  thus  : — 
 
UNCO  AS  CIO  US  BE  A  UTY.  235 
 
 Unconscious  beauty  is  most  rare, 
 
 Unconscious  art  most  true  j 
 The  noblest  works  of  artists  are 
 
 Those  they  unconscious  do. 
 
 Who  is  the  artist  high  ?     The  wife, 
 
 That  her  true  mission  knows, 
 To  mould  the  poetry  of  life 
 
 Out  of  its  hard  dull  prose. 
 
 She  never  may  have  learnt  the  art 
 
 Of  song,  or  sketch,  at  school ; 
 But  all  the  same,  out  of  her  heart 
 
 Shall  well  the  beautiful. 
 
 The  mere  arrangement  of  a  room 
 
 Shall  equal  genius  show 
 With  works  of  Masters  old,  by  whom 
 
 The  art  lived  long  ago. 
 
 Give  her  a  table,  a  few  chairs, 
 
 Some  books,  perhaps — no  more, 
 With  these  few  notes,  she'll  play  off  airs 
 
 That  Handel  could  not  score. 
 
 The  simplest  forms  of  household  toil 
 
 Shall  grow  beneath  her  touch 
 To  pictures — Raphael  in  oil 
 
 Or  fresco  made  not  such. 
 
 The  true  poetic  gleam  is  there, 
 
 The  Orphic  rhythm  and  ring  ; 
 She  makes  the  stones  clasp  hands  in  prayer, 
 
 And  cloistered  silence  sing. 
 
236        CLOSING  YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 The  mystic  beauty  shed  abroad 
 On  all  her  work  and  way; 
 
 It  is  the  beauty  of  her  God. 
 Upon  her  night  and  day. 
 
 For  God's  own  life  within  her  beats, 
 And  thrills  from  heart  to  face; 
 
 Her  little  life,  His  life  repeats 
 Responsive,  "grace  for  grace." 
 
 Oh  !  daughter  of  Almighty  God, 
 Thy  birth  and  rank  are  high  ! 
 
 Thou  art  a  Princess  of  the  Blood — 
 Seed  royal  of  the  sky  .' 
 
 And  Priestess  to  the  world  around, 
 With  white  unsandalled  feet ; 
 
 Where'er  thou  walk'st  is  holy  ground, 
 Where  souls  with  God  shall  meet. 
 
 Let  every  work  of  household  toil 
 In  Lord  Christ's  name  be  done, 
 
 And  the  anointing  holy  oil 
 O'er  all  thy  raiment  run. 
 
 Till  virtue  from  the  very  hem 
 Of  thy  white  robe  shall  flow, 
 
 To  make  men  touch  with  awe,  and  them 
 That  touch  be  healed  so. 
 
 Priestess  of  God  !  let  every  breath 
 In  prayer  and  praise  arise ; 
 
 Thy  life  the  daily  offering,  death 
 Thy  evening  sacrifice. 
 
A  SHADOW  FALLING  OX  HIM.  2$? 
 
 To  Mrs.   Maxwell. 
 
 Irvine,  8th  July,  1870. 
 
 .  .  .  We  had  a  lovely  "Service  of  Song."  Nothing 
 was  awanting  except  yourselves.  It  passed  like  a  pleasant 
 midsummer  night's  dream,  but  has  left,  I  hope,  deep  spiritual 
 devotional  impressions,  and  brought  us  nearer  to  the  Holiest 
 of  all. 
 
 His  letters  toward  the  end  of  1870  show  that  the 
 cloud  which  was  to  descend  on  his  life  at  the  beginning 
 of  the  following  year,  was  already  casting  its  shadow 
 over  him.  In  one  of  these  he  writes  to  a  friend  in 
 Glasgow,  who,  with  his  two  sisters,  was  mourning  the 
 death  of  their  father,  which  had  followed  at  a  brief 
 interval  the  death  of  their  mother  : — 
 
 Irvine,  15th  December,  1870. 
 
 I  should  have  come  in  to  see  you  ere  now — you  and  your 
 dear  sisters  in  their  fresh  affliction  ;  but  have  brought  home 
 from  London  a  weight  of  cold,  on  throat  and  voice,  which  I 
 am  not  permitted,  by  going  out,  to  run  the  risk  of 
 increasing.     .     .     . 
 
 Of  all  the  homes  on  earth  the  home  where  Christ  most 
 loved  to  visit  and  to  tabernacle  over-night,  was  that  of  a 
 brother  and  two  sisters,  orphans  too.  .  .  .  He  usually 
 came  at  the  darkening,  and  when  the  night  was  darkest  and 
 the  rain  heaviest,  was  surest  to  come.  "  Behold  He  stands 
 at  the  door  and  knocks  !"  Which  of  the  three  shall  be  the 
 first  to  hear  His  voice  and  open  the  door  ?  I  am  sure  that 
 all  your  torn  hearts  lie  open  more  than  ever,  broken  open 
 by  bereavement,  to  Him.  May  He  enter  them  farther  than 
 ever  with  his  softest  and  sweetest  blessing  of  peace.     .     .     . 
 
 You  will  recognize  the  enclosed. 
 
238         CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 %\\)1  iuiU  be  ionr. 
 
 'Twas  with  a  garden  time  began — 
 The  garden  whence  God  drave  the  man, 
 'Tis  with  a  garden  time  shall  close — 
 The  garden  to  which  Christ  brings  those 
 That  with  Himself  shall  first  have  been 
 In  that  Gethsemane  between, 
 That  on  the  road  from  Eden  lies, 
 When  journeying  to  Paradise. 
 
 In  Eden  garden  first  man  put, 
 When  eating  of  forbidden  fruit, 
 His  own  will  'gainst  the  will  Divine, 
 He  said,  My  will  be  done,  not  Thine. 
 In  garden  next,  Gethsemane, 
 Has  Christ  redeemed  the  will,  when  He 
 His  own  will  did  to  God's  resign, 
 He  said,  Thy  will  be  done  not  mine. 
 
 There  is  a  garden  third  above 
 Where  will  is  so  absorbed  in  love, 
 That  there,  Thy  will  be  done  is  said, 
 But  mention  none  of  ours  is  made. 
 O  Garden  fair  from  heaven  descend, 
 That,  as  at  first  so  in  the  end, 
 God's  will  and  man's  will  may  be  one, 
 Even  so  on  earth  Thy  will  be  done. 
 
 To  Mr.   David  M 'Cowan. 
 
 Irvine,  19th  December,  1870. 
 
 From  London,  after  too  much  speaking,  I  brought  home 
 such  a  weight  of  cold  on  chest  and  voice  as  made  it  harder 
 work  to   get  through  my   communion  and  other  services, 
 
A  LETTER  OF  CONSOLATION.  239 
 
 and  left  me  no  time  to  write  (so  as  I  wished  to  do)  last 
 week. 
 
 And  so  you  are  motherless.  I  know  what  it  is,  and  can 
 the  rather  sympathize  with  you.  It  is  one  of  the  few 
 sorrows  that  are  not  less  in  reality  than  in  anticipation. 
 How  often  we  fear  without  cause  when  we  enter  into  the 
 cloud.  When  once  we  are  in,  it  is  not,  after  all,  so  dark  as 
 we  expected.  But  this  can  hardly  be  said  of  the  cloud  that 
 stoops  in  mother's  death  and  funeral.  What  love  so  strong 
 and  true  and  faithful  as  that  of  a  mother  to  her  son? 
 "  Can  a  woman  forget  her  child  and  not  compassionate  her 
 son  ?  "  And  so  what  grief  should  bow  down  more  heavily 
 than  that  of  one  that  mourneth  for  his  mother?  But  if 
 nature  has  put  special  emphasis  on  this  grief,  grace,  for  you, 
 has  put  special  emphasis  on  the  consolation.  For  how 
 thankful  you  must  be  that  you  had  such  a  mother,  and  that 
 you  had  her  so  long;  and  that  she  has  "come  to  her  grave 
 in  a  good  old  age,  like  a  shock  of  corn  in  his  season  ; "  and 
 that,  since  all  of  us,  sooner  or  later,  as  the  wise  woman  said, 
 "  must  needs  die,"  she  has  been  so  long  spared,  to  make 
 her  ripe  for  the  sickle  and  meet  for  the  inheritance,  in  the 
 mellow  lights  of  the  autumn  of  life — and  the  ties  that  bound 
 her  to  the  world  so  gradually  and  imperceptibly  loosened  in 
 advancing  life,  in  order  to  her  closer  walk  with  God  in  the 
 light  at  eventide,  that,  for  her,  death,  when  it  came,  should 
 come  as  kindly  and  gently  as  might  be,  and  with  much  of 
 its  bitterness  already  past.  She  had  her  work,  her  life-day's 
 work,  and  many  a  good  work  upon  Christ,  I  am  sure,  like 
 the  Mary  who  did  what  she  could ;  and  her  work  being 
 done,  and  wrell  done,  and  the  night  coming  on,  she  went  to 
 her  rest.     "  So  giveth  He  His  beloved  sleep." 
 
 How  often,  earlier  than  you  remember,  has  she  hushed  you 
 to  sleep  in  the  cradle,  and  in  the  arms  of  the  Good  Shepherd 
 of  your  youth  \  and  now  you  have  seen  her  laid  to  sleep  in  the 
 
240         CLOSING   YEARS  OF  HIS  MINISTRY. 
 
 dust,  and  in  the  arms  of  the  Shepherd  of  her  good  old  age, 
 who  was  with  her  in  crossing  the  dark  valley  to  the  heavenly 
 fold,  in  crossing  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  into  the  heavenly 
 palaces  ;  and  who  is  with  her  both  above  and  beneath,  for 
 above  she  is  with  Christ  in  Paradise,  and  beneath  she  is 
 "asleep  in  Jesus" — blessed  sleep.  She  is  not  dead  but 
 sleeping,  and  sleeping  at  the  foot  of  the  mystic  ladder  with 
 the  ascending  and  descending  angels,  till  the  morning  break 
 and  she  awake  and  say,  This  dreadful  place  also  is  the  house 
 of  God.     It  is  the  gate  of  heaven. 
 
 I  have  often  wished  to  see  again  that  cheerful,  venerable 
 face  and  form,  that  I  remember  so  well  coming  through  our 
 church,  and  the  beautiful  stained  light  of  your  memorial 
 window,  on  her  way  to  that  other  church  where  we  see  no 
 more  through  a  glass  darkly.  As  she  was  your  mother,  I 
 could  not  help  feeling  drawn  to  her  almost  as  if  she  were 
 my  own.     .      .     . 
 
 How  rapidly  our  younger  friends  and  elder,  our  Melvilles 
 and  our  mothers,  from  behind  us  and  from  before,  are  gather- 
 ing there,  and  brothers  too  from  our  side.  Earth  is  growing 
 poorer  for  us  year  by  year,  more  and  more  treasure  laying 
 up  for  us  in  heaven.  We  shall  find  them  all  again  if  we  do 
 not  lose  the  way  ourselves.  God  grant  that  we  may  not. 
 May  he  give  us  the  orphan's  promised  guidance  home — 
 "  When  father  and  mother  forsake  me  then  the  Lord  will 
 take  me  up."  "  This  God  is  our  God  for  ever  and  ever. 
 He  will  be  our  guide,  even  He,  unto  death." 
 
 "As  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth,"  so  God  comforteth 
 those  He  has  made  motherless.  They  weaned  us  in  our 
 infancy  from  the  "  milk  for  babes,"  not  to  starve  us,  but  to 
 lead  us  up  to  stronger  meat,  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  kind 
 of  nourishment ;  and  so  when  He  takes  them  themselves 
 away,  He  weans  us  from  the  earthly  to  the  heavenly,  from 
 the  creature  to  Himself.     A  man  may  be  born  again  when 
 
:*&  fa; 
 
 - 
 
A   LETTER  OF  COXSOLATION.  24  J 
 
 he  is  getting  old.  A  man  may  be  weaned  again  when  he  is 
 getting  old.  Children  at  the  weaning  are  said  to  be  fretful 
 and  fractious  ;  but  as  children  so  weaned  of  their  mother, 
 when  the  mother's  breast,  so  full  of  the  milk  of  tenderness 
 and  love  to  the  last — when  the  mother  herself  is  taken 
 away,  we  should  "  behave  ourselves  with  quiet  spirit  and 
 mild."  I  have  just  been  thinking  that  something  like  that 
 must  be  meant  by  Psalm  cxxxi.  2. 
 
 Yes,  we  are  getting  older,  and  are  now  advanced  to  the 
 front  rank  of  the  march  and  the  battle  of  life,  and  face  to 
 face  with  the  last  enemy,  the  generation  of  fathers  and  mothers, 
 that  stood  before  us  and  between,  being  cut  down.  Let  us 
 be  more  glad  at  it  than  sorry.  The  night  is  further  spent  5 
 the  day  is  all  the  nearer  at  hand,  "  For  we  are  saved  by 
 hope."  Blessed  changes  that  bring  us  near  the  unchang- 
 ing ! — partings  that  bring  us  near  the  meeting  to  part  no 
 more. 
 
242     VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 
 
 CHAPTER     XII. 
 
 %\\z  dalles  of  the  <Sha&oto  of  Jpeath. 
 
 The  cold  with  which  Dr.  Robertson  returned  from 
 London  in  the  close  of  1870,  and  to  which  reference  is 
 made  in  the  letters  at  the  end  of  the  preceding  chapter, 
 proved  severe  and  persistent.  But  his  unwillingness 
 to  acknowledge  himself  disabled,  or  to  disappoint  any 
 one  whom  he  had  promised  to  serve,  led  him  to  dis- 
 regard it.  During  a  severe  January,  he  not  only  did  his 
 own  work,  but  kept  every  engagement  he  had  made, 
 and  even  undertook  additional  duty.  He  went  to  one 
 of  the  coldest  upland  districts  of  Ayrshire  and  de- 
 livered his  lecture  on  Luther  ;  he  consented  to  take 
 the  place  of  a  co-presbyter,  who  was  ill,  in  presiding 
 at  an  ordination  service  in  Cumnock,  twenty-four 
 miles  from  Irvine,  and  in  his  hurry  to  catch  the  train 
 forgot  to  take  either  top-coat  or  plaid  ;  he  returned  to 
 the  same  place  a  week  later  to  attend  the  funeral  of 
 an  old  friend  ;  and  he  went  to  Paisley  and  spoke  for 
 an  hour  to  a  crowded  evening  meeting.  No  one  who 
 heard  him  that   night,  when  his  rich   sonorous  voice 
 
SERIOUS  ILLNESS.  243 
 
 filled  the  hall,  could  have  dreamed  that  he  was  suffer- 
 ing from  a  pleurisy  of  some  weeks'  standing.  But  so 
 it  was,  and  when  the  meeting  was  over  the  re-action 
 came.  He  spent  a  sleepless  night,  but  in  the  morning 
 concealed  his  illness,  and  was  allowed  to  walk  to  the 
 station.  He  often  said  that  he  thought  he  would 
 have  died  before  he  reached  it. 
 
 When  he  returned  home,  his  indomitable  spirit  had 
 to  yield  and  the  doctor  was  called  in.  The  gravity  of 
 the  case  was  soon  sufficiently  apparent,  and  one  of  the 
 most  experienced  practitioners  in  the  county  was 
 called  to  consult  with  his  young  medical  attendant,  Dr. 
 Dunlop.  A  week  later,  on  Friday,  February  17th, 
 Professor  George  Buchanan  was  summoned  in  haste  to 
 operate  for  the  removal  of  water  from  the  chest. 
 The  operation  brought  him  instant  relief,  and  though 
 his  weakness  was  extreme  he  was  full  of  gladness. 
 On  the  day  following  he  said  that  before  Dr. 
 Buchanan  came  it  was  only  a  question  of  hours,  and 
 that  he  was  not  greatly  moved  at  the  prospect  of 
 death;  "but  that,"  he  added,  "  may  have  been  partly 
 due  to  the  assurance  I  had  that  Buchanan  would  be 
 able  to  relieve  me."  "  Once  too,"  he  said,  "  I  felt  the 
 joy  of  the  thought  of  awakening  to  hear  the  blowing 
 of  the  golden  trumpets  on  the  grand  Easter  morning." 
 
 On  Sunday  he  told  me  that  when  he  had  finished 
 his  last  service  in  London  one  of  Dr.  Edmond's  elders 
 said  to  him,  "  What  a  grand  voice  you  have  !  "  He 
 replied,  "  It  is  a  peculiarity  of  my  voice  that  the  longer 
 I  speak  it  gets  into  the  better  order.     But,"  he  con- 
 
244     VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 
 
 tinued,  "when  I  had  said  that,  something  came  over 
 me,  and  I  added,  'I  must  not  be  too  proud  of  my 
 voice,  we  cannot  tell  what  may  come  to  it.'  Now, 
 God  knows  I  have  never  been  proud,  or  boasted  of 
 my  ministry.  I  have  never  felt  that  I  had  anything 
 to  be  proud  of,  but  wouldn't  it  be  an  awful  thing  if  it 
 should  be  found  that  my  ministry,  like  my  voice,  had 
 hollowness  beneath  it  ?  " 
 
 When  his  brother  was  conducting  evening  prayer 
 in  the  dining-room,  I  sat  by  William's  bedside.  He 
 asked  me  if  I  had  heard  the  Trinity  bells.  I  said  I 
 had,  and  asked  if  he  had  been  able  to  hear  them. 
 He  wished  he  had.  This  led  him  to  speak  of  his 
 work  and  the  possibility  of  his  being  taken  from 
 it.  He  said  it  was  sad  to  think  of  leaving  it  half  done, 
 and  feared  that  he  had  been  able  to  go  only  a  little 
 way  in  what  he  believed  to  be  the  special  work  he  had 
 been  called  to  do,  viz.,  the  solution  of  the  question 
 as  to  the  true  relation  between  religion  and  the  fine 
 arts — and  that,  if  he  were  to  die  then,  all  that  he  had 
 done  in  that  direction  would  be  lost,  as  there  was  no 
 one  to  take  up  his  work  where  he  had  left  it  and  carry 
 it  on.  He  added,  "  one  of  the  greatest  comforts  I 
 have,  lying  here,  is  to  remember  the  singing  in  our 
 church." 
 
 On  the  following  day  he  asked  me  to  read  Paul 
 Gerhardt's  hymn,  "  O  sacred  head  once  wounded." 
 When  I  had  done  so  and  prayed  at  his  request,  he 
 sent  me  to  ask  his  sister  to  play  on  the  organ,  the 
 music  of  the  hymn  I  had  been  reading,  and  to  follow 
 
DAYS  OF  UNCERTAINTY.  245 
 
 it  with  Luther's  hymn — "a  grand  bracing  hymn/'  he 
 called  it.  When  the  music  ceased,  I  went  up  to  his 
 room  and  saw  that  he  had  been  deeply  moved. 
 He  said,  "  I  have  come  through  the  deepest  depths, 
 but  nothing  has  ever  reallv  moved  me,  till  I  heard 
 the  first  few  notes  of  that  passion  chorale.  They 
 fairly  dissolved  me  into  tears."  He  went  on  to  say, 
 "It  is  by  the  greatest  of  all  composers,  Sebastian 
 Bach/'  and  then,  in  words  I  cannot  reproduce,  pro- 
 ceeded to  give  an  analysis  of  the  music,  in  which 
 he  found  a  representation  of  the  mystery  of  redemption 
 — "twisted  harmonies  resolved,"  and  "seeming  con- 
 fusion rising  into  order  and  passing  into  strains  of 
 triumph." 
 
 Then  days  of  uncertainty  passed.  Now  he  would 
 be  bright  and  cheerful,  and  anon  weary  and  depressed. 
 A  week  after  the  day  on  which  he  heard  the  passion 
 chorale,  he  was  greatly  distressed,  till  a  change  of 
 posture  gave  him  temporary  relief,  and  he  said,  "  I 
 feel  as  if  I  were  in  the  old  world  again."  Then  after 
 a  pause,  "  It  is  good  to  be  here,  but  to  depart  and  be 
 with  Christ  is  far  better."  Reference  was  made  to  his 
 sermon  on  that  "Strait  betwixt  two.5'  "  Yes,"  he  said, 
 <;  I  have  often  preached  it,  and  on  the  text,  '  For 
 to  me  to  live  is  Christ,  and  to  die  is  gain;'  I  believed 
 every  word  of  that  sermon.  On  looking  back  on  my 
 ministry,  I  cannot  charge  myself  with  having  ever 
 uttered  a  word  from  the  pulpit  which  I  did  not  believe, 
 and  I  never  spoke  what  was  frivolous.  If  I  were  to 
 express  in  one  word  what  has  been  the  great   aim   of 
 
246     VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 
 
 my  ministry,  it  would  be  this — to  lead  all  the  human 
 race  to  cry,  '  0  Lamb  of  God,  who  takest  away  the 
 sin  of  the  world,  have  mercy  upon  us.'  I  never  cared 
 to  reckon  up  conversions  by  arithmetic,  I  have  been 
 willing  to  do  my  work  and  to  leave  the  results  of  it  to 
 God." 
 
 On  the  whole  he  seemed  to  be  losing  ground.  As 
 there  was  a  complication  requiring  surgical  aid, 
 Professor  Buchanan,  with  the  most  ungrudging  kind- 
 ness, travelled  to  Irvine  every  other  day  to  see  him. 
 On  one  of  these  visits  he  pronounced  that  the  case 
 seemed  hopeless,  and  that  the  end  could  not  be  dis- 
 tant. After  he  had  gone,  Dr.  Robertson  sent  for  me, 
 and  when  I  went  into  the  room  he  said,  "  So  I  have 
 got  my  doom."  He  asked  me  to  sit  by  him,  and  pro- 
 ceeded with  perfect  calmness  to  set  his  house  in  order, 
 giving  me  charges  about  his  sister,  about  his  manu- 
 scripts, about  everything  that  it  was  needful  to  arrange 
 for.  He  then  passed  on  to  speak  of  his  hope  for  the 
 future,  and  with  deepest  humility,  confessed  his  un- 
 faltering confidence  in  Christ,  and  asked  me  to  pray. 
 When  I  had  risen  from  prayer,  he  said,  with  a  smile 
 that  reminded  me  of  the  old  days  of  his  health  and 
 gladness — "  Well,  we  have  got  all  that  arranged,  but 
 I'm  not  going  to  die  a  bit.  I  am  determined  to  cheat 
 Buchanan  yet  ! " 
 
 And  he  set  himself  resolutely  to  do  battle  with  the 
 grim  adversary  who  had  seemed  so  near  his  victory. 
 On  the  morning  of  the  day  when  Professor  Buchanan 
 was  next  expected,  he  asked  me  if  I  would  go  to  meet 
 
SIGNS  OF  MENDING.  247 
 
 him  ;  and  then  after  a  pause,  "  Do  you  think  it  right 
 to  tell  a  man  that  he  is  certainly  dying  ?  "  and  went 
 on  to  say  that  he  entirely  disapproved  of  doing  so, 
 that  it  was  apt  to  demoralize,  and  that  preparation 
 for  death,  made  in  the  panic  produced  by  such  an 
 announcement  was  valueless.  I  understood  him  to 
 mean  that  I  was  to  ask  Dr.  Buchanan  not  to  say  any- 
 thing further  to  discourage  him  in  the  hard  fight  for 
 life  he  was  resolved  to  make. 
 
 It  was  a  hard  fight  indeed,  and  lasted  through 
 weary  weeks.  A  second  operation  was  needed ; 
 bronchitis  began  in  the  hitherto  sound  lung,  and  on 
 account  of  a  persistent  east  wind  refused  to  yield  to 
 treatment.  For  a  second  time  hope  seemed  to  fail, 
 till  one  evening  Dr.  Dunlop  said,  as  he  left  the 
 sick  room,  "  There  are  signs  of  mending  to-night." 
 Leading  me  to  the  front  door,  he  bade  me  listen  to  the 
 sound  of  the  sea  in  the  bay,  and  said,  "  We  never 
 have  that  sound  with  an  east  wind.  The  wind  has 
 changed  into  the  west,  and  already  I  can  detect  relief 
 in  his  chest."  When  I  told  Robertson  what  the 
 doctor  had  said,  he  was  greatly  interested,  and  spoke 
 of  the  wind  that  blovveth  where  it  listeth,  the  emblem 
 of  the  great  Divine  healing  power. 
 
 From  that  evening  he  began  to  recover.  It  was  a 
 toilsome  journey  up  from  the  depths  to  which  he  had 
 gone  down,  but  he  made  it  patiently  and  with  growing 
 cheerfulness.  As  he  himself  put  it,  he  had  said  "  I 
 shall  not  die  but  live,"  and  he  reckoned  that  the  work 
 given  him  to  do  was  to  recover  strength.     By  the  be- 
 
248     VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 
 
 ginning  of  May  he  was  able  to  change  his  room,  and 
 by  the  end  of  that  month  he  could  walk  with  help  into 
 the  study. 
 
 In  July  he  was  removed  to  Pitlochrie,  and  in 
 September  migrated  to  Brighton,  attracted  to  that 
 special  southern  resort  by  the  fact  that  his  former 
 co-presbyter,  Dr.  Hamilton,  was  a  Presbyterian  minister 
 there.  But  a  further  migration  was  necessary,  and  at 
 the  end  of  October  he  and  his  sister,  Isabella,  went  to 
 Mentone,  where  arrangements  were  made  for  their 
 spending  the  winter,  the  necessary  funds  being  pro- 
 vided by  the  spontaneous  liberality  of  the  members  of 
 his  congregation. 
 
 To  that  congregation  he  wrote,  in  his  enforced  exile, 
 a  succession  of  pastoral  letters,  which  were  printed  for 
 private  circulation.  From  these,  extracts  will  be  made 
 as  our  narrative  proceeds. 
 
 To  His  Congregation. 
 
 Mentone,  France,  2nd  January,  1872. 
 
 .  .  I  could  not  longer  delay  writing,  being  moved  to 
 it  partly  by  the  feeling  of  returning  health,  which  grows 
 stronger  upon  me  than  hitherto,  and  seems  to  promise  a 
 complete  recovery,  and  comfortable  return  to  my  beloved 
 friends  and  work,  so  soon,  at  least,  as  the  winter  is  past  and 
 the  rain  and  snow  over  and  gone,  and  sooner,  I  hope,  than 
 you  seem  to  expect ;  and  partly  have  I  been  moved  by  the 
 return  of  another  new  year,  and  the  sacred  and  touching 
 memories  it  brings  along  with  it.  For  round  that  cape,  at 
 the  turn  of  the  year,  when  we  have  doubled  the  lowest  point 
 
WINTER  IN  MENTONE.  249 
 
 of  winter,  and  set  sail  back  toward  summer,  how  many  ships 
 of  memory  come  floating,  freighted  with  most  precious 
 remembrance  of  the  living  and  the  dead  !  The  opening  of 
 our  new  church,  the  opening  of  my  ministry  among  you  in 
 the  old  one,  the  issues  of  that  ministry  to  you  and  me,  in 
 Time,  whose  accounts  are  not  yet  closed,  and  to  so  many  in 
 Eternity,  whose  books  of  life  are  shut  and  sealed  till  the 
 judgment  be  set  and  the  books  opened.  So  many  to  whom 
 I  was  ordained  pastor,  have  gone  on  before  us  to  the  ever- 
 lasting habitation  !  I  knew  not  when  my  life  was  trembling 
 in  the  balance — when  I  was  down  at  the  dark  cypress  gates 
 and  seemed  to  have  glimpses  of  those  within — I  knew  not 
 whether  I  belonged  more  to  them  or  to  you — whether  more 
 white  hands  beckoned  me  to  go  on,  or  to  stay.  But  by  God's 
 good  pleasure  I  continue  to  this  day  with  the  surviving 
 church,  and  greet  you  now  across  the  distance  with  the 
 salutation  of  "  A  Happy  Xew  Year."  If  I  am  still  spared 
 to  return  to  you,  as  I  hope  soon,  dear  brethren,  shall  I  not 
 have  to  preach  to  you,  more  earnestly  and  affectionately 
 than  before,  the  same  old  blessed  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus, 
 which  only  shows  the  brighter  and  shines  the  more  through 
 affliction,  as  fine  gold  tried  in  the  fire?  Meantime  I  can 
 always  be  present  with  you  in  spirit  in  the  holy  hours  of 
 Sabbath  worship;  and  how  often,  on  other  days  of  the  week, 
 I  find  myself  still  visiting  about  among  the  homes  of  the 
 church,  and  especially  where,  as  I  understand,  sickness  and 
 sorrow  have  been  seeking  admittance  for  that  Healer  of  the 
 heart  who  stands  at  the  door  and  knocks  ;  and  where  death 
 has  been  wreathing  a  crown  of  glory  round  the  hoary  head, 
 and  making  young  life  and  loveliness  immortal,  and  gather- 
 ing to  the  Good  Shepherd  dear  little  infant  lambs,  some  of 
 whom,  though  of  my  own  flock,  I  have  never  seen,  but 
 we  shall  see  them  in  the  land  that  is  "bright,  bright  as 
 day."     .     .     . 
 
250     VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 
 
 The  following  letter  was  written  to  a  young  minister 
 about  to  be  ordained  at  Dollar.  He  was  the  son  of 
 one  of  the  Irvine  elders  ;  and,  being  the  first  whom 
 Robertson  baptized,  he  had  received,  in  accordance 
 with  Scottish  custom,  the  minister's  name. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  \V.  B.  R.  Wilson. 
 
 Mentone,  France,  17th  Jan.,  1872. 
 
 .  .  .  Rare  delight  it  would  have  been  to  me  to  have 
 reached  forth  again  the  same  hand  stretched  over  you  in  in- 
 fancy, together  with  those  of  other  brethren,  over  your  down- 
 bowed  head,  when  you  were  kneeling  to  receive  the  ordina- 
 tion of  the  Presbytery.  But  this  is  not  permitted  me  ;  only 
 in  spirit  can  I  from  this  distance  be  present  with  you.  But 
 present  or  absent  no  one  will  pray  more  earnestly  than  he 
 who,  so  many  years  ago,  baptized  you  with  water,  that  now, 
 for  all  the  purposes  and  offices  of  His  holy  ministry,  One 
 who  is  infinitely  greater  than  us  all  would  baptize  you  with 
 the  Holy  Ghost  and  with  fire  ! 
 
 I  am  glad  that  you  have  chosen  Dollar,  Dollar  having 
 first  had  the  wisdom  to  choose  you.  "  The  lines,"  I  should 
 say,  "  have  fallen  to  you  in  pleasant  places  " — in  a  country 
 town  far  enough,  yet  not  too  far,  from  the  cities.  I  used  to 
 think  (when  looking  at  it  through  the  eyes  of  childish 
 romance  from  the  heights  above  Bannockburn)  that  the 
 garden  of  Scotland,  not  to  say  of  Eden,  lay  somewhere  along 
 the  sunny  side  of  the  Ochils  to  Dollar  eastward,  and  that 
 the  flocks  in  summer  evenings  on  those  hills  were  tended  by 
 the  veritable  "  shepherds  of  the  Delectable  Mountains." 
 .  .  .  I  have  always  counted  Dollar  about  the  choicest  of 
 the  little  towns  that  nestle  in  the  shelter  of  that  north  wall 
 of  hills.     A  slumbrous,  academical  air,  too,  seemed  to  me 
 
LETTER  TO  MR.   IV.  B.  R.   WILSON.  251 
 
 (as  in  our  own  quiet  Irvine)  to  overlie  the  town,  which  is  of 
 a  more  classical  build  than  its  neighbours  to  the  right  and 
 left.  This  atmosphere  must  be  more  congenial  to  a 
 thoughtful  mind  than  the  rush  and  roar  of  cities.  Of 
 course  I  do  not  mean  that  you  will  ever  "  take  things  easy  " 
 in  your  ministry.  You  have  too  much  of  earnestness,  of 
 faithfulness,  of  hard  work  in  you  ever  to  turn  Castle 
 Campbell  into  a  Castle  of  Indolence,  or  become  a  lotus 
 eater  on  the  banks  of  the  Devon.  Some  may  tell  you  to 
 take  warning  from  me  and  not  work  too  hard.  I  say 
 nothing  of  the  sort.  I  would  work  harder  than  ever  if  I 
 had  opportunity,  only  I  would  balance  and  divide  my  work 
 more  wisely.  I  would  dread  far  less  the  rebuke  to  a  rash 
 servant  who  has  ''a  zeal"  for  work  "not  according  to 
 knowledge,"  than  the  doom  of  the  wicked  and  slothful 
 one.     .     .     . 
 
 His  residence  at  Mentone  was  brightened  by  the 
 presence  there  of  his  old  friends,  Mrs.  Walter  Crum  of 
 Thornliebank  and  her  daughter,  Miss  Crum,  with  (for 
 a  time)  her  son-in-law  and  her  daughter,  Dr.  and 
 Mrs.  Watson  of  Largs. 
 
 To  Miss  Crum. 
 Grand  Hotel,  Mextoxe  [Spring  of  1872]. 
 
 After  you  left  us  on  Sunday  (perhaps  because  of  your 
 leaving,  for  you  brought  much  sunshine  with  you,  if  you  did 
 not  take  it  away),  1  caught  a  little  cold,  the  worst  of  which, 
 the  only  bad  effect  indeed,  is  that  it  has  prevented  my 
 coming  to  you  yesterday  and  also  to-day.  For,  besides 
 inquiring  for  you  all,  I  would  like  to  learn  what  you  may 
 have  heard  of  the  farewell  of  Dr.  Macleod  Campbell.  The 
 life  of  such  a  man  has  been  eloquent,  though  his  death  may 
 
252     VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 
 
 have  been  dumb.  But,  perhaps,  it  was  permitted  to  him  to 
 "  go  on  and  talk  "  to  his  beloved  daughters  as  Elijah  to 
 Elisha,  till  the  chariot  and  horses  came,  and  even  then,  as 
 he  took  his  seat  and  dropped  his  mantle,  and  began  to  see 
 and  hear  the  things  "unutterable"  "  God  hath  prepared  for 
 them  that  love  Him,"  to  go  on  repeating  with  the  lips  of  a 
 new  life,  "  God  is  love."  To  him,  in  any  case,  death  cannot 
 have  been  death,  but  only  the  shadow  of  life,  as  suffering  is 
 the  shadow  of  God's  hand,  as  darkness  and  doubt  (of  which 
 we  spoke)  are — are  they  not  ? — "  the  shadow  of  His  wing." 
 If  only  the  angel  of  His  presence  shall  carry  the  children 
 home  in  His  bosom,  may  it  not  be  best  for  them,  and 
 make  them  cling  closer  to  Himself,  that  they  be  haunted 
 with  doubts  and  dreads,  and  made  to  sob  their  very  hearts 
 out  upon  His  breast,  covered  not  crushed,  hidden  not 
 harmed  by  the  "  shadow  of  His  wing."  "  What  I  do 
 (should  it  not  be  enough  for  us  that  it  is  He  that  does  it  ?) 
 thou  knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter."  The 
 thing  must  be  done  and  suffered,  like  Peter's  feet-washing, 
 before  it  is  explained.  From  the  height  of  that  "  Hereafter," 
 side  by  side  with  Himself,  another  friend  is  looking  back 
 now  !  A  landscape  is  best  seen,  looking  in  the  same  direc- 
 tion with  the  sun.  May  we  too  climb  to  see  it  so  !  "  Then 
 shall  we  know;"  for  this  life,  broken  off  from  its  immortal 
 whole,  has  no  meaning — like  a  fragment  broken  off  from  a 
 statue — like  a  few  bars  cut  out  of  the  best  piece  of  music. 
 For  the  anthem,  in  its  movement  through  the  earthly  bars, 
 is  full  of  minor  passages  and  discords  imperfectly  resolved  ; 
 but  to  him  who  hears  it  further  on,  these  shall  only  bring  in, 
 with  a  richer  harmony  of  all  chords  on  the  original  key,  the 
 chorus  and  refrain  of  "  God  is  love."  And  well  for  him  that 
 can  seize  (as  Dr.  Campbell  did)  on  that  governing  key  and 
 keep  it  in  sight  and  recognize  its  presence,  though  unheard, 
 all  through  the  music,  through  the  most  shattering  discords 
 
DEATH  OF  DR.  MACLEOD  CAMPBELL.      253 
 
 and  departures  out  of  it.  He  has  found  that  which  gives  it 
 all  a  unity  and  meaning  and  interprets  to  his  heart  (if  it 
 should  not  be  to  his  understanding,  in  technical  terms  of 
 flats  and  sharps),  what  seems  to  others  mere  chaos  and  con- 
 fusion of  noise ;  and  if  he  too  lose  it  for  a  little  while, 
 though  never  altogether,  shall  not  this  only  bring  it  back 
 more  grandly,  more  sonorously,  when  it  returns — when 
 the  golden  morning  breaks  with  a  chorus  of  ail  voices 
 singing,  "  God  is  love  !  " 
 
 I  must  not  write  more,  lest  I  write  you  a  letter — a  plea- 
 sure which  is  still  forbidden  fruit  to  me  in  this  garden  of 
 idleness.  I  only  wanted  to  enclose  you  the  lines  I  will  add 
 on  the  other  side,  and  though  when  reduced  to  writing  they 
 may  seem  little  worth  enough,  yet  the  thought  I  am  sure 
 is  a  good  one  and  true,  and  if  they  please  you,  that  is  some- 
 thing. 
 
 The  lines  accompanying  this  letter  were  the  fol- 
 lowing : — 
 
 Chiaroscuro. 
 
 The  superstitious  darkness  take 
 To  be  of  all  things  head  and  chief, 
 
 And  ignorance  the  mother  make 
 Of  all  devotion  and  belief. 
 
 To  sceptics  truth  is  what  is  plain, 
 What  they  can  clearly  see  all  round  ; 
 
 They  make  their  little  three-inch  brain 
 Gauge  of  all  mysteries  profound. 
 
 But  not  the  dark,  but  not  the  clear, 
 
 Can  be  the  measure  of  the  true  ; 
 Nor  night,  nor  noon,  is  given  us  here, 
 
 But  chiaroscuro  'twixt  the  two ; 
 
254     VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 
 
 Which  to  the  good  is  dawn  of  heaven 
 That  brightens  to  the  perfect  light, 
 
 But  to  the  bad  a  dusk  of  even 
 That  darkens  to  eternal  night. 
 
 To  His  Congregation. 
 
 MENTONE,  15th  March,  1872. 
 
 .  .  .  And  this  Mentone  is  a  very  excellent  con 
 valescent  home — a  harbour  for  disabled  vessels,  most 
 commodious  to  winter  in.  Walled  all  round  on  three 
 sides — west,  north,  and  east — by  a  double  range  of  moun- 
 tains, through  which  no  valley  cuts  a  passage  for  the  wind, 
 it  is  effectually  screened,  in  God's  kind  providence,  from  all 
 western  mistrals,  northern  glacials,  and  eastern  Euroclydons, 
 such  as  that  which  wrecked  the  ship  of  Alexandria  which  had 
 St.  Paul  aboard.  The  space  thus  enclosed — a  semi-circular 
 or  crescent  area,  some  seven  miles  in  diameter,  with  the 
 old  Mentone  town  built  along  a  ridge  in  the  centre,  and 
 dividing  the  bay  into  two — is,  in  truth,  a  large  natural 
 greenery,  with  a  purely  southern  exposure,  on  whose  broad 
 south  wall,  sloping  from  the  grey  mountains  down  to  the 
 blue  sea,  are  spread  in  tropical  luxuriance,  and  more  than 
 tropical  variety,  the  flowers  and  the  trees.     .     .     . 
 
 Amid  such  trees  of  Oriental  mould  and  of  Judean  growth, 
 rich  and  fragrant  with  Scriptural  and  sacred  associations,  as 
 I  wander  in  this  genial  climate  seeking  health  and  finding 
 it,  one  can  scarcely  fail  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  Lord  God 
 walking  among  the  trees  in  the  garden  ;  and  if  sometimes 
 it  seems  to  chide  and  say,  "  What  dost  thou  here,  standing 
 all  day  idle,  for  there  is  a  vineyard  to  be  cultivated  else- 
 where, and  barren  fig  trees  in  it  too,  perhaps?"  yet  oftener 
 I  seem  to  hear  the  voice  speaking  good,  comfortable  words, 
 and  saying,  "  I,  the  Lord,  do  keep  it ;   I  will  water  it  every 
 
"  IT  DARKENS  ERE  THE  DA  WNING?        2$$ 
 
 moment,  lest  any  hurt  it !  I  will  keep  it  night  and  day ; " 
 and  "  Rest  thou  in  the  Lord ;  wait  patiently  for  His  time 
 for  thy  returning.     Do  not  fret."     .     .     . 
 
 The  following  verses  were  given  to   Mrs.  Watson 
 and  Miss  Crum  at  Mentone  : — 
 
 "  £t  Iparkens  txt  the  ^ntoiutuj." 
 
 It  darkens  ere  the  dawning 
 
 More  than  in  all  the  night, 
 Earth's  shadows  stretch  an  awning 
 
 Across  the  doors  of  light ; 
 O'er  the  horizon  nearest 
 
 Lie  balanced  light  and  shade, 
 And  when  the  light  is  clearest 
 
 The  dark  is  darkest  made. 
 
 It  darkens  to  the  dying, 
 
 As  ne'er  in  life  before, 
 The  shadows  blackest  lying 
 
 About  the  heavenly  door ; 
 The  heavenly  light  sheds  glances 
 
 On  pilgrims'  eyes  afar, 
 But  he  finds  who  advances 
 
 How  dark  the  shadows  are. 
 
 "  No  light"  from  lamp  or  casement. 
 
 "  No  light  "  here  can  you  see, 
 Dear  child  !  what  sore  amazement 
 
 Of  darkness  fell  on  thee, 
 That  holy  autumn  morning, 
 
 Till  dawn  of  glory  pours 
 Round  thy  white  brow,  adorning 
 
 Another  morn  than  ours  ! 
 
256     VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 
 
 Our  light's  a  veil  that  hides  us, 
 
 And  hides  all  from  our  sight. 
 It  none  the  less  divides  us 
 
 Although  the  veil  be  white  ; 
 And  what,  when  life  is  ending, 
 
 When  heart  and  eye-sight  fail, 
 Is  darkness  but  the  rending 
 
 Of  this  dividing  veil  ? 
 
 Not  so,  through  veils,  God  sees  us, 
 
 But  by  immediate  sight, 
 And  those  in  heaven  with  Jesus 
 
 See  too,  in  God's  own  light ; 
 "  Know  as  they're  known,"  asunder 
 
 Is  every  veil  withdrawn, 
 And  now  they  cease  to  wonder 
 
 It  darkened  ere  the  dawn. 
 
 Returning  to  (Sob. 
 
 "  They  have  forsaken  me.'' 
 
 "  All  is  vanity." 
 
 "  When  he  came  to  himself  he  said,  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  Father. 
 
 To  Thee  my  God  returning, 
 
 I  to  myself  came  first, 
 And  found  within  me  burning 
 
 Such  quenchless  fire  of  thirst, 
 That  I  must  seek  Thee  rather 
 
 Than  perish,  thirsting  so  : 
 Then  said  I,  "  To  my  Father 
 
 I  will  arise  and  go." 
 
 Away  from  Thee,  the  fountain 
 
 Of  living  waters  deep, 
 I  hewed  me  in  the  mountain 
 
 A  cistern,  rain  to  keep ; 
 
'''RETURNING  TO  GOD."  2$J 
 
 The  cloud  came,  and  I  caught  her, 
 
 And  her  moist  garments  wrung, 
 Yet  found  no  drop  of  water 
 
 To  cool  my  parched  tongue. 
 
 Blest  are  the  discontented 
 
 That  evermore  desire ! 
 Blest  are  the  souls  tormented 
 
 In  that  ascending  fire  : 
 From  God  himself  asunder 
 
 They  cannot  long  remain, 
 For  nothing  else  and  under 
 
 Can  ever  heal  their  pain. 
 
25 3  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 CHAPTER     XIII. 
 
 ^jopc  JHpeferrci). 
 
 As  the  spring  of  1872  advanced  it  became  evident 
 that  the  hope  of  returning  to  work  in  May,  by  which 
 Dr.  Robertson  had  been  upborne  during  the  long 
 winter,  was  not  to  be  fulfilled.  Acting  under  the 
 advice  of  Dr.  Drummond,  then  practising  in  Xice,  he 
 escaped  from  the  heat  of  the  Riviera  to  Lake  Como. 
 In  the  Villa  Serbelloni  at  Bellagio,  he  spent  the  earlier 
 half  of  summer,  finding  in  the  change  of  scene  and  in 
 the  marvellous  beauty  of  his  new  surroundings,  some 
 measure  of  solace  from  the  disappointment  which 
 came  to  him  when  he  was  forbidden  to  return  to 
 Scotland. 
 
 The  following  extracts  from  a  rhyming  letter, 
 written  to  the  sister  of  his  friend,  Dr.  John  Brown, 
 introduce  us  to  the  surroundings  amid  which  he  now 
 found  himself,  and  reveal  the  thoughts,  graver  and 
 more  gay,  which  were  passing  through  his  mind : — 
 
RHYMING  LETTER.  259 
 
 To  ^liss  grotott. 
 
 My  dear  friend  and  Isabella's, 
 Though  I'm  not  yet  quite  so  well  as 
 
 I  expected  by  this  time, 
 Here  I  write  at  length  a  letter, 
 And  the  tandem  may  run  better 
 
 In  the  leathery  trace  of  rhyme. 
 
 Now  the  omnibus  adagio 
 
 Climbs  the  steep  above  Bellagio, 
 
 Starting  at  good  trotting  pace 
 
 From  the  steamboat  landing  place 
 
 To  a  stirTer  slope  of  hill,  a 
 
 Short  way  past  Frizzoni  Villa  ; 
 
 Turning  then  by  north  to  east, 
 
 Past  the  church  where  the  old  priest, 
 
 In  his  black  skull  cap  and  surtout, 
 
 Looks  with  his  great  dark  eyes  at  you, 
 
 Taking  for  his  health  of  body 
 
 (If  not  also  of  his  soul) 
 
 Xot  a  go  or  two  of  toddy, 
 
 Like  priests  nearer  to  the  pole, 
 
 But  (much  better  on  the  whole) 
 
 Evening  exercise,  al fi-esco. 
 
 Walking  to  and  fro  before 
 
 The  old  church's  romanesque  (oh 
 
 What  a  poor  style  !)  west  front  door ; 
 
 Square  flat,  with  round  windows  o'er, 
 
 'Neath  his  Campanile  bells, 
 
 That  hang  like  inverted  wells, 
 
 With  their  round  mouths  gaping  down 
 
 On  the  little  red-tiled  town, — 
 
 Ready  each  with  iron  tongue, 
 
260  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 From  the  brazen  larynx  hung, 
 Vibrating  when  it  is  swung, 
 Noisy  torrents  forth  to  pour, 
 Every  half  or  quarter  hour, 
 To  baptize  the  district  round, 
 And  to  shield  it  so  from  evil, 
 From  the  Turk  and  from  the  devil, 
 Who,  as  monarch  of  the  air, 
 Made  them  to  put  bells  up  there, — 
 Four  bells  in  a  turret  square, 
 And  one  deep-toned  great  bell  under, 
 Rolling  its  baptized  thunder 
 With  the  lighter  sprinkling  chimes, 
 Ringing  at  all  sorts  of  times, 
 To  dislodge  the  fiend  unholy. 
 See  !  the  ringers  mount  the  stair ; 
 Ring  them  softly,  ring  them  slowly  ! 
 Ring  them  faster,  ring  them  freely  ! 
 From  the  old  square  Campanile. 
 
 But  the  devil  and  his  works 
 
 Being  little  worse  than  the  Turks, 
 
 That  is — brave  old  Paynim  (oh  no  !) — 
 
 They  are  infidels  that  swear 
 
 Now-a-days  by  Dollinger, 
 
 'Gainst  the  blessed  Pio  Nono. 
 
 So  'gainst  Protestants  like  us, 
 
 Rumbling  past  in  the  omnibus, 
 
 Each  mouth  must  needs  wag  its  tongue 
 
 To  dissolve  the  baneful  spell 
 
 That  our  presence  carries.     Well, 
 
 Anyway,  the  bells  are  ringing, 
 
 Oh,  how  sweet  in  the  evening  air  ! 
 
 Strokes  for  the  hour,  and  chimes  for  prayer,. 
 
"  THE  BELLS  ARE  RINGING?  26 1 
 
 Six  for  the  time,  and  a  sweet-toned  chime, 
 Prettily  called  an  Angelus. 
 
 Ring  out  under  the  great  blue  dome, 
 Answer  from  Trinity  bells  at  home. 
 Up  and  out  of  your  prayer-house  small, 
 Up  to  the  roof  and  out  over  the  wall. 
 Up  to  the  roof  must  Saint  Peter  go, 
 Praying  while  dinner's  cooked  below  ; 
 There  shall  he  learn  to  slay  and  eat 
 Out  of  the  great  four-cornered  sheet ; 
 There  shall  he  see  each  party  wall, 
 Builded  so  high  with  stones  so  small — 
 Builded  by  his  sect,  and  by  all, 
 Topple  and  crumble,  and  crash  and  fall. 
 Then  from  the  roof  of  his  church  at  Rome, 
 Shall  he  stretch  his  hands  forth  meeting 
 Ours,  that  shall  return  the  greeting. 
 Each  shall  find  the  dome  too  small — 
 Roman  Saint  Peter  and  London  Saint  Paul. 
 Only  the  world  with  dome  of  air 
 Can  assemble  all  to  prayer, 
 By  the  church  bells  ringing  there — 
 Silver  bells  for  the  days  in  white, 
 Sombre  golden  bells  for  the  night, 
 Like  the  four  in  the  turret  square, 
 Crosswise  and  lengthwise — two  a  pair, 
 Bright  and  dark,  and  dark  and  bright, 
 Or  alternate  in  straight  row, 
 That  across  the  year  doth  go, 
 One  for  the  day  and  one  for  the  night ; 
 Day  from  day  its  answer  bringing, 
 Night  unto  night  its  echo  ringing, 
 David  heard  them  sounding  so, 
 Some  three  thousand  years  ago ; 
 
262  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 And,  still  rung  by  unseen  hands, 
 They  are  telling  throughout  all  lands, 
 (Blessed  is  he  that  understands) 
 Men  should  lift  up  hands  in  prayer, 
 Holy,  and  always,  and  everywhere, 
 "  For  Heaven  will  hear  if  men  will  call 
 As  the  blue  sky  bendeth  over  all." 
 
 From  the  high  and  narrow  street. 
 Where  the  two  sides  almost  meet, 
 Narrower  lanes  and  wider  go, 
 Crosswise  to  the  lake  below — 
 Lanes  that  lengthen  out  the  more 
 As  you  leave  the  line  of  shore, 
 Lengthening  from  the  angle  sharp, 
 Like  the  strings  upon  a  harp, 
 To  that  low  lane  steep  and  stony, 
 Which,  if  you  have  missed  your  seat, 
 You  must  climb  with  weary  feet, 
 To  the  gates  of  Serbelloni. 
 
 A  big  portress  keeps  the  key, 
 
 On  a  little  salary. 
 
 She,  or  else  her  youthful  mate 
 
 (She  ran  off  with  him  of  late), 
 
 Always,  or  by  turns,  must  wait, 
 
 To  enclose  or  shut  the  gate. 
 
 And  to  keep  well  free  of  starving, 
 
 As  their  salary's  not  great, 
 
 They  sell  wood  ('tis  olive)  carving, 
 
 Done  by  his  young  henpecked  hands. 
 
 The  bazaar-like  table  stands 
 
 Up  a  few  steps  near  the  arches, 
 
 Covered  with  its  wooden  gold, 
 
 Of  which  they  make  double  profit, 
 
THE  PORTRESS,  263 
 
 Since,  if  you  buy  any  of  it, 
 Both  the  wood  and  you  are  sold  ! 
 Then  at  tinkle,  tinkle  small, 
 Scarcely  heard,  if  heard  at  all, 
 Forth,  like  grenadier,  she  marches, 
 Should'ring  the  great  iron  key  ; 
 As  Saint  Peter's  wife,  when  he 
 Otherwise  engaged  may  be, 
 Hears  the  tinkling  silver  bell, 
 Whose  dear  sound  he  knows  so  well, 
 Clink,  clink,  in  the  money  box, 
 To  pay  up  the  ransom  high 
 Of  poor  souls  in  Purgatory. 
 
 He  sends  her  forth,  and  she  unlocks 
 (For  poor  scorched  souls,  in  a  trice) 
 The  cool  gates  of  Paradise. 
 But  not  for  heretics  like  us, 
 Come  straight  up  from  earthly  ice, 
 With  our  wickedness  and  vice 
 Not  burnt  out  of  us,  and  so, 
 Thinking  in  our  robes  of  snow- 
 Through  the  blessed  gates  to  go, 
 Whether  in  a  Free  Church  fly, 
 With  its  blinded  windows  high, 
 Or,  with  open  windows  thus, 
 In  a  Broad  Church  omnibus. 
 
 Broad  Church  !     I  confess  that  I 
 Am  a  Broad  Churchman  ;  and  why 
 "  Broad  "  may  not  be  also  "  High  " 
 In  artistic  culture,  and 
 Sound  and  orthodox  withal, 
 Thoroughly  "  Evangelical," 
 I  can  never  understand. 
 
264  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 I  have  no  faith  in  the  juggling  tricks 
 Practised  by  Roman  Catholics, 
 Who  "hocus  pocus"  the  holy  bread, 
 And  kindle  fires  beneath  the  dead, 
 Which,  whatever  the  grate  may  hold, 
 Yield  good  ashes  of  silver  and  gold 
 From  the  flames  outside  painted  red. 
 
 I  don't  believe  in  pardons  sold, 
 
 And  salvation  by  wafers  made 
 
 Every  morning  at  mass,  and  laid 
 
 All  by  the  priest  on  the  people's  lips, 
 
 Betwixt  his  thumb  and  his  finger's  tips, 
 
 Like  sixpences  made  and  with  sixpences  paid ; 
 
 And  the  poor  soul,  having  paid  the  fees, 
 
 Passes,  with  one  or  two  of  these 
 
 Stuck  'twixt  his  marble  close-pressed  lips, 
 
 On  through  the  dark  detective  grave, 
 
 Where  they  unmask  the  priest  as  a  knave, 
 
 Whose  design  was  neither  to  save 
 
 The  poor  man's  soul  nor  his  sixpences. 
 
 I  do  not  believe  in  those  who  mix 
 Tinsel  with  gold  and  truth  with  tricks, 
 In  the  Church  of  the  Roman  Catholics; 
 But  I  do  believe  in  one  Living,  Broad, 
 Holy,  Catholic  Church  of  God, 
 Where  there  is  neither  bond  nor  free, 
 Primate  nor  priest  nor  plain  U.P., 
 Open  prayer  nor  liturgy  ; 
 But  in  the  Church  they  all  are  one, 
 "Who  one  Father,  through  one  Son, 
 By  one  Spirit,  seek  in  prayer, 
 And,  as  brothers  of  one  Brother, 
 Worship  Him,  and  lo^e  each  other ; 
 
OXE  HOLY,  CATHOLIC  CHURCH.  26\ 
 
 And  it  matters  nothing  where, 
 Whether  in  a  barn  of  bricks 
 Or  a  cloistered  aisle  with  a  crucir.x. 
 If  only,  under  the  dome  of  love, 
 Wide  as  the  blue  heavens  above. 
 
 _  the  bells,  and  the  bells  reply — 
 '•  Earth  is  Broad,  and  Heaven  is  High, 
 In  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Trinity." 
 
 Think  ye  not  when  the  bells  are  rung 
 
 And  the  grand  "Venite"  sung 
 
 In  the  temple  courts  below, 
 
 Thousands  all  in  white  shall  spring 
 
 Out  from  the  cloistered  shades. 
 
 "  Exultemus  Domino  "  ? 
 
 Think  you  not  when  the  trumpet's  thunder, 
 
 Shatt'ring,  rends  all  tombs  asund 
 
 That  from  vaulted  crypt,  from  under 
 
 Chancel  aisle  and  minster  floor, 
 
 Pav'd  with  broken  tombstones  o?cr : 
 
 From  beneath  the  crosses  seen 
 
 Planted  thick  on  the  churchyard  green  . 
 
 From  beneath  the  ruins  hoary 
 
 Of  old  monaster}-  and  cell, 
 
 Where  last  morn  the  matin  bell 
 
 Found  the  sleepless  saint  still  slowly. 
 
 Through  profoundest  melancholy, 
 
 Toiling  after  peace  and  holy 
 
 Conquest  over  sin  and  hell, 
 
 .re  the  softened  morning- rinsrin? 
 Dre*v  the  crowd  of  pilgrims,  singing, 
 Up  the  hill  with  its  seven  stations, 
 To  the  cross,  'twixt  walls  of  stone 
 Frescoed  o'er  with  gospel  story. 
 And  the  Christ,  in  golden  glory. 
 
266  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 As  Redeemer  of  the  nations, 
 
 Sitting,  crowned  upon  a  throne, 
 
 Worshipped  in  this  mute  evangel 
 
 By  long  lines  of  saint  and  angel, 
 
 Out  of  which  there  always  rose  a 
 
 Gentle  "  Mater  Dolorosa  "  : 
 
 Pictures  preached  when  priests  were  dumb, 
 
 And  the  singing  pilgrims  come, 
 
 "  Veni,  Redemptor  Gentium  "  ! 
 
 While  the  listening  veiled  maiden, 
 
 With  some  early  sorrow  laden, 
 
 Looks  up  through  her  lattice  lonely, 
 
 Looks,  I  hope,  to  "Jesus  only" : 
 
 Now  they  sleep  in  the  vaults  below, 
 
 And  the  bells  are  silenced  long  ago — 
 
 Think  you  not,  when  the  shatt'ring  thunder, 
 
 Rending  sepulchres  asunder, 
 
 Brings  up  all  things  hidden  under, 
 
 That  from  their  old  buried  places. 
 
 From  their  dark  forgotten  slumber, 
 
 Multitudes  that  none  can  number, 
 
 Visions  of  sweet  angel  faces, 
 
 Bearing  on  their  furrows  traces 
 
 Of  sore  weeping,  forms  still  clasping 
 
 White  hands  as  of  old,  but  grasping 
 
 Now  a  golden  lyre  between, 
 
 And  a  victor's  palm  branch  green — 
 
 Think  you  not  that  crowds  on  crowds, 
 
 Faces  white,  in  golden  clouds 
 
 Shall  float  up  into  the  light, 
 
 To  Jerusalem  the  Golden, 
 
 To  that  dear  loved  Lamb  in  white, 
 
 Whose  red  cross  they  long  had  pressed, 
 
 In  unutterable  sadness, 
 
"  VENI,  REDEMPTOR  GENTIUM."  26 J 
 
 To  their  bruised  and  throbbing  breast, 
 Finding  peace,  but  never  gladness, 
 For  the  much  rain  in  the  night, 
 And  because  their  eyes  were  holden 
 That  they  could  not  see  Him  right  ? 
 
 Now  they  do,  and,  thank  God,  never 
 Shall  they  cease  to  see  Him  more, 
 As  they  spread  alongst  the  river, 
 On  the  green  and  golden  shore, 
 And  in  widening  circles  round  ; 
 Whilst  from  Horeb  caves  afar, 
 Those  that  have  been  fretting  ever 
 That  so  few  are  faithful  found, 
 Shall  look  forth  amazed  to  see 
 What  vast  multitudes  there  are 
 That  have  never  bowed  the  knee 
 Unto  Baal  on  Romish  ground, 
 Nor  have  even  like  them  (so  sound) 
 Bowed  to  Baals  of  Bigotry, 
 And  the  Moloch,  Reprobation, 
 And  impossible  Salvation — 
 Made  so  by  divine  decree, 
 Save  to  those  few,  two  or  three, 
 Who  believe  in  their  creation 
 To  the  peerage,  and  the  station 
 Of  church  aristocracy. 
 
 But  these  are  after  thoughts,  and  not 
 
 Being  uttered  on  the  spot, 
 
 For  this,  and  another  reason, 
 
 That  they  come  'twixt  bits  of  laughter 
 
 Both  before,  and  also  after, 
 
 As  things  serious  shouldn't  do, 
 
268  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 You  may  think  them  out  of  season, 
 And  I  rather  think  so  too  ! 
 
 Out  now  on  the  terrace  bold, 
 Ere  the  day  melts  down  its  gold, 
 Orange  rocks  above  the  trees 
 And  pale  yellow  cottages, 
 Sprinkled  over  fell  and  wold — 
 The  dark  purple  of  the  hills, 
 Broken  with  white  crests  of  snow, 
 And  red  granite  bands  below, 
 Over  which  the  silver  rills 
 And  white  tumbling  cascades  flow, 
 Shading  thro'  breadths  of  tender  green, 
 Over  which  soft  sunlights  low 
 With  a  clear  soft  brightness  go, 
 To  the  white  line  of  the  lake, 
 Where  small  crested  ripples  break 
 Under  walls  of  rocks  and  trees, 
 Saffron  villages  between, 
 With  white  churches  high  o'er  these, 
 Up  black  cypressed  terraces. 
 The  upward  slopes,  inverted,  seem 
 Mirrored  in  the  crystal  green, 
 Where,  like  huge  unweildy  boat, 
 The  dark  mountains  seem  to  floct 
 On  aerial  depths,  that  go 
 Fathomless  down  to  the  skies  below, 
 And  in  sharp-cut  outlines  show 
 Jagged  points  and  winding  bays, 
 Round  the  green  lake  now  ablaze, 
 Like  the  jasper  sea  in  the  holy  dream, 
 With  softened  tinted  lights  that  gleam 
 With  white  sails  of  tiny  barks, 
 
"  OUT  ON  THE  TERRACE  BOLD"  269 
 
 Flitting  betwixt  lights  and  darks, 
 
 All  with  scarlet  awning  hung 
 
 O'er  some  would-be  mermaid  young, 
 
 That  with  graceful  hands  doth  steer, 
 
 To  her  singing  gondolier, 
 
 In  to  the  black  shade  in  shore, 
 
 From  the  clear  enamelled  lake, 
 
 With  bright  fairy  streaks  that  break 
 
 The  mosaic  picture  wrought, 
 
 Delicate  as  maiden  thought, 
 
 That  doth  softly  come  and  go 
 
 As  it  listeth,  to  and  fro, 
 
 Toned  down  in  its  tinting  so, 
 
 One  scarce  knows  what  it  has  been ; 
 
 Or  like  colours  I  have  seen 
 
 Glancing  betwixt  lights  and  darks 
 
 On  the  church  walls  of  Saint  Mark's  ; 
 
 Or  the  necks  of  the  doves  that  flock 
 
 Thither  by  the  minster  clock 
 
 Daily  at  the  stroke  of  two, 
 
 To  be  fed  there — thousands  do — 
 
 And,  alighted  in  the  square, 
 
 In  the  shades  and  sunlights  there, 
 
 Gleam  in  every  rainbow  hue ; 
 
 While  their  softly  murmured  coo, 
 
 Which  in  thousands  they  repeat, 
 
 Floats  in  wavelets  to  your  feet, 
 
 As  you  walk  in  the  piazza, 
 
 And  with  that  soft  murmur  adds  a 
 
 Likeness  more  unto  the  lake, 
 
 Where  the  waves  mere  ripples  make 
 
 That  so  softly  shoreward  break. 
 
 The    letter   from    which    extracts    are    now    to    be 
 
270  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 given   is   a   continuation   of  one   begun   in   pencil    at 
 Serbelloni. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  James  Brown. 
 St.  Moritz,  Ober  Engadine,  29th  July,  1872. 
 
