"I give ihefe Boo/a farthef^iSlldi)^ if .a CoUege- ^ this Colonf 'YJ^LE«¥]MII¥IEIESinr¥« - ILIlIBI^^IElf " From tbe Library of Dr. C. Ray Palmer 1915 PROFESSOR W. G. ELMSLIE, D.D. In Bva, with Etched Portrait hy Manesse. Price iis. JAMES MACDONELL, JOURNALIST. By W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D. Daily Telegraph. "Sincere, sympathetic, loyal, and artistic. . . . This masterly monograph." Graphic. " James Macdonell was one ofthe most accomplished and brilliant journalists of the day. . . . We have a full record of Macdonell's life, and it forms one of the most interesting of recent books of biography." Academy. "An admirable portrait, ... so carefully and so judiciously ¦written that the example it sets is likely to be followed. Scotsman. "An admirably written life." Star. "The story is told by Mr. Nicoll with admirable perfection and a real sense of the value of such a record." Church Times. " The biographer has performed his task with eminent success." PaU Mall Gazette. " In many ways an attractive biography." Spectator. "Interesting and valuable." Guardian. "We are likely to have, for some time to come, no more light thrown upon the mystenes of the ' leading journal' than there is ^'v? u S "i!? ^,«°"°' .°^ J*"«= Macdonell. ... The life of him which Mr. Nicoll has given to the world is fuU of interest, and we lay It down with sincere regret for the brilliant career wiich was cut short midway. "iiivji wna London: HODDER & STOUGHTON, 5.7. Paternoster Row. C^C7' PROFESSOR W. G. ELMSLIE, D.D. • > * MEMOIR AND SERMONS. EDITED BY W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D., AND A. N. MACNICOLL. SECOND EDITION. HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 37, PATERNOSTER ROW. ^iwv^^ Printed by Hazell, Watson,' & -Viney, Ld., London and Ayleabury. ADVERTISEMENT. MY share in this book has been the writing of the brief introductory Memoir, with the exception of the pages relating to Regent Square and Willesden. These have been contributed by Mr. A. N. Macnicoll, who has also given me the benefit of his advice through out. I have also to acknowledge the kindness of Principal Dykes, who has read the proofs, and of the friends who have, amid pressing engagements, enriched the volume with their reminiscences. The many corre spondents who sent help of various kinds are warmly thanked. There was abundant material for a larger biography, and some of it will be utilised in another way. But it was thought desirable that the memorial volume should be issued at a moderate price, and that it should, so far as possible, consist of Professor Elmslie's own wprk. W. R. N. For the selections from Dr. Elmslie's sermons which are contained in this volume I am entirely responsible. These sermons were seldom fully written out, and some of them required considerable amplification. In every case the thought of the writer has been rigidly pre- AD VERTISEMENT. served, and the wording has been left, as far as possible, untouched. In cases where I have had the benefit of short-hand reports I have, with the slightest alteration, printed the sermons as they were delivered. Two "Sunday Readings" are reprinted from Good Words, and an article on Genesis from the Contem porary Review. A. N. M. CONTENTS. PAGE I SERMONS. I. CHRIST AT THE DOOR 81 " Behold, I stand at the door, and knock : if any man hear My voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with Me." — Rev. iii. 20. II. THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH 92 St. John xi. III. THE STORY OF DORCAS I08 Acts ix. 36-43. IV. UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK . . . II 8 "And unto the angel of the Church in Sardis write ; These things saith He that hath the seven Spirits of God, and the seven stars ; I know thy works, that thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead. Be watchful and strengthen the things CONTENTS. PAGE which remain, that are ready to die : for I have not found thy works perfect before God." — Re-v. iii. i, 2. Reading the last clause a little more literally will more fully bring out the meaning : " For I have found no works of thine ful fiUed before my God." — R.V. V, A LESSON IN CHRISTIAN HELP . . ¦ ¦ 133 ' ' Wherefore lift up the hands which hang down, and the [en] - feeble [d] knees ; and make straight [smooth] paths for [with] your feet, lest that which is lame be tumed out of the way ; but let it rather be healed [or, in order that that whioh is lame may not be caused to go astray, but may rather be healed]." — Heb. xii. 12, 13. VI. JOSEPH'S FAITH 1 49 {Preached on Sunday Evening, October 20th, 1889, in St.fohn's Wood Presbyterian Church.') " By faith Joseph, when he died, made mention of the departing of the children of Israel ; and gave commandment con cerping his bones. " — Heb. xi. 22. VII. THE BRAZEN SERPENT I62 " He [Hezekiah] removed the high places, and brake the images, and cut down the groves, and brake in pieces the brasen serpent that Moses had made : for unto those days the children of Israel did bum incense to it : and he called it Nehushtan." — 2 Kings xviii. 4. VIII. THE GRADATIONS OF DOUBT . Psalm lxxiii. 175 CONTENTS. PAGE IX. THE STORY OF QUEEN ESTHER I92 {Preached in Balham Congregational Church, on Sunday Evening, August llth, 1889.) Esther iv. 13-17. X. THE EXAMPLE OF THE PROPHETS 205 " Take, my brethren, the prophets, who have spoken in the name of the Lord, for an example."— James v. lo. XI. THE MAKING OF A PROPHET . 220 {Preached at Nottingham, before the Congregational Union of England and IVales, on Monday Evening, October %th, 1888.) " In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and His train overspreading the temple floor. Seraphs were poised above, each with six wings, with twain veiling his face, with twain veiling his feet, and with twain hovering. And those on one side sang in respon sive chorus with those on the other side, saying, ' Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts. The fulness of the whole earth is His glory.' And the foundations of the threshold trembled at the sound of that singing, and the house was filled with incense smoke. Then cried I, ' Woe is rae I for I am a dead man ; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips ; for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts.' Then flew one of the seraphs unto me, having in his hand a burning ember, which with a tongs he had taken from off the incense altar ; and he touched my mouth with it, and .said, ' Lo, this hath touched thy lips ; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged. ' Thereupon I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, ' -Whom shall I send, and who will go for us ? ' Then I cried, ' See me ; send me.'" — Isaiah vi. 1-8 {annotated). b CONTENTS. XII. FOR AND AGAINST CHRIST . 23O " He that is not with Me is against Me : and he that gathereth not with Me scattereth."^LuKE xi. 23. " He that is not against us is on oiur part," — Mark ii. 40. XIII. THE PROPHECY OF NATURE .... ¦ . 240 "When I consider Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which Thou hast ordained ; what is-man, that Thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that Thou visitest him ? For Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of Thy hands ; Thou hast put all things under his feet." — Psalm viii. 3-6. " But now we see not yet all things put under Him." — Heb. ii. 8. XIV. CHRISTIAN GIVING . . 248 {Preached in Willesden Presbyterian Church, September 2^th, 1882.) "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin ; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord." — i CoE. xv. SS"8. " Now conceming the collection for the saints, as I have given order to the churches of Galatia, even so do ye. Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come. And when I come, whomsoever ye shall approve by your letters, them will I send to bring your liberaUty unto Jerasalem." — i CoR. xvi. 1-3. CONTENTS. XV. OUR lord's TREATMENT OF ERRING FRIENDS . 26/ Sunday Readings. I. Read Ps. cxxxviii., and John xiii. 1-17. The Self-assekting.— John xiii. 4, 5. II. Read Job xvi., and Matt. xxvi. 31-46. The Unsympathetic— John xiii. 1-3-. III. Read 2 Sara, xxiv., and John xxi. 15-23. The -WiLFUL-^ohn xui. 6-10. IV. Read r Sam. xxiv., and Luke xxii. 47-62. The Faithless.— John xiu. 11. V. Read Isa. xl., and i Cor. xiii. The Secret of Magnanimity.— John xiii. 12-17. XVI. A HYMN OF heart's EASE 284 Sunday Readings. " Lord, my heart is not haughty. Nor mine eyes lofty : Neither do I exercise myself in great matters. Or in things too high for me. Surely I have behaved And quieted myself ; As a chUd that is weaned of its mother, My soul is even as a weaned child. Let Israel hope in the Lord From henceforth and for ever." — Ps. cxxxi. I. Read Job xxvi., and i Cor. xiii. The Source of Unrest. f.. "Things too high for me." II. Read Ps. xxxvii., and Matt. xi. The Secret of Rest. " Lord my heart is not haughty, nor mine eves loftv." xii CONTENTS. PAGE III. Read Ps. lxxiii. and Heb. xii. Calm after Storm. " Surely I have behaved and quieted myself." IV. Read Ps." xlvii. and Phil. ii. Victory by Surrender. "As a child that is weaned of his mother : my soul is even as a weaned child." v. Read Gen. xxxii. and Rev. vii. The Recompense of Faith. " Let Israel hope in the Lord from henceiorth and for ever." XVII. THE FIRST CHAPTER OF GENESIS 302 MEMOIR. ALTHOUGH Dr. Elmslie was not destined to a long career, and died with the greater purposes of his life work almost entirely unfulfilled, very few men in the Nonconformist churches of Great Britain were better known and loved. The expectations of many in his native Scotland were fixed on him from the first ; in England no preacher of his years had a larger or more enthusiastic following. Among students of the Old Testament he was beginning to be known as a master in his own subject, and as one likely to accom plish much in the reconciliation of criticism and faith. Add to this that he possessed the rarer charm of an almost unique personal magnetism — that many were attached to him by the chain which is not quickly broken, the bond of spiritual affinity, and it becomes necessary to apologise only for the imperfections, not for the existence, of this memorial. William Gray Elmslie was born in the Free Church Manse of Insch, Aberdeenshire, October Sth, 1848, the second son of the Rev. William Elmslie, M.A., and May Cruickshank, his wife. Writing to his parents from Berlin more than twenty years after, he says, " How thankful I ought to be that I was born in dear MEMOIR. old Scotland, and in the humble little Free Church manse of Insch ! " His father was famous for his shrewd, homely, genial wisdom. He was a native of Aberdeen, and had the strong sense and quick perception for which Aberdonians are known. By no means without the nobler enthusiasms of Christianity, he had shared in the fervour of the Disruption movement, and was the popular and successful minister of a congregation large for the district, and including many members of earnest Christian principle. Mr. Elmslie was the father and counsellor of the whole parish ; his advice was sought by members of all Churches, and cheerfully given. If there was any danger of his practical nature becoming somewhat too hard and worldly, the influence of his wife was a corrective. Dr. Elmslie's mother — a beau tiful and accomplished woman — was a religious enthu siast. " I recognised," writes her son, from the New College, Edinburgh, " mamma's review in the Free Press by the words ' wrestling believing prayer.' " They were indeed characteristic, and it was the rare union of mystic elevation and warmth with perfect comprehen sion of ordinary life that gave Dr. Elmslie his separate and commanding place among the teachers of his time. The austerity, the somewhat chilly rigour which cha racterised manse life in the Free Church were not found at Insch. The children never suffered from the want of affection — what the French call le besoin d'etre aime. All the best was brought out in them, and in the case of our subject the brightness and sweetness of his disposition procured for him more than ordinary endearments. Two lovingly preserved letters in a large round child's hand give a better idea of the home than anything I can say. The first describes a visit to Huntly and the home of Duncan Matheson, the great INSCH. 3 evangelist, who did yeoman service in the Crimean War, " Insch, yw/y 14M, 1856. "My DEAR Mamma, — I am always glad when I hear that you are all keeping well. I have such a long string of news that I do not know where to begin, for I was at Huntly, and saw so many things there. I will now tell you the most of what I saw. I first saw the Bogie, and a 'few sheep being washed in it. When I arrived at Huntly, and had walked a short distance, Mr. Matheson and I met his dog Dash. When I got to the house I was first shown the Bugle, then the Drum, and three swords ; one was broken after kilhng five Rusians, and the man who had used it killed. And then I saw the Rifle, and fired it off, though with out shot. When I got out of the house I went to a shop where I bought a gun and Almonds, and on our "way home Miss Matheson and I called on the Lawsons, and brought Johny and Jamie home, where we met William Brown, with his Aunt Mrs. Douglas, waiting us. When we went into the house there were two pistols which William and I took, and frightened some boys with them. I saw a piece of the rock of Gib ralter. I saw a piece of wood made into stone, and two teeth — one a shark's, and the other an Alligator's— hardened into stone. There were medals and coins of the various countries of Europe, a piece of a church in Sevastopool, and a thing which the Russian sojdiers wear on their coats. I also saw a brush which the Turks use for brushing themselves. I also saw an idol and a great many pictures of the Virgin Mary. I saw a small picture-book with all the different priests of Rome. Our Rabbits are all quite well and growing. I am yours aff" Son, " William Gray Elmslie." MEMOIR. "My dear Mama,— I am glad to hear that Papa is keeping better. How I would like to be with you, and see the beautiful scenery and the many rabbits. Tell our cousins to come here some time soon, and let them see our rabbits if they will come. I send some Heather and some broom which we got on the hill beside John davison, and took tea with him. I enclose what I got down of the forenoon sermon. I am your afr"= son, " W. G. Elmslie." P.S. — We sometimes receive to small dinners, but sometimes pretty good. " W. G. Elmslie." The religious forces of the time were those of that Evangelicalism which has been the base of so many powerful characters, even among those who have after wards rejected it, like Cardinal Newman and George Eliot. These were reinforced by the influences of the Disruption, then at their strongest. It was something to be born at such a time, a time when, to use the words of Lacordaire, there was a noble union of heroic cha racter and memorable achievement.' The pecuniary poverty and spiritual opulence of Scotland, on which Carlyle has said so much, were then seen at their best. If a cautious, reticent race, impatient of extravagant action and unmeasured speech, is to be found anywhere, it is among the peasants of Aberdeenshire ; but when possessed and stirred by religious feeling they are capable of unyielding firmness and unstinted devotion. These qualities were remarkably brought out at the Disruption. The religiousTife of Nevv England, pic tured by Harriet Beecher Stowe, must have been similar in many things, and Dr. George Macdonald, who was born in Huntly, a few miles from Insch, has rendered some aspects with incomparable beauty and EARLY INFLUENCES. tenderness in his first works. The preaching was intensely theological. The great highways of truth were trodden and retrodden. Texts were largely taken from the Epistles, and the doctrines of grace were accurately and thoroughly expounded. Fresh ness, style, and the other qualities now held essential to popular sermons were unknown. But the preaching did its work, nevertheless, as Dr. Macdonald says, because it was preaching — ^the rare speech of a man to his fellows, whereby they know that he is in his in most heart a believer. As the result, every conscience hung out the pale or the red flag. Dr, Macdonald complains of the inharmonious singing, but others will testify with Mrs. Stowe that the slow, rude, and primitive rendering of the metrical Psalms excited them painfully, " It brought over one, like a presence, the sense of the infinite and the eternal, the yearning, and the fear, and the desire of the poor finite being, so ignorant and so helpless." Not less impressive was the piety to be found among the peasants. There were David Elginbrods in their ranks, men among whom you felt in the presence of the higher natures of the world — and women delivered from lonely, craving solitude by the Eternal Love that had broken through and ended the dark and melancholy years. These were to be found not only among the prominent Church members, but among others willing to be unknown, to be stones sunk in the foundation of the spiritual building. Under such influences the boy became a Christian almost unconsciously. There was no crisis in his life, that I can trace. When a mere boy he writes to his parents, during their absence from Insch, that he had conducted family worship according to their desire, " It required a great deal of previous MEMOIR. thought and prayer, too, for I have found that is useful, and not study only, in preparing for the service of God, Yet I have good cause to be glad and thankful that I am able to do it ; and I feel it a real relief and privilege to commit all to the care of God," At this time he visited an aged member of his father's Church, and prayed with her. He repeats with pride the com pliment paid him in return, "Ye ken hoo to be kind and couthy wi' a puir auld body." His faith and vision grew clearer, but in cruder shape those thoughts were his from the beginning that haunted him to the very end. The intellectual atmosphere of the place was much more quickening than might be thought. Insch is a cosy little village enough, and though not in itself beautiful, has picturesque bits near it. But even in summer sunshine it can hardly be called lively, and in winter, when the snow is piled for weeks on hill and field, and the leaden-coloured clouds refuse to part, it could not well look duller. But the Free Church manses of the district were full of eager inquiry. The ministers were educated men, graduates of the University, and in some cases had swept its prizes. Their ambition was satisfied in the service of Christ, There was a noble contentment with their lot which it is inspiring to think of; but they cherished a righteous ambition for their children, and spared no toil and no self-denial to open the way for them. From three Free Church manses in that neighbourhood, all at first included in the same Presbytery, have gone forth men whose names are familiar to the English people. From the manse of Keig, Professor Robertson Smith; from Rhynie, Mr. A. M. Mackay, of Uganda, the true successor to Livingstone, whose early death is announced as these sheets are AN ABERDEEN STUDENT. passing through the press ; and from Insch, Professor Elmslie. The educational facilities of the district were of almost ideal excellence. The parish teachers, when salaries were increased by certain wise and liberal bequests, were almost without exception accomplished scholars. They took pride in a promising pupil, and would cheerfully work extra hours to ensure his success. Their fees were sufficiently moderate, one pound being enough to cover all expenses for a year. At these schools a boy might remain till he had reached the age, say, of fourteen or fifteen, when he might go to Aber deen to compete for a scholarship, or " bursary " as it was called. Of these, perhaps forty were offered every year, varying from ;£"35 a year for the University course, downwards. It was thought wiser to go for the last year or two to the Grammar School in Aberdeen, to receive the last polish ; but often lads went in from their native glens, and defeated all competitors. Elmslie was trained at first in the Free Church school at Insch, then at the parish school, under the Rev. James McLachlan, He then proceeded to the Aberdeen Grammar School, where he was two years, under the Rev, William Barrack, a teacher of rare attainments and enthusiasm. He carried off one of the highest honours, and in 1864 entered the University of Aberdeen. It is, or was, the ambition of every hopeful youth in the North to wear the student's gown. " Oh that God would spare me to wear the red cloakie ! " said John Duncan, afterwards the well-known Professor of Hebrew in the New College, Edinburgh, when weakened by an early illness. The Hfe of the Aberdeen student has never, perhaps, been rendered with sufficient fidelity, save in "Alec Forbes," and Dr. Walter Smith's "Bor land Hall," and it may have changed in some respects MEMOIR. since Elmslie's time. Then it was emphatically a period of plain living and hard work. Eight shillings a week sufficed to cover many a student's expenses for board and lodging, amounting to less than ;^io for the twenty weeks of the session, and the summer was spent at home. The spirit of the place was democratic in the extreme. There were a few students who came out of wealthy families, but any claim to respect on this ground would have been fiercely resented. George Macdonald tells of an aristocrat among the students condemned and sentenced by a meeting presided over by "the pale-faced son of a burly ploughman." The high spirits of youth would at times break out in coarse and even ferocious excesses, but these were rare, and the characteristic of the place was a limitless persistency of application. Most of the men felt that this was their one chance. If they could distinguish themselves, there were scholarships to be had v^'hich would open the path to Oxford or Cambridge, or give them a fair chance in other fields of iife. Some yielded to temptation, and became wrecks ; others, after a period of obscuration, recovered themselves ; a few soon abandoned the quest for University honours, and busied themselves with other fines of reading and study ; but Elmslie set himself, without flinching or turning aside, to his task. Evil did not lure him. There was no stamp of moral defaillance on that clear brow. His watchful parents were still with him, for they set up another home in Aberdeen, and were constantly with their children. It ought, perhaps, to be mentioned that Elmslie's father was an enthusiastic total abstainer, in days when the practice was quite unfashionable, and in many parts of the country entirely unknown. In this his son warmly sympathised, maintaining the principle of abstinence to UNIVERSITY SUCCESSES. the end of his life, and carrying out the practice even during his studies in Germany, He wrote home, when assistant in Regent Square, " Glad you are getting on so famously in the temperance line, and do hope it will have a permanent and wide influence," But the secret of his University success was his indefati gable labour at the prescribed tasks. Although he might well be termed V esprit soudain, he was capable of the long-continued and daily application which belongs to the rare union of ardour and patience. He had the characteristic of his countrymen — nothing could daunt him from fighting the battle out. His success accord ingly was great and growing. In a class which num bered, perhaps, an unusual proportion of brilliant men, he steadily made his way to the front. He distinguished himself by taking prizes in almost every department of study, specially excelling in mathematics, and closed his career • by carrying off the gold medal awarded by the Aberdeen Town Council to the first student of the year, in April, 1868. The victory was not gained with out a price. From the first his studies brought on some occasional headaches, and the first triumph re sulted in a serious illness, which his wise and skilful physician, Dr. Davidson, of Wartle, warned him would reappear twenty years later — an ominous prophecy, which was but too exactly fulfilled. The chief intel lectual force in the Northern University at that time and long after was Dr, Alexander Bain, the Professor of Logic, In after life Dr. Elmslie frequently referred to his influence. But other chairs were also occupied by powerful men. Geddes infected many with his own enthusiasm for Greek literature ; Fuller and Thomson were admirably efficient teachers of mathematics ; and to name no more," Jeems " Nicol, the Professor of Natura] MEMOIR. History, with his hoarse voice, his homely kindness, and his thorough knowledge of his subject, was a uni versal favourite. Thomson was, perhaps, the most original and cynical character of them all, and his dry wit had a great attraction for Elmslie. The Rev. Thomas Nicol, of Tolbooth, Edinburgh, a distinguished minister of the Church of Scotland and one ofthe most outstanding of Professor Elmslie's class- fellows, wrote thus to his father : " Since Dr, Elmslie's death I have often gone back to the days, just twenty- five years ago, when we first met at the bursary competition, and in the Bageant class at King's College, Aberdeen, Even from the first he was one of the most winsome and attractive members of the class, full of fun and mirth, with a perennial smile on his beautiful and finely formed face, and with a cheery word for everybody, I can see him to-day, with his neat High land cape and the college gown over it, coming through the quadrangle, as distinctly as if it were yesterday, and it is easier for me preserving that picture because we have met so seldom of recent years. He is associated in my mind with another of our classfellows, who achieved distinction early, and early met an heroic and tragic death — I mean Mr. William Jenkyns, CLE., who died with Sir Louis Cavagnari, at Cabul. Your son and he were unlike in some things, but in delicacy of features, and expressiveness of countenance, and slim- ness of figure one associates them at once together. When I was helping to get up funds for the memorial of Mr. Jenkyns now in the University Library at Aberdeen I well remember the cheerfulness with which Mr. Elmslie contributed, and the kindly words of affection and esteem which accompanied his contribution. Of both it might most truly be said that ' being made THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. perfect, in a short time they fulfilled a long time.' Like others of my classfellows, Mr. Bruce, our first Bursar, now minister of Banff, W. L. Davidson, LL.D., minister of Bourtie, and our mutual friend John Smith, of Broughton Place Church here, and many more, I watched your son's career with the deepest interest, and as I have said, took quite a pride in the career of usefulness and honour which by his ability and hard work he shaped for himself in London. We really felt as if he were our own somehow, and as if we had a share in all the honours he was gaining, both as a literary and as a public man." The Rev. W. A. Gray, of Elgin, who was brought up in a neighbouring Free Church manse, says, " What characterised him then was his intense sense of fun, his perception of the comic side of things, especially in regard to people, and his never-failing stock of anecdotes, almost always hu morous, never malicious." Coming several years after Elmslie to the University of Aberdeen, I only knew him from a distance. To an outsider his prominent quality was winsomeness. There was no jealousy in Aberdeen of fairly won success ; if there had been, Elmslie would have disarmed it. Then, as always, he took his vic tories with the .utmost simplicity. He was always humble, with the humility which is very consistent with strenuous effort and even great ambition. The sons of Free Church ministers in those days, how ever great their University successes might have been, generally desired no higher position than that of their fathers. It was, no doubt, the wish of his parents that Elmslie should be a minister, and his incUnation fell in with that. At the same time there were counter- inducements; for one, many Aberdeen students had been winning high distinction at Cambridge, the senior MEMOIR. wranglership having fallen to some of them, and his teacher and some of his relatives were anxious that he should try his fortunes there. He had himself a strong bent to the medical profession. Whatever line he had taken in life he would have been successful. A well- known revivalist preacher, also a professional man, is understood to have counselled him to go in for a business life. One who knew him well has remarked to me, since his death, that hfs true pre-eminence would have been shown in a scientific career. But his life, and especially its closing years, made it plain that his own choice was wise, . A new era opened for him when he went as a theological student to the New College, Edinburgh. The Free Church possesses a theological seminary in Aberdeen which assuredly did not lack for able Pro fessors, but the number of students is small, and ' the more ambitious men usually go to Edinburgh, In Edinburgh the Free Church College (known as New College) had for its first Principal Dr, Chalmers, and n succession Dr, Cunningham and Dr, Candlish, the three greatest of the Disruption worthies. It had also some notable men among its Professors. When Elmslie went up Candlish was at the head. His appearances were only occasional, as he was also minister of Free St. George's, Edinburgh. But although his contribu tion to the vitality of the New College, was necessarily small, it was real. Mr. Gray writes : " He gave no lectures, his work being confined to the examining and criticising of the students' discourses. There was always a considerable interest in these criticisms, and a good turn out to hear -them. They were usually strongly put, both in the direction of censure and of praise; but any one who knew the Doctor's methods, and made EDINBURGH PROFESSORS. 