out his text, 'Blessed are they which are called unto the marriage
supper of the Lamb,' and I wass thinking that the Lord had laid too
great a burden on the lad, and that he could not be fit for such a
work. It wass not more than ten minutes before he will be trying to
tell us what he wass seeing, and will not hef the words. He had to
go down from the pulpit as a man that had been in the heavenly
places and wass stricken dumb.
"'It iss the Lord that has put me to shame this day,' he said to the
elders, 'and I will nefer show my face again in Auchindarroch, for I
ought not to have meddled with things too high for me.'
"'You will show your face here every Sabbath,' answered Angus Bain,
'for the Lord said unto me, "Wait for the man that trembles at the
Word, and iss not able to speak, and it will be a sign unto you,"'
and a fery goot minister he wass, and made the hypocrites in Zion to
be afraid."
Lachlan dealt tenderly with our young Free Kirk minister, for the
sake of his first day, and passed over some very shallow experience
without remark, but an autumn sermon roused him to a sense of duty.
For some days a storm of wind and rain had been stripping the leaves
from the trees and gathering them in sodden heaps upon the ground.
The minister looked out on the garden where many holy thoughts had
visited him, and his heart sank like lead, for it was desolate, and
of all its beauty there remained but one rose clinging to its stalk,
drenched and faded. It seemed as if youth, with its flower of
promise and hope, had been beaten down, and a sense of loneliness
fell on his soul. He had no heart for work, and crept to bed broken
and dispirited. During the night the rain ceased, and the north wind
began to blow, which cleanses nature in every pore, and braces each
true man for his battle. The morrow was one of those glorious days
which herald winter, and as the minister tramped along the road,
where the dry leaves crackled beneath his feet, and climbed to the
moor with head on high, the despair of yesterday vanished. The wind
had ceased, and the glen lay at his feet, distinct in the cold,
clear air, from the dark mass of pines that closed its upper end to
the swelling woods of oak and beech that cut it off from the great
Strath. He had received a warm welcome from all kinds of people, and
now he marked with human sympathy each little homestead with its
belt of firs against the winter's storms, and its stackyard where
the corn had been gathered safe; the ploughman and his horses
cutting brown ribbons in the bare stubble; dark squares where the
potato stalks have withered to the ground, and women are raising the
roots, and here and there a few cattle still out in the fields. His
eye fell on the great wood through which he had rambled in August,
now one blaze of colour, rich green and light yellow, with patches
of fiery red and dark purple. God seemed to have given him a sermon,
and he wrote that evening, like one inspired, on the same parable of
nature Jesus loved, with its subtle interpretation of our sorrows,
joys, trust, and hope. People told me that it was a "rael bonnie
sermon," and that Netherton had forgotten his after-sermon snuff,
although it was his turn to pass the box to Burnbrae.
The minister returned to his study in a fine glow of body and soul,
to find a severe figure standing motionless in the middle of the
room.
"Wass that what you call a sermon?" said Lachlan Campbell, without
other greeting.
John Carmichael was still so full of joy that he did not catch the
tone, and explained with college pedantry that it was hardly a
sermon, nor yet a lecture.
"You may call it a meditation."
"I will be calling it an essay without one bite of grass for
starving sheep."
Then the minister awoke from a pleasant dream, as if one had flung
cold water on his naked body.
"What was wrong?" with an anxious look at the stern little man who
of a sudden had become his judge.
"There wass nothing right, for I am not thinking that trees and
leaves and stubble fields will save our souls, and I did not hear
about sin and repentance and the work of Christ. It iss sound
doctrine that we need, and a great peety you are not giving it."
The minister had been made much of in college circles, and had a
fair idea of himself. He was a kindly lad, but he did not see why he
should be lectured by an old Highlandman who read nothing except
Puritans, and was blind with prejudice. When they parted that
Sabbath afternoon it was the younger man that had lost his temper,
and the other did not offer to shake hands.
Perhaps the minister would have understood Lachlan better if he had
known that the old man could not touch food when he got home, and
spent the evening in a fir wood praying for the lad he had begun to
love. And Lachlan would have had a lighter heart if he had heard the
minister questioning himself whether he had denied the Evangel or
sinned against one of Christ's disciples. They argued together; they
prayed apart.
Lachlan was careful to say nothing, but the congregation felt that
his hand was against the minister, and Burnbrae took him to task.