 Having  got  thus  far  in  the  footpath  of  a  pencil  note,  I 
 lost  my  way  and  stuck,  instead  of  getting  out  at  last,  as  now, 
 into  the  king's  highway  of  pen  and  ink.  The  fact  is  I  have 
 not  been  quite  so  well,  and  the  above,  which  I  send  as  I 
 began  it,  was  written  in  bed,  to  which  I  was  shut  down  for 
 a  few  days,  and  where  I  did  not  get  opportunity  to  finish  it. 
 I  did  not  care  to  write  you,  either,  till  I  could  say  that  I  was 
 quite  better,  and  this  I  can  now  truly  say,  but  not  till  now. 
 Somehow,  when  I  was  finishing  (as  I  did  abruptly)  that 
 letter  you  were  rehearsing  in  the  vestry  on  the  congrega- 
 tional meeting  night,  some  not  very  pleasant  symptoms 
 returned  upon  me.  But  as  Isabella  had  to  go  to  Milan  to 
 get  some  preparation  made  for  a  longer  tack  of  this  Conti- 
 nental life,  of  course  I  went  too,  and  enjoyed  it  very  well, 
 and  thought  myself  all  right  again  (only  the  heat  was  dread- 
 ful). But  Dr.  Drummond,  on  his  way  to  this  St.  Moritz, 
 found  me  in  Milan  quite  unexpectedly,  and  sent  me,  sooner 
 perhaps  than  I  otherwise  would,  back  to  Serbelloni,  to 
 which  he  followed  in  another  day  himself,  with  his  family; 
 and  then  he  sent  me  to  bed  for  a  good  while,  whence,  as  1 
 said,  I  began  the  above  by  stealth,  Isabella  always  keeping 
 most  loving,  faithful,  and  stern  watch  lest  I  should  show- 
 any  symptoms  of  that  distemper  of  which  I  have  been  too 
 well  cured — the  Cacoethes  scribendi.  Then  as  soon  as  I 
 was  able  to  be  well  up  again,  Dr.  Drummond  found  it  was 
 too  hot  for  us  all  at  Bellagio,  and  had  us  off  to  this  St. 
 Moritz  on  Friday  fortnight.  I  reached  it  lively  enough 
 (who  would  not  be  enlivened  by  such  wonderful  scenery, 
 though  otherwise  three-quarters  dead),  yet  groaning  a  little 
 
LETTER  FROM  ST.  MORITZ.  271 
 
 by  the  way.  But  if  Bellagio  was  too  hot,  this  is  certainly 
 cold  enough.  No  wonder  I  had  difficulty  in  breathing. 
 The  doctor  himself  and  several  others  complained  of  the 
 same.  As  for  me,  I  was,  the  next  day  after,  dismissed  to 
 bed  and  smothered  up  in  a  snowstorm  of  pillows  and  bed- 
 clothes, that  has  now  thawed  and  melted  down,  and  I  have 
 again  got  my  head  above  water. 
 
 But  enough,  and  more  than  enough  of  meeself  (as  I  may 
 say  after  Dr.  W.  A.,  seeing  the  me  is  a  "W.  B.").  An 
 English  clergyman  was  telling  me  a  little  ago  he  had  gone 
 to  Glasgow  to  hear,  and  did  hear  the  two  greatest  men  to 
 his  view  in  it,  viz.,  Dr.  Anderson  and  Dr.  Macleod.  Alas, 
 Norman  !  Your  character  of  him  is  very  just.  Except 
 your  miniature  and  Dr.  W.  Smith's  prayer,  I  have  seen 
 nothing  about  him,  except  also  a  newspaper  extract  of 
 sermons  and  of  Strahan's  (is'nt  it  good  ?)  in  the  Contemporary. 
 And  I  suppose  Glasgow  goes  on  much  the  same  without 
 him  ;  and  there  is  not  a  laugh  the  less,  that  his  broad  genial 
 laughter  is  gone  out.     .     . 
 
 They  don't  need  to  salt  beef  here.  It  is  preserved 
 through  being  dried  in  the  mountain  air,  and  in  that  sense 
 I  also,  that  is  the  flesh  of  me,  may  get  cured.  .  .  .  The 
 hope  of  getting  home  for  a  few  weeks  has  been  almost 
 wholly  driven  out  of  me,  by  the  weight  of  your  arguments  on 
 the  other  side,  and  by  the  falling  (though  but  a  few  degrees) 
 of  the  mercury  in  the  barometer  of  my  health,  which,  how- 
 ever, is  on  the  rise  again,  steadily  I  hope,  and  the  index 
 now  pointing  at  "  set  fair."  Where  to  migrate  to  as  the  cold 
 weather  comes  back  I  have  left  entirely  an  open  question. 
 Only  it  might  be  over-doing  the  Nice  and  Mentone  district 
 to  return  there  for  the  winter.  One  drowsy  six  months,  I 
 should  say,  is  enough  of  that,  for  all  medical  as  well  as  other 
 (e.g.,  mental  improvement  and  economical)  purposes. 
 Living  here  is  rather  high,  as  beseems  an  elevation  of  6,000 
 
V2  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 feet,  covered  with  silver  snow  and  sunshine  by  day,  and 
 golden  Alpine  after-glow  and  stars  by  night,  that  make  the 
 skies  look  very  blue  !  ...  As  I  write  this  in  a  clinical 
 position,  Dr.  Drummond  comes  in  and  surprises  me  at  it. 
 He  has  ordered  me  to  shut  up,  and  will  allow  me  to  write 
 no  letter,  except  a  love  letter.  So  I  have  told  him  this  is 
 one,  and  so  it  is. 
 
 One  at  least  of  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a 
 continued  residence  abroad  was  removed  by  the 
 liberality  of  Dr.  Robertson's  friends.  As  soon  as  it 
 was  known  that  he  could  not  return  to  duty  in  the 
 summer  of  1872,  consultation  took  place  among  them  ; 
 and,  during  the  meetings  of  the  Synod  in  Edinburgh 
 in  May,  some  gentlemen  met  at  dinner,  on  the  invita- 
 tion of  Sir  Peter  Coats,  and  it  was  then  formally 
 resolved  to  present  Dr.  Robertson  with  a  testimonial. 
 So  heartily  was  the  matter  gone  into,  that,  before  the 
 guests  had  left  the  table,  the  sum  of  ^"1,050  had  been 
 promised  by  five  subscribers.  Before  the  autumn 
 was  far  advanced,  Mr.  David  M'Cowan  was  able  to 
 write  to  Dr.  Robertson  a  letter,  from  which  two 
 paragraphs  are  here  given,  with  extracts  from  Dr. 
 Robertson's  reply: — 
 
 Glasgow,  27th  August,  1872. 
 
 Tt  is  no  breach  of  confidence  to  tell  you  that  at  the 
 meeting  referred  to,  all  those  present  were  of  opinion  that 
 it  would  be  quite  unworthy  to  offer  you  less  than  ^4,000. 
 The  result  has  shown  that  they  did  not  miscalculate  the 
 feelings  and  the  wishes  of  others  with  whom  they  had  after- 
 wards  necessarily   to   enter  into    communication.       For    it 
 
GIFT  OF  FIVE  THOUSAND  GUINEAS.        273 
 
 is  now  my  privilege  to  inform  you  that  the  gifts  with  which 
 they  have  been  intrusted,  and  of  which  I  have  now  formally 
 to  ask  your  acceptance,  amount  to  five  thousand  guineas. 
 
 It  is  also  my  good  fortune  to  be  able  to  assure  you.  that 
 nothing  of  the  kind  could  possibly  have  been  prosecuted 
 with  more  comfort  and  less  ado.  The  preliminary  circular 
 usual  on  such  occasions  was  entirely  avoided.  Every  one 
 was  more  ready  with  his  gift  than  another,  and  thus  to 
 testify  his  warm  interest  in  one  whom  so  many  regard,  and 
 with  whom,  in  his  affliction,  they  deeply  sympathize.  If  any 
 error  was  committed  at  all,  it  was  in  not  giving  a  wider 
 circle  an  opportunity  of  sharing  in  a  deed  which  has  given 
 so  much  delight  to  those  who  performed  it. 
 
 To  Mr.  David  M'Cowan. 
 
 St.  Moritz,  Engadixe,  13th  September,  1872. 
 
 Most  thankfully  do  I  hereby  acknowledge  receipt  of 
 yours  of  the  27th  ultimo,  announcing  to  me  the  completed 
 "ingathering"  of  a  singularly  rich  testimonial  of  love  and 
 sympathy,  amounting  to  five  thousand  guineas,  and  of 
 which,  in  the  name  of  the  committee  and  subscribers,  you 
 "  formally  "  ask  my  acceptance. 
 
 It  is  a  golden  harvest  that  has  been  ripening,  it  seems, 
 under  your  skilful  cultivation,  during  these  last  summer 
 months,  and  which  you  have  now  reaped  and  garnered  for 
 me  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  (and  the  autumn  of  my  life), 
 to  make  provision  against  what  winter  I  may  yet  be  spared 
 to  see. 
 
 In  formally  accepting  of  the  testimonial,  which  you  have, 
 in  such  kind  and  beautiful  words,  presented — as  now,  across 
 the  distance  that  divides  us,  I  do  accept  of  it,  with  this  right 
 hand,  into  which,  as  I  write,  all  my  heart  is  throbbing — 
 I   feel  (as   you  have  done  in   asking  my  acceptance)   that 
 
274  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 mere  formal  words  cannot  utter  all  that  is  meant  betwixt 
 us.  "  New  wine  "  needs  "  new  bottles";  and  as,  when  one 
 is  quite  full,  you  cannot  empty  it  by  turning  it  suddenly 
 over,  so  I  have  been  sitting,  with  your  letter  in  my  hands, 
 for  I  shall  not  say  how  long,  not  knowing  at  all  what 
 answer  to  make.  It  has  marked  an  epoch  in  my  life  that  I 
 had  never  expected  to  see — an  "  Ebenezer  "  and  memorial 
 pillar  on  this  side  that  long  "  bridge  of  sighs  "  over  which, 
 in  my  sickness  and  exile,  I  have  been  travelling,  and  to 
 which,  as  to  other  mercies  which  you  also  entreat  for  me, 
 God  in  His  great  goodness  has  spared  me,  and,  by  a  way 
 that  I  know  not,  softly  and  gently  guided  me  on. 
 
 I  need  hardly  say  that  the  value  of  the  gift,  in  itself  so 
 high,  is  greatly  enhanced  by  the  friendship — to  me  so 
 precious — and  loving  sympathy,  so  deep  and  widely  spread, 
 of  which  it  is  the  symbol  and  the  proof.  Had  it  come  to 
 me  by  inheritance,  or  even  by  honest  toil,  I  could  not  have 
 prized  it  so  highly  as  when  coming,  as  it  does,  not  from  the 
 cold  hands  of  legal  right,  but  from  the  warm  heart  of 
 Christian  love.  To  me  more  precious  than  all  honey- 
 combs of  golden  treasure  on  earth  is,  of  course,  or  ought 
 to  be,  that  "  good  name  that  is  better  than  great  riches," 
 which  you  encourage  me  to  seek  after  and  strive  to  maintain, 
 by  writing  it  out — small  enough  in  my  case  as  it  is — in  such 
 large  letters  of  silver  and  gold.  But  not  less  precious  is  the 
 pleasure,  or,  as  I  must  say,  the  pride,  of  numbering  among 
 friends  of  mine  such  and  so  many  truly  Christian  gentlemen 
 — not  only  "  righteous  "  men  that  "  do  justly,"  but  "  good  " 
 men  that  do  much  more.  They  have  wrought  a  "good 
 work  "  on  one  of  the  lowliest  of  the  members  of  that  Body 
 whose  Head  is  in  heaven — that  Church  which  is  in  earth 
 and  heaven  both — down  with  whose  feet  on  earth,  in  the 
 dust,  I  have  meantime  been  cast,  torn,  wayworn,  and  weary. 
 and  you  have  come  and  bound  up  the  wounds  and  bathed 
 
WINTER  IN  FLORENCE.  275 
 
 them  and  anointed  them  with  kindness,  and  I  do  pray  that 
 I  may  be  so  counted  one  of  His,  that  He  may  say  unto  you, 
 "  You  have  done  it  unto  Me." 
 
 It  was  decided  that  Dr.  Robertson  should  spend 
 his  second  winter  of  exile  in  Florence.  His  medical 
 advisers  believed  that  the  tramontane  and  other 
 climatic  drawbacks  on  the  banks  of  the  Arno,  would  be 
 more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  mental  enjoyment 
 which  so  earnest  a  lover  of  sacred  art  would  find 
 in  the  city  of  Giotto  and  Michel  Angelo. 
 
 To  His  Congregation. 
 
 Florence,  Italy,  14th  November,  1872. 
 
 From  Switzerland  we  have  been  driven  southward,  before 
 the  darkening  winter,  into  Italy,  and  (not  without  prospect 
 of  being  presently  driven  by  the  cold  still  further  south)  are 
 at  present  in  Tuscany,  in  the  beautiful  vale  of  the  Arno — in 
 Florence,  the  city  of  Savonarola — the  prison  of  the  Madiais — 
 the  fountain  of  modern  Italian  literature  and  art.  .  .  .  How 
 differently  Protestants  are  treated  now  in  Italy  from  what  they 
 were  used  to  in  the  Madiais'  times.  Not  only  Florence,  Rome 
 itself  has  emptied  its  convents  by  hundreds  of  the  monks  of 
 the  crucifix,  and  opened  its  gates  to  the  ministers  of  the 
 Cross.  .  .  .  About  all  this  I  hope  to  bring  you  home  some 
 full,  correct,  and  interesting  information,  as  well  as  con- 
 cerning a  church  in  the  highest  inhabited  valley  in  Europe, 
 the  Grison  Church  (Protestant)  in  the  Engadine,  with  which 
 this  summer  I  have  become  acquainted,  which  has  been 
 hidden  (not  a  few  of  God's  "  hidden  ones,"  I  hope,  amongst 
 them)  for  centuries  in  the  rock  cliffs  of  the  Alps  beneath  the 
 glaciers — speaking  an  unknown  tongue,  unintelligible  to  all 
 
276  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 foreigners,  and  themselves  to  the  rest  of  Christendom  next 
 to  utterly  unknown.     .     .     . 
 
 Florence,  31st  December,  1S73. 
 
 How  many  New-Years'  themes  have  we  thought  upon 
 together,  as  we  walked  and  talked  together  down  the  five-and- 
 twenty  years  and  more.  I  can  recall  some  of  them,  such  as, 
 11  The  changes  of  time  working  out  the  unchanging  purposes 
 of  the  Eternal ;  "  "  The  mystery  of  this  dark-bright  life — 
 its  monotony,  its  misery,  its  majesty  and  meanness  in 
 contrast ;  "  "  The  scripture  solution  of  '  What  is  our  life ' ; " 
 "  The  danger  of  missing  the  end  God  made  us  for  ; "  "  The 
 question  in  profit  and  loss  for  the  ledger  on  New-Year's 
 Day,  'What  shall  it  profit,'  etc.;"  "The  shortness  of  the 
 time,  and  the  evanescence  of  the  world  "  (how  all  things 
 "  come  to  pass"),  and  learning  thence  the  fleeting  nature  of 
 the  phenomenal  (objects  of  sight),  and  abiding  nature  of  the 
 real  (objects  of  faith) ;  "  The  acceptable  year,  and  the  closed 
 book;"  "The  new  man — making  all  things  new,"  etc.,  etc. 
 
 Did  not  our  hearts  burn  within  us  as  He  talked  with  us 
 by  the  way,  and  opened  to  us  the  scriptures  on  our  new- 
 year  Sabbath  journey  through  a  quarter  of  a  century,  till  the 
 shadows  of  evening  began  to  gather  round,  and  we  besought 
 him  to 
 
 "  Abide  with  us  when  night  is  nigh, 
 For  without  Thee  we  dare  not  die." 
 
 For  evermore,  I  trust,  the  end  of  our  conversation  was  (and 
 yet  shall  be,  please  God)  Jesus  Christ — "  the  same  yes- 
 terday, and  to-day,  and  for  ever."     .     .     . 
 
 I  well  remember  some  faces  in  my  audience  in  Irvine 
 that  shone  with  a  beautiful  light  (though  they  wist  not  they 
 were  shining  so),  when,  once,  after  trying  (in  vain,  of  course) 
 to   picture  heaven,   I  paused  and  said,  "  There  is  only  one 
 
AMONG  THE  CHURCHES  AND  GALLERIES.  277 
 
 preacher  can  show  you  what  heaven  is  like;  he  can — his 
 name  is  Death" — faces,  ah  !  shining  now  with  a  still  sweeter 
 lustre — on  the  mount,  and  in  the  vision  of  God — then  they 
 saw  through  a  glass  darkly,  but  now  face  to  face.     .     .     . 
 
 Spite  of  his  continued  bodily  weakness,  Dr.  Robert- 
 son entered,  even  during  his  first  winter's  residence  in 
 Florence,  on  the  congenial  study  of  the  history  and 
 art  of  the  city,  and  ere  the  winter  was  ended  had  been 
 recognized  as  one  of  the  most  competent  guides  to 
 the  churches  and  galleries.  It  was  a  great  joy  to  him 
 when  any  old  friends,  travelling  in  Italy,  halted  in 
 Florence,  and  gave  him  the  opportunity  of  making 
 their  stay  there  for  ever  memorable  to  them,  by  his 
 unwearied  attentions,  and  by  the  light,  in  which  he 
 enabled  them,  at  every  turn,  to  see  what  would  have 
 been  hidden  from  them  if  they  had  wandered  aimlessly, 
 as  so  many  travellers  do,  from  church  to  church  and 
 from  gallery  to  gallery.  But  he  did  not  confine  his 
 attention  to  former  friends.  Many  noted  travellers 
 sought  and  obtained  introductions,  and  none  who  did 
 so,  failed  to  acknowledge  the  charm  of  his  presence 
 and  discourse.  To  some  of  these,  especially  to 
 younger  members  of  the  parties,  their  meeting  with 
 him  marked  an  era  in  their  intellectual  and  spiritual 
 history.  I  have  before  me  many  letters  in  which  the 
 warmest  testimony  is  borne  to  the  enduring  value  of 
 his  teaching  in  the  cloisters  of  Maria  Novello  and  San 
 Marco,  and  his  other  favourite  haunts.  Extracts  from 
 some  of  these,  with  rough  notes  of  his  talk  will  be 
 given  in  a  subsequent  chapter. 
 
278  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 As  the  spring  advanced  he  made  some  excursions 
 among  the  ancient  cities  of  Tuscany.  He  visited 
 Perugia  and  Assisi,  the  latter  deeply  interesting  to 
 him  from  its  connection  with  St.  Francis  ;  and  made 
 his  first  acquaintance  with  the  Etruscan  tombs,  into 
 the  dark  recesses  of  which  it  was  his  delight,  on  sub- 
 sequent visits  to  Italy,  to  penetrate. 
 
 When  the  time  for  leaving  Italy  had  arrived,  it  was 
 a  sore  disappointment  to  Dr.  Robertson  that  he  was 
 pronounced  still  unfit  for  work  ;  but  though  his  home- 
 coming, on  June  24th,  1873,  was  not  such  as  he  had 
 fondly  hoped  it  would  be,  yet  he  came  in  great  spirits. 
 He  was  unable  to  preach,  but  his  summer  residence  in 
 Irvine  was  of  much  service  to  the  congregation.  As 
 far  as  strength  permitted  he  visited  the  people  in 
 their  homes,  in  no  case  failing  to  go  to  those  whom 
 in  their  sorrows  he  had  from  the  distance  yearned 
 to  see,  or  to  those  who,  in  protracted  sickness,  had 
 wearily  watched  for  his  coming.  Nor  did  he  fail, 
 in  the  course  of  his  visitation,  to  find,  as  of  old, 
 humorous  incidents  which  served  to  lighten  what, 
 from  its  very  nature,  was  necessarily  a  trying  duty. 
 He  went  to  see  one  old  man  who  had  something  on 
 his  mind  which  he  could  not  unburden  to  any  other 
 than  his  minister.  When  they  were  alone  the  trouble 
 was  revealed.  Some  months  before,  being  very 
 weary,  he  had  said  his  evening  prayer  without 
 taking  oft*  his  night-cap.  The  irreverent  omission 
 had  weighed  heavily  on  his  conscience  and  he  had 
 failed  to  find  comfort.     It  would  have  been  easv  of 
 
SUMMER  A T  HOME.  2/9 
 
 course  to  make  light  of  the  scrupulousness  which 
 magnified  so  slight  a  fault.  But  Dr.  Robertson  was 
 wise  enough  to  see  that  this  expedient  would  not 
 meet  the  case  before  him,  and  so  he  replied, 
 "There  are  two  ways  of  expressing  reverence.  We  in 
 the  west  uncover  our  heads,  but  eastern  nations 
 uncover  their  feet,  as  Moses,  you  remember,  was 
 bidden  take  off  his  shoes,  for  the  place  whereon  he 
 stood  was  holy  ground.  Both  actions  mean  the  same 
 thing.  They  signify  the  shortening  of  the  person  in 
 token  of  self-abasement  before  God.  Now,  if  your 
 feet  were  bare,  there  was  no  need  that  you  should 
 also  uncover  your  head  ;  and  I  presume  you  had 
 not  on  your  shoes  ?  "  "  No,"  said  the  old  man,  rising 
 up  in  bed  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  No  ;  nor  my  stockins 
 mother?  "Ah  then,"  said  the  minister,  "it  is  all 
 right."  "Oh,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "I'm  sae  glad;  I 
 was  quite  sure  that  when  ye  cam'  back  ye  wud  be 
 able  to  pit  it  a'  richt  someway." 
 
 As  the  autumn  advanced  it  became  evident  that  an 
 early  migration  was  essential,  if  he  was  not  to  lose 
 what  he  had  gained,  and,  at  the  end  of  October,  he 
 started  for  Florence.  A  fondly  cherished  project, 
 which  was  the  subject  of  many  letters  to  his  friend, 
 Mr.  M 'Cowan,  that  they  should  together  visit  Egypt 
 and  Palestine,  could  not  be  carried  out.  With  the 
 exception  of  the  time  devoted  to  a  brief  visit  to  Naples 
 and  Rome,  he  and  his  elder  sister  spent  the  winter  in 
 Florence. 
 
280  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 To  Rev.  James  Brown. 
 
 Florence,  16th  April,  1874. 
 
 .  .  .  So  here  I  am  in  Florence  with  prospect  only  of 
 small  excursions  about  till  it  is  time  to  return  home.  .  .  . 
 Meantime  Florence  is  flooded  with  visitors  who  find  me  out, 
 and,  with  the  other  friends  I  have  made  here,  drag  me, 
 perhaps  rather  much,  into  the  churches  and  galleries,  and 
 for  the  rest  occupy  my  time,  so  that  at  nights  I  don't  feel 
 up  to  much  study  or  letter-writing.  And  yet  some  of 
 the  friends  I  would  not  miss  on  any  account.  .  . 
 To  mention  no  other,  Mrs.  Oliphant  has  come  out  under 
 commission  from  Macmillan  to  gather  materials  for  a  book 
 on  Dante,  Angelo,  and  my  friend  Savonarola.  I  have  been 
 showing  her  over  the  haunts  of  "these  three  men" — the 
 first  three — during  three  days  of  this  week. 
 
 18th  April,   1874. 
 
 To-day  I  have  been  attending  (among  other  wheres)  at  the 
 Greek  (Russian)  Church,  which  holds  its  sittings,  or  rather 
 its  standings  and  prostrations  (for  they  do  not  sit  in  their 
 worship  at  all),  in  a  hall  in  the  court  of  our  Palazzo,  and 
 have  tried  to  interpret  the  service  (which  has  much  beauty 
 in  it)  by  a  very  little  knowledge  of  Slavonic,  by  the  help 
 of  Stanley  (Eastern  Church)  and  other  books,  and  by  that 
 sympathy  with  Christianity  in  all  its  shapes  and  phases, 
 which  you  will  not  condemn  in  me  as  too  broad.  The 
 priest  is  rather  a  favourite  friend  of  mine,  and  very  pleasant 
 men  the  deacon  and  reader.     .     .     . 
 
 As  the  time  for  again  returning  to  Scotland  ap- 
 proached, a  medical  examination  revealed  the  fact 
 that  Dr.  Robertson  was  not  yet  fit  for  work,  and  that 
 
AGAIN  A T  HOME.  281 
 
 a  further  rest  of  at  least  two  years  was  essential.  At 
 the  same  time  intelligence  from  Irvine  made  it  plain 
 that,  though  the  arrangements  for  temporary  supply 
 of  the  pulpit,  first  by  Mr.  James  Orr,  B.D.  (now  Dr. 
 Orr  of  Hawick),  and  then  by  Mr.  Matthew  Muir 
 Dickie,  B.D.,  afterwards  of  Haddington,  had  been  most 
 satisfactory,  it  would  not  be  wise,  in  view  of  the  best 
 interests  of  the  congregation,  that  it  should  remain 
 longer  without  a  settled  pastor.  In  these  circum- 
 stances it  was  arranged  that  the  necessary  steps 
 should  be  taken  for  the  election  of  a  colleague  and 
 successor,  who  should  have  the  whole  responsibility 
 for  work. 
 
 His  fellow-student,  the  Rev.  Dr.  MacEwen,  of  Clare- 
 mont  Church,  Glasgow,  who  had  been  his  steadfast 
 friend  all  through  the  years  of  their  ministry,  and  who 
 had  gone  to  see  him  at  the  crisis  of  his  illness — on 
 the  day  on  which  Professor  Buchanan  performed  the 
 first  operation — had  himself  fallen  ill  and  been  laid 
 aside  from  duty.  A  revival  of  strength,  which,  alas, 
 proved  temporary,  had  enabled  him  to  resume  work. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  Alex.  MacEwen,  D.D. 
 
 Irvine,  29th  October,  1874. 
 
 How  glad  I  am  to  hear  that  you  have  returned  to  your 
 work  in  perfect  health  and  strength  for  the  winter.  Long 
 may  they  be  given  you  to  be  devoted  to  the  great  aim  of 
 life  which  you  are  still  so  steadily,  so  faithfully,  so  triumph- 
 antly pursuing  ! 
 
 As  for  me,  I  am  still  lagging  behind  with  broken  wind, 
 
282  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 though  not  with  broken  will  and  purpose.  Some  day  ere 
 very  long  I  hope  to  find  myself  as  strong  for  work  as  ever 
 or  (as  I  am  always  somewhat  walk,  let  us  say)  stronger. 
 
 I  have  dipped  in  the  Jordan,  and  my  flesh  has  come 
 again  as  a  little  child's.  I  wish  I  could  return  like  a  lion 
 from  the  swellings  ! 
 
 How  shall  I  forget  the  kindly  light  of  your  dark  beaming 
 eye  that  shone  on  me  like  a  lamp  when  I  seemed  about  to 
 enter  the  dark  doors  !  Its  powerful,  eloquent,  silent  sym- 
 pathy— there  is  nothing  I  remember  more  constantly,  and 
 had  I  died  then  I  would  have  carried  the  remembrance  far 
 into  other  worlds. 
 
 The  hope  that  he  would  be  able  to  take  part  in  the 
 ordination  of  a  colleague  and  successor,  before  again 
 going  abroad,  kept  Dr.  Robertson  in  Scotland  till  the 
 winter  of  1874-5  had  set  in  with  full  severity.  Partly 
 the  risk  of  travelling  in  time  of  hard  frost,  and  partly 
 anxiety  about  the  health  of  his  elder  sister,  detained 
 him  still  longer,  till  it  ended  in  his  spending  the  winter 
 at  home.  During  the  earlier  months  he  struggled  as 
 best  he  could  to  do  visitation  work  at  Irvine,  but 
 toward  spring  he  was  compelled  to  seek  perfect  rest 
 at  Bridge  of  Allan,  which  had  become  the  home  of 
 his  younger  sister. 
 
 The  summer  which  followed  was  shadowed  by  much 
 sorrow.  His  sister's  illness  caused  him  increasing 
 anxiety,  and  his  old  friend  Dr.  MacEwen  was  struck 
 down  in  the  mid-time  of  his  days. 
 
DR.  MACEWEN'S  DEATH.  283 
 
 To  Mrs.  MacEwen. 
 
 Irvine,  Wednesday,  9th  June,  1875. 
 
 What  noble  work  through  grace  he  has  been 
 honoured  to  do.  It  seems  quite  impossible  to  see  how  his 
 place  is  ever  to  be  filled.  The  whole  Church  may  well 
 sympathize  with  you  in  your  affliction,  for  her  own  grief  is 
 not  unlike  that  of  the  widow  and  fatherless  ! 
 
 And  what  a  warm,  true,  faithful,  generous,  friend  he  was. 
 as  I  by  many  proofs  well  know,  and — in  the  shadow  of 
 death  that  recalls  them  (as  night  recalls  the  stars),  though 
 they  were  never  out  of  mind — most  vividly  remember.  To 
 me,  from  old  acquaintanceship  in  early  years,  he  stood  a 
 faithful  friend  in  long-tried  truth ;  and  through  the  intimacy 
 that  I  had  with  him — and  that  was  never  broken — from  his 
 great  wealth  of  intellect,  of  learning,  of  Christian  experience. 
 my  own  life,  I  always  felt  was  greatly  enriched.  I  never 
 knew  any  one  like  him  for  breadth  and  balance  of  character 
 — for  that  exquisite  symmetry  and  fulness  of  life  that  consti- 
 tutes (on  lower  or  on  loftier  scale)  the  "  perfect "  man — and 
 his  scale  of  life  was  a  lofty  one.  His  very  presence  gave  a 
 sense  of  power.  I  never  knew  which  more  to  admire  in 
 him — the  manly  strength  or  the  womanly  tenderness,  the 
 sage  gravity  or  the  child-like  cheerfulness,  the  classic  dignity 
 or  the  romantic  geniality,  the  meditative  or  the  active,  the 
 intensely  devotional  or  the  intensely  practical.  V\'hat  was 
 most  to  be  admired  was  the  union  of  the  two  in  one  har- 
 monious whole  of  life,  complete  all  round.  It  was  no  doubt 
 this  completeness  or  integrity  of  character — covering  human 
 life  in  all  its  breadth,  and  Christian  experience  in  all  its 
 variety — which,  with  the  lofty  aims  that  he  was  ever  steadily 
 and  strenuously  pursuing,  made  him  such  a  power  for  good 
 in  the  Church  and  the  community,  and  such  a  successful 
 leader  and  king  of  men.     .     .     . 
 
284  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 Another  sorrow  fell  on  him  in  the  illness  and  death 
 of  one  who  had  been,  by  her  Christian  character  and 
 her  good  works,  a  strength  to  the  congregation. 
 
 To  Mr.  David  M 'Cowan. 
 
 Irvine,  26th  August,  1875. 
 
 Our  loving  and  beloved  Mrs.  Brown  is  still  with 
 us,  but  "  wearying,  wearying,"  as  she  said  to-night,  "to  be 
 home."  How  sublimely  simple  her  faith  is — without  all  fear 
 or  doubt — not  trusting  to  swim  ashore  on  any  raft  of  doc- 
 trine, or  system  of  orthodoxy,  or  even  on  separate  Scripture 
 texts  and  promises,  "boards  and  broken  pieces  of  the  ship," 
 still  less,  least  of  all,  not  at  all  on  any  works  or  merits  of  her 
 own,  but  clinging  to  the  hand  of  "  Jesus  only,"  who  has 
 come  to  her  over  the  waters  of  death,  and  bids  her  come  to 
 Him — to  Him  who  gives  the  weary  rest.  "  O  Lamb  of  God, 
 I  come."  She  cannot  be  long  outside  the  harbour,  one 
 would  think.  May  she  have  an  abundant  entrance.  As  I 
 left  the  house  tonight  late  in  the  darkness  under  the  trees, 
 it  was  not  difficult  to  imagine  that  the  shining  ones  were 
 waiting  about  the  doors. 
 
 To  Miss  Kay,  Cornhill,  Biggar. 
 
 Irvine,  3rd  September,  1875. 
 
 How  I  wish  you  had  been  with  us  here  on  the  evening  of 
 the  1  st  inst,  when,  after  the  funeral  on  that  day  of  that 
 admirable  Christian  lady — one  of  the  loveliest  of  God's 
 daughters — whose  death,  as  you  know,  drew  me  back 
 and  detained  me  here  last  week,  there  was  held  in  the 
 church  one  of  our  sweetest  and  holiest  services  of  worship — 
 what  some  might  (ritualistically)  call  a  choral  funeral  service 
 
A  FUNERAL  SERVICE.  285 
 
 — what  Dr.  Begg  would  profanely  call  a  mass  or  requiem — 
 but  which  the  Apostle  Paul  would  call  a  speaking  to  one 
 another,  or  "  teaching  and  admonishing  one  another  in 
 psalms,  and  hymns,  and  spiritual  songs,"  and  the  record 
 of  which  is  written  in  God's  book  of  remembrance  for  us,  I 
 trust,  as  those  that  fear  the  Lord,  and  speak  often  one  to 
 another,  so  that  we  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it  when  the 
 Judgment  is  set  and  the  books  are  opened. 
 
 It  began  with  a  prayer  for  the  presence  of  One  who  had 
 Himself  been  seen  by  many  walking  that  day  in  the  midst  of 
 the  mourners — the  High  Priest  in  white,  the  King  invisible, 
 the  Christ  of  sympathy,  the  Christ  of  tears — beseeching  Him. 
 constraining  Him  to  abide  with  us  when  it  was  towards 
 evening,  and  show-  His  face,  when  the  face  of  another  dear 
 friend  was  hid  away  in  the  darkness  and  dust. 
 
 Then  from  the  choir  gallery  floated  a  strain  of  tender 
 music,  "When  our  heads  are  bowed  with  woe,"  so  purely, 
 softly,  touchingly  sung  (or  rather  only  breathed),  that 
 at  the  very  first  "  Jesu,  Son  of  Mary,"  most  of  the  congrega- 
 tion stood  in  tears.  Then  followed  a  prayer  for  the  widowed 
 and  motherless,  the  sons  and  daughters  of  sorrow,  to  Him 
 who  knowcth  our  frame,  and  remembereth  that  we  are  dust. 
 
 The  music  next  described  the  ravages  of  death  because  of 
 sin  from  Psalm  xc,  sung  by  selected  voices  to  Tilton's  ex- 
 quisite chant  in  B  minor.  The  succeeding  prayer  carried 
 down  the  confession  of  sorrow  to  the  confession  of  sin,  its 
 root,  and  gave  thanks  for  the  written  Word  that  endures 
 when  all  flesh  is  grass,  but  most  especially  for  the  incarnate 
 personal  Word,  that  by  His  cross  and  passion,  death  and 
 burial,  has  opened  the  heavenly  kingdom,  and  abolished 
 death. 
 
 Then  was  read  Romans  v.  12  to  the  end,  showing 
 the  contrast  between  our  ruin  and  redemption  \  how  the 
 latter  is  not   only  even  so  as,  but   much  more    than,  the 
 
286  HOPE  DEFERRED. 
 
 former—  death  is  not  only  conquered,  but  swallowed  up  in 
 victory.  The  discourse  that  followed  took  this  for  its  text, 
 and  rose  by  help  of  Scripture  reading,  prayer  and  song  from 
 the  depths  of  darkness  and  the  grave  to  the  heights  of  light 
 and  life  eternal — appropriate  music  being  sung  at  the  suc- 
 cessive ascending  stages,  culminating  in  the  anthem  of 
 Resurrection,  i  Cor.  xv.  51.  Among  the  rest  we  sang  the 
 hymn  "  Thou  art  my  hiding-place,"  which  our  friend  was 
 fond  of  singing  alone  to  her  instrumental  accompaniment. 
 The  voices  nearly  broke  down  through  emotion  in  the  last 
 verse,  yet  gave  the  last  words  firmly. 
 
 In  closing  the  service  we  showed  how  faith  (child-like  faith 
 in  a  personal  Saviour  such  as  hers  was — not  in  mere  doctrines, 
 still  less  in  any  Shibboleth)  took  outcome  in  works  of  charity. 
 The  story  of  Dorcas  was  read,  and  the  lady's  beautiful  work 
 in  the  society  of  that  name  referred  to ;  and  the  patience 
 which  in  her  had  its  perfect  work — perfecting,  sculpture- 
 like, with  the  chisel  of  anguish,  with  the  gravure  of  pain,  the 
 beautiful  white  statue  of  character.  Finally  her  favourite 
 hymn  was  sung,  and  it  sounded,  in  the  very  beauty  of  the 
 •singing,  like  a  voice  from  Heaven  of  one  who  being  dead  yet 
 speaketh — "  Art  thou  weary,  art  thou  languid,  art  thou  sore 
 distrest?" 
 
 But  I  should  not  try  to  describe  what,  in  its  musical  parts 
 at  least,  and  in  its  effects  as  a  whole,  is  not  to  be  described. 
 It  was  not,  as  it  was  not  meant  to  be,  a  thing  of  shreds 
 and  patches,  but  a  garment  rather,  woven  from  the  top 
 throughout.  I  hope  we  were  landed  on  a  higher  reach  of 
 the  spiritual  life  nearer  to  God  than  when  the  service  was 
 begun. 
 
 If  I  am  spared  I  mean  to  pay  still  more  attention  to  the 
 matter  of  public  worship,  in  which  it  seems  to  me  there  lies 
 great  undeveloped  power  for  good.  I  wish  you  would  help 
 me  with  some  of  your  sweet,  good  thoughts,  fresh  from  the 
 
ORDINATION  OF  COLLEAGUE.  2S7 
 
 pure  heart  of  a  Christian  young  lady,  who  lives  near  to  the 
 Holy  of  holies,  and  hears  the  angels  sing. 
 
 The  protracted  anxiety  with  regard  to  the  settle- 
 ment of  a  colleague  was  at  length,  after  several 
 disappointments,  set  at  rest  for  the  time  by  the  ordina- 
 tion of  Mr.  George  K.  Heughan  on  February  18th, 
 1876. 
 
:88  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER    XIV. 
 In  anb  arounb  fflovtncz. 
 
 The  first  use  Dr.  Robertson  made  of  the  entire  free- 
 dom from  responsibility  for  work  which  the  ordination 
 of  his  colleague  gave  him,  was  to  return  to  his  haunts 
 in  Florence.  The  state  of  his  sister  Isabella's  health 
 was  such  that  she  could  not  accompany  him,  but  his 
 younger  sister  went  as  his  companion.  They  reached 
 Florence  towards  the  end  of  February.  His  sister 
 stayed  till  May,  but  he  lingered  on  in  Italy  and  the 
 Engadine  till  the  close  of  the  summer  of  1S77.  He 
 had  thus  good  opportunity,  of  which  he  failed  not  to 
 avail  himself,  for  continuing  his  favourite  studies ; 
 and  he  was  as  willing  as  before  to  pour  out  his 
 treasures  for  the  instruction  of  such  sojourners  like 
 himself,  or  passing  travellers,  as  sought  his  guidance 
 through  the  churches  and  galleries. 
 
 In  February,  1876,  I  had  occasion  to  be  in  Florence 
 with  some  travelling  companions.  In  prospect  of  our 
 journey,  I  wrote  to  Dr.  Robertson  to  ask  him  what 
 we  should  specially  see.   He  most  kindly  arranged  so  to 
 
SANTA  MARIA  NOVELLA.  289 
 
 time  his  arrival  as  to  meet  us,  and  we  were  led  by 
 him  to  the  churches  and  loggias  which  he  liked  best 
 to  expound.  I  could  not  hope  to  convey  any 
 idea  of  the  brilliant  talk,  anon  full  of  deepest  earnest- 
 ness, and  anon  rippling  with  humour,  to  which  we 
 listened  day  after  day;  but  fortunately  some  rough 
 jottings,  with  which  he  furnished  Miss  Florence  Sellar 
 when  she  went  to  Italy  in  1882,  have  been  preserved. 
 They  conduct  us  only  half  way  round  the  Church  of 
 Santa  Maria  Novella,  which  was  generally  the  first  to 
 which  he  took  his  friends.  Written  hurriedly,  and 
 at  a  distance  from  the  scene,  they  are  necessarily  far 
 inferior  to  his  talk  ;  but  they  at  least  indicate  the 
 themes  of  that  talk. 
 
 Notes — Jottings  for  Florence  la  Bella. 
 
 The  Chiesa  Santa  Maria  Novella — a  Dominican  church, 
 called  in  other  days  "  Angelo's  Bride,"  but  which,  now  at 
 least,  has  no  beauty.  It  has  been  spoiled  by  restoration. 
 But  Angelo  had  little  sense  of  beauty.  Terrible  power  his  ! 
 The  Italian  Romanesque  at  best  is  poor  compared  with  our 
 Gothic  minsters.  It  yielded  the  church  walls,  in  large  flat 
 spaces,  as  panels  to  the  painter.  It  has  no  sense  of  growth 
 from  within — the  German  We?'den — but  puts  on  beauty 
 from  without,  like  a  priest  that  saves  you  by  putting  wafer 
 on  your  lips  and  oil  on  your  forehead,  and  holy  water  on 
 your  finger  ends.  Even  Giotto's  Campanile  and  the 
 cathedral  are  only  veneered  with  marble.  Their  poetry  in 
 stone  is  somewhat  shelly  (I  don't  mean  Percy  Bysshe,  poor 
 youth,  whose  thoughts  are  often  as  deep  as  the  sea — your 
 Gulf  of  Spezia  that  drowned  him).     They  are  perfect  ac- 
 
2Q0  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 cording  to  rule,  perhaps, — squares,  circles,  finite  forms, 
 touching  the  righteousness  that  is  in  the  law  of  Euclid — 
 blameless,  but  just  therefore  not  to  be  compared  with  that 
 art  whose  essence  is  incompleteness,  and  which  struggles 
 through  that  to  the  infinite  beyond. 
 
 The  facade  of  the  Santa  Maria  Novella  is  an  unhappy- 
 mixture  of  Gothic  forms  in  the  under  part  and  Greek  above. 
 The  effect  is  disagreeable.  It  is  surmounted  by  a  triangular 
 gable  wall  that  has  no  corresponding  roof  behind,  and 
 therefore  faces  the  public  with  a  lie  on  its  forehead,  a  false 
 face — a  mark  of  the  Beast  which,  however,  is  not  confined  to 
 Roman  Catholics  and  Italy. 
 
 Ship-a-hoy  !  In  a  stone  panel  of  the  facade,  to  the  right, 
 you  look  up  and  see  the  ship  a-sail  that  brought  home  to 
 the  Rucellai  their  dyes  from  the  Levant.  They  were  the 
 Orcellarii,  great  drysalters  of  Florence,  who  shipped  the 
 Orchis  dye  from  the  east,  which  helped  to  found  chapels  in 
 the  church,  and  to  give  suppers  in  the  Rucellai  gardens  ; 
 you  pass  them  by  the  way  coming  in  the  directest  road  from 
 your  hotel. 
 
 Inside  the  church — passing  the  beggar,  who  will  think 
 you  the  sweetest,  saintliest  young  heretic  (which  you  are,  all 
 the  same)  if  you  give  him  a  soldo  or  two — there  is  let  into 
 the  entrance  wall,  beneath  Giotto's  crucifix  and  the  fine  old 
 stained  glass  rose  window,  a  fresco  by  Masaccio,  taken 
 from  the  dividing  screen  of  the  church.  It  represents  the 
 Trinity — the  Pere  Eternel  above,  Christ  on  the  cross,  and 
 the  Holy  Spirit  as  a  dove  between.  On  the  other  side  of 
 the  door  there  is  a  fresco  of  the  school  of  Giotto,  represent- 
 ing the  Annunciation,  the  virgin  having  the  type  of  face 
 afterwards  worked  out  by  Fra  Angelico,  the  white  ground  in 
 this  fresco  contrasting  with  the  black  in  Masaccio's.  Both 
 have  been  restored  from  under  the  shroud  of  whitewash 
 which  has  been  the   means  of    preserving  what    it  threat- 
 
FRESCOES  OF  THE  TRINITY.  291 
 
 ened  to  destroy,  as  the  snow  does  the  fruitening  earth  in 
 winter. 
 
 The  Trinity  is  a  frequent  subject,  interesting  in  the 
 theology  of  art,  the  balance  of  the  three  Persons  in  the 
 different  pictures  depending  on  the  religious  sentiments  of  the 
 painter  and  the  time.  Giotto,  for  example,  in  a  picture  in 
 the  Certosa,  gives  prominence  to  the  loving  Father ;  Albert- 
 inelli  (picture  in  Academia),  to  the  crucified  Son,  the 
 doctrine  of  the  atonement  being  in  his  time  deemed  more 
 important  than  the  doctrine  of  the  Fatherhood  of  God. 
 The  Holy  Ghost,  from  whom  the  beautiful,  the  tender,  the 
 motherly,  the  womanly  had  passed  over  into  the  A7irgin 
 Mary,  since  the  formulating  of  the  Athanasian  creed,  has 
 come  down  through  the  Middle  Ages,  and  appears  in  the 
 pictures  wcret  Trepta-repav,  "  in  form  as  a  dove,"  proceeding 
 from  the  Father  and  the  Son,  says  our  western  creed,  but 
 the  eastern  denies  the  "  Filioque."  Singular  that  the  Greek 
 Church  had  a  conference  with  the  Roman  here,  when,  in 
 1439,  tnis  fresco,  touching  the  great  difference  betwixt  them, 
 must  (if  by  Masaccio),  have  been  before  their  eyes.  They 
 had  been  driven  by  the  plague  from  Ferrara  down  here, 
 where  the  Patriarch  Josephus  died.  His  monument  is 
 round  the  corner  of  the  Rucellai  transept. 
 
 In  looking  up  the  nave,  mark  how  the  arches  overhead 
 narrow  and  how  the  floor  is  raised  toward  the  high  altar 
 and  the  choir,  a  trick  of  architectural  perspective  to  make 
 the  church  seei.j  longer  than  it  is.  Dominican  churches 
 were  seldom  "  cumbered  with  columns,"  as  the  country 
 beadle  said  of  our  noble  Glasgow  Cathedral.  All  free  space 
 possible  was  left  for  the  crowding  audiences  that  came  to 
 hear  the  Lenten  and  other  sermons  of  the  Frati  Predicatori, 
 who  were  the  Dominicans.  Of  these,  Savonarola  (Fra  or 
 Frate  Girolamo)  was  one,  though  he  did  not  preach  here, 
 but  in  San  Lorenzo,  in  the  Duomo,  in  his  own  San  Marco. 
 
-:■•:::: 
 
 : :  :': : : 
 
 -,-  -   ■_  - 
 
SAVONAROLA'S  LOVE  AND  HATRED.        293 
 
 that  are  not  easy  to  analyze.     But  this  does  not  seem  very 
 difficult. 
 
 She  had  said  haughtily,  that  a  noble  Strozzi  could  not 
 stoop  to  alliance  with  a  base  Savonarola.  He  had  answered 
 as  proudly  and  retired.  Impudent  girl  !  Vain,  conceited 
 thing  !  And  yet  I  praise  you,  Signorina.  I  thank  you,  I 
 bless  you,  proud  daughter  of  the  Strozzi.  Many  thousands 
 do.  For  had  you  taken  him,  he  might  have  had,  would 
 have  had,  to  trot  about  all  his  days,  like  his  father  before 
 him,  dispensing  drugs  and  water-gruels  in  Ferrara,  instead  of 
 shaking  Florence  with  his  thunder,  and  all  Italy,  all  Europe  ; 
 and  marching  on,  how  grandly,  to  the  bravest  noblest  martyr- 
 dom, of  which  for  many  centuries,  to  the  eternal  shame  of 
 Rome  and  Florence  too,  the  Church  of  the  true  God  has 
 had  to  boast. 
 
 Now  double  cape-corner  bound  for  the  Madonna,  and  as 
 you  do  so,  see,  beside  the  Patriarch's  monument,  the  sharp- 
 featured  bust  of  the  good  Antonino,  like  an  old  Anti-burgher 
 or  Covenanter  looking  down — Archbishop  of  Florence  in  the 
 days  of  Fra  Angelico,  whose  bosom  friend  he  was.  He  did 
 not  save  souls,  as  Carlyle,  the  scorner,  would  say,  by  putting  on 
 a  shovel  hat  and  short  apron;  but  he  saved  men's  lives  as  he 
 could  in  the  time  of  the  famine  and  plague,  driving  about,  on 
 foot,  through  the  street  and  the  by-road,  to  the  sick  and  the 
 poor,  the  plague-stricken  and  starving,  a  donkey  laden  with 
 bread  and  wine  for  the  sacrament  of  holy  charity,  the  needs 
 of  daily  life.  Kiss  your  hand  to  him,  lady,  i.e..  (Saxon)  Laif- 
 day,  bread-giver  to  the  poor;  you  shall  meet  him  again  in 
 San  Marco. 
 
 And  now  ascend  over  the  tomb  of  the  Rucellai  to  the 
 feet  of  the  Madonna.  You  may  glance,  on  her  right,  at  the 
 Bugiardini — assisted,  they  say,  by  his  master,  the  terrible 
 Angelo — in  the  St.  Catherine  and  the  wheel  of  her  martyrdom 
 (you  know  the  legend,  though  I  would  like  to  tell  it  to  you 
 
294  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 in  my  own  way  some  time)  :  and  on  the  Madonna's  left,  look 
 only  at  Rossellini's  Villana,  lying  in  her  blessed  white  marble 
 slumber,  and  the  angels  drawing  aside  the  drapery  to  let  you 
 see.  Rossellini  is  a  favourite  sculptor  of  the  second  class. 
 You  will  see  him  at  his  best,  not  here,  but  in  the  Vallom- 
 brosan  series  in  the  Bargello,  and  specially  the  death  of  John 
 Gualbert  in  a  chapel  of  San  Miniato,  in  the  monument  of  a 
 cardinal  slumbering  in  saintly  purity — unutterable  depths  of 
 peace  in  the  white  marble.  These  Christian  sculptors,  even 
 of  the  second  class,  could  deal  with  death  as  no  Greek 
 sculptor  ever  could,  and  you  know  why.  This  blessed 
 Villana  was  a  very  gay  young  lady,  who,  on  coming  home  one 
 morning  from  a  midnight  dance  and  masquerade,  and  look- 
 ing in  the  mirror,  saw  the  devil.     She  shrieked  and  got  the 
 
 mirror  changed,  but  still .     Of  course,  it  ends  in  her 
 
 becoming  a  holy  nun  and  dying  in  the  odour  of  sanctity. 
 Much  truth  in  the  legend,  as  in  that  of  the  St.  Catherine  and 
 so  many  others ;  though  the  truth  is  more  in  the  fiction  than 
 the  fact.  I  know  some  wise  good  people  insist  on  separat- 
 ing the  fact  from  the  fiction,  and  throwing  the  latter  away. 
 But  that  may  be  the  best  of  it,  most  likely  is.  They  remind 
 me  of  the  ladies  of  England,  who,  when  tea  was  first  brought 
 to  this  country,  infused  it,  and  then  poured  off  the  dusky 
 brown  water  and  ate  the  leaves  with  butter  ! 
 
 Ave  Maria  !  Cimabue's  Madonna.  Colossal.  Mary 
 enthroned,  with  child  on  knee,  three  angels  on  either  side — 
 picture  on  panel,  in  tempera,  on  gold  ground.  The  mother 
 Eve  of  a  new  world  of  art,  the  mother  of  all  living  Madonnas 
 since.  Hitherto  they  had  been  dead,  as  the  dogmas  of  a 
 lifeless  abstract  creed,  being  in  fact,  and  meant  to  be,  not  at 
 all  beautiful  pictures,  even  if  they  could  have  painted  them, 
 full  of  human  tenderness,  of  womanly  grace,  of  mother's 
 love,  but  only  a  sort  of  hieroglyphic  symbol  of  the  Church's 
 dogma  —  formulated   a.d.    430,    with    anathemas    against 
 
CIMABUE' S  MADONNA.  295 
 
 Nestorius— that  Mary  was  "  the  Mother  of  God."  The 
 hard,  stiff,  dry,  dark  Byzantine  pictures  would  serve  their 
 purpose  better  than  others  of  a  more  pleasing  kind,  and  so 
 they  had  been  repeated,  mechanically  to  order,  from  age  to 
 age,  in  the  Church's  orthodox  ateliers,  under  strict  censor- 
 ship of  the  priests.  Any  deviation,  in  the  smallest  iota, 
 from  the  established  type,  would  have  seemed  to  the  Church 
 as  heretical  and  censurable  as  the  slightest  deviation  from  the 
 Westminster  Confession  to  Dr.  Begg,  or  the  sound  of  an 
 organ  or  chant  of  a  psalm  to  Kidston  of  Ferniegair.  Any 
 smile  on  the  face,  any  tear  on  the  cheek,  any  yearning  in  the 
 lips,  or  the  light  of  the  eyes,  might  have  laid  the  innovating 
 artist  under  terror  of  excommunication  by  bell,  book,  and 
 candle.  You  see  how  Cimabue,  partly  perhaps  from  fear  of 
 the  priests,  partly  from  want  of  power  to  go  further,  partly 
 from  the  instinct  of  conservatism  that  was  in  him  as  an 
 aristocrat  (see  his  portrait  in  the  group  on  the  east  wall  of 
 the  adjoining  Spanish  Chapel),  still  clings  to  the  archaic 
 type,  with  low  forehead,  long  Greek  nose,  narrow  slit  eyes, 
 small  mouth  and  chin,  passionless  expression,  stiff  attitude, 
 etc.,  etc.,  though  there  is  a  beginning  of  breadth  and  free- 
 dom in  the  drapery,  and  a  breathing  of  life  and  beauty, 
 womanly,  motherly,  human,  in  the  Madonna,  and  still  more, 
 after  its  kind,  in  the  child,  and  most  of  all,  I  think,  in  the 
 angels,  which  did  not  come  so  much  perhaps  within  the 
 surveillance  and  rigid  rubric  of  the  priests.  Giotto,  the 
 shepherd  boy,  that  ugly  little  plebeian  urchin,  in  whom  the 
 noble  and  generous  Cimabue  has  found  a  genius  beyond  his 
 own — he  and  his  followers  will  carry  the  reform  and  rebellion 
 against  the  stiff  old  orthodoxy  further,  till,  two  centuries 
 later,  it  perfects  itself  and  perishes  in  Raphael,  and  in 
 Andrea  del  Sarto,  who  impudently  puts  the  portrait  of  his 
 own  lovely,  wicked  wife  in  the  sanctissima  Madonna. 
 
 How   it   fell   to    Cimabue  to   inaugurate  the  change   of 
 
296  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 treatment  and  create  a  new  era  in  art,  it  occurs  to  me  sud- 
 denly to  ask.  Let  me  think  a  moment.  Had  he  not  a  rare 
 mother  of  his  own,  like  all  other  sons  and  daughters  of 
 genius,  the  divinest  children  of  the  race,  and  may  not  the 
 remembrance  of  her  from  earliest  childhood — of  a  mother's 
 kisses — have  haunted  and  inspired  him  ?  A  most  kindly 
 uncle  he  had  also,  prior  of  the  Dominican  convent,  in  this 
 same  Santa  Maria  Novella,  who  kept  school  and  had  his 
 nephew  for  a  pupil.  If  you  look  into  the  great  cloister 
 passing  out  that  way  to  opposite  the  railway  station,  you 
 may  see  the  schoolboys  playing  still  as  they  did  600 
 years  ago,  when  Cimabue  was  scholar  there.  His  good 
 noble  uncle  did  not  check,  or  scold,  or  beat  him,  when  he 
 would  make  studies  of  angels'  heads  and  Madonnas'  faces 
 on  the  margin  of  his  grammatical  exercises,  but  encouraged 
 him,  though  the  art  of  the  painter  then,  which  was  merely 
 mechanical,  was  scarcely  thought  fit  for  a  gentleman.  And 
 by  his  influence  with  the  Church,  may  he  not  have  smoothed 
 the  artist's  way,  through  all  risk  of  giving  offence  to  the 
 orthodox  in  breaking  away  from  the  old  tradition  of 
 ecclesiastical  art,  and  making  a  quite  nova  Madonna,  a 
 quite  new  Mary,  for  the  church  of  the  Santa  Maria  Novella? 
 And  then  even  the  common  people's  ideal  of  the  Madonna 
 must  have  grown  into  something  quite  different  from  what 
 the  old,  hard,  dark  pictures  of  her  represented.  For  as  her 
 Son  has  grown  sorrowful  and  angry  down  the  centuries — the 
 face  of  Jesus  Christ,  that  in  the  Catacombs  (3rd  century), 
 and  still  in  the  mosaics  of  Ravenna  (5th  and  6th),  wears  the 
 benign  aspect  of  the  beautiful  young  Shepherd  feeding  his 
 flock,  or  carrying  the  lamb  on  his  shoulder,  darkening  into 
 the  face  of  the  Judge,  returning  to  take  vengeance  on  men 
 who  had  crucified  him,  the  "  Rex  tremendaa  majestatis  "  of 
 the  "  Dies  Irse "  which  was  even  then  uttering  its  wail 
 through  the  convents  and  cathedrals,  announcing  the  day 
 
THE  VIRGIN  BECOMIXG  EXTERCESSOR.       297 
 
 of  judgment  as  a  day  of  wrath  and  terror  to  the  Church 
 herself — the  Virgin  Mother  becomes  more  and  more  the 
 Intercessor,  who  is  to  save  them  from  the  terrible  wrath  of 
 the  Lamb. 
 
 In  another  series  of  pictures  of  the  Madonna — soli- 
 tary, from  the  house  of  John  Mark,  where  last  in  the  Xew 
 Testament  we  see  her  with  the  others  praying — from  the 
 Catacombs,  where  she  appears  as  the  Or  ante  with  arms 
 outstretched  in  supplication — from  the  mosaics  of  the  7  th 
 century  (you  will  see  one  in  San  Marco)  in  which  she 
 bends  her  arms  as  if  in  supplication  more  earnest,  on  her 
 way  to  the  judgment  seat  to  arrest  the  wrath  of  her  Son, 
 as  in  the  Campo  Santo  fresco  of  the  14th  century  and  the 
 Sistine  Chapel  of  the  16th — as  she  travels  on  to  the  judg- 
 ment to  become  the  Saviour  from  Christ  himself,  and  in- 
 stead of  Him,  there  gathered  round  her  more  and  more 
 the  grace,  the  beauty,  the  sweetness  of  the  motherly,  the 
 tender,  the  sympathetic,  the  pitiful;  and  when  the  picture 
 of  Cimabue,  though  not  belonging  to  this  series,  shows  her 
 for  the  first  time,  and  suddenly,  invested  with  so  much  of 
 this,  what  wonder  if  they  welcome  it  with  shouts  and  songs. 
 It  answers  to  their  own  ideal  and  desire,  and  they  carry 
 it  in  triumph,  and  with  Hosanna  singing  (as  the  ark  of 
 old  was  carried  in  procession  to  the  temple)  to  its  shrine 
 in  the  Rucellai  Chapel  of  the  Santa  Maria  Novella,  and 
 there  it  has  rested  for  six  centuries  before  the  eyes  of 
 Florence,  and  generation  after  generation  has  come  to  look 
 at  it,  and  passed  on  to  the  darkness,  and  still  there  it  is. 
 
 "  Art  is  long,  but  life  is  fleeting." 
 
 u  These  are  the  immortals,"  said  the  monk  to  Wordsworth, 
 u  we  are  the  shadows  that  pass  by  and  look  at  them."' 
 
 Here  the  jottings,  which  were  to  have  been  con- 
 tinued to  cruide  his  friend  to  all  the  art  treasures  of 
 
298  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 Florence,  come  to  an  end.  From  "he  Rucellai  Chapel, 
 with  its  famous  Madonna,  he  led  our  party  to  the  chapel 
 of  Filippo  Strozzi,  where  he  described  to  us  his  burial 
 there  "with  great  pomp  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  at 
 dusk."  Then  he  took  us  into  the  apse  behind  the 
 high  altar,  frescoed  by  Ghirlandajo,  and  through  the 
 chapel  with  Brunelleschi's  cross  —  "made  to  show 
 Donatello  how  he  should  have  done  it," — into  the 
 Strozzi  Chapel  at  the  end  of  the  south  transept, 
 where  he  dwelt  lovingly  on  Orcagna's  "Judgment" 
 and  "  Heaven,"  specially  asking  us  to  note  in  the 
 "  Heaven  "  "  the  cataract  of  beautiful  faces  on  either 
 side." 
 
 Passing  out  of  the  church  into  the  Green  Cloister, 
 we  entered  the  Spanish  Chapel.  Here  I  am  indebted 
 to  Mr.  Robert  Caird,  who  was  intimately  associated 
 with  Dr.  Robertson  in  many  of  his  Florentine  re- 
 searches.    He  writes  : — 
 
 The  Spanish  Chapel  was  built  early  in  the  14th  century 
 by  a  Florentine  merchant,  Buonamico  di  Lapo  Guidalotto, 
 with  the  aid  of  the  prior,  and  decorated  with  frescoes  by 
 painters  of  the  early  Tuscan  school,  contemporaries  or  im- 
 mediate successors  of  Cimabue,  and  among  them,  notably, 
 Simone  Martini  of  Siena,  assisted,  perhaps,  by  his  nephew, 
 Lippo  Memmi,  and  Taddeo  Gaddi,  the  favourite  pupil 
 and  follower  of  the  immortal  Giotto.  The  chapel  takes  its 
 name  from  the  Spanish  residents  of  Florence  of  the  time  of 
 Cosimo  de'  Medici.  They  secured  it  for  their  services 
 after  its  abandonment  as  the  chapter-room  of  the  Dominican 
 order.  But  its  whole  interest  is  in  the  frescoes,  the  inter- 
 pretation of  which  was  an  unfailing  source  of  delight  to  Dr. 
 
THE  SPANISH  CHAPEL.  299 
 
 Robertson.  Here  he  came  ever  and  again,  alone  or  accom- 
 panied by  troops  of  friends,  to  study  or  expound — with  that 
 matchless  eloquence  and  rare  gift  of  arousing  attention  and 
 of  exciting  enthusiastic  interest,  which  worked  like  a  spell 
 upon  the  dullest  and  least  imaginative  of  his  hearers — that 
 wondrous  scheme  of  philosophy  and  of  church  history, 
 reverently  and  beautifully  depicted  in  soft  tempera  tones, 
 which  the  centuries  have  but  enhanced,  upon  its  lofty  walls 
 and  high-pitched,  vaulted  roof. 
 
 The  scheme  of  the  frescoes  is  given  in  Ruskin's  "Vaulted 
 Book,"  in  the  series  of  "  Mornings  in  Florence  " ;  and  else- 
 where, writing  of  the  Church  militant  wall,  Ruskin  says  of 
 the  group  of  infidels  and  heretics,  "  which,  with  the  Para- 
 dise above,  I  hold  one  of  the  grandest  things  in  Italy." 
 And  Dr.  Robertson's  improvisations,  full  of  finest  poetry  and 
 quaintest  imagery,  as  interludes  to  forcible  dramatic  por- 
 traiture of  leading  figures,  would  have  been,  if  only  they  had 
 been  recorded  and  preserved,  as  valuable  to  literature  as  the 
 frescoes  themselves  are  to  art. 
 
 Those  who  were  privileged  to  hear  him  in  the  Spanish 
 Chapel,  as  in  San  Marco,  when  his  sympathies  with  his 
 subject  were  fairly  aroused,  will  understand  how  hopeless  it 
 is  to  attempt  to  reproduce  the  flow  of  description,  now 
 penetrating  into  the  obscurest  corners  of  forgotten  lore,  now 
 placing  the  most  seemingly  incongruous  incidents  into  juxta- 
 position, and  with  sudden  humour  startling  us  into  laughter, 
 mixed  with  awe  at  the  new-born  truth ;  ever  and  anon 
 throwing  his  own  intense  individuality  into  the  personalities 
 he  was  describing,  with  an  overwhelming  histrionic  power 
 giving  movement  to  the  placid  scenes  the  early  Tuscan 
 painters  had  recorded  at  the  bidding  of  their  ecclesiastical 
 patrons. 
 
 So  far  did  he  sometimes  carry  this  illusion,  that,  on  one 
 occasion,  in  the  chapel  of  San  Lorenzo,  after  speaking  in  the 
 
300  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 person  of  Michel  Angelo's  Lorenzo,  he  was  asked  how  he 
 knew  what  he  was  describing.  "  Oh,"  he  answered,  "of 
 course  I  know;  I  was  living  then;  I  knew  Lorenzo  well." 
 His  power  of  losing  himself  in  the  character  he  was  per- 
 sonating was  unrivalled,  and  this  is  the  more  remarkable, 
 in  that  he  never  lost  his  strong  Doric,  least  of  all  in  moments 
 of  creative  excitement. 
 
 In  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  we  visited 
 Santa  Maria  Novella  we  drove  to  the  Certosa  in  the 
 Val  d'Ema.  There  we  listened  to  the  story  of  the 
 founding  of  the  order  of  the  Monks  of  Silence  after 
 the  death  of  Raymond,  which  the  stained  glass  in  the 
 corridor  illustrates ;  and  with  the  memory  of  the 
 weird  tale,  so  effectively  told,  filling  our  minds,  we 
 drove  back  to  Florence  in  the  rich  evening  light. 
 
 Next  day  we  were  taken  first  to  San  Lorenzo, 
 where  in  the  sacristy  we  had  a  wonderful  exposition 
 of  Michel  Angelo's  famous  monuments  to  the  Medici 
 — the  helmeted  Julian,  whom  Robertson  named  // 
 Penseroso,  sitting  in  dark  melancholy  thought  over 
 the  Evening  and  Morning,  on  his  right  and  left ;  and 
 on  the  opposite  wall,  Lorenzo,  the  representative  of 
 the  Allegro  side  of  life — the  epicurean,  with  the  Night 
 and  Day,  right  and  left,  at  his  feet.  On  the  wall,  at 
 right  angles  to  both,  there  is  a  Virgin  and  Child — 
 placed  there,  Robertson  believed,  because  the  mys- 
 tery of  the  Holy  Incarnation  is  the  one  solution  of 
 the  contradictions  of  life,  in  which  alone  the  harmony 
 of  its  sadness  and  its  gladness  is  revealed. 
 
