transaction, but, as a rule, he was a master of measured speech. After
the privilege of much intercourse with that excellent man, I was able
to draw up his table of equivalents for the three degrees of wickedness.
When there was just a suspicion of trickiness--neglecting the paling
between your cattle and your neighbour's clover field--"He's no juist
the man for an elder." If it deepened into deceit--running a "greasy"
horse for an hour before selling--"He wud be the better o' anither
dip." And in the case of downright fraud--finding out what a man had
offered for his farm and taking it over his head--the offender was "an
ill gettit wratch." The two latter phrases were dark with theology,
and even the positive degree of condemnation had an ecclesiastical
flavour.
When Drumsheugh approved any one, he was content to say, "He micht
be waur," a position beyond argument. On occasion he ventured upon
bolder assertions: "There's nae mischief in Domsie;" and once I
heard him in a white heat of enthusiasm pronounce Dr. Davidson, our
parish minister, "A graund man ony wy ye tak him." But he seemed
ashamed after this outburst, and "shooed" the crows off the corn
with needless vigour.
No Drumtochty man would commit himself to a positive statement on
any subject if he could find a way of escape, not because his mind
was confused, but because he was usually in despair for an accurate
expression. It was told for years in the Glen, with much relish and
almost funereal solemnity, how a Drumtochty witness had held his own
in an ecclesiastical court.
"You are beadle in the parish of Pitscouric," began the advocate
with a light heart, not knowing the witness's birthplace.
"It's a fac'," after a long pause and a careful review of the whole
situation.
"You remember that Sabbath when the minister of Netheraird
preached."
"Weel, a'll admit that," making a concession to justice.
"Did ye see him in the vestry?"
"A' canna deny it."
"Was he intoxicated?"
The crudeness of this question took away Drumtochty's breath, and
suggested that something must have been left out in the creation of
that advocate. Our men were not bigoted abstainers, but I never
heard any word so coarse and elementary as intoxicated used in
Drumtochty. Conversation touched this kind of circumstance with
delicacy and caution, for we keenly realised the limitations of
human knowledge.
"He hed his mornin'," served all ordinary purposes, and in cases of
emergency, such as Muirtown market:
"Ye cud see he hed been tastin'."
When an advocate forgot himself so far as to say intoxicated, a
Drumtochty man might be excused for being upset.
"Losh, man," when he had recovered, "hoo cud ony richt-thinkin' man
sweer tae sic an awfu' word? Na, na, a' daurna use that kin' o'
langidge; it's no cannie."
The advocate tried again, a humbler, wiser man.
"Was there a smell of drink on him?"
"Noo, since ye press me, a'll juist tell ye the hale truth; it wes
doonricht stupid o' me, but, as sure as a'm livin', a' clean forgot
tae try him."
Then the chastened counsel gathered himself up for his last effort.
"Will you answer one question, sir? you are on your oath. Did you
see anything unusual in Mr. MacOmish's walk? Did he stagger?"
"Na," when he had spent two minutes in recalling the scene. "Na, I
cudna say stagger, but he micht gie a bit trimmil."
"We are coming to the truth now; what did you consider the cause of
the trimmiling, as you call it?" and the innocent young advocate
looked round in triumph.
"Weel," replied Drumtochty, making a clean breast of it, "since ye
maun hae it, a' heard that he wes a very learned man, and it cam
intae ma mind that the Hebrew, which, a'm telt, is a very contrairy
langidge, hed gaen doon and settled in his legs."
The parish of Netheraird was declared vacant, but it was understood
that the beadle of Pitscourie had not contributed to this decision.
His own parish followed the trial with intense interest, and were
much pleased with Andra's appearance.
"Sall," said Hillocks, "Andra has mair gumption than ye wud think,
and yon advocat didna mak muckle o' him. Na, na, Andra wesna brocht
up in the Glen for naethin'. Maister MacOmish may hae taen his gless
atween the Hebrew and the Greek, and it's no verra suitable for a
minister, but that's anither thing frae bein' intoxicat."