13 allowance for vigour of phrase, could depend on a true and perceptive estimate of the merits or demerits of a sermon. Sometimes he could be savage enough. Fancy a man tomahawked with the following, delivered with the well-known burr, flash of eye, and protrusion of underlip : ' All I have got to say about this discourse is ' (raising his voice) ' that one half should be struck out, and ' (lowering it again) ' it doesn't matter which half.' This may have compared with another historic criticism, attributed to Dr. Cunningham when address ing the author of a certain Latin thesis ; ' Of this discourse I have only to say two things — the writer has murdered the Latin tongue, and perverted the glorious Gospel of Christ.' But Candlish was one of the kindest of men. How well I remember the little figure, with the gold spectacles flashing beneath the big hat ; the loosely fitting coat ; the wide trousers, lapping two or three inches above the shoes, which were usually set off" by a foot of loose lace ; the gruff greeting, which usually changed into a warm, hearty smile if he were accosted," Among the Professors, Elmslie evidently appreciated Dr, Davidson and Dr. Rainy, while conscious of receiv ing benefit from others. The longest personal sketch he ever wrote was an article on Professor Davidson in the Expositor {}z.TMZ.xy, 1888). In this he says, "His singular and significant influence does not consist in what he does, but in what he is. It is not the quantity or the contents, but the quahty and kind of the thinking. It is not even the thought, so much as the mind that secretes it. It is not its clearness nor its profundity, not its reserve nor its passion, not its scepticism nor its superiority of spiritual faith ; but it is the combina tion of all these, and the strange, subtle, and fascinating 14 MEMOIR. outcome of them. The central and sovereign spring of Dr. Davidson's unique influence in the literature, scholarship, and ministry of the Church is his person ality. ... If the Church of Christ within our borders should pass through the present trial of faith without panic, without reactionary antagonism to truth, and without loss of spiritual power, a very large part of the credit will belong to the quiet but commanding influence of the Hebrew chair in that college which rises so picturesquely on the ancient site of Mary of Guise's palace in Edinburgh." Of Dr. Rainy he has nowhere written at length, but he was wont to speak of his " smouldering passion," and the great ideas with which he inspired the receptive among his students. Dr, Elmslie, though resolute and even daring on occasion, was a warm admirer of statesmanship, and Dr. Rainy's skilful piloting of the Free Church through many troubles he would often praise, emphasizing strongly, at the same time, his belief in the Principal's perfect honesty and singleness of purpose. There are many kind allusions in his letters to Dr. Blaikie, to whom he was specially grateful for having introduced him to practical mission work. In this he was always intensely interested, maintaining that on this ground the true battle of Christ must be fought. " Blaikie gave us a capital lecture, its only fault being that there was too much matter, so that we could not get down even a mere abstract of the substance.""Edinburgh, 1868. "Things are still going on capitally. At the hall Davidson is most admirable, and Blaikie every day coming out even better and better. For instance speaking of the fondness the early apologists displayed EDINBURGH. 15 at pointing not to the lives, but to the deaths of Chris tians, he added, ' And indeed, gentlemen, I cannot help saying that in the course of my experience as a minister I have always noticed the hush and breath less attention such a subject ever commands, and I have found nothing make a deeper impression, or act more powerfully as a means of producing good, than a description of a triumphant death-bed.' This is prac tical, true, and useful." Elmslie threw himself with intense energy into the work of his classes. At first he found it difficult to maintain the place he had achieved at Aberdeen, for he had able competitors, but his unweariable diligence and quick apprehension soon put him at the head. In one of his earliest letters from Edinburgh he writes, " On Wednesday evening I did first copy of my essay with a headache coming on, which came on with such heartiness that I went to bed, and I could not go to college on Thursday. (N.B. It is remarkable that when I have no mamma to nurse me my headaches never come to such extremes as they do when I have a fall-back. This one was bad enough, but not one of the desperate kind.) " There was only one cure for these headaches, and he could never bring himself to take it. It would be tedious to go over the story of his successes. By this time his younger brother, Leslie, had entered the University of Edinburgh, where his triumphs were scarcely less than those of his senior at the New College. So used did the household at Insch become to telegrams announcing new prizes and scholarships, that at certain periods of the year the faithful mother had telegrams of congratulation alreadv filled up, waiting to be despatched. i6 MEMOIR. Many students of theology are more impressed by the preaching they hear than by their Professors, and Edinburgh has always been known for pulpit eloquence. But it was the reverse with Elmslie. No preacher seems to have had any great power over him. He attended the Free High Church, then ministered to by Mr. William Arnot; but though he admitted the freshness and^ fertility of the preacher's mind, he was not a warm admirer of his sermons. He often listened to Dr. Charles J. Brown, in the Free New North, and liked him : " he seems such a fine-hearted man." One day he went to hear a fellow-student, and missed the way to the church. He turned aside into the Barclay Church, where Mr. (now Dr.) Wilson was preaching. " I like Mr. Wilson very much. He is thoroughly practical, both in his preaching and in his prayers. For instance, in the one after the chapter he prayed for boys and girls at school, that they might be helped with their lessons when they were difficult, and that they might learn obedience and courtesy and be made blessings to their teachers ; also for those persons who had not had a good training in their youth, and felt it now in showing a good example to the children, and especially for those parents and children who were troubled with bad tempers." After remarking on the great predominance of young people in the congre gation, he says that the sermon was delivered with a great deal of energy and action, and that the idea of the preacher seemed to be to bring religion down on the every-day life, that it might become the m.otive power in work. " On coming out I accosted an intel ligent-looking man, and said, ' Was that Mr. Wilson ? ' ' Yes,' he said, and added, with a proud smile, ' And didn't you like him ? ' I answered, ' Very much in- EDINBURGH. i? deed,' whereupon he looked exceedingly gratified and prouder than ever. I wish there were more such pride." On another occasion he writes, "At present I had sooner hear Dr. Candlish than any one. He is so strong and honest, and wide in his sympathies. His address to the students was full of passion and feeling, and sympathy with the difficulty of believing some of our Calvinistic doctrines, such as eternal ruin, heathens' doom, etc. He went a very great length indeed, and ended by saying it was too hard for him, and his heart drew him the other way, and all he could do was to fall back on his loyalty to Christ. It was more a picture of his own heart's struggles than the Principal's address." But his usual note is, " Heard , in Church : middling." In 1 87 1 he gained the Hamilton Scholarship in a most brilliant manner, his marks being so extraordinary that as they came in the secretary of the Senatus thought there must be some mistake. His fellow-students, he writes, were overwhelm.ingly kind in their congratula tions, and he himself seems to have rejoiced in this suc cess more than in any other of his life. One thing was that in his after-work he would not have the same amount of anxiety and despair that weighed him down in his preparations. But the chief thing was the joy it would give at home. " I need not tell you," he writes to his mother, " how sweet your letter was to me, telling me cf your joy on receipt of the telegram. When no letter came in the morning you cannot think how disappointed I was, for, to confess the truth, I had been thinking all Sabbath of the pleasure of reading the home letters, and in them getting the real joy of the scholarship. For, except the pleasure of knowing the gladness caused 2 1 8 MEMOIR. at home, there is not much satisfaction otherwise in it. It is strange how soon, after the first surprise of getting it, the delight of getting it passed away, and I think there was more enjoyment in the working for it than in the having it." This incident may stand as typical of many others, and of his prominent place among men not a few of whom were of real mark. His comradeships among the students filled a large place in his life. Of all his friends the most intimate and best loved was Mr. Andrew Harper, now Lecturer on Hebrew in Ormond College, Melbourne. I regret much that exigencies of time make it impossible to include, for the present at least, any of his letters to this brother of his heart. They were always together, for ever disputing, and never quarrel ling, very close to one another in heart and mind. Two years before Dr. Elmslie's death Mr. Harper visited this country. The friends resumed their ancient inter course, visited Switzerland in corapany, and found that the changes of the years had only drawn them nearer. Some of the best life in the New College has always been found in the Theological Society — an association of the students who gather to discuss controverted questions, and do not fear to go into them thoroughly. These meet ings were greatly relished by Elmslie. Among the leading members in his time was Professor Robertson Smith, whose amazing keenness in debate is often admiringly mentioned in his letters home. The first time Elmslie spoke in the Society was in connection with a discussion whether the Free Church should return to the Establishment on the abolition of patron age. He took the negative side, and was complimented on both sides for the ability and ingenuity of his speech. The speculative daring in the Society at a EDINBURGH. tg time when outside the old orthodoxy was hardly questioned partly amused and partly pleased him. He speaks of entertaining Dr. Davidson very much by telling him that the men at the Theological fathered all their heresies on Dr. Candfish's " Fatherhood of God," by, as they expressed it, carrying out its principles to their logical conclusions. The subjects themselves, however, were the main thing and took abiding pos session of his heart. " I intend," he says, " to still go on studying these themes of Christ more deeply, for they have interested me intensely. By the way, I believe what will be of more value to me than the scholarship, and also far more satisfactory, is the feel ing I have that in preparing for it I have made an immense addition to my knowledge in several depart ments, and done it so thoroughly that it will never pass away. Two subjects have so interested me that I mean to go on studying them — namely, the Person of Christ, and the Early Apostolic Church." On his work and influence at New College the letters of Professor Drummond and Dr. Stalker will give a distinct impression, but I cannot leave the subject without giving room to what was almost before everything with him — his work among the poor, and especially among their children. They show the brilliant and courted student in another light, and it is worth mentioning that the larger proportion of his letters home is made up of such stories. His pupils in the ragged school greatly interested him, and his letters from Edinburgh are largely filled with picturesque incidente of his experience among them. Edinburgh seemed to him more terrible in its un dress than Aberdeen. " I never saw such miserable squalid faces, intermingled with roughs and coarse- MEMOIR. looking women." There was a humorous side to it, also, which he does not fail to give account of. One day in the Sunday-school a little boy behind indulged in an occasional pull at his coat-tail, or a facetious poke at his back, to all of which demonstrations he preserved an appearance of utter unconsciousness. When the school was over, and they were waiting their turn to get out, he turned round and said, not with a very ferocious countenance, " Now, which of you young rascals was pulfing at my tails ? " Of course, this occasioned immense amusement, and one bright- eyed little fellow said it could not have been so. " Oh, well," he said, " it is strange ; I wonder if the forms could have done it." This was a very tickling idea, and immediately the little fellow said, "Sir, I gave you a poke." He said, "That is honest, now, and I suppose some other one took the tails." "Yes, sir, it was me," said another merry young monkey, with a comical look. He answered, " I know you are not good scholars. How do I know that ? Oh, you never heard of good scholars pulling the teacher's tails!" This was a very striking view of things to them, and they did not know whether to be impressed or amused. The quickness of the city children, and their readiness of sympathy, specially struck him. But the main issue of the work was practical. "I cannot help saying that I feel that this work will do me real good, and will give me an actual, and not a mere theoretical interest in the work I have before me. And that is a thing very much needed. One other thing I may mention here. We have been having worship once a day very regtilarly, and to me at least it has been very pleasant and very useful. And now good-night to both." EDINBURGH. "I shall be very sorry to leave my poor little bairns, for I have come to like them exceedingly, especially of late ; they have become so numerous that I have to put some of them on the floor — nearly fifty last night. I don't know how it is, but I have a strange sort of feehng, as if they were having a deeper interest in what I say than I ever saw before; perhaps it is because I think I have myself. Since Christmas-time I have told them every night about Jesus, and only stories that directly illustrated His love and work, and I feel a difference in the way they Usten ; some of them especi ally sit so very still and quiet, with such an earnest, solemn look on their faces. Some nights ago Donald English (who made the disturbance the first night I began), as I was beginning, took hold of my hand and said, ' Oh, tell's about Jesus again, the night ! ' I often end by asking them to pray Jesus, before they go to bed, to make them His Uttle ones ; and several times, as they went out, some of them have put their hand in mine and whispered, Tfl ask Him the nicht.' Last Sabbath, when I was speaking of Jesus having died for our sakes, they were all sitting so very attentive, but three little boys in one corner began quarreUing about a bonnet, and disturbing me by the noise. I stopped twice and looked at them, but they always began again. Presently I stopped for the third time, and was going to speak to them, when one of the boys, who had been very attentive, rushed at them, and before I could inter fere dragged one of them on to the floor, and commenced a furious onslaught of blows and abuse for interrupting me. I had hard work in persuading him to stop. Another very funny thing was the looks of reproachful indignation which some of the attentive ones had been casting at the disturbers, previous to the final outbreak. MEMOIR. It was terribly annoying at the time, especiaUy as I saw that many of them were very deeply interested. When I was ending I spoke of how Jesus deserved to be loved, and that they should ask to be made to love Him. One little girlie whispered, ' I will ask Him, for, oh, I do want to love Him ! ' and when I said it was time to go away they cried, ' Oh, dinna' send''s away yet, tell's mair about Jesus ; ' and then they came round me, and made me promise to tell them ' bonnie stories about Jesus ' next Sabbath. I have found that nothing interests them more than what is directly about Jesus. I could not help telling you all these Uttle things, but I never had the same sort of feeling in teaching a class before, and I would like you to remem ber sometimes my poor little children down in the Canongate. I wish I could take them all into a better atmosphere, for it is sad to think of their chances of ever becoming good in such an evil, wretched place. Harper and I have been having many nice talks. I mean to preach often in the summer — I want to." Here he describes an incident of open-air preaching. A friend was speaking, and Elmslie was managing the audience. " Edinburgh, /««. 2^yd, 1872. " During this the man I had heard swearing at F- came up to S , who was standing a few yards off, and spoke to him. I went up just in time to hear him say, ' That fellow cannot even talk grammar.' I replied, ' We don't come here to teach grammar.' He was rather taken aback, but replied, ' Well, / could have said all your man said in half the time.' ' Then wait till he is done, and you shall have the next turn.' ' No, no, I don't want that ; if I spoke I should oppose you.' EDINBURGH. 23 ' I am ready for that ; will you do it ? ' I said ; ' We don't come here to argue.' ' No ; you are wise to decline to argue with me.' I answered, ' Pooh ! are you so con ceited as to suppose that our arguing would make any difference to Christianity ? Why, it has been argued hundreds of times over by men a deal wiser than you or me, and you see Christianity has not gone to the wall.' By that time I saw I was going to win, and got very cool and at my ease, while he got excited and put out ; then he started on a new tack by saying, ' And what good do you expect to do to humanity by preach ing here, and disturbing us ? ' I said, ' Well, perhaps, for one thing, we will get some drunken characters like those ' (pointing to some) ' to give up the drink, and be decent, and keep their wives and children from starving.' ' Well, that may be, but speaking like yours will never do it.' I answered, ' No, you are quite right, but we are young, you see, and some of us have not much voice, and some have not much sense ; but we are just trying to find out who of us can do the thing, and so, you see, we are just doing as well as we can.' He looked rather amazed at my frankness, and said, ' Well, I'm sure I have not any ill-will to you, but I don't believe in reUgion, and there are such a lot of hypocrites.' I said, ' Yes, there are a great lot, but that's just a reason why you should believe in the goodness of religion.' ' How do you make that out ? ' ' Why, you never heard of people making imitation of the stones and stuff like that ' (pointing to the gutter), ' but it is sovereigns and things like that they make counterfeits of.' 'Ay, but I hate hypocrites, and say, Down with them.' * So do I ; and if you could down with all the religious hypocrites you would do more for Christianity than we can by preaching here.' ' Ah !' he said, ' if that's your opinion 24 MEMOIR. you should not take to street preaching ; they are all hypocrites.' ' Oh, nonsense ! ' I replied. He exclaimed, very bitterly, ' Look at — =— (mentioning a recent scan dal); 'what good has that man done?' I answered, ' More than ever you or I have.' ' I would like to hear how,' he sneered. ' Why, you know, for one thing, he did mariage, whether his preaching was sense or nonsense^ to persuade a lot of drunken working men to give up drink and go to the kirk, and not waste their money in the public-house ; and now you go and ask their wives and bairns whether R has done any good in the world.' ' Ay, but what do you say to,' etc. ? ' That it was a great sin and shame to him ; but that is no reason for refusing to own that he has done a vast deal of good before he did that piece of ill ; and besides, I doubt if you or I are so good as to throw stones at him, etc., etc. Now I've listened to your criticisms on us, and pretty hard some of them were, so you will come up with me now, and hear what we've got to say.' He said, 'Well, I must say I like your way of taking things ; I never heard them put in the way you have done ; but I have not time now to come up ; I have to take tea in half an hour with a mate.' I said, ' Still, you'll promise to come back next Sunday and hear us, and I may tell you, in secret, we shall have better speakers next time, and if you like, after the meeting is over, I'll have a talk with you. I never did meet one of your side before, but I've read some of your books. We won't call it a discussion, for I've not had any experience at arguing, and I suppose you are an old hand.' He gave a queer laugh, and said, 'Any way I never came across anybody oil your side with half your sharpness and common sense ; and besides, I must say you are honest about it.' And then we shook hands, ABERDEEN ONCE AGAIN, 25 and he promised to come along next Sunday. ... By the way, in my talk with the Deist my ' heretical ' reading came in useful to me ; for if I had not come through all that, I could not have heard his attacks on religion and kept my coolness, or taken them up the way I did ; so it is some good; it will give me confidence in myself for the future — another good thing." Pleasant interludes in his New College life were a session spent at Aberdeen University, as assistant to the Professor of Natural Philosophy, Mr. David Thom son, and two sessions spent at Berlin in the study of theology. At Aberdeen he had in his class Mr. Chrystal, now the celebrated Professor of Mathematics in the University of Edinburgh, whose abilities he repeatedly refers to in his letters. His work was enjoyable, and his relations with Professor Thomson of the most cordial kind. He was tempted in various ways to alter his life purpose, was offered a professor ship of Natural Philosophy with a large salary in the Colonies, and was specially tempted to enter the medical profession. His closest friend at the Univer sity, Mr. James Shepherd, now a medical missionary of the United Presbyterian Church in India, was pursuing his professional studies, and with him he frequently visited hospital patients, finding a double interest in the work-. Thus he writes : — "Aberdeen, March i^ih, 1870. " As to Medicine, I have read up most of the text books prescribed here, so that I am really very well up on the subject, and Jim Shepherd says I would make a capital doctor. I went along with him to the ' Dis secting-room,' ' Anatomical Museum,' ' Infirmary,' and 'Incurable Hospital,' and he did his best to sicken 26 MEMOIR. me (as you remember befell me three years ago), but I was aU right, so he says I am now ' hardened ' ! It was very interesting seeing all the poor ill folk, and it was a real pleasure to speak to them, and joke with them, and leave them cheery," In Germany it is evident even from his meagre notebooks that he thoroughly enjoyed life, and entered into it with his usual zest and brightness. But every thing was subordinated to study. He made himself master of the language, and did his best to profit from the lectures he attended. His good parents were naturally, alarmed at the effects which German practice and thought (more dreaded then, perhaps, than now) might have upon their son. He warns them against uncharitableness, " There is nothing so difficult," he says, " as to convey a true and fair picture of the religious state of a people. Just as one's opinion of a person's character is often wholly changed on coming in contact with him, so actual life in a country alters one's estimate of it, and differences of circumstances and training condition the development of thought." He comes to the con clusion that it is not a breach of charity to say that the Germans are in a lower state religiously than Scotland, but asserts that at the. same time there are many good and spiritual men among them, and that Germany is not so much more irreligious than, for example, London. He quotes Dorner as saying of missionary work, "You send more money, but we send more men." At that time he was beginning to understand Dorner's lectures, and says they are very gooi and very useful, especially for Germany. " For instance, he has been defending the doctrine of the Trinity, the personality of the Holy SUMMARY. 27 Ghost, the Divinity of Christ, and eternal punishment. He is very practical and thorough." His attachment to Dorner grew as is witnessed by the following letter : — " Dorner is a thoroughly good and very able man, and I have found your remark true, for I have already got a great deal of good from his lectures on Romans, He is at present lecturing on the 4th chapter, and since I began to understand him I have enjoyed his lectures very much ; formerly the first few chapters of Romans seemed to me almost unintelligible, but I now see not only the meaning of the separate verses, but the grand Une of thought and argument running through the whole, and I have a far clearer conception of many of the grandest Gospel doctrines than I had before, and especially of the nature of Christ's sacrifice for sin, and the necessity lying on God to punish sin. I wish I could send you some extracts from the lectures to show you how very good they are, but I can only give you one illustration. On iii, 28 — which Luther translates, 'We conclude, then, that a man is justified by faith alone, without the deeds of the law' — he remarked that the Romanists misrepresent the meaning of this, and accuse Luther of Antinomianism, but (he added) Luther's position is simply this : ' The fruit does not make the tree, but a good tree cannot be without fruit.'. When he was lecturing on iii. 25, where the question comes up whether Christ was merely the Altar for the propitiatory sacrifice or Himself the Sacrifice, he quoted Dr. Chalmers and another Scotch theologian with extreme approval, viz., Morison — do you know who he is ? (Dorner took strongly the view that Christ was Him self the Sacrifice.) It is a great pleasure to hear him 28 MEMOIR. reading the verses of the passage he is to examine, for he does it with such earnestness and impressiveness that they seem to have double the meaning that they have ordinarily; he has a great deal of eloquence in him, and I like him very much." " I always read Meyer's Commentary on Romans before going to the class, so that I am studying Romans very thoroughly, and as the other Professor I attend is lecturing on Paul's Teaching, and has been lecturing on his Life, I shall know a good deal more of Paul before I come back.'' " On Wednesday, the Qth, I bought two Commentaries — De Wette on Psalms, and Meyer on Romans; they were rolled up in a sheet of paper taken out of an old book, containing some sixteen pages. I happened to glance at it in unfolding it, and my attention was caught by these words, in German, of which the foUowing is a translation : ' Look upon your children as just so many flowers, which have been lent to you out of God's garden ; the flowers may wither or die, yet thank God that He has lent them to you for one summer.' I thought at once that I had surely known the style long ago, and on glancing down the pages I was not at all surprised to find where the letter broke off— 'S, R. — Aberdeen, March 7th, 1637,' Was it not strange to come in that odd way on a German translation of Samuel Rutherford's Letters? (See if you can find the passage.) I also notice, in the bookseller's catalogue, that Bunyan's works are all translated, also Spurgeon's, ' Schonberg-Cotta Family,' Mrs. Henry Wood's novels, etc." In the autumn of 1873 Mr. Elmslie came to London, Four years previously Dr. Dykes had assumed the REGENT SQUARE. 