 From  San  Lorenzo  we  passed  to  the  Annunziata, 
 
SAN  LORENZO,  MISERICORDIA,  ETC.         301 
 
 and  in  the  afternoon  we  went  to  the  Misericordia, 
 and  saw  the  brotherhood  assemble  in  their  every-day 
 raiment,  and  come  out  from  the  vestry  in  their  long- 
 black  robes  and  masks.  They  knelt,  and  their  chap- 
 lain having  read  the  brief  prayer,  that  has  been  read 
 there  day  by  day  for  many  centuries,  they  took  up 
 their  litter  and  went  to  carry  a  sick  child  to  the 
 hospital.  Passing  to  the  Santa  Maria  Nuova  we 
 found  they  had  already  arrived  and  handed  over 
 their  charge  to  the  sisterhood,  and  were  kneeling 
 picturesquely,  hooded  and  in  black,  around  a  bed  at 
 which  a  priest  was  administering  extreme  unction. 
 We  then  heard  the  story  of  the  founding  of  the  order 
 600  years  ago  by  Luca  Borsi,  that  it  might  give  use- 
 ful employment  to  the  lounging,  swearing  wrool- 
 porters  of  the  city.  It  now  embraces  in  its  membership 
 some  2000  of  the  first  citizens  of  Florence,  who,  on  duty 
 in  detachments,  are  bound  to  various  works  of  charity, 
 prominent  among  which  is  the  one  we  had  just  seen 
 performed — the  carrying  sick  people  to  the  hospital. 
 Regarding  the  Annunziata  a  correspondent  writes: — 
 
 We  were  lingering  over  Andrea  del  Sarto's  frescoes.  Dr. 
 Robertson  was  pointing  out  the  freshness  of  the  colouring, 
 the  beauty  of  the  forms,  and  the  perfect  life-like  rendering  of 
 the  flesh,  when  he  turned  suddenly  round,  in  that  quick  way 
 of  his,  and  said:  "But  it  is  the  flesh  and  blood  that  shall 
 not  inherit  the  Kingdom." 
 
 Next  day  was  devoted  to  San  Marco,  of  which  the 
 same  correspondent  says  : — 
 
 We    first    wandered    into    the     refectory,    and,    sitting 
 
302  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 opposite  Fra  Angelico's  great  fresco  of  the  Crucifixion,  had 
 a  long  desultory  talk  about  the  painter  and  his  prayerful 
 work ;  then  the  spring  sunshine  lured  us  into  the  court  of  the 
 cloisters. 
 
 The  first  thing  that  caught  Dr.  Robertson's  eye  was  the 
 window  of  Savonarola's  cell,  and  he  suddenly  seemed  to 
 become  oblivious  of  us  and  of  the  present,  and,  transporting 
 himself  into  the  15th  century,  carried  on  a  dialogue  between 
 Savonarola  and  a  messenger  from  Lorenzo  de  Medici. 
 
 He  gave  a  most  wonderful  resume,  of  the  life  of  Lorenzo. 
 The  messenger  relating  his  good  works,  charities,  patronage 
 of  art,  support  of  the  convent,  etc.,  etc.  Savonarola  re- 
 proaching him  with  selfish  motives,  family  pride,  want  of 
 sincerity,  depriving  the  Florentines  of  their  liberty,  and  most 
 bitterly  with  trying  to  bribe  him  by  putting  gold  into  the 
 treasury  of  San  Marco. 
 
 Interview  upon  interview  was  represented.  One  time 
 Savonarola  was  commanded  to  come  into  the  presence  of 
 Lorenzo,  and  dark  suggestions  made  of  the  power  of  the 
 latter  as  "  Head  of  the  Family ;  "  another  time  he  was  for- 
 bidden. But  neither  threats  nor  coaxing  could  move  the 
 monk  from  his  cold,  stern,  disapprobation.  He  was  a  very 
 John  the  Baptist  in  his  courageous  denunciations.  At  last, 
 there  came  the  rumour  that  Lorenzo  was  stricken  with 
 illness  likely  to  prove  fatal.  Then  Savonarola  lends  a 
 pitying  ear  to  the  account  of  a  troubled  conscience,  and 
 hints  of  obedience  to  the  demands  of  his  confessor,  and 
 so,  unable  to  resist  the  appeal  of  the  dying  man,  he  goes  to 
 hear  Lorenzo's  confession. 
 
 I  shall  never  forget  the  dramatic  power  of  that  scene. 
 The  spirit  and  appreciation  of  character  with  which  the 
 dialogue  was  carried  on,  and  the  power  our  friend  possessed 
 of  transporting,  not  only  himself,  but  his  audience,  into  the 
 midst  of  the  scenes  he  so  vividly  represented. 
 
DA   VINCI'S  LAST  SUPPER.  303 
 
 Dr.  Robertson  accompanied  us  to  Venice,  where 
 he  was  our  guide  to  the  Doge's  palace,  St.  Mark's, 
 and  the  other  churches.  From  Venice  we  went  to 
 Milan,  where  we  saw  the  Carnival  procession  from 
 the  balcony  of  our  hotel  on  the  Corso.  When 
 the  rest  of  us  were  entering  into  the  mirth,  catch- 
 ing and  throwing  back  the  confetti  aimed  at  us, 
 he  was  busy  taking  notes.  He  read  me  afterwards 
 what  he  had  written.  In  his  pencilled  scrawl  he  had 
 drawn  a  vivid  picture  of  the  shifting,  many-coloured 
 panorama  that  had  been  passing  and  re-passing 
 before  our  eyes.  He  said  he  made  a  point  of  making 
 a  study  from  every  such  scene;  his  notes  would  be  of 
 service  when  he  wrote  his  projected  book  on  Italy! 
 
 We  spent  the  Sunday  at  Milan.  There  was  no 
 service  in  English,  and  so  we  went  in  the  forenoon  to 
 see  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  "Last  Supper,"  in  the  refectory 
 of  the  convent  of  Santa  Maria  delle  Grazie.  He 
 made  the  visit  a  real  service  of  worship.  Arranging 
 seats  for  us  opposite  the  great  painting,  he  sat  down 
 with  his  chair  slightly  turned  round,  so  that  we  could 
 hear  him,  and  told  us  the  history  of  the  painting, 
 explaining  the  reason  of  its  decay,  as  contrasted  with 
 a  perfectly  preserved  fresco  on  the  opposite  wall. 
 Leonardo  da  Vinci  could  not  work  in  fresco,  which 
 does  not  admit  of  alteration,  but  must  be  done  by  one 
 who  can  realize  his  ideal  at  once.  The  great  painter, 
 especially  in  painting  the  Christ,  could  not  work  so, 
 but  must  be  always  striving  after  the  highest.  He 
 had,  therefore,  the  wall  prepared  by  some  process  that 
 
304  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 he  might  work  in  oil ;  but  the  preparation  was  to  a 
 large  extent  a  failure,  and  hence  the  picture  has 
 become  blurred  and  blotted.  But  he  told  us  how  it 
 suffered  further  from  the  monks,  who,  desiring  to  have 
 a  door  by  which  their  dinner  could  be  brought  in  more 
 directly,  and  in  better  season,  from  the  kitchen,  had 
 cut  away  the  feet  of  the  Christ — the  "  blessed  feet "  he 
 called  them  ;  and  still  more  from  the  profane  French 
 soldiers  quartered  in  the  convent,  who  had  stabled 
 their  horses  in  the  refectory,  and  had  shown  their 
 contempt  for  religion  by  making  the  head  of  the 
 Christ  a  target  for  pistol  practice.  He  then  passed  on 
 to  analyze  the  picture  and  to  explain  its  groupings,  till 
 he  concentrated  attention  on  the  central  figure,  and 
 then  it  could  be  truly  said  that  "  he  preached  unto  us 
 Jesus."  I  found  to  my  surprise  when  we  rose  to  go 
 that  he  had  spoken  for  an  hour.  It  was  a  memorable 
 hour,  and  all  of  us  felt  when  it  was  over,  that  we  had 
 been  brought  nearer  to  Him,  whom  the  painter  had 
 sought  to  glorify.  Some  years  later,  he  wrote  to  his 
 friend  Mr.  Kirkwood,  who  had  been  visiting  Italy : — 
 
 I  hear  you  thought  Da  Vinci's  face  of  the  Christ  the  best, 
 indeed  the  only  one.  So  do  I.  Its  very  disfigurement 
 enhances  its  beauty,  partly  by  remanding  it  back  into  that 
 region  of  the  indistinct,  bordering  on  the  unseen,  through 
 which  and  which  alone  divine  spiritual  beauty  can  look  out 
 on  you. 
 
 In  the  afternoon  we  went  to  the  cathedral.  It  was 
 the  first  Sunday  in  Lent,  according  to  the  Ambrosian 
 
MILAN  CATHEDRAL  AND  S.  AMBROGIO.      305 
 
 calendar.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  service  was  one 
 peculiar  to  the  Ambrosian  ritual,  but  it  was  certainly 
 most  impressive.  Cloud  and  rain  were  alternating 
 with  gleams  of  sunshine,  that  sent  great  shafts  of 
 light  through  the  wilderness  of  marble  columns.  The 
 officiating  clergy  and  choristers  left  the  chancel  and 
 marched  in  procession  round  the  church,  with  united 
 voice  pouring  out  as  they  walked  some  common 
 words  of  confession  or  supplication,  which  ever  and 
 again  changed  into  song.  We  had  been  separated  as 
 the  service  proceeded.  When  I  rejoined  Robertson  I 
 found  him  in  tears.  He  took  me  by  the  hand  and 
 said  that  nothing  had  ever  moved  him  more  deeply 
 than  the  act  of  worship  we  had  just  witnessed. 
 
 Next  day  he  took  us  to  the  church  of  S.  Ambrogio 
 — the  former  cathedral — the  actual  church  of  St. 
 Ambrose,  rebuilt  bit  by  bit,  but  so  that  its  identity 
 had  been  preserved.  He  told  us,  with  enthusiasm 
 lighting  up  his  face,  the  familiar  story  of  how  the 
 good  bishop  had  caused  the  doors  to  be  shut  in 
 the  face  of  the  Emperor  Theodosius,  when,  after  the 
 massacre  of  Thessalonica,  he  came  with  pomp  to 
 worship  in  the  cathedral. 
 
 In  these  years  a  succession  of  sore  bereavements 
 fell  on  his  brother  James.  At  the  close  of  1874,  his 
 wife  died,  and  now  in  March,  1876,  his  third  daughter 
 was  suddenly  taken  from  him,  the  first  of  three  who 
 passed  away  within  little  more  than  twelve  months. 
 
306  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 To  Mr.   David  M'Cowan. 
 
 17   CORSO  VlTTORIO   E.MMANUELE, 
 
 Florence,  30th  March,  1876. 
 
 You  would  sympathize  keenly  with  James  in  his  most 
 affecting  and  overwhelming  bereavement  which  has  put  our 
 dear  Eliza  into  the  white  circle  of  the  blessed,  and  all  the 
 rest  of  us  into  the  black  company  of  mourners.  To  me  she 
 was  very  loving  and  very  dear,  as  I  baptized  her  and  claimed 
 her  in  some  sort  as  more  my  own,  and  had  her — in  her  bright 
 and  most  delightsome  youth,  that  had  the  dew  of  the  holy 
 morning  so  freshly  and  fully  on  it — more,  by  permission, 
 at  Irvine,  than  any  of  the  rest.  .  .  .  I  am  thankful 
 that  James  is  so  strong  and  well  comforted,  as  I  see  from 
 his  cheerful  and  brave  way  of  writing  me,  when  I  could 
 hardly  have  expected  that  he  would  write  at  all.  I  had 
 telegraphed  to  say  that  we  would  come  home  directly  if  he 
 wished  it  in  the  least,  but  he  kindly  writes  to  arrest  our 
 proposed  return ;  and  Jessie  and  I  stay  on  in  this  beautiful 
 Italy,  where  I  am  getting  great  good,  both  outward  and 
 inward,  more  than  ever.  .  .  .  We  mean  to  go  in  a  few 
 days  to  Siena  to  take  there  two  weeks,  or  it  may  be  three. 
 The  old  city  is  a  mine  of  wealth  in  those  peculiar  treasures  of 
 church  history,  with  which  I  am  almost  (not  foolishly,  I 
 hope)  making  haste  to  be  rich ;  and  as  only  the  hand  of  the 
 diligent  maketh  so,  I  don't  mean  (my  health  being  ever  so 
 good)  to  stand  in  the  celebrated  market-places,  in  which  the 
 wise  faces  of  some  score  of  centuries  look  down — to  loiter 
 about  and  stand  there  all  the  day  idle.  Then,  too,  it  is  a 
 centre  from  which  explorers  can  radiate  on  radiant  days  into 
 the  mysterious,  old  Etruscan  tombs,  with  their  mysterious 
 handwriting  on  the  wall,  which  no  Daniel  has  yet  come  to 
 interpret,  and  which  it  is  by  no  means  likely  that  a  disabled, 
 
GOING  TO  SIENA.  307 
 
 strolling,  U.P.  minister  will ;  but  which,  nevertheless,  I 
 would  like  to  see  on  its  own  table  of  stone,  and  not  in  mere 
 painted  and  photographed  copies,  and  that  not  in  the 
 blinding  light  of  any  19th  century  museum,  but  in  its  own 
 appropriate  dark  light  in  those  funereal  vaults  and  extra- 
 ordinary chambers  of  imagery,  in  which  lie  buried  a  dead 
 language,  and  a  race  of  "  men  dead  long  ago."  Dead  but 
 not  lost,  let  us  hope,  like  the  language,  not  lost  beyond  hope 
 as  the  language  itself,  in  another  sense,  is  not.  How 
 intensely  interesting  to  trace  their  belief  in  immortality 
 beyond  the  grave  (if  not  in  expiation  itself,  and  the  pardon 
 of  guilt,  through  the  sacrifice  of  One  whom  they  sought, 
 groping  after  Him  in  the  darkness  as  the  Desire  of  all  nations, 
 if  haply  they  might  find  Him,  but  yet  could  not  see)  as  told  in 
 the  handwriting  and  pictures  on  the  wall,  along  which  rides 
 the  Rider  on  the  pale  horse,  attended  by  the  Furies  to  punish 
 the  impenitent  and  wicked,  and  by  the  beautiful  angels,  called 
 the  Lassas,  to  carry  the  good  to  their  reward.  These  show 
 the  works  of  the  law  written  in  their  hearts — the  law  by 
 which  they  have  been  judged,  and  shall  be  judged,  and  may 
 it  not  be  that  it  shall  be  more  tolerable  in  the  end  for  them 
 than  for  some  of  ourselves,  and  that  the  nation  of  the  lost 
 Etruria  from  their  ancestral  tombs  shall  rise  up  in  the 
 judgment  against  us.     .     .     . 
 
 Before  going  to  Siena,  Dr.  Robertson  and  his  sister 
 went  to  Orvieto.  His  object  in  going  there  was  to 
 investigate  the  Etruscan  tombs  in  the  neighbourhood. 
 But  though  the  visit  extended  to  three  days,  he  never 
 got  beyond  the  cathedral,  so  charmed  was  he  with  its 
 wonderful  facade,  and  with  Luca  Signorelli's  frescoes 
 of  the  "  Last  Judgment"  that  have  immortalized  his 
 name,  and   Fra  Angelico's  matchless  "  Prophetarum 
 
308  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 Laudabilis,"  (with  angels  sitting  round)  in  pyramidal 
 group  in  the  chapel  of  San  Brizio. 
 
 From  Orvieto  they  passed  to  Chiusi,  which  does  not 
 offer  much  attraction  to  the  student  either  of  archi- 
 tecture or  painting.     On  their  arrival  they  found  the 
 town  in  commotion.    A  great  procession  was  about  to 
 start  to  the  shrine  of  some  saint  in  the  neighbourhood. 
 It  was  headed  by  archbishops  and  bishops,  who  were 
 followed  by  white  vestured  priests  and  a  long  line  of 
 students  gathered  from  all  the  colleges  in  the  locality. 
 As  the  procession,  which    extended  to   half  a   mile, 
 wended  its  way  along  the  country  road  leading  from 
 the  city  to  the  shrine,  the  peasants  in  the  fields  left 
 their  work  and  coming  to  the  hedges  by  the  way-side 
 knelt  down  to  receive  the  blessing  of  their  spiritual 
 fathers.     But  when  the  wail  of  the  Miserere  Met  rose 
 from  the  multitude  of  voices,  a  responsive  chord  was 
 struck,  and  Dr.  Robertson    impulsively  hurried    for- 
 ward till  he  reached  the  part  of  the  procession  in  which 
 the  priests  were  marching.     Falling  into  their  ranks, 
 and  laying  hold  of  one  side  of  the  book  borne  by  a 
 venerable  ecclesiastic,  he  began  to  join  in  the  chant, 
 and  soon  his  voice  could  be  discerned  rising  rich  and 
 clear  above  all  the  others.     So  engrossed  was  he  with 
 his  singing,  that,  in  going  down  some  steps  toward 
 the  tomb,   he   stumbled   and   fell.     There  was  great 
 excitement    among   the    priests    lest    their   new   and 
 unexpected  companion  had  hurt  himself.    They  kindly 
 helped  to  raise  him,  and  the  one  by  whose  side  he 
 had  been  walking  gave  him  his  arm.     Thus  supported 
 
A  T  CHIUSI.  309 
 
 he  walked  back  to  Chiusi  in  earnest  conversation. 
 He  told  his  sister  that  he  had  never  had  a  more 
 intensely  interesting  talk. 
 
 Next  day  they  set  out  for  what  is  supposed  to  be 
 the  tomb  of  Lars  Porsena.  It  had  rained  for  three  days 
 and  the  road  was  all  but  impassable.  No  horse  could 
 go,  but  nothing  daunted,  Dr.  Robertson  hired  a  cart 
 drawn  by  oxen.  The  patient  beasts  of  burden  plodded 
 through  the  mud  which  was  of  the  appearance  and 
 consistency  of  mortar.  They  sank  near  to  the  thighs 
 at  every  step,  and  as  they  drew  out  their  legs  it  was 
 with  a  sound  resembling  a  pistol  shot.  Progress  was  in 
 these  circumstances  necessarily  slow,  and,  though  the 
 tomb  was  only  a  few  miles  distant,  twelve  hours,  from 
 eight  in  the  morning  till  eight  at  night,  were  spent  on 
 the  expedition.  But  even  the  time  passed  on  the  way 
 did  not  seem  long.  They  were  attended  by  about  a 
 dozen  children,  who,  attracted  by  the  soldi  with  which 
 Dr.  Robertson  never  failed  to  provide  himself,  crowded 
 into  the  cart  and  delighted  him  with  their  prattle. 
 
 From  Chiusi  they  proceeded  to  Siena. 
 
 To  Mr.  David  M 'Cowan. 
 
 Siena,  15th  April,  1876. 
 
 Here  we  are  in  Siena,  .  .  .  and  since  we  have  come  here, 
 as  it  is  what  they  call  Holy  Week,  the  richest  in  the  year  for 
 the  sort  of  study  I  am  pursuing,  I  have  been  almost  every 
 hour  of  the  day  running  out  into  the  churches  to  watch  the 
 "offices,"  which  throng  after  each  other  in  thick  and  almost 
 ceaseless  succession  at  this  time,  and  if  possible  to  gather 
 
310  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 some  light  from  the  present  to  reflect  upon  the  history  of  the 
 past  and  to  help  me  to  expound  it.  How  terribly  the  Church 
 of  Rome  has  fallen,  even,  it  seems  to  me,  since  the  days  of 
 Luther  and  the  Reformation  !  Much  every  way,  but  chiefly  in 
 the  way  of  Mariolatry.  I  think  I  told  you  that  the  Virgin 
 retires  more  out  of  sight  through  Lent,  and  on  till  Easter, 
 holding  only  a  subordinate  place  as  the  "  dolorous  mother" 
 standing  by  the  cross — the  season  being  devoted  more 
 exclusively  to  the  passion,  death  and  resurrection  of  our 
 "  Jesus  only."  But,  as  Siena  is  a  city  specially  dedicated 
 from  of  old  to  the  Virgin,  and  as  yesterday  was  Good  Friday, 
 two  churches  and  two  hours  were  devoted  to  her  worship, 
 in  commemoration  of  her  in  the  character  of  the  mother 
 with  the  sword  in  her  heart.  It  is  the  first  time  I  have 
 witnessed  anything  so  humbling,  even  in  the  Romish  Church. 
 Artistically  it  was  not  attractive,  but  most  repulsive.  The 
 singing  was  (no  organ)  execrable — bad  enough  I  believe  to 
 please  Dr.  Begg — worse  than  the  shouting  of  colliers  in  the 
 singing  school  of  discord  at  Auchenbowie,  which  I  remember 
 from  my  childhood,  and  entirely  different  from  the  exquisite 
 passion  music  we  had  heard  in  the  cathedral  in  the  morning, 
 where  for  hours  there  was  never  the  smallest  allusion  to  that 
 Virgin,  but  to  the  suffering  Saviour  only.  I  came  home 
 thinking  of  Paul  at  Athens,  whose  spirit  was  stirred  within 
 him  when  he  saw  the  city  wholly  given  to  idolatry,  and 
 wondering  whether  I  could  not  open  a  station  here  as  Dr. 
 Ker  did  at  San  Remo. 
 
 The  following  fragment  of  a  letter,  which  probably 
 never  reached  its  destination,  has  been  found  among 
 Dr.  Robertson's  papers  : — 
 
 Togxazzi,  19  Via  Bandini, 
 Siena,  Toscaxa,  [April,  1876]. 
 
 Tognazzi  is  the  name  of  our  landlord,  from  whom  we 
 
AT  SIENA.  311 
 
 have  hired  a  very  nice  lodging  of  four  rooms,  with  windows 
 that  look  (like  those  in  Bunyan's  Chamber  of  Peace)  toward 
 the  sunrise,  away  over  gardens  that  are  all  ablaze  with  the 
 blossoms,  and  fragrant  with  the  incense  of  the  early  summer, 
 and  that  stretch  out  to  the  old  city  wall,  flanked  with  its 
 antique  towers  and  pierced  with  its  old-world  gates,  which 
 are  still  closed  and  guarded  every  night  at  sundown,  after 
 the  ringing  of  the  Ave  Maria  bell.  Over  all  this  we  lodge 
 high  enough  to  see  away  for  miles  over  the  Tuscan  uplands, 
 that  rise  around  us.  mound  above  mound  and  mile  above 
 mile,  like  the  waves  of  a  billowy  sea,  suddenly  stiffened 
 into  brown  earth  and  limestone  rock,  and  bearing  on  their 
 crests  clumps  of  grey  olives  and  black  cypresses,  and 
 whitening  villas  on  the  green  knolls  here  and  there.  To 
 one  who  is  a  lover,  as  I  happen  to  be,  of  mediaeval  history, 
 and  all  history  on  its  pious  and  poetic  side,  the  region  is  full 
 of  rich,  romantic  interest.  Along  the  reaches  of  green  hill, 
 moorland,  and  morass,  that  stretch  from  this,  eastward,  away 
 to  the  heights  of  Assisi,  came  St.  Francis,  half  a  millennium 
 ago,  like  a  bridegroom  fresh  from  his  marriage  with  his 
 bride,  called  Poverty,  strong  in  faith,  and  singing  his  hymns, 
 and  seeing  his  visions,  and  dreaming  his  dreams,  and 
 preaching  to  the  beasts  and  birds  when  the  people  would 
 not  hear  him — followed  by  his  troop  of  friars  of  Order 
 Grey — awaking,  all  along  these  Tuscan  uplands,  a  new  life  of 
 sincere,  if  also  superstitious  devotion,  which  has  been  the 
 fountain  of  not  a  little  that  was  best  and  most  beautiful  in 
 the  life  and  art  and  literature  of  the  succeeding  golden  era 
 of  Dante  and  Giotto  and  St.  Louis  ;  and  which,  flowing  north- 
 ward with  the  Arno  and  southward  with  the  Tiber,  watered, 
 like  the  rivers  of  Paradise,  the  sunny  slopes  of  Italy,  run- 
 ning especially  through  those  broad  and  beautiful  gardens 
 of  the  city  of  Florence,  in  the  Val  d'Arno,  like  the  first  of 
 those  rivers  of  Paradise  that  "  compasseth  the  whole  land 
 
312  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 of  Havilah  where  there  is  gold."  Siena  itself  is,  next  to 
 Florence,  the  richest  among  the  cities  of  Italy  in  treasures 
 of  mediaeval  art;  and  though  Florence  is  richer  in  its 
 inheritance  of  pictures  and  other  possessions,  Siena  is 
 rarer  in  its  peculiar  appearance  as  a  typical  city  of  the 
 Middle  Ages,  having  better  preserved  its  antiquity,  and  more 
 effectually  resisted  the  raid  of  ruinous  reform. 
 
 At  the  end  of  April  tidings  came  of  the  sudden, 
 though  not  unexpected  death  of  Mr.  James  Robertson's 
 eldest  daughter,  Mary,  the  wife  of  his  colleague  and 
 successor,  the  Rev.  John  Young,  and  that  the  shadows 
 of  a  fourth  bereavement  were  already  falling  on  his 
 path,  in  the  serious  illness  of  his  youngest  daughter, 
 Jessie.  These  sorrows,  as  well  as  the  state  of 
 Isabella's  health,  interrupted  Dr.  Robertson's  studies 
 at  Siena,  and  made  it  necessary  for  his  younger  sister 
 to  return  home  in  May,  leaving  him  alone  at  Florence. 
 
 To  His  Younger  Sister. 
 
 Vallombrosa,  9th  June,  1876. 
 
 .  .  .  Sad  tidings  do  pursue  you  into  the  hermitage,  and 
 find  you  out.  For  the  stunning  news  of  the  death  of  Dr. 
 Eadie  (whom,  of  all  men,  I  knew  so  well  and  liked  so 
 much)  I  had  almost  looked  in  your  letter,  and  in  a  paper 
 that  came  to  Mr.  M'Dougall  along  with  it;  as  yesterday 
 I  had  seen  a  paper  of  Friday  last  which  sounded  the  death 
 warning  very  distinctly,  and  I  could  not  forget  how,  when  I 
 went  to  bid  him  farewell  last  winter,  he  told  me  his  eyesight 
 was  failing,  and  how  it  might  be  the  shadow  of  the  coming 
 darkness  when  no  man  can  work.  What  work  he  has  done 
 since  those  old  days,  you  cannot  remember,  when  he  came 
 
AT  VALLOMBROSA. 
 
 :Md 
 
 with  his  red  cheeks  and  leonine  playfulness  to  Greenhill, 
 and  rather,  I  thought,  took  a  fancy  for  rne,  of  which  I  was 
 extremely  proud,  and  which  he  never  lost,  no  more  than  I 
 my  affection  for  him  and  great  admiration  in  many  ways. 
 And  now  his  extraordinary  amount  of  work  is  done,  and 
 none  of  us  has  done  his  work  so  laboriously,  done  so 
 wonderfully  much,  and  done  it  so  willingly  and  so  well.  .  .  . 
 I  have  made  some  interesting  and  instructive  explorations 
 in  the  old  historic  home  of  John  Gualbert  of  the  nth  cen- 
 tury. I  have  had  a  talk  with  the  monks,  and  more  than  one 
 interview  in  the  church  and  outside  with  the  queer  organist 
 — the  Guido ;  though  I  have  now  made  out  for  certain  that 
 Guido  the  musical,  of  Arezzo,  never  was  a  monk  of  Vallom- 
 brosa  at  all,  though  the  guide  books  and  other  books  (all 
 modern)  say  so.  I  have  got  hold  of  the  old  chronicles  and 
 legends,  and  find  that  the  modern  tradition  is  a  mistake. 
 
 To  His  Niece  in  Glasgow. 
 
 Florence,  June  21st,  1876. 
 
 Can  you  find  for  me  in  the  Bible  a  text  like  this,  "  I  am 
 miserable  unless  I  hold  a  spade."  Stun  tnisero  {sic)  nisi 
 tenerem  ligonem  is  the  Latin  original,  inscribed  beneath  a 
 great  fresco  of  the  early  part  of  the  13th  century,  just  dis- 
 covered at  Cortona.  The  director  of  the  Royal  Gallery 
 here — a  great  friend  of  mine — was  told  by  the  priests  that 
 it  was  taken  from  Scripture.  He  said  I  knew  Scripture  much 
 better  than  they  did,  and  he  would  ask  me.  I  said  there 
 was  no  such  text  in  canonical  Scripture,  nor  apocryphal 
 either  as  far  as  I  knew.  He  called  in  the  head  clerk,  who 
 said  the  priests  held  that  if  not  in  the  text  of  the  Vulgate, 
 it  was  in  some  of  the  multitudinous  annotations,  which  are 
 all  the  same.  There  is  more  of  the  inscription,  but  partly 
 obliterated,  and  the  rest  not  yet  understood.     The  picture 
 
3^4  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 is  one  of  Paradise,  with  Adam  using  a  spade  and  hoe,  and 
 Eve  spinning, — a  rare  old  piece  of  Scripture  illustration. 
 It  lies  very  much  in  my  way  of  study  which  I  am  pursuing  as 
 hot  as  I  can ;  for  in  this  Paradise  of  climates,  in  the  Vale  of 
 the  Arno  and  the  City  of  Flowers,  it  is  not  good  to  be  idle — 
 "  I  am  miserable  unless  I  hold  a  spade." 
 
 To  Mr.  David  M'Cowan. 
 
 Florenxe,  21st  June,  1876. 
 
 Sister  Jessie — my  epistle  general  to  the  brethren,  whom 
 the  post  hour  having  arrived,  I  charged  with  messages  of 
 remembrance,  folded  up  with  regret  and  despatched  with 
 sorrow — would  tell  you,  among  other  things,  in  what  comfort- 
 able circumstances  and  excellent  health  and  good  keeping 
 she  had  left  me.  It  has  been  my  hap  all  my  life  to  fall  in, 
 outside  of  my  own  family,  with  good,  kind  friends,  .  .  . 
 and  specially,  somehow,  with  good  landladies,  at  college 
 and  hall,  in  Germany  and  in  Irvine.  And  certainly  my 
 Mother  Smith  here,  the  present  mistress  of  the  robes  and 
 queen  of  the  kitchen  to  myU.P.  self  is,  if  the  last  in  office, 
 not  the  least  in  worth.  She  leaves  me  no  room  at  all 
 to  think  of  what  I  shall  eat  or  drink,  or  even  wherewithal  I 
 shall  be  clothed,  as  with  invisible  and  silent  hands  the 
 refection  is  put  upon  the  parlour  table,  and  the  suit  of 
 fresh  apparel  in  the  bed  and  dressing  chamber,  as  regular  as 
 need  is,  and  as  punctual  as  clockwork,  in  the  Palazzo  here, 
 as  in  the  famous  child's  story  (if  I  remember  rightly)  of  the 
 Palace  of  Beauty  and  the  Beast.  And  what  a  cock  she  is, 
 old  Mother  Smith,  and  cooks  are,  for  dyspeptic  patients  at 
 least,  the  best  of  doctors ;  and  how  cheerful  when  you  like 
 to  talk  to  her,  which,  however,  I  do  not  always  do,  for, 
 to  tell  the  truth,  she  is  about  as  deaf  as  a  door  nail. 
 
 But  her  husband,  Mr.  Smith,  my  groom,  you  understand  (if 
 
THE  MONKS  OF  VALLOMBROSA.  315 
 
 I  had  a  horse),  has  ears  as  keen  as  a  hedgehog,  and  bristles 
 as  sharp  too,  towards  any  one  who  would  dare  in  any  way 
 to  annoy  "  the  Doctor,"  which  however  nobody  does,  so  that 
 the  hedgehog  in  him  has  a  sinecure,  and  only  the  graceful 
 and  lordly  finds  development,  as  it  does  to  perfection,  when 
 with  his  tall,  erect,  well-dressed  figure  of  six  feet  and 
 upwards,  unbent  by  the  weight  of  76  years,  he  waits  at  table, 
 as  has  happened  once  or  twice  in  a  way  this  winter,  in  the 
 presence  of  illustrious  strangers,  and  as  will  happen  again 
 when  you  come  certainly.  And  then  Clarinda,  the  maid- 
 of-all-work,  vies  with  them  both  in  the  ministry  of  service, 
 and  has  begun  to  think  and  ask  a  good  deal  about  that 
 New  Testament  I  have  given  her  to  read. 
 
 Since  Jessie  left  I  have  been  a  week  at  Vallombrosa 
 (known  to  all  English  readers  through  Milton) ;  and  from  old 
 books,  pictures,  legends,  and  localities  have  been  reading 
 up  the  remarkable  romantic  life,  and,  such  as  it  was,  the 
 Christian  life  of  the  12th  century.  I  have  seen  and  talked 
 with  the  last  of  the  old  race  of  monks,  for  after  they  die  the 
 order  is  extinct,  for  the  monasteries,  in  Italy  at  least,  are  in 
 this  way  undergoing  suppression  arid  getting  stamped  out ; 
 and  glad  I  am  to  have  seen  the  last  of  them  ere  they  wholly 
 disappear.  A  remarkable  race  those  Vallombrosa  monks, 
 as  well  as  the  neighbouring  hermits  of  Camaldoli,  stretching 
 in  unbroken  line  with  their  historical  records  across  eight 
 centuries.  They  are  now  replaced  in  the  monastery 
 (into  a  corner  of  which  the  few  remaining  monks  are 
 retired)  by  a  college  of  fast  young  lads  of  no  religion  to 
 speak  of,  who  sing  their  convivial  songs,  and  drink  their  vino, 
 and  rattle  their  glasses,  and  shout  their  vivas  in  the  open-air 
 at  sundown,  when  the  chanting  of  the  vesper  used  to  be 
 heard  to  the  sound  of  the  organ,  played  by  a  rare  white 
 haired  old  Maestro,  now  heard  no  more  floating  through  the 
 pine  woods  at  evening  when  the  Ave  Maria  bell  is  ringing 
 
316  IN  AND  AROUND  FLORENCE. 
 
 and  the  westering  sun  goes  down  in  distant  sea  behind 
 Florence,  that  is  visible  with  its  glittering  domes  and  spires 
 and  towers  far  down  the  valley,  till  the  owl  comes  out  and 
 hoots  its  mocking  litany  to  the  moon — "tu-whit,  tu-whoo." 
 It  may  be  a  change  for  the  better — we  shall  see.  But  what 
 a  noble  movement  this  young  Italy  would  be  if  it  were  only 
 evangelized  and  Christian  ! 
 
 To  His  Younger  Sister. 
 
 Florence,  21st  June,  1876. 
 
 Two  nights  since  we  drove  up  to  the  top  of  Fiesole, 
 through  labyrinths  of  gardens  and  orchards,  all  ablaze  with 
 blossoms,  and  cool  with  green  and  burning  with  golden 
 fruit — the  bud,  the  blossom,  the  young,  the  middle-sized, 
 the  old,  ripe  fruit — all  contemporaneous,  you  understand, 
 on  the  same  tree.  We  stopped  to  mark  it,  particularly  on 
 the  terrace  of  the  old  wayside  abbey  of  San  Marco,  on  which 
 Lorenzo  the  magnificent  used  to  stroll  arm  in  arm  with  the 
 Prince  di  Mirandola,  when  he  came  down  from  his  Fiesolan 
 villa,  or  across  from  Careggi,  to  visit  the  young  Phoenix  and 
 wonder  at  once  of  the  fashionable  and  literary  world,  when 
 studying  hard  in  search  of  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus  in  the 
 monastic  cloister  there,  with  its  red-tiled,  conical  roof,  and 
 sweet-toned  bells,  and  great  black  hedge  of  yews  (fronting 
 the  fantastic  but  beautifully  chequered  marble  facade  of  the 
 nth  century),  to  screen  him  from  the  southern  sun,  and 
 throw  a  deeper  tone  of  shadow  and  dejection  into  his  pen- 
 sive musings  on  the  mystery  of  human  life,  when  he  went 
 out  at  eventide  to  meditate.  I  seemed  to  see  him,  with  his 
 open,  eager  face  and  streaming  hair  (as  pictured  in  the  gallery 
 of  the  Uffizi),  pacing  the  large  lozenge-shaped  cloister  of 
 Michelozzi,  under  its  beautifully  vaulted  arcades,  and  out 
 upon  the  long,  open  loggia  that  runs  eastward  to  possible 
 
A  DRIVE  TO  FIE  SOLE.  317 
 
 glimpses  of  daybreak  over  the  dark  pinewoods  of  Vallom- 
 brosa — see  him  wringing  his  hands,  as  if  seeking,  and  in 
 vain,  to  wash  them  from  the  guilt  of  some  great  murder  of 
 the  innocent  and  tragedy  of  wrong  in  which  he  is  obviously 
 conscious  of  having  had  a  part,  and  asking,  in  deep 
 undertone  of  calm  passion,  "  Where  is  the  place  of 
 wisdom?"  and  with  Pilate,  "What  is  truth?"  The 
 vaults  of  Michelozzi  overhead  give  no  echo  or  reply,  but 
 rather  seem  by  their  groined  arches  to  wring  their  white 
 hands  also,  and  look  up.  Still  more  silent  is  the  great 
 vault  of  heaven  over  all,  into  whose  depths  of  illimitable 
 space  (from  the  tower  of  Galileo,  which  you  can  see  from 
 here  across  Val  d'Arno)  the  telescope  had  not  yet  plunged, 
 to  sound  the  fathomless  abyss,  or  read  off  the  handwriting 
 of  mystery  inscribed  on  the  black  wall  of  the  night. 
 
3 1 8  IN  THE  ENGADINE. 
 
 CHAPTER    XV. 
 In  the  (EngaMiu. 
 
 DRIVEN  at  last  from  Tuscany  by  the  heat,  Dr. 
 Robertson  set  out,  in  the  end  of  June,  for  the  Enga- 
 dine,  accompanied  by  Dr.  Young  of  Florence  and  his 
 family. 
 
 To  His  Younger  Sister. 
 
 Toblach,  Tyrol,  5th  July,  1876. 
 
 We  have  come  out  of  the  Dolomites,  most  extraordinary 
 mountain  ranges,  which  are  not  to  be  described  in  one 
 letter,  nor  in  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  however  skilfully 
 put  together ;  and  being  now  within  reach  of  railway  at  this 
 outlandish  Tyrolese  village  of  Toblach,  which  you  will 
 hardly  find  in  the  map,  we  hope  to-morrow  to  ask  for  letters 
 at  the  post  office  of  that  Bozana  or  Botzen,  the  name  oi 
 which  I  sent  you.  .  .  .  We  have  changed  our  route, 
 and  go  by  Meran  and  Martinsbriick  to  the  lower,  and  by 
 that  to  St.  Moritz  in  the  upper,  Engadine.  .  .  .  You 
 must  know  that  in  doing  the  Dolomites  we  have  at  the  same 
 time  been  doing  what  they  call  "  Titian's  country,"  and 
 studying,  among  other  things,  the  relation  of  landscape 
 painting,  which  Titian  is  absurdly  said  to  have  invented,  to 
 
AT  suss.  3l9 
 
 that  painter's  personal  history  and  his  character  as  an  artist 
 and  a  man.  .  .  .  How  I  wish  you  were  with  us.  It  is 
 as  good  in  its  way  as  Siena,  Orvieto.  or  Chiusi,  though  very 
 different.     .     .     . 
 
 To  the  Same. 
 Suss,  Lower  Engadine,  19th  August,  1876. 
 
 .  .  .  Suss  is  the  Grison  village  (not  to  be  confounded 
 with  the  Zutz,  in  the  Upper  Engadine)  where  the  Albula  pass 
 from  Chur  falls,  about  two  thirds  down,  into  the  singular 
 lofty  valley  that  runs  down  from  St.  Moritz  and  the  Maloya 
 to  Schulz-Tarasp  and  St.  Martinsbruck.  I  have  been  up  and 
 down  the  valley  now,  and  four  years  ago  more  than  once, 
 and  am  trying  to  study  it  chiefly  from  an  ecclesiastico-historical 
 point  of  view ;  and  when  this  great  work  of  mine  is  published 
 you  will  see  that  Suss  is  the  centre  from  which,  after  a  great 
 "  disputation,"  in  which  the  leading  Swiss  Church  gladiators 
 were  engaged  in  the  church  under  the  shadow  of  whose 
 old  tower  I  am  writing,  the  Reformation  radiated  up  and 
 down  the  glen,  and  through  the  passes  that  converge  upon 
 the  Engadine. 
 
 The  leading  figure  in  the  picture  is  a  certain  Ulrich 
 Campill,  or  Campbell  (very  Scotch-like,  isn't  it?),  who  was 
 minister  of  the  church  in  these  times  here,  and  who,  for  the 
 admirable  and  earnest  sketches  he  has  given  of  this  and 
 other  crises  of  the  Grison  life  in  Church  and  State,  has  been 
 called  the  father  of  Rhetian  history.  The  Rhetians  are  the 
 Rasenae  or  Etruscans  after  their  expulsion  from  Italy,  the 
 centre  column  of  these  refugees  hailing  from  Clusium  or 
 Chiusi  (of  cart  and  oxen  memory),  which  gives  a  remarkable 
 enhancement  to  the  interest  of  my  researches  here,  as  you 
 will  understand. 
 
 Anna  Campbell,  wife  of  Ulrich,  was  a  brave  woman.  A 
 flood  came  roaring  down  the  Engadine  from  the  meeting  of 
 
320  IN  THE  ENGADINE. 
 
 200  glaciers,  carrying  some  twenty  bridges  along  with  it, 
 when  over  the  bridge  of  wood  that  in  the  narrow  gorge 
 separated  the  town  from  the  manse,  Anna  dared  for  her 
 husband's  sake  to  cross,  and,  the  two  side  piers  being  just 
 then  swept  away,  she  was  left  standing  in  the  raging  flood 
 and  storm,  alone  on  the  midmost.  They  heard  her  clear 
 musical  voice  singing  out,  " I11  tuas  manus"  ("Into  Thy 
 hands,"  etc.),  when,  suddenly  remembering  that  she  had  the 
 keys  of  the  cupboard  at  her  girdle,  and  the  bairns  would 
 need  their  supper,  she  stopped  her  prayer,  and  shouted, 
 11  There's  the  keys,  weans  ! "  and  threw  them  ashore,  dis- 
 appearing the  same  moment  down  the  ravine. 
 
 The  family  of  the  heroine  and  the  grand  old  reformed 
 historian  are  still  here,  in  the  third  or  fourth,  or  somewhere 
 between  that  and  the  thousandth  generation  of  them  "  that 
 love  God  and  keep  His  commandments."  They  do  so  in  a 
 manner  most  distinctly  pronounced,  and  are  a  Christian 
 family  of  as  Puritan,  or  even  old  Seceder,  a  type  as  you 
 might  ever  wish  to  see.  To  be  sure  they  are  only  brewers. 
 However,  they  brew  very  good  beer.  It  is  with  them 
 I  am  lodging  now,  or  rather  with  an  uncle  of  the  family,  who 
 is  a  sugar-baker,  returned  with  some  winnings  to  his  native 
 Engadine,  and  whose  wife  is  a  most  motherly  body  as  I  have 
 ever  known. 
 
 My  chamber  is  a  nice  square  box  of  pine  wood,  red  and 
 fresh  and  fragrant  as  cedar,  with  three  windows  looking  out 
 over  the  snow  and  far  up  the  glens.  The  embroidered 
 curtain  and  wash-stand  linen  are  of  unspotted  whiteness, 
 and  the  bed,  with  its  "  laced  "  pillow  and  golden  and  scarlet 
 eider  down  coverlet,  is  as  soft  and  fresh  and  pure  as  snow. 
 Dr.  George  Buchanan  saw  it  in  passing,  and  strongly  recom- 
 mended me  to  take  it  instead  of  any  room  in  the  hotel. 
 However,  the  Frau  Fliighi  modestly  declines  to  cook  dinner 
 good  enough  for  the  Englander  and  for  that  I  have  to  go  to 
 
THE  CAMPBELLS.  321 
 
 the  Inn,  i.e.,  not  the  river  so  called,  the  rushing  of  which  as 
 I  write  is  (as  your  Allan  water  used  to  be)  in  my  ears,  but 
 the  Schweizerhof. 
 
 The  Campbells  are  almost  next  door,  and  the  widowed 
 mother,  a  lady-like  woman  of  the  old  noble  family  of  the 
 Plantas,  in  her  deep  mourning  (her  husband  died  in 
 spring)  and  with  her  swimming  eyes,  clings  to  me,  since 
 she  knows  who  I  am,  in  a  most  kindly  and  earnest  manner 
 for  consolation ;  and  she  seems  so  like  some  of  my  old 
 widows  of  the  Bridgegate  or  the  Halfway.  It  is  singular  to 
 see  how  sorrow  and  comfort  repeat  themselves  in  precisely 
 the  same  moods  and  the  same  words  in  Swiss  and  Scotch, 
 in  the  Engadine  and  in  Irvine  !  How  she  pores  over  the  old 
 family  Bible,  with  its  record  of  their  marriage  and  the 
 baptism  of  their  children,  written  by  his  own  hand,  each 
 entry  with  a  prayer,  and  a  beautiful  one,  by  which  he  being 
 dead  yet  speaketh.  I  can  read  it  pretty  well  with  her  in  the 
 Romaunsch,  though  she,  belonging  to  the  educated  classes, 
 speaks  German  as  well  (or  if  not  "  as  well,"  at  least  "  also"). 
 One  of  her  sons,  a  bold  young  chamois  hunter  of  twenty- 
 four,  volunteers  to  be  my  guide  on  any  excursion  longer  or 
 shorter  into  the  valleys  ;  and  he  has  already  to-day  had  me 
 to  the  ruins  of  the  castle  that  guarded  the  pass,  and  to  the 
 treasure  chamber  of  old  books  and  MSS.  of  the  Campill 
 of  the  Campills,  the  father  of  Rhetian  history  and  of  him. 
 
 Dr.  George  Buchanan  I  have  mentioned.  You  know  how 
 he  came  to  be  here?  You  have  heard,  perhaps,  of  the 
 sudden  death  at  Schulz-Tarasp  of  Mr.  James  Blair.1  He 
 had  suffered,  but  not  much,  from  inflammation  in  the  throat. 
 It  suppurated  and  burst  inwards,  suffocating  him  almost 
 immediately.  Mr.  A.  B.  M'Grigor,  from  Glasgow,  a  friend 
 of  his,  had  notice  by  telegraph  from  Scotland  of  Mr.  Blair's 
 
 1  C.E.,  of  Edinburgh — a  member  of  one  of  the  principal  families  in 
 Irvine,  and  brother-in-law  to  Dr.  George  Buchanan. 
 
322  IN  THE  ENGADINE. 
 
 death  two  days  after  it  had  occurred.  Mrs.  M'Grigor  and  he 
 set  out  next  morning  (Saturday),  taking  me  along  with  them. 
 
 We  found  on  our  arrival  that  the  funeral,  which  in  the 
 Grison  must  take  place,  not  so  quick  as  in  Florence,  but 
 still  within  forty-eight  hours,  had  been  arrested  by  a  telegram 
 from  Patrick  Blair,  Sheriff-Substitute,  Inverness,  who  was 
 already  on  the  way  to  Schulz  to  take  the  body  home  for 
 burial.  We  found  it — embalmed  in  a  leaden  coffin,  with  a 
 glazed  casement  over  the  face,  and  this  again  in  a  wooden 
 shell,  all  garlanded  with  wreaths  of  Alpine  roses  and  edel- 
 weiss— in  a  low  chamber,  hard  by  the  church,  down  the  steep, 
 stony  street  of  the  village,  at  the  gate  of  the  gardens  of  the 
 Belvidere,  from  which  the  wreaths  had  been  gathered  (in  a 
 garden  there  was  a  sepulchre).  The  chamber  was  not 
 much  unlike  to  some  of  those  Etruscan  tombs  we  visited, 
 but  dry,  and  neat,  and  clean,  and  dimly  lighted  through 
 white-screened,  low,  square  windows,  and  hung,  all  over  the 
 tables  and  other  furniture,  with  simple  white ;  the  only 
 variety  being  a  pair  or  two  of  branching  candlesticks, 
 whether  only  for  use  in  case  the  friends  should  come  to 
 see  him  by  night,  I  do  not  know,  or  whether  also  to  sym- 
 bolize the  resurrection,  when  the  life  of  the  shrouded  sleeper, 
 like  the  flame  of  the  white  extinguished  candle,  would  be 
 rekindled.  Both,  perhaps.  But  the  Commune  of  Schulz  is 
 intensely  Protestant,  the  rather,  perhaps,  that  their  next 
 neighbours  of  Tarasp  are  just  as  Romish. 
 
 Partly  from  this,  and  partly  from  a  democratic  feeling  that 
 would  know  no  difference  between  rich  and  poor — but 
 chiefly  from  the  smallness  of  their  beautiful  churchyard,  a 
 little  green  knoll,  rising  precipitately  on  the  banks  of  the 
 Inn,  which  cannot  be  extended,  and  is  scarcely  large 
 enough  for  themselves,  though  the  graves  are  obliterated 
 every  five-and-twenty  years — no  grave  stones  are  permitted, 
 and  still  less  any  more  lasting  monuments  to  the  dead.    And 
 
A  BURIAL  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS.       323 
 
 so  when  the  Sheriff  arrived  on  Tuesday  night,  and  Dr. 
 George  with  him,  and  resolved,  all  the  more  on  finding  me 
 there,  to  have  James  buried  in  Schulz,  it  became  a  some- 
 what difficult  negotiation  with  the  Commune  to  get  leave, 
 not  only  to  have  him  buried,  but  to  get  a  monument  erected 
 to  him  in  the  Schulz-Friedhof.     .     .     . 
 
 However,  it  was  managed,  and  at  eleven  on  Wednesday 
 the  bell  began  to  toll,  inviting  all  the  Schulzers  to  the  funeral. 
 They  consider  themselves  as  brothers  of  one  family,  into 
 which  the  dead  stranger  had  been  adopted.  How  the  doors 
 and  windows  were  darkened  with  the  crowd  !  I  began  with 
 the  English  service  for  the  dead,  and  at  the  lesson  from  1st 
 Corinthians  broke  off  into  the  Scotch  service  of  free  prayer. 
 Then  I  conducted  the  service  for  the  rest  in  German  till  the 
 bell  resumed  tolling,  and  the  coffin  was  borne  out  and  up  to 
 the  churchyard  shoulder-high  by  the  Mayor  and  Council,  the 
 leading  men  of  the  Commune.  A  good  many  English 
 ladies  also  walked  among  the  mourners.  At  the  grave, 
 when  the  bell  again  ceased  tolling,  the  English  service  was 
 resumed,  and  at  the  end  of  this  the  Grison  pastor  had  a 
 prayer  in  Romaunsch,  concluding  with  the  benediction, 
 which  I  translated  into  English. 
 
 It  was  a  beautiful  quiet  day,  and  the  whole  scene  of  this 
 burial  among  the  mountains  was  singularly  impressive, 
 as  you  can  more  easily  fancy  than  I  can  describe.  The 
 Musik  Direktor  of  Stuttgart  was  present,  and  has  described 
 it  in  a  beautiful  prelude,  which  he  composed,  he  said,  im- 
 mediately, like  one  inspired.  He  wanted  to  accompany  the 
 service  on  the  organ  in  the  church,  but  found  the  instrument 
 execrable. 
 
 Professor  Buchanan  gives  us  a  characteristic  glimpse 
 of  Dr.  Robertson  at  home  in  one  of  his  favourite 
 haunts : — 
 
324  IN  THE  ENGADINE. 
 
 On  the  day  following  the  funeral,  Sheriff  Blair  and  I,  along 
 with  Dr.  Robertson  and  Mr.  John  D.  Campbell,  drove  up 
 the  valley  to  St.  Moritz.  Dr.  Robertson  was  at  his  best. 
 What  a  wonderful  companion  in  such  a  place  !  Every  spot 
 seemed  familiar  to  him,  and  he  went  on  with  anecdotes  of  the 
 people,  the  place,  its  history  and  its  traditions,  as  if  he  had 
 lived  in  it  all  his  life.  Two  or  three  hours  after  starting,  we 
 stayed  about  half  an  hour  to  rest  the  horses  in  the  shade. 
 Dr.  Robertson  said,  "  I  wish  to  take  you,  and  especially  Mr. 
 John  Campbell,  to  call  at  a  house  I  know  in  this  village." 
 We  went  to  the  door,  which  was  standing  open,  and  Robert- 
 son called  out  some  name,  knocking  at  the  same  time. 
 Presently  a  young  woman  came  out  and  shook  hands  with 
 the  Doctor,  and  welcomed  us  in.  It  was  the  meeting  place  of 
 a  club  of  riflemen,  formerly  of  crossbow-men,  still  called  the 
 Crossbow  Club.  Presently  the  brother  came  in  and  shook 
 hands  with  Dr.  Robertson,  who  introduced  him  to  us,  and 
 specially  to  Mr.  Campbell,  saying,  "  This  also  is  a  Mr.  John 
 Campbell."  Of  course  we  laughed  at  what  we  thought 
 Robertson's  joke,  but  he  asked  the  young  man  to  bring 
 down  from  his  cupboard  a  parchment  diploma  of  member- 
 ship of  the  club,  when,  sure  enough,  we  read  his  name, 
 Giovanni  Campobello. 
 
 Writing  of  the  Engadine,  in  1884,  Dr.  Robertson 
 says  : — 
 
 My  good  pastor  down  the  valley  I  could  never  find  at 
 home.  He  had  always  gone,  like  Elijah's  Baal,  to  the 
 hunting.  He  was  an  accomplished  musician,  and  had  his 
 church  choir  admirably  trained,  to  something  very  different 
 from  the  howling  wilderness  of  psalmody  that  prevails  in 
 some  other  mountain  glens.  As  among  ourselves,  the 
 elderly  people  complain  that  the  young  ministry  is  not  so 
 rich  in  the  doctrines  of  free  grace  and  orthodox  theology  as 
 
"  UP,  UP,  MY  HEART"  325 
 
 the  good  old  men  were  wont  to  be,  and  they  take  refuge  in 
 singing  strongly  pronounced  evangelical  hymns,  which  the 
 tuneful  pastor  and  his  jaunty  choir  have  dropped  from  their 
 church  hymn  book.  Such  is  that  "  Su-su  mein  cceur"  (Up, 
 up,  my  heart). 
 
 (EngnMrte  Dgmit. 
 
 Up,  up,  my  heart  ! 
 No  more  give  way  to  sadness ; 
 
 But  know  thou  art 
 Redeemed  to  life  and  gladness. 
 
 The  secret,  God  long  hid 
 In  dark  evangels, 
 
 Now  comes  abroad 
 With  trumpets  of  the  angels. 
 
 The  hidden  morn, 
 With  which  time  long  went  mother, 
 
 At  last  is  born  ; 
 O  Christ !  Thou,  and  no  other 
 
 Com'st  us  to  save, 
 From  sin  and  dark  disgraces, 
 
 And  through  Thy  grave 
 Show  us  sweet  holy  faces. 
 
 In  Bethlehem,  see 
 One  born  of  woman  lowly, 
 
 Meek  Virgin  she, 
 In  shadow  of  the  Holy. 
 
 But  Him,  oh  tell ! 
 Who  towers  in  grandeur  lonely  ? 
 
 Earth,  Heaven,  and  Hell 
 Make  answer,  "Jesus  only." 
 
326  IN  THE  ENGADINE. 
 
 Both  God  and  man, 
 Unutterable  wonder  ! 
 
 In  person  one, 
 In  nature  still  asunder. 
 
 Of  our  flesh,  God 
 Disrobeth  Himself  never ; 
 
 And  men,  by  blood, 
 His  brothers  are  for  ever. 
 
 Who  with  sore  pain 
 Death  on  the  cross  hath  tasted, 
 
 Our  foes  hath  slain, 
 And  their  black  kingdom  wasted. 
 
 The  while  He  lay, 
 Bound  in  the  grave's  dark  prison, 
 
 Till  the  third  day, 
 Behold  the  Conqueror  risen  ! 
 
 Him  high  Heaven  holds, 
 With  hands  all  pierced  and  bleeding, 
 
 Which  now  He  folds 
 For  sinners  interceding ; 
 
 And  shields  us  so 
 From  Satan's  fierce  assaulting, 
 
 When  pilgrims  go 
 Upon  their  journey  halting. 
 
 Up  then,  my  heart  ! 
 To  Thee,  my  Jesus  only, 
 
 Till  when  I  part 
 On  my  last  journey  lonely, 
 
 Safe  from  all  harms, 
 Thy  blood  shall  shield  me  dying, 
 
 Till  in  Thine  arms 
 I  wake  to  find  me  lying. 
 
MADAME  FLUGHPS.  Z27 
 
 This  in  the  Romaunsch  I  heard  sung,  to  a  simple  mountain 
 air,  by  my  landlady,  as  she  sat  knitting  in  her  wainscoted 
 parlour,  waiting  the  return  of  her  children  from  school,  and 
 her  goats  from  the  meadow.  The  foremost  goat  which  bears 
 the  bell,  rings  it  over  the  lower  sash  of  the  little  wicket  in 
 the  great  half-moon  house-door.  She  rises  still  singing,  and 
 opens  to  her  flock  of  goats,  wondering  the  while  whether  a 
 door  might  not  be  opened  to  some  other  goats,  though  their 
 creed  was  not  orthodox,  if  they  brought  home  udders  well 
 filled  with  sweet  milk !  The  goats,  having  been  well  be- 
 haved, get  their  reward  in  salt;  and  the  children,  having  just 
 come  home,  ride  on  their  backs  across  the  floor  before 
 tumbling  them  down  to  the  lower  regions  of  the  cellar.  All 
 this  I  overhear,  sitting  in  Madame's  deliciously-scented  red 
 pine  chamber  up  the  ladder,  that  conducts  to  the  hay-loft  on 
 the  right  hand,  and  this  best  room  on  the  left,  through  whose 
 little  white  curtained  western  window,  I  have  seen  the  goats 
 and  the  children  cross  the  village  bridge  over  the  river  Inn, 
 and  climb  the  ascent  to  Madame  Fllighi's,  that  stands,  a 
 stately  house,  hard  by  the  belfred  church  where  the  choir 
 sings.  Under  its  shadow  in  the  green  mound,  looking  across 
 the  Inn  every  moonlight  night  from  the  hay-loft,  I  saw  the 
 ghost  of  a  poor  soul  that  had  moved  his  neighbour's  land- 
 mark in  his  life  time,  carrying  it  back  after  his  death, 
 and  doomed  to  carry  it  with  sighs  and  groans,  that  sounded 
 like  the  wind  among  the  pines  and  snow,  to  all  eternity. 
 There  too  sounded  the  voice  of  the  shepherd  who  had 
 neglected  to  give  his  flock  their  salt,  and  had  come  back  to 
 call  them,  but  they  never  came. 
 
 In  this  green  churchyard  by  the  mountains  old  Planta  de 
 Sadour  had  just  been  buried.  An  aged  branch  of  the  old 
 Planta  tree,  and  representative  of  the  family,  he  had  wished 
 to  bequeath  to  me,  as  much  as  he  could  convey  in  words,  of 
 his  antiquarian  lore,  but  took  ill  on  the  day  I  arrived,  and  I 
 
328  IN  THE  ENGADINE. 
 
 saw  him  first  in  his  shroud.  I  was  at  the  funeral  feast,  which 
 began  early  in  the  morning,  and  reminded  me  strongly  of 
 the  feasts  I  had  seen  pictured  on  the  walls  of  Etrurian 
 sepulchres,  as  for  instance  at  Chiusi,  the  ancient  Clusium, 
 after  which  the  next  place  up  the  valley  seems  to  have 
 derived  its  name  of  Clus.  On  the  open  street  the  coffin 
 was  placed,  and  the  burial  service  read  by  the  hunting  pastor, 
 in  gown  and  cap,  in  presence  of  the  Commune,  in  front  of 
 the  door,  that  rose  above  a  flight  of  steps,  and  carried  the 
 inscription  on  its  lintel — 
 
 "  Planta  has  this  house  restored, 
 Let  all  who  enter  praise  the  Lord." 
 
 At  ten  that  night  the  timid  "Messiner"  or  sexton  seemed 
 more  nervous  than  usual  in  ringing  the  church  bell.  His 
 wife  who  was  braver  than  her  husband,  like  the  wife  of 
 Manoah,  had  to  stand  on  the  steeple  stair  with  a  lantern 
 in  her  hand,  while  he  ascended  to  ring  the  bell.  At  twelve 
 he  began  to  call  the  hours — a  timid  night  watch — beginning 
 as  usual  under  my  window  with  a  simple  chant  of  a  minor 
 third — C  the  reciting  and  A  the  final  note  as  thus  : — 
 
 "  In  mann  da  \  Dien 
 Hat  dat  das  dodesh  in  mann  da  \  Dicu." 
 
 Miss  Robertson  has  furnished  the  following  note  : — 
 
 In  the  summer  of  1884,  a  young  woman  in  the  neigh- 
 bourhood of  Westfield  was  dying  of  consumption.  William 
 was  much  interested  in  her  case  and  he  visited  her  frequently 
 during  the  last  weeks  of  her  life.  On  the  evening  of  the 
 last  visit,  I  remember  meeting  him  on  his  return,  when  he 
 was  standing  at  the  gate  under  the  pines,  listening  to  the 
 weird  and  melancholy  music  overhead,  which  seemed 
 to  have  in  it  that  night  a  deeper  wail  than  usual.  "She 
 is  still  alive,"  he  said,   "but  evidently  unconscious,  though 
 
A  MIDNIGHT  PR  A  YER.  329 
 
 she  wakened  up  when  I  repeated  the  closing  lines  of  the 
 Engadine  hymn — the  last  she  will  ever  hear  on  earth. 
 When  it  comes  to  midnight — for  that's  the  time  she'll  go — 
 we  must  sing  that  hymn ; "  and  so  when  the  midnight 
 hour  came,  in  the  dimly-lighted  room,  and  to  the  solemn 
 tones  of  the  organ,  we  sang  softly  as  in  the  presence  of 
 death — 
 
 "  Up  then,  my  heart  ! 
 To  Thee,  my  Jesus  only, 
 
 Till  when  I  part 
 On  my  last  journey  lonely, 
 
 Safe  from  all  harms, 
 Thy  blood  shall  shield  me  dying, 
 
 Till  in  Thine  arms 
 I  wake  to  find  me  lying." 
 
 ■"  I  think  she  will  be  across  now,"  he  said,  and  we  parted 
 for  the  night. 
 
 When  we  came  down  in  the  morning,  the  news  were 
 awaiting  us  that  she  had  passed  away. 
 
 To  Miss  T.  Melville-Lee,  the  friend  to  whom  the 
 letter  about  the  hymn  was  written,  I  am  indebted  for 
 an  interesting  account  of  Dr.  Robertson's  Engadine 
 life,  from  which  some  extracts  are  given : — 
 
 I  was  very  young  when  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
 Dr.  Robertson,  nearly  ten  years  ago.  I  had  gone  with 
 my  mother  for  a  first  journey  abroad,  and  we  met  at  the 
 Kulm  Hotel,  St.  Moritz,  Engadine.  I  well  recall  the 
 evening  of  our  first  meeting.  A  friend  had  introduced 
 him  to  my  mother,  and  they  fell  into  a  long  talk  on  the 
 history  of  the  Middle  Ages.  I  listened,  watching  the  play 
 of  light  and  humour  over  his  well-cut  features,  and  liking 
 his  deep  musical  voice  with  its  delicate  Scotch  accent  and 
 the  expressive  roll  of  the  letter  "  r." 
 
330  IN  THE  ENGADINE. 
 
 He  would  tell  us  in  our  afternoon  walks  of  Engadine 
 history  and  legends  ;  and  on  a  very  cold  afternoon,  when  the 
 trees  were  covered  with  light  snow,  and  the  winter  seemed 
 fairly  to  have  begun,  he  took  us  to  call  on  the  village  pastor 
 and  to  see  the  village  school.  He  talked  to  the  children  in 
 Romaunsch,  and  they  seemed  quite  at  home  with  him.  "  In 
 Suss"  he  said  "I  gathered  some  of  the  children  from  the 
 streets,  and  had  them  in  to  say,  or  sing,  and  I  wrote  down,  as 
 I  could,  their  playful  rhymes  of  the  Mary-may- tanza  (dance) 
 and  Zingar  (Gipsy) ring  class  and  I  tried  to  tell  thern  stories — 
 among  others,  some  of  their  own  country,  but  found  myself 
 forestalled  by  their  excellent  primary  school-books,  which  tell 
 the  story  in  little  snatches  of  clear  continuous  narrative  for 
 simple  reading  lessons,  in  the  German  language,  which  these 
 children  must  be  taught  to  enable  them  to  mix  with  the  rest 
 of  the  world."  He  showed  us  some  of  these  reading  books 
 with  the  story  of  YVinkelried,  William  Tell,  etc.,  and  we 
 stayed  to  watch  the  sturdy  dark-eyed  children  making  pot 
 hooks  and  hangers  in  their  copy  books. 
 