"Keep's a', if ye were tae pit me in the box this meenut, a' cudna
sweer a hed ever seen a man intoxicat in ma life, except a puir body
o' an English bag-man at Muirtown Station. A' doot he hed bin
meddlin' wi' speerits, and they were wheelin' him tae his kerridge
in a luggage barrow. It wes a fearsome sicht, and eneugh tae keep
ony man frae speakin' aboot intoxicat in yon louse wy."
Archie Moncur fought the drinking customs of the Glen night and day
with moderate success, and one winter's night he gave me a study in
his subject which, after the lapse of years, I still think admirable
for its reserve power and Dantesque conclusion.
"They a' begin in a sma' wy," explained Archie, almost hidden in the
depths of my reading chair, and emphasising his points with a gentle
motion of his right hand; "naethin' tae mention at first, juist a gless
at an orra time--a beerial or a merridge--and maybe New Year. That's
the first stage; they ca' that moderation. Aifter a whilie they tak a
mornin' wi' a freend, and syne a gless at the public-hoose in the
evenin', and they treat ane anither on market days. That's the second
stage; that's 'tastin'.' Then they need it reg'lar every day, nicht an'
mornin', and they'll sit on at nicht till they're turned oot. They
'ill fecht ower the Confession noo, and laist Sabbath's sermon, in
the Kildrummie train, till it's clean reediklus. That's drammin', and
when they've hed a year or twa at that they hae their first spatie
(spate is a river flood), and that gies them a bit fricht. But aff
they set again, and then comes anither spatie, and the doctor hes tae
bring them roond. They ca' (drive) cannie for a year or sae, but the
feein' market puts the feenishin' titch. They slip aff sudden in the
end, and then they juist gang plunk--ay," said Archie in a tone of
gentle meditation, looking, as it were, over the edge, "juist plunk."
Nothing ever affected my imagination more powerfully than the swift
surprise and gruesome suggestion of that "plunk."
But the literary credit of Drumtochty rested on a broad basis, and
no one could live with us without having his speech braced for life.
You felt equal to any emergency, and were always able to express
your mind with some degree of accuracy, which is one of the luxuries
of life. There is, for instance, a type of idler who exasperates one
to the point of assault, and whom one hungers to describe after a
becoming manner. He was rare in the cold air of the North, but we
had produced one specimen, and it was my luck to be present when he
came back from a distant colony, and Jamie Soutar welcomed him in
the kirkyard.
"Weel, Chairlie," and Jamie examined the well-dressed prodigal from
top to toe, "this is a prood moment for Drumtochty, and an awfu'
relief tae ken yir safe. Man, ye hevna wanted meat nor claithes; a'
tak it rael neeburly o' ye tae speak ava wi' us auld-fashioned fouk.
"Ye needna look soor nor cock yir nose in the air, for you an' me
are auld freends, and yir puir granny wes na mair anxious aboot ye
than a' wes.
"A'm feared that laddie o' Bell's 'ill kill himsel' oot in Ameriky'
were ma verra words tae Hillocks here; 'he 'ill be slavin' his flesh
aff his banes tae mak a fortune and keep her comfortable'
"It was a rael satisfaction tae read yir letter frae the backwoods--or
was't a public-hoose in New York? ma memory's no what it used to
be--tellin' hoo ye were aye thinkin' o' yer auld granny, and wantin'
tae come hame and be a comfort tae her if she wud send ye out twenty
pund.
"The bit that affeckit me maist wes the text frae the Prodigal Son--it
cam in sae natural. Mony a broken hert hes that story bund up, as we
ken weel in this Glen; but it's dune a feck o' mischief tae--that gude
word o' the Maister. Half the wastrels in the warld pay their passage
hame wi' that Parable, and get a bran new outfit for anither start in
the far country.
"Noo dinna turn red, Chairlie, for the neeburs ken ye were tae work
yir wy hame hed it no been for yir health. But there's a pack of
rascals 'ill sorn on their father as lang as he's livin', and they
'ill stairve a weedowed mither, and they 'ill tak a sister's wages,
and if they canna get ony better a dune body o' eighty 'ill serve
them.