29 pastorate of the church at Regent Square, His health made it necessary for him to receive, from the com mencement, assistance in his work. He was always anxious to secure the services of young men who might be trained under him for high achievements in later years. He heard of Mr, Elmslie's brilliant promise and invited him to fiU the position, then vacant, of assistant to himself. The invitation was accepted, and Mr. Elmslie settled in London, At Regent Square he flung himself into the work of the congregation with eager sympathy. He rapidly became popular and was made welcome in every home. In Dr, Dykes he found a wise and kind helper, to whom he became warmly attached. He appreciated his methods of working and his power as a preacher ; but most of all he was struck by that grace of devotional fervour which gave Dr, Dykes' prayers so constraining a power to draw the souls of his people into communion with God, Nothing could have been brighter and happier than the life of the young preacher in his new surround ings, and his contagious enthusiasm and energy reacted on aU who knew him. Here in London, at the busy centre of so much of the world's activity, his eager, questioning spirit found material for its restless en quiries ; whilst that knowledge of human nature and its needs, which lay at the back of his most powerful spiritual work in later years, was slowly moulded by the opportunities of this time. He describes in a letter to his mother the opening ot his pulpit work at Regent Square, His chief fear was for his voice : " It looked such a distance," he writes, " to the faces in the end gallery," He got a friend to sit at the far end of the church, just over the clock, with a handkerchief which he was to wave if the speaker 30 MEMOIR. were inaudible. The subject of his sermon was, " The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin." It is curious that the only despondent note that sounds through his correspondence at this time is the lamenta tion that he is unfitted for the pulpit. Repeatedly he expresses the fear that he will never make a preacher. He feels stiff and ill at ease. Official trappings of any kind he always disliked ; and the pulpit robes, which he afterwards, as far as possible, discarded, he even then, as he told Dr. Dykes, detested, " I find it," he writes, " most hopeless to get anything I much care to say, and ' even then it is a perplexity generally to see what really is the reason, I am at the very point of giving over preaching altogether." Again, " I am more sure than ever that I am not a preacher," "Romps with Mr, TurnbuU's children's singing-class are, on the whole, the most satisfactory occupation I know of," These doubts and discouragements are not surpris ing. From the very first Dr, ElmsUe conceived of the Christian Faith in a deep, comprehensive way, and its ideals of purity and holiness touched and warmed his nature at many points. Just because the outline was so large the filUng-in took years to accomplish. It was only by continuous and patient self-analysis, by long observation and study of his fellow-men, that he was able to meet the needs of humanity, at all points, with a message which no one interpreted more largely. His sermons at Regent Square are sketches and outlines which experience alone could embody and complete. I have been much struck, in preparing a selection of his sermons for the press, with the growth of their compo sition. The sermon, for example, which stands first in this volume is, I think, the earliest he ever wrote. But the sermon, as it was last preached and is now printed REGENT SQUARE. 31 is not the sermon as he wrote it. The latter, though in outline identical, has been emptied of its original con tents and re-filled out of the abundance of a heart which had grown in deeper knowledge of human needs and the approaches of Divine compassion. His greatest satisfaction he found in his intercourse with the young men in the congregation. " At the Young Men's Society," he writes, " I have been chairman for some time, and have to surii up : it costs me no preparation, and yet how they listen, and how I feel I can sway them as I please ! I enjoy that kind of speaking." It was at the close of these weekly discussions that Mr. Elmslie and I used often to meet. Our homeward paths were not identical, but we used to imagine that we were alternately escorting one another home as we spent a measurable portion of many a night upon the pavement, heedless of the thinning traffic, in keen debate over some of those deep insoluble problems which, I am glad to think, trouble his eager heart no longer. " I have long believed," he writes, " thinking to be more unhealthy than fever, cholera, bad drains, etc. I would give a good deal to be only an animal now and then." Almost the first hopeful word about his preaching in Regent Square occurs in the following passage ; it is interesting otherwise : — " On Monday evening I was at Mr. BeU's. He pressed me to stay; thought I should not be a Professor; meant for a preacher ; would have great power ; some thing quite peculiar about my sermons; made Christ and everything so real, and near, and helpful ; and my prayers always did him good, etc., etc. 32 MEMOIR. " Curious, that in my sermons tells with everybody, for it comes from -my line of reading and thinking at college, especially from the German books on Christ, such as Strauss; they made me trust Him as a Person rather than a doctrine ; besides, I know I have come to regard Him all round differently in consequence. I have had to pay dearly for the reading, and have often wished I had not, so it is a little comfort to find that my coming through it makes me more helpful now." The following is worth quoting as an instance of his ready resource : — "48, Regent Square, Tuesday. " My dear Folks, — On Saturday morning a shabby man called, said he was a cousin of Dykes, needing money too, etc., just come from America—awkward Dykes on Continent. I saw he was an impostor, so resolved to get rid of him. I answered, ' It is awkward.'- Then he said, ' What is to become of me ? I look to you, sir.' ' Nothing will come of that, I fear.' ' But are you not Dr. Dykes's assistant ? ' ' Yes, I assist him, but not his relatives.' ' Well, but, sir, what would you advise me to do ? ' ' To say " Good morning," and not • lose more of your time here.' As he got up he rubbed his stomach and said, ' I have had no breakfast to-day.' ' Very hard that mine is over, and my landlady does not like to have to make a second; do you often go without food ? ' ' Many and many a time, sir.' ' Ah, the doctor says it is good for the health I I wish I looked as well-fed as you do, going without breakfast. It niust be economical. Good morning.' And we parted -with mutual grins." Among the congregation at Regent Square Mr. WILLESDEN. 33 Elmslie formed many friendships. He conceived a warm regard for. Professor Burdon-Sanderson (now of Oxford) and his wife ; and other names might be men tioned of those who became lifelong friends. Among men who have since become well known, he saw some thing of Professor G. J. Romanes, who was then an occa sional visitor at Regent Square. About this time he describes a meeting with Macdonell of the Times, whom he speaks of as " full of light." On the same occasion he met Dr. Marcus Dods for, I think, the first time. " Dods, I like vety much," is his brief comment. Two years after his first arrival in London Mr. Elmslie settled in Willesden as minister of the Presby terian Congregation there. When he left Scotland in 1873 he had formed no resolve to sever his ecclesiastical connection with that country. Circumstances and inclination, however, kept him in the south. He was much impressed with the type of congregation which represented English Presbyterianism at Regent Square. For many members of the session he had a warm respect and friendly admiration. He was interested in the experimental position of a Church, such as the Presbyterian one in England, comparatively young and smaU. The appeal that came to him from WiUesden was direct and urgent. It is not to be wondered at that he yielded, at first rather reluctantly, to its plead ing. The next eight years of his life were spent in active ministry in this little metropolitan suburb. When Mr. Elmslie came to Willesden the place was much less populous than it has since become. The streets were only partially lighted. The road from the Junction Station to the little village of Harlesden, which is now a continuous row of shops and houses, 3 34 MEMOIR. passed then between ragged hedges, under a canopy of elms. The Presbyterian Church was not built, but services were held in a hall, which was the first building the Scotch residents put up. Mr. Elmslie took rooms near the site of the prospective church, but shortly after moved to the little house in Manor Villas which belonged to the chapel-keeper and his wife — Mr. and Mrs. Oxlade — a worthy couple, who returned the respect with which he regarded them by a loving admiration for the best man, as they phrased it, whom they ever knew. On November 23rd, 1875, Mr. Elmslie was duly ordained. His dear mother was present at the service, and many friends. I had been with him during the earlier part of the day. Among other subjects of conversation we had been anticipating an episcopal discussion on the ethics of betting. He recognized the difficulty of the subject, and as he got more hope lessly perplexed in his effort to justify an absolute prohibition of the practice on grounds which could be intellectually defended, he turned, I remember, to his mother with a look of comical helplessness : " Here am I going to be ordained, and I don't even know why it's wrong to bet.'' The congregation under his watchful care grew and prospered. A more united body of people never kept together in corporate life, and this happy result was due in chief measure to the unwearied tact and resource of the young minister. In the spring of the following year the new church was completed and opened for public worship. Mr. ElmsUe seemed to be able to draw into it men of all shades of religious opinion, and some even whose family traditions were at variance with evangelica] WILLESDEN. 35 orthodoxy. One of the distinguished sons of a famous Unitarian household was a feUow-worshipper with Ned Wright the evangelist. Throughout the whole of the little community which he ruled, for young and old alike, there was Ufe, energy, and kindly charity. He felt that the path of Christian living was not to be trodden without ardent effort ; and his example was at once a stimulus to the strong and an encouragement to the weak. " Your prayers," said a lady to him at this time, " always make me feel that it is a terribly difficult thing to be a Christian — but you can't think what a lot of good they do me." The year after (1877) Mr. Elmslie commenced mis sion work. The London and North Western Railway Company had just built an Institute for their employes who are housed in large numbers in what is known as the Railway Village, at Willesden Junction. Above the recreation rooms in the new building was a large hall, which was placed at the disposal of Mr. Elmslie, by the directors, for Sunday services. He willingly took advantage of this kindness to gain a further hold on men whose hearts, in many cases, he had already reached. An engine-driver, who had been long ill, remarked to a friend about him : " He comes here, has a long chat, and tells me about many things ; but never lets me feel he knows more thari I do." The services then commenced are still continued under the oversight of Mr. Elmslie's successor. Four years later another mission was started from Willesden which has since grown into an independent charge. The district of CoUege Park came into being beneath Mr. Elmslie's eyes, and its spiritual needs attracted his attention. He applied to the London School Board for use of a schoolroom in which to hold 36 MEMOIR. Sunday services. The application having failed he bought, in the following year, along with his office bearers, the site for a hall and church. The hall was at once built, and by the kindness of Mr. Andrew Wark, and other friends to whom Mr. Elmslie made a personal appeal, the money to meet the cost was subscribed. The church has been more recently com pleted. One noticeable feature in his work at Willesden was his power to attract the young. I remember his saying on one occasion, half jestingly, that he liked to make children happy, as he knew how miserable they would be when they grew up. He meant that the strain of ' living was bound to tell, and that children should have all the happiness which can be enjoyed in the elasticity of youth. I do not know which were more attractive to the young people of Willesden — his children's ser mons, or the sweets which he used to produce from my sterious stores when they came to visit him. Both were excellent and both did good. The following contains an interesting account of his pastoral work, and is worth quoting at length : — "Though it is late, and the text for Sunday (Com munion) has not been fixed yet, I am going to tell you a very sad story, that has made me think of many things. Over a year ago Mrs. X , on my recommendation, engaged as governess a Miss Y , a great friend of Mrs. Z , who asked that she might be very kindly treated, because she had had a deal to bear, and was all but disgusted with religion. She was a bright young girl, very pretty and graceful, clever in talk and repartee. Often I wished to find a way of showing her some kind ness, but naturally that was hardly possible. However, WILLESDEN. 37 I knew that both Mr. and Mrs. G were good to her. She was to have left last Saturday, but took suddenly unwell — had to go to bed. On the same day I called in at Mrs. G 's on my way to say good-bye to Miss Y ; learning of her attack, I did not go on. . . . Mrs. G had given her some eau-de-Cologne, and she had liked it much, so I took with me my little spray bottle. Her mother was with her; she looked wretchedly ill in face, eyes, and hands, but spoke in a very firm voice, and that made me think there was certainly no immediate danger. " I at once told her about the spray bottle, and making her shut her eyes, applied it on her temples. She said it was delicious, and took it in her hands. " I cannot try to describe her talk, for it was broken by moments of wandering, when she said very odd things, and in the midst she grew sick, and I had to go outside ; she was too ill then to say much. I deemed it kind not to remain, but had a short, simple prayer. She said, very earnestly, 'Thank you so much for that ! ' I told her I would come again, and she must not fear to say to me all she wished. She answered, 'Yes, come again.' Thursday was a very busy day, for I had many engagements in London. Though I tried hard, I could not get home early, but it would have made no difference. She had been delirious night and day, with occasional intervals, and died at a quarter to three in the afternoon. She was only twenty-three. "... J G went up and held her hands. She struggled for a moment or two, and then let her head down, and while he spoke to her, quieting her, she said she was going to be good and sleep now. Her wild eyes shut at last, and she was in a sleep, such as she had not had since Saturday. 38 MEMOIR. " The mother and Mrs. G stole out, leaving only a sister, thinking it was recovery ; but it was death. In ten minutes, with a little sigh, she ceased to breathe. Mr. G was her great friend, and she died in his arms. You can hardly think how sad her death has made me. So many forlorn things are about it that I have no time to write. Those lonely nights of agony and death-like sickness, that she had said nothing about at the time, believing herself dying, a governess among strangers, etc. " Two things I am glad of — that Mrs. G was with her one night, and that I thought of the spray bottle. She said to me, ' You had Mrs. G to nurse you; is not she an angel ? ' and I said, ' Yes, as much as if she had wings,' and I meant it. Then her sisters told me that all that last night and day, till close on the end, my little bottle was never out of her hand ; the coolness of the air and the softness of the spray relieved her sickness so much. Once, when in a spasm she jerked the bottle on the floor, she cried, for fear it was broken. The mother has sent a message asking if she may keep it, since it was the last thing in her child's hand, and the last that gave her any pleasure. It seems, too, that she spoke more than once of my prayer for her. Before the mother left last night to go home, she said to Mrs. G , ' I shall always love you and your husband for what you have done for my child. Your kindness to her and the preaching she heard in your church did her so much good. She came to you with her life embittered, and with her religious beliefs nearly gone. Only a month ago she told me they had all come back again, and she understood Christ better, and beUeved in Him more, because of the way Mr. Elmslie preached of him, and we all have seen that this WILLESDEN. 39 last year at Willesden has been the happiest in all her life. If she had been taken a year ago our recollections would have been very, very sad ; now it is different,' and then the poor lady burst out crying. To-day I tried hard to get some white roses to lay on her ere the body is taken home, but I could only get some smaller white flowers, and maiden-hair ferns. Mrs. G had also got a basket of flowers, and I think the sight of them will comfort the old folks at home a little, as also a letter I have sent the poor mammy, saying some kind things about her lassie. " Many other touching things the poor girl said and did come to my mind, and I could tell you more, but there is not time. I called it a sad story, but in some ways it is not sad. Indeed, I almost think that it is death alone that makes life at all sacred. " All these things have made me think that Christ's account of the judgment must be quite real. I mean the ' Inasmuch as ye did it to one of these,' etc., for that is just how we would feel, that is just how the poor mother of the dead giri felt. There is nothing to thank God for more than to have been able to do a kindness to a dying soul. To think that a poor troubled soul has gone out of the pain and tiredness of life straight into the arms of God from yours, with the touch of pitying hands fresh on it ; to feel God sees that, and knows those hands were yours, seems to me to bring you and God very near to each other. If it be true that He loves 'the souls that He hath made,' surely He must love you for loving them. I do not think it would matter very much about other things, if you had loved a good deal. If a little child said, as you were being turned away, ' He made me so happy ! ' and another, ' He fed and clothed me ; ' and another, ' He held me so 40 MEMOIR. gently in the agony of death,' even if he were a very sinful man, what could God do to him who had been good to the ' little ones ' ? The Apostle John had thought of it, and said, ' He that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God,' and Paul must have been in the same mind when he wrote I Cor. xiii." They were very bright and happy, those Willesden days with their expanding usefulnes.? ; and before Mr. Elmslie left the district his life had been crowned by the commencement of that heart-union with another which seemed to more than double the separate in fluence of each for good. He worked unremittingly, and even his holidays were not. given to idlehess or rest. When he came to London he knew little of French, and one of his first holidays was spent in Paris, where he worked at the language with conscientious thoroughness, and obtained an adequate mastery over its difficulties. He returned to Paris on another occa sion for further study, and one late summer he spent in Rome studying Itahan. His second' visit to Paris was very helpful to him in more ways than one, especially in the influence exercised upon him by Bersier. " I find that the ;^30 I spent on going to Paris is going to pay me far more than I thought of, not merely in French, though I rejoice in that daily, but in preach ing. Perhaps you remember me saying that I had got several hints from the style of Bersier, who spoke, not read — mainly in letting out, adopting a free, direct style, variation, etc. Since coming back I have had con stantly to preach very badly prepared ; but I knew that (partly in consequence) I was much more free, bold, and roused. On Sunday I was very ill-prepared, nothing written, even order of thoughts not fixed ; and WILLESDEN. 41 I did not stick, even, to the line intended ; but feeling this, I let out tremendously in vehemence and language. I saw how it took, and several spoke. Yesterday two old folks were on the sermon, and then they said, ' But ever since you came back from Paris you have been so much improved,' etc., etc. And indeed, I have heard more of my sermons during the last few weeks than ever before. So I owe a debt to M. Bersier, Another item, however, is, I fancy, that Paris made some things a little more real to me than they were before." During all these years Mr. Elmslie's reading was wide and various. At the same time it was not difficult to see that the subject that interested him most was the study of man, and the books that attracted him were those that threw light upon the actions and passions of men. When he returned from Paris for the first time, for example, the author of whom he was most full was Rousseau — not Rousseau the philosopher and specula tive thinker — but the Rousseau of the " Confessions " — with their strange candour and unblushing avowals. He read little of the works of the great imaginative masters of English prose or verse. If he did read a volume of Tennyson or Ruskin, for example, his criticisms were always brilliant and penetrating; but he never nourished his spirit upon their loftier utter ances, nor was his style moulded by the melody 01 theirs. One exception I should perhaps make. His study of George Eliot was frequent and appreciative. One of his students has told us how, shortly before his own death, he referred to the scene in which Mr. TuUiver's is described to point a characteristic lesson in theology and charity. The passage was a favourite one, from the day when a friend .first gave him the 42 MEMOIR. "MiU on the Floss" to read. I remember another remark of his about George Eliot which is worth quoting, but to appreciate its point I must introduce a word of explanation. I had, just at that time, drawn up a memorial on a Subject in which we were both interested. Avoiding the conventional " wharfoes " which " Uncle Remus " has satirized in such documents, I had worded the appeal with perhaps exaggerated directness. Each sentence contained a distinct propo sition, and the whole was expressed with something of that oracular emphasis with which, in those days, Victor Hugo used, from time to time, to address the citizens of Paris. After talking of this composition, and the subject of which it formed part, the conversation turned on George Eliot. I referred to " Romola " — especially to the closing scenes in the life of Savonarola, which, as it has always seemed to me, touch the highest point that has been reached in analysis of the drama of spiritual conflict. As I recalled the passage in which the disciplined imagination of the writer shows us the great Florentine stripped, one after another, of aU those dazzling evidences of divine favour with which he used to feed his soul in pride, till there is nothing left to tell him of the unforsaking love of God save the lowly witness of his own bowed and penitent heart, the eyes of my companion grew bright with a large approval. After a pause he said, " If we find George Eliot is not in heaven when we get there, I think you and I wiU have to draw up a memorial — in the style of Victor Hugo." When one thinks of the versatility of Dr. ElmsUe's mind, and of the keenness of his intelligence, one feels that he might have won laurels in any domain of intel lectual effort. And yet theology was the one subject WILLESDEN. 43 on which his heart was set. He conceived of it grandly and nobly. He believed in it in that deep, derivative sense in which it is referred to by Carlyle in the opening to his story of the Puritan revolt, as a knowledge of God, the Maker, and of His laws. And for him Christ was the Divine Lawgiver — sole Lord of his conscience as weU as Saviour of his spirit. For me at least, the facts of Christianity seemed always to grow larger and more solemn as he pressed their spiritual significance ; its doctrines seemed to grow more real as he pierced beneath the forms in which they are encased to ex plore their ethical contents. God and man, and the relations between them, were the absorbing subjects of his study. It was his constant brooding over human nature as seen in the light of Di-vine pity, which gave its largeness to his measurement alike of the deadly hatefulness of sin and of the atoning charity of Christ. Sin was for him a thing far more terrible than any punishment which could possibly await it; and his sense of its dread, though stifl expiable, terror gave to him his Christlike eagerness to watch for the faintest signs of contrition and amendment. The following passage in a letter written to his mother some years earlier contains, it seems to me, the heart and soul of all his preaching. "Am very much touched to hear about the poor Doctor. No matter what he may have done, with his disordered brain and troubled home life, I had rather go into the next world like him than Uke most of those who have condemned, though there were even nothing more than that near the end he tried a little to do right, and had a pitiful wish in his heart to be at rest, and go back to his old mother, and live a Christian life. And if it is really true that there is a heavenly Father who 44 MEMOIR. pities sinful men, and a Christ who died to save them, then I think my mammy, in helping him only but a little to better thoughts and hopes, did a greater thing than most deeds men call great. Any way, she has the satisfaction of having done kindly by an unfortunate man, and of knowing that it is all well with him — unless, indeed, Christ was altogether mistaken. It is not the first time, either, that she has done that sort of thing." In 1880 he was appointed tutor of Hebrew in the Presbyterian CoUege, London, and carried on the work along with that of his congregation in WiUesden. He made himself very popular with the students, and when a permanent appointment came to be made in 1883, he was unanimously elected Professor of Hebrew. He writes : " It seems that the speeches of Walton, Fraser, and Watson were just perfect, so earnest and generous, and loving and hopeful. That put the Synod into a melting and happy mood. All yesterday I felt very grave, and almost afraid. I see that a very great thing, of good or evil, has happened in my Ufe. God grant that it may be for good." Almost immediately after his appointment to the Professorship, he married Kate, daughter of Mr. Alexander Ross, formerly Rector of the Grammar School, Campbeltown. The home which he made first at Upper Roundwood, Willesden, then at 31, Blomfield Road, Maida Vale, wUl ever have the brightest associations for his frienda. He had all the quaUties that fit a man to bless and grace married Ufe. When his son and only child was born it seemed as if he were drinking the richest happiness of life in its fulness. I shrink from quoting words so sacred and tender as these which I take from a HEBREW PROFESSOR. 