 In  the  late  autumn  evenings,  Dr.  Robertson  would  in- 
 vite us  into  his  salon  to  sit  round  his  warm  stove,  and 
 among  the  books  piled  on  chairs  and  floor,  while  he  made 
 out  routes  for  our  Italian  tour  and  told  us  the  history  of  places 
 and  men,  to  illuminate  our  way,  until  he  should  join  us  him- 
 self. To  those  who  had  not  the  privilege  of  hearing  that 
 voice,  I  can  never  hope  to  convey  the  charm  of  his  conver- 
 sation. His  knowledge  of  languages  and  his  extraordinary 
 memory  enabled  him  to  select  the  exact  words  he  wanted,  and 
 he  was  beyond  this,  gifted  by  nature  with  a  peculiar  grace 
 and  aptitude  of  speech.  Above  all  his  great  gifts,  shone  his 
 kindliness,  and  his  tender  insight  into  the  feelings  of  others. 
 He  had  an  irresistible  desire  to  give  them  some  of  his  own 
 joy,  in  nature,  art,  literature,  or  any  other  thing  through 
 which  pleasure  could  possibly  reach  them. 
 
A  L  OX  EL  Y  S  TRA  NGER.  3  3 1 
 
 There  was  in  the  hotel  a  strange  German  gentleman 
 who  avoided  every  one.  and  was  in  consequence  generally 
 shunned,  and  his  habits  and  form  of  dress  were  so  singular 
 and  unpleasing  that  no  one  felt  inclined  to  interfere  wTith  him. 
 He  paced  alone  outside  the  hotel,  and  appeared  only  at 
 meal  times  when  he  ate  voraciously  and  complained  of  the 
 dishes.  He  was  known  as  a  woman-hater,  and  had  been 
 heard  to  speak  of  us  (the  harmless  ladies  of  the  hotel  circle), 
 as  "  vultures."  His  lonely  life  attracted  the  ready  sympathy 
 of  Dr.  Robertson,  who  would  sit  with  him  of  an  evening,  in  the 
 cold  little  smoking  room,  and  draw  him  into  conversation. 
 Singular  and  unlikable  as  he  was,  Dr.  Robertson's  kindli- 
 ness penetrated  the  crust  of  suspicion  gathered  by  a  life  of 
 mistake  and  disappointment.  To  him,  this  solitary  man 
 confided  the  story  of  his  life,  and  how  it  was  that  he  had 
 come  to  regard  all  women  as  "vultures"!  Whether  Dr. 
 Robertson  was  able  to  shake  his  opinion  I  cannot  -say,  but 
 a  few  weeks  after,  Dr.  Robertson  disappeared  from  the  table- 
 d'/iote,  and  soon  after  the  strange  German  disappeared  too. 
 On  inquiry  we  learned  that  Dr.  Robertson  was  ill,  having 
 been  affected  by  the  sudden  cold.  He  was  with  us  again 
 in  a  few  days  making  light  of  his  illness,  but  he  told  us  of  the 
 devotion  of  his  strange  friend,  who  had  asked  to  sit  up 
 with  him  at  night,  and  had  nursed  him  by  day,  bringing  his 
 meals  to  eat  in  his  room,  and  waiting  on  him  with  persistent 
 faithfulness. 
 
 The  extract  which  follows,  addressed  to  the  son  of 
 his  old  friend,  in  answer  to  a  request  that  he  should 
 contribute  a  sketch  of  Dr.  MacEwen  for  a  memorial 
 volume,  illustrates  that  inability  to  put  his  thoughts 
 into  writing-,  which  was  so  disappointing  to  the  many 
 friends  who  listened  to  Dr.  Robertson's  conversation. 
 
Z12  IX  THE  ENGADINE. 
 
 To  Mr.  Alexander  R.  MacEwen,  M.A.  (Oxon.). 
 
 St.  Moritz,  Friday,  October,  1876. 
 
 .  -  .  .  I  was  willing  to  try  and  write  something  or 
 other  (though  it  should  never,  or  only  in  an  indirect  manner, 
 be  made  use  of)  if  I  could,  because  you  wished  it ;  but  the 
 state  of  my  health  and  the  shortness  of  the  time  totally 
 prevent  me.  The  table  in  my  room,  on  which  your  papers 
 lie,  I  have  haunted  as  a  moth  haunts  the  candle.  Briskly  I 
 went  at  it,  resolved  to  conquer  the  feeling  of  illness  by  the 
 force  of  will,  and  to  write  in  spite  of  it ;  and  I  did  so,  but 
 had  to  pay  the  penalty.  Some  fragmentary  notes  I  wrote 
 for  a  beginning,  but  since  doing  so  I  have  not  even  been 
 able  to  transcribe  them. 
 
 An  undated  fragment  found  among  his  papers, 
 which  evidently,  from  the  handwriting,  belongs  to  this 
 period,  reveals  that  the  difficulty  of  writing  was 
 with  him  not  a  temporary  result  of  illness,  but  had 
 its  root  in  the  peculiar  constitution  of  his  mind  : — 
 
 Through  what  hidden  ways,  I  say,  the  mind  works,  and 
 how  rapidly  too,  not  by  going  from  thought  to  thought,  as 
 speech  must  do,  like  a  policeman  with  a  lantern  by  night 
 from  door  to  door,  but  by  glances — swift,  lightning-like 
 glances — that  take  them  all  in  simultaneously  and  abreast. 
 For  what  a  mystery  our  thinking  is,  and  what  a  small,  a  very 
 small  percentage  speech  is  on  that  untold  wealth  of  thought 
 that  flashes  through  the  mind  sometimes  in  a  single  moment ! 
 Words  are  only  as  the  successive  drop-drop-droppings  from 
 a  cistern  that  holds  an  ocean  all  at  once.  You  can  never 
 say  the  hundredth  part  of  what  you  want  to  say,  nor  perhaps 
 the  thousandth  part  of  what  you  think,  if  you  think  to 
 any    purpose    and    with    any    power.      Behind    the    words 
 
DIFFICULTY  OF  WRITING.  333 
 
 behind  the  speech,  behind  the  broadest,  freest,  most  abun- 
 dant eloquence,  there  always  lies  a  vast  infinity  of  thoughts 
 unuttered  and  things  unspeakable — a  firmament  on  firma- 
 ment of  brilliant  thought,  it  may  be,  that  ascends,  like  Paul, 
 into  the  third  heaven ;  and  words  are  at  the  most  and  best, 
 like  Paul  on  his  return.  They  are  as  the  stars  on  the  dark  and 
 silent  face  of  the  midnight  sky — those  little  punctured  pin- 
 holes (as  a  child  would  say) — those  "gimlet  holes  to  let  the 
 glory  through."  Where  it  is  so  difficult  as  one  finds  it,  to  write 
 letters — to  write  anything  as  one  would — it  may  be  speech 
 is  somewhat  easier,  because  in  public  speaking  a  necessity 
 is  laid  upon  you  to  be  always  saying  something;  for  if  you 
 halt  a  single  moment,  staggering  beneath  the  weight  of  great 
 thought  that  oppresses  you,  you  are  lost,  you  are  undone, 
 and  you  know  it ;  and  so  you  run  on  determinedly,  and  all 
 visions  of  angels  will  not  attract  you  when  you're  running  in 
 terror  for  your  life.  But  with  writing  it  is  different,  unless 
 you  happen  to  be  writing  for  a  newspaper  or  a  periodical, 
 which  must  be  out  immediately,  or  writing  with  the  wolf  of 
 hunger  and  the  printer's  devils  at  your  heels.  To  every 
 little  opening  of  the  mouth,  to  every  little  scribble  on  paper 
 that  you  make  and  tell  in  word,  a  hundred  or  a  thousand 
 thoughts  are  crowding,  crying  all,  all,  "Let  us  out,"  and 
 you  can  only  let  out  one  at  once. 
 
334  AGAIN  IN  ITALY  AND  AT  HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER     XVI. 
 gtflaftt  in  Italjj  anb  at  Dome. 
 
 It  was  arranged  that  Mr.  James  Robertson  of 
 Newington  should,  for  the  sake  of  the  health  of  his 
 youngest  daughter,  Jessie,  spend  the  winter  of  I S76-7  at 
 San  Remo,  and  take  charge  of  the  Presbyterian  station 
 which  had  been  opened  there  some  years  before  by 
 Dr.  John  Ker.  When,  therefore,  Dr.  Robertson  was 
 compelled  by  the  cold  to  leave  the  Engadine  at 
 the  end  of  October,  he  bent  his  steps  in  the  direction 
 of  the  Riviera,  instead  of  going  at  once  to  Florence. 
 
 To  His  Younger  Sister. 
 
 Hotel  de  Londres,  San  Remo,  7th  November,  1876. 
 
 Day  after  day  on  my  journey  down  I  carried  the  thought 
 of  you,  and  the  desire  and  purpose  of  writing  you,  past 
 every  station  and  post  office  on  the  way.  There  was 
 Chiavenna,  which  Isabella  will  remember,  where  I  climbed 
 the  castle  rock  and  made  a  fresh  unsuccessful  search 
 for  asbestos.  Then  Cadenabbia,  where  I  stayed  four 
 days,  but  did  not  cross  to  our  old  haunt  at  Bellagio.    Then 
 
AT  SAN  REMO.  335 
 
 Como,  where,  being  All  Souls'  Day,  some  acres  of  cemetery 
 were  lighted  up  at  dusk,  under  the  full  moonshine,  with 
 lamps  in  the  royal  Italian  colours,  red,  green,  and  white — a 
 Dantesque  way  of  projecting  the  politics  of  one  world  into 
 the  picture  and  prospect  of  another.  Then  Milan,  where  I 
 revisited  the  cathedral  and  Cenacolo  and  St.  Ambrose,  of 
 course,  and  foregathered  with  some  friends,  with  whom  I 
 visited  the  Certosa,  and  from  that  came  all  alone  to  the 
 historical  old  town  of  Pavia.     .     .     . 
 
 Thanks  for  your  notes  on  my  clothes,  with  which  I  will 
 provide  myself  fully  under  Mrs.  Smith's  instructions.  Mrs. 
 S.  packed  into  my  trunk  a  great  treasure  of  bobbins,  and 
 buttons,  and  worsted,  and  work-bags,  and  pin-cushions,  and 
 needles,  and  thread,  and  all,  which  have  been  of  infinite 
 service  to  me — not  that  I  ever  made  the  smallest  use  of 
 them,  but  they  made  my  trunk  look  furnished-like;  and 
 Jessie  has  just  got  some  of  them  away  to  mend  my  stocking- 
 holes,  and  other  holes  in  my  coat.  In  the  shoulder  of  my 
 dress  coat  there  was  one  which  showed  the  lining,  but  1 
 mended  it  in  the  Engadine  with  ink. 
 
 The  friend  who  has  furnished  us  with  an  account 
 of  the  Engadine,  a^ain  writes  : — 
 
 On  a  bright,  cold  morning,  when  all  the  trees  were 
 covered  with  heavy  rime  we  left  St.  Moritz.  Two  nights  later 
 we  were  in  Milan.  *  «  .  There  Dr.  Robertson  joined  us 
 next  day,  arriving  at  some  late  hour  at  night  when  I  had 
 gone  to  bed,  having  mistaken  the  train  and  gone  out  of  his 
 way  to  please  some  strangers  by  taking  them  to  see  a  ruined 
 castle.  "  Nevertheless,  I  am  here  to  be  your  Greatheart  in 
 your  pilgrimage,"  he  said,  cheerily,  when  he  came  down  to 
 breakfast ;  and  I  had  not  been  many  hours  with  him  in 
 Milan  before  I  realized  that  he  was  there  indeed !  From 
 him  I  learned  to  understand    and  admire   the  purity  and 
 
336  AGAIN  IN  ITAI Y  AND  AT  HOME. 
 
 harmony  and  Christian  symbolism  of  the  early  Gothic. 
 "  The  arch,"  he  said,  "  is  like  the  hands  put  up  in  prayer; 
 the  roof  is  like  alternative  singing  of  the  decani  and  cantores 
 in  the  choir,  as  the  voices  cut  each  other  in  the  arch. 
 Gothic  architecture,  specially  in  its  early  days,  is  pure, 
 severe,  and  noble.  The  lofty  shaft,  the  spring  of  the  arch, 
 and  the  high-pitched  roof  it  dared  to  conceive  and  produce, 
 are  full  of  aspiration  and  unwavering  faith.  In  the  archi- 
 tecture of  the  philosophic  Greeks  we  have  a  different  style. 
 Their  buildings  are  strong  and  full  of  exquisite  decoration 
 and  proportion,  but  complete  in  themselves,  bearing  up  the 
 heavy  weight  of  mind  and  thought,  of  present  and  future, 
 alone  in  symmetrical  completion;  while  the  Gothic  would 
 say,  '  Look  upward.     Not  here  ! ' 
 
 "But  Gothic  architecture  has  never  flourished  in  perfection 
 on  the  southern  side  of  the  Alps.  It  belongs  to  Germany, 
 England,  North  France,  and  to  lands  of  cold  and  severity, 
 as  the  name  implies,  where  the  gabled  roof  is  built  to  throw 
 off  the  storm,  and  trees  asssume  a  pyramidal  shape  for  the 
 same  reason.  As  you  cross  the  Alps,  and  near  the  southern 
 sun,  the  roof  becomes  flatter,  and  the  trees  spread  out  their 
 branches  almost  in  level  bars,  like  the  stone-pines  and  palm- 
 trees  of  Italy.  You  will  see  the  round  Romanesque  arch 
 prevails  most  widely  through  Italy,  that  which  you  would 
 call  in  England,  Norman,  though  it  has  not  the  same 
 ornamentation." 
 
 We  parted  with  him  at  the  Pavia  station,  after  one  day  at 
 the  Certosa,  with  hope  of  meeting  again  at  Florence.  A 
 strange  picturesque  figure  he  looked,  as  he  stood  at  the 
 window  of  the  railway  carriage  in  Inverness  cloak,  his  wild, 
 grey  hair  thrown  back  under  a  soft,  grey  felt  hat. 
 
 His  niece  so  far  rallied  that  he  was  able  to  leave 
 her  about  the  beginning-  of  December,  and  spend  a 
 month  at  Florence,  where  he  was  found  once  more  in 
 
11  IN  THE  CAMPO  SANTO,  PISA."  337 
 
 his  old  haunts,  followed  by  eager  listeners.  Early  in 
 January  he  returned  to  San  Remo,  taking  with  him  as 
 far  as  Pisa  a  party  of  his  Florence  friends,  one  of 
 whom  testifies  that  the  day  they  spent  there  "  was 
 a  day  never  to  be  forgotten."  He  was  in  his  most 
 brilliant  mood,  his  earnest  expositions  of  the  fres- 
 coes in  the  Campo  Santo  being  ever  and  again 
 lighted  up  with  flashes  of  humour,  as  when,  pointing 
 to  the  figure  representing  a  soul  in  the  "  Last 
 Judgment" — a  little  naked  figure  drawn  upwards  by 
 an  angel,  and  downwards  by  a  devil,  he  said,  "  The 
 black  fellow  has  the  law  of  gravitation  on  his  side." 
 
 The   following  lines  were  the  outcome  of  that  visit 
 to  Pisa : — 
 
 \Lhc  "  CCnmpo  (Santo." 
 
 In  the  Campo  Santo,  Pisa, 
 Every  passing  tourist  sees  a 
 Cloistered  square  of  holy  mould, 
 Brought  from  Palestine  of  old — 
 From  the  garden — from  the  clay — 
 From  the  place  where  Jesus  lay. 
 
 Pious  thought  of  those  old  Pisans, 
 Which,  for  this,  and  other  reasons, 
 Moved  them,  at  great  cost  and  toil, 
 To  fetch  home  the  holy  soil, 
 Fifty  ship  loads,  shipped  at  Acre; 
 The  good  templar  knights  the  while, 
 Seaward  from  the  holy  city, 
 When  crusaders  fought  to  take  her, 
 Guarding  transport  troops  that  came  a 
 Quick  route  overland  by  Rama, 
 
 Y 
 
o  3  A  GA  IN  IN  ITAL  Y  AXD  A  T  HOME. 
 
 Camels,  mules,  and  loaded  waggons, 
 Guarding  from  those  flying  dragons, 
 Moslem  horsemen,  bent  on  war, 
 Hovering  round  them  near  and  far, 
 With  glitt'ring  shield  and  scimitar. 
 
 All  those  ship  loads  through  the  seas, 
 Brought  by  Pisan  galleys  strong, 
 Priests  aboard  on  bended  knees 
 Chanting  holy  prayer  and  song, 
 While  the  sailor  to  the  breeze 
 Spreads  the  sail,  and  sings  with  these, 
 Now  an  Ave,  now  a  Canto, 
 Till  at  length  the  port  is  made, 
 And  the  holy  earth  all  laid 
 In  the  Pisan  Campo  Santo. 
 
 Then  for  very  joy  they  weep, 
 Thinking,  when  they  die,  to  sleep 
 Safely  in  that  very  clay, 
 In  which  blessed  Jesus  lay. 
 Blessed  rest  for  the  Pisans  weary  ! 
 Tho'  the  night  be  dark  and  dreary, 
 With  the  cold  ground  for  their  bed, 
 And  the  stony  pillow  underhead, 
 Yet,  in  the  dream  of  death  below, 
 Angels  in  white  may  come  and  go, — 
 As  in  the  marble,  where  one  sees  a 
 Jacob's  dream  by  John  of  Pisa, — 
 Till  in  the  morning  dawn  they  hear, 
 Maybe  with  somewhat  less  of  fear, 
 Maybe  with  somewhat  less  dismay, 
 Because  they  are  clad  in  the  holy  clay, 
 Ringing  loud,  and  shrill,  and  clear, 
 The  trump  of  the  "  Dies  Iras." 
 
"BLESSED  REST  EOR  PISAXS  WEARY"     339 
 
 As  for  me  this  Easter  morn, 
 
 Since  I  have  seen  the  buried  corn, 
 
 To  its  tomb  so  lately  borne, 
 
 Rise  as  the  Christ  rose  from  the  dead, 
 
 Lifting  high  its  living  head, 
 
 Over  the  dry  and  blackened  mould, 
 
 Under  which,  in  damp  and  cold, 
 
 It  did  lie  but  yesterday, — 
 
 Now  I  know  that  all  the  clay, 
 
 Through  all  fields  and  gardens  spread, 
 
 Weaving  the  garments  for  the  dead, — 
 
 All  the  earth  and  all  the  mould, 
 
 In  all  churchyards  new  and  old, 
 
 Has  been  blessed  and  sanctified. 
 
 Through  the  grave  of  the  Christ  that  died, — 
 
 Blest  as  truly  from  His  lips, 
 
 As  the  holy  earth  in  the  Pisan  ships ; 
 
 And  whether  at  Palestine  or  Pisa, 
 
 Or  wherever  else  one  sees  a 
 
 Grave — Hark  !  "Come  I"  the  angels  say, 
 
 "  See  the  place  where  Jesus  lay." 
 
 To  Mr.  William  M'Call,  Irvine. 
 
 San  Remo,  20th  January,  1877. 
 
 You  ask  me  if  I  am  writing  a  book,  or  what  I  am  doing  ; 
 and  I  have  written  the  answer  in  a  general  way  in  a  little 
 playful  song — in  a  solution  of  weak  rhyme.  Eviva  is  the 
 refrain  of  many  Italian  songs.  I  shall  tell  you  more  particu- 
 larly afterwards,  when  I  write  you  also  in  answer  to  your 
 inquiries  about  music. 
 
 (Sbita. 
 
 I  heard  all  the  birds,  in  the  days  of  spring, 
 Twitter  and  chatter,  and  whistle  and  sing, 
 
340  A  GAIN  IN  ITAL  Y  AND  A  T  HOME. 
 
 But  the  earth  in  these  days  gave  no  fruit, 
 Nor  till  harvest  time  when  the  birds  were  mute  : 
 And  then  came  the  reaper  and  vintager  out, 
 And  brought  home  the  corn  and  wine  with  a  shout— 
 
 Eviva. 
 
 In  days  of  old,  when  I  was  young, 
 Flowed  silver  speech  from  a  fluent  tongue, 
 But  now  I  keep  silence,  as  I  ought, 
 And  the  silence  gives  me  golden  thought ; 
 And  whether  by  speech  or  by  pictured  book, 
 For  something  or  other  ere  long  you  may  look — 
 
 Eviva. 
 
 The  gay  young  summer,  in  whites  and  greens, 
 Is  never  an  end,  but  is  only  a  means 
 To  that  higher  end  which  the  autumn  brings, 
 When  sweating  brow;d  labour  feasts  with  kings, 
 And  the  year  is  crown'd  with  a  golden  crown, 
 And  all  heaven's  paths  drop  fatness  down — 
 
 Eviva. 
 
 So  those  who  prefer  their  youth  to  their  age 
 Must  be  making  a  backward  pilgrimage ; 
 When  things  go  right,  the  beginning's  not  ill, 
 But  the  end,  says  the  wise  man,  is  better  still, 
 And  fools  they  must  be,  who  prefer  the  past, 
 When  the  Banquet  of  Life  gives  the  good  wine  last — 
 
 Eviva. 
 
 His  niece  died  on  April  22nd.  Some  time  after  he 
 returned  to  Florence,  and  in  the  early  summer  took  up 
 his  quarters  at  the  Villa  Mozzi  near  Fiesole,  placed 
 at  his  disposal  by  the  proprietor,  the  Cav.  Guglielmo 
 Spence,  an  English    artist    almost    Italianized,  with 
 
DEATH  OF  HIS  NIECE.  34 1 
 
 whom  Dr.  Robertson  was  on   terms  of  friendly  cor- 
 diality. 
 
 To  Mr.  William  M'Call,  Irvine. 
 
 Villa  Mozzr,  Fiesole,  June,  1877. 
 
 You  have  heard  of  the  sorrows  of  successive  bereavement 
 in  which  my  brother,  "  deep  calling  unto  deep,"  has  been 
 plunged,  and  in  which,  in  its  last  gulf,  I  myself  got  more 
 involved,  through  presence  and  sight  and  sympathy,  than 
 I  could  have  counted  on.  She  was  a  lovely,  holy  child  that, 
 with  much  desire  and  longing,  and  without  a  moment's 
 doubt  or  misgiving,  went  to  join  her  sisters  and  mother  in 
 the  white  circle  of  the  blessed,  and  "  Jesus  in  the  midst." 
 Her  father,  terribly  broken  down  at  the  beginning,  behaved 
 himself  at  the  end,  to  our  wonder  and  admiration,  in  the 
 grand  dignity  and  composure  of  a  truly  Christian  grief;  and 
 out  of  that  last  depth  and  baptism  of  grief  he,  I  trust,  and 
 all  of  us,  have  come,  in  white  raiment  and  spirit,  more 
 subdued  and  quiet  and  mild,  yet  also  brave,  for  the  joy 
 that  is  set  every  day  and  hour,  and  more  especially  through 
 darker  days  more  nearly  and  more  clearly,  before  us. 
 
 Mr.  Caird  thus  describes  the  Villa  Mozzi : — 
 
 The  villa  is  situated  about  halfway  between  San  Domenico 
 and  Fiesole,  rather  nearer  the  latter,  on  the  slope  of  the  steep 
 hill,  a  spur  of  the  Apennines.  The  view  is  one  of  the  most 
 enchanting  imaginable.  Looking  south-west,  about  two  hun- 
 dred feet  below,  Florence  lies  on  either  side  of  the  silver 
 Arno,  rearing  aloft  her  domes  and  spires  in  the  keen  Tuscan 
 air — such  a  dream  of  beauty  as  is  scarcely  to  be  equalled  on 
 earth.  The  whole  country  is  dotted  with  fair  villas  in  sump- 
 tuous gardens,  with  dark,  sharp-pointed  cypresses  breaking 
 the  lines  of  mulberries,  bearing  festoons  of  vines  at  regular 
 
342  AGAIN  IN  ITALY  AND  A T  HOME. 
 
 intervals  in  the  golden  grain  fields.  The  horizon  is  bounded 
 by  tier  upon  tier  of  terraced  hills  melting  into  dim  distance, 
 enclosing  a  land  consecrated  by  memories  of  patriots,  poets, 
 philosophers,  and  painters  such  as  no  other  portion  of  the 
 world  can  boast.  No  fitter  setting  surely  could  be  found  for 
 the  central  figure  of  your  memoir.  And  no  one  could  enjoy 
 more  fully  the  natural  beauties  spread  before  his  gaze.  The 
 villa  was  built  by  Cosimo  "pater  patriae,"  and  completed 
 by  his  son,  Lorenzo  il  Magnifico.  Here  the  Florentine 
 Academy,  the  group  of  litterateurs  who  brought  about,  under 
 the  fostering  of  the  Medici,  the  ever  famous  revival  of  letters, 
 held  their  meetings.  Here  Pico  della  Mirandola,  Angeio 
 Poliziano,  and  Marsilio  Ficino  perfected  those  translations  of 
 and  disquisitions  on  the  Platonic  writings,  which  have  borne 
 such  abundant  fruit  in  all  subsequent  ages. 
 
 The  rooms  of  the  Villa  are  furnished  in  the  style  of  the 
 period,  the  quattro-cento,  and  it  needs  no  great  effort  of  im- 
 agination to  transport  oneself  back  to  the  15th  century,  when 
 the  famous  Academy  under  the  leadership  of  the  brilliant, 
 scholarly,  if  licentious,  Lorenzo,  held  converse  on  the  eternal 
 verities  of  the  Platonic  dialogues  under  the  ilex  groves  of 
 the  villa  garden.  The  dome  of  the  cathedral  rears  itself 
 side  by  side  with  the  Campanile  now  as  then ;  the  spires  oi 
 Santa  Croce  and  of  Santa  Maria  Novella  cleave  the  silent 
 air  not  otherwise  than  four  hundred  years  ago.  Nothing  is 
 changed. 
 
 Here  Dr.  Robertson  spent  several  weeks,  living  as  surely 
 in  the  sacred  past  of  several  centuries  ago  as  if  he  too  had 
 been  one  of  that  famous  band — forgetting  sometimes  that  he 
 was  not. 
 
 He  occupied  the  bedroom  which  bears  the  name  of 
 Marsilio  Ficino,  the  celebrated  translator  of  Plato. 
 
 His  days  were  spent  in  wandering  about  Fiesole,  exploring 
 the  remains  of  Etruscan  and  Roman  architecture  with  which 
 
THE   VILLA  MOZZL  343 
 
 the  neighbourhood  abounds,  and  in  excursions  in  the  Val 
 d'Arno,  in  search  of  unearthed  art  treasures,  in  the  company 
 of  a  few  belated  English  students.  His  evenings  were  in- 
 terminable, and  often  prolonged  themselves  into  the  next  day. 
 The  associations  with  which  the  Villa  abounded  impelled 
 him  to  a  closer  study  of  the  lives  of  the  great  men  who  had 
 made  it  famous,  and  he  used  to  wander  night  after  night 
 from  room  to  room  book  in  hand,  apostrophizing  and  in- 
 terrogating their  long  dead  but  immortal  inmates.  Here 
 too  he  was  in  touch  with  his  ideal  martyr,  Fra  Girolamo 
 Savonarola,  the  contemporary  and  counterpoise  of  the 
 Academy.  And  from  him  to  Luther,  his  great  rival,  and  the 
 subject  of  Dr.  Robertson's  greatest  essay,  was  but  a  short 
 step.  A  correspondent  writes  how  one  night  in  the  "Villa 
 Mozzi,  long  after  the  great  bell  of  the  Duomo  of  Florence 
 had  sent  its  midnight  tollings  booming  through  the  heavy 
 air  of  the  campagna,  and  the  whole  world  was  sunk  in 
 slumbers,  Dr.  Robertson  worked  back  from  the  heroes  of 
 the  Pagan  revival  through  Savonarola  to  the  founder  of  Pro- 
 testantism, and  told  how  the  idea  of  the  lecture  on  Luther 
 had  first  taken  form  in  his  mind.  Unconsciously  he  drew 
 himself  up  ;  invisible  audiences  started  up  before  him,  and 
 with  all  the  old  unction  and  emphasis  he  gave  again  the 
 never  to  be  forgotten  scene  of  the  birth  of  the  great 
 Reformer. 
 
 To  Miss  T.  Melville-Lee. 
 
 At  Midnight,  from  the  top  of  Fiesole, 
 i9-2oth  June,  1877. 
 
 As  I  write  at  midnight  in  a  high  open  loggia  of  the  old 
 "  Villa  Medici "  at  Fiesole,  the  noiseless  moon  is  "  walking 
 in  brightness  through  the  heavens," 
 
 "The  moon,  whose  orb 
 Through  optic  glass  the  Tuscan  artist  views 
 At  evening,  from  the  top  of  Fesole," 
 
344  AG  A  IN  IN  ITAL  Y  A  ND  A  T  HOME. 
 
 making  me  think  less  of  Galileo  and  his  telescope  than  of 
 a  certain  hour  of  prayer,  as  you  may  understand.  Midnight 
 here  will  scarcely  be  eleven  with  you,  for  the  shadow  on  the 
 great  sun  dial,  which  is  the  earth  itself,  moves  slowly 
 westward,  so  that  the  light  lingers  with  you  after  it  has  left 
 us.  But  to  us  shall  it  not  return  the  sooner  in  the  morning  ? 
 Even  as  the  light  of  life  will  be  shining,  no  doubt,  on  your 
 face,  still  young,  when  that  of  your  old  friend  is  lying  under 
 the  darkness ;  through  this,  after  all,  shall  he  not  come  the 
 sooner,  and  before  you,  to  the  sunrise,  and  the  angels  of  the 
 everlasting  dawn  coming  to  meet  him,  through  the  cypresses 
 of  death.  For  so  I  have  sometimes  thought  of  a  morning, 
 when  looking  at  daybreak  from  my  chamber  in  the  east. 
 It  was  the  same  that  was  occupied,  400  years  ago,  by  Pico, 
 the  Prince  of  Mirandola,  and,  like  the  chamber  of  peace 
 in  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  it  has  its  casement  opening  to 
 the  sunrise,  and  from  it  you  can  look  along  the  black 
 avenue  of  cypresses  that  stretch  aslant  the  hill  side,  between 
 the  house  and  the  highway. 
 
 Down  such  an  avenue  our  Fra  Giovanni  of  Fiesole  may 
 have  seen  the  shining  ones  walking,  with  the  rainbow 
 hues  of  the  morning  on  their  white  dewy  wings,  when 
 he  caught  them  and  imprisoned  them  in  the  tower 
 and  the  temple  of  the  marvellous,  till  he  let  them 
 out  again  to  walk,  as  they  still  do,  along  the  cloisters  of  San 
 Marco.  The  abbey  of  San  Domenico,  where  he  (Fra 
 Angelico)  saw  the  vision  of  his  youth,  lies  deep  under,  but 
 not  far  from  our  south  windows,  and  the  terrace  on  which 
 they  open.  You  will  see  that  I  am  living,  as  I  meant  to  do, 
 at  the  "Villa  Medici";  they  call  it  "Villa  Mozzi,"  and  also 
 "  Villa  Spence,"  but  "  Medici  "  is  the  true  name,  by  which 
 I  find  it  called  in  the  old  books,  and  which  I  have  been 
 urging  Mr.  Spence  to  restore.  Here  Lorenzo,  the  Magnifi- 
 cent, gathered  around  him  the  chosen  spirits  (and,  especial!}', 
 
FROM  THE  TOP  OF  FIESOLE.  345 
 
 the  seven  stars)  of  the  Platonic  Academy.  They  had  their 
 rooms  along  the  corridor,  upstairs  ;  I  have  the  whole  range 
 of  them,  and  indeed,  of  the  whole  house,  and  when  driven 
 from  one  (say  Pico's,  by  the  heat)  may  retire  into  the  next, 
 which  is  Poliziano's,  and  which  is  cooler,  and  then  into  the 
 next,  which  is  Ficino's,  and  so  on  to  the  last,  which  was 
 Leo's  (the  ioth).  There  I  have  put  my  books,  and 
 established  my  study.  It  opens  on  the  western  loggia,  in 
 which  I  write  by  the  golden  olive  lamp  light,  in  the  delicious 
 moonlight,  and  midnight  coolness  al  fresco,  and  flash  of 
 fire-flies,  and  serenade  of  nightingales,  and  slumberous  rustle 
 of  the  trees,  that  sweeten  and  perfume  the  air,  and  in  all  the 
 witchery  of  a  soft,  clear,  balmy,  Tuscan  summer  night.  I 
 look  down  through  open  arches  upon  the  city  of  Florence, 
 like  a  wilderness  of  stars,  almost  like  a  running  river  of 
 fire,  in  the  Val  d'Arno,  and  upwards  to  where  (speaking 
 learnedly,  as  becomes  the  classic  spot)  Diana  is  mounting 
 the  sky  to  the  haunt  of  the  Great  Bear,  and  Cassiopeia,  in 
 her  low  arm-chair,  in  the  north,  looking  up  sulkily,  and 
 forward  down  the  Val  d'Arno,  and  over  the  Carrara 
 Mountains,  Westward  Ho  ! — to  home — and  all  that  is 
 dearest  to  me  still  on  earth  (delightful,  though  it  be,  this 
 Italy),  and  upward — reverently — above  things  visible,  above 
 all  moons  and  firmaments  of  stars,  to  seek  and  see  the  face 
 of  the  Unseen,  the  splendour  of  the  King  Invisible,  before 
 whose  face  the  earth  and  the  heavens  shall  flee  away,  but 
 yet  before  whom  in  the  very  holiest  of  all,  I  hope  to  stand 
 in  Christ,  and  see  you  stand  dressed  in  spotless  white  ! 
 "  The  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee  !  Oh,  that  Thou 
 wouldst  bless  her  indeed  !  and  keep  her  from  evil  that  it 
 may  not  grieve  her.  The  Lord  lift  upon  thee  the  light  of 
 His  countenance,  and  give  thee  peace  !  " 
 
 During  this  visit   to  Florence,  Dr.  Robertson  was 
 
346  A  GAIN  IN  ITAL  Y  AND  A  T  HOME. 
 
 commissioned  by  his  friend  Dr.  Young  of  Kelly  to 
 purchase  pictures  of  the  old  masters  for  a  collection 
 he  was  trying  to  form.  The  following  fragment  of  a 
 letter  refers  to  this  commission  : — 
 
 Such  as  it  is,  my  loving  appreciation  of  fine  art  is  that 
 of  the  mere  child  (the  baby,  if  you  please) — who  gazes 
 on  fine  pictures  with  open  eyes  of  wonder  and  delight, 
 which  one  does  not  care  to  analyze,  and  that  is  the  more 
 genuine,  and  even  more  precious  perhaps  as  an  sesthetical 
 judgment,  that  it  is  unsophisticated  and  unconscious, 
 though,  I  daresay,  I  could  give  good  reasons  enough  for 
 my  likings  and  dislikings  if  need  were — rather  than  that  of 
 the  expert,  the  connoisseur,  the  professional  critic,  the  picture 
 dealer,  on  whose  province  I  have  no  right,  and  still  less  than 
 no  desire,  to  intrude.  'To  the  educated  eye,  that  can  read  off 
 at  a  glance  whole  pages  of  pictorial  scripture,  and  go  into 
 microscopic  technical  details,  I  can  make  no  pretensions. 
 But  there  is  another  eye  which  does  not  necessarily  make 
 a  pair  with  that,  and  yet  may  see  in  its  own  way  as  keenly 
 and  as  far — the  eye,  sometimes  called  "  the  single  eye,"  into 
 which  conscience  enters,  which  sees  in  the  "true  light  that 
 lighteth  every  man  that  cometh  into  the  world,"  and  which 
 distinguishes  between  good  and  bad  painting,  by  distinguish- 
 ing between  moral  good  and  evil.  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
 I  am  a  Purist  (though  I  confess  I  do  prefer  that  school),  but 
 I  do  mean  to  say,  and  you  will  not  misunderstand  me  when 
 I  say  what  I  say  with  all  reverence,  that  I  have  seen  some 
 pictured  Christs — for  instance,  yon  Da  Vinci  at  Milan — 
 containing  so  much  of  the  real  Christ — so  much  of  Him 
 that  is  holy,  Him  that  is  true — of  the  divinely  sad  and  the 
 unutterably  beautiful — that  it  would  have  seemed  to  me  a 
 sort  of  sacrilege  to  speak  of  buying  and  selling  them  ;  it 
 would  have  reminded  me  most  uncomfortably  of  the  bargain 
 
JOURNEY  HOMEWARD.  34/ 
 
 between  Judas  and  the  High  Priests  to  have  proposed  to 
 value  them  at  so  many  pieces  of  silver,  it  matters  not  how 
 many.  I  would  rather,  if  it  were  possible,  that  the  buyers 
 and  sellers  should  be  driven  from  temples  of  fine  art.  Of 
 course,  that  is  impossible,  but  it  may  help  to  explain  to 
 you  how  I  don't  much  care  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  traffic 
 of  sacred  pictures. 
 
 Dr.  Robertson's  return  home  was,  as  on  a  former 
 occasion,  hastened  by  tidings  of  trouble  in  Trinity 
 Church.  The  letters  he  received  cost  him  much 
 anxious  thought.  The  spirit  in  which  he  answered 
 them  may  be  gathered  from  the  following  fragment : — 
 
 To  Mr.  John  Wright,  Irvine. 
 
 Trent,  Austrian  Tyrol,  18th  July,  1877. 
 
 .  .  .  You  must  know  that  we  older  men  are  apt  to  be 
 impatient  of  a  younger,  even  though  it  should  be  a  more 
 excellent  ministry ;  and  to  think  it  not  nearly  so  good  as 
 what  we  ourselves  used  to  enjoy  or  exercise.  And  just  the 
 longer  and  the  more  deeply  we  have  been  interested  in  the 
 true  welfare  of  the  church,  just  the  more  tempted  are  we  to 
 be  suspicious  of  change  that  after  all  is  not  real  change,  of 
 ways  that  are  new  ways,  but  have  still  the  old  direction,  of 
 music  that  seems  new  music,  but  has  still  the  old  ring.  We 
 are  tempted  to  lament  that  the  old  stage-coach  has  been 
 replaced  by  the  less  poetic  railway,  though  the  latter  brings 
 us  to  our  destination  as  surely  and  more  quickly  after  all. 
 I  speak  for  myself.  I  know  I  am  liable  to  this  temptation 
 as  I  grow  older,  and  I  pray  against  it.  It  is  so  natural. 
 "  No  man  when  he  hath  tasted  old  wine  straightway  desireth 
 new,  for  he  saith,  the  old  is  better."  But  the  new  wine  may 
 turn  out  the  better  wine  in  the  end,  if  it  come  of  a  better 
 
34-3  AGAIN  IN  ITAL  Y  AND  A T  HOME. 
 
 vintage  and  be  not  checked  and  spoiled  in  the  fermenting.  Of 
 course  it  must  always  be  the  true  "  wine  of  the  kingdom." 
 All  else  is  vinegar  and  gall  to  those  that  have  their  senses 
 exercised  to  discern  between  good  and  evil.  But  what  if 
 the  good  wine  of  the  covenant  itself  be  sometimes  mistaken 
 by  us,  as  we  grow  old,  for  vinegar.  You  remember  my  own 
 young  sermons,  in  the  old  Cotton  Row — weak  enough  truly. 
 I  am  ashamed  to  think  of  them.  But  they  had  new  ways  of 
 thought  and  speech  for  the  time  ;  and  you  who  were  young, 
 as  I  was,  sympathized  with  me.  How  I  remember  you  then 
 in  that  front  gallery,  looking  so  critical,  yet  so  kind  !  But 
 the  old  orthodox — how  they  listened  to  know  if  this  new 
 music  had  the  old  evangelical  ring.  It  had,  and  they 
 discerned  it,  and  forgave  the  new  thinking  for  the  sake  of 
 the  old  gospel ;  and  finally  accepted  it  themselves  and 
 broadened  and  rose  with  us  into  a  wider  and  higher,  but 
 still  more  distinctly  pronounced,  evangelism.  Never  through 
 Trinity  pulpit  may  any  other  be  heard  than  the  voice  of  the 
 Good  Shepherd,  which  the  children  of  the  Truth  shall 
 recognize  !  But  may  He  not  utter  that  voice  through  new 
 disguises,  just  to  prove  and  try  us  older  men,  whether  we 
 can  recognize  it  under  all  disguises,  as,  if  we  are  the  children 
 of  the  Truth,  we  shall  be  able  to  do  ?  "  The  voice  of  my 
 Beloved  !  "  Should  I  not  know  it  under  all  change  and  all 
 disguise?  ''Jesus  saith  unto  her,  Mary.  She  saith  to  Him, 
 Rabboni,  Master."  The  voice  of  the  Good  Shepherd  that 
 calleth  His  sheep  by  name.  They  know  Him  and  they 
 follow  Him  ;  and  a  stranger  will  they  not  follow,  for  they 
 know  not  the  voice  of  strangers. 
 
 To  Mr.  William  M'Call,  Irvine. 
 
 Cologne,  2nd  August,   1877. 
 Here  I  am,  looking  out  on  the  Cologne  minster,  on  the 
 last  Continental  stage,  as  I  hope,  of  my  journey  homeward, 
 
MEETING  WITH  DOLLINGER.  349 
 
 as  to-morrow  I  go  on  without  more  halt  to  London,  unless 
 something  unexpected  detain  me.     .     .     . 
 
 I  would  have  kept  up  to  time,  and  am  not  very  much  be- 
 hind it,  as  indicated  in  my  programme,  had  I  not  been 
 detained  first  in  Trent,  by  some  things  I  was  finding  out 
 about  the  grand  Council  held  there  of  old  j  and  second  in 
 Munich,  where  I  lost  two  days.  Lost,  did  I  say  ?  What 
 days  of  gain  they  were.  On  each  of  them  I  saw  Dr.  D61- 
 linger,  and,  though  I  had  no  introduction  to  him,  dined  with 
 this  great  man  at  his  own  invitation,  and  had  long  conversa- 
 tions alone — a  privilege,  they  tell  me,  he  does  not  accord  to 
 one  among  a  thousand  that  wait  on  him,  being  very  difficult 
 of  access,  and  much  shut  up  in  his   study  and  himself. 
 
 Dr.  Robertson  often  spoke  of  the  extreme  cordiality 
 with  which  Dr.  Dollinger  received  him.  He  met  him 
 at  the  University  and  introduced  himself  by  simply 
 presenting  his  card.  Dollinger  then  asked  him  to 
 dinner.  The  conversation  became  so  earnest  that 
 when  dinner  was  brought  in  they  did  not  heed  it,  and 
 hardly  ate  at  all.  The  housekeeper  came  in  again  and 
 again,  and  looked  pathetically  at  the  untasted  food. 
 
 Dr.  Robertson's  love  for  the  Trinity  Church,  to  which 
 he  returned  from  his  wanderings,  made  a  gift  which 
 came  to  him  at  the  close  of  1877  specially  valuable. 
 
 To  Miss  Taylor,  Edinburgh. 
 
 Irvine,    15th  December,   1877. 
 By  the  hands  of  his  young  Reverence  Monsignore,  the 
 latest  abbot-elect  of  Kilwinning,1  I  have  been  put  in  posses- 
 
 1  Miss  Taylor's  brother  had  just  been  elected  minister  of  the  United 
 Presbyterian  Church  of  Kilwinning.  The  family  to  which  they  belonged 
 was  connected  with  Mr.  James  Robertson's  congregation  in  Newington. 
 
350  A  GAIN  IN  ITAL  Y  AND  A  T  HOME. 
 
 sion  of  your  Eccellenza's  charming  picture  of  the  interior — 
 apse  and  south  transept  of  our  Trinity  Church.     .     .     . 
 
 In  your  dream-like  picture  I  seem  to  myself  again  to 
 enter  that  pulpit,  and  see,  rising  around  me,  many  faces 
 of  the  living  and  the  dead,  all  agleam  with  the  light  of 
 devotion,  and,  by  the  prayers,  by  the  preaching,  by  the 
 music,  by  the  ladder  of  art  and  grace  around  them,  climbing 
 up  through  the  half-opened  gate  called  Beautiful,  to  glimpses 
 of  the  temple  of  God  opened  in  Heaven,  and  the  King  in 
 His  beauty  in  the  land  afar  off.  How  often,  in  the  bright 
 midsummer  mornings — how  often  in  the  dark  December  days 
 — breakings  of  the  dawn  above  all  dawn  have  seemed  to  fall 
 upon  us  there  !  And  that  very  light  you  seem  to  me  to  have 
 caught  and  put  somehow  into  your  picture.  It  is  not 
 that  rose-coloured  light  I  mean  that  you  have  caught  from 
 the  tinted  transept  window  and  made  to  blossom  out  so 
 richly  in  the  sculptured  Caen  stone ;  not  that,  but  a  "  light 
 that  never  was  on  sea  or  land,"  and  which  must  have  fallen 
 on  the  picture  and  spread  itself  from  some  mystic  lamp  in 
 the  temple  of  your  brain,  where  there  is  a  shrine,  I  believe, 
 and  sanctuary  (is  there  not?)  to  the  Holiest  of  All,  that  has 
 His  presence  chamber  in  your  inmost  heart  within;  and 
 with  that  light  you  will  always,  I  hope,  mix  your  colours. 
 
 Another  cause  which  rendered  Dr.  Robertson's 
 home-coming  urgent  in  the  autumn  of  1877  was  the 
 state  of  his  sister  Isabella's  health.  The  illness  which 
 had  hindered  her  from  accompanying  him  when  he 
 went  abroad  eighteen  months  before,  had  taken  a  new 
 development,  involving  severe  pain,  under  which  her 
 strength  gradually  failed,  till,  on  December  22nd,  1S77, 
 she  passed  away. 
 
DEA  TH  OF  HIS  ELDER  SISTER.  35  J 
 
 To  the  Rev.  James  Brown. 
 Bridge  of  Allax,  Sunday,  23rd  December,  1877. 
 
 For  our  dear  Isabella  the  mystery  is  now  all  ended.  She 
 sees  no  more  through  a  glass  darkly.  The  light  dawned  of 
 "the other  morn  than  ours,"  yesterday  evening  at  half-past  five 
 
 How  often  she  went  timidly  to  church,  shrinking  back 
 from  it  in  great  and  true  humility.  To-day  she  is  gone  up 
 to  church,  humble  as  ever,  self-condemned  as  a  very  publican 
 praying  in  the  temple  ;  and  yet,  or  should  I  not  say,  and 
 therefore,  she  is  presented  faultless  in  the  presence  of  the 
 throne. 
 
 The  sweetest  singer  in  our  church  choir,  I  know  not  if 
 there  is  a  sweeter  singer  in  the  upper  choir  to-day.  I 
 wonder  if  her  song  makes  any  mention,  James,  of  your  name 
 and  mine.  I  am  afraid  they  are  not  too  well  known  there. 
 But  that  is  a  selfish  remark.  How  utterly  unselfish  she 
 was,  and  how  self-sacrificing  in  her  sisterly  affection.  Her 
 love  to  me  was  wonderful,  and  her  whole  life  intensely 
 beautiful,  as  you  had  eyes  to  see  ;  though  hung  about  with 
 strange  curtains  of  shadow,  which  the  poor  child  could  not 
 understand.     They  are  all  withdrawn  now. 
 
 I  never  knew  any  other  that  brought  Christ  so  near  to 
 me  as  she  did.  She  was  so  like  Him  in  gentle  innocence, 
 and  sorest  suffering,  and  agony  of  quiet,  exhaustless  love. 
 All  my  saddest  hours,  and  truly  gladdest  hours,  are  bound 
 up  with  her,  and  the  shortest  day,  which  has  torn  her  from  us, 
 has  proved  the  very  darkest  in  my  life.  And  yet  how  thank- 
 ful we  should  be,  and  are,  that  there  have  been  granted 
 her,  with  Jessie  here  at  the  Bridge,  such  a  light  at  evening 
 time,  such  a  sweetening  and  brightening  of  her  last  days  when 
 the  mental  powers,  which  could  be  obscured,  but  could  not 
 be  hid,  and  when  the  moral  loveliness,  that  could  not  even 
 be  obscured,  shone  out  as  bright,  or  brighter,  than  ever. 
 
352  A  GAIN  IN  ITAL  Y  AND  A  T  HOME. 
 
 To  Mrs.  Watson,  Largs. 
 
 Bridge  of  Allan,  3rd  January,  1878. 
 
 Nothing  in  my  life,  that  has  been  darkened  with 
 many  bereavements,  has  touched  me  like  the  loss  of  this 
 sweetest  and  gentlest  of  sisters,  the  companion  and  crown 
 for  many  years  of  my  otherwise  lonely  life,  and  the  mysteri- 
 ous depth  of  whose  self-sacrificing  love  to  me  especially 
 (you  saw  something  of  that  in  Mentone),  none,  save  God, 
 who  Himself  endowed  her  with  it,  knows. 
 
 That  you,  with  your  quick,  sympathetic  discernment  of 
 whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  should  have  seen  a  rare  loveli- 
 ness in  her  I  do  not  wonder.  Even  to  others,  to  all  with 
 whom  she  came  into  contact,  she  wore  a  beauty  of  character 
 of  the  most  refined  and  delicate  grace  and  texture,  rendered 
 transparent  by  the  holy  light  within.  .  .  .  For  several 
 weeks  her  great  sufferings  from  spinal  paralysis,  that  had  been 
 growing  on  her  for  years,  made  her  sick-room  a  very  Geth- 
 semane  of  trial ;  but  the  strengthening  angel  was  with  her  in 
 the  agony,  and  the  Christ  of  the  Gethsemane  was  in  her; 
 and,  through  her  pain,  her  love  to  us  all  broke  forth  contin- 
 ually, and  her  song,  "  Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee,"  and  her 
 prayer,  "  Thy  will  be  done."  ...  To  the  last  her 
 attitude  was  that  of  one  saying,  "Though  I  cannot  keep 
 hold  on  Him,  He  will  (will  He  not  ?)  keep  me ; "  and  so 
 she  fell  asleep  in  His  arms,  not  a  cry  or  struggle  at  the  end ; 
 no  wrestling  with  the  angel  of  death  in  the  night.  She  knew 
 His  name  of  Love,  and  he  blessed  her  there,  and  the 
 morning  broke. 
 
 It  was  at  the  hour  of  evening  sacrifice,  on  a  clear  winter 
 night,  and  presently  she  was  beyond  the  stars,  and  the 
 "  Brother  born  for  adversity "  healing  all  the  wounds  of 
 sorrow  of  her  gentle  spirit,  with  leaves  from  the  Tree  of 
 Life,  that  is  in  the  midst  of  the  Paradise  of  God.     Every- 
 
ITALY  AGAIN.  353 
 
 thing  goes  to  comfort  us  concerning  her  who  is  asleep,  and 
 as  you  have  been  sympathizing  with  us  in  the  sorrow,  I  have 
 written  that  you  may  also  in  the  consolation. 
 
 The  breathless  form,  still  beautiful,  was  laid  away  in 
 darkness  underground  beneath  the  fresh-fallen  snow  on 
 Thursday  last  in  the  old  churchyard  of  St.  Ninians,  and 
 there  with  the  stone  for  her  pillow  she  sleeps,  as  she  has 
 done  every  night  for  long,  long  years  at  home  or  abroad, 
 beneath  the  ascending  and  descending  angels,  at  the  gate  of 
 heaven,  till  the  day  dawn.  May  we  all  meet  in  gladness 
 there  !  And  shall  we  not  at  all  remember  Mentone  in  that 
 reunion  ?  Shall  there  not  stand  distinguished  in  the  group 
 your  admirable  mother,  of  whom  Isabella  used  to  speak  so 
 very  often  as  one  of  the  queenliest  of  ladies  she  had  ever 
 met  ?     Must  they  not  have  met  again  ?     .     .     . 
 
 At  the  close  of  January  Dr.  Robertson  and  his  only 
 surviving  sister  left  for  the  south.  They  took  lodgings 
 in  London  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  British 
 Museum,  where  he  continued  the  archaeological  studies 
 he  had  entered  on  in  Italy.  At  the  beginning  of 
 March  they  returned  to  Tuscany  that  he  might  resume 
 his  investigations  among  the  Etruscan  cities,  which 
 had  been  interrupted  in  1876.  Florence  was  their 
 headquarters,  but  the  greater  part  of  their  time  was 
 spent  in  other  places.  They  revisited  Orvieto.  Thence 
 they  passed  to  San  Gemignano,  whither  he  went  in 
 search  of  mediaeval  music,  which  to  this  day  is  sung 
 in  the  churches  of  that  old  town  in  much  of  its  original 
 purity.  He  got  what  he  wanted  through  the  clever 
 little  daughter  of  their  landlord  Giusti,  a  tiny  child  of 
 nine,  possessing  that  wonderful  musical  power  which 
 
354  AGAIN  IN  ITALY  AND  AT  HOME. 
 
 is  not  rare  among  Italian  children.  She  entertained 
 them  for  hours  by  singing  the  entire  round  of  Festa 
 music  for  the  year.  Many  of  the  airs  were  taken 
 down  as  she  sang  them  ;  and  in  his  enthusiasm  a 
 translation  of  each  church  hymn  was  to  be  made  on 
 the  spot !  The  only  one  actually  accomplished  was 
 the  "  Stabat  Mater."  He  had  translated  it  hurriedly 
 when  at  Siena  two  years  before,  but  was  dissatisfied 
 with  his  work.  Under  the  inspiration  of  the  music  he 
 heard  at  San  Gemignano  the  following  version  was 
 produced  : — 
 
 cSfctbai  J&aier. 
 
 Stands  the  dolorous  mother  weeping, 
 
 By  the  cross  her  vigil  keeping, 
 
 Where  her  Son  was  crucified. 
 
 Stabat  Mater  dolorosa, 
 Tuxta  crucem  lacrymosa, 
 Dum  pendebat  Filius. 
 
 Where  her  drooping  eyelids  languish 
 O'er  Him,  and  the  sword  of  anguish 
 Pierces  through  the  Mother's  side, 
 Stabat  Mater,  etc. 
 
 Veil'd  she  stands  in  grief  unspoken, 
 How  much  more  is  Thy  heart  broken. 
 Oh,  Jesu  Maria  thou  ! 
 
 Stabat  Mater,  etc. 
 
 Hers  of  ours  was  anguish  double. 
 Grief  for  sin,  and  Mother's  trouble 
 Met  and  mingled  both  in  one. 
 Stabat  Mater,  etc. 
 
6"  TA  BA  T  MA  TER.  3  5  5 
 
 Both  to  life  and  death  she  brought  Him, 
 And  in  double  anguish  sought  Him 
 As  her  Saviour  and  her  Son. 
 Stabat  Mater,  etc. 
 
 Oh  !  Thou  Son  of  Man,  our  Brother, 
 A  frail  woman  was  Thy  Mother, 
 And  Thy  Father  is  our  God  ! 
 Stabat  Mater,  etc. 
 
 Help  us,  like  to  her  who  bore  Thee, 
 Deeply  mourning,  to  adore  Thee, 
 Who  hast  saved  us  by  Thy  blood. 
 Stabat  Mater,  etc. 
 
 Help  us  through  Thy  Cross  to  borrow 
 Double  strength  of  love  and  sorrow, 
 Like  to  her  who  called  Thee  Son. 
 Stabat  Mater,  etc. 
 
 Till  rich  Heaven  repay  all  losses, 
 And  the  crowns  repay  the  crosses, 
 When  the  victory  is  won. 
 
 Stabat  Mater,  etc. 
 
 From  San  Gemignano  they  went  to  Siena,  en  route 
 for  Volterra.     His  companion  writes  : — 
 
 To  reach  this  latter  town  had  long  been  a  dream  to  him, 
 and  he  resolved  to  get  at  it  in  the  most  adventurous  way 
 possible.  To  go  by  train  was  too  commonplace  to  be 
 thought  of;  so  a  ca/ec/ie  was  hired,  and  through  the  Maremma 
 we  drove  thirty-six  miles  in  pouring  rain,  which,  at  the  rate 
 of  Italian  driving,  took,  including  rests,  sixteen  hours  at  least. 
 At  2  a.m.,  and  thoroughly  drenched,  we  reached  the  summit 
 of  the  hill  on  which  stands  the  old  walled  town.     I  have 
 
356  A  GAIN  IN  IT  A  L  Y  AND  A  T  HOME. 
 
 never  yet  been  able  to  discover  how  we  drove  through  the 
 Maremma  in  going  from  Siena  to  Volterra,  but  we  did  it. 
 
 In  answer  to  some  questions  about  the  route,  Miss 
 Robertson  writes  again  : — 
 
 I  do  not  wonder  that  you  thought  the  order  of  our 
 journey  in  1878  like  the  wanderings  of  the  children  of  Israel. 
 It  was  one  of  the  charms  of  that  tour  that  our  movements 
 were  so  erratic.  We  never  knew  when  we  went  to  a  railway 
 station  where  we  were  going ;  and,  even  after  the  tickets 
 were  secured,  the  appearance  of  the  most  casual  friend  going 
 in  the  opposite  direction,  or  the  passing  suggestion  of  a  rail- 
 way guard,  would  suddenly  change  our  course.  When  the 
 tickets  could  be  exchanged  it  was  all  right,  but  when  they 
 couldn't,  that  made  no  difference  !  The  new  impulse  had  to 
 be  followed  ;  and  so  you  need  not  wonder  at  our  driving 
 through  the  Maremma  in  going  from  Siena  to  Volterra,  of 
 which,  however,  I  think  you  are  a  little  incredulous. 
 
 The  visit  to  Yolterra  was  partly  lost  in  its  purpose 
 by  a  dense  fog  in  which  we  found  the  town  enveloped,  and 
 which  we  were  told  on  arriving  might  last  for  weeks.  We 
 tried  to  grope  our  way  to  the  Museum,  but  it  wouldn't  do. 
 It  was  as  black  as  night,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but 
 staying  within  doors,  where  we  sat  for  three  days  by  a  dim 
 rushlight,  reading  aloud  or  taking  notes  from  Dennis,  Taylor, 
 or  Mrs.  Hamilton  Gray,  his  favourite  writers  on  Etruria, 
 when  now  and  then  some  passage  would  give  rise  to  a  flow 
 of  talk  that  would  last  for  hours.  In  this  way  the  dark  days 
 passed  very  pleasantly  till,  on  the  morning  we  had  resolved 
 to  leave,  the  curtain  rose,  revealing  in  the  bright  sunlight 
 the  most  wonderful  magnificence  of  scenery  that  the  eye 
 could  look  upon.  It  was  like  a  new  creation.  He  was  wild 
 with  delight,   sang  like  a  boy,   and  ran,  as  he   did  in  his 
 
AT  VOLTERRA.  357 
 
 student  days,  with  his  hat  off !  Often  afterwards  he  used  to 
 speak  of  this  as  the  finest  surprise  of  the  kind  he  had  ever 
 experienced.  We  did  not  leave  that  day  or  the  next,  but 
 the  time  was  now  too  short  and  the  heat  too  great  (it  was 
 the  middle  of  May)  to  attempt  anything  below  the  mere 
 surface  ;  and  so  the  two  days  were  spent  in  lingering  about 
 the  Etruscan  Walls — the  chief  glory  of  Volterra — with  their 
 lofty  gateways  and  arches,  and  especially  the  magnificent 
 "  Porta  all'arco,"  with  its  three  dark  mysterious  heads  that 
 have  been  frowning  dismally  for  centuries,  and  that  he  used  to 
 study  with  a  sort  of  silent  reverence  as  above  all  else  the  most 
 incontestable  old  and  purely  Etruscan.  Then  the  "  Baize," 
 "  that  frightful  Baize,"  as  he  used  to  call  it,  "  black  in  the 
 shadow  of  its  own  depth,"  had  a  weird  attraction  for  him — 
 all  the  more,  perhaps,  that  only  a  few  weeks  before  an  old 
 church  had  been  carried  down  into  the  gulf  by  a  landslip, 
 leaving  only  the  gable  on  the  awful  edge  to  tell  the  tale.  I 
 remember  walking  with  him  round  the  walls  by  moonlight 
 till  we  came  to  this  spot.  We  felt  as  if  hanging  in  mid-air 
 between  two  great  immensities.  He  struck  up  "  God's 
 bright  temple  in  the  skies,  night  is  opening  slowly."  We 
 sang  it  through,  on  to  "  Star  lamps  now  are  lit  with  fire, 
 heaven's  broad  dome  revealing,"  when  we  heard  the  patter- 
 ing of  little  feet  behind  us.  It  was  a  party  of  children 
 attracted  by  the  singing,  who  had  come  out  to  hear  what  was 
 going  on.  Nervously  remembering  the  landslip,  he  ran  to 
 meet  them,  and  implored  them  to  go  back,  which,  however, 
 they  were  very  slow  to  do,  and  it  was  not  till  they  were 
 blessed  with  a  shower  of  centimes  that  they  yielded  to  his 
 entreaties. 
 
 The  Church  of  Santa  Chiara,  the  Convent  of  "  La  Badia," 
 "The  Grotta  de'  Marmini,"  were  merely  touched,  when, 
 pressed  by  the  extreme  heat  which  had  set  in,  we  had  to 
 retrace  our  steps  to  Siena  and  Florence,  and  thence  home. 
 
OD' 
 
 AGAIN  IN  ITALY  AND  AT  HOME. 
 
 It  was  in  Florence,  and  while  the  music  he  had 
 heard  in  the  Cathedral  at  Siena  was  still  ringing  in  his 
 ears,  that  he  wrote  the  verses  founded  on  the  Song  of 
 the  Well  in  Numbers  xxi.  17,  18  : — 
 
 "Spring  xxxx,  flh  88UU." 
 
 As  when  pilgrims  faint  and  weary, 
 Where  the  sandy  billows  swell, 
 Sing  across  the  desert  dreary, 
 
 "  Spring  up,  oh  well," 
 Lo  the  Church,  the  Royal  Daughter, 
 
 Brought  in  wilderness  to  dwell, 
 Sings  in  search  of  living  water, 
 
 "  Spring  up,  oh  well." 
 
 Lo  !  while  yet  the  song  is  singing, 
 Breaks  the  living  w7ater  through, 
 
 Like  the  tears  of  earth  upspringing 
 From  her  eyes  of  deepest  blue. 
 
 Thus  in  streams  it  runs  and  rushes, 
 As  the  choral  voices  swell, 
 
 Till  full  out  the  fountain  gushes, 
 
 "  Spring  up,  oh  well." 
 
 Sing  it  softly,  sing  it  slowly, 
 Sing  it  with  the  morning  bell, 
 
 Singing  "  Holy,  Holy,  Holy," 
 
 "  Spring  up,  oh  well." 
 
 Quick  the  singing,  quick  the  springing, 
 Quick  the  welling  waters  flow, 
 
 Through  the  weary  deserts  dreary. 
 Sounds  of  mirth  and  gladness  go. 
 
"SPRING  UP,  OH  WELW  359 
 
 Hark  !  the  voice  of  many  waters 
 Breaking  through  the  desert  dumb ; 
 
 Come  ye,  come  ye,  sons  and  daughters, 
 Every  one  that  thirsteth,  "  Come  !  " 
 
 All,  for  all  the  fountain  springing, 
 And  let  him  that  heareth  tell 
 
 How  he  hears  the  pilgrims  singing, 
 
 "  Spring  up,  oh  well." 
 
 Still  for  God  our  souls  are  weary 
 
 In  this  dry  and  thirsty  land, 
 Till  beyond  the  desert  dreary, 
 
 When  beneath  the  palms  we  stand, 
 We  shall  hear  behind  us  ringing 
 
 Soft  and  low  the  funeral  knell, 
 And  before  bright  angels  singing 
 
 "  Spring  up,  oh  well." 
 
 The  following  letter  was  written  in  October,  1885, 
 in  answer  to  a  question  as  to  the  origin  of  the  music 
 to  which  he  had  set  these  verses  : — 
 
 To  Mrs.  Hannay. 
 
 The  "  Music  from  Trent "  belongs,  I  believe,  to  the  old 
 hymn,  "  Veni,  Redemptor  Gentium,"  and  renders  in  its 
 lively  movement  and  melody  the  gladness  of  that  "blessed 
 hope,"  which  was  almost  quenched  in  the  Romish  Church 
 in  the  Dark  Ages — in  the  awful  darkness  of  the  "  Dies 
 Irse,"  a  hymn  of  the  13th  century,  adopted  by  the  Council 
 of  Trent,  at  its  final  severance  from  the  Reformation  in  the 
 1 6th  century,  into  the  dismal  office  for  the  dead.  But  still 
 the  hope,  "  lively  and  joyful,"  lived  on  in  the  songs  of  the 
 children  among  which  I  found  it,  and  in  the  child-like  hidden 
 
360  AGAIN  IN  ITAL  Y  AND  A  T  HOME. 
 
 ones  that  carry  in  their  hands,  through  all  ages,  the  box  of 
 Pandora,  with  the  Hope  that  never  can  be  crushed  or  driven 
 out,  though  all  the  other  graces  are.  So  still  it  goes  sing- 
 ing in  the  same  Church,  like  sweet  voices  and  sunlight, 
 breaking  through  the  awful  black  thunder  of  the  "  Missa  pro 
 defunctis " ;  but  it  needed  the  Reformation  to  give  us  a 
 hallelujah  chorus  ! 
 