"Man, Chairlie, if a' hed ma wull wi' thae wawfies, I wud ship them
aff tae a desert island, wi' ae sack o' seed potatoes and anither o'
seed corn, and let them work or dee. A' ken yir wi' me there, for ye
aye hed an independent spirit, and wesna feared tae bend yir back.
"Noo, if a' cam across ane o' thae meeserable objects in Drumtochty,
div ye ken the advice I wud gie him?
"A wud tell the daidlin', thowless, feckless, fushionless wratch o'
a cratur tae watch for the first spate and droon himsel' in the
Tochty."
"What's he aff through the graves for in sic a hurry?" and Jamie
followed Charlie's retreating figure with a glance of admirable
amazement; "thae's no very gude mainners he's learned in Americky."
"Thank ye, Jeemes, thank ye; we're a' obleeged tae ye," said
Drumsheugh. "A' wes ettlin' tae lay ma hands on the whup-ma-denty
(fop) masel, but ma certes, he's hed his kail het this mornin'. Div
ye think he 'ill tak yir advice?"
"Nae fear o' him; thae neer-dae-weels haena the spunk; but a'm
expeckin' he 'ill flee the pairish."
Which he did. Had you called him indolent or useless he had smiled,
but "daidlin', thowless, feckless, fushionless wratch," drew blood
at every stroke, like a Russian knout.
We had tender words also, that still bring the tears to my eyes, and
chief among them was "couthy." What did it mean? It meant a letter
to some tired townsman, written in homely Scotch, and bidding him
come to get new life from the Drumtochty air; and the grip of an
honest hand on the Kildrummie platform whose warmth lasted till you
reached the Glen; and another welcome at the garden-gate that
mingled with the scent of honeysuckle, and moss-roses, and thyme,
and carnations; and the best of everything that could be given you;
and motherly nursing in illness, with skilly remedies of the olden
time; and wise, cheery talk that spake no ill of man or God; and
loud reproaches if you proposed to leave under a month or two; and
absolute conditions that you must return; and a load of country
dainties for a bachelor's bare commons; and far more, that cannot be
put into words, of hospitality, and kindness, and quietness, and
restfulness, and loyal friendship of hearts now turned to dust in
the old kirkyard.
But the best of all our words were kept for spiritual things, and
the description of a godly man. We did not speak of the "higher
life," nor of a "beautiful Christian," for this way of putting it
would not have been in keeping with the genius of Drumtochty.
Religion there was very lowly and modest--an inward walk with God.
No man boasted of himself, none told the secrets of the soul. But
the Glen took notice of its saints, and did them silent reverence,
which they themselves never knew. Jamie Soutar had a wicked tongue,
and, at a time, it played round Archie's temperance schemes, but
when that good man's back was turned Jamie was the first to do him
justice.
"It wud set us better if we did as muckle gude as Archie; he's a
richt livin' man and weel prepared."
Our choicest tribute was paid by general consent to Burnbrae, and it
may be partiality, but it sounds to me the deepest in religious
speech. Every cottage, strangers must understand, had at least two
rooms--the kitchen where the work was done, that we called the
"But," and there all kinds of people came; and the inner chamber
which held the household treasures, that we called the "Ben," and
there none but a few honoured visitors had entrance. So we imagined
an outer court of the religious life where most of us made our home,
and a secret place where only God's nearest friends could enter, and
it was said of Burnbrae, "He's far ben." His neighbours had watched
him, for a generation and more, buying and selling, ploughing and
reaping, going out and in the common ways of a farmer's life, and
had not missed the glory of the soul. The cynic of Drumtochty summed
up his character: "There's a puckle gude fouk in the pairish, and
ane or twa o' the ither kind, and the maist o' us are half and
between," said Jamie Soutar, "but there's ae thing ye may be sure
o', Burnbrae is 'far ben.'"
A WISE WOMAN
I
OUR SERMON TASTER
A Drumtochty man, standing six feet three in his boots, sat himself
down one day in the study of a West-end minister, and gazed before
him with the countenance of a sphinx.
The sight struck awe into the townsman's heart, and the power of
speech was paralysed within him.
