FROM ENGLAND TO SCOTLAND--EASTERN ROUTE.
EDINBURGH, _August 23, 1902_.
[Sidenote: The Land of the Mountain and the Flood.]
Soon after leaving Newcastle-on-Tyne, the marked change in the scenery
of the country through which we were passing apprised us of the fact
that we had crossed the border, and were now in Scotland. Instead of
the level or gently undulating fields tilled like gardens, and the fine
oaks and other trees here and there, giving the country a park-like
aspect, there were bold hills on every hand, intensely green, without a
tree as far as the eye could reach, and dotted only with white sheep.
And, instead of the tame rivers, winding lazily through wide meadows,
such as we had seen everywhere in England, there were brawling brooks
dashing down the ravines with an energy that made them fit symbols of
the strenuous activity of the race whose land we were entering. Nothing
in a Scottish landscape is more striking to the American eye than the
uniform absence of trees on the hills and mountains. There are some
forest-clad mountains and ravines, The Trossachs, for instance, as
readers of Scott will remember, but in most cases there are only grass,
ferns, and heather. This has the effect of throwing the shape of the
mountains into much sharper outline to the eye than is the case with
our American mountains, with their dense forests.
If we had had the choosing of the conditions under which we should
enter Scotland, we would not have changed them in any particular.
The afternoon sun was pouring golden light over the hills. The sky
was as blue as that of Italy, save occasional masses of snow-white
clouds towards the horizon--what one of our party calls "Williams'
shaving soap clouds"--and the air, with its abundance of ozone, had an
exhilarating and tonic effect such as I have never known anywhere else
in midsummer.
[Sidenote: The Wizard of the North.]
When we left the train at Melrose, and took up our quarters in the
Abbey Hotel, we found that our good fortune continued, as our rooms
looked right down upon the lovely ruins, and, as we sat watching them,
the moon rose slowly over the Tweed, so that we had the opportunity to
obey literally the poet's counsel in the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_--
"If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight."
To one who, like myself, regards Sir Walter Scott as the greatest
novelist that ever lived, the opportunity to visit his home at
Abbotsford, and his grave at Dryburgh a second time, and to drink in
the exquisite beauty of the Tweed Valley at this point, is one to be
thankful for indeed.
[Illustration: SIR WALTER SCOTT'S SEAT IN MELROSE ABBEY.]
Scott was a reactionary and a royalist, a Tory politically, and a toady
socially. He had an unreasoning reverence for kings and courts. He
never was in sympathy with his countrymen in their long and bloody,
but finally successful, struggle against the tyranny of the church
and the state. In _Old Mortality_, and elsewhere, he slandered the
heroic Covenanters, who won the freedom of Scotland. In _Woodstock_ and
elsewhere, he caricatured Cromwell and the heroic Puritans, who won
the freedom of England. But, with all this, he never wrote anything
dirty or degrading, like so much of our latter day fiction. He
uniformly exalted bravery, and purity, and honor. Nor should it ever be
forgotten that towards the close of his life, when he was overwhelmed
by the disaster that befell the publishing house with which he was
connected, and when he was thus plunged from independence and affluence
into poverty and debt, he gave the world a splendid object lesson of
personal honesty, by setting to work, in his old age, to discharge his
obligations by continuous, laborious, exhausting work with his pen.
He succeeded, but the effort cost him his life. He has given a larger
amount of innocent and wholesome pleasure to the reading world than
any other writer that ever lived. The unceasing stream of pilgrims to
his home at Abbotsford is but one of many indications of his unwaning
popularity.
[Sidenote: Temporary Residence in Auld Reekie.]
Edinburgh at last! No. 4 Atholl Crescent. It was delightful to settle
down here, in our rented apartments, after long toil at home and
long travel abroad, for a real rest, with just enough walking and
hill-climbing daily in and around the city to give us a keen appetite
for our meals. Round the bowl of yellow Scotch earthenware, in which
our oatmeal porridge was served every morning, ran these lines from
Burns:
"Some hae meat that canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it.
But we hae meat an' we can eat,
So let the Lord be thankit."
And, as our appetites sharpened more and more, with the snell air of
the German Ocean, and the abundant exercise on the heath-clad hills,
and the exemption from wearing responsibilities, we entered more and
more fully into the sentiment.
By the way, the famous definition given by Dr. Samuel Johnson, in his
Dictionary, runs thus, "Oats: A grain, which in England is generally
given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people." "Aye," said a
Scotchman, when he heard it, "and see what horses they have in England,
and what men we have in Scotland." Dr. Johnson, who, by the way, owes
his immortal fame to a Scotchman, affected a dislike for Scotland, and
said, among other uncomplimentary things, that the only good road in
Scotland was the road that led to England.
Our feeling is exactly contrary to that, and we are so charmed with
what a good friend of mine calls "God's country north of the Tweed,"
its wonderful beauty, its matchless romance, its heroic history,
the thronging memories of its unsurpassed services to the causes of
religion, liberty, and letters, that we shall find it difficult to tear
ourselves away, and take the road to England at all.