 The  song  in  Numbers  may  be  the  survival  of  an  old  incan- 
 tation to  water,  such  as  are  found  among  the  ancient 
 Chaldeans  and  others  (I  have  found  them  among  the 
 Etruscans  too).  It  was  a  talk  on  this  in  the  Archaologist 
 that  suggested  to  me  this  song.  The  popular  air  may 
 have  been  in  "  Holy  Song  of  the  Pilgrims,"  as  German  old 
 Volkslieder  have  been  used  in  chorales,  e.g.,  "  Oh,  Haupt 
 voll  Blut,"  etc.,  or  the  grand  theme  of  that  grandest  of  devout 
 oratorios,  Bach's  Passion  Music,  or  the  "  Jonath-Elim- 
 Rehokim."  I  suppose  it  is  hopeless  to  find  the  old  music 
 or  to  like  it  if  we  did. 
 
 On  their  homeward  journey  Dr.  Robertson  and  his 
 sister  came  by  way  of  San  Remo  that  they  might  visit 
 the  grave  that  had  been  dug  there  a  year  before.  They 
 lingered  at  Avignon  and  Vaucluse,  where  they  listened 
 to  the  music  of  the  stream  beside  which  Petrarch 
 wrote  his  sonnets. 
 
 In  Paris  they  found  their  way  on  the  Sunday  morn- 
 ing to  the  Scotch  Church,  which  then  worshipped  in 
 the  Oratoire,  and  were  surprised  and  delighted  as 
 they  entered  to  recognize  the  familiar  voice  of  Princi- 
 pal Cairns  in  the  service.  Dr.  Robertson  was  induced 
 to  preach  in  the  afternoon,  though  he  was  furnished 
 with  neither  notes  nor  clerical  garb. 
 
FAREWELL  TO  FLORENCE  AXD  ITALY.    36 1 
 
 This  hurried  visit,  in  the  spring  and  early  summer 
 of  1878,  was  his  farewell  to  Florence  and  Italy.  He 
 left  his  books  behind  him  in  the  hope  that  he  would 
 ere  long  return  to  resume  his  studies,  and,  if  possible, 
 write  his  long  projected  book ;  but  he  never  went 
 again,  and  the  book  was  never  written. 
 
3^2  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 CHAPTER     XVII. 
 
 JU  <3ritige  xrf  ^lllan. 
 
 The  summer  of  1878  was  Dr.  Robertson's  last  summer 
 in  the  manse  at  Irvine.  Many  things  had  contributed 
 to  prepare  him  for  the  final  severance  from  the  home 
 which  had  been  the  scene  of  so  much  joy  and 
 sorrow.  Irvine  had  changed,  and  changed  for  the 
 worse.  Great  chemical  works  had  been  established 
 down  by  the  harbour,  which  had  darkened  the  air,  and 
 filled  the  quiet  streets  with  unfamiliar  faces,  and  some- 
 times with  uproarious  crowds.  One  by  one  the  friends 
 who  were  associated  with  him  in  the  work  of  the 
 church  had  been  passing  away  during  his  years  of 
 absence,  and  it  was  not  wonderful  if  he  was  sometimes 
 moved  to  say — 
 
 " the  days  darken  round  me,  and  the  years, 
 
 Among  new  men,  strange  faces,  other  minds." 
 
 But  most  of  all  were  the  ties  that  bound  him  to 
 Irvine  as  a  home  loosened  by  the  troubles  which  had 
 come  into  the  congregation,  and  which,  in  the  autumn 
 of  1878,  ended  in  the  resignation  of  his  colleague,  and 
 
LEAVING  THE  IRVINE  MANSE.  363 
 
 in  a  schism  in  the  membership.  He  had  most 
 earnestly  striven  to  act  as  a  mediator  between  con- 
 tending parties,  and,  while  faithfully  seeking  what  he 
 believed  to  be  for  the  highest  interests  of  the  church, 
 not  to  identify  himself  with  either.  But  it  was  inevit- 
 able that  those  who  were  disappointed  with  the  result 
 of  the  contention  should  cast  the  blame  on  him ;  and 
 he  had  much  to  bear  from  some  whom  he  had  im- 
 plicitly trusted  as  his  friends. 
 
 In  these  circumstances  he  proposed  a  new  arrange- 
 ment with  his  congregation,  by  which  he  should  give  up 
 the  manse  and  be  entirely  relieved  from  the  responsi- 
 bility of  the  pastorate,  while  still  retaining  the  position 
 of  senior  minister.  This  arrangement  was  effected  in 
 November,  1878. 
 
 It  was  while  the  troubles  were  distressing  his  sensi- 
 tive nature  that  he  wrote  the  following  verses  which, 
 like  the  Psalms  of  the  David  of  whom  he  sung,  acquire 
 peculiar  interest  when  read  in  the  light  of  the  circum- 
 stances in  which  they  had  their  origin. 
 
 "  $0tt3tIt-(£Um-;glehckim." 
 Psalm  lvi. 
 
 "  Jonath-Elim-Rehokim," 
 
 Dove  of  the  Terebinth  Tree, 
 Bearing  the  sorrow  that  stroke  him, 
 Bearing  it  silently. 
 
 So  did  the  David  heart-broken. 
 How  could  he  tell  it  in  Gath  ? 
 
364  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 All  the  hard  things  had  been  spoken 
 Against  him  by  friends  in  wrath. 
 
 Driven  from  home  among  strangers, 
 
 Wand'ring  with  wildered  brain  ; 
 Ne'er  did  he  'mid  the  new  dangers 
 
 Of  the  old  wrong  complain. 
 
 Only  when  grief  grew  violent, 
 
 Then  his  good  harp  took  he, 
 And  played  the  old  air  of  the  silent 
 
 Dove  of  the  Terebinth  Tree. 
 
 Wild  through  the  strings  went  his  fingers, 
 Dashing  out  wrath  'gainst  his  foes  ; 
 
 Over  his  friends  the  strain  lingers, 
 Never  a  word  against  those. 
 
 How  would  the  Philistines  glory 
 
 O'er  him,  had  David  showed 
 The  sin,  and  the  shame,  and  the  story 
 
 Of  wrong  in  the  house  of  God. 
 
 Much  they  had  done  to  provoke  him, 
 
 Never  a  word  said  he, 
 "  Jonath-Elim-Rehokim," 
 
 Dove  of  the  Terebinth  Tree. 
 
 In  the  midst  of  the  troubles  Mr.  Kirkwood 
 asked  him  to  attend  the  celebration  of  his  semi- 
 jubilee  at  Troon.  But  he  was  in  no  mood,  neither 
 had  he  strength  for  such  a  celebration.     He  writes  : — 
 
 If  you  will  excuse  me  for  this  time,  I  think  I  may  safely 
 promise,  if  I  am  spared,  to  come  without  fail  to  your  next 
 jubilee — that  is,  the  Jubilee  the  Golden.     May  you  live  to 
 
RE  LA  TI  OX  TO  STUDENTS.  36  5 
 
 see  it,  as  you  are  more  likely  to  do  than  I  am,  though, 
 indeed,  I  may  do  so  too,  if  I  attain  to  the  days  of  my 
 father  and  fathers  in  the  days  01  their  pilgrimage.  They 
 were  not  ministers,  however,  nor  Dunfermline  weavers,  like 
 one  who  was  expounding  the  Scripture  concerning  Methu- 
 selah, and  observed  that  "if  he  had  worked  in  Dumfarlin 
 at  a  damask  wabb^  he  would  not  have  lived  so  long."  It 
 was  a  story  of  my  old  friend  Dr.  Macfarlane,  and  now  he  too 
 is  gone,  and  how  many?  Our  fathers,  where  are  they? 
 Why,  I,  and  you  also  in  your  turn,  my  young  friend,  not 
 long  hence  will  become  the  fathers  ourselves. 
 
 Early  in  December  he  was  gratified  by  the  an- 
 nouncement conveyed  to  him  by  the  son  of  his  old 
 friend  Dr.  MacEwen  that  the  students  of  the  United 
 Presbyterian  College  had  elected  him  to  the  honorary 
 presidency  of  their  Theological  and  Literary  Society. 
 He  had  some  difficulty  in  accepting  the  office,  as. 
 though  it  involved  only  the  delivery  of  an  inaugural 
 address,  he  was  afraid  to  commit  himself  even  to  that. 
 But  ultimately  his  reluctance  was  overcome,  and  his 
 tenure  of  office  was  the  beginning  of  very  pleasant 
 relations  between  him  and  the  students,  to  whom  from 
 time  to  time  he  gave  lectures  and  addresses.  The 
 leisure  and  freedom  which  his  more  complete  retire- 
 ment brought  left  him  freer  than  he  had  heretofore 
 been  (at  least  at  home)  to  follow  out,  in  correspond- 
 ence and  otherwise,  trains  of  thought  on  subjects 
 which  had  always  deeply  interested  him. 
 
$66  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 To  Dr.  John  Muir. 
 
 Bridge  of  Allax,  December,  1878. 
 
 From  one  like  you  any  letter  were  an  honour,  and  such 
 a  letter  as  that  of  yours  of  the  10th  brought  me  special 
 delight.  The  gift  of  books  it  carried  in  its  train  takes  from 
 the  giver  a  value  greater  than  its  own,  which  is  not  small. 
 Especially  your  own  valuable  little  volume  of  latest  trans- 
 lations, for  which  I  thank  you,  I  have  read  and  re-read  with 
 much  profit  and  delight.     .     .     . 
 
 To  me,  a  novice,  standing  outside  the  gates  of  the  temple 
 of  Sanskrit  literature,  it  is  delightful  to  hear  them  open  to 
 the  sound  of  music  ;  and  should  I  ever  penetrate,  as  I  wish 
 — though  it  can  only  be  a  very,  very  little  way — towards  the 
 interior  into  the  far  depths  and  darkness  of  which  you  of  all 
 men  have  con  amove  and  successfully  plunged,  I  shall  never 
 forget  how  your  metrical  translations  drew  me  in.  On  that 
 debatable  ground  on  which  you  join  issue  (though  not 
 entirely)  with  Dr.  Lorimer  I  am  too  much  under  the  influence 
 Tames  (doesn't  that  mean  darkness  ?)  to  give  an  opinion. 
 But  all  my  sympathies  as  a  minister  of  the  New  Testament 
 run  strongly  in  favour  of  your  view  as  differing  from  his 
 It  seems  to  me  a  much  grander  tribute  to  the  truth  and  testi- 
 mony to  the  divine  origin  of  Scripture  that  it  should, 
 than,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  should  not,  be  found,  in  part  at 
 least,  and  broken  syllables,  written  on  the  sibylline  leaves 
 strewn  beforehand  through  the  nations  and  the  centuries, 
 and  on  the  lips  of  earnest  men  seeking  and  groping  in  the 
 darkness  after  God.  The  height  of  the  divinity  of  Scripture 
 and  of  Christ  Himself  is  expounded  to  me  by  the  breadth  of 
 their  humanity,  as  you  measure  the  height  of  a  tower  by  the 
 distance  to  which  it  throws  the  breadth  of  shadow  at  its 
 base.  He  is  not  the  less  Divine  that  He  had  human  ances- 
 try, and  they  are  not  the  less  Divine,  that  teachings,  which 
 
LETTER  TO  DR.  JOHN  MUIR.  367 
 
 they  perhaps  accept  rather  than  originate,  and  stamp  with 
 the  imprimatur  of  their  Divine  authority  as  the  only  reliable 
 revelation  and  only  rule  of  faith  and  practice,  have  worked 
 up  their  way  into  the  light  (truth  springs  from  earth)  through 
 the  spirit  that  is  in  man,  and  the  "inspiration  of  the 
 Almighty  that  giveth  him  understanding." 
 
 Some  may  think  that,  in  a  literary  point  of  view,  you  are 
 robbing  the  Scriptures  of  their  claim  to  originality,  but  I  am 
 not  aware  that  Scripture  puts  in  any  such  claim  for  itself  as  a 
 literary  production,  any  more  than  as  a  manual  of  geology 
 or  astronomy,  or  other  of  the  sciences ;  and  though  some 
 masters  of  the  German  school  would  press  that  also  into  the 
 service  of  their  apologetics,  and  I  would  not  refuse  it  all  due 
 weight,  yet  surely  it  were  a  pity  to  vindicate  the  literary 
 originality  of  Scripture,  if  it  could  only  be  done  at  the 
 expense  of  the  love  of  God  Himself,  who  by  His  wisdom 
 has  been  teaching  men  of  all  nations  and  ages,  and  irradiat- 
 ing them  here  and  there  at  least  with  flashes  in  the  darkness 
 more  or  less  vivid — more  or  less  conscious — of  that  "  True 
 Light  that  coming  into  the  world  enlighteneth  every  man." 
 .  .  .  I  wish  I  had  eyes  like  yours  for  reading  off  those 
 Greek  and  Sanskrit  legends  on  the  altar  with  the  inscription, 
 
 For  certain  reasons,  you  may  know,  I  take  most  interest, 
 perhaps,  in  those  that  emerge  in  the  artistic  form  of  the 
 myth,  which  is  a  richer  vehicle  of  truth,  carrying  with  it  life 
 and  passion  too,  than  the  dogma — mediating  indeed  between 
 that  and  real  life,  and  mediating  between  human  aspiration 
 and  Divine  fulfilment.  I  hope  it  is  quite  lawful  for  a  good 
 U.P.  minister  to  behold  with  delight  the  fulfilling  of  the 
 finest  aspirations  of  the  Greek  drama  and  the  myth,  in 
 Christ,  for  whose  coming  I  always  seem  to  hear  the  tragic 
 chorus  passionately  shouting,  and  who  by  His  cross  and 
 passion  has  unbound   Prometheus  from  his  rock  of  misery 
 
363  A  T  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 that  "  by  His  stripes  he  might  be  healed,"  and  comforted  the 
 melancholy  Glaucus  bewailing  his  immortality,  and  slain  the 
 dragon  that  guarded  the  golden  fruit  of  the  Hesperides,  and 
 put  the  Furies  to  sleep  beneath  the  altar;  so  that  the  ship  is 
 sailing  through  the  sculptured  seas  and  painted  ocean  of  the 
 catacombs  toward  the  desired  haven,  and  the  song  of  the 
 sirens  is  resisted,  not  by  Ulysses  stopping  the  ears  of  his 
 sailors  with  wax,  but  by  Orpheus  taking  his  lyre  and  chant- 
 ing the  praises  of  the  immortal  gods  ! 
 
 The  Gellert  myth,  well  told  in  ^Esop,  and  by  Southey  and 
 many  others,  is  found  in  the  Hetopadesa,  where  the  dog  that 
 does  the  service  and  is  slain  is  replaced  by  an  anteater. 
 The  essence  of  the  myth,  through  its  variety  of  shapes,  is 
 not  the  mere  fact  of  the  slaughter  of  the  innocent,  and  not 
 at  all  the  sentiment  of  substitution  in  the  sacrifice,  nor  of  sub- 
 mission of  a  lower  to  a  higher  will,  but  it  is  the  sentiment  of 
 strong  regret  at  having  slain  the  innocent,  when  He  was 
 bravely  and  nobly  risking  his  life  in  our  behalf.  How 
 powerfully  this  feeling  works  in  softening  the  heart  and 
 moulding  the  character  is  well  known.  In  the  moral  dyna- 
 mics of  atonement  it  was  to  take  a  leading  place,  and  this 
 has  been  foreshadowed  in  the  myth.  I  well  remember  how 
 the  story  thrilled  me  in  my  childhood,  touching  as  it  did  the 
 most  sensitive  chord  perhaps  in  the  whole  emotional  nature, 
 the  same  that  vibrates  afterwards,  when  come  to  sterner  years, 
 in  agonies  of  unutterable  tenderness,  when,  in  presence  of 
 the  holy  mystery  of  the  Passion,  the  soul  makes  conscious 
 transition  from  the  lower  to  the  higher  life — "  They  look  on 
 Him  whom  they  have  pierced,  and  mourn  for  Him  and  are 
 in  bitterness."  May  not  the  myth  be  as  a  schoolmaster  to 
 bring  men  to  Christ  ?  May  not  the  whole  of  the  grand 
 "  Passion  Music  "  be  found  overhead,  if  we  only  had  the 
 ears  to  hear  it,  in  mythic  snatches  of  old  Orphic  and 
 Vedic   melodies,    that    have    come    singing    to   us   up    the 
 
THE  FROST  BREAKING  UP.  3^9 
 
 centuries,   of  a   "  Lamb  slain  from  the  foundation   of  the 
 world." 
 
 But  if  it  is  too  much  to  say  that  the  mysteries  of  our  holy 
 religion  were  even  dimly  foreshown  to  thoughtful  men  of  old, 
 it  cannot  be  too  much  to  say  that  its  moralities  were.  And  if 
 any  man  shall  have  his  faith  shaken  by  your  showing  him 
 that  some  even  of  the  highest  moral  teachings  of  the  Scrip- 
 ture have  been  anticipated,  perhaps  it  is  time  that  his  faith 
 were  shaken,  that  he  may  shift  it  from  the  Book  to  the 
 Person.  He  may  yet  have  to  learn  that  God  is  greater  than 
 the  Scripture,  as  "he  that  buildeth  the  house  is  greater  than 
 the  house."  The  Divine  has  not  been  made  verses,  but 
 "  made  flesh,"  crucified,  dead,  risen  again ;  and  if  he  shall 
 have  chosen  to  speak  to  others  outside  the  Church,  why 
 should  we  limit  the  Holy  One  of  Israel  ?  Why  should  not 
 the  Spirit  that  came  down  in  the  mighty  rushing  wind  of 
 Pentecost  be  in  His  movements  free  and  uncontrolled — 
 "  the  Spirit  that  like  wind  doth  blow,  as  it  listeth  to  and  fro  ?  " 
 
 To  the  Rev.  James  Brown,  D.D. 
 
 Bridge  of  Allan,  December,  1878. 
 
 .  .  .  But  when  the  frost  is  breaking  up,  let  us  ask 
 whither  is  the  thaw  to  carry  us  ? — the  question  you  asked 
 or  quoted  one  night  so  thoughtfully  at  Paisley,  with  the 
 poker  in  your  hand  to  let  go  smash  at  the  fire.  Here  the 
 literal  frost  has  broken  up,  and  large  blocks  of  ice  have 
 come  tumbling  down  the  Allan  water.  On  one  of  them,  I 
 am  told,  were  perched  two  ducks  that  no  doubt  said  to 
 each  other  (in  the  duck  tongue,  whatever  that  might  be) — 
 "  We  have  got  liberty,  but  where  do  you  think  we  are  going 
 to  ?  I  don't  know."  Not  such  a  pity  perhaps  of  ducks,  for 
 even  when  carried  out  to  depths,  and  the  ice  melted,  they 
 might  fly  or  swim  or  waddle  somehow  to  the  shore.     But 
 
 2  A 
 
370  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 after  the  ducks  came,  for  all  the  world,  a  calf !  on  another 
 iceberg,   carried  down  by  the  spate  in  the  river,  standing 
 helpless  enough,  poor  beast,  yet  rather  seeming  to  enjoy  it. 
 "  Liberty  !    Bey-y  !    Where  are  we  going  to  ?     Bey  !     Bey  ! " 
 To  the  bottom,  sure  enough.     He  was  drowned  in  the  mill 
 lade.       Poor  calf!     Your  leaders   of  thought  may  be  pa 
 living  creatures,  with  the  wings   of  eagles  (or  angels),    by 
 which  they  can  lift  themselves  out  of  the  depths  and -whirl- 
 pools  even  when  swept  down  into  them.     But  what  is  to 
 come  of  the  herd  that  follows  them  ?     They  have  no  power 
 to  extricate  themselves  from  the  perils  by  water.     They  are 
 safest,  and  only  safe,  within  the  orthodox  enclosure,  fenced 
 in  by  the  standards.     Mere  oxen  that  become  heterodoxen 
 are  in  a  bad  way ;  and  when  I  see  any  of  them  (and  there 
 are  now-a-days  so  many)  following  the  leaders  of  thought, 
 sailing  down  the  modern  stream  of  tendency,  I  rather  pity 
 them.    ...    I  have  much  in  me  of  the  "ancient  mariner" 
 that  is  haunted  with  a  passion  for  the  sea.     So  that  we  may 
 say   to    each    other,  as   I  heard   two  Ayrshire  boors,   one 
 summer  morning  aboard   the  Arran    steamer,    say — "  Y'ill 
 be  gaun  for  a  sail  the  day  ?  "     "  Ou,  aye  "  (long  embarrassing 
 pause,  then).     "Y'ill  be  gaun  for  a  sail  yersel'?"     "  Ou, 
 aye."     "  Weel,  there's  naething  wrang  i'  that."     No,  there's 
 "naething  wrang"  in  that;  but  yet  there  may  be  something 
 perilous  if,  though  the  steering  be  good,  and  the  sails  well 
 set,   and   the  watch  well  kept,  and  all  that  all  right,  there 
 should  yet  come  a  time  when  the  ship,  the  Church,  should 
 leave  behind  her,  on  her  voyage  across  the  ages,  and  lose 
 sight  of,  the  great  red  light  of  Calvary,  and  shining  lamp  of 
 the    Holy   Sepulchre    of   Him   who  was  delivered  for  our 
 offences,  and  raised  again  for  our  justification.     ...     If 
 these  be  lost  sight  of,  what  lights  are  to  be  sighted  next  ? 
 Were  it  not  better  to  strike  sail  in  the  darkness  and  cast 
 anchor  astern,  and  wait  for  the  day  ?     No,  you  say,  and  I 
 
DEATH  OF  MR.  JAMES  ROBERTSON.        37 1 
 
 say  with  you ;  sail  on  ;  the  lights  are  not  only  stationary, 
 though  they  are  also  stationary — not  only  earthly,  though 
 they  are  also  earthly.  They  are  heavenly  stars  that  travel 
 with  you  all  the  night.  Even  so,  and  therefore  let  us  not 
 lose  sight  of  them,  never  till  the  day  dawn,  never  till  the 
 lights  of  the  first  coming  are  swallowed  up  in  the  light  of 
 the  second,  as  stars  in  the  morning.  They  are  but  "  broken 
 lights  of  Thee,"  even  these  stars ;  but  till  we  see  Thee  as 
 Thou  art,  we  shall  be  guided  by  the  light  of  them  nearer  to 
 Thee  through  the  dark  and  through  the  sea,  lest,  losing 
 sight  of  them,  we  fall  among  the  shallows  or  the  breakers, 
 and  make  shipwreck  of  our  faith  ! 
 
 Yet  another  great  sorrow  fell  on  him  in  the  early 
 summer  of  1879  in  the  sudden  death  of  Mr.  James 
 Robertson  of  Newington.  It  was  a  touching  coinci- 
 dence that  the  days  of  mourning  for  his  brother  had 
 to  be  spent  in  the  bustle  of  removing  from  the  Irvine 
 manse,  with  his  life  in  which  that  brother  had  been  so 
 much  bound  up. 
 
 To  Mr.  David  M 'Cowan. 
 
 Irvine,  17th  June,  1879. 
 
 I  have  quite  enough  to  do  up  to  the  latest  minute  here  in 
 the  troublous  task  of  flitting,  with  which  Jessie  and  I  are 
 greatly  exercised,  ere  setting  forth,  like  Abram,  on  my 
 pilgrimage,  with  something  of  his  faith,  I  hope.     .     .     . 
 
 The  service  on  Friday  night  was  exquisitely  tender  and 
 comforting.  Mr.  Taylor's  text  was,  "  Enoch  walked  with 
 God,"  etc.,  and  his  descriptive  sketch  of  one  at  whose  feet 
 he  had  sat,  and  whom  he  loved  as  a  father,  was  truly 
 admirable  and  appreciative ;  while  the  singing  of  the  hymns, 
 and  especially  the  anthem,  "  I  heard  a  voice  from  Heaven," 
 
3/2  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 by  our  choir,  every  one  of  whom  felt  deeply  what  they  were 
 singing,  was  very  striking,  and  brought  us  very  near  those 
 above.  The  communion  service  on  Sabbath  was  specially 
 solemn  and  refreshing.  The  people  are  more  clinging  and 
 affectionate  to  me  than  ever,  and  their  mourning  for  James 
 and  tribute  of  true  affection  for  his  memory,  who  was  more 
 than  worthy  of  it  all,  have  touched  me  very  much. 
 
 A  few  days  after  the  date  of  this  letter,  he  went, 
 with  his  friend  and  kinsman,  Dr.  William  Bruce  of 
 Edinburgh,  on  a  tour  among  the  English  Cathedrals. 
 Ely,  Peterborough,  Lincoln,  Norwich,  and  Oxford 
 were  visited.  He  then  took  lodgings  in  London  for 
 some  weeks'  study  in  the  British  Museum. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  William  Bruce,  D.D. 
 
 London,  July,  1879. 
 
 And  so  you  got  safely  and  comfortably  home,  I  calculate, 
 in  your  Pullman  car,  in  the  cool — i.e.,  the  nightcap — of  a 
 summer  day,  to  receive  the  warm  greetings  that  awaited  you 
 from  your  son  and  daughter  and  sister,  to  all  whom  you 
 forgot  to  give  my  loving  remembrances,  but  to  whom,  as 
 you  refreshed  yourself  after  your  journey  with  potations  of 
 nothing  hotter  than  hot  water,  you  laid  off  such  glowing 
 descriptions  of  our  cathedral  excursion  and  steeplechase, 
 that  they  could  not  choose  but  wish  that  when  we  "  next 
 do  ride  "  they  "  may  be  there  to  see." 
 
 You  must  come  again  once  I  settle  down  in  that  old 
 cathedral  town,  Ely,  where  still  the  churchmen  sing,  like 
 the  four-and-twenty  white  birds  set  before  the  king — i.e., 
 Canute — "  Merlcn  singen  manches  binnen  Ely"  etc.  But 
 better  at  Lincoln,  better  even  than  in  the  Temple,  where,  on 
 Sabbath,   I  sat  in  the  front  barristers'  bench,  and  could  see 
 
AMONG  THE  ENGLISH  CATHEDRALS.      373 
 
 over  the  white  shoulders  of  the  tenors  and  basses  to  the 
 music,  followed  by  a  most  excellent  sermon;  but  not  better 
 than  at  Westminster,  where,  in  the  anthem  of  evening 
 service  after  the  funeral  of  Lord  Lawrence,  the  most  won- 
 derful effect  I  ever  heard  was  produced  by  the  singing  of 
 invisible  youths  in  the  organ  loft,  or  triforium  (it  might  be 
 the  vox  humana  stop— but  I  think  not — of  the  organ),  repre- 
 senting, in  most  ethereal,  dream-like  music,  the  "  voice  from 
 heaven,"  before  the  choristers  below  took  up  the  theme  and 
 repeated  it ;  while  the  echo  music  returned  and  died  away 
 in  swell  and  fall,  in  light  and  shade,  along  the  fretted  roof. 
 Sentimental,  no  doubt,  but  very  tender  and  beautiful  all  the 
 same. 
 
 To  Miss  Janet  Bruce. 
 
 London,  27th  July,  1879. 
 
 The  trip,  not  a  dance,  but  rather  a  slow  and  easy  move- 
 ment— adagio,  not  andante — through  the  cathedrals  was  trulv 
 delightful,  made  so  to  me  by  the  radiance  of  your  father's 
 company,  as  well  as  the  blaze  of  beauty  and  flashes  of 
 genius  that  broke  upon  us  from  the  old  stones,  that  still 
 utter  the  living  speech  of  "  men  dead  long  ago,"  down  the 
 long  arched  aisles  of  the  centuries,  with  the  music  and  the 
 white  singing  boys. 
 
 Dr.  Robertson  returned  from  the  south  to  preside, 
 on  August  5th,  at  the  ordination  of  Mr.  William  S. 
 Dickie  of  Aberdeen,  whom  the  congregation  of  Trinity 
 had  unanimously  chosen  to  be  his  colleague.  Though 
 he  had  no  longer  his  home  in  Irvine,  his  intercourse 
 with  Mr.  Dickie,  and  his  joy  in  the  returning  pros- 
 perity which  came  to  the  congregation  did  much  to 
 brighten  the  closing  years  of  the  senior  pastor's  life. 
 
374  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 In  the  later  autumn  he  preached  for  the  first  time 
 in  connection  with  the  Presbyterian  service  begun  in 
 Cambridge.  In  the  cultured  audience  that  on  a 
 succession  of  visits  crowded  to  hear  him,  and  in  the 
 fellowship  he  enjoyed  alike  with  dons  and  under- 
 graduates of  the  famous  University,  he  found  a  new 
 stimulus  to  work. 
 
 To  Mr.  (now  Sir)  George  B.  Bruce. 
 
 Bridge  of  Allan,  22nd  August,  1879. 
 
 .  .  .  If  you  have  still  in  reserve  for  me  one  or  two, 
 any  two,  Sabbaths  in  October,  I  hope  to  be  able  to  occupy 
 them  and  execute  the  office  of  a  prophet  as  best  I  can  to 
 the  service  of  your  church  in  that  old  pleasant  city  of 
 renown.  I  cannot  do  the  work  you  require  in  the  style  of 
 my  noble  friend  "  The  Graham " ;  but  perhaps  he  may 
 gather  a  greater  audience  in  his  two  Sabbaths  than  I  may  be 
 able  to  disperse  in  mine.  And  if  you  are  willing  to  risk  it, 
 so  am  I.  My  health  and  strength  and  freshness,  I  am 
 thankful  to  say,  have  been  in  great,  if  not  yet  in  perfect, 
 measure  restored  to  me  ;  and  most  thankfully  will  I  lay  the 
 first-fruits  of  what  I  hope  will  be  the  "  latter  harvest  of  my 
 life,"  on  the  altar  of  your  young  Cambridge  Church.  I  have 
 been  reaping  sheaves  of  it  already,  and  find  myself  taking,  in 
 some  sort,  more  kindly  and  eagerly  than  ever  to  the  work, 
 after  long  worship  of  silence  and  schooling  of  sorrow ;  and 
 the  harvest  that  my  latter  years  (if  years  they  be)  shall  yield, 
 may  not  be  the  less  plentiful  for  the  long  period  of  the 
 "  latter  rain  "  that  has  preceded  it.  Heavy  rain,  too,  from 
 dark  clouds  of  bereavement — clouds  that  have  received  so 
 many  out  of  our  sight.  Of  my  nearest  and  dearest  rela- 
 tives, six   have    of  late    been  taken,   and  the  nearest  and 
 
PREACHING  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  375 
 
 dearest  sister  and  brother  taken  last.  But  through  all, 
 thank  God,  my  own  health  has  not  been  broken  down  again, 
 and  after  all  it  seems  built  up  about  as  fresh  and  strong  as 
 ever.     .     .     . 
 
 I  would  be  delighted  to  accept  of  your  kind  invitation  to 
 be  your  guest  in  London,  and  run  down  on  the  Saturday  to 
 Cambridge.  But  I  have  a  great  fancy  to  stay  in  Cambridge 
 as  much  as  I  can,  for  there  are  some  studies  I  am  pursuing 
 that  have  sent  me  there  already  this  very  summer,  and  made 
 me  resolve  on  returning  if  I  could  soon,  little  thinking  of  the 
 opportunity  you  should  offer  of  my  doing  so. 
 
 To  Mr.  David  M 'Cowan. 
 
 London,  29th  October,  1879. 
 
 The  second  Sabbath  I  have  stood  I  think  still  better  than 
 the  first.  As  far  at  least  as  appearance  went  it  was  very 
 successful.  In  the  evening  all  standing  room  was  taken  up 
 both  inside  the  door  and  in  the  corridors  without.  This 
 fusion  of  Town  and  Gown  is  quite  a  novelty,  I  believe,  in 
 Cambridge.  The  elite  of  what  they  call  good  society,  I  was 
 told,  that  would  never  think  of  entering  a  Nonconformist 
 chapel,  found  in  Presbytery,  I  suppose,  a  middle  ground 
 between  the  Episcopalian  exclusive  sheepfold  and  the  Dis- 
 senting open  common ;  and  University  men  of  different 
 grades,  but  chiefly  undergraduates,  I  believe,  in  their  gowns 
 — some  of  them  crowding  up  the  platform  steps,  or  occupy- 
 ing whole  benches  together — gave  the  audience  the  most 
 learned  appearance  of  any  I  have  ever  addressed  ;  while 
 shopkeepers,  tradespeople,  and  servants  were  mixed  up  with 
 the  rest — a  pleasant  sight,  but  rare,  if  not  unique,  in  Cam- 
 bridge.    .     .     . 
 
 I  don't  like  to  appear  as  what  I  am  not — a  partizan  of 
 Presbytery  or  anything  else,  but  don't  object  to  preach  to 
 
376  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 thoughtful  young  men  on  the  ground  of  our  common 
 Christianity,  or  common  humanity  even;  and  the  Presbyterian 
 door  seems  to  be  the  only  one  by  which  I  could  get  at  them; 
 while  it  seems  right  and  dutiful  to  provide  for  our  own — and 
 especially  for  those  of  our  own  house — to  provide  services  of 
 which  they  may,  if  they  wish,  avail  themselves,  as  they  are 
 now  at  liberty,  as  University  men,  to  do. 
 
 In  1879,  I  was  appointed  editor  of  the  Missionary 
 Record  of  the  United  Presbyterian  Church,  and  applied 
 to  Dr.  Robertson  to  contribute  something  to  my  earlier 
 numbers.  The  claims  of  friendship  proved  stronger 
 than  ambition,  or  than  the  importunity  of  "  able 
 editors"  of  more  important  periodicals,  and  he  sent 
 three  contributions  in  verse.  For  the  January  (1880) 
 number  he  sent  this  fragment  : — 
 
 £lcto  ^Urcics. 
 
 Each  day  of  days  the  last ! 
 The  archangel's  trumpet  blast 
 Is  every  moment  blowing, 
 And  earth  to  ashes  going  ; 
 And  were  to  ashes  gone  : 
 But,  sitting  on  the  Throne, 
 He  saith — whose  name  is  True — 
 Lo  !  I  make  all  things  new  ! 
 
 For  the  February  number  he  sent  a  hymn,  which 
 gives  expression  to  much  of  his  most  earnest,  most 
 characteristic  thought:  — 
 
HYMN  TO  THE  HOLY  GHOST.  3/7 
 
 gijgmn  to  the  gjoly  (Ghost. 
 Rom.  viii.  26,  27;  Eph.  hi.  19-21. 
 
 When  joys  are  joys  that  words  transcend, 
 
 When  griefs  have  shut  the  heart ;     - 
 When  we,  who  at  the  altar  bend, 
 
 Can  only  pray  in  part ; 
 When  angels,  both  of  joy  and  grief, 
 
 Strike  priests  at  prayer-time  dumb, 
 'Tis  then,  with  Thy  Divine  relief, 
 
 Thou,  Comforter,  dost  come  ! 
 
 When  we  with  words  of  Scripture  pray, 
 
 And  do  not,  cannot  know 
 The  meaning  full  of  what  we  say, 
 
 In  praying  Scripture  so, — 
 By  Thee,  in  meaning  full  before 
 
 The  Throne,  the  prayer  is  brought, 
 Whence  we  receive  exceeding  more 
 
 Than  we  have  asked  or  thought. 
 
 When  joys  are  joys  unspeakable, 
 
 That  rise  all  thought  above, 
 And  earnest  souls  with  rapture  fill 
 
 In  the  silent  heavens  of  love  ; — 
 As  babe  soft  mother's  arms  upraise, 
 
 Thou,  Dove  !  on  Thy  white  wings 
 Dost  bear  us  up,  on  God  to  gaze  ! — 
 
 Far  down  the  angel  sings  ! 
 
 And  when  our  griefs  deep  buried  lie 
 
 Beneath  all  utterance  dumb ; 
 Into  that  silent  agony 
 
 Thou  with  Thy  help  dost  come  ! 
 
37$  A  T  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 Then,  with  the  unutterable  groans, 
 
 Is  intercession  given, 
 That  makes  above  all  trumpet-tones 
 
 Our  silence  heard  in  Heaven. 
 
 Oh  !  Holy  Ghost,  the  Comforter  ! 
 
 All  speed  to  help  us  make  ; 
 Our  hearts  with  griefs  they  cannot  bear 
 
 With  very  joys  they  break; 
 Blind  yearnings  after  God,  dumb  cries 
 
 That  ne'er  their  aim  could  reach, 
 Didst  Thou  not  give  their  blindness  eyes, 
 
 And  make  their  silence  speech. 
 
 In  sending  the  hymn,  he  wrote  as  follows  : — 
 
 To  the  Rev.  James  Brown,  D.D. 
 
 Bridge  of  Allan,  16th  January,  1880. 
 
 The  hymn  is  expository  (as  well  as  devotional)  of  Romans 
 viii.  26  and  27,  also  Ephesians  iii.  19-21.  "When  we  with 
 words  of  Scripture  pray,"  as  e.g.,  when  your  Record  readers 
 pray,  "  Thy  Kingdom  come,"  who  knows  what  all  is  meant 
 by  that  petition  as  Christ  did  when  he  put  it  into  the  prayer 
 for  all  ages?  or  what  two  that  join  in  praying  agree  (agree 
 they  must  to  some  extent,  according  to  the  rubric,  "  If  two 
 of  you  shall  agree/'  etc.),  but  what  two  agree,  not  only  in 
 meaning  all  that  Christ  meant,  and  that  the  inspired  words 
 themselves  mean,  but  that  agree  in  meaning  exactly  the  same 
 thing  ? — some  inclining,  more  like  your  great  master  of  old, 
 Dr.  Anderson,  to  millenarian  views,  and  some  like 
 "meeself"!  more  to  orthodoxy  (which  is  the  theology  of 
 common  sense).  And  then  the  amount  of  misconception, 
 or  at  least  of  imperfect  intellectual  conception,  in  the  views 
 
THE  SPIRIT  MAKING  INTERCESSION,      379 
 
 of  all  of  us,  it  would  be  impossible  to  calculate  or  analyze.  It 
 is  quite  impossible  that  the  prayer  should  be  answered,  i.e., 
 in  Scripture  language,  "  heard,"  according  to  our  variety  of 
 views,  with  all  their  falsehood  and  imperfection.  But  then 
 I  take  it,  if  the  prayer  be  sincere  and  the  feeling  true,  and 
 the  worshipper  praying  in  the  Spirit  and  through  Christ  the 
 Truth,  and  that  not  in  the  words  which  man's  wisdom 
 teacheth,  then  these  words  have  not  only  come  to  us 
 inspired,  but  they  return  from  us  inspired  as  well,  "  the 
 Holy  Ghost  interpreting  them  into  their  full  significance,  in 
 presence  of  the  Throne," — a  phrase  of  deep  meaning  I  picked 
 up  at  the  feet  of  Dr.  Duncan  of  Mid-Calder  many,  many 
 years  ago;  so  that  our  prayer,  "Thy  Kingdom  come,  Thy 
 will  be  done  on  earth,"  or  whatever  else  it  be,  is  heard,  not 
 according  to  the  meaning  we  put,  but  according  to  the 
 meaning  He  puts  upon  it ;  and  this  in  virtue  of  His  Inter- 
 cession, one  function  of  which  is,  I  should  say,  Interpreta- 
 tion. We  receive  "  exceeding  abundantly  above  all  we  ask  or 
 think,  according  to  the  power  that  worketh  in  us,"  "  For  He 
 that  searcheth  the  heart  knoweth  what  is  the  mind  of  the 
 Spirit,  because  He  maketh  intercession  for  the  saints  accord- 
 ing to  the  will  of  God."  Whatever  be  the  meaning  of  these 
 verses,  and,  of  course,  they  are  more  for  <So£<x  than  8oy/j.a, 
 for  feeling  than  formula,  for  mystical  longings  than  mechani- 
 cal logic  (excuse  my  old  trick  of  alliteration),  it  is  clear  to  me 
 that  part  of  that  meaning  is  what  I  have  given  in  stanza  two. 
 If  doctrinally  they  do  not  mean  that,  I  do  not  see  what 
 else  or  other  they  can  mean  at  all.  But  if  you  do  not  think 
 so,  or  if  you  do  not  think  that  this  is  the  interpretation  that 
 is,  or  that  would  be,  commonly  received,  perhaps  you  might 
 strike  out  the  second  stanza  altogether.  If  you  thought  that 
 a  hymn  in  your  Record  should  not  contain  anything  which, 
 however  true  and  Scriptural,  and  however  much  to  be  insisted 
 on  in  sermon  and  expository  lecture,  is  yet  not  truth  already 
 
380  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 so  familiar  as  to  have  entered  fully  into  our  Christian  life  and 
 consciousness,  or  according  to  the  Scripture  as  commonly 
 but  ignorantly  understood,  the  bridge  would  stand  without 
 this  arch,  and  the  train  of  thought  and  sentiment  and  song 
 (such  as  it  is)  pass  even  fluently  over ;  but  it  would  cer- 
 tainly be  not  so  complete  and  satisfactory  without  it,  and  I 
 daresay  you  will  let  it  stand. 
 
 As  for  the  rest,  the  love  that  passeth  knowledge,  the  joys 
 and  sorrows  that  transcend  not  only  the  bounds  of  utter- 
 ance, but  even  of  self-consciousness,  if  there  are  any  of  your 
 readers  that  know  nothing  of  all  this,  the  deepest  worship  of 
 silence,  which,  of  all  acts  of  worship  and  means  of  grace,  brings 
 us  nearest  to  God,  nearest  to  the  Unseen  and  Eternal  Real, 
 excepting  only  the  silence  of  death  itself — which  is  indeed 
 only  the  last  act  of  that  worship,  and  last  means  of  that 
 grace — it  may  be  well  for  such  to  know,  and  these  lines  may 
 help  to  show  them,  that  a  religion  that  can  be  measured  in 
 its  length  and  breadth  by  words,  that  cannot  go  beyond 
 drawing  near  to  God  with  the  mouth  and  honouring  Him 
 with  the  lip,  is  a  false  and  fair  and  hollow-hearted  thing 
 after  all ;  and  that  only  through  the  silence  of  the  unutterable, 
 or  even  of  the  unthinkable,  or  even  of  the  unconscious  in 
 communion  with  God,  can  we  become  prepared  for  the 
 trying  silence  that  shall  be,  when  utter  darkness  opens  our 
 eyes  in  the  stillness  of  the  dead. 
 
 I  am  not  writing  a  scholium  on  the  passages,  still  less  a 
 eulogium  on  my  verses,  nor  an  apology  for  them  either;  but 
 somehow  since  I  have  begun,  the  words  flow  on,  and  I  know 
 you  are  to  have  a  Sabbath  of  rest,  so  that  you  will  have 
 patience  to  spell  and  time  even  to  read  them. 
 
 A  longer  poem,  entitled  "  Table  Triplets,"  appeared 
 in  April.  It  was  an  expansion  of  verses  written  at 
 an  earlier  date. 
 
TABLE  TRIPLETS.  38 1 
 
 We  give  the  first  part : — 
 
 %%bh  triplets. 
 
 Year  by  year  the  Man  Divine, 
 Where  the  southern  sunlights  shine, 
 Turns  the  water  into  wine. 
 
 Year  by  year  He  makes  the  corn, 
 Underground  in  spring-time  borne, 
 Rise  with  Him  on  Easter  morn. 
 
 Whence,  ere  one  year's  store  is  spent, 
 Bread  and  wine  afresh  are  sent 
 For  the  next  year's  Sacrament, 
 
 And,  like  Abram,  life  is  fed, 
 
 Coming  Victor  o'er  the  dead, 
 
 With  the  High  Priest's  wine  and  bread. 
 
 Priest  of  God,  and  Prince  of  Peace, 
 How  the  bread  and  wine  increase 
 In  thy  hands  and  never  cease  ! 
 
 Down  the  ages,  feeding  all, 
 Olden  men  and  children  small, 
 In  a  world-wide  banquet  hall, 
 
 Spread  with  tapestry,  flower'd  and  green, 
 Underneath  a  dome-like  screen, 
 Blue  with  golden  stars  between. 
 
 Guests  in  thousands  come  and  go, 
 
 And  Thou,  walking  to  and  fro, 
 
 From  Thy  pierced  hand  feed'st  them  so  ! 
 
3§2  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAX. 
 
 Oh,  Thou  Cup-bearer  Divine, 
 
 What  a  bitter  draught  was  Thine, 
 
 Ere  Thou  brought'st  us  this  sweet  wine  ! 
 
 Thou  wast  crown'd  with  thorns,  that  Thou 
 Mightst  twine  roses  round  the  brow, 
 Of  Thy  guests  at  table  now. 
 
 Thou  wast  broken  'mongst  the  dead, 
 That  our  hunger  might  be  fed 
 Day  by  day  with  daily  bread. 
 
 Whence  in  things  both  great  and  small, 
 Life  becomes  transfigured  all 
 To  a  high  church  festival. 
 
 Not  with  host  to  be  adored, 
 But  with  every  poor  man's  board 
 Counted  holy  to  the  Lord. 
 
 To  Mr.  Andrew  T.  Taylor. 
 
 Bridge  of  Allan,  3rd  February,  1880. 
 
 I  had  a  great  admiration  of  your  lovely  sister,  Aggie. 
 Nothing  pleased  me  more  than  to  have  her  come  along  in 
 the  summer  days  and  sit,  as  she  sometimes  did,  for  an  hour 
 or  two  at  the  organ,  which  she  enjoyed — filling  the  house 
 (though  we  might  be  in  different  rooms),  flooding  it  with  a 
 sense  of  her  gentle  presence,  and  with  a  music,  tender, 
 devotional,  modest,  graceful,  like  herself,  and  in  which  her 
 spirit  seemed  to  melt  away — with  a  joy  that  was  more  akin 
 to  tears  than  laughter.  And  the  music  has  passed  away, 
 and  the  minstrel ;  but  we  shall  hear  it  again — on  a  ten- 
 stringed  harp  touched  by  the  finger  of  that  little  hand — where 
 
AGAIN  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  383 
 
 there  shall  be  no  more  crying,  but  only  the  remembrance 
 and  echo  that  shall  haunt  the  Gloria  in  excelsis  up  to  the 
 highest  ranges,  as  a  shadow  often  enriches  the  brilliancy. 
 I  remember  to  have  said  to  her  she  ought  to  be  very  good, 
 and  so  she  was,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  angels  in 
 singing  often  called  her  by  name,  ayios !  when  singing  to 
 the  Holy :  and  she  smiled,  I  daresay  at  my  pedantry,  which 
 had  much  truth  in  it,  nevertheless. 
 
 Forgive  me  if  I  think  that  before  all  angels  she  would 
 look  out  for  her  dear  old  minister,1  and  before  both,  and 
 before  all,  for  Him  whom  her  heart  loved  above  all,  and 
 with  whom  she  is — and  it  is  far  better. 
 
 A  slight  affection  of  the  throat  kept  Dr.  Robertson 
 from  preaching  anywhere  during  the  first  three  months 
 of  1880  ;  but  he  was  able  to  fulfil  an  engagement  to 
 preach  again  at  Cambridge  on  three  Sundays  in  April. 
 
 To  Mr.  David  M'Cowan. 
 
 Cambridge,  22nd  April,  1880. 
 
 I  have  had  great  pleasure  in  my  fresh  mission  here,  having 
 found  myself  quite  equal  to  it,  as  I  had  hoped  by  higher  help 
 to  be.  The  assembly  in  the  evening  would  have  doubly 
 filled  the  usual  place  of  meeting;  but  I  prudently  and 
 firmly  resisted  all  proposals  of  migration  to  the  larger  hall, 
 which  is  said  to  be  difficult  to  speak  in. 
 
 You  must  come  and  see  this  Cambridge  with  me  ere  very 
 long.  My  acquaintance  with  University  men  is  broadening 
 as  much  and  as  pleasantly  as  ever  I  could  desire. 
 
 1  Mr.  Robertson  of  Xewincton. 
 
384  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 To  the  Same. 
 
 Cambridge,  13th  May,  1880. 
 
 I  went  by  invitation  on  Monday  last  as  a  guest  to  the 
 great  annual  feast  of  St.  John's.  All  the  heads  of  college, 
 and  greater  lights  were  met  to  eat  and  drink;  and  such 
 splendour  of  dishes,  of  dresses,  of  drinking  vessels  of  silver 
 and  gold,  was  surely  never  seen  since  Belshazzar's  feast,  or 
 since  the  last  St.  John's  one.  I  extended  my  acquaintance 
 with  professors  and  other  dons  in  the  Combination  Room, 
 where  after  dinner  a  magnificent  banquet  of  wine  was  served 
 up.  .  .  .  Some  of  the  younger  clergy  are  very  earnest 
 inquirers  as  to  how  best  to  preach  and  do  their  Master's 
 work,  and,  if  possible,  save  souls  ;  and  are  not  unwilling  to 
 take  instruction  even  from  an  ecclesiastical  Ishmaelite.  A 
 knot  of  them  had  me  yesterday  to  dine  and  discourse  with 
 them ;  and  they  say  others  would  want  me  if  I  would  give 
 them  the  opportunity. 
 
 A  visit  to  Bournemouth  as  the  guest  of  his  old 
 friend,  Mr.  Stitt  of  Liverpool,  followed  his  Cambridge 
 service. 
 
 In  July  he  went  with  Mr.  M'Cowan  to  Conishead 
 Priory,  and  in  August,  accompanied  Dr.  Young  of 
 Kelly,  whom  he  used  playfully  to  name  "The  Lord  of 
 the  Oils,"  on  a  cruise  among  the  Hebrides. 
 
 To  His  Sister. 
 
 On  Board  the  "Nyanza"  (Yacht), 
 off  Skye,  10th  August,  18S0. 
 
 We  have  had  some  odd  experiences,  which  I  cannot  at 
 present  detail.     On  the  evening  we  sailed  from  Tobermory, 
 
A   YACHTING  CRUISE.  385 
 
 Mull,  tacking  N.W.,  through  the  darkening  and  through  the 
 sea,  between  Rum  and  Eigg  to  Loch  Scavaig,  where  there 
 is  no  harbour,  and  we  had  to  cast  anchor  in  the  Sound  of 
 Soa  and  wait  for  the  day.  But  by  day  no  sun,  as  by  night 
 neither  moon  nor  stars  appeared ;  according  to  the  normal 
 weather  of  the  Hebrides,  only  clouds  drifting  in  the  wind, 
 and  rain,  rain,  rain.  However,  through  a  cleft  of  the  storm, 
 we  climbed  through  a  cleft  of  the  rock,  up  to  the  most 
 dreary  loch  known  in  Britain,  if  not  in  the  world,  a  weird 
 mountain  tarn,  three  miles  round.  The  yachtsmen  of 
 the  "  Nyanza"  carried  up  the  dingy,  or  smallest  boat,  and 
 launched  it  on  the  green  lake,  and  didn't  we  all — that  is 
 Professor  and  Mrs.  Thomson,  Dr.  Young  and  myself — row 
 over  into  the  awful  shadow  of  the  precipices  on  the  other 
 side  ?  The  Lake  Averno  at  Naples — the  way  to  the  Inferno 
 of  Horace,  Virgil,  and  Dante,  is  as  the  lake  in  St.  James' 
 Park  to  this.  No  leaf  or  blade  of  grass,  or  any  living  thing, 
 or  sound  of  any  smallest  bit  of  stone  broken  off  from  the 
 hard,  black  iron  mass  of  rock,  rising  in  jagged  peaks,  cleaving 
 the  mists,  and  making  the  dreariest  gloom  you  ever  saw. 
 Only  the  "  Baize,"  at  Volterra,  equals  it,  in  its  own  way,  for 
 dreariness.  After  two  days  out  on  the  wild  sea,  with  the 
 white  breakers  gleaming  along  cavernous  rocky  shores,  where 
 landing  is  impracticable,  we  returned  to  Tobermory  and 
 shipped  Dr.  Angus  Smith.  But  the  latter  has  left  us,  not 
 without  reckoning  the  sailing  somewhat  risky,  as  we  have 
 ventured  through  a  narrow  passage  from  Isle  Oronsay  to 
 this,  in  which  tides  and  currents  meet  in  a  most  extraordinary 
 manner,  and  with  the  wind  against  us,  trying  the  skill  of  our 
 skipper.  After  hurrying  us  here  into  the  straits  under 
 the  tower  of  Saucy  Mary  who  threw  a  chain  across  the 
 chasm  and  levied  toll  of  passing  ships,  he  cannot  bring 
 us  out.  He  has  tried  it  twice  and  each  time  has  been  on 
 the  point  of  wreckage  on  the  lighthouse  rocks.     So  here  we 
 
 2  B 
 
386  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 are — shut  in  where  King  Haco  of  Norway  lay  with  his  ships, 
 on  his  voyage  over  to  the  battle  of  Largs,  in  1293,  when  he 
 came  to  grief;  and  a  storm  has  come  on,  and  if  it  don't 
 mend,  we  shall  have  to  row  ashore  and  get  down  by  some 
 other  conveyance  to  Oban. 
 
 A  friend  passing  in  his  steam  yacht  took  Dr. 
 Robertson  on  board  and  landed  him  in  Iona. 
 
 To  His  Sister. 
 
 Ioxa,  3rd  September,  1880. 
 
 Here  I  am  still  in  Iona,  which,  though  one  has  to  rough 
 it  a  very  little  sometimes,  is  full  of  attraction,  instruction,  and 
 delight — and  work  too,  in  which  I  have  been  somewhat 
 abounding.  Last  Sabbath  I  preached  in  the  Free  Church. 
 Blacklock,  the  minister,  was  away  in  Mull,  and  there  was  no 
 other  service  in  the  island,  so  I  got  the  bell  rung,  and 
 gathered  an  audience  of  the  islanders  and  summer  visitors 
 — among  whom  there  are  a  good  many  artists  from  London 
 and  Edinburgh,  every  one  of  whom  seemed  to  come  at 
 the  call  of  said  bell.  In  the  evening  I  had  a  service  on  the 
 western  shore,  on  the  beautiful  green  knoll,  where  the  angels 
 met  and  walked  with  St.  Columba,  artistically  a  most 
 effective  picture — hill  and  sea  and  sunset,  and  an  ample 
 theatre  of  earnest  faces  and  varied  costumes.  Herd- 
 man  and  Adam  (Scottish  Academicians)  said  it  was  the 
 most  striking  they  had  ever  seen,  and  spiritually,  they  said, 
 and  all  said,  and  I  felt,  it  was  peculiarly  impressive. 
 
 Mr.  Payne,  rector  of  Reading,  prayed  like  a  prince  with 
 God  at  the  close,  and  his  girlish  daughter,  Mary,  led  off  the 
 hymn,  which  the  children  all  caught  up — the  older  people 
 too  deeply  moved,  some  of  them  to  sing  (except  in  an  occa- 
 sional staccato  bass) — and  which  floated  over  the  green  pastures 
 
PREACHING  IN  10 X A.  387 
 
 and  the  delectable  mountains,  up  the  reaches  of  yellow  corn 
 that  shone  like  streets  of  gold  in  the  weird,  wonderful  sunset, 
 like  a  "  chorus  angelorum"  carrying  home  the  blessed  "  Safe 
 in  the  arms  of  Jesus."  For  that  was  the  hymn  sung  after  the 
 sermon  on  the  "Rainbow  round  about  the  Throne,"  which 
 I  adapted,  and  which  adapted  itself  to  the  scene  in  outward 
 nature  and  worship  alfresco,  with  its  John  in  Patmos,  and  the 
 vision  of  the  elders  sitting  round,  and  the  angels  in  the 
 back  ground.  An  infant's  funeral,  that  two  days  before, 
 with  much  sympathy  from  all,  had  moved  from  a  Highland 
 hut  along  the  street  of  the  dead  to  the  latest  little  grave  in 
 Reilig  Oran — the  "  tombs  of  the  kings,"  made  me  start 
 the  service  from  Romans  v.  12,  and  intertwine  it  with 
 allusions  to  the  "great  salvation  of  the  dead  children." 
 I  read  also  (as  I  did  at  the  Bridge)  the  "  Sennacherib  " 
 psalm,  hearing  the  waters  of  the  ocean  close  behind  me, 
 that  could  not  rise  any  more  than  "  sin  "  or  the  "wrath  of 
 man"  could,  above  the  water-mark.  Through  King 
 Hezekiah's  sickness,  I  glanced  at  Columba's  that  was  not 
 unto  death,  when,  by  the  prayers  of  the  Church,  the  angels 
 sent  for  him  were  arrested  on  the  red  granite  rocks  of  Mull, 
 over  the  Sound,  where  he  saw  them  standing  in  white. 
 
 But  what  singing  on  Saturday  last  from  Lambeth's  choir, 
 especially  when,  on  a  green  mound  in  the  "  royal  city  of  the 
 silent  dead,"  they  stood  and  sung  Spohr's  "  Blessed  are  the 
 departed."  It  was  Mrs.  Lambeth's  selection — so  she  told  me 
 — and  with  fine  taste  and  Christian  charity  she  chose  it,  to 
 sing  it  there  on  the  graves  of  autumn,  of  royalty,  and  of 
 priesthood,  Columbans,  Culdees,  and  Roman  Catholics. 
 To  me  and  all  who  heard  it,  it  was  the  perfection,  the  ne plus 
 ultra  of  sacred  singing,  in  this  world  at  least.  Lambeth 
 thought  himself  they  had  never  done  better.  After  sing- 
 ing again  in  the  cathedral,  he  begged  me  to  go  with  him  to 
 Staffia,  which  I  did.     I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  the  extra- 
 
3^3  AT  BRIDGE  OF  ALLAN. 
 
 ordinary  effect  of  the  pure  voices  piercing  the  thunder  of 
 the  waves,  and  breaking,  clear  and  sweet,  through  the  pauses 
 between,  and  ringing  resonances,  harmony  perfectly  correct, 
 so  unlike  the  artificial ;  and  from  the  natural  organ  of  basaltic 
 columns  (you  remember  the  Baptistery  at  Pisa?),  dying 
 away  in  retiring  waves  up  under  the  darkening  arched  vault 
 of  the  grand  cathedral,  the  "house  of  God  not  made  with 
 hands."  Why  were  you  not  here?  To-night  I  go  to  preach 
 at  the  lighthouse  station  to  a  most  interesting  colony,  of 
 dozens  or  scores  of  people,  families  of  the  keepers,  boatmen, 
 and  others.  Then  the  great  lighthouse  itself — Dhu  Heartach 
 — I  have  visited,  a  great  adventure,  which  I  have  not  time 
 now  to  describe. 
 
 The  memory  of  the  scene  in  Iona  on  that  Sunday 
 evening  at  the  Angel's  Hill  dwelt  lovingly  in  Mr. 
 Herdman's  memory.  He  delighted  to  describe  it  as 
 only  an  artist  could,  and  had  promised  to  write  his 
 description  for  these  pages  ;  but  alas !  he  was  called 
 away  before  the  promise  was  fulfilled. 
 
AT  WE  ST  FIELD.  389 
 
 CHAPTER     XVIII. 
 3M  SBcstficlb. 
 
 When  Dr.  Robertson  gave  up  the  Irvine  manse  he 
 stored  his  furniture  and  books  in  Glasgow,  and 
 went  to  live  with  his  sister  at  Bridge  of  Allan.  But 
 early  in  1881  he  established  for  himself  a  new  home. 
 His  friend  Dr.  Young  of  Kelly  put  in  order,  and  leased 
 to  him  on  easy  terms,  the  mansion  of  the  little  estate 
 of  Westfield,  in  Midlothian,  which  he  had  acquired  for 
 the  sake  of  its  oil-yielding  mineral.  The  place  suited 
 Robertson's  taste.  The  house  was  old  and  quaint,  with 
 ample  wall  space  for  his  pictures  and  book-cases,  and 
 with  endless  rooms — opening  off  other  rooms — where 
 he  could  stow  away  the  vast  collection  of  books  and 
 prints  he  had  gathered  in  his  wanderings.  The  Calder 
 woods  shut  him  in  pleasantly  from  the  sounds  of  the 
 busy  world,  which  yet  was  not  inconveniently  distant. 
 Ten  minutes'  walk  eastward,  down  an  avenue  arched 
 with  trees,  brought  him  to  Newpark  station  on  the 
 Caledonian  Railway,  whence  the  run  to  Edinburgh  was 
 only  half  an  hour,  and  the  run  to   Glasgow  a  little 
 
390  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 more  than  an  hour.  In  the  opposite  direction,  two 
 and  a  half  miles  distant,  lay  the  post-town  of  West 
 Calder,  where  also  there  is  a  railway  station  with  fre- 
 quent trains  to  both  cities.  He  used  to  describe  his 
 new  abode  in  some  such  terms  as  these  :  "  My  sylvan 
 hermitage,  my  cell  in  the  forest,  my  Bettws-y-Coed,  or 
 cloister  in  the  woods,  to  which  I  have  retired  from  the 
 world,  only  emerging  now  and  then,  like  a  Dominican 
 of  the  Frati  Predicaiori,  to  preach."  To  make  the 
 place  yet  more  to  his  mind  he  put  a  verandah  with 
 creeping  plants  in  front  of  his  study  windows  ;  and  to 
 remind  him  of  his  beloved  Florence  he  had  a  copy 
 made  in  painted  glass  for  the  lobby  door,  of  a  favourite 
 window  in  the  Duomo,  which  represents  the  arrival  at 
 Emmaus,  with  the  legend  below  in  Greek  and  English, 
 "  Abide  with  us  :  for  it  is  toward  evening,  and  the  day 
 is  far  spent." 
 
 The  legend  was  appropriate.  One  of  the  chief  re- 
 commendations of  the  house  to  him  was  that  it  offered 
 space  for  the  exercise  of  an  unstinted  hospitality. 
 Even  before  the  rooms  were  in  order  he  had  begun  to 
 write  to  his  friends  begging  them  to  come  and  visit 
 him  ;  and  they  were  not  slow  to  respond  to  his  invita- 
 tions. Often  the  situation  was  such  as  he  describes  in 
 the  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  a  friend  who  had 
 offered  a  visit : — 
 
 I  expect  ere  the  week  closes  as  many  as  eight  into  my 
 ark,  which,  with  myself  and  the  servants  and  Kaiser  fill  the 
 vessel  so  that  not  even  a  dove  could  be  taken  in  at  the 
 window.    So  soon  as  they  come  and  I  know  from  them  when 
 
HIS  VISITORS.  391 
 
 the  flood  (which  I  expect  to  be  a  pleasant  one)  is  likely  to 
 be  over,  the  waters  down  and  dry  land  up  again,  I  will  im- 
 mediately let  you  know. 
 
 The  "  Kaiser  "  referred  to  in  this  extract  was,  from 
 the  summer  of  1883  onward,  a  notable  inmate  of  the 
 new  home.  He  was  a  St.  Bernard  of  splendid  pro- 
 portions and  of  great  intelligence,  in  whose  company, 
 in  the  house  and  in  his  walks  among  the  woods,  Dr. 
 Robertson  had  much  delight.  Kaiser's  formidable 
 appearance  was  in  itself  a  protection  against  unlawful 
 intruders ;  but  there  were  some  even  of  the  invited 
 guests,  who,  when  they  were  approaching  the  house, 
 thought  of  the  great  beast  not  without  tremor. 
 
 In  addition  to  those  who  made  longer  visits  there 
 were  some  who  occasionally  came  from  Edinburgh  to 
 spend  the  day7.  To  these  also  he  gave  lordly  welcome, 
 and  by  his  brilliant  talk  and  genial  kindness  made 
 their  days  at  Westfield  for  ever  memorable. 
 