"A'm frae Drumtochty," began a deep solemn voice. "Ye 'ill hae heard
of Drumtochty, of coorse. A've jined the polis; the pay is no that
bad, and the work is naethin' tae an able-bodied man."
When these particulars had been digested by the audience--
"It's a crooded place London, and the fouks aye in a tiravie
(commotion), rinnin' here an' rinnin' there, and the maist feck o'
them dinna ken whar they're gaein.
"It's officer this and officer that frae mornin' till nicht. It's
peetifu' tae see the helplessness o' the bodies in their ain toon.
And they're freevolous," continued the figure, refreshing itself
with a reminiscence.
"It wes this verra mornin' that a man askit me hoo tae get tae the
Strand.
"'Haud on,' I says, 'till ye come tae a cross street, and dinna gang
doon it, and when ye see anither pass it, but whup roond the third,
and yir nose 'ill bring ye tae the Strand.'
"He was a shachlin bit cratur, and he lookit up at me.
"'Where were you born, officer?' in his clippit English tongue.
"'Drumtochty,' a' said, 'an' we hev juist ae man as sma' as you in
the hale Glen.'
"He gied awa' lauchin' like tae split his sides, an' the fac' is
there's no ane o' them asks me a question but he lauchs. They're a
licht-headed fouk, and no sair educat. But we maunna boast; they
hevna hed oor advantages."
The minister made a brave effort to assert himself.
"Is there anything I can do?" but the figure simply waved its hand
and resumed:
"A'm comin' tae that, but a' thocht ye wud be wantin' ma opeenion o'
London.
"Weel, ye see, the first thing a' did, of coorse, after settlin'
doon, was tae gae roond the kirks and hear what kin' o' ministers
they hae up here. A've been in saxteen kirks the last three months,
an' a' wud hae been in mair had it no bin for ma oors.
"Ay, ay, a' ken ye 'ill be wantin' ma judgment," interpreting a movement
in the chair, "an' ye 'ill hae it. Some wes puir stuff--plenty o' water
and little meal--and some wesna sae bad for England. But ye 'ill be
pleased to know," here the figure relaxed and beamed on the anxious
minister, "that a'm rael weel satisfied wi' yersel', and a'm thinkin'
o' sittin' under ye.
"Man," were Drumtochty's last words, "a' wish Elspeth Macfadyen cud
hear ye, her 'at prees (tastes) the sermons in oor Glen; a' believe
she wud pass ye, an' if ye got a certeeficat frae Elspeth, ye wud be
a prood man."
Drumtochty read widely--Soutar was soaked in Carlyle, and Marget
Howe knew her "In Memoriam" by heart--but our intellectual life
centred on the weekly sermon. Men thought about Sabbath as they
followed the plough in our caller air, and braced themselves for an
effort at the giving out of the text. The hearer had his snuff and
selected his attitude, and from that moment to the close he never
moved nor took his eyes off the preacher. There was a tradition that
one of the Disruption fathers had preached in the Free Kirk for one
hour and fifty minutes on the bulwarks of Zion, and had left the
impression that he was only playing round the outskirts of his
subject. No preacher with anything to say could complain of
Drumtochty, for he got a patient, honest, critical hearing from
beginning to end. If a preacher were slightly equipped, the audience
may have been trying. Well-meaning evangelists who came with what
they called "a simple Gospel address," and were accustomed to have
their warmer passages punctuated with rounds of spiritual applause
in the shape of smiles and nods, lost heart in face of that judicial
front, and afterwards described Drumtochty in the religious papers
as "dead." It was as well that these good men walked in a vain show,
for, as a matter of fact, their hearers were painfully alive.
"Whar did yon wakely body come frae, Burnbrae? it wes licht wark the
day. There wes nae thocht worth mentionin', and onything he hed wes
eked oot by repeetition. Tae sae naethin' o' bairnly stories."
"He lives aboot England, a'm telt, an' dis a feck o' gude in his ain
place. He hesna muckle in his head, a'll alloo that, Netherton, but
he's an earnest bit cratur."