"Ye maunna be ower hard on him, Maister Campbell, for he's but
young, and comin' on fine. He hes a hearty word for ilka body on the
road, and the sicht o' his fresh young face in the poopit is a
sermon itsel'."
"You are wrong, Burnbrae, if you will be thinking that my heart iss
not warm to the minister, for it went out unto him from the day he
preached his first sermon. But the Lord regardeth not the
countenance of man."
"Nae doot, nae doot, but I canna see onything wrang in his doctrine;
it wudna be reasonable tae expect auld-fashioned sermons frae a
young man, and I wud coont them barely honest. A'm no denying that
he gaes far afield, and taks us tae strange lands when he's on his
travels, but ye 'ill acknowledge that he gaithers mony treasures,
and he aye comes back tae Christ."
"No, I will not be saying that John Carmichael does not love Christ,
for I hef seen the Lord in his sermons like a face through a
lattice. Oh yes, and I hef felt the fragrance of the myrrh. But I am
not liking his doctrine, and I wass thinking that some day there
will be no original sin left in the parish of Drumtochty."
It was about this time that the minister made a great mistake,
although he was trying to do his best for the people, and always
obeyed his conscience. He used to come over to the Cottage for a
ramble through my books, and one evening he told me that he had
prepared what he called a "course" on Biblical criticism, and was
going to place Drumtochty on a level with Germany. It was certainly
a strange part for me to advise a minister, but I had grown to like
the lad, because he was full of enthusiasm and too honest for this
world, and I implored him to be cautious. Drumtochty was not anxious
to be enlightened about the authors of the Pentateuch, being quite
satisfied with Moses, and it was possible that certain good men in
Drumtochty might resent any interference with their herditary
notions. Why could he not read this subject for his own pleasure,
and teach it quietly in classes? Why give himself away in the
pulpit? This worldly counsel brought the minister to a white heat,
and he rose to his feet. Had he not been ordained to feed his people
with truth, and was he not bound to tell them all he knew? We were
living in an age of transition, and he must prepare Christ's folk
that they be not taken unawares. If he failed in his duty through
any fear of consequences, men would arise afterwards to condemn him
for cowardice, and lay their unbelief at his door. When he ceased I
was ashamed of my cynical advice, and resolved never again to
interfere with "courses" or other matters above the lay mind. But
greater knowledge of the world had made me a wise prophet.
Within a month the Free Kirk was in an uproar, and when I dropped in
one Sabbath morning the situation seemed to me a very pathetic
tragedy. The minister was offering to the honest country folk a mass
of immature and undigested details about the Bible, and they were
listening with wearied, perplexed faces. Lachlan Campbell sat grim
and watchful, without a sign of flinching, but even from the Manse
pew I could detect the suffering of his heart. When the minister
blazed into polemic against the bigotry of the old school, the iron
face quivered as if a father had been struck by his son. Carmichael
looked thin and nervous in the pulpit, and it came to me that if new
views are to be preached to old-fashioned people it ought not to be
by lads who are always heady and intolerant, but by a stout man of
middle age, with a rich voice and a good-natured manner. Had
Carmichael rasped and girded much longer, one would have believed in
the inspiration of the vowel points, and I left the church with a
low heart, for this was a woeful change from his first sermon.
Lachlan would not be pacified, not even by the plea of the
minister's health.
"Oh yes, I am seeing that he is ill, and I will be as sorry as any
man in Drumtochty. But it iss not too much work, as they are saying;
it iss the judgment of God. It iss not goot to meddle with Moses,
and John Carmichael will be knowing that. His own sister wass not
respectful to Moses, and she will not be feeling fery well next
day."
But Burnbrae added that the "auld man cudna be mair cast doon if he
hed lost his dochter."
The peace of the Free Kirk had been broken, and the minister was
eating out his heart, when he remembered the invitation of Marget
Howe, and went one sweet spring day to Whinnie Knowe.
Marget met him with her quiet welcome at the garden gate.
"Ye hae dune me a great kindness in comin', Maister Carmichael, and
if ye please we 'ill sit in this sunny corner which is dear tae me,
and ye 'ill tell me yir troubles."
So they sat down together beside the brier bush, and after one
glance at Marget's face the minister opened his heart, and told her
the great controversy with Lachlan.
Marget lifted her head as one who had heard of some brave deed, and
there was a ring in her voice.