 Miss  Florence  Sellar  was  one  of  those  welcome 
 visitors.  She  tells  how,  on  their  arrival  at  Newpark, 
 she  and  her  friend,  Miss  Annie  Macleod,  daughter  of 
 Dr.  Norman  Macleod,  "  were  always  met  by  him,  and 
 latterly  by  him  and  his  imperial  companion,  Kaiser." 
 "  How  benignant,"  she  adds,  "  was  his  hospitality,  how 
 he  tried  to  show  one  in  every  way  that  one's  presence 
 was  a  pleasure  to  him  ;  how  he  filled  up  every  minute, 
 pacing  up  and  down  that  muddy  little  platform  till 
 the  very  last  moment,  bringing  out  of  his  storehouse 
 things  new  and  old."  Extracts  have  already  been 
 given,  at  their  appropriate  places,  from  the  reminis- 
 
392  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 cences  of  his  conversation   furnished  by  Miss  Sellar. 
 The  following  may  here  be  added  : — 
 
 Since  I  heard  from  you  I  have  been  living  over  mentally 
 many  of  the  wonderful  talks,  or  rather  listenings,  one  had 
 with  him.  What  a  wonderful  stream  of  talk  it  was,  often 
 almost  rhythmic  in  cadence  and  touching  so  many  and 
 apparently  unconnected  points,  and  yet  always  bringing  out 
 the  underlying  relation  of  one  to  the  other.  How  fascinating 
 it  was,  how  unforgettable,  how  utterly  impossible  to  repro- 
 duce !  If  I  were  to  meet  you  I  know  we  could  remind  each 
 other  of  many  an  exquisite  saying  and  beautiful  fanciful 
 analogy  and  sudden  swift  glance  into  the  heart  of  things. 
 Till  I  met  him  I  never  fully  realized  that  communion  of 
 saints  in  which  he  habitually  lived,  touching  Francis  of 
 Assisi  with  the  one  hand,  and  "  precious  Master  Peden  "  with 
 the  other — not  straining  analogies,  nor  generalizing  philo- 
 sophically on  the  religious  temperament  and  experience  in  all 
 ages,  but  understanding  the  humanity  and  the  holiness  of 
 each  by  reason  of  the  brotherliness  of  his  own  rich  nature, 
 and  his  love  of  the  Master  whom  they  also  loved.  Can  you 
 or  any  biographer  make  those  who  did  not  know  him  ever 
 realize  that  wonderfully  graphic  power  he  had  in  talking 
 about  men  and  women  long  dead,  till  you  seemed  to  know 
 them,  and  all  their  loving  and  hating  and  sinning  and 
 repenting,  until,  indeed,  you  felt  just  as  if  you  were  clasping 
 hands  across  the  centuries? 
 
 I  should  like  to  recall  some  few  of  the  things  he  said. 
 This  was  a  beautiful  and  simple  piece  of  advice  he  gave  to 
 me  on  my  first  going  to  Italy  and  into  the  presence  of  the 
 old  masters — "  Stand  before  them  and  ask  them  that  great 
 question  which  century  is  asking  century,  '  What  think 
 ye  of  Christ  ?'  " 
 
 I   remember  his  telling   me  a  great  deal   about  the  old 
 
HIS  CONVERSATION.  393 
 
 medieval  idea  of  the  redemption  of  the  whole  earth  through 
 the  body  of  Christ  having  lain  in  the  earth,  the  belief  which 
 lies  obscured  in  the  Festival  of  the  Corpus  Christi.  I 
 thought  of  that  when  I  saw  how  at  Ravenna  the  early  Church 
 used  animals  and  plants  as  the  glad  symbols  of  redemption. 
 Then  you  remember  how  he  contrasted  the  joyful  sense  of 
 redemption  in  the  early  Church  with  the  terrible  vision  of 
 judgment  which  came  into  art  after  the  end  of  the  ioth 
 century,  "  when  the  Dies  Irse  was  sending  its  wail  through 
 Christendom."  Then  Christ  appeared  only  as  the  Judge, 
 "very  stern  and  terrible";  and  all  the  tender  attributes  of 
 God,  "  the  motherliness,"  and  yearning  mercy,  passed  over 
 to  the  Madonna. 
 
 I  remember  one  year,  when  I  was  much  taken  up  with  the 
 history  of  the  religious  struggle  in  Scotland,  getting  him  to 
 talk  of  those  times.  I  remember  his  giving  us  a  sermon  of 
 Richard  Cameron's,  in  which  he  calls  the  "Shaw  Heid"  to 
 witness  of  the  offer  of  salvation  made  to  the  people  that 
 day ;  and  I  remember  the  way  his  face  lit  up  as  he  told  of 
 Hugh  Mackail,  "  the  young  San  Lorenzo  of  the  Scottish 
 Covenant."  He  had  as  much  love  and  sympathy  for  those 
 grim,  stern  men,  with  their  passionate  religion  and  flashes 
 of  tenderness,  as  for  the  perfect  sweetness  of  his  own  St. 
 Francis. 
 
 I  used  to  like  the  quaint,  homely  way  in  which  he  used 
 illustrations  to  help  simple,  perplexed  faith.  In  the  early 
 days  of  his  ministry  many  were  the  schemes  of  salvation  by 
 which  conscientious  people  tried  to  solve  the  question  that 
 has  wounded  so  many  tender  souls,  "  Who  then  can  be 
 saved  ?  "  One  lad,  an  apprentice,  at  last  found  comfort  in 
 the  thought  that  all  should  be  saved  who  believed  in  univer- 
 sal redemption.  But  then  his  master,  a  kind,  honest,  upright 
 man,  did  not  believe  in  any  such  loose  and  uncovenanted 
 scheme;  and  could  he,  the  lad,  think  that  this  want  of  belief 
 
394  AT  V/ESTFIELD. 
 
 was  to  exclude  his  master?  It  was  very  perplexing. 
 "  Well,"  said  Dr.  Robertson,  "  suppose  you  were  in  a  boat 
 with  seven  more  men  and  the  boat  was  upset,  and  the  hand 
 of  a  deliverer  was  stretched  out  to  save  you,  would  you  first 
 ask,  Do  you  mean  to  save  us  all  or  only  some  of  us  ?  Would 
 you  not  rather  grasp  and  keep  hold  of  the  saving  hand?  " 
 
 How  quaintly  and  beautifully  he  used  the  Scriptures  to 
 illustrate  events  in  one's  own  life.  Talking  of  his  dear  friend 
 Dr.  John  Muir,  and  his  difficulty  in  accepting  the  Church 
 view  of  the  Divinity  of  Christ,  while  honouring  Him  and 
 loving  Him  with  all  his  heart,  he  said,  "  But  I  tell  him  he  is 
 just  the  wise  man  from  the  east,  laying  down  his  wealth  of 
 learning  at  the  Saviour's  feet." 
 
 This  is  one  text  I  always  associate  with  Dr.  Robertson — 
 "  In  Him  was  life,  and  the  life  was  the  light  of  men."  "  The 
 life  was  the  light,  not  the  light  was  life."  That  was  all  his 
 comment,  but  it  was  sufficient. 
 
 One  or  two  stray  thoughts  were  always  recurring  in  his 
 talk  and  being  variously  applied.  One  was,  "When  any 
 system  is  logically  complete,  reject  it ;  it  must  be  false." 
 Another  perpetually  recurring  idea  was,  "  All  truth  is  the  com- 
 bination of  two  opposing  truths  ;  "  and  growing  out  of  this 
 was  the  suggestion  that  if  you  crystallized  one  part  of  the 
 truth  in  your  creed,  the  other  part  remained  in  solution  in 
 your  life.  "  No  people,"  he  would  say,  "  were  such  absolute 
 predestinarians  as  the  Scotch  Covenanters  in  their  creed  ; 
 none  were  so  determined  on  their  own  way  in  their  lives." 
 
 Miss  Macleod  has,  in  a  letter  to  her  friend,  fur- 
 nished some  reminiscences  : — 
 
 Was  it  not  a  day  between  winter  and  spring  when  you 
 first  took  me  with  you  to  West  Calder  to  see  him  ?  I 
 remember  my  first  sight  of  him  when  the  train  stopped,  and 
 you  said,  "There  he  is,"  and  1  looked  out  of  the  window  and 
 
HIS  COXVERSATION.  395 
 
 saw  some  one  standing,  not  very  tall,  with  a  long  loose  over- 
 coat, rather  long  grey  hair,  and  a  face  with  a  radiant 
 light  in  it — the  peaceful  look  that  those  people  have  who  are 
 in  love  with  things  outside  of  themselves.  Is  there  not  a 
 text,  "  In  Thy  light  we  shall  see  light  "  ?  That  was  what 
 happened  with  him.  He  had  an  atmosphere  of  love  about 
 him,  and  beside  him  you  saw  all  the  beauty  of  heaven  and 
 earth,  and  loved  both  along  with  him. 
 
 He  only  spoke  about  the  things  he  loved,  and  there 
 seemed  to  be  no  end  to  them.  The  store  was  inexhaustible. 
 A  characteristic  which  struck  me  in  his  conversation  was  his 
 sense  of  continuity,  which  was  a  passion  with  him.  It  was 
 as  if  he  swept  over  continents  and  through  centuries,  picking 
 up  one  fact  here  and  another  there  to  illustrate  his  subject, 
 and  vivifying  everything  he  touched  so  that  you  felt  as  if  he 
 had  lived  in  that  very  place  and  time,  and  could  tell  you 
 every  detail  connected  with  it — what  the  country  was  like, 
 and  how  the  people  looked,  and  what  they  said  and  felt. 
 
 I  remember  once,  when  we  were  speaking  about  music, 
 he  said  the  best  music  was  national,  coming  from  the  heart 
 of  the  people.  Then  a  great  musician,  some  Handel  or 
 Haydn,  took  this  air  and  clothed  and  embodied  it  in  his 
 own  harmonies.  And  it  lived  on,  changed  perhaps  in 
 rhythm,  but  the  old  notes  still  there.  Then  the  people  had 
 it  again,  and  it  passed  into  some  popular  song,  and  children 
 sang  it  in  the  street.  And  then  he  sang  some  airs,  and  traced 
 their  history  in  this  way.  He  had  no  doubt,  he  said,  that 
 David  chose  national  airs  for  the  words  of  his  psalms.  There 
 was  the  psalm,  for  instance,  he  composed  when  he  was  a 
 prisoner  in  the  power  of  Achish  and  feigned  to  be  mad. 
 And  what  a  beautiful  air  he  had  chosen  for  it — "  The 
 Dove  of  the  Terebinth  tree.'"1  That  name  surely  belonged  to 
 an  air  he  had  known  or  heard  the  country  people  in  his  own 
 
 1  Seepage  363. 
 
396  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 home  singing.     It  would  come  back  to  him  now  when  he 
 was  in  trouble. 
 
 He  had  the  power  of  genius  to  make  you  see  by  a  word 
 or  gesture  a  whole  scene,  so  that  when  you  think  of  his 
 stories  you  at  once  see  a  succession  of  vivid  pictures. 
 What  delighted  me  in  these  stories  was  the  marvellous 
 insight  they  showed  into  human  nature.  He  knew  what  it 
 was  possible  for  men  and  women  to  be  and  do.  He  ex- 
 pected the  best.  But  he  understood  toe  the  hundred  subtle 
 modifying  influences  that  exist.  He  saw  all  round  the  posi- 
 tion so  to  speak,  and  made  you  see  it  too  by  little  touches 
 of  tender,  loving  humour.  It  was  this  power  of  realizing  the 
 smallest  details,  as  well  as  the  great  whole,  which  made  any 
 advice  he  gave  so  sane  and  human,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
 ennobling. 
 
 Another  Westfield  visitor  was  the  Rev.  John 
 Haddin,  whose  notes  of  Dr.  Robertson's  conversation 
 have  already  been  quoted.  Some  additional  items 
 — in  which  the  attempt  is  made  to  reproduce  his  own 
 words — are  worthy  to  be  preserved.  Mr.  Haddin,  the 
 contemporary  of  his  elder  brother,  and  his  own  friend 
 since  boyhood,  often  drew  him  out  to  speak  of  him- 
 self— a  subject  which  he  never  chose  spontaneously: — 
 
 The  course  in  preaching  is  to  be  unconscious  of  all 
 mental  action.  When  attention  is  given  to  this  the  power 
 of  impression  is  lost.  An  illustration  occurred  lately.  When 
 preaching  at  Dollar  on  the  fulness  of  joy  with  which  the  soul 
 might  be  filled  when  contemplating  salvation,  I  remarked 
 that  it  began  with  one  step,  as  a  round  in  a  ladder,  and  pro- 
 ceeded to  another  and  still  another,  until  lost  in  rapture. 
 So  was  it  with  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  the  soul.  There  was 
 one  degree  of  sorrow,  then  another  and  another,  until  the 
 
HIS  CONVERSATION.  397 
 
 soul  was  overwhelmed  with  grief  and  remorse.  Mr.  Wilson 
 afterwards  told  me  my  face  changed  with  every  step  of  the 
 feeling,  and  the  impression  produced  was  great.  At  Cam- 
 bridge, afterwards,  remembering  the  circumstances,  I  re- 
 peated the  passage,  but,  from  the  recollection  being  present 
 to  my  mind,  the  passage  fell  flat,  and  no  emotion  was  pro- 
 duced. 
 
 There  was  a  young  lady  residing  with  me,  a  fine  musician. 
 After  she  played  some  hymns  admirably  I  took  her  aside, 
 and  said  that,  while  she  played  well,  there  was  no  thought 
 of  God  in  her  service.  Afterwards  she  wrote  to  me  that  my 
 words  had  gone  home  to  her  heart,  and  proved  the  turning 
 point  of  her  life. 
 
 When  in  company  and  contact  with  persons  holding 
 different  religious  views  from  my  own,  I  always  act  on  the 
 principle  that  I  may  be  wrong,  and  hold  myself  ready  to 
 consider  their  statements. 
 
 In  all  greatness  or  great  men  there  is  sadness.  ('  This/ 
 says  Mr.  Haddin,  '  was  his  reply  to  some  observations  made 
 by  me  as  we  gazed  on  the  portrait  of  Cardinal  Newman.') 
 
 An  English  lady,  who  was  staying  with  us  in  Irvine,  said, 
 "Why  do  Scotch  people  call  water  'watter'?  "  I  replied,  "Do 
 you  not  know  that  when  men  began  to  build  boats  they 
 were  at  first  coracles,  small  vessels  hollowed  out  of  the 
 trunks  of  trees.  Then  they  rose  to  small  boats,  with  which 
 they  skirted  the  shores  of  the  ocean.  Then  they  rose  to 
 large  ships,  with  which  they  traversed  at  will  the  whole  sea. 
 At  last  a  man  sprang  up  in  Greenock  called  James  Watt, 
 who  invented  the  steamship.  That  was  a  wonderful  inven- 
 tion, quite  mastering  the  ocean,  rendering  it  the  complete 
 servant  of  man.  And  so  now  we  in  Scotland  call  it 
 'watt-er'." 
 
 Yet  another  of  his  Westfleld  visitors,  Miss  Margaret 
 
398  AT  WESTF1ELD. 
 
 Nairn,  has   given    me    notes  of  his  conversation,  on 
 which  I  have  already  drawn.     She  writes — 
 
 One  of  his  views  was,  that  the  highest  art,  music  and 
 architecture,  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  received  a 
 death-blow  at  the  Reformation  from  which  they  never 
 recovered.  The  finest  sacred  music  we  find  either  in  the 
 Roman  Catholic  Church  before,  or  in  the  Protestant  Church 
 after,  Luther's  time.  For  example,  the  Gregorian  chants 
 on  the  one  hand,  the  oratorios  and  passion  music  on  the 
 other.  For  Haydn's  "  Creation,"  he  affirmed,  was  not  an 
 oratorio,  but  an  opera ;  and  Mozart's  "  Masses "  were  but 
 waltzes,  lacking  the  dignity  of  religious  worship.  In  archi- 
 tecture, all  the  grandest  Gothic  piles  were  built  before  the 
 15th  century.  Painting  and  sculpture  too  reached  their 
 height  in  Raphael  and  Michel  Angelo. 
 
 Bach  was  his  favourite  composer ;  the  violin  his  favourite 
 instrument.  He  once  said  how  beautiful  it  was  that  the 
 book  of  Revelation  spoke  only  of  stringed  instruments  in 
 heaven.  His  opinion  was  that  the  nearer  a  man  came  into 
 sympathy  with  his  instrument,  the  more  music  he  brought 
 forth.  Thus  the  human  voice  surpasses  all  instruments, 
 because  coming  nearest  to  the  man  himself. 
 
 His  life,  he  used  to  say,  had  increased  year  by  year  in 
 happiness.  Along  with  the  most  intense  power  of  suffering, 
 he  had  an  infinite  capacity  for  enjoyment.  He  had  the  gift 
 of  extracting  humour  out  of  the  very  absence  of  it  in  others, 
 and  had  many  a  story  to  tell  in  connection  with  this.  On 
 one  occasion  he  told  an  old  man  in  his  congregation  singularly 
 devoid  of  the  humorous  faculty  the  story  of  the  baker  brushing 
 against  the  sweep,  and  the  latter  turning  round  to  him  with 
 the  words,  "You  dirty  fellow,  see  what  a  mess  you've  made 
 of  me."  After  a  pause  the  old  man  said,  "  Weel,  sir,  I  think 
 it  should  jist  hae  been  the  ither  way,  for  it  was  the  sweep 
 
AN  UNSENT  LETTER.  399 
 
 that  wad  dirty  the  baker."  "  But  don't  you  see,"  said  Dr. 
 Robertson,  "  that  that's  the  point  of  the  story?"  "Point 
 o'  the  story,"  replied  he,  "  it's  jist  clean  nonsense  a'the- 
 gither." 
 
 His  handwriting  was  notorious  for  its  indistinctness. 
 Some  one,  speaking  of  this  failing  which  he  had  in  common 
 with  two  of  his  regular  correspondents,  Dr.  Graham  and  Mr. 
 Stitt,  said,  "  How  can  you  three  understand  each  other's 
 letters?'''  "Oh,"  said  he,  "we  correspond  on  the  basis  of 
 mutual  illegibility  !" 
 
 Once  when  the  snow  was  on  the  ground  he  remarked  on 
 the  fine  contrast  of  colours  in  that  verse,  "  She  is  not  afraid 
 of  the  snow  for  her  household,  for  all  her  household  are 
 clothed  in  scarlet." 
 
 Most  of  his  Sundays  for  a  considerable  time  after 
 his  removal  to  Westfield  were  spent  on  duty.  In 
 March,  1881,  he  preached  before  the  University  of 
 Glasgow,  and  in  the  following-  May  he  fulfilled  a  third 
 engagement  at  Cambridge,  where,  in  addition  to  con- 
 ducting the  Church  services,  he  delivered  his  lectures 
 on  "  Luther,"  and  on  "  Poetry  and  Fine  Art." 
 
 The  friend  to  whom  the  following  letter,  found 
 among  Dr.  Robertson's  papers,  is  addressed  writes — 
 "  I  find  on  looking  back  among  my  notes  for 
 1 88 1,  indications  of  a  charming  three  days  with 
 Robertson  at  West  Calder,  Saturday,  Sunday,  and 
 Monday,  April  16-18.  This  letter,  which  I  never 
 received,  must,  though  there  is  a  discrepancy  in  date, 
 refer  to  this  visit,  for  I  find  in  the  skeleton  record,  on 
 which  I  shall  some  day  endeavour  to  put  flesh,  '  His 
 brilliant  conversation — Music,  Art,   Italy.     Read,  by 
 
400  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 request,  some  of  my  volume  to  him,  which  had  then 
 just  appeared.'" 
 
 To  Professor  Nichol,  LL.D. 
 
 Westfield,  April,  1881. 
 
 In  the  beginning  of  this  week  I  have  been  whirled  away 
 from  home,  returning  however  in  brave  good  time  for  meet- 
 ing you  at  West  Calder  had  you  come  yesterday.  Equally 
 convenient  will  it  be,  and  a  rare  delight  to  have  yon,  as  you 
 kindly  say,  on  Friday,  the  16th,  to  stay  over  Sunday  as  the 
 stranger  that  is  within  my  gates,  when  I  shall  do  no  manner 
 of  work — not  preaching  anywhere  that  day  :  and,  except  for 
 "going  together  to  the  kirk"  with  me  (if  you  like  it)  at  noon, 
 you  shall  rest  (for  the  rest)  and  read  me,  won't  you? — while  I 
 listen  in  reverent  silence — such  snatches  of  the  genuine  old 
 Orphic  melody,  that  has  come  singing  down  the  ages  through 
 the  darkness  and  the  depths,  as  break  from  your  lips  (when 
 the  fountain  of  the  deep  in  you  is  broken  up)  fitfully,  in 
 songs  of  "  Lethe  "  and  "  Revelation,  Immortality,  and  God." 
 They  are  prayer  and  song  and  sermon — sighing,  singing, 
 seeing — all  in  one;  and  make  the  hour  that  hears  them  holy, 
 and  the  place  none  other  than  the  "house  of  God."  How 
 glad  I  am  to  hear  you  singing  so,  a  non-professional  upon 
 the  sacred  harp.  I  wish  I  could  preach  as  you  sing,  drawing 
 souls  upward — UP.  Pardon  the  terrible  paronomasia,  but 
 really  and  truly  I  sometimes  console  myself  for  the  indignity 
 of  the  denominational  name  by  reflecting  that  U.P.  preachers 
 and  U.P.  poets  must  be  always  the  best — that  all  good 
 preaching  and  all  good  poetry  is  U.P.  The  spirit  of  a  man 
 goeth  upward  ;  and  if  you  face  round  upon  him  from  a  pulpit 
 or  a  platform  above,  and  hurl  down  dogmas  in  the  teeth  of 
 him,  you  will  crush  his  aspirations  and  break  his  ascent, 
 and  prevent  him  from  climbing  with  you  and  after  you,  up 
 
DRAWING  SOULS  UPWARD.  401 
 
 through  the  darkness,  up  through  the  silence,  to  catch 
 glimpses  beyond  of  the  vision  your  eye  has  seen,  to  catch 
 echoes  beyond  of  the  voices  your  ear  has  heard.  The 
 greatest  of  all  teachers  was  lifted  up  upon  a  cross  that  He 
 might  draw  all  men  unto  Him,  and  it  is  then  when  we  in  our 
 measure  are  lifted  up  upon  a  cross  of  suffering,  of  mental 
 agony,  or  moral  grief,  or  other  great  anguish,  that  we  are 
 most  powerful  to  draw  others  after  us  upward.  For  the 
 sorrow  at  once  opens  our  eyes  to  see  the  God  above  us,  and 
 our  hearts  to  sympathize  with  fellow-sufferers  beneath.  Only 
 the  crucified  can  ascend  and  draw  men  up  along  with  him. 
 Only  in  the  form  of  the  cross  does  hope  climb  upwards,  like 
 the  bird  with  outstretched  wings.  Only  in  the  likeness  of 
 the  Crucified  with  hands  outstretched  in  agony,  with  thorn - 
 crowned  brow  and  drooping  head  and  languid  eyes  and 
 pallid  cheek,  with  pierced  heart  and  pierced  hands  and  feet 
 all  stained  with  blood,  do  the  Cowpers,  and  the  Gerhards,  and 
 the  Chattertons,  and  the  mighty  poets  in  their  misery  dead, 
 draw  souls  after  them  ;  and  the  Christ-like  singer  in  the  dark- 
 ness on  the  cross — crying,  "My  God,  My  God,  why  hast  Thou 
 forsaken  Me?",  and,  through  the  darkness  of  desertion,  the 
 darkness  of  death,  the  darkness  of  dreadful  doubt  some- 
 times whether  there  be  any  God  at  all,  struggling,  yearning, 
 looking  for  the  light  of  God — shall  draw  men  heavenward 
 far  more  surely,  far  more  resistlessly  than  any  dogmatist 
 from  platform  or  pulpit  delivering  down  to  them  a  system  of 
 theology,  and  driving  it  home  with  logical  arguments,  and 
 laying  it  down  all  cut  and  square.  And  he  knows  all  about 
 it  and  is  quite  sure  that  he  is  right  and  every  one  who  differs 
 from  him  wrong. 
 
 2  c 
 
402  AT  WESTFIELD, 
 
 To  Miss  Janet  Bruce. 
 
 Westfield,  19th  April,  1881. 
 
 You  shouldn't  flirt  away  all  the  evening  and  leave  your 
 poor  old  grandfather  to  the  mercies  of  a  moment  at  "  the 
 eleventh  hour."  However  I  forgive  you,  for  that  moment 
 is  momentous  as  showing,  though  only  in  a  momentary 
 glimpse,  a  picture  of  no  moment,  as  the  best  pictures  painted 
 by  genius  are.  That  is  they  do  not  represent  the  real  and 
 finite  in  any  given  special  passing  moment ;  but  through  that 
 little  casement  of  a  moment  show  the  ideal  .  .  .  Eccola! 
 You  have  often  seen  a  Madonna  and  Child  of  Raphael's 
 — Buonissimo.  I  saw  a  Madonna  and  Child  just  now 
 going  down  the  avenue  under  the  cypress  and  yew.  She 
 looked  somewhat  sad,  as  if  her  child  were  sick.  No  wonder  ! 
 She  is  wedded,  it  may  be  said,  to  sorrow,  for  she  is  the  wife 
 of  the  grieve,  and  her  little  boy's  name  is  Lamb — which  was 
 indeed  his  father's  before  him,  so  that  is  not  very  surprising. 
 But  now  these  real  Madonnas  go  down  the  avenues  of  life, 
 and  pass  away  under  the  yew  and  cypress,  down  into  the 
 darkness  and  the  nothingness  and  out  of  sight  and  out  of 
 mind  ;  but  Raphael's  Madonna  lives  on  because  it  represents, 
 as  near  as  possible  perhaps  to  man,  the  ideal  Madonna,  that 
 is  perpetually  incarnating  itself  in  the  real,  the  everlasting 
 that  is  perpetually  looking  forth  through  the  casement  of 
 time  and  of  the  finite,  perpetually  robing  itself  in  fresh  attire 
 that  waxes  old  and  perishes  and  passes  away,  while  this 
 remaineth — as  the  picture  of  your  face  remains  in  a  clear, 
 running  stream,  though  the  stream  itself  is  changing  by  the 
 
JO NA   REVISITED.  4-03 
 
 To  Dr.  Angus  Smith,  Manchester. 
 
 Westfield,  26th  April,  1881. 
 
 .  .  .  Would  you  add  to  your  other  kindness  that  of 
 coming  to  visit  me  here,  as  you  promised  to  do  ?  You  see 
 how — through  favour  of  our  modern  Prometheus,1  that  has 
 brought  light,  not  down  from  the  bright  and  sunny  heaven 
 above,  but  (much  more  wonderful)  from  the  dark  depths  of 
 the  black  pit  beneath;  and  by  his  "wonderful  lamp,"  has 
 built  or  rebuilt  quite  a  palace  of  a  place  here  in  its  own  way 
 — I  have  come  for  the  time  into  possession  of  a  house  to 
 which  I  can  now  invite  you. 
 
 In  the  autumn  of  1881,  he  revisited  Iona,  taking 
 with  him  his  sister  and  some  friends  from  Bridge  of 
 Allan.  He  had  arranged  with  his  landlord  of  the  year 
 before,  that  a  boat  with  rowers  should  join  the  steamer 
 at  Iona  and  go  on  with  it  to  Staffa,  to  take  the  party 
 back.  When  the  steamer  called  at  Iona  the  weather 
 was  threatening,  and  the  boat  provided  seemed  hardly 
 fit  for  a  heavy  sea,  but  it  was  hurriedly7  resolved  to 
 proceed.  When  StafTa  was  reached  the  aspect  of  the 
 sky  and  sea  was  not  reassuring ;  but  the  steamer  was 
 allowed  to  go,  and  then  there  was  no  choice,  except 
 either  to  camp  on  the  shelterless  island,  or  face  the 
 peril  of  the  voyage  back.  The  latter  alternative  was 
 chosen  ;  but  it  was  soon  found  that  progress  in  the 
 direction  of  Iona  was  all  but  impossible.  Hours 
 passed  and  they  seemed  to  come  no  nearer  to 
 their  destination.      The  storm  increased   and  it  was 
 
 1  Dr.  Young  of  Kelly. 
 
404  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 resolved  to  go  before  the  wind  in  the  direction  of 
 the  island  of  Gometra,  where  it  was  known  shelter 
 could  be  had  in  the  house  of  the  proprietor.  The 
 situation  was  sufficiently  serious.  Now  and  again  the 
 waves  broke  over  the  little  craft,  thoroughly  drench- 
 ing the  passengers  and  giving  them  hard  work  to  bale 
 out  the  water  and  keep  afloat.  They  were  seven  in 
 number,  and  one  of  them  tells  that  all  that  weary  day 
 the  words  from  the  epitaph  in  Irvine  churchyard  would 
 keep  sounding  in  her  ears,  "  Sail  on,  dark  coffined  fleet 
 of  seven." 
 
 At  last  at  midnight,  when  they  had  been  on  the  sea 
 for  nine  hours,  they  made  the  island,  and  a  two  miles 
 walk  brought  them,  dripping  and  bedraggled  as  they 
 were,  to  the  laird's  house.  Word  had  gone  on  before 
 them,  and  they  found  the  house  lighted  up  on  their 
 approach.  But  the  host  did  not  appear,  and  they 
 were  received  by  the  servants  in  silence  and  with 
 solemn  funereal  faces,  which  were  yet  further  elongated, 
 when  Robertson,  thinking  thereby  to  win  the  greater 
 favour,  as  Highlanders  have  a  proverbial  reverence  for 
 the  clergy,  introduced  himself,  and  one  after  another 
 of  the  gentlemen  of  the  party  as  "the  Rev."!  They 
 learned  afterwards  that  Highland  reverence  for  the 
 clergy  is  so  mixed  with  superstition,  that  a  company 
 who  have  escaped  the  sea  are  reckoned  specially 
 "  uncanny,"  if  they  number  among  them  any  of  the 
 clerical  profession. 
 
 But  though  thus  received  in  grim  silence,  which  was 
 unbroken  to  the  end,  they  got  such  hospitality  as  the 
 
A  STORMY  VOYAGE.  405 
 
 house  could  furnish — a  late  supper,  and  some  hours 
 of  rest,  if  not  of  sleep.  By  some  means,  next  morn- 
 ing, a  life-boat  was  procured,  embarking  in  which, 
 they  again  faced  the  unabated  storm,  and  made  for 
 Stafifa,  which  they  reached  in  time  for  the  steamer 
 that,  on  alternate  days,  calls  there  first.  They  thus 
 at  last  reached  Iona  in  safety.  Robertson  was  ac- 
 customed to  make  light  of  the  danger,  and  to  dwell 
 rather  on  the  humorous  incidents  of  the  stormy  voy- 
 age. He  told  with  great  glee  how,  on  questioning  the 
 boatmen,  as  they  were  nearing  StafTa,  whether  they 
 could  in  any  way  account  for  the  sudden  storm,  they, 
 resolute  adherents  of  the  "  constitutional  party"  in  the 
 Free  Church,  connected  it  with  the  "heresies"  of 
 Professor  Robertson  Smith,  and  the  "temporizings" 
 of  Principal  Rain}*.  When  the  travellers  went  on 
 board  the  steamer,  the  first  passenger  they  saw — 
 indeed,  almost  the  only  one  who  had  ventured  to  face 
 the  storm — was  the  learned  Principal,  who  was  all 
 unconscious  of  the  thaumaturgic  power  with  which  he 
 is  credited  in  the  "Highlands  and  Islands,"  that  are 
 under  his  special  care.  After  his  return  to  YVestfield, 
 Dr.  Robertson  wrote  to  his  sister  :  "  I  would  not  for  a 
 great  deal  have  missed  that  romantic  Highland  vigil 
 in  the  house  of  the  invisible  chieftain,  M'Lean,  nor 
 the  jolly  life-boat,  nor  even  the  other  boat,  now  that 
 it  is  all  over  and  no  one  is  a  bit  the  worse  for  it." 
 
406  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 To  Mr.  William    M'Call,  Irvine. 
 
 Westfield,  15th  August,  1881. 
 
 .  .  .  I  am  vowing  a  vow  of  total  abstinence  from 
 preaching  for  some  time.  Thus  I  can  say  to  any  one  who 
 asks  me,  as  the  Auchenbowie  collier  said  to  his  minister, 
 who  was  scolding  him  for  not  attending  church.  "  Weel, 
 sir,  if  I  dinna  gang  to  your  kirk,  I  dinna  gang  by't."  I  had 
 forgotten  this  story  till  reminded  of  it  by  the  landlady  of  the 
 "  Great  Western,"  at  Oban,  who  said  she  had  heard  me  tell 
 it  in  Dr.  Knox's,  years  and  years  ago ;  and  for  the  sake  of 
 that  and  other  old  memories  refused  to  accept  any  payment 
 of  hotel-bill  either  for  myself  or  my  party  of  five.  I  said  she 
 was  as  bad  as  Mr.  MacLehose,  who  had  made  me  free  of 
 his  fine  circulating  library  for  many  long  years.  Sometimes 
 I  have  far  too  many  books  out  and  keep  them  far  too  long  ; 
 and  if  he  sends  word  hinting  to  send  them  back,  I  say  if  he 
 gives  me  any  more  of  his  impudence  I  will  leave  him  ! 
 
 A  movement  begun  that  autumn,  chiefly  among  the 
 younger  ministers,  for  the  improvement  of  the 
 devotional  services  of  the  Church,,  greatly  interested 
 him. 
 
 To  His  Sister. 
 
 Westfield,  Friday. 
 
 .  .  .  I  will  stand  faithfully  by  them,  and  lend  them  all 
 the  help  I  can.  You  know  how  I  think  many  late  "  im- 
 provements "  no  improvements  at  all,  and  some  that  are 
 wanted  still  less  so,  especially  the  light  jaunty  style  of 
 singing,  and  the  liturgical  bonds  which  some  would  impose. 
 Our  Presbyterian  worship,  if  kept  free  and  well  instructed 
 and  guided,  is  japable  of  development  into  the  purest  form 
 
IMPROVEMENT  IN  CHURCH  SERVICES.     4°7 
 
 of  church  worship,  even  among  the  Scotch,  and  among  the 
 so-called  "vulgar/'  but  withal  honest  and  manly  U.P.'s  I 
 hope  to  convince  them  that  many  innovations  reached,  or 
 indicated  as  desirable,  are  not  improvements,  and  that  if 
 they  get  upon  the  wrong  lines  the  old  fogies  may  easily 
 checkmate  them,  and  ought  to.  Even  a  worship  ideally  the 
 best  may  not  be  the  best  for  our  Church  as  yet,  or  for  a  long 
 while.  There  were  ninety  ministers  present,  the  younger 
 U.P.  ministers  that  seemed  the  very  flower  of  our  Church. 
 If  the  movement,  which  is  a  very  healthful  one  if  rightly 
 inspired  and  instructed  and  managed,  should  go  astray,  I 
 should  not  hold  myself  guiltless  if  I  had  not  done  my  best 
 to  keep  it  on  the  right  lines.  It  is  in  keeping  with  the  spirit 
 of  the  age  and  must  succeed  ;  and  those  who  are  out  of 
 sympathy  with  it,  and  keep  aloof  from  it,  or  set  themselves 
 against  it,  must  make  up  their  minds  to  be  defeated,  for 
 better  or  for  worse.  Best  to  help  to  guide  it  right  if  one 
 can.  Some  may,  strangely  enough,  think  it  a  fault  for 
 ministers  and  members  of  the  Church  to  associate  for  the 
 purpose  of  consulting,  and  showing  one  another  how  best, 
 according  to  the  Scriptures  and  the  freedom  the  Church 
 allows,  to  worship  God.  They  are  not  sure  of  their  own 
 ground,  and  don't  want  to  see  such  questions  raised.  But 
 they  are  raised  in  spite  of  them,  and  wise  it  is  to  let  us  deal 
 with  them  and  dispose  of  them  as  wisely  as  we  can,  and 
 great  good  will  come  of  it. 
 
 A   lady  whom  he  had  known  and  loved  as  a  child 
 and  to  whom  he  had  once  written  a  birthday  letter,1 
 having  become   a   mother,  wrote  to  tell  him  of  the 
 death  of  one  of  her  children.     He  wrote  in  reply  : — 
 1  See  page  221. 
 
408  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 Westfield,  21st  February  1882. 
 
 It  was  touchingly  kind  of  you  to  remember  in  your  sorrow 
 to  write  me,  when  you  could  scarcely  see  to  do  so  in  "  the 
 shadow  of  death,"  when  your  beautiful  baby  could  have 
 scarcely  crossed  the  threshold  accompanied  by  the  songs  of 
 a  thousand  churches,  assembled  just  then,  when  the  bells 
 had  ceased  to  ring.  The  little  pilgrim  has  come  to  Zion 
 with  songs,  and  joined  the  children  in  the  streets  and  in  the 
 temple,  that  sing  their  Hosannas,  or  rather  their  Hallelujahs 
 to  the  children's  King  and  Saviour,  as  they  wave  their  little 
 palm  branches  glittering  with  the  dew  of  their  immortal 
 youth. 
 
 And  she  has  strewed  her  beautiful  little  garment  in  the 
 way.  If  so  beautiful  in  death  how  beautiful  will  it  be  in 
 resurrection.  You  will  have  it  folded  up  and  laid  aside  in 
 the  wardrobe  of  the  grave  to-morrow,  and  I  will  come  and 
 join  you  in  your  sadness,  or  rather  in  your  sure  and  certain 
 hope. 
 
 She  has  taken  higher  rank  in  heaven  as  one  of  Christ's 
 redeemed  from  earth,  than  if  she  had  been  created  all  at 
 once  a  holy  angel  in  heaven ;  and  through  the  shadow  of 
 death  and  mystery  of  pain,  and  the  mother's  tears  and  kisses, 
 and  the  "  Blood  of  the  Lamb,"  has  passed  up  all  uncon- 
 sciously but  yet  most  safely  to  the  highest  heavens,  where 
 
 "  Babes  thither  caught  from  mother's  breast 
 Claim  right  to  sing  above  the  rest, 
 Because  they  found  the  happy  shore 
 They  neither  saw  nor  sought  before." 
 
 And  now  you  will  always  see  a  sweet  face  looking  down, 
 and  a  dear  little  voice  singing  overhead  and  calling  you  to 
 "come  up  hither" — and  it  will  do  you  good,  and  we  shall 
 all  meet  beyond  the  shadows  and  be  very  happy  together, 
 and  not  forget  the  little  crib,  that  with  the  beautiful  child 
 
SITTING  TO  MR.  HERD  MAN.  409 
 
 suffering  so  softly  did  not  look  at  all  like  a  death-bed,  as 
 you  said ;  and  you  thought  it  so  strange,  till  you  remembered 
 that  death  is  abolished,  and  for  the  "  Babe  in  Christ "  not 
 so  much — not  at  all — the  hearse  and  the  funeral,  but  the 
 chariot  and  the  angels  come  ! 
 
 I  thank  God  you  are  so  calm  in  "  Christ's  own  Peace," 
 and  comforted  as  one  whom  a  mother  comforteth.  Your 
 note  I  have  answered  by  return  of  post  somewhat  hurriedly. 
 — I  am,  my  dear  child,  yours  in  sorrow. 
 
 To  Mr.  George  Brown,  Irvine. 
 
 Westfield,  22nd  February,  1882. 
 
 .  .  .  The  spring  is  breaking  with  great  sweetness  and 
 beauty,  and  I  am  making  a  new  garden  toward  the  sunrise 
 to  meet  it — planting  a  garden  eastward  in  Eden,  though 
 there  is  no  prospect  whatever  of  an  Eve  !  Nor  can  I  afford 
 to  have  a  man  to  till  the  ground  ! 
 
 The  late  Mr.  Robert  Herdman,  R.S.A.,  whose 
 friendship  Dr.  Robertson  had  made  during  his 
 month's  residence  in  Iona  in  1881,  had  asked  leave 
 to  make  a  study  of  his  head  for  a  picture  of  St. 
 Columba. 
 
 To  Mr.  Robert  Herdman,  R.S.A. 
 
 Westfield,  2nd  March,  1882. 
 
 My  Dear  Raphael, — In  what  costume  should  I  come  ? 
 The  surtout  or  swallow-tail  would  hardly  be  worn  by  the 
 "  saints  "  of  the  Holy  Isle  in  the  6th  century.  Perhaps  an 
 ulster  would  be  more  suggestive  of  their  Irish  descent. 
 Should  I  shorten  my  hair,  or  let  it  flow  in  its  weird,  grey 
 dishevelment — which  nobody  likes — and  I  suppose  I  must 
 
4IO  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 cut  it.     Should    I   shear  my  grisly  beard   and  accept   the 
 irregular  tonsure  of  the  monks  of  the  Hebrides  ? 
 
 If  I  had  that  pretty  child  (Mary  Payne)  who  led  the 
 hymns  at  my  feet 1  it  would  make  me  look  twenty  years 
 older.  But  no  women,  still  less  pretty  children,  and  no 
 cows  (I  don't  say  no  calves)  were  permitted  in  I-Colm-kill 
 during  my  old  residence  there. — Your  affectionate  humble 
 servant,  Columba. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  John  Kirkwood. 
 
 Westfield,  ist  May,  1882. 
 
 How  miserably  I  have  behaved  !  Your  letter  will  be  a 
 week  old  to-morrow.  I  must  baptize  it  with  tears.  .  .  . 
 At  present,  and  for  some  time,  I  am  under  a  vow,  from 
 which  there  is  no  absolviter,  to  preach  no  anniversary,  or  any 
 such-like  service,  on  any  account,  any  occasion,  any  solicita- 
 tion whatever.  "The  sweep  of  July"  that  you  offer  me 
 must  be  a  very  idle  fellow,  for  there  are  few  smockacles  or 
 little  reek  that  month.  A  preacher  at  Bridge  of  Allan  spoke 
 grandly  of  "  taking  the  sweep  of  the  universe."  Old  John 
 M'Robie,  sitting  by  me,  asked  what  he  meant  by  that.  I 
 said,  "  Surely  you  know  who  he  is,  the  black  sweep  of  the 
 universe  ! " 
 
 To  Miss  Florence  Sf.llar. 
 
 Westfield,  6th  May,  1882. 
 
 Vou  shall  have  to  begin  hearing  from  me,  in  the  occa- 
 sional audience  you  may  be  kind  enough  to  grant,-  by  an 
 act  of  pardon  to  the  old  man  of  delay  that  is  in  me  (wretched 
 old  man !). 
 
 1  On  the  Angels'  Hill,  lona.     See  p.  3S6. 
 
 2  Miss  Sellar  had  gone  to  Florence,  and  Dr.  Robertson  had  under- 
 taken to  send  to  her  some  jottings  to  guide  her  through  the  churches 
 and  galleries.     See  page  289. 
 
NIGHT  TEACHING  KNOWLEDGE.  4 1  I 
 
 I  have  been  imprisoned,  you  must  know,  for  debt  since 
 you  left — debt  to  Duty — an  inexorable  creditor  that  agreed 
 to  take  no  composition,  but  has  shut  me  up  in  jail  till  it  was 
 paid ;  and  when,  through  the  black  iron  bars,  I  heard  your 
 musical  voice,  like  the  singing  of  the  minstrel  Blonde!,  out- 
 side the  fortress  in  which  Richard  was  immured,  I  knew  the 
 refrain  well,  but  was  sad  I  could  not  render  it  immediately. 
 
 Forgive  the  unavoidable  delay — which  I  will  not  enlarge 
 a  single  moment  by  pausing,  even  so  long,  to  explain.  Nor 
 will  I  stay  to  thank  you  here — as  I  do  most  heartily — for 
 your  kind  mention  of  the  ancient  mariner,  that  might  well  and 
 deservedly  have  been  forgotten,  to  the  ladies  De  Quincey. 
 The  day  of  my  acquaintance  with  them,  of  which,  though 
 slight,  I  was  very  proud,  seemed  to  be  broken  off;  but, 
 through  you,  the  dawn  seems  to  return  at  the  sunset,  and 
 "  the  evening  and  the  morning  make  the  day."     . 
 
 Daylight  is  only  a  veil — though  a  white  veil — and  mortal 
 life  a  veil ;  but  when  the  veil  of  light  and  veil  of  life  shall 
 be  withdrawn,  shall  not  "  night  teach  us  knowledge ;'  ? 
 Shall  we  not  see  into  the  higher  heaven  beyond  the  stars — 
 shall  we  not  see  each  other  face  to  face,  with  only  God 
 between  ?  And  God  is  light,  and  in  that  Light,  dissolved 
 comes  every  sorrow — that  holy  light  of  God,  of  which  the 
 light  of  genius  is  but  the  dim  and  distant  reflection  :  and 
 blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart  for  they  shall  see  God,  and 
 see  each  other,  and  see  all  things  in  that  light  of  God.  For 
 them  that  light  is  sown,  the  Scripture  says,  still  under  ground 
 and  buried,  or  only  springing  like  the  corn  in  May,  but  it 
 shall  break  and  blossom  into  spreading  harvest  in  due 
 season. 
 
 "  Be  patient."  "  Behold  the  husbandman  waiteth  for  the 
 harvest."  A  few  things  I  may  be  able  to  teach  you,  in  virtue 
 of  my  education  to  that  ministry,  through  long  experience 
 and  ordination  to  it  in  the  black  robes  of  sorrow,  and  with  the 
 
412  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 hand  of  God  laid  sometimes  heavily  enough  upon  my  head. 
 But  it  is  little,  it  is  nothing,  I  can  teach  you  as  other  teachers 
 can,  and  specially  the  Teacher  Darkness  and  the  Teacher 
 Death. 
 
 At  this  point  he  had  paused  in  his  writing.  Before 
 he  was  able  to  resume  it,  his  and  his  correspondent's 
 dear  friend,  Dr.  John  Brown,  died.  He  then  added 
 this  fragment  of  a  postscript  to  the  unfinished  letter, 
 and  wrote  the  letter  which  follows  it : — 
 
 Teacher  Death  !  Little  I  thought  in  writing  then  of  what 
 should  next  follow.  Pausing  here  to  make  for  you  ere 
 continuing.     . 
 
 To  the  Same. 
 
 Westfield,  15th  May,  1882. 
 
 The  shadow  of  death — thick,  dark,  heavy — has  fallen 
 betwixt  us,  and  I  could  hardly  see  to  write  the  latter  part  of 
 what  I  have  sent,1  and  none  of  which  in  the  darkened  light 
 you  may  see  or  care  to  read. 
 
 That  dear,  dear  friend  in  whose  name  I  had  the  joy  of 
 meeting  you  first,  scarcely  a  month  ago,  has  passed  beyond 
 the  shadows  into  the  Light  of  God.  Now  he  sees  no  more 
 through  a  glass  darkly,  but  face  to  face.  On  Saturday  he 
 sickened  \  on  Sunday  sat  a  little  in  the  drawing-room ;  on 
 Monday  seemed  a  little  better ;  but  sank  through  Tuesday 
 and  Wednesday ;  and  peacefully  on  Thursday  morning — 
 when  the  sweet  May  sunlight  was  breaking  over  his  beloved 
 Arthur's  Seat  and  Holyrood,  up  the  leafy  Princes  Street 
 Gardens — the  white  angels  came.  "The  Master  came  and 
 called  for  him  ;  "  and  dearest  Dr.  John  Brown  had  "  another 
 morn  than  ours." 
 
 1  The  Jottings  on  Florence. 
 
DR.  JOHN  BRO  IVJV'S  DBA  TH.  4 1 3 
 
 No  clouds  !  no  broken  lights  !  in  his  last  hours,  such  as 
 he  might  have  dreaded,  for  the  clouds  were  just  beginning 
 to  return  after  the  rain — only  very  little  clouds  like  a  man's 
 hand,  but  they  pointed,  after  such  a  sweet  long  reach  of 
 sunlight,  to  a  deeper,  blacker  gulf  and  storm  of  darkness 
 than  ever,  through  which  to  struggle  in  the  end  on  to  the 
 Light.  But  the  Cloud  of  Death  that  over-shadowed  him 
 was  a  "bright  cloud,"  bright  with  the  Presence  that  would 
 not  leave  him  forsaken  ;  and  without  the  slightest  fear  he 
 "entered  the  cloud"  and  passed,  Christ-like,  into  the 
 beautiful  Transfiguration  on  the  Mount  of  God  1 
 
 Serene  and  clear  the  eventide,  the  light  at  evening  of  a 
 day  of  such  shining — mingled  and  alternate  light  and  dark — 
 of  brightness  that  outshone  the  sun,  and  far  outshone  us  all 
 in  intellectual  splendour  and  in  holy  purity,  and  gloom  that 
 brought  him  sometimes  very  near  the  dark  forsaken  agony. 
 The  Heavens  were  really  opened  over  him  and  the  vision 
 came  and  went  in  that  quiet  chamber,  quite  near  the  tread 
 of  common  footsteps,  and  the  roar  of  traffic  on  the  railway 
 and  the  streets,  when  it  was  little  thought  how  close  at  hand 
 the  open  gate  had  been,  and  scenes  of  meeting  between  the 
 shining  welcomes  and  the  sad  farewells ! 
 
 He  said  with  unutterable  love,  dumb  in  its  very  depth — 
 simply,  "  Oh  Isabella  !"  Again  "  Alexander,  you  will  pray 
 for  me  " — sometimes,  "  My  trust  is  in  Christ,  I  cling  to  Him 
 alone,  no  more,  no  more,  perfect  peace;  "  then,  with  that 
 sweet  smile  of  his,  you  never  saw  on  any  other  face  so 
 beautiful,  he  fell  asleep ;  and  still  it  lingers  on  his  face,  that 
 looks  in  its  white  stillness  upwards — like  a  holy  dream. 
 
 Be  glad  with  me  that  it  has  been  so  with  him  in  the  end. 
 I  cannot  write  you  more  just  now,  but  will  do  so  after  the 
 funeral  to-morrow.  They  are  wonderfully  cheerful  in  the 
 house  of  mourning — "The  Lord  will  not  forsake  his  own." 
 
41 4  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 To  The  Same. 
 
 Westfield,  18th  May,  1882. 
 
 On  Tuesday  we  had  the  brightest  sunlights  this  summer  as 
 yet  had  brought  us ;  and  shortly  after  noon,  and  slowly  and 
 sadly,  from  Rutland  Street  to  the  New  Calton  Cemetery, 
 passed  the  dark  procession  of  mourners  in  hundreds  to 
 the  burial  of  all  that  was  mortal  of  one  of  the  greatest,  most 
 gifted,  most  genial,  most  gentle — I  will  add  with  emphasis, 
 most  godly  of  men. 
 
 Crowds  came  to  see  the  funeral  pass  by.  "What  went 
 they  out  for  to  see?"  "A  reed  shaken  with  the  wind?  " 
 Nay,  but  a  prophet,  and  more  than  a  prophet,  and  one  of  the 
 kindliest  of  woman  born.  A  "Bruised  Reed"  indeed,  but 
 yielding  sweeter  music,  through  its  having  been  bruised,  in 
 the  hands  of  the  Good  Shepherd  that  does  not  break  the 
 bruised  reed,  but  refits  it  and  retimes  it,  to  the  utterance  of 
 harmonies  that  could  never  come  so  rich  from  the  lips  that 
 had  never  quivered,  from  the  soul  that  had  never  suffered, 
 from  the  reed  that  had  not  been  "  bruised." 
 
 How  many  more  than  were  drawn  by  the  funeral  to  the 
 streets  and  the  cemetery,  have  been  drawn  by  the  sweet  sad 
 life,  silently,  and  by  the  literary  labours  of  love  as  well — 
 nearer  to  the  True,  and  Good  and  Holy — nearer  to  the 
 Heaven  where  with  the  pure  in  heart  he  now  sees  God. 
 
 All  along  the  line  of  the  "  dark  march  "  of  the  shadow  of 
 death,  that  had  fallen  into  the  sunlights  of  Princes  Street — 
 on  every  ledge,  terrace  and  balcony  available,  there  seemed 
 to  stand  some  group  of  ladies  in  mourning,  many  with  tears 
 upon  their  faces  and  white  flowers  in  their  hands. 
 
 But  for  him  the  heaven  had  been  opened  ere  the  grave 
 was  opened,  and  as  we  passed  along  one  seemed  to  lose 
 sight  of  the  dark  pageantry  of  death  and  funeral,  and  to  see 
 the  chariots  and  horses  of  fire.     Your  Master  (mine  also, 
 
DR.  JOHN  BROWN'S  FUNERAL.  4*5 
 
 like  Elisha's)  has  been  taken  from  us.  He  walked  with  Cxod, 
 not  drove  in  a  coach  and  six,  like  some  blustering  Christians, 
 but  walked  like  Isaac  at  eventide — like  William  Cowper  at 
 Olney — like  Enoch ;  and  like  Enoch,  is  not,  for  God  has 
 taken  him.  Let  us  seek  after  the  God  who  has  taken  him, 
 rather  than  himself.  Where  is  the  Lord  God  of  John 
 Brown  ! 
 
 The  burial  was  fitly  made  in  the  precincts  of  the  ancestral 
 Holyrood  rather  than  in  Dean  Cemetery  or  the  Grange,  in 
 the  early  summer,  with  breaking  of  new  life  and  blossomings 
 around  us,  breathing  sure  and  certain  hope  of  resurrection 
 — a  sepulchre  in  a  garden,  the  garden  of  the  early  summer, 
 in  which  the  Christ  who  is  risen  had  himself  been  laid. 
 
 A  lark  went  singing  up  the  clear  blue  sky,  showering 
 down  gushes  of  melody  on  the  mourners,  that  stood  silent 
 and  uncovered  round  the  opened  grave.  I  wish  you  had 
 heard  it  (true  to  the  kindred  points  of  heaven  and  home). 
 I  think  in  some  sort  you  always  will  have  to  hear  a  voice 
 from  above  calling  you  to  sweetness,  to  make  your  life  a 
 lark -like  melody. 
 
 **  Be  good,  sweet  maid,     .     .     . 
 And  so  make  Life,  Death,  and  that  vast  For  Ever, 
 One  grand  sweet  song. " 
 
 The  following  fragment  seems  to  have  been  written 
 at  a  later  date  in  the  same  year  : — 
 
 "  Rab  and  His  Friends  "  was  the  first  remarkable  work  of 
 one  of  my  oldest,  dearest  friends,  whose  funeral  darkened 
 the  sunlight  of  a  May  morning  in  the  early  summer  of  this 
 year.  His  last  visit  to  the  country  was  paid  here  but  three 
 weeks  before,  and  the  light  of  joy  that  shone  round  his 
 wonderfully  beautiful  head  and  countenance  seemed  to  us 
 like  the  "  glory  "  round  a  saintly  brow,  and  to  have  less  in  it 
 of  earth  and  more  of  heaven.     Descended  from  that  shep- 
 
416 
 
 AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 herd  lad  that  led  his  sheep  and  read  his  Greek  upon  the  hill- 
 sides in  the  Highlands,  without  grammar  or  dictionary,  or 
 other  teaching  than  the  "  inspiration  of  the  Almighty,  which 
 giveth  man  understanding,"  and  which  has  taught  him  ever 
 since  to  read  in  the  same  way  the  hieroglyphic  and  arrow- 
 headed  handwriting  on  the  wall — the  same  whom  the  stiff 
 Seceders,  that  refused  to  fraternize  with  George  Whitfield, 
 would  have  interdicted  from  the  pulpit  because  he  was 
 suspected  of  having  eaten,  through  a  fresh  temptation  of 
 the  serpent,  of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  and  of  being  much 
 occupied,  like  the  "  Faustus "  or  the  builder  of  Cologne 
 Cathedral,  with  the  evil  one — this  last,  the  greatest  of  the 
 gifted  race  of  the  Browns,  inherited,  both  by  his  father's 
 and  his  mother's  side,  both  gift  and  grace,  and  was  indeed 
 truly  a  noble  man  of  God,  with  all  his  rich,  rare  humour 
 sanctified  through  the  holy  life  that  was  in  him.  He  had  to 
 struggle  up  through  depths  of  darkness  and  moods  of  even 
 the  forsaken  agony,  in  striking  contrast  with  alternate  moods 
 of  mirth  and  playfulness,  like  Cowper  of  Olney,  now  hidden 
 by  the  curtains  of  sorrow,  and  now  riding  a  merry  race  with 
 John  Gilpin,  till  it  came  all  right  in  the  end,  when  he  had  a 
 sweet  and  beautiful  and  saintly  death  beneath  the  opened 
 heavens,  and  passed  away  with  shining  face  into  the  joy 
 unspeakable — the  Light  that  is  inaccessible,  in  which  there 
 is  no  darkness  at  all. 
 
 At  the  United  Presbyterian  Synod  of  1882,  Dr. 
 John  Ker  had,  in  connection  with  the  sanctioning  of  a 
 "  Children's  Hymnal,"  entered  a  protest  against  the 
 growing  tendency  to  use  hymns  to  the  exclusion  of 
 the  Psalms  in  worship.  The  speech  was  delivered 
 immediately  after  Dr.  Brown's  funeral,  and  Dr.  Robert- 
 son, who  had  sauntered  into  the  Synod  Hall,  happened 
 
ON  BANISHING  THE  PSALMS.  417 
 
 to  hear  it.     The  following  letter  manifestly  refers  to 
 that  speech  : — 
 
 To  the  Rev.  Dr.  John  Ker. 
 
 Westfield. 
 
 .  .  .  It  was  a  pity  to  banish  the  Psalms  !  What 
 human  hymn  to  be  compared  with  the  Old  100  !  But  I  am 
 afraid  you  are  behind  the  age,  Doctor,  not  knowing 
 that  now-a-days  David  is  counted  (among  the  U.P.'s) 
 nothing  to  Dunlop,  or  Jeduthun  to  Jacque  of  Auchterarder. 
 (A  kingly  man,  though,  is  this  Jacque,  whom  I  much  love  and 
 admire,  and  he  does  play  the  fiddle  well,  and  he  can  write 
 no  ordinary  commonplaces — witness  his  "  Sweep's  Appren- 
 tice.") The  hymns  now  in  fashion  must  seem  very  feeble 
 "milk  for  babes" — spoon-meat — to  those  who  in  their  very 
 childhood  were  fed  on  the  strong  meat  of  "  Now  Israel  may 
 say,"  "  In  Judah's  land,"  "  God  is  our  Refuge,"  etc.,  sung  to 
 the  Old  124,  Martyrs,  and  Stroudwater,  "compared  with 
 which  Italian  trills  are  tame."  But  that  was  ere  we  learned 
 "  Piety "  or  got  into  the  "  Desert."1  Do  you  remember 
 them  in  our  college  days  ?  No  doubt  the  weird  wail  of 
 Coleshill  at  an  old  sacrament  was  very  barbarous,  compared 
 with  the  mild  prettiness  of  Bonar  and  Ira  Sankey  !  But 
 somehow  I  am  barbarous  enough  to  prefer  it  with  "  Why  art 
 thou  cast  down  ? "  or  "  O  thou,  my  soul ! "  The  grand 
 march  of  an  old  Scotch  tune,  with  all  its  native  wildness.  or 
 of  its  more  harmonious  cousin  german,  the  chorale,  is  far 
 finer  than  the  waltzing  devotion  of  12th  masses,  and  the 
 light  tripping  gallopade  of  a  metrical  chant.  Even  the 
 "  Seed  we  bury  in  the  earth "  of  my  lamented  Dr.  Bruce, 
 how  trifling  it  sounds  at  any  funeral,  even  at  his  own,  com- 
 
 1  The  names  of  two  most  unecclesiastical  psalm  tunes  that  were 
 popular  in  Scotland  in  the  early  half  of  this  century. 
 
 2  D 
 
41 8  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 pared  with  the  solemn  dead  march  of  the  90th  Psalm,  or  truly 
 dirge-like  102nd  or  103rd — "Such  pity,"  etc.  Or,  if  hymn 
 they  will  have,  why  not  take  the  inspired  hymn  included  in 
 that  same  chapter,  "Death  is  swallowed  up,  O  Death,"  etc., 
 which  is  a  burst  of  thanksgiving  to  God  who  giveth  the  vic- 
 tory, and  not  a  mere  dialectical  discussion.  In  very  many 
 cases  I  believe  a  little  argument  will  be  enough  to  show  that 
 the  old  is  better,  and  if  the  new  is  better,  by  all  means  let  us 
 have  it.  What  is  wanted  is  rather  revival  than  reform,  and 
 when  the  spirit  of  devotion  wells  up  like  a  flood,  all  little 
 dilettante  teacups  will  be  swept  away  soon  enough,  and 
 broader,  deeper  vessels  called  for,  to  hold  the  overflow. 
 "  Stay  me  with  flagons,  for  I  am  sick  of  love."     .     .     , 
 
 To  Dr.  Angus  Smith,  Manchester. 
 
 Westfield,  20th  October,  1882. 
 
 .  .  .  The  Union  Jack  reminds  me  of  the  gross 
 wrong  done  by  Sir  Garnet  to  our  Highlanders.  Brave 
 fellows  !  that  have  won  every  battle — Tel-el-Kebir,  like 
 the  rest — for  your  lubberly  English.  I  like  the  signboard 
 on  a  northern  public-house — a  Highlander  with  kilt 
 and  claymore,  and  underneath  inscribed,  "  The  Battle 
 of  Waterloo."  Much  nearer  the  truth  than  Sir  Garnet's 
 despatches.  A  young  friend,  lieutenant  in  the  Black 
 Watch,  has  come  home  wounded,  though  recovering,  to 
 Edinburgh.  He  was  among  the  first  within  the  fort,  dashed 
 on  to  Arabi's  tent,  and  has  brought  home  his  slippers. 
 They  are  of  golden  leather,  like  those  of  the  King  in  the 
 Canticles,  whose  dress,  I  take  it,  is  described,  and  not  his 
 person  only,  when,  among  the  rest,  it  is  said,  "  His  legs  are 
 as  pillars  of  marble  set  upon  sockets  of  fine  gold." 
 
 Why  should  they  say  "England,"  and  not  "Scotland" 
 rather,  which  is   the  royal  land,  the  ancient  cradle  of  the 
 
"  0 UR  HIGHLANDERS:'  4 T 9 
 
 kings.  "Great  Britain"  would  do,  but  it  does  not  include 
 Ireland,  and  Paddy  Garnet  would  kick.  "  United  King- 
 dom" is  a  thing,  and  won't  do.  I  propose  "United 
 People"  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  which  would  speedily, 
 of  course,  become  U.P. !  ! 
 
 Give  my  warmest  regards  to  Miss  Smith,  with  thanks 
 meantime  for  her  kind  letter,  which  gave  me  great  delight, 
 and  which  I  will  answer  without  delay  when  I  have  time  to 
 write  legibly,  and  not  in  that  fiery  haste  in  which  I  am  going 
 to  melt  down  a  pile  of  letters  harder  to  liquidate  than  hers. 
 I  hope  all  goes  well  with  your  laboratory  and  its  fiery  trials. 
 Why  do  we  say  wiry  from  wire,  miry  from  mire,  spicy  from 
 spice,  and  not  fry  from  fire  ?  Can  the  fier  be  the  French 
 (and  Italian  fieri,  wild  beasts)  from  which  comes  fierce?  Or 
 can  the  one  word  have  passed  into  the  other  as  being  nearly 
 related,  like  the  den  of  lions  at  Babylon  and  the  fiery  fur- 
 nace ?  Do  you  know,  I  told  a  scorner  lately  that  it  was  now 
 discovered  from  the  "  Bricks  "  that  the  Mene,  Mene  of  Bel- 
 shazzar  was  nothing  but  the  Menu  of  the  feast  hung  on  the 
 wall  !  The  unutterable  blockhead  was  so  ready  to  believe 
 it  that  I  had  to  tell  him  it  was  only  a  guess  ! 
 
 To  Miss  Florence  Sellar. 
 
 Westfield,  ist  November,  1882. 
 
 I  wonder  if  I  shall  be  able  to  survive  Saturday,  if  you 
 really  will  come  and  bring  Miss  Annie  with  you.  They  say, 
 J  'ide  Napoli  e  muori. 
 
 You  will  find  here  some  sheets  of  a  letter  on  Ravenna 
 that  grew  upon  my  hands  too  large,  and  not  too  legible,  as 
 from  the  first  it  was  too  late  for  overtaking  you  in  Italy — to 
 send. 
 
 How  delicately  I  am  reminded  on  this  day  of  "All  Saints" 
 of  two  of  the  very  noblest  of  them  *  by  you  and  your  charm- 
 
 1  Dr.  John  Erown  and  Dr.  Xorman  Macleod. 
 
420  AT  V.'ESTFIELD. 
 
 ing   ;• ig  friend     It  sounds  like  sweet  music  in  a  cream, 
 
 in  a  re  [uiem. 
 
 The    following    extracts    are    from    the   M  letter  on 
 Ravenna"  begun  to  be  written  in  answer  to  a  series  of 
 -      ns  which  1M iss  Sellar  had  sent  to  him  from  the 
 ancient  city  : — 
 
 What  eyes  you  must  have  to  have  read  off  so  quickly,  so 
 correctly,  so  much  oi  the  mysterious  old  Ravenna  and  its 
 ritiDg  a  the  wall  I  have  received  with  much  delight 
 youi  "Shorter  Catechism  "  ;  but  v.ould  rather  have  been 
 with  you.  I  believe  that  into  the  heart  and  meaning  of 
 that  hue  Christian  archaic  work  I  should  have  seen  more 
 keenly,  more  correctly,  through  your  young,  open  eyes. 
 and  more  quickly,  than  through  the  old,  half-shut,  spec- 
 tacled eyes  of  laborious  microscopic  criticism.  You  re- 
 member how  the  old  magician  in  the  eastern  tale  goes  in 
 the  innocent,  pure-eyed  child,  who  alone  can  open 
 to  him  the  treasure  chamber,  and  how  he  finds  her  by  put- 
 ting his  ear  to  the  ground  and  listening  till  he  distinguishes 
 the  whisper  of  her  footstep  amid  the  heavy  clatter  of  a 
 thers  u  the  streets  of  a  city  a  hundred  miles 
 away.      .     . 
 