"Ou ay, and fu' o' self-conceit. Did ye hear hoo often he said 'I'?
a' got as far as saxty-three, and then a' lost coont. But a' keepit
'dear,' it cam tae the hundred neat.
"'Weel?' a' says tae Elspeth Macfadyen. A' kent she wud hae his
measure.
"'Gruel, Netherton, juist gruel, and eneuch tae scunner (disgust) ye
wi' sugar.'"
It was the birthright of every native of the parish to be a critic, and
certain were allowed to be experts in special departments--Lachlan
Campbell in doctrine and Jamie Soutar in logic--but as an old round
practitioner Mrs. Macfadyen had a solitary reputation. It rested on
a long series of unreversed judgments, with felicitous strokes of
description that passed into the literary capital of the Glen. One
felt it was genius, and could only note contributing circumstances--an
eye that took in the preacher from the crown of his head to the sole
of his foot; an almost uncannie insight into character; the instinct
to seize on every scrap of evidence; a memory that was simply an
automatic register; an unfailing sense of fitness; and an absolute
impartiality regarding subject.
It goes without saying that Mrs. Macfadyen did not take nervous
little notes during the sermon--all writing on Sabbath, in kirk or
outside, was strictly forbidden in Drumtochty--or mark her Bible, or
practise any other profane device of feeble-minded hearers. It did
not matter how elaborate or how incoherent a sermon might be, it
could not confuse our critic.
When John Peddie of Muirtown, who always approached two hours, and
usually had to leave out the last head, took time at the Drumtochty
Fast, and gave, at full length, his famous discourse on the total
depravity of the human race, from the text, "Arise, shine, for thy
light is come," it may be admitted that the Glen wavered in its
confidence. Human nature has limitations, and failure would have
been no discredit to Elspeth.
"They were sayin' at the Presbytery," Burnbrae reported, "that it
hes mair than seeventy heads, coontin' pints, of coorse, and a' can
weel believe it. Na, na, it's no tae be expeckit that Elspeth cud
gie them a' aifter ae hearin'."
Jamie Souter looked in to set his mind at rest, and Elspeth went at
once to work.
"Sit doon, Jamie, for it canna be dune in a meenut."
It took twenty-three minutes exactly, for Jamie watched the clock.
"That's the laist, makin' seeventy-four, and ye may depend on every
ane but that fourth pint under the sixth head. Whether it wes the
'beginnin' o' faith' or 'the origin,' a' canna be sure, for he
cleared his throat at the time."
Peter Bruce stood helpless at the Junction next Friday--Drumtochty
was celebrating Elspeth--and the achievement established her for
life.
Probationers who preached in the vacancy had heard rumours, and
tried to identify their judge, with the disconcerting result that
they addressed their floweriest passages to Mistress Stirton, who
was the stupidest woman in the Free Kirk, and had once stuck in the
"chief end of man." They never suspected the sonsy motherly woman,
two pews behind Donald Menzies, with her face of demure interest and
general air of country simplicity. It was as well for the
probationers that they had not caught the glint of those black beady
eyes.
"It's curious," Mrs. Macfadyen remarked to me one day, "hoo the
pulpit fashions change, juist like weemen's bonnets.
"Noo a' mind when auld Doctor Ferintosh, him 'at wrote 'Judas
Iscariot the first Residuary,' would stand twa meenutes facing the
fouk, and no sit doon till he hed his snuff.
"But thae young birkies gie oot 'at they see naebody comin' in, an'
cover their face wi' ae hand sae solemn, that if ye didna catch them
keekin' through their fingers tae see what like the kirk is, ye wud
think they were prayin'."
"There's not much escapes you," I dared to say, and although the
excellent woman was not accessible to gross flattery, she seemed
pleased.
"A'm thankfu' that a' can see withoot lookin'; an' a'll wager nae
man ever read his sermon in Drumtochty Kirk, an' a' didna find him
oot. Noo, there's the new minister o' Netheraird, he writes his
sermon on ae side o' ten sheets o' paper, an' he's that carried awa'
at the end o' ilka page that he disna ken what he's daein', an' the
sleeve o' his goon slips the sheet across tae the ither side o' the
Bible.