"It maks me prood before God that there are twa men in Drumtochty
who follow their conscience as king, and coont truth dearer than
their ain freends. It's peetifu' when God's bairns fecht through
greed and envy, but it's hertsome when they are wullin' tae wrestle
aboot the Evangel, for surely the end o' it a' maun be peace.
"A've often thocht that in the auld days baith the man on the rack
and the inqueesitor himself micht be gude men and accepted o' God,
and maybe the inqueesitor suffered mair than the martyr. A'm
thinkin', Maister Carmichael, that it's been hardest on Lachlan."
The minister's head was buried in his hands, but his heart was with
Marget.
"It's a strange buik the Bible, and no the buik we wud hae made, tae
judge by oor bit creeds and confessions. It's like a head o' aits in
the harvest time. There's the ear that hauds the grain and keeps it
safe, and that's the history, and there's often no mickle nutriment
in it; then there's the corn lying in the ear, which is the Evangel
frae Eden tae Revelation, and that is the bread o' the soul. But the
corn maun be threshed first and the cauf (chaff) cleaned aff. It's a
bonnie sicht tae see the pure grain fallin' like a rinnin' burn on
the corn-room floor, and a glint o' the sun through the window
turning it intae gold. But the stour (dust) o' the cauf room is mair
than onybody can abide, and the cauf's worth naethin' when the
corn's awa."
"Ye mean," said the minister, "that my study is the threshin' mill,
and that some of the chaff has got into the pulpit."
"Yir no offended," and Marget's voice trembled.
Then the minister lifted his head and laughed aloud with joy, while
a swift flash of humour lit up Marget's face.
"You've been the voice of God to me this day, Mrs. Howe, but if I
give up my 'course,' the people will misunderstand, for I know
everything I gave was true, and I would give it all again if it were
expedient."
"Nae fear, Maister Carmichael, naebody misunderstands that luves,
and the fouk all luve ye, and the man that hauds ye dearest is
Lachlan Campbell. I saw the look in his een that canna be mista'en."
"I'll go to him this very day," and the minister leaped to his feet.
"Ye 'ill no regret it," said Marget, "for God will give ye peace."
Lachlan did not see the minister coming, for he was busy with a lamb
that had lost its way and hurt itself. Carmichael marked with a
growing tenderness at his heart how gently the old man washed and
bound up the wounded leg, all the time crooning to the frightened
creature in the sweet Gaelic speech, and also how he must needs give
the lamb a drink of warm milk before he set it free.
When he rose from his work of mercy, he faced the minister.
For an instant Lachlan hesitated, and then at the look on
Carmichael's face he held out both his hands.
"This iss a goot day for me, and I bid you ten thousand welcomes."
But the minister took the first word.
"You and I, Lachlan, have not seen eye to eye about some things
lately, and I am not here to argue which is nearer the truth,
because perhaps we may always differ on some lesser matters. But
once I spoke rudely to you, and often I have spoken unwisely in my
sermons. You are an old man and I am a young, and I ask you to
forgive me and to pray that both of us may be kept near the heart of
our Lord, whom we love, and who loves us."
No man can be so courteous as a Celt, and Lachlan was of the pure
Highland breed, kindest of friends, fiercest of foes.
"You hef done a beautiful deed this day, Maister Carmichael; and the
grace of God must hef been exceeding abundant in your heart. It iss
this man that asks your forgiveness, for I wass full of pride, and
did not speak to you as an old man should; but God iss my witness
that I would hef plucked out my right eye for your sake. You will
say every word God gives you, and I will take as much as God gives
me, and there will be a covenant between us as long as we live."
They knelt together on the earthen floor of that Highland cottage,
the old school and the new, before one Lord, and the only difference
in their prayers was that the young man prayed they might keep the
faith once delivered unto the saints, while the burden of the old
man's prayer was that they might be led into all truth.
Lachlan's portion that evening ought to have been the slaying of
Sisera from the Book of Judges, but instead he read, to Flora's
amazement--it was the night before she left her home--the thirteenth
chapter of I Corinthians, and twice he repeated to himself, "Now we
see through a glass darkly, but then face to face."