But before undertaking to say anything of the vast and fascinating
themes just mentioned, let me set down, in the remaining space of this
letter, my impressions of certain features of the present-day customs
of the Scottish people in their public worship.
[Sidenote: Public Worship in Scotland.]
In a number of particulars the church usages among Presbyterians in
England and Scotland differ from ours in America. It is the universal
custom, when entering a pew at the beginning of the service, to
bow for a moment or so in silent prayer. Likewise, at the close of
the service, when the minister pronounces the benediction upon the
standing congregation, all the people bow again in silent prayer before
leaving the church. They then rise, and withdraw in a quieter and
more reverential manner than is usual with us. In America it is not
infrequently the case that the moment the minister says "Amen," at the
close of the benediction, the organist pulls out all the stops of his
instrument, sweeps the keyboard with might and main, and fills the
building with a crashing tempest of sound, apparently a very lively
march, not to say a waltz, to the jubilant strains of which the people
move down the aisles, while, instead of the subdued greetings that seem
more suitable to the sanctuary, they are straining their voices to make
themselves heard over the uproar of the music.
[Sidenote: Organ, Choir and Congregation.]
Even in Scotland, however, the custom of a rather lively postlude
from the organ as the people are retiring is growing, as in Free
St. Georges, Edinburgh, which has the best organist I have heard in
Great Britain, Mr. Hollins. He is blind, but I have never heard a man
pour such melody from an organ, or lead a singing congregation more
judiciously and effectively with an instrument. At times he leaves
the organ quite silent in the midst of the hymn, beating time with
his hand, and throwing out the voices of the people themselves. The
organ, as he uses it, is not a crutch for a lame congregation to lean
on, but a vaulting pole for an active one to spring with. And the
singing is magnificent. Happy the church with two ministers such as
Dr. Alexander Whyte and the Rev. Hugh Black, and an organist such as
Mr. Hollins! Little wonder that the great building is crowded to the
doors at every service, and that if one wishes to be sure of a seat he
must come a half hour before the time for the service to begin. This
is quite easy for us to do, as the apartments which we have occupied
for a month are but a few doors above the church. The church music
in Scotland is generally far superior to ours in America. Solos and
quartettes are almost unknown. The choirs are large, and sit in front
of the congregation, just under the pulpit, and regard it as their
business, not so much to display their talents in rendering difficult
choir pieces as to lead the congregation in this important part of the
worship of God. And the people sing, generally and heartily, rolling
up to heaven a great volume of praise. I am struck with the fact
that the Scotch Presbyterians have continued to use some of the most
majestic and uplifting of the ancient hymns, such as the Te Deum, which
we in America have in many places ceased to use, substituting for these
great hymns of the ages the ephemeral jingles which make up too large a
part of our so-called "Gospel Hymns." There is more both of dignity and
variety of the right sort in the Scottish church music, secured by the
free use of close metrical versions of the Psalms, paraphrases of other
parts of Scripture, and anthems of the best type--all sung, mark you,
by the whole congregation, and not by the choir only.
[Sidenote: Bibles in The Churches.]
There is another thing about the Scotch churches that I would like to
see introduced into every church in America, and that is the use of
the Bible by the people. A book-board is affixed to the back of every
pew, running the whole length of it, and on this are laid a sufficient
number of hymn-books and Bibles for all the people in the pew behind.
When the preacher is about to read his Scripture lesson (there are
always two at the morning service, one from the Old Testament, and one
from the New), he announces the book and chapter, then pauses a minute
while the people turn to the place, and, as he reads, they follow. So,
too, when he announces his text. It is an excellent custom. It would be
difficult to overstate the value of it. It is not unconnected with the
fact that the Scotch people, as a whole, know more about the Bible than
any other people in the world.
The International System of Sunday-school Lessons has done more
to promote knowledge of the Bible than any other system ever
generally used since the modern Sunday-school came into existence,
notwithstanding the sweeping and indiscriminating strictures made
upon it by some good brethren of late. But that system is certainly
capable of improvement. One of the unfortunate results charged to the
use of the lesson sheets of the International series is the neglect of
the Bible itself. The children, it is said, do not bring their Bibles
with them, and do not become familiar with them, as a whole, in the
Sunday-school. It is too true in many cases. But are not their seniors
equally indifferent about having Bibles in the regular service? How
can ministers expect to bring about the desired revival of expository
preaching unless they can get Bibles into the hands of the people
during the service? Suppose that, like the Scotch, we had an adequate
supply of Bibles as a regular part of the equipment of our churches
and Sunday-schools, would not this difficulty about the neglect of
the Bible, which so many charge to the use of the lesson leaves, be
effectually met? Why should there not be at least as good a supply of
Bibles in a church as of hymn-books? Never were Bibles so cheap as now.