45 letter to his wife, but I cannot otherwise convey the full truth :— " It makes me so glad, dear, every time I think of it, to know that we chose each other for no base worldly motives, but out of pure love and esteem for what (with all faults and defects) was good, and tender, and true, in one another. It was not for the mean things that the world and fashion make much of and worship that we two came together, meaning to go hand in hand through Ufe with mutual help and kind ness. We knew quite well the world's ways, and we could feel the pressure of its lower estimates and aims. But this act at least was done not with shallow hearts and for mean ends, but in honest friendship out of true affection, and with a very earnest wish to do only what was good and right, and to help each other to live a happy and a notle life," Such a life it was, though its years were few ; and when the news of his death came, amid'aU the absorbing and confounding regrets which filled many minds, the thought was ever upper most of the wife and child left desolate in the home that had been so full of sunshine, Dr, Elmslie gave himself unsparingly to the work of his chair. He declined preaching engagements, and made zealous preparation for his classes. Apart from his own high st&ndard of duty, he greatly respected the opinion of students. He thought Professors could have no, fairer judges. The diligent study of the Old Testament, with the aid of the best German com mentaries, was of course the main part of his pre paratory work. But he did more with dictionaries than with commentaries, and made up his mind for himself. He always kept pace with the progress 46 MEMOIR. of research, and followed with deep attention the absorbing discussions of recent years on the structure of the Old Testament. As he was himself so chary in expressing publicly the conclusions he had arrived at on these subjects, it would not be right for me to say much. Of this, at least, he was sure, that the worth and message of the Old Testament were unimpaired by criticism, and would be so whatever the ultimate con clusion might be. He was also exceedingly sceptical as to the finality of the critical verdicts generally accepted at present : he believed that the analysis would be carried much farther. But although he dUigently studied these things, and was an accurate and exact grammarian, he had his own theory of the duties of a Professor, which cannot be better described than in his own words, in an anonymous article contributed to the British Weekly for September i6th, 1887. There he says — "Theological colleges are not in the first instance shrines of culture or high places of abstract erudition, but factories of preachers and pastors. They are not so much fountains of pure scholarship, but are rather to be classed with schools of medicine and institutes of technical education. Their function is not to produce great theologians, but to train efficient ministers — though they wUl hardly do that without possessing all that is essential to do the other. The ideal Professor is not your dungeon of learning, in whose depths he and his pupils are buried away from all practical life and use fulness. Information is good, in large measure indis pensable, but the rarer gift of the heaven-born teacher is infinitely more. The old institution ofthe "lecture" — ^pretentious, laborious, in every sense exhaustive — must vanish What was spun out into an hour of dry- HEBREW PROFESSOR. 47 as-dust detail must be struck off in ten minutes of bright, sharp, suggestive sketching. It is the difference between the heavy leading article of our newspapers and the crisp incisiveness of the French press. There must be much more teaching from text-books, and direct instruction from the Bible and human life. Dogmatic must deal less with theories and mouldy controversies, and more with the actual forces of sin and salvation. Exegetic cannot be allowed to fool away a whole session in a wearisome analysis of a few chapters of an epistle or a prophecy, fumbling and mumbling over verbal trivialities, blind to the Divine grandeurs that are en shrined within, while the students are left without even a bird's-eye view of the contents of the Bible as a whole, and destitute of any adequate conception of its vital majesty and meaning. Above all, a new scope and purpose must be given to the teaching of Practical Theology, Instead of a few lectures on the doctrine of the Church, and the ideal construction of a sermon, and the theoretical discharge of pastoral duty, this ought to constitute the crowning and chief study in the cur riculum. And it should be in the form, not of teaching, but of actual training, Montaigne complained of his physicians that they " knew much of Galen, and little about me," They manage better in medical education now. Fancy the souls of tempted and sick men, women, and children handed over to the unpractised mercies of our book-taught young ministers. Colleges cannot quite mend this difficulty; but they might do much. And still more would be done if each student could be secured a year of travel abroad, and after that be requiied to serve an apprenticeship as curate or evange hst in connection with our larger congregations." Through the kindness of my friend Mr. W, D, 48 MEMOIR. Wright, B.A., a student in the English Presbyterian College, I have received some very interesting reminis cences from his students. Space does not permit me to give them fully, but they show that Elmslie acted up to his own conception of a Professor's duties. One gentleman says — " In recalling my impressions of Professor Elmslie, nothing strikes me so forcibly as his unfailing gentle ness towards his students. It was very seldom indeed that any student was inattentive or troublesome in class, but when anything of the kind did occur Elmslie never spoke a word to the offender, and but for the pained flush on his face, one would have thought he had not noticed the occurrence. Again, when a student had not prepared his Hebrew lesson, and was unable to read it, Elmslie always appeared more ashamed than the student himself, but never said a word in blame or warning. Only he was afterwards chary of asking the same student to read. " Elmslie was always ready to answer questions or meet any difficulties raised by the students, and he was often more eloquent on these occasions than when engaged in the ordinary routine of the class. He had rather a disUke for the schoolmaster's work that he was compelled to do with junior students, and hurried the class on until they were able to read passages in Hebrew. He did not aim so much at turning out Hebrew scholars as at making preachers, with a deep interest in Hebrew literature, and imbued with its spirit. If he could only secure our interest in a Hebrew author, and enlist our sympathies, he was willing to excuse any ignorance of ours in regard to grammar or syntax." Another says — " Perhaps my most vivid remembrances of Dr. Elmslie HEBREW PROFESSOR. 49 collect round his criticisms upon his students' trial discourses. Always kind, invariably conciliatory, in his criticism, yet he pointed out very plainly the defects, and indicated what was lacking with unfailing clearness of judgment. Even in the midst of his rebukes he would frequently take the bitterness away by some half-playful remark or reference to his own experiences, , . . But better than any criticisms were his own concluding remarks on the text. Compressed, as they had to be, into a very few minutes, the whole intensity of his nature was seen in them. We often left the lecture-hall with our brains all astir and our hearts glowing with the inspiration of his words. "I rather think some ofhis first-year students generally thought him occasionally heretical in his remarks at the close of his criticism. The one thing he could not bear was dulness, a uniformity of mediocre unreproachable- ness about a sermon. So he loved to give with start ling effect a single side of a truth, and thus to send us away with our minds in a state of rather anxious activity. Once he half-humor ously gave us the advice to begin our sermons with a truth stated in an unusual, half-heretical way, if one liked; for there is nothing makes people Usten so attentively as a suspicion of heresy. But these early doubts of our Professor's soundness soon vanished, and we found him, as one has said, ' not so much broad, as big.' " " He read to us a letter from a young man in much doubt as to whether he should enter the Wesleyan pulpit or no. His correspondent had read with reUsh Dr. ElmsUe's article on Genesis. Could the Professor tell him of any books in which points of Christian faith were dealt with in an intelligent and convincing way ? He, the correspondent, knew of no such books. Dr. 4 50 MEMOIR Elmslie asked our opinion. I ventured to suggest that everybody had to hammer out these points of faith for himself. The Doctor was rather pleased with this remark, and at once said, ' Oh, yes ! indeed he has, and to live them out too.' " In his old students who had become ministers he took an earnest interest, and their letters show sufficiently how they prized him. "I feel," says one, "that you have inspired me with a something quite apart from the detailed work of the class— with spirit and en thusiasm for preaching." He himself was soon drawn back to the pulpit, and as he preached in the various Nonconformist churches of the Metropolis it was almost immediately felt that a new force of the first rank had appeared. He preached frequently in Brixton Independent Church, then under the brilliant and devout ministry of James Baldwin Brown. Mr. Brown's health was very infirm when Dr. Elmslie began to preach there, and on his death the congregation looked to the Professor as his natural successor. Ultimately a cordial invitation was given. The inducements offered were great, and the position was among the most influential London Nonconformity can bestow. That a change of ecclesiastical relations would have been necessitated by his acceptance would have been no difficulty to Dr. ElmsUe. But he feared to face the physical strain involved, and preferred to continue his work as Professor. The disappointment felt at his declinature of the invitation to Brixton Independent Church was very deep, although the members construed his refusal in the right way, and understood that no difference of opinion on ecclesiastical polity and no doubt of their HEBREW PROFESSOR. 51 fidelity had anything to do with it. Some of the letters written to him were very touching. Among these I may quote the following: — "Dear Sir, — We are, with the exception of my husband {who is somewhat of an invalid), closely occupied all the week, sometimes even the strain be coming excessive. On Sundays, when you come, your teaching and influence lift us above all our difficulties, and we start for the next week full of hope, and feeling nothing too hard to be accoraplished. With regard to my sons, it is an especial boon, because, though they are thoughtful and good, it has been almost impossible to get them to attend church during the last two or three years. They did not meet, perhaps, with a single service for many weeks into which they could enter with the slightest interest, so they stayed away. We have all found our Sundays very wearisome, but on those you have visited us all is changed. All are deeply interested, one competing with the other in bringing forward the ideas that have interested them." The writer goes on reluctantly to acquiesce in a decUna- ture which had evidently gone to the heart of the whole household. His sphere as a preacher steadUy widened, and he became, in addition, a most popular platform speaker at the May meetings in Exeter HaU and elsewhere. There is no room to recount his triumphs, and no need to do so. All who heard him bore the same testimony. If he was preaching in one of the suburbs the trains towards the time of service brought a company of admirers from all parts of London. The chapel would be crowded to the doors. When he stood up in the pulpit strangers felt surprise. Youthful in appearance. 52 MEMOIR. unpretending in manner to the last degree, and in the early part of the service generally nervous and re strained, it was not till the sermon began that he showed his full powers. He usually read the first prayer, and was always glad if he could get some one to help him with the lessons and the giving out of hymns. But in preaching all his powers were displayed at their highest. He did not read his sermons, but his language was as abundant and felicitous as his thought, and his audience was always riveted. Alike in manner and matter he was quite original. He imitated no preacher ; he did not care to listen to sermons, and was rarely much impressed by them when he did. I doubt if he ever read a volume of sermons unless it was to review them. His knowledge of the Bible and his knowledge of life gave him inexhaustible stores ; he had always matter in advance, and never felt that sterility of mind which so often' afflicts the preacher. He would retell the stories of the Old Testament, and make them live in the light of to-day. The reality and firmness with which he grasped life — the life of toiling, struggling, suffering men and women — was his chief power. His sympathetic imagina tion helped him to divine the feelings of various classes of the young men in business, for example, with a smaU salary, and little prospect of rising, forbidden the hope of honourable love, and tempted to baseness from without and within. He had an intense concern for the happi ness of home Ufe, and much of his preaching was an amplification of the words — " To mak' a happy fireside clime To weans and wife ; That's the true pathos and sublime Of human life." Mothers' hearts he would win by praying for the " dear HEBREW PROFESSOR. 53 little children asleep in their beds at home." Young couples he would warn to keep fresh the tenderness and self-sacrifice of first love. But the sermons which follow speak for themselves, though nothing can transfer to the printed page the light and fire of which they were full as the preacher spoke them. Of the helpfulness of his preaching he had from time to time many testimonies, of which he preserved a few. These were very welcome to him, far more so than any appreciation of the intellectual ability or the eloquence of his sermons. This, from one letter, is a specimen of many more : " I wandered past my own church in a heavy weight of business care, knowing that a mortgagee would this week likely take all I had, and caring little where I wandered when I went in to hear you, and was surprised at the text you preached from, and more so at the helpful words you spoke, which I hope, by God's grace, will enable me to see — ' Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.'" He delivered courses of lectures to Sunday-school teachers under the auspices • of the Sunday-school Union. These were very largely attended and highly appreciated. He received many letters of encourage ment, among them one from the vicar of a London church, who wrote that although he could not attend them all, owing to the exacting nature of his own work, he listened to those he could be present at with the deepest attention and the greatest thankfulness. " That a great scholar should fearlessly approach these vexed questions, and with his grasp of them be able to make them popular and understood by the people, and above all attractive to the people, is to me a great joy. 54 MEMOIR. You make the Bible a living book, filled with people met with in workaday life. Ypu show that the social problems which superficial minds imagine are utterly new are only old difficulties under new names, and that the Bible has a definite word to say upon them, and its ' Thus saith the Lord ' is to be listened to still. I venture to think that this is the great need of this fevered age of ours, and I heartily thank you." An attempt was made in 1888 by the Westminster Congregational Church, where he had often preached with great acceptance, to secure him as pastor. This invitation he was inclined to accept. The condition of the Theological College was not at the time satisfactory, and for that and other reasons it seemed not unlikely that the call would be closed with. To me, as to others of his friends, it seemed certain that his physical strength was wholly inadequate to the position, and I am glad to think of the urgency with which this view was pressed on him. He was reassured about the College, and gratefully declined the invitation. In con nection with it he received the following letter, which reflects so much honour on all concerned that I venture to include it here : — "London, March 8th, 1888. " To THE Rev. Professor Elmslie, M.A., D.D. —We hear with sympathetic interest that the Westminster Church is calling you to its pastorate. "The traditions of the Westminster, Church are good, its ministry has always been highly spiritual and largely human, and its importance and influence have been second to none among the churches of our order in this great Metropolis. " We feel special interest in this call from the fact that it will involve on your part the crossing of the HEBREW PROFESSOR. 55 denominational boundary between Presbyterianism and Congregationalism. Identical though the churches prac tically are in the foundation of their theological belief, we appreciate the strain upon early and sacred association which this may involve, with, however, this compensa tion, that, borne in answer to a call for service and fur therance of the kingdom of Christ, it is a practical and valuable evidence that the sister denominations are truly wings in the one great army of God. " Should you accept this call to the highly honourable post which the Westminster Church offers you, we beg to assure you of the cordial welcome, brotherly sympathy, and, as the occasion may arise, the friendly co-operation of the ministers of our body. "It is unusual for the representatives of other churches to intervene in cases of this kind, but under standing there may be questions in your mind as to the feelings with which you would be received into the ranks of the Congregational ministry, we have thought it right, on the suggestion of a representative of the Westminster Church, to give you this assurance. "With best wishes for your future welfare and highest prosperity, " Yours fraternally, " Alexander Hannay, Robert F. Horton, " Henry AUon, John Kennedy, "J. C. Harrison, John Fredk. Stevenson, " J, Guinness Rogers, R. Vaughan Pryce, " Andrew Mearns, Alfred Cave, " Samuel Newth, John Stoughton, "Joseph Parker, Henry Robert Reynolds." It is unnecessary to refer in detaU to the numerous invitations to Presbyterian pulpits which reached him 56 MEMOIR. from time to time. Some of these were from Scotland, on which he looked back with mingled feelings. He did not willingly turn his face to the north, or think of it with much pleasure, " I worked too hard there," he would say. On the other hand, he writes from Edinburgh in 1880 — "I had a splendid talk, fit to be printed, with Taylor Innes, Davidson, and Iverach. I think I might become a great divine with such stimulating society." Elmslie's connection with the Congregationalists not only greatly heightened his estimate of the loyalty and piety StiU abiding in the Nonconformist churches of England ; it also brought him more fully into the current of modern life. He began to be deeply interested in politics, which he had previously rather held aloof from, became a diligent reader of newspapers, and was led to an absorbing interest in Socialism, on which he delivered a memorable address in Exeter Hall in connection with the Pan-Presbyterian Council of 1888. In politics he was an ardent Liberal and a thoroughgoing Home Ruler, Dr. Elmslie added to his other engagements some of a Uterary kind. He became adviser to the firm of Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton, of 27, Paternoster Row, and occupied this position for a few years with great satisfaction on both sides. His work was to write estimates of any manuscripts Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton submitted for his consideration, and that he did it incisively and honestly the following specimen, selected almost at random, will show : — " Energetic, inteUigent, earnest discourses on the lines of the old Evangelical Protestant school, not in any way original in exposition or fresh in presentation, but HEBREW PROFESSOR. 57 quite sensible, vigorous, and good. That they are not up to date appears in such a reference as this : ' The excitement caused in this country by the publication of "Essays and Reviews," and subsequently of Bishop Colenso's heretical works, is still fresh in our memories,' etc. Even if thoroughly rubbed up and revised, the sermons would only sell where writer's name would carry them, and to some extent to preachers in search of ready-made discourses." He ceased to act in this capacity some time before his death, but continued to be a constant visitor to No. 27, where his appearance gave pleasure to every one in the place. His inaugural lecture on Ernest Renan was published in the excellent " Present-day Tracts " of the Religious Tract Society, and was very well received. He had often heard Renan lecture, and was thoroughly conversant with his books. To the Expositor he made some contributions, but in spite of pressure, delayed publishing extended articles. In Good Words and the Sunday Magazine some of his sermons were published from time to time. To the British Weekly he was a large contributor, mostly of short anonymous reviews and paragraphs ; occasionally he would write an extended critique or a travel sketch. Biit he was making ready for work as an author. A remark made by Dr. Marcus Dods had sunk into his mind ; it was to the effect that men should study till they were forty, and then publish the result of their studies. He had arranged to begin writing and to give up preaching, and had he lived this purpose would have been carried out. His schemes were numerous, but the chief was to write a book which should make the Old Testament intelligible— its contents and message— to the common people. He had made a careful study of the Minor 58 MEMOIR. Prophets, the result of which will shortly appear in a popular commentary. So his life went on, useful, happy, honoured, and but too busy. In 1 888 he received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from his Alma Mater. In the same year he preached the opening sermon at the Nottingham meeting of the Congregational Union. This high honour was never before conferred on a Presbyterian minister. He enjoyed social intercourse, and in recent years had much of it. He had many pleasant Con tinental holidays. But the claims upon him constantly increased, and alas ! his strength did not. He had the happiness of being under the care of an accom plished and skilful physician, who was also an intimate friend — Dr. Montague Murray. I need not speak of the faithful care that never ceased its vigilance. But although often warned against overwork, and constantly paying the penalty in severe headaches, no serious danger was apprehended. I am anxious to make it clear that he did not wilfully throw his life away. He apprehended no danger, and thought he was taking sufficient precautions. The last summer of his life he took two Continental holidays. He loved life. His last years were his best — the brightest and the fullest of influence. If one had been asked to say who among his friends had the prospect of the surest happiness and the greatest influence, he would have named Elmslie without hesitation. It was in such a noon that his sun went down. He spent September 1889 in the Engadine. Although he enjoyed the trip he benefited from it less than he had hoped, and began the work of his classes with a certain feeling of weariness. He did not, however, Hebrew professor. 59 imagine that anything was seriously wrong, and accepted many engagements for the winter. He preached with wonderful eloquence to crowded audiences in St. John's Wood Presbyterian Church on the Sunday evenings of October, and had promised to take anniversary services on Sunday, November 3rd, for the Rev. John Watson, M.A., of Sefton Park Church, Liverpool. Although unable to go to College on the previous Friday, hewas anxious not to disappoint his friend, and accordingly went to Liverpool. His medical adviser reluctantly allowed him to preach once. He officiated at the forenoon service, getting help from one of his students in the service. That afternoon he spent in bed, and he was too unwell to return to London till Wednesday. Dr. Murray saw he was seriously ill, and ordered that all his engagements should be postponed. On Thursday, however, he lectured at the College, but on Friday he was prostrated, and remained so till Tuesday, when unconsciousness set in. He suffered from agon izing headache. Symptoms of diphtheritic sore throat set in on Sunday, November lOth. On Tuesday the medical man in attendance pronounced the disease to be typhoid fever, and after the evening of that day he was never conscious. His busy brain worked on. The faithful friend and physician, who hardly left his side, says he never heard such intelligent unconscious talk. If his mind travelled to the scene of his recent journeys he would give directions in German about ordering rooms, arranging for dinner and the like, with perfect clearness. More often he would fancy himself in his class-room teaching Hebrew, and urging the students to put heart into their work. Over and over he spoke to his wife of what had been the master thought of his Ufe. Lifting his hand he would say with great 6o MEMOIR. earnestness, " No man can deny that I always preached the love of God. That was right. I am glad I did not puzzle poor sorrowful humanity with abstruse doctrines, but always tried to win them to Christ by preaching a God of Love." Once he turned to her with wistful eyes and said, " Kate, God is Love. All Love. We will tell every one that, but specially our own boy — at least you wifl, for I seem to be so tired these days, and my one wonder and trouble is, that all these people (meaning the nurses) try to prevent me from going home, where we were always so happy.^' He was reassured for the moment, when some familiar object was pointed out, and asked that he should often be told that he was at home. He was soon to go home indeed. He recognised his wife on Friday, with the last signs of consciousness. Shortly after he became faint, closed his eyes, and never opened them again on earth. About four o'clock on the morning of November i6th, 1889, he quietly passed away. Scarcely any death could have made a greater rent than this, and the tokens of sorrow — public and private — were almost unexampled in the case of one who held no high office in Church or State, who had not Uved long enough to make his mark in literature, who had sought no fame or honour, but had been content with doing his duty as it called him day by day. The funeral service was conducted in Marylebone Presbyterian Church (Dr. Donald Fraser's), of which he was a member. Dr. Fraser and Dr. AUon delivered addresses, while Dr. Dykes and Dr. Monro Gibson offered up prayer. The great church was crowded with a deeply moved audience of two thousand persons, every one of whom probably represented some word HEBREW PROFESSOR. 