II
HIS BITTER SHAME
The Free Kirk people were very proud of their vestry because the
Established Church had none, and because it was reasonably supposed
to be the smallest in Scotland. When the minister, who touched five
feet eleven, and the beadle, who was three inches taller, assembled
for the procession, with the precentor, a man of fair proportions,
there was no waste ground in that room, and any messenger from the
church door had to be selected with judgment. "Step up, Airchie man,
tae the vestry," Burnbrae would say to the one under-sized man in
Drumtochty, "and tell the minister no tae forget the Jews. Ye can
birse (push) in fine, but it wud beat me to get by the door. It's a
bonnie bit room, but three fouk stannin' maks it contrakit for
another man,"
It was eight feet by eight, and consisted largely of two doors and a
fireplace, and its chief glory was a portrait of Dr. Chalmers, whose
face, dimly seen in the light of the lamp, was a charter of
authority, and raised the proceedings to the level of history.
Lockers on either side of the mantelpiece contained the church
library, which abounded in the lives of Scottish worthies, and was
never lightly disturbed. Where there was neither grate nor door, a
narrow board ran along the wall, on which it was simply a point of
honour to seat the twelve deacons, who met once a month to raise the
Sustentation Fund by modest, heroic sacrifices of hard-working
people, and to keep the slates on the church roof in winter. When
they had nothing else to do, they talked about the stove which "came
out in '43," and, when it was in good humour, would raise the
temperature in winter one degree above freezing. Seating the court
was a work of art, and could only be achieved by the repression of
the smaller men, who looked out from the loopholes of retreat, the
projection of bigger men on to their neighbours' knees, and the
absolute elimination of Archie Moncur, whose voice made motions on
temperance from the lowest depths. Netherton was always the twelfth
man to arrive, and nothing could be done till he was safely settled.
Only some six inches were reserved at the end of the bench, and he
was a full sitter, but he had discovered a trick of sitting sideways
and screwing his leg against the opposite wall, that secured the
court as well as himself in their places on the principle of a
compressed spring. When this operation was completed, Burnbrae used
to say to the minister, who sat in the middle on a cane chair before
the tiniest of tables--the living was small, and the ministers never
grew fat till they left--
"We're fine and comfortable noo, Moderator, and ye can begin
business as sune as ye like."
As there were only six elders they could sit in state, besides
leaving a vacant space for any penitents who came to confess their
sins and receive absolution, or some catechumen who wished to be
admitted to the sacrament. Carmichael used to say that a meeting of
Session affected his imagination, and would have made an interior
for Rembrandt. On one side of the table sat the men who represented
the piety of the district, and were supposed to be "far ben" in the
Divine fellowship, and on the other some young girl in her
loneliness, who wrung her handkerchief in terror of this dreaded
spiritual court, and hoped within her heart that no elder would ask
her "effectual calling" from the Shorter Catechism; while the little
lamp, hanging from the ceiling, and swinging gently in the wind that
had free access from every airt, cast a fitful light on the fresh,
tearful face of the girl and the hard, weather-beaten countenances
of the elders, composed into a serious gravity not untouched by
tenderness. They were little else than labouring men, but no one was
elected to that court unless he had given pledges of godliness, and
they bore themselves as men who had the charge of souls.
The little Sanhedrim had within it the school of Hillel, which was
swayed by mercy, and its Rabbi was Burnbrae; and the school of
Shammai, whose rule was inflexible justice, and its Rabbi was
Lachlan Campbell. Burnbrae was a big-hearted man, with a fatherly
manner, and had a genius for dealing with "young communicants."
"Weel, Jessie, we're awfu pleased tae think yer gaein' forrit, and
the Dominie wes tellin' me juist last week that ye did yir work at
schule graund, and knew yir Bible frae end tae end.
"It'll no be easy to speir (ask) the like o' you questions, but ye
mind Abraham, Jessie."
"Ou ay," and Jessie is all alert, although she is afraid to look up.
"What was the name o' his wife, noo?"
"Sarah, an' their son was Isaac."
"That's richt, and what aboot Isaac's wife?"
"Isaac mairrit Rebecca, and they hed twa sons, Jacob and Esau," and
the girl takes a shy glance at the honest elder, and begins to feel
at home.
"Domsie wesna far wrang, a' see, but it's no possible ye cud tell us
the names o' Jacob's sons; it's maybe no fair tae ask sic a teuch
question," knowing all the while that this was a test case of
Domsie's.
When Jessie reached Benjamin, Burnbrae could not contain himself.
"It's nae use trying to stick Jessie wi' the Bible, neeburs; we 'ill
see what she can dae wi' the Carritches (Catechism). Yir no the
lassie that said the questions frae beginning tae end wi' twa
mistaks, are ye?"
Yes, she was, and dared him to come on, for Jessie has forgotten the
minister and all the Session.
"The elders wud like tae hear 'What is the Lord's Supper?'"