 I   will   not   forget   how   you    carried  the   thought  of  me 
 
 in   some   sort   even    through   those   visions   of  beauty   and 
 
 lei    floating    round   you    in   Ravenna — the   saints  and 
 
 rs     on     their    mural     march    across    the     centuries, 
 
 back    to    the    cradle,    forward    to    the    throne ;    and    the 
 
 Good  Shepherd  feeding  his    flock    in    pastures    green   in 
 
 the    shadow    of  death,    in   the   darkness   of  the  serulchre, 
 
 I     like    the    night    with    stars    of   gold    shining 
 
 with    all    variety    of    richest    colour,   like   the   plumage   of 
 
 the  Bird  of  Immortalitv,  like  the  Rainbow  of  the  Heavens 
 
THE  MOSAICS  AT  RA  VENNA.  42 1 
 
 around  the  Throne,  which  is  the  meaning  and  interpretation 
 of  that  gorgeous  blaze  of  interwoven  light  and  colour  with 
 which  the  very  flooring  of  the  house  of  death  is  tapestried, 
 with  which  its  walls  and  ceilings  are  all  draped  and  hung. 
 It  is  the  "  Mene,  Mene,  Tekel,"  written  in  brilliantly  illum- 
 inated letters — the  doom  of  death  in  the  Divine  hand- 
 writing on  his  palace  walls.  It  is  still  more  the  heavenly 
 apocalypse  of  beauty,  rising  in  rich  raiment  at  the  sound  of 
 the  trumpet,  putting  on  her  beautiful  garments  and  ascend- 
 ing in  robes  of  triumph  from  the  tomb,  when  this  corruptible 
 shall  put  on  incorruption,  and  this  mortal  shall  put  on 
 immortality.  And  then,  in  the  midst,  sits  calmly  and 
 quietly,  in  His  own  divinest  peace,  the  Good  Great  Shepherd 
 of  the  sheep  brought  again  from  the  dead  by  the  blood  of 
 the  everlasting  covenant — which  is  indicated  by  the  cross 
 He  carries  on  His  shoulder — and  gently  and  tenderly  He 
 feeds  His  sheep  out  of  His  pierced  hand ;  and  one  of  them 
 licks  His  hand,  as  it  were  with  a  tongue  that  almost  seems 
 to  speak,  and  does  speak  in  the  dumb,  eloquent  language  of 
 symbol,  and,  speaking,  says  :  "  Yea,  though  I  walk  through 
 the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil." 
 
 The  following  letter  was  written  in  answer  to  an 
 invitation  to  dine  with  the  "  B.B."  (Blackie  Brother- 
 hood) Club  in  Edinburgh  : — 
 
 To  Mr.  Robert  Herdmax,  R.S.A. 
 
 Westfield,  9th  December,  1882. 
 
 My  Dear  R , — No  not  "  Raphael"— Herdman  is  far 
 
 better,  for  it  is  Bonus  Pastor — when  Raphael,  I  suppose,  is 
 only  Rapha.  a  giant,  El,  to  God. 
 
 To  speak  in  colour,  but  not  loud,  the  kingly  autumn  has 
 laid  aside  his  golden  crown,  and  the  old  priestly  winter  put 
 
422  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 on  his  white  mitre — how  grandly  this  year ! — to  lead  in  to 
 the  Sacred  Festivals.  A  merry  Christmas  I  wish  you  ! !  and 
 secular  as  well — Salisbury's  that  was,  Gladstone's  that  is  to 
 be — and,  better  than  either,  social  feastings  of  select  clubs, 
 like  (though  there  is  none  other  like)  the  B.B.  ! 
 
 Why  do  men  feast  most  in  winter  time  ?  Is  it  some  idea 
 of  chiaroscuro  or  Rembrandtesque  interior  lights  intensified 
 by  contrast  with  the  outer  darkness — the  compress  of  shadow. 
 Midsummer  makes  us  mildly  happy  in  Iona?  Midwinter 
 merry — in  the  city  ?     We  shall  cee. 
 
 Of  course  to  your  invitation  I  say  Amen,  so  let  it  B.B. 
 The  Professor's  drawing  and  your  own  (as  well  in  solicitation 
 as  in  sepia),  each  singly  is  very  powerful,  and  both  together 
 quite  resistless  :  especially  when  I  am  touched  already  with 
 the  magnet  of  a  strong  attraction  to  you  both,  which  all  this 
 polar  weather  will  not  deflect  from  its  proper  current  {i.e., 
 the  28th  current). 
 
 We  are  now  here  shut  in  with  miles  of  snow,  two  feet  in 
 depth  at  least,  all  round.  My  postman,  who  is  not  so  swift 
 as  Job's,  has  accomplished  half  a  mile  in  two  hours,  and  at 
 the  end  is  exhausted  of  all  the  pith  (which  was  never 
 much)  that  is  in  him.  Back  with  the  letters  he  can't  go ;  il 
 povero.  I  send  a  ploughman  ;  and  the  snow  plough  is  out, 
 making  its  furrows  for  the  seed  of  the  just  and  the  evil  doers 
 also,  of  whom  in  this  neighbourhood  there  are  a  good  few. 
 
 What  a  wonderful  man  our  Professor  is — rare  old  brave 
 
 hero  !     I  should  not  wonder  if  he  went  next  to  Africa  and 
 
 outdid  Livingstone,  and  founded  a  Chair  somewhere,  and 
 
 climbed  up  and  sat  in  the  chair  of  Cassiopeia,     Long  may 
 
 he  live  ! 
 
 To  Mr.  Robert  MacLehose. 
 
 WESTFIELD,  22nd  January,  1S83. 
 
 .  .  .  Clerk  Maxwell's  Life,  for  which  I  specially  thank 
 you,  I  have  almost  devoured.    With  much  of  Garnett's  part  of 
 
CLERK  MAXWELL'S  LIFE.  423 
 
 the  work  I  was  already  familiar,  as  he  had  showed  it  me  very 
 fully  in  Cambridge,  where  I  made  his  intimate  acquaintance, 
 and  found  him  a  great  power  for  good  in  University  circles 
 and  town  society,  and  in  the  movements  of  our  own  Church 
 there.  The  unaffected  deep  religious  tone  that  runs 
 especially  through  his  part  of  the  Memoir,  as  it  did  through 
 the  whole  life  of  Clerk  Maxwell,  is  strikingly  at  discord  with 
 that  optimistic  Epicureanism  that  laughs  and  sings  its 
 drunken  song  with  devils  in  Paradise  ;  and  not  less  with  the 
 howling  wilderness  of  pessimistic  pain — that  bellowing  and 
 struggling  of  the  old  man  in  his  agony  and  darkness,  without 
 God  in  the  world — which  characterize  so  much  of  the  litera- 
 ture that  is  the  outcome  of  your  modern  life.  Here  are  two 
 Masters  of  Science,  Maxwell  and  Garnett  after  him,  who  are 
 actually  silly  enough  to  believe  themselves  guilty  sinners,  and 
 old-fashioned  enough  to  believe  in  a  redeeming  God  ! 
 
 The  beautiful  prayers  and  Scriptures  read,  the  beautiful 
 hymns  and  anthems  sung  (I  never  heard  finer  singing)  in 
 Trinity  College  Chapel  at  Maxwell's  funeral,  have  some  mean- 
 ing in  them  after  all — for  us  at  least,  poor  fools,  who  have  the 
 simplicity  to  believe  it — and  are  not  mere  wildfire  gleams 
 to  light  us  down  to  the  eternal  darkness,  mere  mocking 
 songs  sung  by  the  sirens  of  the  gulf  that  swallows  up  all 
 life,  to  lure  us  down  complacently  with  their  delicious  sweet- 
 ness into  a  depth  more  fathomless,  and  silence  more 
 profound. 
 
 To  Miss 
 
 Westfield,  March,  1883. 
 
 The  movement  of  your  own  inner  life  you  have  vividly 
 depicted — that  yearning  after  beautiful  ideals,  that  sense  of 
 something  beautiful  and  lost,  which  lies  in  some  measure  in 
 all  human  hearts — the  scriptural  Eden,  the  classical  Hes- 
 perides,  the  mediaeval  Christ,  the  Paradise  to  the  thief  on 
 
424  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 the  cross — sad  sense  of  something  beautiful  and  lost,  which  can 
 never  be  wholly  crushed  out  of  the  hearts  of  the  rudest.    How 
 strongly  it  works  in  your  gentle  heart,  how  strong  by  nature 
 and  still  more  by  grace,  beneath  the  guidance  of  that  Holy 
 Spirit,  who,  in  the  silent  depths  of  our  dumb,  unsatisfied 
 longings,  which  lie  too  deep  for  words  or  even  for  tears, 
 "  maketh  intercession  with  groanings  that  cannot  be  uttered." 
 Old  Hindu  legends  tell  that  the  cause  of  that  strange  sadness 
 you  always  feel  when  listening  to  the  sweetest  music,  is  that 
 it   awakens  memories  of  a  beautiful  music  once  heard  on 
 earth,   now  heard   no   more;    and    how    often    in    pensive 
 twilights,  in  poetic  musings  these  spring  evenings,  do  you 
 not  see  the  flashing  of  the  golden  gates  now  shut,  do  you  not 
 hear  the  echoes  of  the  beautiful  music  that  has  passed  away? 
 But  still  strong  within  you  is  this  yearning — deepened  and 
 purified  too  by  the  Helper  of  our  infirmities,  the  Comforter, 
 the   Holy  Ghost — the  longing  after  the  Paradise  restored. 
 It  is  the  vision  of  this,  I  believe,  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  so 
 many,  that  haunts  you  and  draws  you  heavenward,  and  fills 
 you  with  these  unutterable  longings  which  again  seek  ex- 
 pression through  pictures,  through  music,  through  one  or 
 other  of  the  gates  called  Beautiful.     It  is  this  yearning  of 
 soul  that  makes  the  difference  between  us  and  the  lower 
 creatures.    We  are  never  satisfied  with  what  we  have,  or  do, 
 or  know,   but  are    always    struggling   above   and   beyond. 
 Blessed  discontent  that  will  not  let  us  rest  short  of  God 
 Himself!     For  we  were  made  for  Him.     This  is  the  mean- 
 ing of  our  life  ;  and  there  are  infinities  within  us  that  only  the 
 Infinite  can  fill,  eternities  that  only  the  Eternal  can  inhabit, 
 longings  and  yearnings  that  God  alone  can  satisfy.     That 
 these  longings  should  seek  expression  in  more  ways  than 
 one  does  not  surprise  me.     There  are,  I  take  it,  poetry,  the 
 several  fine  arts — just  so  many  ways  of  expressing  poetry  (of 
 course  there  is  prosaic  art,  more  properly  called  manufac- 
 
WOMAN'S  WORK.  425 
 
 ture) — architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  music,  eloquence, 
 metrical  verses,  etc.,  etc.,  they  are  all  one,  the  poetry  that 
 is  written  in  any  one  of  these  languages,  might  be  translated 
 into  any  other.  "  Architecture,"  says  Madame  de  Stael,  "  is 
 frozen  music  ;  and  music,  architecture  dissolved  into  sound." 
 And  I  suppose  that  the  poetry,  or  art,  or  inspiration,  or 
 yearning,  might  utter  itself  equally  well  in  any  of  these  ways 
 if  you  had  been  trained  to  it,  and  had  the  technical  skill. 
 To  which  of  them  you  will  most  devote  yourself  must,  of 
 course,  depend  on  what  you  count  most  congenial  to  your 
 taste,  most  serviceable  to  others,  and  most  pleasing  to  Him, 
 "  whose  you  are,  and  whom  you  serve."  Your  music,  draw- 
 ing, painting,  you  must  not  regard  as  mere  amusements  to 
 be  lightly  given  up,  but  as  gifts  to  be  consecrated  to  the 
 Master,  like  Mary's  alabaster  box. 
 
 Speaking  further  on  of  woman's  work  amongst  the 
 poor,  he  says  : — 
 
 We  men  are  rather  Boanerges — sons  of  thunder — storm 
 and  earthquake  even,  but  you  are  rather  the  still  small 
 voice,  and  your  gentleness  (like  God's  own)  is  your  strength. 
 How  gently  the  morning  dawn  irradiates  the  world,  and  the 
 spring  comes  up  the  glens,  scattering  snowdrops  and  violets. 
 Destruction  makes  a  noise,  but  reconstruction  works  in 
 silence.  I  sometimes  think  "  the  woman"  is  the  representa- 
 tive in  the  family  of  the  third  person  in  the  Holy  Trinity, 
 the  Comforter,  the  Holy  Ghost,  who  is  the  fountain  of  all 
 the  beautiful,  the  tender,  the  motherly,  the  womanly — the 
 human  family  being  considered  the  reflex  of  the  Divine,  who 
 said,  "  Let  us  make  man  in  our  image  after  our  likeness," 
 and  then  we  read,  "  male  and  female  created  He  them." 
 Nothing  will  destroy  the  worship  of  the  Virgin  Mother  in  the 
 Romish  Church,  where  in  their  pictures  she  is  blasphemously 
 placed  upon  the  same  throne  with  the  Father  and  the  Son, 
 
426  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 the  Holy  Spirit,  whom  she  has  replaced,  only  hovering  as  a 
 dove  over  her  head — nothing,  I  believe,  will  dethrone  her 
 and  destroy  her  worship  but  a  scriptural  understanding  of 
 the  doctrine  of  the  Holy  Spirit  as  the  tender,  the  motherly, 
 the  womanly.  It  was  after  the  Athanasian  Creed  was  made 
 (and  you  cannot  put  love  and  tenderness  into  a  hard,  dog- 
 matic creed)  that  the  personal  love  and  most  melting  tender- 
 ness of  the  Holy  Spirit  was  lost  sight  of,  and  His  throne  and 
 worship  profanely  given  to  Mary.  But  any  holy  woman  is 
 such  as  she,  a  representative  on  earth  of  Him  ;  and  what  a 
 pure  consecration  does  not  this  thought  give  to  you,  my  dear 
 young  friend,  in  your  office  as  a  comforter,  a  pleader  with 
 souls,  as  thus  the  Holy  Spirit  pleads  with  them  to  draw  them 
 to  Christ.  It  is  not  you  that  speak,  but  the  Holy  Spirit 
 that  is  in  you,  and  this  is  woman's  special  mission,  in  this 
 rough  and  dark  and  weary  world,  by  love,  by  gentleness,  by 
 most  sisterly  tenderness,  by  whatsoever  things  are  lovely, 
 and  through  all  gates  called  Beautiful,  to  draw  souls,  as  the 
 Holy  Spirit  draws  them  to  the  Saviour,  to  testify,  as  He 
 does  of  Him,  to  take,  as  He  does  of  the  things  of  Christ, 
 and  show  them  to  the  soul. 
 
 Referring  to  the  foregoing  extracts,  Miss  Robertson 
 writes : — 
 
 They  are  the  most  characteristic  of  anything  I  have  re- 
 ceived. The  last,  in  which  is  brought  out  his  favourite  idea  of 
 the  womanly  and  tender  element  in  the  Godhead,  called  up 
 to  mind  a  conversation  I  remember  hearing  between  him  and 
 our  landlady  in  Siena  some  eight  or  nine  years  ago.  She 
 was  an  enlightened  Catholic,  and  a  most  warm-hearted 
 Christian  woman.  The  conversation  turned  on  the  points  of 
 difference  between  her  Church  and  the  Church  "Anglese,"  as 
 she  called  it.  (William  carefully  avoided  the  word  "  Protest- 
 ant," as  it  was  only  associated,  at  that  time  in  Siena,  with  a 
 
THE  WOMANLY  IN  GOD.  \2>] 
 
 low  infidel  reading  room  and  club  in  one  of  the  worst  parts 
 of  the  town.)  She  was  dissatisfied  with  the  mass,  had  a  con- 
 tempt for  the  confessional,  and  even  for  the  priests.  She 
 laughed  at  purgatory,  and  denied  the  worship  of  images  and 
 saints  ;  but  the  Virgin  she  could  not  give  up.  "  I  have  a 
 "  Father,"  she  said,  "  in  God.  I  have  a  Brother  in  my  Lord 
 Jesus.  But  I  need  a  sister  too,  and  I  can  only  find  her  in 
 Mary."  Turning  to  me,  she  said,  "I  do  not  wonder  at 
 the  Signore,  but  how  can  you  do  without  a  woman  to  help 
 you?"  William  pointed  her  to  the  15th  chapter  of  Luke, 
 with  its  threefold  parable  of  the  Father  yearning  over  His 
 prodigal  child ;  of  the  Son,  the  Shepherd,  going  after  the 
 lost  sheep  till  he  found  it ;  and  of  the  Spirit,  the  woman 
 searching  for  the  piece  of  silver,  sweeping  the  house  dili- 
 gently, and  calling  on  her  friends,  Rejoice  with  me.  She 
 listened  most  eagerly  till  he  had  finished,  and  then  said, 
 11  And  why  did  no  one  ever  show  me  that  before  ?  I 
 have  been  seeking  my  God  in  a  woman,  and  I  have  found 
 the  woman  in  my  God." 
 
 To  Mr.  William  M'Call,  Irvine. 
 
 Westfield,  April  4,  1883. 
 
 How  much  delighted  I  was  with  the  visits  of  my  two  last 
 days  at  this  time  in  old  Irvine,  though  they  were  too  hurried 
 and  fatiguing  after  preaching,  and  have  not  been  without  their 
 penalties  since.  The  sick  received  me  so  kindly,  and  some 
 mothers  that  I  had  introduced  to  the  communion,  and  I 
 hope  into  the  Kingdom  itself  in  their  youth,  brought  their 
 children  round  me,  as  if  wishing  I  could  speak  to  them  as  I 
 had  done  to  their  mothers  before  them.  And  altogether 
 there  was  a  heart  not  only  of  kindness,  but  of  deep  spiritual 
 life  beating  responsively,  which,  I  somehow  think,  I  never 
 find  quite  the  same  elsewhere.     Perhaps  I  might  find  it  in  a 
 
428  AT  WESTF1ELD. 
 
 family  or  two  of  my  brother's  Newington  Church,  where  I 
 have  renewed  acquaintance  with  the  father  and  mother 
 in  the  children.  You  see  how  bigoted  I  am  growing  in  my 
 old  days,  like  the  Arran  elder  who  said,  "  Do  you  think  that 
 there  be  any  of  the  Lord's  people  out  of  Arran  ?  "  Well,  you 
 understand  me.  That  type  of  piety  which  my  brother  James 
 so  well  represented,  and  which  I  think  not  the  only  one, 
 certainly,  but  at  least  one  of  the  best,  I  am  delighted  to 
 find  in  so  many  of  my  old  church,  and  it  draws  me  back  to 
 see  them.  I  must  come  and  "sorn"  a  longer  time  upon 
 the  good  M'Kinlays,  and  visit  more  at  leisure,  if  I  could 
 only  get  rid  of  this  thorn  in  the  flesh,  this  internal  stinging 
 that  sometimes  makes  me  useless  for  hours  on  hours 
 together. 
 
 Dr.  Young  of  Kelly  died  on  13th  May,  1883.  On 
 the  Sunday  following  his  funer.il,  Dr.  Robertson 
 preached  at  the  evening  service  in  Skelmorlie  United 
 Presbyterian  Church,  Dr.  Goold  of  Edinburgh  preach- 
 ing in  the  forenoon.  Mr.  Boyd,  the  minister  of  the 
 church  writes  :  — 
 
 In  the  course  of  his  sermon  Dr.  Goold  insisted  strongly 
 that  the  doctrine  of  immortality  is  taught  in  the  Old  Testa- 
 ment, and  quoted  a  number  of  passages  in  support  of  his 
 position.  Dr.  Robertson  had  arranged  to  preach  in  the 
 evening  from  the  text  "  Christ  hath  brought  life  and  im- 
 mortality to  light  by  the  gospel,"  and  the  psalms,  hymns  and 
 anthem  had  been  chosen  with  this  text  in  view.  But  after 
 the  forenoon  service  he  came  to  me  in  anxiety  and  said,  "  I 
 must  change  my  subject,  if  I  preach  the  sermon  I  intended 
 Dr.  Goold  will  think  I  am  controverting  his  teaching."  All 
 afternoon  he  was  restless,  evidently  thinking  over  other 
 sermons,  but  unable  to  fix  on  one.     When  the  hour  of  even- 
 
DR.   YOUNGS  FUNERAL  SERMONS.  429 
 
 ing  service  had  come  he  told  me  that  he  was  still  undecided. 
 I  replied,  "  Keep  to  your  subject,  the  choir  cannot  now 
 change  the  hymns."  He  consented  to  do  so.  It  was  evi- 
 dent that  he  had  taken  the  position  that  immortality  was 
 not  clearly  taught  in  the  Old  Testament.  With  great  tact 
 he  succeeded  in  avoiding  the  appearance  of  contradiction 
 between  him  and  the  morning  preacher,  by  saying  in  well- 
 chosen  words,  which  I  cannot  reproduce,  something  to  this 
 effect : — "  Doubtless  there  are  references  to  the  doctrine  of 
 immortality  in  the  Old  Testament,  as  was  so  well  put  before 
 you  in  the  forenoon.  But  just  as  he  whose  death  we  are 
 this  day  remembering  with  sorrow,  found  embedded  in  the 
 caverns  of  the  earth  the  dark  substance  by  which  he  has 
 illuminated  the  homes  of  rich  and  poor  in  many  lands,  so 
 did  Christ  bring  to  light  the  doctrine  of  a  future  life.  The 
 shale  was  in  the  earth  long  before,  but  it  was  Dr.  Young 
 who  revealed  its  illuminating  power.  Even  so  the  doctrine 
 of  immortality,  embedded  in  Old  Testament  passages,  was 
 practically  unrevealed  until  He  came  who  brought  life  and 
 immortality  to  light." 
 
 I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  the  beautiful  touches  by  which 
 Dr.  Robertson  wrought  out  the  thought  I  have  only  indi- 
 cated ;  but  so  skilfully  was  it  done  that  I  think  no  one  in 
 the  church  ever  dreamt  of  anything  but  completest  harmony 
 between  the  two  preachers. 
 
 To  His  Sister. 
 
 London,  22nd  June,  1883. 
 
 .  .  .  I  came  round  by  Manchester  where  I  had  a 
 delightful  night  with  Dr.  Angus  Smith,  going  on  next  day  to 
 Nottingham  on  a  visit  to  Professor  Garnett,  of  St.  John's, 
 Cambridge,  who  is  great  in  natural  science,  joint  author  with 
 Lewis  Campbell  of  St.  Andrew's,  of  "A  Life  of  Clerk  Max- 
 
430  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 well,"  which  is  nobly  written.     He  is  a  manly  Christian  of 
 the  evangelical  school.     .     . 
 
 I  have,  as  yet,  seen  no  one,  having  been  much  in  the 
 British  Museum,  and  all  Wednesday  at  the  Handel  Festival, 
 including  coming  and  going  from  twelve  noon  to  ten  at 
 night.  Such  music !  especially  the  stringed  instruments 
 accompanying  the  voices,  as  in  M.  Albani's  "  Let  the  bright 
 Cherubim,"  etc.,  and  Madame  Patey's  "  Lascia  ch'  io 
 pianga."  I  would  have  gone  to-day  to  "  Israel  in  Egypt," 
 but  Lady  Craft,  with  her  boy  and  sister,  met  me  to  go  and 
 visit  Assur-bani-pal  in  the  Assyrian  Court,  though  I  am  no 
 Daniel  to  read  off  arrowheaded  writing  on  the  wall. 
 
 I  visited  the  small  but  most  beautiful  of  all  English 
 cathedrals  (Lichfield)  on  Saturday — heard  the  evening 
 service,  when  the  Bishop  preached,  and  went  afterwards 
 with  him  into  the  "  palace,"  and  had  tea  with  his  noble  wife 
 and  beautiful  children,  and  long  talks  on  Scottish  Art,  and 
 other  kinds  of  art.  He  was  specially  delighted  when  I 
 pointed  out  some  new  beauties  in  his  own  old  cathedral,  and 
 could  tell  him  that  an  illumination  in  the  gospels  of  St.  Chad 
 in  their  library  (7th  century)  was  the  beautiful  work  of 
 Celtic  artists,  reared  in  Ireland  and  Iona,  and  passing  to 
 St.  Gall  in  Switzerland,  and  who  had  done  it  in  Lindisfarne, 
 in  the  monastery  of  St.  Cuthbert.  Since  coming  to  London 
 I  have  been  able  to  verify  thoroughly  in  the  palaeography  of 
 the  Museum,  the  correctness  of  what  I  said,  though  much 
 I  have  learned  on  the  Celtic  style  at  lona  and  from  the 
 Edinburgh  "Antiquarian"  and  "Joseph  Anderson,"  seems 
 yet  unknown  to  the  wise  men  of  the  south. 
 
 From  allusions  in  this  and  other  letters,  it  will  be 
 seen  that  Dr.  Robertson  took  a  deep  interest  in 
 Biblical  archaeology,  and  specially  in  the  department 
 of  the  Assyrian  antiquities.    His  periodical  residences 
 
STUDIES  IN  ASS  Y RIO  LOG  Y.  43 1 
 
 in  London,  where  he  seldom  failed  to  halt,  sometimes 
 for  weeks,  on  his  way  to  or  from  the  Continent,  and 
 latterly  to  and  from  Cambridge,  were  devoted  to 
 study  in  the  British  Museum.  Principal  Cairns 
 has  furnished  the  following  memorandum  on  the 
 subject : — 
 
 I  only  discovered  that  Dr.  Robertson  had  been  studying 
 Assyriology  some  five  years  before  his  death  ;  but  he  must 
 have  been  much  longer  interested  in  it.  I  met  him  in  our 
 college  buildings,  and  something  led  to  his  entering  on  the 
 subject.  I  then  discovered  that  he  had  been  a  member  of 
 the  Society  of  Biblical  Archaeology  for  a  good  while,  and 
 that  when  in  London  he  had  attended  the  meetings.  He 
 spoke  with  warm  interest  of  the  leading  persons  whom  he 
 there  saw  and  heard.  I  specially  remember  the  names  of 
 Mr.  Chad  Boscawen  and  Mr.  Pinches.  Whether  he  had 
 been  introduced  to  them  or  others  I  cannot  tell.  He  spoke 
 with  enthusiasm  of  the  field  thus  opened  up  to  Biblical 
 research,  and  of  the  wonderful  interest  of  the  Assyrian 
 remains,  even  as  pieces  of  literature.  He  dwelt  particularly 
 on  the  quite  unexpected  grandeur  of  the  description  of 
 the  descent  of  the  goddess  Ishtar  to  Hades  in  connection 
 with  the  Chaldean  epic  of  the  deluge.  As  I  was  not  then  a 
 member  of  the  Society  of  Biblical  Archaeology,  and  as  he 
 had  obtained  the  "  Transactions "  from  the  beginning,  he 
 kindly  sent  me  some  eight  volumes,  stretching  from  1872  to 
 1878.  When  I  saw  him  repeatedly  afterwards,  our  conver- 
 sation never  ran  into  the  same  channel,  but  I  have  no  doubt 
 that  his  interest  continued  to  the  last. 
 
43 2  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 To  His  Sister. 
 
 Westfield,  24th  July,  1883. 
 
 On  Tuesday  night  I  brought  home  a  noble  partner  for 
 life  in  this  woodland  monastery — a  magnificent  chien  of  the 
 order  of  St.  Bernard — the  chest  of  a  lion,  and  his  bark  is 
 thunder.  But  he  is  a  very  mild  beast,  admirable  for  the 
 boys  to  play  with,  gentle  as  the  gentlest  we  know,  that  is 
 their  mother.  And  if  submission  to  a  higher  will,  be  the 
 crown  of  religion,  as  preached  now-a-days  by  certain  "budge 
 doctors  of  the  Stoick  fur"  (as  they  are  called  in  Comus, 
 where  you  acted  Sabrina),  then  Kaiser,  that  is  his  name, 
 must  be  a  very  good  Christian. 
 
 Among  the  friends  he  made  at  Cambridge  he  had 
 a  special  affection  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  T.  H.  Cony,  who 
 were  equally  drawn  to  him,  and  included  his  name  in 
 that  of  their  first-born  child.  Mr.  Corry  was  drowned 
 while  boating  on  Lough  Neagh,  and  Dr.  Robertson 
 received  from  his  young  widow  a  touching  note,  say- 
 ing, "  My  heart  is  very  sore.  Send  me  a  word  of 
 comfort."  That  was  all.  He  wrote  a  long  letter  from 
 which  I  can  only  make  some  extracts  : — 
 
 To  Mrs.  Corry,  Cambridge. 
 
 Westfield,  30th  August,  1883. 
 
 So  few  your  words  are,  even  so  faintly  written,  they  seem 
 to  me  almost  like  silence  itself  from  which  they  are  scarcely 
 removed,  that  is  the  silence  of  a  grief  that  lies  too  deep  for 
 utterance  in  any  words.  Only  the  tears  are  in  your  troubled 
 eyes,  the  fountain  of  the  great  deep  of  sorrow  in  you  being 
 struck,and  the  "Spirit  of  Sorrow"  "making  intercession  within 
 
"A   WORD  OF  COMFORT:'  433 
 
 you  with  groanings  that  cannot  be  uttered."  Divine  sorrow  ! 
 that  sympathizes  with  our  human  sorrow — grieving  not  at, 
 but  in  it  and  with  it,  and  that  interprets  it  as  a  mother  the 
 inarticulate  cry  of  suffering  of  her  babe,  which  she  quite  under- 
 stands. So  that  our  silence  becomes  strong  supplication, 
 and  our  dumb  grief  is  heard  as  powerful  prayer  in  heaven, 
 and  draws  down  comfort  from  the  Father's  heart,  exceeding 
 abundantly  above  all  that  we  can  ask  or  think  !  So  may  the 
 Holy  Ghost  the  Comforter  comfort  you,  dear  daughter  of 
 sorrow,  in  your  unutterable  grief. 
 
 What  a  difference  there  is  between  resting  our  spirits  in 
 their  anguish  upon  mere  written  words  and  resting  them 
 upon  a  warm  beating  bosom.  His  voice,  His  hand,  must 
 lead  you  through  the  gloom — voice  that  on  the  cross  said, 
 "  It  is  finished,"  hands  that  "  were  pierced  with  the  nails." 
 For  even  His  written  words  may  not  comfort  you  unless 
 spoken  by  His  own  living  voice — the  voice  of  the  Good 
 Shepherd  that  knows  all  His  flock,  and  they  all  know  Him, 
 and  He  calleth  them  all  by  name.  "Jesus  saith  unto  her, 
 Mary."  Precious  are  His  promises — but  yet  more  precious 
 Himself.  So  may  His  Prese?ice  go  with  you,  and  then,  though 
 you  walk  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  (of  bereavement  dark 
 as  death)  you  will  not  fear,  for  He  is  with  you,  His  rod  and 
 His  staff  (because  they  are  His  and  held  in  His  own  hand) 
 shall  comfort  you.     .     . 
 
 The  horse  (pale  horse)  and  his  rider,  that  appeared 
 suddenly  upon  the  banks,  like  Pharaoh  and  his  horsemen 
 on  the  banks  of  the  Red  Sea,  have  themselves  been  over 
 whelmed  in  the  water — as  theirs  were  in  pursuing  the 
 Israelites,  who  passed  through  the  water  unharmed  and  rose 
 with  the  morning  light  upon  the  farther  shore,  and  shouted 
 "  Sing  to  the  Lord — The  horse  and  his  rider  hath  He  cast 
 into  the  sea." 
 
 When,  on  my  last  little  visit,  you  brought  in  your  little 
 
 2   E 
 
434  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 child  to  get  an  old  man's  blessing  (if,  like  a  Simeon  in  the 
 temple.  I  had  any  to  give),  I  thought  of  the  "  young  mother 
 and  the  Blessed  Child  ; "  and  when  I  saw  you  with  the  babe 
 in  your  arms,  and  the  young,  manly  father,  with  womanly 
 tenderness  bending  over  you,  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  a 
 fairer  picture  of  pure  domestic  happiness  and  love.  And 
 now  the  beautiful  picture  is  all  shattered,  "  and  your  very 
 heart  is  broken."  Dearest  child,  it  almost  breaks  mine  even 
 to  think  of  you  so  sorely  suffering,  so  strangely  tried. 
 
 You  cannot  understand  it  in  the  least.  But  this  you 
 know,  that  God's  ways  of  deepest  darkness  are  often  His 
 ways  of  deepest  love — "  dark  with  excess  of  brightness  "  to 
 His  dearest,  sweetest  children,  so  that  sometimes  they  may 
 fear  to  be  forsaken  altogether,  and  the  most  loving  and  be- 
 loved of  all  cry  out — "  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  Thou 
 forsaken  me."  But  this  you  know  that  you  have  now  new 
 claims  on  God  as  your  God,  new  titles  to  the  promises  and 
 to  a  richer  inheritance  in  God  himself  as  your  portion,  to 
 which  your  sorrow  and  bereavement  have  served  you  heirs 
 — you  and  your  dear  little  daughter.  For  "  a  Father  of  the 
 fatherless  and  Judge  of  the  widow  is  God,  our  God,  in  His 
 holy  habitation." 
 
 And  for  the  rest  you  have  beautifully  indicated  what,  with 
 your  great  eyes  of  sorrow,  dear,  dear  young  friend,  you  see 
 the  Saviour  himself  stooping  down  and  writing — over  all  that 
 is  mysterious  and  inexplicable  now,  over  the  sacred  dust  of 
 your  dearest  beloved  in  the  Borough  Cemetery, — writing, 
 "What  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shalt  know 
 hereafter." 
 
 Beautiful  words  of  the  Lord  Jesus  for  inscription  as  you 
 have  inscribed  them  li  In  memoriam."  For  surely  He  who 
 saw  under  the  cypress — under  the  palm  tree  like  the  forlorn 
 bride  in  her  widowhood,  under  the  fig  tree  like  Nathanael 
 in  sorrowful  solitary  prayer,  and  you  believe  that  He   does 
 
VISIT  TO  GERMANY.  435 
 
 see  you  there — has  also  said  of  that  great  "  Hereafter"  which 
 is  to  explain  all  that — Hereafter  you  shall  see  the  heavens 
 opened  and  the  angels  ascending  and  descending  on  the 
 Son  of  Man. 
 
 To  Rev.  James  Brown,  D.D. 
 
 Westfield,  5th  October,  1883. 
 
 .  .  .  You  should  have  come  to  Dr.  Begg's  funeral, 
 and  seen  me  by  the  way.  It  is  the  death  not  of  a  man, 
 but  of  a  party.  A  loud  man.  The  inscription  he  put  on 
 his  first  wife's  grave  is  characteristic,  "The  Lord  shall 
 descend  from  heaven  with  a  shout."  He  did  strive  and 
 cry.     May  he  rest  in  peace  ! 
 
 When  the  Luther  celebrations,  toward  the  close  of 
 1883,  were  approaching-,  Dr.  Robertson  resolved  to 
 yield  to  a  desire,  which  had  often  been  in  his  mind 
 during  his  years  of  wandering,  to  revisit  Germany. 
 He  was  prevented  going  to  the  festival  in  September, 
 but  he  set  all  engagements  aside  that  he  might  be  in 
 Eisleben  on  the  10th  November,  the  400th  anniversary 
 of  the  Reformer's  birth. 
 
 To  Mr.  William  M'Call,  Irvine. 
 
 Halle,  21st  November,  1883. 
 
 Mine  old  eyes  and  ears  have  been  almost  worn  and  weary 
 with  the  continual  sights  and  sounds,  shows  and  songs,  all 
 on  the  key  of  Luther.  There  seems  a  great  revival  of  real 
 evangelical  religion  since  I  was  here  forty  years  ago.  Then, 
 one  could  scarcely  find  an  evangelical  preacher ;  now, 
 every  one  seems  so.  And  the  theological  faculty  appear  to 
 be  all  Christian.    In  lecturing  on  German  student  life,  as  you 
 
436  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 cannot  remember,  thirty-five  years  ago,  I  ventured  to  predict 
 that  it  must  come  to  this.  How  glad  I  am  to  find  it.  The 
 Luther  festival  has  brought  into  prominence  justification  by 
 faith  alone,  and  the  living  personal  Saviour.  With  these 
 even  the  mass  of  the  people  seem  to  be  inter-penetrated. 
 Formerly  not  only  the  doctors,  but  even  my  washerwoman 
 said,  the  winds  blowing  and  grass  growing,  and  so  forth,  are 
 God,  and  there  is  none  else.  Different  now.  I  hope  the 
 change  is  really  as  great  as  to  me  it  has  seemed  within  the 
 last  few  days  to  be.  Many  have,  with  the  poor,  gifted 
 Henry  Heine,  at  the  last  returned,  as  he  says,  "like  the 
 prodigal  to  the  Father,  from  the  swine-troughs  of  Hegelian 
 philosophy/'  I  wonder  if  we  shall  have  to  come  back  here 
 to  learn  our  religion,  when  we  too  get  weary  of  these  swine 
 troughs  that  were  shipped  over  to  our  side,  when  the 
 Germans  had  done  with  them.  We  have  also  had  some 
 troughs  more  British,  materialistic,  atheistic,  positive,  which 
 Scotch  people  won't  long  endure,  the  national  philosophy 
 being — the  best  kind  of  it,  that  is,  I  always  think — common 
 sense. 
 
 I  do  not  know,  however,  if  there  are  any  such  mighty 
 hunters  after  truth  here  now,  as  there  were  giants  in  the 
 German  earth  in  those  days — Schelling,  Xeander,  Tholuck, 
 Mulier,  Hengstenberg,  all  of  whom  I  knew,  all  dead.  Only 
 a  philosophic  Erdmann  and  an  aesthetic  Ulrici,  a  great  friend 
 to  me.  How  glad  the  latter  has  been  to  see  me.  A  noble 
 Christian  heart,  but  not  so  sanguine  of  the  good  time  coming 
 as  I  am  myself. 
 
 I  have  been  going  into  domestic  life  a  good  deal,  and 
 what  I  have  seen  of  it  is  very  beautiful,  pious,  simple.  With 
 my  knowledge  of  the  language  I  can  mingle  with  all 
 classes. 
 
 The  chief  point  of  my  excursions  has  been  Eisleben, 
 Luther's  birth-place,  where  I  was  present  at  the  festival  on 
 
GERMAN  LEGEXD.  437 
 
 ioth  November.  I  have  also  been  in  Weimar,  the  town  of 
 Goethe  and  Schiller;  Erfurt,  Luther's  college  and  monas- 
 tery ;  Leipsic  at  the  University.  And  what  music,  especially 
 church  music,  you  hear  everywhere.  But  the  days  are  too 
 dark  and  short  and  cold  for  such  an  one  as  Paul  the  aged  to 
 journey  much,  and  the  candle  dips  at  night  too  dim  to  write 
 by. 
 
 On  his  return  from  Germany,  he  sent  to  his  friend, 
 Mrs.  Hannay,  Bridge  of  Allan,  who  had  lost  a  son, 
 his  translation  of  the  song  in  the  following  legend, 
 with  the  message,  "  I  will  send  her  the  legend  after- 
 wards." It  was  never  sent,  but  the  letter  was  found 
 "  afterwards  "  in  his  desk  fully  written  and  addressed, 
 and  so  came  to  her  for  whom  it  was  intended  as  a 
 voice  from  the  dead. 
 
 To  Mrs.  Hannay. 
 
 I  send  you  a  song  improvised  from  the  German,  though 
 you  can  read  the  original.  I  found  it  two  weeks  since  in 
 Saxony,  and  thought  at  once  of  you  and  Mr.  Hannay,  and 
 dear  little  Georgie  whom  I  never  forget. 
 
 It  is  founded  on  an  old  myth  which  had  little  outward 
 truth  in  it — but  great  deep  inward  truth  of  feeling — of  a 
 mother's  indestructible  love  and  sorrow  of  heart,  of  which  it 
 is  the  poetical  outcome,  and  the  comfort  which  at  first  is 
 very  thin  and  shadowy  brightens  into  firmer  reality  in  the 
 change  that  Christianity  wrought  on  these  old  myths. 
 
 In  Norse  and  Teutonic  mythology,  Frau  Berchta  (Bright) 
 the  white  lady,  sometimes  called  Holda  (the  benignant), 
 Alma  Mater — it  is  she  that  announces  death  in  royal  houses, 
 as  at  Berlin,  and  sometimes  as  a  heavenly  vestal,  serves  up 
 
43§  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 the  mead  and  sparkling  wine  at  the  banquet  of  the  JEsir 
 (vvho  were  not  teetotallers.  Odin  was  above  hunger  and  thirst, 
 but  noble  Thor  could  eat  ten  stots  and  drink  the  ocean  up, 
 and  the  rest  were  "  drouthy  neebors "  enough,  and  drank 
 from  horns  that  could  not  be  set  down  till  empty).  Some- 
 times in  the  weird  beauty  of  a  Valkyry,  down  she  rode  with 
 her  floating  tresses,  to  choose  the  slain  heroes  on  the  battle- 
 field for  Valhalla,  and  bring  them  to  join  the  "  Noble  Army  of 
 Martyrs  " — the  Einwohner  in  Odin's  Hall.  But  specially  she 
 took  charge  as  no  other  did,  of  the  dead  little  children,  took 
 them  out  on  evening  walks,  or  on  little  joyous  races  down 
 the  Milky-way,  over  mountain  and  stream  and  meadow,  and 
 through  the  woods  in  the  moonlight  or  the  quiet  darkness — 
 no  doubt  by  day  as  well,  but  as  then  they  came  down  by  the 
 Bridge  Bifrost  (the  Rainbow),  the  daylight  was  their  invis- 
 ible raiment — and  men  and  mothers  could  not  see  them.  It 
 was  at  night  they  could  be  seen  (as  the  stars  are  through  the 
 dark)  and  even  talked  to,  when  passing  in  procession  with 
 Frau  Berchta,  like  a  class  of  Sunday  school  children  with 
 their  lady  teacher  through  the  streets.  The  incident  on 
 which  the  song  turns  took  place,  says  the  old  legend,  in 
 Thuringia,  where  Frau  Berchta  with  special  loving  care  tends 
 and  fosters  the  Heimchen — the  sweet  little  dead  children. 
 I  do  not  stay  to  quote  the  legend  which  in  its  original  form 
 is  very  homely  and  truly  beautiful.  As  it  passed  from 
 heathendom  through  Ragnorok,  the  judgment  of  the 
 gods  (for  they  knew  their  doom,  through  the  advent  of 
 Christianity,  was  coining — their  wonderful  Sibyls,  the  weird 
 sisters,  had  told  them,  and  their  Scalds  had  sung  their  Dies 
 Irae,  cuid  it  came), — the  legend  in  the  hands  of  the  old 
 Catholics  replaced  Frau  Berchta  by  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  she 
 again  was  replaced  among  Protestants  by  the  Holy  Child,  so 
 that  much  evangel  gets  imported  into  the  myth,  and  the  song 
 became  almost  purely  Christian,  while  retaining  the  fine  old 
 
THE  JAR  OF  TEARS.  439 
 
 "  motiv  "  of  the  Jar.  They  too  had  their  "  lacrymatories." 
 David  gives  God  one,  "  Put  my  tears  into  Thy  bottle  "  (so 
 translated). 
 
 %\\z  Jar  nf  Hzxtz. 
 
 A  mother's  heart  with  anguish  bled, 
 Her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping, 
 
 For  her  dear  little  child  was  dead 
 And  in  the  churchyard  sleeping. 
 
 By  night  she  sought  the  open  air 
 To  soothe  her  spirit  wounded  ; 
 
 Lo  !  Christ  the  Child  was  passing  there 
 With  babes  in  white  surrounded. 
 
 In  lustrous  white  the  children  shone, 
 Their  heavenly  raiment  wearing, 
 
 And  on  their  foreheads  every  one 
 A  crown  of  glory  bearing. 
 
 Her  own  dear  child  among  the  rest, 
 She  saw  him  halt  and  tarry — 
 "  My  child  !  why  keep'st  thou  not  abreast  ? 
 Hast  thou  some  weight  to  carry?" 
 
 Ah  yes,  a  jar  of  tears  I  bear, 
 
 Heavier  than  any  other ; 
 Because  thou  shedd'st  so  many  a  tear 
 
 For  me,  my  darling  mother. 
 
 "My  night-dress  too  is  drenched  with  them. 
 And  I  am  kept  from  sleeping, 
 Oh,  mother  mine — thy  sorrow  stem, 
 And  cease  thy  heavy  weeping. 
 
 (The  legend  says  the  mother  wept  no  more  after  that.    The 
 
440  AT  WESTFIELD. 
 
 child  had  said  : — "  Frau  Berchta,  die  mich  liebt  und  kiisst, 
 sagte  mir  du  kamest  auch  einmal  zu  ihr  und  da  seien  wir 
 wieder  zusammen.") 
 
 "  Thou  too  shalt  see  the  children's  land, 
 And  all  with  Jesus  find  us, 
 Where  no  tears  touch  the  happy  band 
 But  those  you  shed  behind  us." 
 
 There  is  a  kindly  quaintness  in  the  Jesulein — little 
 Jesus — which  one  cannot  translate  like  the  Mutter  Meine 
 which  is  also  very  German. 
 
 Even  after  Mary  came,  the  unbaptized  children  were  still 
 given  to  Frau  Berchta.  Mary  would  not  have  them,  and 
 the  mother's  heart  revenged  itself  upon  the  Church — common 
 sense  revenged  itself  upon  the  theologians  and  orthodox 
 that  held  opinions  like  Peter  Davidson  of  Arran,  on  dead 
 infants  unbaptized,  by  giving  them  all  back  to  the  heathen 
 goddess,  Frau  Berchta,  to  take  care  of  them,  as  she  most 
 kindly  did — the  good  Frau  Berchta — receiving  the  poor 
 little  outcasts,  more  Christian  than  the  Church  and  Mother 
 Mary  herself,  that  knew  not  "what  manner  of  spirit  they 
 were  of." 
 
 You  will  think  this  letter  quite  a  characteristic  play  of 
 fitful  thought.  If  there  is  anything  in  it  at  variance  with 
 the  deepest,  softest,  holiest  feelings  of  a  Christian  mother, 
 whose  bereavement  is  never  past,  but  always  present,  you 
 will  kindly  tell  me,  that  so  I  may  never  write  you  or  any 
 other  so  again.  But  next  to  God  Himself  in  heaven,  the 
 sweet,  innocent,  dead  children  have  a  wonderful  attraction 
 for  me,  and  I  never  think  of  them  without  thinking  of  you 
 and  Mr.  Hannay  since  you  laid  your  darling  of  the  little  ones 
 in  the  beautiful  Logie  churchyard. 
 
 Fond  of  old  myths  and  melodies  of  the  true  human  heart 
 in  all  times,  and  the  response  the  King  of  Truth  has  given  to 
 
FRA  U  BERCHTA .  44 1 
 
 them — like  Richard  in  the  Tower,  and  Joseph  to  the 
 dreamer  in  the  prison — I  have  been  writing  this  in  a  dreamy 
 mood  quite  undecided  to  send  it.  If  it  comes,  you  will 
 know  that  the  beautiful  photograph  of  your  two  girls  has 
 often  looked  up  to  me  saying,  "  You  have  never  thanked 
 mother  for  it  in  a  letter;"  let  me  do  it  now,  with  love  to 
 Mr.  IT.  and  family. 
 
442  THE  END. 
 
 CHAPTER     XIX. 
 
 %hc  (Enb. 
 
 Dr.  ROBERTSON  had  to  pay  the  penalty  of  spending 
 a  succession  of  winters  in  a  northern  climate,  and  of 
 the  too  frequent  preaching  and  lecturing  into  which 
 he  was  drawn.  His  popularity  was  even  greater  in  his 
 weakness  than  in  his  strength.  The  Church  seemed  to 
 regard  him  as  one  given  back  to  them  from  the  dead ; 
 and  demands  for  service  poured  in  on  him  from  every 
 quarter.  He  used  to  say  playfully  that  he  could  not 
 find  time  to  preach,  amid  the  endless  labour  of  de- 
 clining invitations  to  do  so  ;  and  that,  if  he  accepted 
 all  the  invitations  which  came  to  him,  he  would  preach 
 oftener  every  Sunday  than  there  are  days  in  the  week. 
 The  occurrence  of  the  Luther  celebrations  at  the  close 
 of  1883,  led  to  a  renewed  demand  for  his  lecture  on 
 the  Reformer ;  and  as,  like  all  his  productions,  it  had 
 grown  with  the  years,  its  delivery  involved  a  serious 
 strain.  He  had  of  necessity  learned  to  say,  No  ;  but 
 after  he  had  said  it,  or  thought  he  had  said  it,  to  all 
 the  requests  which  reached  him,  there  was  enough  of 
 work  left  to  overtax  his  strength. 
 
A  CRISIS.  443 
 
 A  crisis  came  in  February,  1884,  when,  after  preach- 
 ing at  a  ministerial  jubilee  in  Glasgow,  he  was  seized 
 with  severe  haemorrhage  which  weakened  him  and 
 kept  him  to  his  room  for  several  weeks.  He  was  able 
 to  return  to  Westfield  in  March,  but  all  his  public 
 engagements  had  to  be  cancelled  and  he  never  fully 
 regained  his  strength. 
 
 He  was  not  therefore  idle.  He  had  come  from  his 
 visit  to  Germany  deeply  interested  in  an  institution 
 which  Tholuck's  widow  was  founding  as  a  memorial 
 of  her  husband,  and  he  was  earnest  in  commending  the 
 object  to  the  sympathy  of  his  friends. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  Dr.   Boyd,   Glasgow. 
 
 Westfield,  4th  April,  1884. 
 
 .  .  .  It  is  a  little  Hall  of  Divinity  and  of  entrance  to 
 the  German  Protestant  Church,  the  pulpits  of  which  it  is  at 
 all  times  desirable,  and  perhaps  in  present  times  not  im- 
 possible, to  fill  with  an  earnest  evangelical  ministry.  It  is  a 
 chamber  in  the  wall  with  a  bed  and  a  table  and  a  candlestick 
 for  each  of  a  few,  that  is  seven  or  eight,  sons  of  the  Prophets, 
 provided  by  the  widowed  lady  of  Dr.  Tholuck,  after  the 
 manner  of  the  Shunamite  for  Elisha,  or  the  good  Madame 
 Cotta  of  Eisenach  for  the  poor  street  singing  school  boyT 
 Martin  Luther.  It  is  also  a  chapel  for  preparatory  pious 
 exercises — a  weigh-house  so  to  speak  through  which  young 
 men  are  passed  on  to  the  ministry,  if  not  found  wanting,  and 
 a  vestibule  and  vestry  in  which  they  are  robed,  before 
 preaching,  in  gowns  evangelical,  as  nearly  as  possible  of  the 
 Geneva  cut.  It  has  a  threefold  interest,  from  Dr.  Tholuck  in 
 the  past,  his  widowed  lady  in  the  present,  and  the  young 
 ministry  of  the  Church  in  the  future.     .     .     . 
 
444  THE  EXD. 
 
 The  memory  of  Dr.  Tholuck,  the  most  spiritual  of  all  our 
 learned  Teutonic  masters,  is  very  dear  and  sacred  to  those 
 who  have  sat,  as  I  have,  at  his  feet,  in  the  gas-lit  lecture 
 room  on  winter  mornings,  or  walked  with  him  at  noon  on  the 
 white  roads  under  the  poplars,  or  come  at  evening  to  his 
 "  Hours  of  Devotion,"  when  in  the  shaded  lamp-light  in  his 
 own  rooms,  his  face  shone  with  a  heavenly  light  and  his 
 voice  trembled  in  music  in  the  felt  presence  of  God.  And 
 had  you  only  heard  him  preach  on  early  Sabbath  mornings 
 in  the  University  Kirch e — his  sermons  were  simply  the  best, 
 the  broadest  in  sympathy  and  most  moving  in  earnestness 
 that  I  have  ever  heard.  Almost  single  handed  in  Halle,  he 
 had  to  fight  against  that  Pantheistic  Hegelianism  of  the  left, 
 that  was  walking  its  daily  rounds  of  defiance  on  transcen 
 dental  heights,  and  leading  captive  silly  fellows,  young  and 
 old,  by  charm  of  a  philosophy  without  common  sense,  an 
 ethic  without  morality,  a  theology  without  God.     .     .     . 
 
 In  the  early  summer,  intelligence  reached  him  of  the 
 death  of  Dr.  Angus  Smith,  with  whom  a  friendship 
 that  was  formed  so  far  back  as  the  time  of  the  Dreg- 
 horn  preachings  in  1859,  when  Dr.  Smith  went  to  hear 
 him  and  see  the  work  he  was  doing,  had  in  recent 
 years  been  growing  closer. 
 
 To  Miss  J.  K.  Smith. 
 
 Westfield,  May,  1884. 
 
 I  had  thought  the  dark  cloud  was  passing  surely,  in  the 
 silence  away,  when  suddenly,  like  a  thunderbolt,  the  news 
 has  fallen,  making  me  unconscious  for  the  time  of  almost 
 everything  but  the  beautiful  opening  in  the  heavens,  the 
 serene  sky  over  him — and  the  heavy  rain  on  the  face  of  your 
 own  saintly  love  and  devotion  to  one  of  the  very  noblest  of 
 
DEATH  OF  DR.  ANGUS  SMITH.  445 
 
 men  !  Of  the  truly  great  men  in  science  and  literature  that 
 I  have  lately  had  the  privilege  of  knowing  well,  your  be- 
 loved uncle  was  (I  often  thought)  the  very  best ;  and  the 
 closer  our  acquaintance  grew,  the  dearer  he  became  to  me, 
 who  saw  in  him  the  extraordinary  union  of  scientific  insight, 
 faithful  laborious  industry,  and  romantic  poetry ;  and  the 
 movements  of  an  almost  superhuman  strength  of  genius,  and 
 generosity,  clothed  in  the  softness  of  a  woman,  the  humility 
 of  a  saint,  and  the  simplicity  of  a  little  child. 
 
 To  Mr.  Robert  MacLehose. 
 
 Westfield,  19th  May,  1884. 
 
 .  .  .  It  is  some  weeks  ere  this  place  is  truly  at  its  best, 
 as  well  as  truly  rural,  and  I  am  here  over  summer  for  any- 
 thing I  know  as  yet.  The  weeping  weather  is,  I  hope,, 
 departing,  after  going  in  mourning  for  many  months:  it  is 
 putting  on  green  caps  and  tree  blossoms  over  its  crape  of 
 firs  and  cypresses,  like  a  young  widow  looking  out  for  a 
 change  in  her  condition,  and  taking  up  with  the  young  year 
 at  a  decent  time  after  the  old  one.  ...  I  have  lost  a 
 noble  friend,  a  man  of  rare  gift,  and  soul,  and  generosity,  in 
 Dr.  Angus  Smith. 
 
 Dr.  Robertson  found  an  increasing  pleasure  in 
 fellowship  with  his  young  colleague,  Mr.  Dickie,  who 
 sought  as  far  as  possible  to  continue  the  work  in 
 Irvine  on  the  lines  that  had  been  laid  down  by  the 
 senior  pastor.  Many  letters  passed  between  them,  and 
 when  sorrow-,  or  special  joy,  came  to  the  newr  dwellers 
 in  the  old  manse,  the  letters  from  Westfield  breathed 
 fullest  sympathy.  On  the  death  of  Mr.  Dickie's  brother,. 
 Dr.  Robertson  wrote  : — 
 
44-6  THE  END. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  William  S.  Dickie. 
 
 Westfield,  3rd  June,  1884. 
 
 .  .  .  From  our  close  and  affectionate  association  in 
 the  pastorate,  dear  Mr.  Dickie,  I  feel  as  if  entitled  to  the 
 privilege  of  sympathy  with  you,  almost  as  if  I  were  one  of 
 yourselves ;  and  my  thoughts  naturally  run  out  specially  to 
 Aberdeen  and  Alva,1  as  well  as  to  Irvine,  where,  in  the  old 
 manse,  the  young  faces  of  brother  and  sister,  always  beaming 
 with  kindness  to  me  are  now  clouded  with  tears.     .     .     . 
 
 My  fellowship  in  suffering  with  you,  you  will  believe  the 
 rather  that  I  can  say,  "  Hand  ignarus  mali"  rather  than 
 "  Unoccupied  by  sorrow  of  its  own,  the  heart  lies  open." 
 As  a  brother  bereaved,  and  bereaved  five  times  over  in 
 succession,  I  returned  into  the  pulpit  you  now  so  ably 
 occupy,  in  the  spirit  of  the  words,  "  The  voice  said,  Cry," 
 etc.  The  shadow's  of  these  bereavements  (others,  too,  as 
 close)  should  have  been  as  that  of  NathanaeFs  fig  tree,  in 
 which  he  saw  the  gleam  of  the  golden  footsteps  of  the 
 "  ladder  "  that  rose  into  heaven  more  widely  opening.  So 
 will  this  be,  I  am  sure,  with  you.  The  first  time,  I  had  not 
 worn  the  pulpit  gown  many  months  when  the  wrists  had  to 
 be  frilled  with  crape  and  white.  I  remember  to  have 
 preached  on  "Blessed  are  the  dead,"  etc.,  saying  on  the 
 "  yea,"  that  as  Nature  had  put  a  special  emphasis  on 
 the  grief,  so  the  Holy  Spirit  put  a  special  emphasis  on  the 
 consolation.  He  will  comfort  you  concerning  your  brother ; 
 and  the  "  Brother  born  for  adversity "  will  Himself  be 
 hostage  to  you  for  the  brother  dead,  till  He  restore  him  to 
 you.  And  the  hearts  of  all  your  good  people  will  flow  out 
 towards  you,  like  a  warm  fountain  opened  afresh,  as  they 
 always  did  to  me.     In  silent  intercession  and  affection,  more 
 
 1  Mr.  Dickie's  father  was  minister  in  Aberdeen,  and  his  brother  a 
 minister  at  Alva. 
 
"  IS  LIFE  WORTH  LIVING  ? "  44-7 
 
 felt  than  uttered,  they   will  share  your   burden   and  make 
 your  grief  their  own. 
 
 To  Mr.  William  M'Call,  Irvine. 
 
 Westfield,  3rd  June,  1884. 
 
 .  .  .  My  crest  is  a  phoenix — type  of  resurrection.  It 
 used  to  be  a  cross  held  up  and  surmounted  by  a  crown,  with 
 the  legend  Sic  itur  ad  astra,  "  This  is  the  way  to  the  stars  ; " 
 and  so  I  would  have  it  still,  but  some  one  having  profanely 
 written  that  motto  on  the  Edinburgh  gallows,  and  my  im- 
 pression having  run  out,  I  took  the  phoenix.  The  legend — 
 Post  funera  virtus — intimates  that  the  dead  march  to  which 
 life  is  now  come,  means,  if  all  goes  right,  a  triumphal  march 
 to  the  resurrection,  which  is  our  joy  and  crown  of  rejoicing 
 through  Him  that  loved  us.     .      .     . 
 
 I  like  your  thoughts  on  this  "  fair  world."  "  Most 
 beautiful  world,"  says  old  Mr.  Graham  of  Skelmorlie,  "  I'll 
 stay  in  it  as  long  as  I  can."  He  is  gone  eighty-seven,  and 
 quite  fresh  ! 
 
 Some  ask,  Is  life  worth  living?  Profane  question  !  Just 
 listen  to  the  birds  ;  the  lambs — merry  creatures  all — 10,000 
 answer,  Yes !  And  children  home  from  school,  where 
 perhaps  they  have  been  crying  over  their  lessons ;  and 
 crowds  on  crowds,  on  the  streets,  on  the  seas,  everywhere  ! 
 Who  ever  says,  No  ?  Some  pessimists  in  this  horrible  age  of 
 high  culture  have  got  to  say  it,  but  they  should  by  no  means 
 be  allowed  to  go  at  large.  Even  in  circumstances  of  misery 
 extreme,  all  that  a  man  hath  will  he  give  for  his  life.  I  have 
 sometimes  reaches  of  dyspepsia  and  other  pain  that  seem  to 
 take  the  life  out  of  life.  But  endurance  itself  is  a  new  life, 
 and  we  must  not  only  hope,  but  live  in  hope,  or  we  might  be 
 of  all  men  most  miserable.  I  hope  you  are  both  healthy  and 
 happy.  I  cannot  boast  great  things  of  my  health,  but 
 though  I  lose  it,  I  never  give  up  the  ghost  of  happiness. 
 
44§  THE  END. 
 
 To  a  Young  Friend  on  the  eve  of  his  Marriage. 
 
 Westfield,  20th  September,  1884. 
 
 Dear  Golden  Youth, — Like  a  picture  of  Rembrandt 
 in  which  a  bright  red  light  plunges  all  the  rest  in  darkness — 
 like  a  picture  of  Coreggio,  in  which  the  light  shines  all  from 
 a  face,  such,  oh,  young  man,  is  the  life  of  thee  become, 
 "  of  imagination  all  compact."  Like  a  lover  in  Shakespeare, 
 do  you  ever  reflect  on  the  absurd  realities  of  life  ?  Do  you 
 ever  think  of  this  vulgar  world  with  such  a  prosaic  person  in 
 it  as  the  hermit  hidden  in  the  woods  of  Calder  ? 
 
 If  you  forget  me  I  don't  mind  quite  so  much  if  your  sister 
 remembers  to  fetch  you  here  to  do  your  penance  on  the 
 bread  and  water  of  a  monastery,  for  the  intoxication  of  love 
 in  which  you  are  habitually  indulging,  to  meditate  in  the 
 fields,  and  attend  on  ordinances,  and  see  if  you  cannot  keep 
 staid  and  sober,  over  at  least  one  Sunday  in  October.  You 
 see  how  thoughts  run  to  rhyme,  the  rude  ore  melted  into 
 shining  liquid  at  the  magnetic,  the  electric  touch  of  your 
 ecstatic  frame.  Whenever  one  gets  into  the  charmed  circle, 
 one  falls  a-singing — 
 
 Now  the  year,  grown  somewhat  olden, 
 
 Steals  the  silver  spoons 
 
 Used  at  lunch  in  summer  noons  ; 
 Yet  replaces  them  with  golden, 
 For  the  feasts  and  banquet  holden 
 
 Under  harvest  moons. 
 
 So  that  if  you  don't  come  the  sooner,  though  the  colours  are 
 still  brilliant,  the  situation,  outdoors,  will  not  be  quite  so 
 pleasant  for  any  sketching  that  might  be  undertaken  by  the 
 fair  artiste.  Besides  that,  in  any  case,  the  vision  of  bright 
 happy  faces  ought  to  dawn  without  too  great  delay  on  old 
 eyes  that  see  many  guests,   but  none  more  welcome  than 
 
"  JOINTS  IN  OUR  ARMOURS  449 
 
 yourselves.  It  may  seem  tame  enough  truly,  and  wearisome, 
 to  come  to  such  a  place  and  person,  at  the  darkening  of  a 
 brilliant  holiday  you  have  been  spending  in  some  richer 
 rural  spot,  and  with  all  the  scent  and  sunshine  of  the  summer 
 hanging  round  you.  But  if  you  would  only  stay  long  enough 
 to  give  me  the  chance,  I  would  do  my  best  to  make  the  trial 
 and  the  contrast  as  light  as  possible.  When  can  you 
 come  ? 
 
 To  Mr.  David  M 'Cowan. 
 
 Westfield,  28th  Oct.,  1884. 
 
 Have  you  read  Rutherford's  (Newlands)  "  Joints  in  our 
 Armour"?1  He  seems  to  make  Wellington  New  Church 
 one  of  them — i.e.,  churches  that  migrate  UP  from  the 
 poorer  to  the  richer  streets.  He  gives,  very  sadly,  the 
 diagnosis  of  the  disease  of  which  he  thinks  our  Church 
 is  in  a  bad  way,  or  indeed  among  her  sisters  dying. 
 Denominationalism  is,  but  what  of  the  reality?  May  not 
 saints  increase  while  sects  decrease — or  even  mount  in 
 number  through  the  fall  of  the  membership?  Saints  are 
 brothers  in  heaven,  but  only  sitters  on  the  communion  roll  > 
 and  saintship  is  not  let  out  at  the  seat-letting.  Souls  and 
 goodness  may  be  full  weight  in  the  balance,  while  silver  and 
 gold  are  weighed  and  found  wanting.  No  man  knows  the 
 financial  statistics  of  our  Church  better  than  you  do,  or 
 their  real  value  in  such  a  reckoning.  You  used  to  say  that 
 the  size  of  a  church  for  instance,  was  no  true  measure. 
 There  might  be  much  padding.  Do  you  think  we  are  true 
 to  our  upward  motto,  Excelsior  ? 
 
 To-night   they   have   been    holding   a   political   meeting 
 
 1  A  brochure  published  in  these  days  by  the  Rev.  Robert  Rutherford, 
 Newlands,  in  which  the  amiable  and  accomplished  author  sorrowfully 
 points  out  what  he  believes  to  be  signs  of  decadence  in  the  United 
 Presbyterian  Church. 
 