6i spoken or some service rendered by the kind heart then cold. He was buried at Liverpool next day by the side of his mother, his attached friend and colleague the Rev. Dr. Gibb, being among those present at the interment. A service was conducted at the Presby terian College, where Principal Dykes delivered a deeply moving address. " You may send us another Hebrew Professor," said he, " and we shall welcome him, but you cannot send us another Elmslie." Tributes from the Presbyteries of the Church, from congregations of various denominations to which he had ministered, from well-known Church leaders, from old students, and, not least, from unknown men and women whom he had helped and comforted, poured in. They were too numerous to be quoted or further re ferred to, but the intensity and turmoil of feeling expressed in them, showed that the sorrow for him was as deep as its appointed signs were extensive. One for whom much sympathy was felt, his aged father, seemed to bear up bravely against the blow. He re ceived with eager gratitude the abundant testimonies to the honour and love in which his son was held. But the grief had gone to his heart, he soon began to sink, and died a few months later. What was said of Henri Perreyve is eminently true of Elmslie : he was gifted for friendship and for per suasion. During the last years of his life, the period when I knew him intimately, he came to what has been called the grand moral climacteric, and all his nobler qualities were manifest in their full strength. There was about him the indefinable charm of atmosphere, at once stimulating, elevating and composing. He had an inexphcable personal attraction that drew to it what- 62 MEMOIR. ever loving-kindness there might be in the surround ings, as certain crystals absorb moisture from the air they breathe. In his company speech became of a sweeter and purer flavour. There was no austerity, no Pharisaism about him ; he delighted in fun and gave himself a large liberty; but nothing he said or welcomed marred the moral beauty which he had reached through long self-discipline. No one could know him long without perceiving that he was full of generous ardour for pure aims. His was not the coarse ambition for the glittering prizes of Ufe, nor was his enthusiasm such as would have cooled with time. In that delicate and watchful consideration for others, which has been called the most endearing of human characteristics, he could hardly be surpassed. He concerned himself with the whole life of his friends, and especially with their trials and perplexities. Dr. Elmslie was, indeed, one of the very few men to whom one might go in an emergency, sure of a welcome more kindly if possible than would have been accorded in a time of prosperity. His whole energies were solici tously given to the task of comforting. If things could be set right he delighted in applying his singular nimble ness of mind to the situation. He was adroit in a;;tion, and almost amusingly fertile in schemes and suggestions. I think it is safe to say that all his friends felt it was better worth while talking over a difficulty with him than with any one else. Even in cases of moral faUure — perhaps I should say specially in those cases — he was eager to do what was possible. He had a profound and compassionate sense of the frailty of men, their sore struggles and thick temptations. Wherever he saw true repentance he would do his utmost to secure a fresh opportunity for the erring. He thought the HEBREW PROFESSOR. 63 Christian Church sadly remiss in allowing so many lives to be ruined by one great fault. Out of an income which, for a man of his talents, was not great, he gave largely, secretly, and with the most careful discrimination. His spirit in speaking of others, whether friends or foes was always charitable. But I must guard against the danger of mistake. He did not indulge in indiscrim inate laudation. His perception of character was very keen, he was not a hero-worshipper, and he had always a certain impatience of extravagant and unmeasured speech. But he had learned the secret of not expect ing from people more than they have to give, and this, along with the generosity of his nature, helped him to make large allowance for what seemed unhopeful and disappointing, and made him eager to do justice and more than justice to whatever was good. On occasion how ever, he would with grave kindness point out the limitations of a character, and sometimes, though very rarely, he would be moved to vehemence as he spoke of modern religious Pharisaism. In conversation he was ready alike to Usten and to speak. Nothing gave him greater delight than a long and animated talk. He loved individuality in whatever sphere it was manifested, and would often relate with delight the racy remarks made to him by poor people. Of decorous commonplace he was rather impatient, and complained once that a young man of promise, with whom he had spent a day, had said nothing during the whole of it but what he ought to have said. Dr. ElmsUe had abundantly that charity which " rejoiceth not in iniquity." It gave him real pain to hear of the mistakes and misfortunes of men. Without a trace of jealousy, he delighted in any success or happi ness that came to his friends. Of all virtues he most 64 MEMOIR. admired magnanimity, and when he was told of generous actions, his face would glow with pleasure. To the spirit of malice and revenge he was always and utterly opposed. Like other public men he was occasionaUy attacked ; the fancied breadth of his religious views excited animosity in certain quarters and was at times the subject of anonymous letters. He would regret that his critics did not know him better, and might show pain for the moment, but it was soon past. He never in any way retaliated, ¦Dr, Elmslie had no daemonic passion for literature. For books as books he had no love, and this indifference disturbed some of his associates not a little. When he had got out of a book what he could he exchanged it for another. Hence his personal library was small, consisting mostly of Oriental literature, and some favourite French and German works. But his reading was wide, and he knew the best in everything. He was master of French, German, Italian, and Dutch, and had a working knowledge of other languages. Of his prefer ences in literature he did not often speak ; when he did he would say that to George Eliot and Goethe he owed much and very much. No one could be his friend without perceiving that he was through and through a Christian. In his later years his doubts seemed completely conquered. You saw nothing but the strength he had gained in over coming them. He held his faith with a certain large simplicity, but with absolute conviction. Among all his attracting qualities the chief was his great hope in God. He was indeed " very sure of God." Latterly, he could hardly listen without impatience to gloomy forecasts of the future. He believed that all was right with the world ; that Christ was busy saving it, and would see of HEBREW PROFESSOR. 65 the travail of His soul. Men prone to darker thoughts loved him very much for that. No sickness, no bodily suffering, ever altered this mood of trust and hope. His dogmatic position is not easy to define. Although liberal in his views he disliked rashness ; and avoided giving offence so far as he could. My impression is, that he held an attitude of suspense towards many debated questions. He did not feel the need of making up his mind. The truths of which he was sure gave him all the message he needed, and these were inde pendent of the controversies of the hour. But he kept an open mind, and was ever ready to add to his working creed. He could not preach what did not thoroughly possess his own soul, but never dreamt that he had reached finality, and I think was increasingly disposed to respect the doctrines, which, as history proves, have stirred and commanded men. A thorough Liberal and Nonconformist, he knew comparatively little of the Church of England, and was repeUed by its exclusive spirit, but when told of the great quaUties of the younger High Church leaders, he Ustened with interest and pleasure. He was happy in being able to think more kindly and hopefully of men from whom he was divided in principle. As has been already said, he considered the spiritual Ufe of Congregationalists very deep and true ; he loved the warm old-fashioned piety he found among them, and heartily beUeved in their future. Of the differences among Nonconformists he made nothing, was a vehement advocate of union, and strongly opposed to whatever interrupted cordial relations be tween Churches. Though never chary in speaking of his religious experiences he did not obtrude them. A real beUef in immortaUty he thought could hardly exist without 5 66 MEMOIR, Other faiths being right. Such a belief would give life its true shape and colour. He was very patient of honest doubts, but had to make himself sure that they were honest, not the cloak of moral laxness. What he loved best to speak of was the magnificence of Divine grace ¦ — the love of God commended in Christ's death. But it is time to lay down the pen. We may apply to Dr, Elmslie words, used, I think, about an American writer : his charm was of the kind that we fail to reduce to its grounds. It was like that of the sweetness of a piece of music, or the softness of fine September weather. In a certain way it was vague, indefinable, inappreciable ; but it is what we must point to, for nothing he has left behind gives any adequate idea of his powers. Friendship occupied an immense space in his Ufe, and all who knew him are conscious that, Now the candid face is hid, The frank, sweet tongue has ceased to move, something has gone from them never to be replaced tiU that daybreak which shall unite aU who belong to one another. But over the sense of their own loss there rises and remains the feeling how much God indicates in this life of which only some small portion is fulfilled. The world of expectation and love thus suddenly closed for earth must be open somewhere. There must be ministries in other spheres for which he was prepared and summoned. His life must — we know not how — be complete in Him, Who alone of all who lived fully achieved His life's programme. Who came down from Heaven to do His Father's business, and having done it died. REMINISCENCES. 67 I. From the Rev. Professor Marcus Dods, D.D. " From my first acquaintance with the late Professor Elmslie, I availed myself of every opportunity of seeing him, for intercourse with him never failed to be inspir ing. Our acquaintance may be said to have culminated in a five weeks' tramp through the Black Forest and the Tyrol, in company with Professor Drummond — to my self a never-to-be-forgotten holiday. Often compeUed to sleep in one room, and always thrown upon one another from sunrise to sundown, we came to have a tolerably complete insight into one another's character. And for my own part, I never ceased to marvel at the unfailing good humour and gaiety with which Elmslie put up with the little inconveniences incident to such travel, at the brightness he diffused in four languages, at the sparkling wit with which he seasoned the most common-place talk, and at the ease and felicity with which he turned his mind to the gravest problems of life and of theology, and penetrated to the very heart of them. His cleverness, his smartness of repartee, his nimbleness of mind, his universal sympathy and com plete intelligence were each hour a fresh surprise, and were as exhilarating as the mountain air and the new scenes through which we were passing. I have often reproached myself with not treasuring the fine sayings with which he lifted us into a region in which former difficulties were scarcely discernible and not at all disturbing. But, indeed, one might as well have tried to bottle the atmosphere for home consumption, for into everything he said and did he carried a buoyancy and a light all his own. " As a preacher Professor ElmsUe was, in many of 68 MEMOIR. the highest qualities of a preacher, without a peer. No one, I think, appreciated more highly than he the opportunity the preacher of Christ has to apply balm to all the wounds of humanity, and no one exercised this function with a more intelUgent or tender sym pathy or with happier results. No human condition, physical, mental, or spiritual, seemed beyond his ken, and none but found in him the suitable treatment. His wealth of knowledge, his unerring spiritual irisight, and his rare felicity of language gave him the ear of cultured and uncultured, of the believer and the sceptic alike. It has always seemed doubtful to some of his friends whether such exceptional aptitude for preaching should have been, even in any degree, sacrificed to professorial work. Yet he himself delighted in that work, and the very last time I saw him he was full of enthusiasm for Old Testament studies, and hopeful of what might be done by himself and his fellow-labourers in this field. " When so energetic an individuality is withdrawn the world suffers an appreciable loss ; and one cannot yet think of the place he filled, or of the place we all hoped he would yet fill, without a keen shoot of pain." II. From Professor Henry Drummond. "Dear Mr. Nicoll,— It is futile to plead want ot recollection as an excuse for what must be a too brief contribution to your little portrait, for no one who ever knew Elmslie could ever forget him. But the truth is, I never knew him well. At college he was too much my senior for me to have presumed to know him, and in after years we scarcely ever met, except on one occasion, for more than a passing moment. REMINISCENCES. 69 " I never heard Elmslie preach, or lecture, or do any thing public. I knew him chiefly as a human being. . Elmslie off the chair was one of the most attractive spirits who ever graced this planet. It was not so much his simple character, or the bubbling and irre sistible bonhommie, or even the amazing, versatihty of his gifts, but a certain radiance that he carried with him, a certain something that made you sun yourself in his presence, and open the pores of your soul, and be happy, I think I can recall no word that he ever spoke, or even any idea that he ever forged, but the man made an impression on you indelibly delightful and joyous, " My first distinct impression of him was crossing the College quadrangle with ' Romola ' under his arm. He was kind enough to stop and introduce me to the authoress, whom I forthwith proceeded to cultivate assiduously. Shortly after this Elmslie gave a supper- party, a function much too rare among Scotch students, I had the honour to be invited to represent the juniors — an act of pure mercy, for I then neither knew Elmslie nor his set. If I were now asked by a senior man at college how he could best influence his less-advanced colleagues, I should answer, ' Make him your debtor for life by asking him up to your rooms.' Of the enter tainment itself — the literary entertainment, I mean — I remember little ; it was the being thefe that helped me. And what I do remember I do not know that I ought to divulge, for the piece de resistance was the Hans Breitman Ballads, which Elmslie carved and served him self, with extraordinary relish, throughout most of the evening. " It was this same man, unchanged by the weight of years and work, whom I met several years after in the Black Forest, and accompanied for some weeks in a 70 MEMOIR. walking tour. The third member of the party was Dr, Marcus Dods, and we tramped with our knapsacks through the Tyrol, the dolomite country, and the Saltz- kammergut, Elmslie at first was full of the Strasburg professors under whom he had been studying, but after a few days I'saw no more of his wisdom, for he gave himself up like a schoolboy to the toys of St. Ulrich and the Glockner glaciers. But of this most perfect of all vacations nothing now remains with me but an impression of health, sunshine, and gentle friendship. " Elmslie's graver side I can only dimly realise from the appearances he used to make in the Theological Society of the New College, Edinburgh. I do not remember even the theme of any debate in which he ever took part, but the figure and voice, and especially the look of the student as he stood up there amidst the almost awe-stricken hush of his classmates, lives most vividly in my mind. When Elmslie spoke every one felt that he at least had something to give, some mes sage of his own. He never seemed to be merely saying things, i.e. 'making a speech,' but to be thinking aloud, and that with an intensity and originality most inspiring and impressive. His voice and tone had that conviction in them which was as impossible to define as to resist. I could with difficulty imagine any one moving the previous question after Elmslie. Another peculiarity, which added greatly to his power, was that he thought with his whole face. In fact, in listening to him one did not so much hear a man speaking as see a man thinking. His eyes on these occasions would become very large and full of light, not of fire or heat, but of a calm luminosity, expressive of a mingled glow of reason, conscience, and emotion. , " One of the last things I read of Elmslie saying was REMINISCENCES. 7i that what people needed most was comfort. Probably he never knew how much his mission, personally, was to give it, I presume he often preached it, but I think he must always have been it. For all who knew him will testify that to be in his presence was to leave care, and live where skies were blue. "Yours very sincerely, "Henry Drummond, "Brindisi, March i'jth, 1890." III. From the Rev. John Smith, M.A. "Broughton Place United Presbyterian Church, " Edinburgh. " It is very difficult, in a few sentences, to convey to another the impression which graduaUy grows up from frequent contact with a nature so sympathetic, clear-sighted, active, and many-sided in its activities as that of a fellow-student and friend like Elmslie. Acquaintance -with him was mainly confined to two widely sundered periods, both of them anterior to the last, crowded, brilUant years. "It was during the session of 1866-67, at King's College, Aberdeen, that I first met him. As every one who knew the Aberdeen of that time is aware, the third year was to most students peculiarly severe. Bain — a consummate teacher — made distinction in his class appear the blue ribbon of the college course, for which the best men earnestly contended. Fuller was merciless in his demands upon his senior mathematical class, who found, as the months went on, that it was less and less possible to keep him in sight. And with ' Davy ' Thomson there was no trifling, — fear of his 72 MEMOIR. sarcasm greatly helping our thirst for natural philosophy. As the session advanced the chariots of most of us drave heavily, Elmslie, however, who studied every thing, seemed to do his work with a masterful ease which impressed us aU, He came up smUing to an examination as if it were a thing of nought. Study could not blanch the fresh bloom on his cheek,^or damp the lively play of spirit which characterized him then as much as in after years. I have just been looking at his portrait in our class group, and at his clear bold signature in the lithographed autographs which accom panied it. To a singular extent his personal character was formed, and his peculiar excellencies were developed, at that early date. He was, when little more than a boy, a man whose words clung to you, whose ways lingered in your merriory. Even then, too, he.had something of that sweet hopeful Christian spirit which was to make his preaching so helpful. One student, whose opportunities had been few, whose struggle had been painful in the extreme, used to speak to me with enthusiasm of Elmslie's kindly notice and assistance. While other natures were but emerging from chaos, barely conscious to themselves, giving but the faintest indication to others what they were to be, he whose course was to be so soon run, was already girt up and disciplined for life's way, " After our college course was completed, I did not meet him till 1878, when already he had been for some time minister in WUlesden, On more than one occa sion, I stayed with him for a day or two, and saw with my own eyes how full and many-sided a Ufe he was living then, even before fame came. He was carrying on his studies, advising publishers with regard to learned and bulky MSS., superintending a railway REMINISCENCES. 73 mission, maintaining in briskest activity the work of his congregation, and in these and many other channels winning 'golden opinions from all sorts of people,' Especially did I admire his faculty of adapting himself to English ways of thinking and feeUng, And amid this abounding life, and with the promise of all that came after bright before him, he was so unaffected and ingenuous and humble, never shrinking from his future, yet not feverishly anticipating it, that it was impossible not to love him. Here, too,, he showed his skill in discovering elements of strength in men whom others would dismiss as incompetent, I remember a missionary who succeeded to the astonishment of every body, and I verily believe of himself, under his kindly and stimulating superintendence. It is one of the pleasant memories of my life that I carried the motion in Synod which made it possible for him to be elected as permanent Professor, I remember how the Willesden flock were between smiles and tears all that day, and how when the second vote was carried which severed the tie between their minister and them, they did not know whether to be grieved or glad, so strong was their love, so eager was their desire for his advance ment. No one could hear him speak that night and doubt his future. All that the great world has since seen in him, we knew to be there, and more, which would have been revealed had not death so soon sealed his Ups, " Of the later years, others will speak. Out of these earlier memories I have woven — all unskilfully I fear, yet with sincere affection — this modest wreath for his tomb." 74 MEMOIR. IV. From the Rev. James Stalker, D.D. " 6 Clairmont Gardens, Glasgow, " March 2i,th, i8go. " Dear Mr. Nicoll, — What a bright time it is to look back to I There is nothing else in Ufe afterwards quite equal to it. Never again can one mingle day by day with so many picked men ; never is thought so free ; never are there such discoveries and surprises. Those years in the New College have in the retrospect almost a dazzling brightness, and Elmslie contributed more, perhaps, than any one else to make them what they were. " I just missed being by his side all the four years, for we entered together ; but after a week or so I left to go abroad with the Barbours, to whom I was tutor. I have no recollection of him that session, for I had not gone in for the bursary examination, where any one competing with him was pretty certain to be made aware of Elmslie to his cost. Next session, when I returned, I was of course separated from him by a year, which makes a great difference in college life. But for three sessions we must have met nearly every day, and I was thrown into the closest contact with him in the committees and societies where students of the different years come together. " The Theological Society was at that time the centre of the life of the College. Under Robertson Smith, Lindsay and Black, whose last year was Elmslie's first, it had entered on a career of the most brilliant activity, in which, I suppose, it has never faltered since. We used to say, in our exaggerative way, that we got more good from it than from all the classes put REMINISCENCES. 75 together. And indeed it would be difficult to over estimate the gain to be obtained from debates for which the leading men prepared carefully, being stimu lated by audiences of fifty or a hundred to do their very utmost. Questions of Biblical Criticism were at that time the staple of the most important discussions ; and then were fought out in secret the very battles which are now about to be fought out in the Church under the eyes of the world, with very much the same division of parties and amid the play of the same passions. " It was here that Elmslie first unfolded his marvellous powers as a speaker. At the University I had been a member of the Dialectic, where there were one or two fine speakers. One of them was more fluent and agreeable to listen to than any one I have ever heard since ; another — long ago, alas ! gone over to the majority — spoke with a freer play of mere intellectual force than even Elmslie possessed. But I had never before, and have never since, heard speaking which, taken all in all, quite came up to that to which Elmslie treated us Friday after Friday. The combination of powers was the marvel of it — the knowledge, the clear ness of exposition, the fecundity of ideas, the telling force with which he put his points, the play of fancy, the exuberant wit and humour, the tenderness and pathos into which he could glide for a moment if it invited him ; there was no resource which he had not at perfect command. Yet it was entirely without dis play; he was always perfectly natural and familiar. He never won a triumph which humiliated any one ; and, whilst others by expounding the same free views excited bitter feelings of opposition, he had the gift of saying the most revolutionary things in such a way 76 MEMOIR. that no one was hurt ; his weapon, though it cut deep, having the marvellous property of diffusing an anaes thetic on the wound it made. " If it is necessary to throw some shade into a picture so bright, I should say that in those days his speak ing had one defect : while he had always complete mastery of his subject, he rarely made the impression that the subject had complete mastery of him. He could play with it so easily, and he could play so easily with his audience, that, as part of the audience, you felt that you were not quite sure whether he was giving you all his mind or only as much of it as he considered good for you. He had not yet been gripped so tightly by the realities of life as he was later, when his sense of the wrong and misery of the world transformed his eloqu ence into an irresistible stream of passion and made him the most earnest and whole-hearted of comforters. As yet the bantering, laughing element was in excess; and he did not always remember where to draw the line in the abandon of animal spirits. I used to wonder how it would do when he was settled as the moderator of a session of ' douce ' Scotch elders. " But to us at the time it was splendid. It was in one of our sessions that Dr. Blaikie founded the College dinner, which has since proved so valuable an institu tion, bringing all the students together daily in a social capacity; and any day you could have told where Elmslie was seated at the table by the explosions of laughter rising in that quarter all through the meal. Men strove to sit near him, and he diffused a glow up and down, his budget of stories never getting exhausted or his flow of spirits flagging. I well remember a speech he made at the close of the first session during REMINISCENCES. 