"But Doctor Ferintosh wes cleverer, sall it near beat me tae detect
him," and Elspeth paused to enjoy the pulpit ruse. "It cam tae me
sudden ae Sacrament Monday, hoo dis he aye turn up twal texts,
naither mair nor less, and that set me thinkin'. Then a' noticed
that he left the Bible open at the place till anither text was due,
an' I wunnered a'd been sae slow. It wes this wy: he askit the
beadle for a gless o' water in the vestry, and slippit his sermon in
atween the leaves in sae mony bits. A've wished for a gallery at a
time, but there's mair credit in findin' it oot below--ay, an'
pleesure tae; a' never wearied in kirk in ma life."
Mrs. Macfadyen did not appreciate prodigal quotations of Scriptures,
and had her suspicions of this practice.
"Tak the minister o' Pitscourie noo; he's fair fozzy wi' trokin' in
his gairden an' feedin' pigs, and hesna studied a sermon for thirty
year.
"Sae what dis he dae, think ye? He havers for a whilie on the errors
o' the day, and syne he says, 'That's what man says, but what says
the Apostle Paul? We shall see what the Apostle Paul says.' He puts
on his glasses, and turns up the passage, and reads maybe ten
verses, and then he's aff on the jundy (trot) again. When a man hes
naethin' tae say he's aye lang, and a've seen him gie half an oor o'
passages, and anither half oor o' havers.
"'He's a Bible preacher, at any rate,' says Burnbrae tae me laist
Fast, for, honest man, he hes aye some gude word for a body.
"'It's ae thing,' I said to him, 'tae feed a calf wi' milk, and
anither tae gie it the empty cogie tae lick.'
"It's curious, but a've noticed that when a Moderate gets lazy he
preaches auld sermons, but a Free Kirk minister taks tae abusin' his
neeburs and readin' screeds o' the Bible.
"But Maister Pittendreigh hes twa sermons, at ony rate," and Elspeth
tasted the sweets of memory with such keen relish that I begged for
a share.
"Well, ye see he's terrible prood o' his feenishes, and this is ane
o' them:
"'Heaven, ma brethren, will be far grander than the hoose o' ony
earthly potentate, for there ye will no longer eat the flesh of
bulls nor drink the blood o' goats, but we shall sook the juicy pear
and scoop the loocious meelon. Amen.'
"He hes nae mair sense o' humour than an owl, and a' aye haud that a
man withoot humour sudna be allowed intae a poopit.
"A' hear that they have nae examination in humour at the college;
it's an awfu' want, for it wud keep oot mony a dreich body.
"But the meelon's naethin' tae the goat, that cowed a'thing, at the
Fast tae.
"If Jeems wes aboot a' daurna mention 't: he canna behave himsel'
tae this day gin he hears 'it, though ye ken he's a douce man as
ever lived.
"It wes anither feenish, and it ran this wy:
"'Noo, ma freends, a' wull no be keepin' ye ony longer, and ye 'ill
a' gae hame tae yir ain hooses and mind yir ain business. And as
sune as ye get hame ilka man 'ill gae tae his closet and shut the
door, and stand for five meenutes, and ask himsel' this solemn
question, "Am I a goat?" Amen.'
"The amen near upset me masel', and a' hed tae dunge Jeems wi' ma
elbow.
"He said no a word on the wy back, but a' saw it wes barmin' in him,
and he gied oot sudden aifter his dinner as if he had been ta'en
unweel.
"A' cam' on him in the byre, rowing in the strae like a bairn, and
every ither row he took he wud say, 'Am I a goat?'
"It wes na cannie for a man o' his wecht, besides bein' a married
man and a kirk member, and a' gied him a hearin'.
"He sobered doon, and a' never saw him dae the like since. But he
hesna forgot, na, na; a've seen a look come ower Jeems' face in
kirk, and a've been feared."
When the Free Kirk quarrelled in their vacancy over two
probationers, Mrs. Macfadyen summed them up with such excellent
judgment that they were thrown over and peace restored.