 2   F 
 
450  THE  END. 
 
 in  Dr.  Wardrop's  church.  Mr.  Archy  Corbett,  who  was 
 here  some  time  ago,  was  unable  to  come,  but  your  Mr. 
 Cross  is  speaking  and  some  Edinburgh  advocates,  with 
 a  torch  procession  following,  for  which  Mr.  (the  elder) 
 Thornton  has  contributed  two  hundred-weight  of  ropes, 
 though  he  disapproves  of  meeting  in  the  church,  as  to-morrow 
 is  the  sacrament !  Our  "  Fast  "  here  has  long  gone  (seeking 
 drink  enough)  to  the  wall,  and  the  old-fashioned  "  Saturday 
 preachings  "  are  thus  replaced  by  tar  ropes  and  Radicals. 
 Is  this  an  improvement  in  the  direction  of  religion  in 
 common  life,  or  another  very  clear  "  joint  in  our  armour  "  ? 
 
 Among  his  many  visitors  at  Westfield  in  the 
 summer  of  1884,  none  was  more  heartily  welcome 
 than  the  pew-opener  of  Trinity  Church,  Mrs.  Camp- 
 bell, better  known  as  "  Susie."  She  lived  among  the 
 fisher-folk  down  at  the  harbour,  and  once  and  again, 
 after  her  return  home,  she  sent  a  present  of  herrings 
 to  Westfield. 
 
 To  Mrs.  Campbell,  Irvine. 
 
 Westfield,  28th  October,  1884. 
 
 I  guessed  they  had  come  from  you,  for,  of  all  the  world, 
 you  most  to  me  unite  in  you  the  memories  of  the  church  and 
 of  the  sea.  What  old  familiar  face  and  figure  should  rise  up 
 before  me,  standing  in  the  church  door,  under  the  canopy 
 of  crimson  curtain  (like  a  statue  of  a  saint  in  a  niche)  ? 
 Who  but  yourself  should  rise  up  at  once  before  me,  when 
 lo !  from  the  western  sea  a  shoal  of  the  finest  herrings 
 comes,  sailing  in  a  firkin,  to  the  hermitage  door  of  the  old 
 minister  ? 
 
 Often  I  put  on  my  wishing  cap  and  wish  myself  back 
 about  the  "  Briggate  Heid,"  but  I  have  never  been  caught 
 
MEMORIES  OF  THE  CHURCH  AXD  THE  SEA.  45  1 
 
 tripping  beyond  Glasgow  since  I  tripped  a  foot  and  fell  at  a 
 jubilee,  tumbling  into  bed.  "  Humpty  Dumpty  had  a  great 
 fall."  However  the  summer,  which  is  a  good  doctor,  set 
 him  up  again  ;  and  if  the  winter,  with  watery  eyes  and 
 white  hair,  should  see  him  preaching  once  more,  no  doubt 
 the  ghost  of  his  old  voice  must  revisit  the  cloisters  of 
 Trinity. 
 
 They  tell  me  it  is  now  so  beautiful  you  would  never  know 
 it  to  be  the  same  that  stood  behind  the  houses  in  the  kail- 
 yards, like  some  good  people  that  show  all  the  finer  when 
 their  houses  and  lands  are  taken  away,  because  you  see 
 them  better  as  they  really  are.1  But  there  are  also  good 
 people  who  may  have  no  wealth  of  houses  or  lands  to  lose,  but 
 they  may  have  warm  hearts  which  they  can  never  lose  ;  who 
 can  search  the  depths  of  the  sea  for  gifts  of  their  generosity, 
 and  send  presents  of  herrings  to  their  old  minister.  If  you 
 know  such  a  one,  tell  her  that  every  morning  a  herring 
 is  drawn  across  my  path  and  draws  my  thoughts  away, 
 as  willingly  they  follow,  to  the  opening  of  the  church  doors 
 and  the  little  figure  that  opens  them ;  and  somehow  I 
 think  of  Peter  that  had  the  keys  and  that  also  caught  the 
 fish  with  the  money  in  its  mouth,  so  that  the  two  things 
 have  been  united  before,  and  thus  I  hope  and  pray  that  you 
 may  surely  have  the  key  of  the  unseen  Church  and  let  yourself 
 in,  in  secret  often.  And  with  many  thanks  for  the  message 
 of  kindness  (more  precious  than  money)  that  I  have  found 
 in  the  mouth  of  every  fish  you  have  sent,  I  remain,  etc. 
 
 The  winter  of  1SS4-5  was  one  of  unusual  seventy. 
 Dr.  Robertson's  letters  are  full  of  references  to  the 
 snow,  in  which  his  great  St.  Bernard  seemed  to  find 
 
 1  At  this  time  some  houses  that  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which 
 the  church  was  built  and  partially  hid  it  from  the  street,  had  been  taken 
 down. 
 
452  THE  END. 
 
 peculiar  delight,  but  which  kept  himself  for  the  most 
 part  a  close  prisoner.  Tidings  reached  him  from 
 Irvine  of  one  after  another  of  his  much-loved  people, 
 whom  the  cold  had  stricken  down,  and  it  was  a  great 
 grief  to  him  that  he  could  not  go  to  attend  their 
 funerals  and  to  comfort  the  mourners  left  behind. 
 He  occupied  himself  writing  letters  of  sympathy. 
 From  one  of  these  some  extracts  are  given  : — 
 
 To  Mr.  John  Wright,  Irvine. 
 
 Westfield,  December,  1884. 
 
 I  had  been  with  you  in  thought  over  Sabbath  in  your 
 little  church  in  the  house,  when  the  silent  and  motionless 
 slumber  in  the  white  night-dress — in  the  coffin  of  earthly 
 life,  the  cradle  of  immortality — preached  you  from  that  dark 
 pulpit  the  most  affecting  sermon  you  ever  heard,  or  will  ever 
 hear,  on  the  blessed  childlike  sleep,  the  rest  and  sleep 
 in  Jesus,  the  Sabbath  of  the  holy  dead  !  while  in  the  Trinity 
 Church  that  she  so  loved,  behind  your  windows,  under  the 
 storm  and  darkening  of  a  December  afternoon,  they  were 
 showing  the  Lord's  death  till  He  come. 
 
 The  thoughtful,  listening  sorrow  of  three  faces  seemed 
 to  haunt  me — your  own,  your  son's,  your  sister's ;  and  the 
 silence  of  that  other  face,  most  eloquent  of  all,  that  lay 
 beneath  its  snow-white  veil,  that  I  had  often  seen  and 
 specially  marked,  aglow  with  love  and  hope  at  the  Lord's 
 table,  and  that  we  shall  not  see  again  till  we  behold  it 
 shining  in  the  transfiguration  on  the  holy  mount,  when  the 
 Lord  shall  surely  come  ! 
 
 She  carried  a  placid  light  in  her  face  that  seemed  to  me 
 no  fleeting  play  of  features,  but  a  steady  shining  from 
 within.     Even  the  dread  of  sore  suffering  could  not  quench 
 
JUBILEE  AT  ST.  NINIANS.  453 
 
 it,  not  even  the  certainty.  It  might  darken  but  could  not 
 quench  it  in  her  heroic  heart.  The  shadow  passed,  the 
 light  returned,  and  I  am  very  sure  I  have  seen  it  breaking 
 into  a  brave  smile  when  the  hidden  pain  was  in  her  bosom 
 and  the  hidden  tear  beneath  her  shining  eyes.  And  though 
 it  has  now  vanished  with  her  life  from  the  broken  lamp  she 
 has  left  behind,  it  still  remains  in  your  remembrance  as 
 a  beautiful  after-glow  upon  the  mountains,  when  the  sun  has 
 set  and  her  life  ascended  like  a  star  to  walk  with  the  Lamb 
 in  white — the  Lamb  who  was  and  is  her  light,  with  the 
 Lamb's  shining  company. 
 
 Dear  Mr.  Wright,  my  dear  old  friend,  John  Wright,  I  will 
 call  you,  I  am  sure  you  do  not  grudge  her  her  escape  into 
 the  perfect  light  and  joy.  She  has  found  the  wings  of  a 
 dove  to  flee  away  and  be  at  rest. 
 
 At  the  end  of  December  he  preached  for  the  first 
 time  since  his  breakdown  in  February.  The  occasion 
 was  one  which  specially  enlisted  his  sympathy.  It 
 was  the  ministerial  jubilee  of  his  own  and  his  father's 
 friend,  Dr.  Frew  of  St.  Ninians.  At  the  close  of  his 
 sermon  he  recalled  the  days  of  other  years  : — 
 
 Long  ago,  when  I  was  still  a  stripling  scarce  from  school, 
 not  yet  entered  upon  the  study  of  divinity,  I  used  on  Sabbath 
 mornings  to  pass,  in  going  down  from  Plean  Muir  in  the 
 uplands  to  the  Secession  Church,  as  it  was  then  called,  in 
 Stirling,  your  iron  gates  first,  when  they  were  opened  for  the 
 forenoon  service,  and  only  one  or  two  old  persons  from  the 
 farthermost  districts  had  arrived,  and  the  elder  was  rever- 
 ently laying  out  the  collection  plate.  When  I  returned  in 
 the  afternoon  the  gates  were  closed  again  and  the  service 
 was  over,  but  I  knew  that  in  the  interval  a  youthful  preacher 
 with    impassioned    eloquence,   had   been   enchaining   and 
 
454  THE  END. 
 
 charming  the  hearts  of  all,  and  not  least  of  some  boys  who 
 were  my  acquaintances,  and  who  used  to  tell  upon  the 
 Mondays  what  wonderful  sermons  they  had  heard. 
 
 Miss  Smith,  the  niece  of  Dr.  Angus  Smith  of  Man- 
 chester, having  sent  him  a  sketch  of  a  monument 
 which  she  proposed  to  erect  to  the  memory  of  her 
 uncle,  he  wrote  her  a  letter,  in  which  he  recalled  the 
 chief  features  in  the  character  of  his  departed  friend, 
 and  at  the  same  time  gave  expression  to  some  of  his 
 own  characteristic  thoughts  on  life  and  art.  Some 
 extracts  are  given  : — 
 
 To  Miss  J.  K.  Smith. 
 
 Westfield,  8th  May,  1885. 
 
 .  .  .  It  seems  to  me  that  love  and  sorrow,  such  as 
 yours,  must,  to  such  as  you,  supply  the  finest  artistic  inspira- 
 tion that  can  be  had  for  such  a  work,  implicitly  to  be  trusted, 
 and  not  to  be  improved  on,  at  second  hand.  "  The  first 
 crush  of  the  grapes,"  as  Dr.  Chalmers  said,  "  is  always  the 
 best ; "  and  as  he  knew  from  his  own  experience  when  he 
 tried  to  re-write,  and  spoiled  what  he  had  done  as  well  as 
 possible  (like  Michel  Angelo)  at  the  first  stroke.  Second 
 thoughts,  especially  when  supplied  by  another,  make  such 
 an  amendment,  as  is  made  upon  a  motion  at  a  public  meet- 
 ing, when  the  motion  is  lost. 
 
 My  friend  Zarrocchi,  sculptor,  Siena,  has  made  the  most 
 beautiful  monumental  statue  I  know,  the  Angel  of  the  Resur- 
 rection holding  his  trumpet  and  watching  with  his  eye  on 
 heaven  for  the  signal  to  blow.  He  made  it  many  years  ago 
 for  his  young  beautiful  wife,  who  died  early.  He  was  poor, 
 and  the  marble  poor ;  but  though  you  offer  him  any  money 
 and  the  whitest  of  Carrara  marble,  he  cannot  repeat  it.  It 
 may  be  twenty  years  since,  and  he  was  a  good  Christian 
 
DR.  ANGUS  SMITH'S  MONUMENT.         455 
 
 then.  To  get  him  to  give  you  the  statue  again,  you  must 
 give  him  again  his  faith  and  his  sorrow.     . 
 
 No  Saxon  could  go  through  his  (Dr.  Smith's)  round  of 
 duty  and  earn  his  reward  more  faithfully  than  he,  but  he  also 
 lived  the  higher  life  of  tender  melancholy,  relieved  with 
 bursts  of  mirth,  which  is  the  atmosphere  and  inheritance  of 
 the  greatest  minds — which  comes  with  more  of  childish 
 frankness  perhaps  in  the  Scandinavian,  and  more  of  weird 
 and  wayward  sadness  in  the  Scottish  Celt. 
 
 Not  all  scientific  men  know,  as  he  did,  that  all  the  lights  of 
 suns  and  electricities,  not  less  of  science  and  philosophy,  are 
 only  shadows  of  the  light  of  God  through  which  we  can 
 climb  only  with  clean  hands  and  pure  heart  to  the  Fountain, 
 where  "  face  to  face  the  pure  in  heart  see  God."     .     .     . 
 
 The  questions  of  Immortality  and  Resurrection  are  no 
 mere  questions  as  in  Chemistry,  as  to  whether  certain  sub- 
 stances broken  asunder  can  be  preserved  separate,  and 
 afterwards  reunited,  and,  if  they  have  been  living  organisms, 
 recall  the  old  life.  To  him  the  question  went  far  deeper 
 than  that.  Can  sin  be  removed,  and  that  great  stone  rolled 
 away  from  the  door  of  the  sepulchre  ?  This  is  what  his 
 Saviour  Jesus  Christ  has  done,  and  he  knew  it,  and  if  he 
 being  dead  may  yet  speak  through  silent  stony  lips,  mighc 
 they  not  best  speak  to  any  scientific  doubter  who  visits  his 
 grave  with  a  heart  opened  by  sorrow,  of  that  Saviour  Jesus 
 Christ  "  that  hath  abolished  death ';  t 
 
 To  Mr.  George  Brown,  Irvine. 
 
 Westfield,  July,  1885. 
 
 I  have  preached  twice  this  year  at  Bridge  of  Allan  and  in 
 Mid-Calder — in  the  latter  ten  days  ago,  reopening  after 
 repair,  that  rural  edifice  where  Mr.  George  Crawford  (of 
 Irvine,  George  with  tutorial  memories)  is  now  conducting,  I 
 believe,  a  very  able  and  acceptable  ministry. 
 
45^  THE  END. 
 
 A  son  of  Mr.  Dunlop,  Snodgrass,  was  his  guest  on  his  re- 
 opening occasion,  and  he  carried  my  thoughts  all  through 
 the  service  away  back  to  old  Irvine,  where  we  sometimes 
 had  a  midsummer  Sabbath  as  beautiful  as  that  was — a  con- 
 gregation as  good,  and  somewhat  less  primitive,  with  your 
 pew  in  the  south  transept  never  empty,  or  out  of  sympathy 
 with  the  pulpit.  And  though  our  river  under  the  bank  in 
 front  does  not  run  through  a  valley  so  fruitful  and  rich  as 
 the  Almond,  yet  there  is  no  view  to  be  compared  with  that 
 we  had,  in  the  intervals,  on  mornings  and  evenings,  from  the 
 frontal  corridors  of  Trinity,  over  the  town  and  the  harbour — 
 away  into  the  depths  of  darker  and  lighter  blue,  out  of  which 
 and  into  which  the  emerald  of  Arran,  sparkling  in  the  sun- 
 light, rises.  I  seemed  to  hear  the  bells  of  Trinity  Church, 
 the  choir,  the  voices  of  the  whole  congregation,  and  the  deep 
 silence  in  the  time  of  prayer,  out  of  which  rose  a  solitary 
 voice  with  tremulous  wing  seeking  to  ascend,  and  I  did,  as  I 
 often  do,  wish  myself  amongst  you. 
 
 In  the  summer  of  1885  he  was  very  happy.  He 
 went  as  the  guest  of  his  friend,  Mr.  M'Cowan,  to 
 Grantown  in  Strathspey,  where  he  drove  about  in 
 view  of  the  Cairngorm  Mountains,  "  enjoying  large 
 draughts  of  the  celestial  wine  of  the  air  of  the  pine- 
 woods,  which  seems  true  medicine  for  one's  often  in- 
 firmities and  stomach's  sake ; "  and  where,  too,  he 
 attended  a  meeting  of  the  Presbytery  of  Abernethy 
 when  it  was  occupied  with  a  famous  dispute  about  a 
 churchyard,  "  the  drollest  meeting  of  Presbytery  I  ever 
 saw  or  heard  of."  On  his  way  south  he  halted  at 
 Kingussie  to  visit  his  friends,  Principal  and  Mrs. 
 Douglas,    where   he   was   charmed   with  a   band  "  of 
 
A  HAPPY  SUMMER.  457 
 
 Kafir   girls    of  English   ancestry,"  who  sang  to  him 
 "  Kafir  hymns  with  the  click,  over  and  over  again." 
 
 He  returned  to  Westfield  to  receive  a  visit  from 
 George  MacDonald  and  his  family — a  party  of  six — 
 who  had  been  in  Edinburgh  giving  their  representation 
 of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  all  of  whom  he  found 
 "after  their  measure,  like  the  father,  singularly  good 
 and  gifted,  but  moving  on  very  singular  lines  that  run 
 toward  mysticism." 
 
 Dr.  Robertson  was  greatly  interested  in  the  marriage, 
 at  the  end  of  July,  of  a  young  lady  of  the  congregation, 
 whom  he  had  baptized  and  taught,  to  his  colleague, 
 Mr.  Dickie. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  W.  S.  Dickie. 
 
 Westfield,  20th  July,  1885. 
 
 I  have  sent  you  in  five  volumes  (revised  version)  the  Book 
 that  seems  most  suitable  as  betwixt  you  and  me  at  any  time, 
 and  therefore  specially  so  at  such  a  time  as  this,  as  it  begins 
 with  a  marriage  in  one  Paradise,  and  ends  with  a  marriage  in 
 another,  when  the  Bride  hath  made  herself  ready — the  Book 
 out  of  which  I  tried  to  feed  the  older  flock  of  our  co-pastorate, 
 and  from  which  you  are  now  feeding  the  younger  to  better 
 purpose. 
 
 I  hope  that  not  a  few  of  the  former  have  found  their  way 
 to  the  Good  Shepherd,  and  the  heavenly  fields  and  fold 
 under  my  ministry  ;  and  that  many  more,  please  God,  are 
 finding,  and  shall  find,  in  the  blessed  future,  their  way  under 
 yours.  May  we  rejoice  together  when  God  writes  up  the 
 people. 
 
 The  church  belongs  to  neither.  We  are  her  servants  for 
 Jesus'  sake.     He  that  hath  the  Bride  is  the  Bridegroom,  and 
 
45 8  THE  END. 
 
 in  bringing  souls  to  Him  to  hear  the  Bridegroom's  voice,  our 
 joy  is  fulfilled. 
 
 I  am  sure  your  bride,  whom  I  have  loved  in  a  most  grand- 
 fatherly  way  since  ever  she  was  a  baby,  will  let  me  regard 
 her  as  a  daughter,  as  you,  since  ever  I  have  known  you,  have 
 truly  been  a  son  to  me. 
 
 He  went  to  Irvine  to  officiate  at  the  marriage,  and 
 again  to  preach  twice  on  the  first  Sabbath  after  his 
 colleague's  return  with  his  young  wife.  The  sermons 
 that  day  were  his  last  to  the  congregation  he  loved  so 
 well  and  had  served  so  faithfully.  Though  both  of 
 them  were  on  subjects  on  which  he  had  preached  long 
 before  in  the  days  of  his  young  ministry,  they  were 
 enriched  with  the  learning  and  experience  of  the 
 intervening  years.  Quotations  from  Savonarola  and 
 descriptions  of  the  paintings  of  Fra  Angelico  and 
 Leonardo  da  Vinci  were  aptly  used  to  illustrate  his 
 themes.  It  was  afterwards  noted  that  the  text  of  the 
 afternoon  sermon  was  this  :  "  Giving  thanks  unto  the 
 Father,  who  hath  made  us  meet  to  be  partakers  of  the 
 inheritance  of  the  saints  in  light." 
 
 Only  on  two  other  occasions  did  he  preach  in 
 Scotland,  and  on  one  of  these  he  was  again  led  back 
 into  the  sacred  past.  It  was  the  celebration  of  the 
 jubilee  of  the  congregation  of  Bannockburn  in  the 
 founding  of  which  his  brother  Andrew  had  so  large  a 
 part. 
 
 In  the  later  autumn  he  went  into  Northumberland 
 to  officiate  for  the  son  of  an  old  friend.  On  his 
 return  he  visited  his  sister  at  Bridge  of  Allan  and 
 
HIS  IAST  SERMON.  459 
 
 preached  for  her  minister,  Mr.  Muir,  his  famous 
 sermon  on  John  the  Baptist.  He  then  started  for 
 Ventnor,  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  to  baptize  the  second 
 child  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Williamson,  Mrs.  Williamson 
 being  the  Janet  Bruce  of  other  days,  the  only  surviving 
 child  of  his  dear  friend  and  kinsman,  Dr.  William 
 Bruce,  who  had  passed  away  in  November,  1882. 
 
 Before  leaving  London  he  preached  what  proved  to 
 be  his  last  sermon.  It  was  at  evening  service  in  the 
 church  of  his  friend,  Dr.  Walter  Morison,  formerly  of 
 Ayr,  to  whom  he  wrote  on  his  return. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  Walter  Morison,  D.D. 
 
 Westfield,  5th  December,  1885. 
 
 .  .  .  The  pleasure  I  had  in  conducting  vespers  in 
 your  chapel  did  not  arise  from  any  virtue  in  them,  or  in 
 him  that  did  administer  them ;  but  from  the  happy  thought 
 that  I  was  doing  you  a  service,  or  at  least  trying  to  do  so, 
 when  you  were  not  there  to  see  how  poorly  it  was  done.  If 
 I  brought  flowers,  as  you  say  (and  I  must  not  contradict 
 you),  I  daresay  they  were  withered  enough,  as  flowers 
 at  evening  that  have  not  been  freshly  cut  may  be.  The 
 bloom,  the  fragrance,  the  aroma,  the  dewy  sparkle,  the  rain- 
 bow tints  that  come  and  go,  must  have  fled  on  the  wings  of 
 the  morning.     .     .     . 
 
 During  Dr.  Robertson's  absence  in  the  south,  a 
 great  sorrow  fell  on  the  whole  neighbourhood  of 
 Westfield,  in  the  death  of  Dr.  Smith,  minister  of 
 the  parish  of  Kirknewton.  It  is  evidence  of  Dr. 
 Robertson's  neighbourliness  and  catholicity  that  on  his 
 return  his  first  visit  was  to  the  stricken  manse,  and 
 
460  THE  END. 
 
 that  the  bereaved  kirk-session  sent  him  a  request 
 that  he  should  preach  to  the  congregation  in  its 
 sorrow.  His  too  frequent  winter  journeyings  and 
 preachings  had  already  begun  to  bear  fruit,  and 
 he  found  it  impossible  to  comply  with  the  request ; 
 but,  in  declining,  he  paid  a  warm  tribute  to  the  worth 
 of  the  departed  pastor.  "  Had  Dr.  Smith,"  he  said, 
 "  been  less  faithful,  less  studious,  less  saintly  and 
 loving,  less  of  a  restless  seeker  of  souls  and  self- 
 sacrificing  brother  of  the  poor,  and  a  less  noble  man 
 of  God  than  he  was,  he  might  have  been  among  us  still. 
 But  his  reward  seemed  impatient  to  meet  him,  and 
 '  suddenly,  behold  a  chariot  and  horses  of  fire.'  " 
 
 Another  death  deeply  touched  him  in  that  dark 
 winter.  Mr.  MacLehose,  publisher  to  the  University 
 of  Glasgow,  the  early  friend  of  Daniel  Macmillan,  and 
 one  of  the  most  notable  figures  in  the  city,  into  the 
 "  dusky  lanes  and  wrangling  marts  "  of  whose  com- 
 merce he  laboured  for  fifty  years  to  shed  the  benign 
 light  of  literature,  was  suddenly  stricken  down.  Dr. 
 Robertson  would  not  be  restrained  from  coming,  on 
 a  most  bitter  day,  to  attend  the  funeral.  The  follow- 
 ing extract  refers  to  his  last  interview  with  his  old 
 friend: — 
 
 To  Mrs.  King,  London. 
 
 Westfield,  Christmas  Day,  1885. 
 
 In  passing  hurriedly  through  Glasgow  I  saw  the  late  Mr. 
 
 MacLehose,  and  gave  him   your  greeting,  with   which  he 
 
 seemed  much  gratified.     They  say  he  took  delight  in  every 
 
 book   that  passed  out  through  his  hands,   but  he    had   a 
 
HIS  CHILD  REX  A  T  SEA.  46 1 
 
 special  and  marked  delight  in  yours.1  He  was  repeating  it 
 warmly  as  before  when  some  one  said  I  had  come  from 
 London  to  vote  for  Gladstone.'2  He  said.  "  Xoble  !  off — 
 time's  up — don't  miss  the  train."  So  his  laudatory  words  of 
 you  and  the  Memoir  were  among  the  last  I  heard  him  speak. 
 
 To  Miss  M'Call,  Irvine. 
 
 YVestfield,  30th  December,  1885. 
 
 The  best  of  our  church  I  used  to  think,  if  the  trumpet 
 should  sound  on  a  Tuesday  evening,  would  likely  be  found 
 at  the  prayer  meeting.  One  stormy  night  I  remember, 
 when,  in  the  music  at  the  close  of  the  sermon,  we  sang 
 Evening  Intercessions  ("  When  the  sailor  on  the  deep  "). 
 Over  the  pleading  music,  that  rose  and  fell  in  the  voices  of 
 those  that  had  brothers,  cousins,  and  other  friends  at  sea, 
 the  slates  rattled,  the  snow  rustled  and  sighed  round  the 
 high  windows,  and  it  hung  like  white  sheets  in  the  wan  moon- 
 light as  we  parted  at  the  "Briggate  Heid."  And  do  you  think 
 I  can  forget  this  when  I  lie  awake  on  stormy  nights,  and  think 
 of  my  own  children  (as  many  of  them  are  by  baptism)  at 
 sea;  and  try  to  get  nearer  to  One  who  watched  on  a  mid- 
 night mountain  when  the  fishing  boat  was  struggling  on  the 
 lake  below,  and  who  still  upon  another  mountain  intercedes 
 in  the  bright  light  over  the  storm.  I  pray  that  on  His  heart 
 be  written  also  the  name  of  your  dear  nephew,  Alexander. 
 Did  he  sail  yesterday  ?  For  it  did  blow  hard  last  night  as  I 
 lay  awake  and  listened,  and  thought  of  the  church  on  the 
 hill  and  the  ships  at  sea.  Nothing  interests  me  more  than 
 to  hear,  as  you  kindly  let  me,  of  our  boyish  mariners,  as 
 well  as  others  older,  and  their  movements.     They  are  not 
 
 1  "  Memoir  of  the  Rev.  David  King,  LL.D." 
 
 -  This  was  before  Mr.  Gladstone  had  introduced  his  Home  Rule  BilL 
 
462  THE  END. 
 
 perhaps  so  numerous  as  once,  when  I  used  to  say  that  my 
 congregation  was  like  our  Queen's  dominions  on  which  the 
 sun  never  sets ;  but  on  being  separated  from  you  on  shore  I 
 seem  to  come  nearer  to  those  at  sea.  I  hope  the  present 
 race  will  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  those  old  disciples  that 
 have  walked  on  the  water  to  go  to  Jesus,  and  been  hidden 
 from  all  tempests  in  His  bosom ;  and,  when  the  storms  of 
 life  are  all  over,  have  been  hidden  also  in  the  "  remarkable 
 hiding  "  of  the  grave,  it  may  be  a  wandering  sepulchre  sud- 
 denly opened  for  burial  by  God  Himself,  as  Moses  was 
 buried,  no  man  knows  where.  "  But  now  they  are  glad 
 because  they  be  quiet ;  so  He  bringeth  them  into  their 
 desired  haven." 
 
 Mr.  Alexander  M'Dowall,  nephew  of  Mrs.  James 
 Robertson  of  Newington,  having  been  in  Wales,  and 
 much  interested  in  the  hivyi,  or  "sing,"  with  which 
 Welsh  ministers  preach,  wrote  to  Dr.  Robertson  : — 
 
 Now,  you  will  remember  your  brother  sometimes  "  sang  " 
 in  preaching.  I  have  heard  him,  and  I  think  the  notes  were 
 either  do,  ft,  la,  or  mi,  re,  do.  I  think  he  was  often  unconscious 
 of  this.  What  I  would  like  to  know  is,  "  Where  did  he  get  this 
 *hwyl'?"  Was  it  a  common  practice  in  the  Secession 
 Church  ?  I  fancy  I  have  heard  of  others  doing  it.  Or  was 
 it  merely  a  natural  mode  of  expression  for  a  music  loving 
 nature,  as  his,  I  think,  was  ? 
 
 Dr.  Robertson  wrote  a  long  letter  in  reply,  in  which 
 he  entered  into  a  discussion  of  Hebrew  and  Greek 
 music,  and  of  how  their  influence  can  be  traced  in  the 
 services  of  the  Christian  Church.  Such  portions  of 
 the  letter  as  are  likely  to  interest  the  general  reader 
 are  here  given  : — 
 
THE  WELSH  "HJVYL"  AND  SCOTTISH  "SING."  4^3 
 To  Mr.  Alexander  B.  M'Dowall,  London. 
 
 Westfield,  February,  1886. 
 
 Your  "  Uncle  James,"  who  had  both  the  "unction"  and 
 the  "  sing,"  learnt  his  song  from  Dr.  Smart  of  the  "  Back 
 Row,"  Stirling,  a  Burgher  minister  of  the  patriarchal  order 
 (now  extinct),  upright  in  form  as  in  character,  wearing  the 
 snowy  mitre  of  age  ere  /saw  him. 
 
 He  "served  the  tables'''  at  the  Sacrament  from  the  pre- 
 centor's desk  (two  or  so  out  of  perhaps  six  or  seven),  and 
 "sang"  his  meditation  right  through  with  variations,  but 
 what  I  remember  best  is  such  as  this  : — 
 
 do  re  mi  re  do 
 
 He       I    hath    |  brought  me  |  into  His  ]  banqueting  house  | 
 
 la,        J      sol  1     j  do  la,  sol, 
 
 !  And  His  j  banner  |         over  me  was  love.          j 
 
 The  first  allegro,  the  second  (lower)  affettuoso,  and  sometimes 
 very  full  of  heart,  so  that  the  old  men  would  shake  their 
 heads  from  side  to  side  and  the  women  cry.  When  return- 
 ing to  the  natural  (or  discrete)  voice  at  the  words,  "  Trusting 
 that  these  are  your  sentiments,  I  will  now  proceed  to  put 
 into  your  hands,"  etc.,  we  children  would  nudge  each  other 
 and  say,  "  The  boat's  run  aground."  I  daresay  he  intoned 
 with  as  much  variety  as  your  Welshman,  but  Smart  was  no 
 improvisator  and  the  above  (which  I  have  written  on  no 
 key,  but  with  a  rough  indication  of  the  intervals)  is  some- 
 thing like  a  cartoon  of  his  usual  "sing-song,"  which  was, 
 however,  very  telling. 
 
 The  alternation  of  this  recitation  with  the  Coleshill  sung  en 
 masse  by  the  procession  of  communicants  coming  and  going 
 was  very  effective  (too  operatic  you  would  say),  the  precentor 
 41  reading  the  line"  of  the  psalm  (commonly  the  103rd),  sung 
 in  successive  fragments  when  the  tables  were  changing  guests, 
 
4^4  THE  EXD. 
 
 the  first  line  on  resuming  being  spoken  on  the  key  note,  the 
 rest  all  recited  in  the  singing  voice,  and  the  minor  third 
 above  the  key  note,  which  gave  it  a  slow,  solemn,  weird 
 effect,  but  far  richer  than  anything  we  hear  now,  with  our 
 waltzing  hymns  and  jumpy  demi-semi-quavers.  In  Coleshilly 
 as  sung  in  a  Free  Highland  kirk  (in  Iona),  I  recognized  the 
 tones  of  the  old  Ambrosian  chant,  still  preserved,  and  said 
 to  have  been  brought  from  the  east.  When  I  was  in  Italy  in 
 1842,  the  priests  in  the  cathedral  chanting  the  canto  fermo 
 seemed  to  me  to  be  repeating  old  Dr.  Smart.  But  on  closer  ac- 
 quaintance with  the  Gregorian,  I  would  side  with  your  Prin- 
 cipal Edwards.  The  church  music  of  Cymry  and  Celt  is 
 older  than  Gregory  and  possibly  of  oriental  origin,  coeval 
 with  the  first  introduction  of  Christianity;  or  more  likely  a 
 native  outgrowth  (partly  conditioned  by  foreign  influence)  of 
 the  very  musical  souls  that  had  their  bards  and  harpers  from 
 the  oldest  time.  We  are  too  late  to  hear  the  singing  of  the 
 Blue  coat  boys  or  the  wail  of  Mona,  but  certainly  in  music 
 "  Taffy"  had  no  need  to  be  a  "thief." 
 
 Yet,  on  hearing  the  priests  chanting  in  1842,  it  did  occur 
 at  once  to  me  that  Dr.  Smart's  chant  might  have  floated 
 down  from  the  Romish  Church,  through  the  opened  gates 
 of  the  Reformation,  even  into  Ebenezer  Erskine's  church  in 
 the  Back  Row  !  and,  going  further  back,  it  may  have  come 
 down  from  the  Hebrew  into  the  Christian  Church.  You 
 know  how  the  "  accents  "  in  the  Hebrew  Bible  are  believed 
 to  represent  the  vocal  inflection — or,  say,  the  music.  Of 
 course,  being  no  older,  at  any  rate,  than  the  Mazoretic 
 points,  they  could  only,  though  rightly  read  off,  give  the 
 Hebrew  music  that  was  used  in  the  Middle  Ages.  And 
 who  could  read  them  off?  Should  they  lie  dumb,  like  the 
 truly  dead  language  of  Etruria,  or  be  made  to  speak  again,  like 
 old  Runes  and  Egyptian  hieroglyphics?  In  the  Times, 
 thirty  years  ago,  I  read  that  a  Professor  S.  Haupt,  Leipsic, 
 
HEBREW   MUSIC.  465 
 
 had  found  the  key.  I  wrote  for  it,  and  found  he  made 
 these  accents  to  be  fragments  of  an  old  Semitic  alphabet, 
 used  somewhat  after  the  modern  manner  of  sol-fa.  On 
 applying  it  to  the  blessing  of  Aaron,  in  Numbers — 
 
 do,       re,       mi,        re,       mi,       do 
 ybar  -  rek'  -  ka        Jc    •    ho    -    vah. 
 
 — a  chant  is  produced — shall  we  say  reproduced — much  more 
 like  old  Dr.  Smart  than  that  given  (as  Hebrew,  I  think)  in 
 our  U.P.  Hymn  Book.  Strange  !  if  old  Smart  was  chanting 
 the  hope  of  David  or  the  benediction  of  Aaron  in  the  very 
 same  tones  as  they  did  themselves.  And  yet,  the  truth  is, 
 as  you  well  say,  that  the  simpler  forms  of  musical  expres- 
 sion are  the  natural  outcome  "  of  man's  loving  nature  and 
 devout  spirit,"  in  all  ages  and  all  the  world  over. 
 
 With  the  advent  of  the  new  year  (1886),  the  cold 
 had  become  more  intense,  but,  as  this  compelled  Dr. 
 Robertson  to  husband  his  strength  and  guard  against 
 exposure,  he  remained  comparatively  well.  Some 
 ladies  who  were  going  to  Florence  visited  him  in 
 February,  and  his  sister  went  from  Bridge  of  Allan 
 to  receive  them.  Their  presence  and  their  plans  led 
 him  to  talk  much  on  the  familiar  theme  of  Florentine 
 art,  and  he  spoke  with  all  the  fresh  enthusiasm  which 
 new  and  sympathetic  listeners  never  failed  to  awaken. 
 He  was  looking  forward  hopefully  to  the  approach- 
 ing spring,  and  planning  a  long  journey,  with  vague 
 ideas  of  at  length  seeing  Palestine.  At  the  close  of  the 
 same  month,  he  paid  a  short  visit  to  his  sister  at 
 Bridge  of  Allan,  and  then  laughingly  said  that  his 
 "  good   condition   of   body  was  largely  owing  to   his 
 
 2  g 
 
466  THE  EXD. 
 
 heathenish    neglect  of   ordinances,  for  he  had   never 
 ventured  the  long  walk  to  church  all  winter." 
 
 The  following  extract  is  from  a  letter  written  in 
 these  days  to  a  young  artist — niece  of  Sir  Xoel 
 Paton  and  Mrs.  D.  O.  Hill — who  had  written  playfully 
 upbraiding  him  for  not  having  called  for  a  long 
 while  : — 
 
 To  Miss  J.  Maud  Roxburgh,  Edinburgh. 
 
 Westfield,  3rd  March,  1886. 
 
 Do  you  know,  from  my  lonely  convent  in  the  snow 
 (where,  with  my  noble  St.  Bernard,  who  gets  dreadfully 
 excited  when  a  new  storm  is  coming,  and  he  wants  out  to 
 find  the  man  in  the  snow,  I  am  in  jail  like  Bunyan,  never- 
 theless) I  travel  away  to  the  "  House  Beautiful,"  and  the 
 "  Delectable  Mountains  "  at  will.  I  have  a  sledge  which  I 
 call  '"  The  Dream,"  with  horses  always  in  harness,  and  you 
 cannot  think  how  often  (driving  silently  in  the  snow)  I  have 
 halted  of  late  before  the  gate  of  Newington  Lodge.  No 
 doubt  you  have  many  splendid  chariots  like  Cinderella's, 
 but  it  is  not  likely  that  you  have  ever  returned  from  any 
 brilliant  city  assembly  by  Westfield  way ;  though  I  do  think 
 I  have  often  heard  the  silver  tones  of  your  little  bells  in  the 
 frost  and  the  moonlight,  floating  over  the  funereal  woods, 
 with  their  plumes  of  snow.  Next  time  I  must  open  the 
 window  and  call  "  Who  goes  ?  "  as  the  monk  in  a  strange 
 picture  of  Aricaquas,  where,  however,  the  parallel  ceases. 
 
 I  hope  your  feelings  are  not  hurt  by  being  classed  with 
 Cinderella.  She  is  a  great  favourite  of  mine,  a  sweet,  gentle 
 Christian  girl,  who  sings  Keble's  hymn,  "  The  trivial  round, 
 the  common  task,"  etc.,  and  erects  the  most  ordinary  offices 
 of  household  work,  even  in  the  kitchen  and  the  cellar,  into 
 a  holy  dignity  and  real  artistic  beauty,  drawing  down  upon 
 
FROM  HIS  "CONVENT  IN  THE  SNOW."      4^7 
 
 the  work  of  her  hands,  through  a  window  in  the   end   of 
 the  90th  Psalm,  the  beauty  of  heaven  itself.     .     .     . 
 
 As  to  the  question  you  raise,  of  u  Eastward  01  Westwar  1 
 Hoi"  I  am  truly  "stepping  westward,"  in  the  ever  2 
 shadows  ;  but  turn  and  look  rd  with  my  aged  eyes  to 
 
 see  you  climbing  the   beau:  pes  of  the  morning  to 
 
 those  noon-day  heights  of  art  your  gifted  aunt.  Mrs.  Hi'.], 
 has  long  occupied.     .     .     .     There  are  said  to  be  - 
 of  beauty  in  your  line  that   can   only  be  had  through 
 windows  of  pain,  somewhat  moistened  and  dim.     I  hope 
 to  you  some  other  way;  but  no  doubt 
 sufferings  are  windows  through  which  to  look  out  to  th 
 unseen,  if  we  d  tters  up. 
 
 To  Miss   Middlemas,   Edinbui 
 
 D,  17th  March,  1886. 
 
 I  have  scarcely  been  abroad  all  winter,  excepting  to 
 funerals  of  one  and  an  hom  the   season  h; 
 
 down.  Once  I  was  in  Edinburgh  to  visit  Dr.  Knox  on  his 
 Saturday  evening,  and  when  the  Sabbath  morning  bells 
 were  ringing  he  had  gone  up  to  church. 
 
 Already,  by  the  almanac,  the  spring  must  be  at  the  door, 
 but  cannot  get  in  for  the  snow. 
 
 It  is  lying  quite  deep  still  all  around,  and  to-day  the 
 n  seems  renewing  itself  fierce  as  ever.  Pity  to  the 
 suffering  poor  !  What  black  distress  and  death  are 
 smothered  up  from  sight  by  the  great  white  hypocrite  that 
 is  descending  now  in  footsteps  as  noiseless  and  innocent 
 as  the  angels!  The  most  beautiful  may  be  the  most  deadly 
 — the  sisters  with  the  vials  of  wrath  came  out  01  the 
 Temple  clothed  in  white  linen,  with  golden  girdles,  the 
 prettiest  dress  of  all. 
 
 But  the  good  snow  is   no   false   beauty.      She  is   doin^ 
 
468  THE  END. 
 
 God's  work  faithfully  all  the  same,  though  in  secret,  as  the 
 loveliest,  the  most  God-like  always  do.  On  her  white  brow 
 is  written,  "  Wait  a  little  and  see  !  "  She  has  come  down 
 to  keep  our  mother  earth  warm  in  the  shadow  of  the  great 
 white  wings  till  suddenly  a  greener  summer  shall  start  up, 
 as  I  have  seen  it  in  the  Engadine.  "  He  giveth  snow  like 
 wool  " — warm  and  white  like  the  downy  fleece  of  lambs. 
 
 To  Mrs.  Corry. 
 
 Westfield,  23rd  March,  1886. 
 
 I  did  not  write  you  sooner,  because,  for  one  thing,  I  did 
 write  you  very  soon ;  and  the  letter,  broken  off  by  a  little 
 illness  and  resumed,  grew  and  grew  into  no  letter,  but  a 
 lecture  on  Celtic  art,  or  rather  Irish  art,  in  music,  poetry,  and 
 picture — a  fresh  subject  that  charmed  me,  but  which  I  have 
 very  partially  worked  as  yet.  If  ever  it  be  worked  out  as 
 I  hope,  I  shall  send  it  to  you.  .  .  .  The  distinctive 
 feature  of  Irish  art  in  music,  fiction,  and  poetry,  seems  to 
 me  to  be  a  certain  pure,  pathetic  delicacy.  I  can  trace  it 
 in  the  music  of  old  harpers,  the  songs  of  the  bards,  the 
 beautiful  illuminations  of  MSS.  (the  most  delicate  in  the 
 world)  a  thousand  years  ago.  .  .  .  This,  at  any  rate,  is 
 the  direction  in  which  Celtic  art  outstrips  her  sisters — that  of 
 pure  pathetic  delicacy.  I  do  not  know  how  technically  to 
 express  it.  Indeed,  words  cannot  do  that,  music  may,  but 
 music  of  a  rarely  gentle  kind,  like  that  which  might  be 
 played  at  a  Celtic  fairy's  funeral,  or  the  tones  of  silver  bells 
 heard  ringing  oveihead  when  the  beautiful  die  young,  or  the 
 liquid  hallelujahs  heard  in  far-off  dream  in  moonlight,  be- 
 tween stars  and  snow,  that  are  said  to  be  no  language  of 
 the  earth,  but  voices  of  the  angels  in  mellifluous  flow. 
 
 You  tell  me  you  were  Irish  both,  but  you  did  not  need. 
 Already  I  knew  it  when  I  first  saw  you  together  in  your 
 
IRISH  CHARM.  469 
 
 sweet  little  room  in  Cambridge,  and  carried  away  with  me  a 
 sense  of  sometviing  that,  for  want  of  another  word,  I  must 
 call  "charm,"  tnat  belongs  to  the  Irish — not  to  all  of  them, 
 or  even  perhaps  to  many  in  a  high  degree,  but  only  to  be 
 found  in  its  true  type  within  the  race,  and  never  genuine 
 outside  of  it.  .  .  .  I  can  distinguish  it  at  once  from 
 every  other  racial  style— from  Saxon  common-place,  or 
 Norman  show,  or  round-faced  German  prettiness,  or  Norse 
 weird  phantom  figures,  carrying  funeral  lights  across  the 
 frozen  fiords,  .  .  .  from  all  of  them,  I  think,  the  Irish 
 style,  with  which  the  Scottish  Highland  coincides,  may 
 without  difficulty  be  marked  off.  Manly,  yet  intensely 
 womanly,  yet  intensely  child-like,  in  its  wonderful  facility 
 of  passing  from  one  mood  into  another,  and  its  opposite, 
 it  springs  from  deepest  pathos  to  heights  of  merriment,  to 
 plunge  again  into  a  melancholy  more  profound.  If  the 
 fingers  that  touch  the  harp  also  wield  the  shillela,  if  the 
 voices  that  dance,  as  with  twinkling  feet,  through  the  deli- 
 cate turns  of  Irish  melody  can  also  march  shod  with  the 
 "brogue" — this  shows  the  breadth  and  richness  of  the  Irish 
 nature,  that  may  seem  inconstant  or  unsteady,  but  it  is  the 
 inconstancy  of  motion  and  the  restlessness  of  life,  full  of 
 longings  that  are  readily  awakened  and  as  quickly  dis- 
 appointed, and  of  contrasts  that  no  more  destroy  each  other 
 than  shadows  do  the  light  of  a  picture,  or  discords  the 
 beauty  of  a  song. 
 
 Our  Anglo-Saxon  race,  they  say,  shall  dominate  the  world, 
 and  perhaps  it  is  the  mightiest  after  all,  and  the  most  royal 
 of  the  races.  But  in  order  to  be  perfect  it  must  absorb  the 
 Celtic  element,  which  it  does  not  by  birth  possess — the 
 racial  charm,  as  I  have  called  it,  which  is  not  merely  per- 
 sonal, but  runs  through  all  the  arts  of  music,  poetry,  and 
 fiction,  and  stamps  them  with  its  threefold  stamp — its  trefoil 
 type  of  delicacy,  purity,  and  pathos. 
 
4/0  THE  END. 
 
 In  the  middle  of  March,  he  wrote  to  his  sister  that 
 he  had  at  last  "  walked  through  the  slow  to  West 
 Calder  Church  and  had  come  to  grief,  but  was  all  right 
 again."  She  was  not  sure  about  the  latter  part  of  the 
 sentence,  and  went  through  at  once  to  bring  him  home 
 with  her.  She  found  him  planning  visits  to  his  friends 
 Mr.  J.  T.  Brown  and  Mr.  M 'Cowan,  after  which  he 
 would  go  and  settle  down  at  Bridge  of  Allan  for  a 
 time.  The  visits  were  never  made.  He  only  went 
 for  a  day  to  Edinburgh,  and,  driving  from  place  to 
 place,  called  on  almost  all  his  chief  friends  in  the  city. 
 Several  of  these  remembered  afterwards  that  there 
 was  something  about  his  manner  which  indicated  a 
 consciousness  that  he  was  bidding  them  farewell. 
 
 For  a  time,  after  his  arrival  at  Bridge  of  Allan,  he 
 appeared  bright  and  buoyant  to  outsiders,  and  wrote 
 as  of  old,  making  light  of  his  trouble. 
 
 To  the  Rev.  John  Kirkwood,  Troon. 
 
 Bridge  of  Allan,  Tuesday  Night,  March,  1886. 
 
 I  am  at  present  preaching  or  engaging  to  preach  nowhere, 
 but  doing  battle  for  a  little  with  a  small  rebel  which  Dr. 
 Haldane,  I  think,  is  empowering  me  with  powder,  if  not 
 with  shot,  to  overcome.  I  am  counting  kin,  afar  off  to  be 
 sure,  with  the  grand  Prometheus  who  has  the  vulture  preying, 
 not  on  his  heart,  but  his  liver  ;  and  though  my  bird  is  a  very 
 small  one  and  my  sunshine  not  turned  to  gloom  at  all,  nor 
 my  good  temper  to  grumbling,  nor  my  comfortable  couch  at 
 Bridge  of  Allan  to  a  rock  of  Caucasus,  all  the  same  I  am  in 
 my  little  measure  a  Prometheus  Vinctus,  and  not  unbound 
 
THE  MYSTERY  OF  PA1X.  47 1 
 
 as  I  would  like  to  be,   so  that  every  invitation,  even  from 
 creditors  such  as  you,  I  am  declining. 
 
 From  the  first,  however,  those  who  loved  him  best 
 saw  an  indefinable  change  in  his  look  and  manner. 
 He  frequently  said  himself,  "  There  is  something  new 
 in  all  this,  and  that  walk  to  West  Calder  did  it ;  but 
 Dr.  Haldane  will  soon  put  me  all  right."  During 
 April  he  was  out  even-  fine  day,  but  his  wonted 
 attempts  to  baffle  illness  seemed  no  longer  to  avail. 
 In  the  beginning  of  May  serious  complications  -were 
 discovered  and  a  consultant  was  called  in.  Dr. 
 Robertson's  spirits  fell,  and  he  said,  with  an  unutter- 
 able look,  which  will  be  long  remembered  :  "  This  is 
 very  serious.''  About  this  time  he  gave  his  sister  these 
 verses  on 
 
 %hz  J&josterjp   cf  -pain. 
 
 Oh  !  Life  it  is  a  mystery 
 
 That  goes  from  pain  to  pain, 
 In  grief  we're  born,  in  grief  we  die, 
 And  what  brief  space  betwixt  may  lie 
 
 Is  tilled  with  tears  like  rain. 
 
 From  mystery  to  mystery 
 
 We  came,  when  life  was  born, 
 And  when  this  little  day  shall  die, 
 Who  knows  what  wild  and  angry  sky 
 
 May  rise  to-morrow  morn  ? 
 
 We  only  know  that  yesterday 
 
 We  went  a  happier  road, 
 For  tones  of  sweetest  music  play, 
 Far  up  behind  us,  on  the  way 
 
 On  which  we  came  from  God. 
 
472  THE  EXD. 
 
 The  silver  sound  of  harps  that  seem 
 
 To  have  been  heard  before, 
 And  flashing  golden  gates  that  gleam, 
 But  crossed  with  swords  of  cherubim, 
 
 And  opening  never  more. 
 
 We  know  this  life  runs  downward  fast 
 
 Through  darkening  days  to  death, 
 The  present  sadder  than  the  past, 
 The  saddest  above  ground  the  last, 
 And  who  knows  what  beneath  ? 
 
 Thou  know'st,  oh  !  Christ,  Thou  say'st  to  me 
 
 That  I  shall  live  in  dust  : 
 I  do  not  know  how  this  can  be, 
 Like  all  the  rest  'tis  mystery, 
 
 But  in  Thy  word  I  trust. 
 
 For  Thou  hast  read  through  pain,  and  now 
 
 The  secret  dost  reveal, 
 With  crown  of  thorns  upon  Thy  brow, 
 Thou  livest  and  wast  dead,  and  Thou 
 
 Dost  open  every  seal. 
 
 Life's  chequered  seals  of  white  and  red, 
 
 And  Death's  black  seal,  and  lo  ! 
 The  harps  are  sounding  overhead, 
 And  through  the  portals  of  the  dead, 
 To  higher  heavens  we  go. 
 
 Into  our  heart  of  grief  to  look 
 
 The  Lamb  of  God  was  slain  ; 
 He  on  Himself  our  sorrows  took, 
 And  straight  the  bitterness  forsook 
 
 The  mystery  of  pain. 
 
THE  SHADOW  PAST.  473 
 
 He  soon  rose  into  his  former  brightness,  and  no 
 dark  shadow  was  ever  seen  again.  It  seemed  as  if 
 the  brief  period  of  depression  was  his  Gethsemane, 
 from  which  he  emerged  brave  and  strong  to  drink  the 
 appointed  cup.  His  voice  was  as  bright  and  natural 
 as  ever,  his  humour  always  at  hand,  sparkling  and 
 irresistible.  But  she  who  watched  by  his  bedside 
 tells  of  "  weary  nights  of  pain  and  agony,  of  slow  but 
 sure  decay ;  and  yet,"  she  testifies,  "  there  was  never 
 a  murmuring  word  or  complaining  look.  Surely  it 
 was  born  of  Him  who  bore  the  cross  for  us,  and  yet 
 opened  not  His  mouth !  It  was  the  '  mystery  of 
 pain,'  for  through  it  and  above  it  the  spiritual  life  was 
 growing  and  shining  with  even  more  than  wonted 
 beauty,  as  one  by  one  the  earthly  garments  were 
 dropping  off,  and  he  put  on  the  immortal  garment 
 which  now  he  wears." 
 
 As  soon  as  the  first  streak  of  dawn  came  in  at  the 
 window  he  would  say,  "  Sing  me  a  psalm  ;  the  birds 
 are  at  theirs."  According  to  his  mood,  he  would  ask 
 for  a  "  penitential  psalm,"  or  a  "  psalm  out  of  the 
 depths,"  or  a  "psalm  of  thanksgiving."  The  145th 
 was  a  special  favourite.  He  would  say  of  it,  "  The 
 finest  morning  hymn  I  know.  How  often  I  have  given 
 out  to  my  people,  '  Good  unto  all  men  is  the  Lord.' 
 Strange  to  say  that  in  a  world  of  suffering,  and  for 
 David  to  say  it,  who  knew  more  than  most  men  what 
 suffering  was  ;  but  he  was  a  grand  man  David  ;  he 
 could  look  on  all  sides  of  a  thing.  He  was  a  poet, 
 and  that  kept  him  from  being  a  pessimist."     When 
 
474  THE  END. 
 
 Psalm  lxxvii.  was  read  to  him  he  said,  "  That  is  a  fine 
 psalm,  although  it  was  Asaph's  ;  but  do  not  read  me 
 any  more  of  his.  They  are  too  sentimental.  He  did 
 not  understand  real  trouble,  or  cry  out  of  the  depths  as 
 David  did.  Read  the  32nd — the  psalm  I  liked  best 
 of  all  to  preach  from,  with  the  grand  evangelical  ele- 
 ment in  it.  We  cannot  do  without  that  at  any  point 
 of  our  life,  least  of  all  at  the  end." 
 
 He  often  asked  that  the  8th  chapter  of  the  Epistle 
 to  the  Romans  should  be  read  to  him,  and  on  one 
 occasion  said,  "  The  whole  strength  of  Paul  is  put  into 
 that  chapter.  He  need  scarcely  have  written  any- 
 thing else ;  it  takes  in  earth  and  heaven,  things 
 created  and  uncreated,  human  and  divine,  from  the 
 lowest  rung  of  the  ladder — the  'groaning  of  the 
 creature/  up  through  the  intellectual,  the  emotional, 
 and  the  spiritual  ;  it  leaps  across  the  finite  on  to  the 
 infinite  love  of  God,  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord." 
 
 At  the  end  of  May  the  shadows  began  more  visibly 
 to  lengthen.  A  severe  attack  of  haemorrhage  came 
 on,  and  the  paroxysms  of  pain  were  more  frequent. 
 Professor  Gairdner  was  brought  to  see  him,  but  it  was 
 too  evident  that  the  end  was  approaching.  Yet  his 
 vital  power  seemed  even  then  to  assert  itself,  and  hope 
 would  sometimes  rise  in  the  hearts  of  the  watchers, 
 the  rather  that,  as  one  of  them  expresses  it,  "  his  ever 
 ready  humour  would  run  over  with  its  kindly  help  both 
 for  himself  and  us."  "  I  do  not  know  what  men  do 
 who  want  humour,"  he  would  say  ;  "it  is  a  wonderful 
 help." 
 
GOING  UP  TO  SUMMER.  47$ 
 
 His  life-long  delight  in  the  sunshine  and  the  summer 
 was  not  abated.  He  would  often  say,  "  We  are  going 
 up  to  summer  now."  "This  is  a  beautiful  summer 
 morning,"  one  said  on  entering  the  room.  "  I  know 
 that,"  he  replied,  "  by  the  step  of  the  children  outside. 
 There  is  a  girl  passing  just  now  ;  she  knows  it  is  sum- 
 mer." "  How  do  you  know  it  is  a  girl  ? "  was  asked. 
 "  Because  she  is  dancing ;  a  girl  always  dances  when 
 she  runs.     You'll  seldom  find  a  boy  do  that." 
 
 Till  near  the  end  he  sat  up  several  hours  daily,  sur- 
 rounded by  books  gathered  from  several  libraries,  but 
 there  were  signs  of  quickly  failing  strength ;  and  on 
 the  15th  of  June,  when  his  sister  was  helping  him  into 
 bed,  he  suddenly  fainted  in  her  arms.  Help  was 
 instantly  at  hand,  and  when  he  had  recovered  con- 
 sciousness he  was  lifted  into  bed,  ambulance  fashion, 
 by  four.  When  the  three  helpers  had  retired,  he 
 looked  up  with  his  pale  face  and  repeated  to  his  sister, 
 in  sadder  tone  than  usual,  the  words — "  When  thou 
 wast  young  thou  girdedst  thyself,"  and  added,  "you 
 know  the  rest  ;  "  but  evidently  fearing  that  what  he 
 had  said  was  too  trying,  he  quickly  glided  into  another 
 vein — "  What  an  interesting  group  you  made  as  you 
 so  gently  lifted  me  up.  If  I  had  been  a  painter  I 
 would  have  dashed  you  off,  especially  Mary  H.'s  face, 
 with  her  combined  look  of  terror,  sorrow,  and  affection. 
 T  will  take  the  photograph  of  that  group  with  me  into 
 the  other  world." 
 
 He  never  rose  again,  and  the  doctor  allowed  his 
 friends  to  see  him  freely.     Some  of  them  brought  him 
 
47^  THE  END. 
 
 daily  gifts  of  flowers.  "  I  do  not  need  to  go  to  heaven 
 for  angels,"  he  would  say;  "  I  am  surrounded  with 
 them  here,  and  I  much  prefer  them  in  human  form." 
 
 "  I  am  losing  count,"  he  said  at  another  time,  "  of 
 the  days  and  months  since  I  have  got  into  the  vesti- 
 bule of  that  world  where  one  day  is  as  a  thousand  years 
 and  a  thousand  years  as  one  day."  He  asked  for  the 
 parting  of  Elijah  and  Elisha  to  be  read  to  him,  and 
 when  it  was  finished  said,  "  They  went  on  talking, 
 these  two,  as  long  as  they  could,  and  I  do  not  think 
 it  would  be  all  about  heaven.  Elijah  was  too  wise  a 
 man  to  give  up  his  interest  in  earth  before  the  time, 
 and  so  I  would  like  to  mix  everything  up.  There's 
 Mary  (Miss  M'Dowall,  who  had  just  then  entered  the 
 room),  she'll  read  me  a  bit  of  the  papers  ;  I  would  like 
 to  hear  what  that  Gladstone  is  about." 
 
 On  the  Sabbath  a  week  before  he  died,  after  a  time 
 of  great  weakness,  when  they  thought  he  was  passing 
 away,  he  said  to  his  sister — "  I  think  the  gates  are 
 closing  in.  I  am  only  sorry  they  should  be  shutting 
 you  out  alone !  I  wish  I  could  come  back  and  talk 
 with  you  and  tell  you  all  about  it  ;  but  you'll  soon  be 
 wanted  over  there,  and  I'll  come  and  bring  you." 
 Some  one  in  the  room  repeated,  "  God  shall  wipe 
 away  all  tears  from  their  eyes  ;' "  when  he  said,  "  That 
 will  be  an  easy  thing  to  do  in  heaven,  but  I  hope  He 
 will  wipe  her  tears  away."  He  asked  that  the  English 
 Church  service  for  the  day  should  be  read  to  him,  and 
 remarked  on  the  extreme  beauty  of  the  prayers. 
 Then  he  said,  "Now  read  the  'Order  for  the  Visitation 
 
OXL  Y  BODIL  V  PAIN.  477 
 
 of  the  Sick.'  "  When  his  sister  reached  the  sentence, 
 "Then  shall  the  priest  say,  I  absolve  thee,"  she 
 stopped.  He  looked  up  and  said,  "Why  do  you  stop? 
 Go  on.  It  is  awful  nonsense,  but  I  can  put  the  right 
 interpretation  on  it."  So  she  read  to  the  close,  when 
 he  said,  "  What  a  dangerous  and  pernicious  passage 
 that  must  have  been  to  many  a  soul." 
 
 On  being  asked  if  he  was  suffering  much,  he 
 answered  "  Only  bodily  pain.  I  have  been  all  my 
 life  the  victim  of  a  threefold  pain,  physical,  mental, 
 and  spiritual.  I  hid  the  two  last  under  the  first,  and 
 few  suspected  them  to  be  there  at  all,  but  they  have 
 gone  for  ever,  and  nothing  is  left  except  physical 
 pain,  a  thing  not  worth  speaking  about." 
 
 He  said  once  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Muir,  who  saw  him 
 daily,  "  They  say  there's  an  enemy  in  this  valley,  but 
 I  have  never  seen  him.  Everything  is  so  smooth 
 and  easy  that  I  am  afraid  I  may  be  deceiving  myself. 
 Do  you  think  that  possible  ?  "  Mr.  Muir's  reply  was, 
 "  I  do  not.  If  it  were  not  so,  He  would  have  told 
 you  ; "  when,  with  great  emphasis,  the  response  came, 
 "  God  bless  you  !  You  know  what  to  say  to  a  dying 
 man." 
 
 "  How  long  have  I  been  ill  ?  "  he  asked  on  another 
 occasion.  The  number  of  weeks  was  given.  "  And 
 you  have  been  watching  night  and  day  all  that  time  ! 
 How  much  better  off  I  am  than  Christ  was  !  He 
 said,  '  Could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one  hour  ? '  A 
 weak  set  of  men  those  disciples  must  have  been,  but 
 there  was  not  a  woman  amone  them." 
 
47  8  THE  END. 
 
 They  often  read  to  him  his  favourite  hymn,  "  O 
 sacred  head  once  wounded,"  and  on  one  occasion 
 he  said,  "  When  you  all  thought  me  dying,  fifteen 
 years  ago,  I  asked  that  I  might  go  in  at  the  gate 
 with  that  hymn  ringing  in  my  ears.  You  won't 
 forget  that  now,  you  understand.  Now  read  me  that 
 passage,  '  I  am  now  ready  to  be  offered.' "  At  the 
 verse,  "  Henceforth  there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown," 
 etc.,  he  interrupted,  "  No,  I  cannot  say  that,  I  cannot 
 follow  Paul  into  the  third  heavens.  I  would  rather 
 take  my  stand  beside  David  or  fallen  Peter,  or  say 
 with  the  publican,  '  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
 sinner.'  " 
 
 Two  days  before  the  end  when  he  was  asked,  after 
 seeing  some  friends,  if  he  was  very  tired,  he  raised 
 his  voice  and  said,  "  I  could  preach  yet  ;  I  could  say, 
 1  Able  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all  that  come  unto 
 God  by  Him.'  "  It  was  his  latest  effort  to  speak 
 aloud,  but  they  could  hear  him  from  time  to  time 
 whispering  such  sentences  as,  "  The  night  dews  fall 
 not  more  gently  than  this,"  "He  giveth  His  beloved 
 sleep, — it  is  not  very  impudent  of  me  to  say  that, 
 is  it  ?  " 
 
 On  the  Sabbath  morning  he  had  constantly 
 repeated  attacks  of  haemorrhage.  In  the  intervals 
 his  sister  bathed  his  face  and  hands.  He  whispered, 
 "  First  a  baptism  of  blood,  then  a  baptism  of  water, 
 but  I  have  a  third  before  me,  and  how  am  I  strait- 
 ened till  it  be  accomplished."  His  niece  had 
 repeated 
 
PASSING  WITHIN  THE  GATE.  4/9 
 
 "  Jesus,  Lover  of  my  soul, 
 Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly," 
 
 and  a  little  while  after  they  heard  him  whisper, 
 "  Jesus."  The  last  verse  of  his  Engadine  hymn  was 
 beeun  : — 
 
 *&' 
 
 "  up,  then,  my  heart, 
 To  Thee,  my  Jesus  only," 
 
 but,  with  an  almost  impatient  gesture,  he  said,  "  No, 
 not  that."  The  desire  that  had  come  into  his  heart 
 fifteen  years  before  had  returned.  It  was  the  grand 
 Passion  Hymn  he  wished  to  hear  : — 
 
 "Jesu,  all  grace  supplying, 
 Oh,  turn  Thy  face  on  me." 
 
 "  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  that  will  do."  "  It 
 was,"  says  his  sister,  "  the  last.  Like  a  tired  child, 
 sinking  to  rest,  he  gathered  up  those  beautiful 
 features,  that  grew  sublime  in  death,  and,  as  the 
 church  bells  began  to  ring  for  afternoon  service, 
 he  passed  within  the  gate,"  on  June  27th,  1886. 
 
 On  Thursday,  1st  July,  amid  the  full  blaze  of 
 cloudless  summer,  we  bore  him  to  St.  Ninians,  and 
 laid  him  beside  his  kindred.  His  name  has  now  been 
 carved  on  the  granite  monument,  that,  in  the  likeness 
 of  a  Gothic  church  window,  he  had  set  up  to  mark 
 their  resting  place. 
 
 END. 
 
^