77 which the dinner existed, to thank Professor Blaikie for his efforts on behalf of the students and congratulate him on the success of his experiment. It was, perhaps, the most remarkable of all Elmslie's speeches. Pro fessors and students alike were simply convulsed with laughter, and one explosion followed another, till the assembly was literally dissolved ; yet under all the non sense there was capital sense, and the duty which he had undertaken could not have been more gracefully or completely discharged. On the serious side of college life he was equally a leader. His enormous influence over his fellow-students was uniformly pure and elevating ; and in confidential hours, when conversation went down to the depths of experience, it was easy to see that; his life, which was so gay and exuberant on the surface, was deeply rooted in loyalty to Christ. He threw himself heartily into the work of the Missionary Society in the Cowgate and the High Street. We began one winter to speak in the open air, but none of us were successful tUl we brought down Murray, who afterwards also went to the EngUsh Presbyterian Church and fimshed his career even sooner than Elmslie. Murray was no scholar, but in ten minutes he had a crowd round him extending half way across the street, while we could never attract more than forty or fifty. It was a lesson which we often afterwards discussed with no small astonishment. " I remember an incident ofthe Mission which Elmslie used to tell with great gusto. He was addressing the Children's Church on the story of Samson and the lion, when, observing that the children were not attending, he, instead of saying that the lion roared, emitted as near an approach to the roar itself as he could command. Instantly there was breathless attention; and when, 78 MEMOIR. after pausing long enough to allow for the full effect, he was about to proceed, a little girl cried out anxiously, ' O sir, do it again ! ' On another occasion he stopped to reprove rather sharply a boy who was very restless, when a companion, springing up, told him with great solemnity that he ought not to speak so to this boy, because he was deaf and dumb. Taken completely aback, Elmslie began humbly to apologise, when the whole class burst out into a shout of laughter at the skill with which he had been taken in. The boy could both hear and speak. " After he went south I saw him very seldom. Once he caught me in London and took me out to preach at Willesden, where I was immensely impressed with his hold on the people and the extent of the field of in fluence he had opened up. Like his other friends, I was very impatient for some literary production worthy of his genius, and, when the brilliant tract on Renan appeared, I took the liberty of writing him urgently on the subject. It was always my hope that before very long we should be able to entice him back across the Border, to adorn a chair in one of our colleges. I did not hear of his illness till you wrote me that he was just dying. ' God moves in a mysterious way.' I have no hesitation in saying that Elmslie was by far the most briUiant man I have ever known, and there was never a human being more lovable. He seemed to be the man we needed most ; but it is little we know ; the Master must have had need of him elsewhere. " Believe me yours most truly, "James Stalker." SERMONS. I. CHRIST AT THE DOOR. " Behold, I stand at the door, and knock : if any .man hear My voice, and open the door, I -will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with Me." — Rev. iii. 20. GOD is close to us. Every moment of our life He is doing countless things in us and around us. If a man were to do these things we should see him with our eyes, we could touch him with our hands ; we should not fail to observe his presence. Because we cannot see God with our bodily eye, or grasp Him with our hand, we forget His working, we lose sight of His nearness. When you were children, some time or other, I suppose, in your young lives, you got hold of a flower- seed, and planted it in a pot of moist earth, and set it in the sunniest corner of your room. Morning after morning, when you awoke, you ran to see if the flower had begun to grow. At last your eagerness was rewarded by the sight of some tiny leaves which had sprung up during one night. Then the stalk appeared, frail and tender, and then more leaves, and buds, and branchlets, till at length there stood, blooming before you, a fair and fragrant flower. Who made it ? Somebody worked to produce that flower. It could not make itself. The dead earth could not shape that lovely leaf; the bright sunshine 6 S2 CHRIST AT THE DOOR. could not paint those tendrils. A deep-thinking man, when he sees these wonderful things, must ask himself, Who fashioned them ? Not the sunshine nor the air, ' but God, if there is a God, wiUed that that plant should grow. God toiled to make the plant — in your room, at your side. At this moment, in your breast, your heart is beating. All your life it has gone on beating. It is not you who sustain its motion. Even when you forget it, when you are asleep, its pulsations do not cease. Somebody works to keep your heart beating. God, who is the foundation of all life, out of whose loving heart it streams, and back to whom it must return, has to remember your heart. But God comes still nearer to you. Do you remem ber a time in your life when, in your inmost heart, that hidden, secret chamber where you dream your dreams, and love your loves, and pour out your sorrows all alone, you felt a strange influence? It was a vague unrest, a great self-weariness. It was as if all bright ness, hope, and satisfaction had gone from your life, and had left behind them, in departing, a sick, wistful longing to find something new, something brighter, better, and more noble than you yet had known. It was as if you could hear voices calling, and your heart moved within you, as if some new friend might be there. Do you know what that was ? It was God. It was the great Heart that made your heart, longing and pleading to have it for His own. " Behold, I stand at the door, and knock : if any man hear My voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with Me." Do you believe that ? You, men and women, who love your Bible, and are angry if any man seems to speak against it, or throw doubt upon CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 83 one jot or tittle of its letter, have you ever thought what that means if it is true ? Ay ! it stands written there, and you have read it a hundred times, and think you believe it ; but do you indeed know what it means ? It means that God, the Eternal, Infinite, Almighty God, who wields these worlds of shining stars, and keeps them in their mighty courses ; that God, the Spotless, the Holy, the Stainless, cares with a great longing to have the heart and love ol you; you, who are no saint; you, the most commonplace and lowly, the most in significant and sinful of men. Is that easy to beUeve ? Is it easy to believe that God would miss something if your heart never went out in tender affection and adora tion towards Him ; that He should take pains and trouble to get Himself into your poor, battered heart — that heart which is so filled with sordid cares as to how you may make a living, and the envyings and strivings which accompany ; in which such sinful, base, and vicious thoughts too often dwell? Is it possible that the great, holy God wishes to get in there ? It is not easy to beUeve it. One of the greatest religious thinkers who ever lived, by the confession of beUevers and unbelievers alike; a man who laboured so much under the effort to find out God, and became so absorbed in the quest, that the name of " God-intoxi cated " was applied to him ; a man who conceived more than any one else of the grandeur and transcendency of God, till-he found this poor world of ours and the whole universe fade into insignificance before the thought of Him ; this man, this great philosopher, Spinoza, said, " A man should love God with his whole being, but he must not expect God to love him in return." And the Bible says, " We love Him, because He first loved us." Which is true ? 84 CHRIST AT THE DOOR. There are two things, I think, which make it hard to believe that we can be of consequence to God — that God holds each one of us in a separate thought of knowledge, sympathy, and Fatherly affection. One of them is this : How is it possible for God to do it ? Think of the myriads of men and women on this world of ours, and the possibility of this universe teeming with countless creatures of God's creative power and Fatherly love. How is it possible that God should know each one of us, and love us each one ? God, so omnipotent, so transcendent, so almighty ! But the very thing that makes the difficulty to our reason seems to me the very thing that should undo it. If God were not so great, then I could not have the hope that I was something to Him by myself. Is it not a fact that it is precisely a weak, uncultured, low, and undeveloped intellect that finds it difficult to give attention to a great mass of details, holding each apart, and doing justice to each ? Precisely as you rise in the scale of intellect and mental power, that capacity increases quite incalculably. It is the great genius of a general who not merely directs his army as a mass, but holds it at every point, knows the value of every unit of force at his command, follows the move- mentiof each squadron, troop, and even of each single individual, and precisely by this faculty is able to over throw the enemy and lead the army to victory. You have listened to a beautiful oratorio, where scores of instruments and hundreds of voices were all blended together in one tide of magnificent harmony. How is it possible for a small intellect to keep them thus in unison ? It requires a master-mind in music to do this — one that is fully conscious of the value of each string and voice, and who can therefore combine CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 85 them all in glorious harmony. And God is almighty ; it is nothing to Him that He is far away from you ; you, a speck of dust upon this world. It is precisely because I believe in God's omnipotence that I can believe that He cares for each separate creature He has made. But then there is another question. Even if God can love each one of us, apart from aU the rest, with an individual, personal, watchful kindness, what right have we to think that He should care to do it ? Once again, that difficulty need but be faced, and you discover that it is a delusive spectre and empty of reality. Is it likely that God should miss the love of me. His creature ? Turn to the early chapters of Genesis, and read the story they have to tell you. They tell you how through measureless periods of time, in the fields of infinite space, the great God built up our world ; first the stone foundations, layer upon layer ; above that, the strata of mineral wealth, to be used hereafter, clothing the surface of it with a verdant soil. Out of the mineral world he evolved the nutritive, vegetable world, oiit of vegetable life the higher creation of animal Ufe, and out of that emerges man, standing on the summit of God's great toil and building, with eyes that see, ears that hear, and mind that can understand, answering to the caU of God, interpreting aU the wisdom, patience, beauty, and love in that mighty labour of creation, and saying, " Father, I adore Thee." Do you think that man, then. His last crowning work of creation, is nothing to- God? What should you say of one who spent years and years, and sank uncounted capital, upon a great mass of wonderfully contrived machinery, to produce some beautiful fabric of beneficence to mankind, and when it 86 CHRIST AT THE DOOR. was produced turned away and left it all ? You would call such a one a fool, and mad. God made this world, and spent toil and industry in making the heart of man, and keeping it conscious of Him, capable of loving Him. And do you mean to tell me that God does not care for human love? It is imp^sible. There is no God at all, or the Gospel is true. He does miss it wheri your heart does not bend to Him. The supreme gladness we can give our Maker is the simple, sincere adoration of our poor human hearts. There is a picture that paints the idea of my text. It says, to those who look at it, what I could not say in many paragraphs. A cottage neglected, falling into ruin, is shown in the picture. In front of the window tall thistles spring up, and long grass waves on the pathway, leading to the door overgrown with moss. In front of that fast-closed door a tall and stately figure stands, with a face that tells of toil and long, weary waiting, and with a hand uplifted to knock. It is Christ, the Son of God, seeking to get into our sinful hearts. Is it true that there can be a man or woman who refuses to admit so fair a guest, so great and good a friend ? It must be true. " Behold, I stand at the door, and knock : if any man hear My voice, and open the door, I wiU come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with Me." But you think you can justify yourself. You say to me, " I feel it were a mad, fooUsh thing to refuse to admit to my own, if it be true, the loving heart of God, and a thing altogether unjustifiable. You say He comes and knocks at our hearts — that He calls and asks us to let Him in. No ; many have called at the door of my heart, but I never knew Christ to call or knock. CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 87 If ever He had, I think I should have let Him in." I believe you speak the truth, but I am certain that Christ has been to your heart. Let me speak plainly to you. There may be various reasons why you have failed to detect His presence. Perchance your life has not been so good as even common morality would have made it, and now your heart is a very dreary place, filled with painful memories. Perhaps you are always outside, gadding about, and do not Uke to dwell alone in your heart and think ; and so when Christ knocks and calls He finds empty rooms ; or if even you are there you are not there alone, but you have filled its chambers with a noisy, revelling company and din. The call has reached you as a dim, half- heard, strange sound, which moved you half pleasantly and half with pain. You turned in your heart and listened for an instant, but there was something in the sound too painful, and you plunged back again into revelry and mirth. You did not know that it was God, the very heart of God, that had knocked and called. Again, your life may have been very respectable, but very light and frivolous, engrossed in earthly affairs ; and Christ has come, and you did not know it. For He comes in such simple, human guise. You remember when He came on earth the poor Jews did not know Him for more than the carpenter's son. He comes like that to you and me. He takes a human hand, and with its fingers knocks, but all you see and recognise is the human touch. You do not see the heart Divine that touches you through it with an appealing thrill. Thank God, there are so many good mothers in this world. Thank God for the little children, and the lads and maidens here, whom a mother's memory follows like a very angel, often after she herself has gone. CHRIST AT THE DOOR. You remember that Sabbath evening custom when you and the little ones knelt at your mother's knee, and she told you the stories of the Bible ; and the last one was always about the gentle Jesus, meek and mild, who came to the world with such a great heart of love, who knew no sin at all, who was so good to women and children and the very worst of broken-hearted sinners, and whom men with hard hearts and cruel hands took and crucified ; oh, such a death of pain for you ! till you could almost see His face on the cross. And your mother's voice had got so low and reverent that it felt as if some one else was in the room, and your young child's heart grew so soft and loving to that Christ that died for you. Yes, He was there. Did you take Him quite inside ? Or if you took Him in for a little while did you let Him go again, when your heart grew colder ? Oh, young men and maidens who . had a mother like that, remember her, and take that Christ into your hearts ! Some of you can remember a time when you had grown many years older, and perhaps had memories you would not like your mother to know of And God struck you down with a great illness, and for a long time you were at the point of death. But at last the crisis was past, and you woke out of unconsciousness, brought back to life again, weak as a little child, AU the din and turmoU of your manhood's life seemed to have faded in the distance, and once again you became as a little child. Do you remember how you felt when you turned that corner between life and death ? Some how, old memories came back to you — perhaps because your body was so weak — the memory of old days, of the father and mother, and the church in the country, and of all the things that were said and done. And CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 89 then there came a wish that many things in your later life had never been done by you ; a strange, solemn sense that there is a God ; and into your heart a feeUng of repentance for the past, and a wish to do better in the future. And you were so tired, and wished for a friend to speak to you in these words : " Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I wUl give you rest," Afterwards you got stronger and said, "Perhaps it was only weakness," But I tell you it was the Uving, loving Christ, seeking to get into your heart. I cannot stop to enumerate the countless knocks and calls that come to all of us, in those strange aspirations that come with the secret, tender affections, the dreams of love and truth. For God's sake, never be ashamed of them, and be true to the dreams of your youth. Do not think that Christ is part of a creed only, or belongs only to church and Sunday, No, Christ is in every thing holy, everything pure, everything loving, and everything that draws your heart, I would have you understand that Christ works to get into your heart, and not into your head. There is plenty of time for the latter after He has once secured possession of your heart and life. Into the homeliest chamber of your heart, too, not into a state apartment, opened only on occasions of ceremony. He seeks to come, that He may stay with you and sup with you, and be with you in your home. There are some people who think this would be treating Him with very scanty respect, and so they think they must take a nook of their heart, like a piece of consecrated ground, and keep Him there, and only visit it on Sunday. No ; Christ wants to come into your life and mind. Take Him to your office, and consult Him about your business; youi go CHRIST AT THE DOOR. affairs will not be managed with less skill and wisdom, but perhaps more honourably. Take Him to the fire side, where you plan your plans and dream your dreams, and make out a future for your little boys. He loved little ones on earth, and do you think He has lost that love in heaven ? Take Him into your heart to overcome the evil passions and habits, the things you would be ashamed to own to the most loving earthly friend, which you are fighting in God's name and cannot conquer by yourself. You say, " Tell us how we can do it. He is so very good, we fain would have Christ in our heart, but it seems so difiicult when our heart is so unworthy," No, it is so easy — and yet so difficult to describe in words. The moment you have done it you wonder that you ever asked how it must be done, I can tell you some things like it. You know what it is for a great grief to come into your heart, the first great disappointment in love, in friendship or ambition. You did not see it enter with your eyes, but you knew it had got in, for it changed everything, throwing a dark, cold shadow over all your life. Some of you know what it is for a real, true joy to get into your heart. Some of you, fathers and mothers, know what it is for a very true friend to get there. You hardly know how it happened, but one came right in to the inmost being of your life, and ere you knew it, you would be nothing without him — without him loving you. Love was all joy and happiness, and has stayed there ever since. It has made you different ; you have learned to love the things he loves, and the love and knowledge have brought peace. It is just like that wheri you take Christ into your heart. Go to the Gospels, you who feel the want of a CHRIST AT THE DOOR. 91 friend like that, and read what He said to poor weeping men and women, till you feel the breath of His love encircle you, tUl your heart goes out to Him, and you will be vexed to grieve Him, and want to please Him ; and you will think as He thinks, and love men as He loves. There are many, many things about the mysteries of our religion which I do not understand. But this I say to you, before God : Beyond aU this world holds of pride, splendour, pleasure, and joy, to have taken that real, living, holy Jesus Christ into your heart, to be your Saviour, Counsellor, and Friend, your Divine Lord and Master, means blessedness both here and hereafter. II, THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. St. John xi. THIS morning I ask your attention to the story that has been read in the eleventh chapter of the Gospel of St. John, The rulers of the Jews at Jerusalem had resolved on Christ's death, and the mass of the people sympathised with them. The Master's life had been threatened by a popular outburst. His work on earth was not yet done, and so He withdrew into the country, to escape from the violence and danger of Jerusalem. He went away to the Jordan, to the point, not very far from Jerusalem, where John first began baptizing, and there He remained in comparative seclusion. But people knew where He was. Probably people in the surround ing districts gathered together to hear Him teach ; and possibly, as a very ingenious commentator has sug gested, Christ, reaping the harvest of John's prolonged teaching in this district, succeeded in winning the faith of a great many of his hearers ; and so He was busy. doing good and happy work, building up His kingdom on the banks of the Jordan, Meanwhile, sickness came to the home at Bethany, where most He felt Himself at home during His wanderings in this world of ours, Lazarus was stricken with a very dangerous illness, grew worse and worse, and at last aU hope was gone. Now, I should THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. 93 fancy that from the very first day that it became evident that their brother was seriously iU, the hearts of Mary and Martha longed to have Jesus come to them, if it was only to be with them in their anxiety, and suspense, and watching. And the heart of the sick man must have longed for that great Divine Friend of his to be by his sick bed. Why did they not send for Him at once ? I think there is a very simple reason. They were not selfish, as we sometimes tend to be in our sickness or in our sorrow. They thought about others as well as about themselves. They remembered that for Jesus to come back to the vicinity of Jerusalem was to. risk His own life, and not even for the safety of their brother could they bring themselves for a long time to ask the beloved Master to run such a risk as that, and so they delayed really till too late. In the extremity of their grief and despair they sent a messenger to Jesus — not to ask Him to come : there, again, I read that that was their meaning — they would not take it on themselves to ask Him to imperil His life, but they could not resist just letting Him know that their brother, whom Jesus so loved, was very sick. It is exceedingly touching, that simple message, "Lord, behold, he, whom Thou lovest is sick," And they knew that it would say to Jesus, " Thou knowest how much we would like Thee to come and recover him, and Thou knowest, too, the last thing we would ask of Thee would be, out of favour and kindness to us, to risk that life on which so much hangs — the kingdom of God upon earth," There was real danger in Christ's return to Jeru salem. He was conscious of it, for you find that when He did make His way to Bethany He seems to have taken care, as far as possible, to conceal the fact from 94 THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. the inhabitants of Jerusalem. He came very quietly. He did not at first enter into Bethany. He remained outside the precincts of the village. He sent word secretly to Martha, so that not even Mary or the other persons that were with them in the house knew of the fact. And then, again, He sent Martha back, or Martha went back, to Mary, and, v/ith somewhat studied con cealment, warned her of the Master's vicinity, so that when she went out those who were with her fancied she was going to the grave. I point all- that out to you in order that you may see that it is not a mere imagina tion or fancy, but that one of the great elements in determining the conduct of the family at Bethany, and the action of Christ, was that real hazard of His life, which He dared not needlessly risk in perils at this time, since His time of toil on earth. His daylight of labour, was not yet over and done. When Jesus received the message He behaved in a seemingly strange fashion. Apparently He just did nothing, but went on with His teaching and preaching for two long days. Did He think how often anxious faces would be at the door of that house in Bethany, peering along the road that led to the home, looking for the figure that had so often trodden that way, because His heart drew Him to that happy family circle ? Did Jesus know that Lazarus was dying ? Did Jesus think that the hearts of Mary and Martha were breaking? Oh, He had the most loving heart that ever man had on earth, and yet He delayed two days before He set out for that home of distress. Now, that fact is often presented in a somewhat revolting fashion, and I think it is worth while just to diverge from my main theme to remove the effect of such presentation if it weighs with any of you. It is said that Jesus deliberately THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. 95 hung back for two days in order to let Lazarus die. That is a mistake — a total mistake. Lazarus had been already buried four days before Christ arrived. Now, suppose He had lost no time ; suppose He had set out at once. He would only have reached Bethany two days earlier, and so, you see, Lazarus would have then already been buried two days. The real fact is just this, that the message was sent too late, and the sick man had died ; and even if Christ had gone at once, all the same He would have found him in the grave. But none the less the story is so told as to shut us up to this conviction, that it was planned, and purposed, and accepted in the will of God, and in the will of Jesus, that Lazarus should be sick, and grow worse and worse, and should sink and fail, and die and be buried. Indubitably Jesus, with His knowledge, could, of His own action, have returned earlier to have in tervened and prevented the sickness ending fatally. He was absent that Lazarus might die. When He spoke of the thing He told His disciples, first of all, the perfect, complete truth. " This," said Jesus, " is . not to end in death's darkness. Its real goal and termination is to be the glory of God, revealed in the glory of his Son, the Christ on earth." That is the end of it ; nevertheless, Lazarus must die. God's glory is to find its consummation, not in rescuing Lazarus from the grave, but in restoring him from death, and bringing him back into life. It was part of the material Christ used in building up His kingdom— the sickness and the death of Lazarus. He did delay, not in that seem ing revolting, cold-blooded fashion in which it is often portrayed. He did deliberately hold His hand and delay ; ay, and He held His loving human heart too, and He let his friend sicken, and suffer pain, and die, 96 THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. and He let the hearts of those two women that loved Him well-nigh break. He did it. Can we justify Him ? Did the sisters divine truly when they sent that message, " He whom Thou lovest is sick " ? If He loved him, why did He prolong the agony ? Why did He not intervene ? Why did He not at once cancel death ? Why those terrible four days of mourning, and gloom, and darkness, and doubt ? Now that is precisely the painful position of ^ all of us in this world of sin, and pain, and sickness, and parting, and death. We think a good God made our world ; we think a loving Father holds our lives in His hands ; and then we turn and look at this world, we look at the terrible strifes and struggles, we look at the great entail of sin that lies on our race, we see the ravages of disease, and disaster, and violence, and cruelty, and see everywhere the last black enigma of death and the grave, and this in spite of all our Christian faith, learnt from the Bible ; ay, learnt from God's Spirit speaking often in the instincts of our heart and nature — we, too, are forced to ask the question, " Lord, why art Thou not here ? Why does our brother die ? If Thou wert here Thou couldest save him. Dost Thou love him ? and if Thou lovest, why are we sick ? Why do we die ? " The inmates of that house at Bethany had received Jesus with a rare degree of sympathetic feeUng and heartfelt welcome. They entered into the meaning of His teaching and preaching with a degree of fellowship and quick response that moved His heart and soul even beyond the best of His disciples. One of them at least — Mary, and almost certainly Lazarus too — had come very near to that Divine Lord, in full understanding of all His grandeur. His sinlessness, His mighty love THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. 