"That's it; and, Jessie, ma woman, gie's the 'worthy receiving.'"
Jessie achieves another triumph, and is now ready for anything.
"Ye hae the Word weel stored in yir mind, lassie, and ye maun keep
it in yir life, and dinna forget that Christ's a gude Maister."
"A'll dae ma best," and Jessie declared that Burnbrae had been as
kind as if she had been "his ain bairn," and that she "wasna feared
ava." But her trial is not over; the worst is to come.
Lachlan began where Burnbrae ended, and very soon had Jessie on the
rack.
"How old will you be?"
"Auchteen next Martinmas."
"And why will you be coming to the sacrament?"
"Ma mither thocht it was time," with a threatening of tears as she
looked at the face in the corner.
"Ye will maybe tell the Session what hass been your 'lawwork' and
how long ye hef been at Sinai."
"A' dinna ken what yir askin'. I was never oot o' Drumtochty," and
Jessie breaks down utterly.
"A' dinna think, Moderator, we ocht tae ask sic questions," broke in
Burnbrae, who could not see a little one put to confusion; "an' I
canna mind them in the Gospels. There's ae commandment Jessie keeps
weel, as a' can testeefy, and that's the fifth, for there's no a
better dochter in Drumtochty. A' move, Moderator, she get her token;
dinna greet, puir woman, for ye've dune weel, and the Session's rael
satisfeed."
"It wass Dr. John's mark I wass trying the girl by," explained
Lachlan after Jessie had gone away comforted. "And it iss a goot
mark, oh yes, and very searching.
"Ye will maybe not know what it iss, Moderator," and Lachlan
regarded the minister with austere superiority, for it was the
winter of the feud.
No, he did not, nor any of the Session, being all douce Scotchmen,
except Donald Menzies who was at home fighting the devil.
"It iss broken bones, and Dr. John did preach three hours upon it at
Auchindarroch Fast, and there wass not many went to the Sacrament on
that occasion.
"Broken bones iss a fine mark to begin with, and the next will be
doubts. But there iss a deeper," continued Lachlan, warming to his
subject, "oh yes, far deeper, and I heard of it when I wass North
for the sheep, and I will not be forgetting that day with Janet
Macfarlane.
"I knew she wass a professor, and I wass looking for her marks. But
it wass not for me to hef been searching her; it wass that woman
that should hef been trying me."
A profound silence wrapt the Session.
"'Janet,' I said, 'hef ye had many doubts?'
"'Doubts, Lachlan? was that what you asked? I hef had desertions,
and one will be for six months.'
"So I saw she wass far beyond me, for I dare not be speaking about
desertions."
Two minutes after the minister pronounced the benediction, and no
one had offered any remark in the interval.
It seemed to the elders that Lachlan dealt hardly with young people
and those that had gone astray, but they learned one evening that
his justice had at least no partiality. Burnbrae said afterwards
that Lachlan "looked like a ghaist comin' in at the door," but he
sat in silence in the shadow, and no one marked the agony on his
face till the end.
"If that iss all the business, Moderator, I hef to bring a case of
discipline before the Session, and ask them to do their duty. It iss
known to me that a young woman who hass been a member of this church
hass left her home and gone into the far country. There will be no
use in summoning her to appear before the Session, for she will
never be seen again in this parish. I move that she be cut off from
the roll, and her name iss "--and Lachlan's voice broke, but in an
instant he recovered himself--"her name iss Flora Campbell."
Carmichael confessed to me that he was stricken dumb, and that
Lachlan's ashen face held him with an awful fascination.
It was Burnbrae that first found a voice, and showed that night the
fine delicacy of heart that may be hidden behind a plain exterior.
"Moderator, this is a terrible calamity that hes befaen oor brither,
and a'm feelin' as if a' hed lost a bairn o' my ane, for a sweeter
lassie didna cross oor kirk door. Nane o' us want tae know what hes
happened or where she hes gane, and no a word o' this wull cross oor
lips. Her faither's dune mair than cud be expeckit o' mortal man,
and noo we have oor duty. It's no the way o' this Session tae cut
aff ony member o' the flock at a stroke, and we 'ill no begin with
Flora Campbell. A' move, Moderator, that her case be left tae her
faither and yersel, and oor neebur may depend on it that Flora's
name and his ain will be mentioned in oor prayers, ilka mornin' an'
nicht till the gude Shepherd o' the sheep brings her hame."