97 Though yet all ignorant of a great deal about His person, arid about the fashion in which He was to make His kingdom, with a genuine purity and ardour of attachment and affection, they worshipped Him, they recognised the Divine within Him, they hailed Him as the world's Christ and Saviour. Listen to Martha's cry in her perplexity : "I cannot understand it all, but I know Thou art the Christ come from God, the world's King, the world's Saviour. That I know, that I hold to." It was that understanding, that sym pathy in that home, that made it so sweet a place of rest to Jesus. More than that — manifestly the two sisters and brother lived a life of sweet human affection. There was an atmosphere of tender love in their home, broken by Httle storms of misunderstanding, as may be iri the very best of our imperfect human homes, but in reality a great depth of tenderness, and clinging attach ment, and loyal love to one another, bound the house hold together. Oh, thank God for every such home on earth ! That is the real bulwark against all pessimism, the charter of our eternal birthrights. Given the grandeur, the reality of human love, as, thank God, most of us know it in our homes, that is the absolute guarantee that it came from the creating hands of grander Love Divine. Jesus was not merely loved by the family where He came to spend the nights when He was working in Jerusalem, but He got to love them with a very wonderful tenderness. You remember that chivalrous, impassioned defence of Mary, when she was assailed by the coarse attacks of the disciples. You catch it, too, in that message sant to Him — " He whom Thou lovest." Ah, many an act of affection, many a look that was a caress, many an appeal for sympathy that 7 98 THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. bespoke brotherhood, had passed between Jesus of Nazareth and that Lazarus, else the sisters would not have thought of saying, " He whom Thou lovest is sick." And yet into that home so dear to the heart of Jesus, the Son of God, into that home that had for its Friend the Man that was master of life and of death, of calamity and prosperity, of all earthly powers and forces, into that home there penetrated cruel, painful, deadly sickness. The man Jesus loved lay there on his bed dying. Now, I emphasize that, because there used to be a great deal of thinking about God's relation to those that love Him and whom He loves — a great deal of teaching in the Christian Church that counted itself most orthodox, and which was, indeed, deadly heresy, coarse, materialistic, despicable, misunderstanding the ideal grandeur of the Bible promises. Some of you know the sort of teaching that used to prevail — the idea that God's saints should be exceptionally favoured ; the sun would shine on their plot of corn, and it would not shine on the plot of corn of the bad man ; their ships would not sink at sea, their chfldren would not catch infectious diseases; God would pamper them, exempt them from bearing their part in the world's great battle, with hardness and toil of labour, with struggle, and attainment, and achievement. It came of a very de spicable conception of what a father can «Jo for a child, as if the best thing for a father to do for his son was to pet and indulge him, and save him all bodily struggle and all difficulties, instead of giving him a life of dis cipline. As if a general in the army would, because of his faltering heart, refuse to let his son take the post of danger ; as if he would not rather wish for that son THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. 99 — ay, with a great pang in his own soul — that he should be the bravest, the most daring, the one most exposed to the deadliest hazard. Ah, we have got to recognise that we whom God loves may be sick and dying, and yet God does love us. Lazarus was loved by Jesus, yet he whom Jesus loved was sick and dying. Ah, and there is a still more poisonous difficulty in that materialistic, that worldly way of looking at God's love ; that horrible, revolting misjudgment that Christ condemned, crushed with indignation when it confronted Him. " The men on whom the tower of Siloam feU must have been sinners worse than us on whom it did not fall." Never, never ! The great government of the world is not made up of patches and strokes of anger and outbursts of weak indulgence. The world is God's great work shop, God's great battle-field. These have their places. Here a storm of buUets falls, and brave and good men as well as cowards fall before it. You mistake if you try to forestaU God's judgments, God's verdicts on the last great day of reckoning. Still we have got the fact that Christ does not inter pose to prevent death, that Christ does not hinder those dearest to Him from bearing their share of life's sick nesses and sufferings, that God Himself suffers death to go on, apparently wielding an undisputed sway over human existence. What is the consequence of it ? Well, the first con sequences seem to be all evil. You might look on the surface of Ufe, and when you read superficially the narrative of this chapter in St. John, it looks as if mischief and evil came of the strange delay of God and of His Christ. Look at the effect upon the disciples. Now here there is not enough told to justify me in THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. putting more positively to you the picture of their inner hearts, but I am going to present — I dread that I may be guilty of a want of charity, at all events of dispro portion — but as I read this chapter, and try to think myself into it, this is the conception I have : Had these men known that Lazarus was very sick, they would not have wished their Master to go back to try and save him. They were selfish enough to have been rather glad that He was at a distance, to wish that He should not know. When the message did come I think they were puzzled and perplexed. Selfishly, they were rather pleased that He did not set off to go. But, on the other hand — for, mind you, a selfish man understands the dictates of love — they said to them selves, " It is not quite like Him. Well, it is wise, it is prudent not to go, but it is a little cowardly. Does He love Lazarus so much as we used to think ? " Oh, if I am right, what a painful thing, all these bad, poor, selfish thoughts of the Divine heart in Jesus 1 all created, mark you, because Jesus suffered the man whom He loved to be sick, and at last to die, and did not go and check death, and drive the dark King of Terrors back. Then Jesus says to them that He has resolved to go and visit Lazarus. It is here I get the ground on which I stand in forecasting that selfishness in them. Then they thought He was wrong. They did venture to blurt out what was a censure : " He will go ; He ought not to do it. What are we to do who see with clearer eyes the pathway of prudence ? To let Him go and die ? It was a total blunder, a mistake, but all the same we cannot let Him go and die alone. Let us go and die with Him." Oh, what a dearth of understanding of their Master, THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. loi His love. His power. His real character, created by the enigma of Christ's conduct, that He had held His hand, that He had suffered His friend to be sick, that He had permitted him to die ! Then come to the two sisters. Ah, what a struggle must have gone on in their hearts, as hour after hour passed after the point had come when Jesus should have been with them if He had listened to their message, if He pitied their brother, His own beloved friend. What could the Master mean ? Did something hinder Him and prevent His coming ? or was it the danger to His life ? Was there a little selfishness ? or had they any right to expect it ? Either He is lacking in love, or else He is lacking in power. What could it mean ? And then, when at last the poor sick eyes shut and their brother lay there dead, their hearts were like stones within them. And the burial, following swiftly after in the East, because decay begins so quickly there ; and then the mourning and the hired mourners, professional mourners, all around them, and these poor women there saying in their hearts, " Surely, surely it need not have been ; certainly if the Master, who healed so many sick, had been here, if He had come, if He knew, if He had been here all this horror, this agony, this pain, might have been escaped." So when Jesus did come, look at them, how they met Him. Martha goes away out, and the first thing she says is just what they had said so often to one another and to their own hearts : " O Master, if Thou hadst only been here our brother had not died." And then the spirit of the woman told her that perhaps she had hurt Jesus' feelings, that perhaps He was not to blame, that perhaps there was some explanation, though she could not see it, and so, in her blundering way — THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. for she had not the fine tact that was in Mary — she tried to mend it, and only made it worse by volunteer ing that she did believe in Him after all. The soul of Christ felt the intended love, and shuddered at that tremendous distance of sympathy and understanding. " You beUeve in Me." He could not hold it in. " Thy brother shall rise again." And poor Martha was unable to rise to the height of Christ's meaning. " Oh, yes. Lord, I know, at the great resur rection. Yes, he wUl rise again." Then comes Jesus' declaration, " I am the Resurrection and the Life. The man that lives in Me, in whom I live, has in Me a deathless Ufe. I am here to-day to prove that." That was what He meant, but He was far away above her. The poor heart in her had lost Him. She was dazed, and so she just fell back upon the one thing that she was quite sure of, even if He had not been quite kind to her, or even if His power was limited. " Yes, yes, Master, I know Thou art the Christ, the Son of God, come into this world to be its Saviour and its King." And then, perhaps, with a sort of sense that Mary could understand the Master better, could read His meaning and tell it to her, she sUpped away, and she found her sister, and whispered in her ear, "The Master is come, and asks for thee." Then Mary went away to meet Him too. It is much harder to read what was in that sweet heart of Mary. I have no doubt that she, too, had fought a battle with doubt. The story seems to show that she had attained to greater faith than Martha. She had been pained, but still there was a divining instinct in her, like the divining instinct that warned her, when all the disciples were bUnd to it, that He was going to die, and she went and anointed Him to THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. 103 His burial ; a divining instinct in her that somehow the cloud was going to be rolled away. And she went out and said simply, " Lord, if Thou hadst been here our brother had not died." And then she was too wise to say one word more. With her finer tact, with her deeper understanding, she knew that was all she should say. But it was like saying, " There is perplexity in this visitation, in Thy delay, in my brother's death ; Thou couldst have made it different if Thou hadst seen it well to be here, I cannot understand the right and the love of it," It was a question. It did say, " Master, what art Thou going to do ? " And Christ felt it was. As she broke out and burst into tears. He lost control and wept with her. But there were others — the Jews, the enemies of Christ ; men who hated Him, men who disbelieved in Him, men who grudged Him all His glory and the love He had won on the earth. They had hurried out — some of them with a degree of human compassion — to that home of bereavement. It was known as the home of Christ, and I think some of them had come with greater pleasure that Lazarus had died. What they said when they saw Him weep betrays their mood. " This is He who professed to be able to open the eyes of the blind and heal all sicknesses. How, then, is it that He allows His dearest friend on earth to be sick, and die, and be buried ? He has lost His power, if He ever had it." They were rejoicing over His seeming defeat. They had no love for Hira, and so had no faith in Him. Is not that true of our world to-day ? The best of you. Christians, when death comes to your own homes, do you manage to sing the songs of triumph right away ? WeU, you are very wonderful saints if ybu do. 104 THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. If you do not, perhaps you say, " If God is in this world, how comes that dark enigma of death ? " And others of you grip hold of your faith, but yet your heart cries out against it. You believe that God is good, but has He been quite good to you ? Like Martha, you feel as if you had some doubt ; you feel bound in your prayers ; you say, " O God, I do not mean to reproach Thee ; " weak, sinful if you will, yet the sign of a true follower of the Christ. And then the enemies of Christ, the worldlings all about in this earth of ours, as they look upon death's ravages, they are saying, " If there were a God, if there were a Father, if there were a great heart that could love, why does not He show it ? " Now, I said to you that at first it looks as if nothing but evil came of God's delay to interpose against death ; but when you look a little deeper I think you begin to discover an infinitely greater good and benefit come out of that evil. I must very briefly, very rapidly, trace to you in the story, and you can parallel it in the life of yourselves, that discipline of goodness there is in God's refraining from checking sickness and death. Christ said, the end of it is first of all death, but that is not the termination. Through death this sickness, this struggle of doubt and faith, should end in the glory of God. He meant this : In the preparation of His life and His death the death and resurrection of Lazarus held a central position. It was the turning-point, the thing that determined His crucifixion on Calvary. That tremendous miracle com^ pelled the rulers of Jerusalem to resolve on and carry out His death. That miracle of Lazarus' resurrection gave to the faith of the disciples and of Christ's followers a strength of clinging attachment that carried them THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. 105 through the ecUpse of their belief when they saw Him die on Calvary. Now, what would you say ? Was it cruel of Christ to allow His friend Lazarus, His dear friends Mary and Martha, to go through that period of suspense, of anxiety, of sickness, of death, and of the grave, that they might do one of the great deeds in bringing in the world's Redeemer ? Oh, men and women, if God be wise, and if God be great, then must it not be that somehow or other the structure of this world is the best for God's end, and our tears, and partings, and calamities but incidents in the grand campaign that shall end in the resplendent glory of heaven ? Yes, for the glory of God, and for the sake of others, for the sake of the disciples, for the sake of the world, says Christ, I have suffered My friend Lazarus to die, " Ah," you say, " you have still got to show God's goodness and kindness to me individually. My death may be for God's glory, it may be for the good of others ; but how about me and those who mourn ? " Well, now, look at it. You must get to the end of the story before you venture to judge the measure, the worth, of God's goodness. After all, was that period of sickness and death unmitigated gloom, and horror, and agony ? Oh, I put it to you, men and women, who have passed through it, watching by the death of dear father or mother that loved the Lord and loved you, and whom you loved — dark, and sore, and painful enough at the time; but oh, if I called you to speak out, would you not say it was one of the most sacred periods of your life — the unspeakable tenderness, the sweet clinging love, the untiring service, the grateful responses, the sacredness that came into life ? Ay, and when the tie was snapped, the new tenderness that io6 THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. you gave to the friends that are left, the new pledge binding you to heaven, and to hope for it, and long for it — death is not all an evil to our eyes. Death cannot ultimately be an evil, since it is universal — the con summation, climax, crown of every human life. Ah, if we had the grander majesty of soul to look at it from God's altitude, we should call deatb, not a defeat, but a victory, a triumph. I think sometimes that if death did not end these lives of ours, how weary they would get. Think of it — to live on for ever in the sordidness, in the littleness, in the struggle, the pain, the sin of this Ufe of ours. Oh, we need that angel of death to come in, and now and then stir the pool of our family life, that there may be healing in it, that there may be blessing in it ! Death, holding the hand of God through it, to those that stand by and see the sweetness of human love, the triumph of faith celestial, has a gran deur in it, like Christ's death on the cross ; it hides out of sight of the people the ghastly, the doubt-creating features and elements of its external impediment — death becomes God's minister. It is going home to one's Father. Yes, but you want the guarantee that death is not the end, and that day it was right and lawful for Christ to give it, to anticipate the last great day, when in one unbroken army, radiant and resplendent, shining like jewels in a crown, He shall bring from the dark grave all that loved Him, fought for Him, and were loyal to Him on the road, and went down into the dark waters singly, one by one, in circumstances of ignominy often, and yet dying with Christ within them, the Resurrection and the Life. Ah, that great, grand vindication of God, and inter pretation of this world's enigma was made clear that THE DARK ENIGMA OF DEATH. 107 day when Christ called Lazarus back, and gave him alive to his sisters in the sight of His doubting disciples, in the sight of those sneering enemies. And what I like to think as best of all and most comforting of all is this, that Christ did that deed of love and goodness to hearts that so misunderstood Him, were so ignorant of His glory, denied and disbelieved so much of His claims, were then and there so despairing, so hopeless, that perhaps it was only in one heart, the heart of Mary, there was hope or faith like a grain of mustard-seed. Yet He did it. Why ? He whom He loved died, and they whom He loved mourned. It was not that they loved Him ; it was that He loved them. Ah, when I read sneers at the simple Evangelical Gospel that says, " Put away all thoughts of earning heaven ; your good works are rags " — true enough, true enough — the sneers are mistaken. It is a very grand Gospel that, for what it says is this, " There is hope, salvation from sin, life eternal, for you and for me, not for anything in us, nor for anything we can do, even if we did the best we could. We hold the hope and confi dence of redemption, resurrection, in our hearts, because the God that made us loves us ; " and so — as I read lately in a recently published book, amid much that I think is foolish, what yet struck me as singularly tender and true — "When in the hour of death we cry, ' Good Lord, deliver us,' we might stop and leave out the ' deliver us.' It is quite enough if we are dying in the arms of a God that is good." III. THE STORY OF DORCAS. Acts ix. 36-43. TO a man who believes in a living, personal God the world's history is the record of God's actions. The Bible story is an account of an exceptional period in the Divine activity, during which God's dealings with men are peculiarly significant ; as it were more imme diate, frank, and expressive, more true to His inmost character. Then, traits found utterance that in general are mute. Repression gave way to expression. The incidents in this expression are out of the common, look marvellous ; we call them miracles. Such things do not happen to us, but we hold they happened for us. They are, so to say, a personal explanation on God's part, at once a disclaimer and a declaration. He is not altogether to be judged by the normal course of events. His feelings do not quite answer to appearances. His heart does not correspond entirely to His hand. He is more than His deeds. Measure Him by these, and you mistake Him, because for the most part He acts under restraint. His love may be much greater than His language, His kindness warmer than His conduct. Reticence is often imposed on affection. You do not always tell your child all the praise you might express, and admiration you feel. When he has entered the THE STORY OF DORCAS. 109 Struggle of school-life you look on while he battles with a hard task, till his weariness pains you, but you hold back and do not help him. It may be my lot to know of a friend contending against unjust accusation, well-nigh crushed, and I may not stand by him, know ing my aid would harm, not help, though at the risk of his misunderstanding me. God would have us know, as we with perplexity look to His silent heaven out of our sin and sorrow, that spite of strange seeming. His heart is love. We do not fare as our Father fain would have us fare. Things are not as He would wish them. There is a discrepancy between the desires of His heart and the doings of His hand. He cannot quite trust us as He would. There is an obstacle ; we should be better off but for that. We do right to say, with Martha," " Lord, if Thou hadst been here my brother had not died." And that we may be sure it is so, once He broke through His reticence; He was here; He gave His heart full play, and treated men as He always feels towards them. Their sicknesses were healed, their sins forgiven ; the Infinite Love laid soft hands on their pain ; the Eternal Pity whispered peace in their souls. Now we can look on Christ and say we know what God is. But for hindrances, we can say. He would always act so. Spite of our fortunes, that is how He feels. At length the barrier will be over thrown, and He will treat me so likewise. This is the practical use we are to make of such stories of Scripture as Dorcas's restoration from death. It is a marvel — what, precisely, we know not. But, for this woman God did a splendid and wonderful act of love, that dispelled the eclipse of death in a sunshine of endless security. What happened to her happens not to us. But God's heart is unchanged. If you be 110 THE STORY OF DORCAS. like her, such another, the Divine regard round you in life and in death is as tender and strong as it was about her. In the important seaport town of Joppa there were gathered together some believers in Jesus. Among them was a woman named Tabitha (Heb.), or Dorcas (Gr.). The name signifies Gazelle, or Fawn. It was one of those pet names given to woman, a name of beauty, though the bearer of it may have been plain enough. Not much is told about her, but what is told is of such a kind that we may conjecture more. Little things have a significance in combination. Thus we can fill in the meagre outline that is given us, tiU the picture grows into completeness. Dorcas was a lone woman. Of husband or of children we hear nothing. Unlike those others with whom she is linked in Bible story as fellow-sharers in the miracle of restoration to life — unlike Lazarus, unlike the daughter of Jairus or the widow's son at Nain — we read in her case of no loving relatives who soothed her dying bed and wept when she was gone. She stands alone in the world — one of those women of whom we speak as of persons to be pitied, unhappy ; with a woman's natural hopes and occupations, in which she finds rest for her instincts, denied or blighted. Dorcas is a forlorn figure, stricken by grief and woe. We feel inclined to turn away from such. The bleak, cold winds that blow across the lonely spaces where they find their planting seem to chill our joy. We forget that it is not thorns alone which grow in spots that we deem waste ; not seldom God's fairest flowers and fruits spring up on what we count barren and forsaken ground. In Dorcas, we may well believe, there was nothing woe-begone or repellent; it is as THE STORY OF DORCAS. pleasant, amiable, and beloved that we think of her. The tree of her life had been stricken by the lightning ; its own leaves and branches stripped; but it did not remain a bare and unsightly stump, naked and alone. Lichens and clinging plants had gathered at its roots, and twined about its stem, and clothed it with a new verdure and beauty. All this might have been so different. Dorcas might have succumbed to sorrow, and amid the ruins of her shattered home she might have flung herself on the ground in despair. She might have been moping and repining, selfishly nursing her grief, embittered, envious, and grudging to others their joy. God pity those who are ; it is often that the milk of human kindness has turned sour : the fault is of misfortune. She might have made herself a burden to all around, held the world a debtor, and herself a wronged creditor. She might have insisted on being miserable — as if a long face made a lighter heart. Some in her position act so. They resent the smiles of others, and hold that if weep ing is their portion, then all should weep. Others hide under a smiling face a sad heart, and laugh with you. Dorcas did none of these things. She set herself to be of use, to give aid and help to others. Ah ! I think it sometimes happens that God removes the home of a woman's love, breaks down its walls, and unroofs it before the storm, in order that the love may go out to embrace a larger family. The hearts of some women are made to shelter and console all homeless ones. Their love takes wings, and flies through the earth in search for the desolate and afflicted. It does not need the ties of home, of husband and children, to form a loving, useful, warm-hearted woman. How long had Dorcas been such a woman as the THE STORY OF DORCAS. Story tells of? We cannot say. Perhaps she was humbly good and sensible, and had borne her sorrows bravely from the first, an unconscious follower of Jesus. Perhaps she was once soured, bitter, and woe-begone, till she heard of the great Sorrow-bearer, and learnt from Him to make her sorrow an offering, and to use her knowledge of sadness to lighten others' woe. For she was " a disciple." That means just one who looks how Christ went about the world, and sets to to go likewise. Having made up her mind to do good, what could she do ? Nothing much. She could not preach ; she could not be an apostle, and do great deeds of healing. She was too poor, too stupid, too^uninfluential to start a mission or build a hospital. But she could darn, and stitch, and plan garments for widows — and how many such does not the life of a seafaring town create ! She could speak kind words and do good turns, go to meeting, and be a quiet, gentle, sweet, helpful woman. That she could be, nothing more; and that she was. Why should she be more ? That is what God means a good woman to be. A homely, unromantic, dull, unattractive life, you say ; good, but uninteresting. So, perhaps, the neigh bours said. So we all go on thinking and saying, while the angels laugh at our folly. As if God did not often conceal under the hardest, coarsest shells and husks the silkiest of downy lining and the Very sweetest of fruit-kernels. Yes, outside it looked a stripped, bare, monotonous life. But within there was a whole world of beauty and pathos. God knew the tender thoughts of the dead ; the rising of old cravings that woke and called once more for buried loves ; the silent, speechless prayers in lonely eventides. He knew of memories THE STORY OF DORCAS, 113 that were tears to her, but turned to warmth and cheer for others ; of very kindly thoughts and gentle love woven and sown into those garments. No, the neigh bours did not see aU this. But God's eyes looked, and saw a very garden of the Lord for beauty and fragrance. I know it must have been so, from the love her way of doing kindness won. Merely to do good is not enough to get love; one must be good. It is wonderful how some people do endless good, and yet none cares for them. Dorcas was not a machine, actively good because actively wound up. People do not weep such tears as fell when she died for the loss of a sewing- machine, useful though such might be, and working for nothing. Nor was she a woman with a mission, bustling, important, loud-voiced; useful and needed such may be, respected, but not quite loved. Nor was she a lady patroness, looking down on those upon whom she showered her benefits. Those who work like Dorcas do not work of mechanical duty, nor for fuss of fame, nor for thanks. It is but little Ukely that thanks were given her. People would say, " She has nothing else to do;" "She has no family to look after;" "She has plenty of time on her hands ; " " It's almost a kindness to take her sewing;" "She had sooner work than not." Exactly, that was it. She was nothing more than a kindly, humble-hearted, womanly soul, that feared God and loved men, and did good in soUd ways ; one whose life made other women glad that she was born. What more would you have her be ? Are you sure you understand what that was ? She became ill. She did not tell how ill she felt, but lay lone and sick. She would not burden others with her pain, and to die she did not fear. Her neigh bours found it out and nursed her tenderly, but she 8 114 THE STokY OF DORCAS. died. Then there was nothing to do but reverently to lay her out, to put flowers on her breast and in her hands; it was all the kindness they could do now; how they wished they had done more when she was alive ! Then they thought what to do next. When one is dead there is so little you can do, and yet you want to do so much. Then some one thought of Peter, The Apostle was ohly twelve miles off. He will surely come to see poor Dorcas once again, and show honour to her memory. And so the little groups of busy, tearful talkers united in one resolve to send for Peter. They would Uke him to be with them, to teU him all their trouble and sorrow, and pour into his sympathetic ears an eager chronicle of Dorcas's holy deeds. It is won derful how much good your neighbours know to tell of you when you are dead, and how much evil while you are still alive. This was the reason why they sent for Peter ; not that they expected him to restore the dead to life. Had they not laid the dead body of their benefactress out, and washed and prepared it for burial ? Why should they expect a miracle on her behalf? Stephen and James had trodden their martyr path, and no voice from heaven had caUed them back to leadership and witness- bearing in the Church. What should they expect for Dorcas from the Apostle beyond his sorrowful compassion ? Peter came. He found the room full of weeping women, telling of her goodness, of her clever fingers ; showing him on them {middle voice) the dresses and petticoats she had made. How many they seemed when gathered together in that little room ! AU the results of the toil of her busy hands, scattered through the town, now gathered in the chamber of death to tell THE STORY OF DORCAS. 115 of her goodness after she was gone. Herself, she did not know the whole, " Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord ; for their works do foUow them," We die and are not much missed. The world rolls on. Yet none is quite unwept, unnoticed. There are two sets of people who will mourn. There are those who loved you and found their joy in ministering to you ; a mother, a lover : good or bad you may have been, but they will weep over your grave. Or, in heaven, they smile ; in smiles or tears they love. And there are those you loved, on whose souls are the marks of your kindness, warmth, help, and cheer; they will miss you. How came Peter to conceive the hope of recovering Dorcas to life ? It was not through the message of an angel, or the narrative would tell us of it ; nor was it through a special communication of the Spirit, or the sacred history would record it, as the habit of the Bible is. It seems to have been in an ordinary way, though under the Spirit's guidance. A little thing in Peter's doings suggests that he foUowed the train of an old memory, that he was dominated and inspired by a bygone incident. Amid those weeping women his heart was moved : he recalled an unforgotten scene. He remembered an old man coming to the Master with a white, anxious face and quivering lips, to plead for his sick child. He remembered their hurrying steps, and the eager impatience of the stricken father as they turned their faces to his house ; the messenger bringing the sad tidings " dead ; " the Master's face lighting up with a quiet, strange resolution as He said, " She is not dead ; " and then how He put them all out and restored the maiden to her parents. Why should he not ask the Master now ? He put them all out. He u6 THE STORY OF DORCAS. prayed. Confidence fiUed his heart. He summoned the dead woman from the shadow-land. She opened her eyes. To the weeping, mourning, loving women he gave her again — alive from the dead ! It was a tremendous deed of wonder and glory. It was done on a lonely, simple, humble woman. Why on her ? Why not on James or Stephen ? I cannot tell, for certain. God knows. His reasons are other than our thoughts. But I see this as possibly a cause : You observe that two narratives are conjoined. Dorcas, for her alms-deeds, receives this miracle of resurrection ; while, for alms-deeds, Cornelius is acknowledged in a miracle also. Nowhere else in the Acts of the Apostles are alms-deeds made so prominent. In each story, and in the conjunction, I see design, God meant to set a mark of honour on the love that was displayed, I think He would guard the Church against undue estimation of preaching, apostles, miracle-working, deeds of show, gifts ; and teach us that beyond all is love. So He singles out not an apostle, not a martyr, but this gentle, kind, womanly life, and crowns it with grandeur and glory, makes it conqueror of death, encircles it with a halo of most wonderful. Divine, loving care. Not preach ing, not angel speech, not mountain-removing faith, but love is the centre, God judges differently from us. We worship the great leaders, orators, reformers, creed-makers ; our statistics are of Churches, prayers, arid preachers. God reckons all love for Himself and man as vaster, wider, and grander. Ah ! whUe we think not of it, in unseen corners, in hidden nooks, He sees and garners a harvest of love and lowlj' service that shall be the beauty and glory of heaven. Let us think as God thinks. Let us learn to worship not gifts, but graces, not greatness, but goodness only. Bend your THE STORY OF DORCAS. 117 knee to such a woman with a reverence you will yield to no king, to no genius, however Godlike ; and bend it, for you bend it to Christ. Humble, lonely, simple Christian souls, God cares for you as for her, if you are Uke her. Patiently toil on ; God feels towards you as towards her. Go forward to death, sure that He will gather your life with equal care, not back into earth's struggle, but up into heaven's glory. IV, UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. " And unto the angel of the Church in Sardis write ; These things saith He that hath the seven Spirits of God, and the seven stars ; I know thy works, that thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead. Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die : for I have not found thy works perfect before God." — Rev. iii. i, 2. Reading the last clause a little more literally will more fully bring out the meaning : " For I have found no works of thine fulfilled before My God."— R.V. THE passage forms a picture — God on His throne, Christ by His side, the work of the Churches on earth travelling up to God, and presenting itself before the throne Divine, and Christ, as the Churches pass in procession, judging them. The religious activity of the Church in Sardis swept by before God's throne, under Christ's eyes, and as it passed He saw that not one single task undertaken by that Church was done fully ; everything was half done, and therefore worth less. It was not that the Church was doing nothing, but it was doing nothing worth doing. These were the facts. Christ's judgment on the facts is this : " Thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead." A Church all whose labours are but half done is dead. Yet there were good men and women in the congre gation at Sardis. If you read on you find this said by UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. 119 Christ : " Thou hast a few names even in Sardis which have not defiled their garments," So, then, a Church may be dead though it contains living members. How can that be ? A Church is not a mere number of individuals added to one another; something results from that combination of separate individuals ; something very different, with fresh powers and added responsibiUties, rises out of grouping to gether a number of individual Christians, that is a Church, A Church, a congregation (it is in that sense I use the word " Church " all through this discourse), has an individuality of its own ; a Church has a cha racter of its own ; a Church has a spirit of its own ; a Church has capacities of its own ; a Church can do what no individual nor any mere number of individuals added together can do ; a Church, as soon as it is constituted, creates a new kind of life, a new kind of being, a new kind of activities. No individual Chris tian, however good he may be, can out of himself make Christian fellowship. Christian devotion. Chris tian labour and co-operation, all that social life which springs from the union of severed individuals ; no separate Christian, nor any number of separate Chris tians, can produce that, A Church, therefore, is some thing distinct from the indi-vidual members of whom it is built. A house is not a thousand bricks ; it is something quite different, something made not merely by the presence of the bricks, but by their being ' built together. Each separate element of the building, when united, is able to do its share in the great work that none of them, or any member of them, could do without that combination which forms the edifice, A Church, a congregation, has its own character. Each provincial town in England has a character of its own ; 120 UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. and an intelligent man, with quick sympathies, recog nises the difference of spirit when he enters a town from that which was prevalent in the town he left. One is Radical, one is very Materialistic ; one is full of poetry, and imagination, and literature ; and the indi vidual residing in the town is affected by the general spirit of that town. Every school has a character of its own, a spirit of its own ; not that each boy in the school is just modelled on that type, but to a large extent each individual pupil is affected by the spirit of the school. The spirit of the school exists in the boys that dominate it. It is the same with Churches. In one congregation you arg conscious of warmth, and enthusiasm, and friendliness, and love ; in another congregation you are conscious of stiffness, and a rigid propriety, and distance, and coldness, and artifi ciality. In one Church you are conscious of a large, and liberal, and generous spirit ; in another Church you are conscious of factions, fighting, and meanness and stinginess. That is a fact ; you have felt it. A mere stranger entering the building on a Sunday morning feels it ; it is there, there in the very faces of the people as they sit in their pews, there in the minister as he stands in the pulpit. A public speaker said to me this last week, " I may come with my address to a week day meeting, but it all depends upon the spirit and mood of the meeting ; it is one thing in one place, and another in another ; " and if you have ever tried to speak in a Church or at a meeting you wiU have found it to be so. There may be a dozen men present in that meeting whose spirit is all that you may want, but they cannot make the result ; the general result of it is determined by the mass. So it may come to pass that in a congregation there may be not a few individual UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. 121 members who are warm, living, earnest servants of Jesus Christ ; but their goodness is not of the dominat ing kind ; they have piety, but they lack manly power ; they have good feeling and good intentions, but they have not character ; they cannot command the whole ; they cannot give their spirit to the mass of men ; they just survive, but they cannot take the offensive ; they have need of protection. They live themselves, but do not live half so strongly or half so healthily as they would in a congregation which was warm to the very tips of its fingers and the fringes of its garments ; they are living, but the Church is dead. What is the life of a Church ? The life of a Church is loving loyalty to Jesus Christ, present more or less in the actual human heart of all the members ; an inner, hidden thing, that you cannot weigh in a balance, that you cannot set down in figures in an annual report, that you cannot exhibit to a non-believer or a worldling, but the greatest, the most powerful force in all our world. The life of a Church is a living, real presence of Jesus Christ, as a daily influence on the conduct, the thoughts, the words, the deeds of all the members of that Church. The life of a Church is the living presence of Jesus Christ in every committee of management, in every meeting of Sunday-school teachers, in every social gathering of the congregation ; a Uving loyalty and devotion to the Lord Jesus Christ, born out of a grate ful certainty that "He died to save us, born out of a grand sympathy with Him, and under the belief that He is willing to save all the men and women and all the little children who are round about us. That is the living life of a Church, and nothing else is. You may have a perfect orthodoxy, and death; you may have 122 UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. great activity, and yet you may have death. Nothing is the life of a Church but actual living loyalty and love to the real living Lord of the Church, Jesus Christ. Christ stands at the right hand of God, judging the Churches. He judges them by their works. But the life of a Church is not a thing of the hands or of the tongue ; it is a thing of the heart. At the same time Christ has to make His judgment just ; He has to go upon visible facts, and He can safely proceed upon the Church's work. Wherever there is life it cannot be still ; it works, it moves, it beats, it becomes warmed ; it must come out. If a Church has no works it has no life. What are those works which are the visible signs of a living Church ? They are these : No dry, spasmodic zeal for orthodoxy when some heresy crops up which makes a public sensation ; no straight, rigid propriety, and fineness of outward form, and aesthetic culture of ceremonial. The life that is loving loyalty to Christ, present in the heart of every individual member of a congregation, comes out in this way : it makes hearty singing on a Sunday. Even a man who has no musical voice, and who is a little weary, cannot help singing when his heart is stirred, even if he stops short in case he should make discord to his neighbours. It is aU nonsense to say that people have grateful hearts to Christ when they sit with shut mouths to Christ's praise. I know well that habit has a great deal to do with it. It is the way of some Churches to sing heartily, and it is the way of some other Churches to let the choir do the singing ; and I know, therefore, that you must not too absolutely take such a test as a standard by which you will judge whether or not there is a living warmth, and enjoyment, and cheering in the service and in the congregation. I believe all that, neverthe- UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. 123 less I have seen the most stiff and silent congregation roused to sing when their hearts were aroused. Such silence is a bad habit. And how about the prayers? Men will not merely listen to the words, and will not criticise a man when he prays ; men will be reverent; men will, by their very attitude, make it felt that souls are face to face with God. Men will not be sitting finding fault with all the blurs and blemishes that there are in the services (which there must be in every human service) when their hearts are being fed, and when their souls are going out to God. There wiU be no lack of Sunday- school teachers; and the Sunday-school teachers in such a Church will not do their work in a listless and negligent way, and fail in keeping their appointments and engagements, but will do it as if it were a pleasure. It is not the blame of Sunday-school teachers in a dead Church if they are teachers of that sort ; it is the blame of the dead Church. How can they keep alive ? Shall we put the penalty upon those who are partially living ? No ; it is the great mass of death, and decay, and coldness which is to blame. Let us visit the sins on the guilty parties. A living Church wiU show its life in hearty, generous liberality to every good cause. A living Church will show its life by bravery and courage in taking up new responsibiUties that may offer themselves, and working them most heartily. A living Church is living, not because it does one or all of these things, but because it loves loyalty to the Lord Jesus, who died for it, and feels that goodness and holiness are the grandest things in the world, and is eager to have all the children taught to love the Lord Jesus, and all the young people who are going out amid the temptations of Ufe strength ened and helped to withstand them, and old people 124 UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. whose lives are embittered when a disaster comes upon them, made tender, and soft, and submissive, by the life of Christ in that Church and among their Christian neighbours. Yes, the life of a Church is not a mere liking for what Christ loves, and a wish to please Him, but real life and real love to Christ wiU come out, not in correctness of creed, but in life and in . work. It is an awful thing when a Church is dead, with all the children in it gathering to go to a Church which is cold, and to a dragging service, and to spiritless singing, and to melancholy prayer, and to a dry preaching. Ay, I have seen children who hated religion, because their parents, as I believe, were living in a dead Church. I have often said, " Cut your con nection with such a Church ; go rather to another denomination, which has life." I venture to say that a father who loves his child will sacrifice anything in order that that child may have pleasant and attractive views of religion. But shall the child's first idea of religion corae to hira in the shape of a crippled and broken-down failure ? Fathers and mothers are abso lutely bound thus to promote the spiritual interests of their children ; it is worth more than anything else that is done for them ; and I say that a Church which is gathering those young people around it, and keeping them from more dangerous places, and leading them to have it in their hearts to come and sit down with Christian people, is doing more than all the world will ever do. It is worth taking a great deal of trouble to belong to a living Church, and it is the absolute duty of every member of every Church to do all he can not merely to make himself alive, but to make the whole Church full of warm, living life. When a Church is dead, or only half alive, the UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. 125 defect shows itself specifically and certainly in this manner : The Church's work is only half done, and can only half be fulfilled, when only a portion of its members fulfil their allotted task to their Master. If, in a Church which numbers five hundred, only fifty are doing the utmost they can do, the Church's measure of work will not be fulfilled before the judgment-seat of God. Fifty individuals cannot do what it takes five hundred to do. A half-done work, how it is spoiled ! The army were defending the frontier bravely and successfully ; but one cowardly regiment gave way, and the ranks were broken, and all the bravery, and the blood, and the death of the brave men were lost — lost by the cowardice. The work of a Church that is wearily done, in its life and extent, by a few living men and women in it, is poorly done ; they do it with such a struggle ; they are so weary and worn out ; they have not pleasure, they have not enthusiasm, in doing it. How can they have ? Oh, it is hard when a few men and women have to do all the teaching, and all the visiting, and all the work at the meetings ! it spoils their work ; it is not fair play. I appeal to you to determine whether I speak truly or not. One man cannot do another man's work. One link of a chain cannot do duty for another link, and if the one goes, soraetimes the chain is worth nothing at all. The work of a dead or half-dead Church stands before God's judgment-seat unfulfilled. How can it tell on the careless ? how can it tell on the worldly ? Do you think that they will be just, and say, "Ah, look at what the fifty are doing " ? No, you may be quite sure that they will look at the deficiency of the four hundred and fifty, and say, " Is this a Church of Christ ? " Who blames them ? 126 UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. A living Church must work, and it must work on, and it must send life through every part and fragment of its whole frarae, or else it has begun to die. It is not a small thing, of no concern, if some members of a Church are doing nothing by being idle. The work that a Church has to do is the creation of living Christian character, and of the conviction that being in Church on Sunday and belonging to a congregation make a man a kinder brother, or a more loving father or husband, and make a woman a better mother or a more kindly neighbour. That is the best work a Church can do, and that does not corae to a man through a dead Church. A living Church must be making itself felt all around in the world outside by work of that kind ; and I say that it is not a matter of no conse quence if some members of a Church are not receiving and not transmitting that warmth and activity. It is not a small matter if one organ of my body be dying, be passing into mortification ; it means death to the whole body, and I must cut it off unless life can be brought back again into it. It is the very law of life, as God has made it, that everything which has life in it must be working ; it cannot stop. If your heart stops it is death ; nothing else can make it stop but death. If any organ in your body is always receiving, but giving nothing, and not sending out what it gets, improved, to the rest, it means diseased life, it means death. Does the stomach receive its daily food to keep it to itself, as we so often, receive the prayers and sermons in a Church ? No ; as soon as the feeding is done the hard work begins ; the stomach gives it to the blood, and what does the blood do ? As the great carrier of the system, it delivers it here and there — here a little to this muscle, there to that bone, there to the UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. 127 brain, and all through the body. And what the muscles and the other parts have received do they keep ? No ; if the various portions of the body did not give out what they receive they would get choked ; it would be death by surfeit ; they raust work. And so the circle of Ufe goes round ; stop it at any one point, and you spoil the whole circle. If the blood-vessels do not do their work, if the muscles do not do their work, and so on throughout the entire system, it means this, that that body is not healthy ; it means death to the whole frame. A business man said to me yesterday, " As soon as a man ceases pushing his business, and does not endeavour to extend it, it falls off." He does not want actually to increase it, but he must adopt that plan to keep it up to its "present mark. The Church, alas ! has not been willing to increase its work, desir ing to take on other responsibilities ; it does not say, " I cannot rest while people are cold and not interested in doing the Church's work, not bent upon bringing in sinners, and bringing children into the Sunday-schools to be taught to love and reverence religionj and causing people whose life is sour and bitter to be soothed and comforted." What I have been pressing upon you is the law of life. Is it a hard law ? No, it is a kind law. That is how God rewards you for what you have done; He gives you more work to do. In reading the parable of the men to whom it was assigned to rule over the cities did you ever mark how they were rewarded ? Here is a man who has actively and effectively used ten talents. How does his lord reward him — by giving him a sinecure ? No ; he says, " You shall be ruler over ten cities ; " and in the same way the man who has been successful with five talents is made ruler over five cities. 128 UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. Did you ever know a man who had served his country well, and benefited it, wish to withdraw into a drawing- room, and spend the remainder of his life in luxury and ease ? Did you ever know a successful general who wanted to get a big fortune and to retire ? No ; suc cessful men cannot be rewarded better than by giving them a deal more to do — larger responsibiUties, larger powers, a larger sense of strength successfully exerted. That is the blessing and the joy which shall go with larger toil, and grander accomplishraent, and brighter goodness. The few who are used to work shall have plenty of work. I take it as a sign that God is pleased with the results of a Church when He gives them new work to do, and the heart to take it up. It is not extra work ; it is the reward of the past, and it is a step that shall lead you to a higher throne. Nay, more; work is indispensable to the enjoyment of a Church's good. No Church can heartily enjoy what we call religious privileges unless it is working hard ; and no individual member of that Church will get the good of it unless he is taking a part in the Church's work. He does not need to be an office-bearer or anything of that sort ; his work may be just friendliness to others in the house of God, showing a kind spirit to them or taking an interest in thera, showing neighbourliness by his Church character. Do not think that it is a high array of talents that is required ; no, it is the Church's func tion of being " all of one mind," and knit together and helping one another, and sympathising with one another, being bound up in the comraon lot of disasters and trials. I say that no individual raember, unless he is taking his part, is a living meraber of that Church. If people are very fastidious about the doctrines which are preached, if people are searching into the sense of UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. 129 every hymn or prayer, if people are finding fault with the way in which everything is done, then it may be that the Church is to blame ; but if the Church is doing its work as well as any poor human Church can do it, I advise such a one to say to himself, " May not I be to blame ? " If you think that the daily food which is provided for you is not properly cooked, and it is not of the proper sort, and does not taste well, is it not your doctor you want to go to, to ask him to cure you of dyspepsia ? And in all probability he will recora raend to you exercise and hard work. A hard-working man does not coraplain even of dry bread ; he is not particular ; he has an appetite. I have known, in the Church to which I belonged before I began to preach, how pleased I was even with sermons which had no originality in thera if I saw that they were part of the common work. It was my home, and you do not criticise your own home ; and you do not criticise your father and mother ; you believe in the power which you get frora your' father, because he is yours. Throw yourself into the Church, become a part of it, take an interest in everything, and it is wonderful how Uttle you will have of criticism about you. Take plenty of spiritual exercise, and you may be sure that even a bare and poor spiritual diet wiU agree wonderfully with you. Christ reckons with Churches — Christ at God's right hand, what is He about? When He was down here on earth He went hither and thither, seeking the lost ; He forgave the woman that wept at His feet ; He saved the dying thief. Oh, gentle, loving Saviour Jesus, " the sarae yesterday, and to-day, and for ever " ! And at God's right hand He is loving, and pitying, and for giving my sins, and pleased with my tears of repentance 9 130 UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. — forbearing, tender, saving Jesus ! We preach that ; We should not be raen, we should riot be Christians, if we did not preach that; we could not live without that thought of Jesus. But lat us be true ; do not let us hide facts. That same Jesus stands at God's right hand, judging the Churches, reckoning with them. Oh, to a penitent sinner He is all heart, but to a slothful servant He is a faithful Master ! He reckons with Churches ; He reckons with individuals. It would not be kind if He di4 not reckon with you. Would you wish Hira not to reckon ? Would you like to say, " I do not care whether He does anything with me or not " ? Ah, I should begin to think that Christ did not love you at all if He did not reckon with you, if he were not grieved and angry, when you did not do your duty to Him and to your neighbour! Where would be the dignity of life if we did not believe in a great last judgment, with a stern reckoning with sin? We should sink to the level of the animals if there were no judgment. It proves that man has an immortal spirit. What does it matter, with the animals, what they do? But God must reckon with man, and He would not be reigning if man had not to reckon on an awful judg ment-day for every spirit. It is a proof to me that I ara of moment, and that my human spirit has dignity ; it makes clear to me my place in the universe, and my claim to imraortality; it shows me that I am of suf ficient importance to necessitate God's reckoning with me. Churches, too, must be reckoned with. It would argue that they were mere nurseries, were hospitals for people to be convalescent in, mere nonentities, counting for nothing in the great work of the world and the mighty purpose of God, if we did not know that Christ was to reckon with them. They have great UNFULFILLED CHRISTIAN WORK. 131 powers given to thera, they have great capabilities, they have tremendous responsibUities ; they can fulfil God's purposes in the world, and nothing but their supine ness and listlessness hinders them ; and God and Christ must re