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 accomplish 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 5th, 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 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 beautiful and accomplished
woman—was a religious enthusiast. "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
comprehension 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 characterised 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'être aimé_. 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
evangelist, who did yeoman service in the Crimean War.
"INSCH, _July 14th, 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 killing five Russians, and the man who had used it killed.
And then I saw the Rifle, and fired it off, though without 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 Gibralter. 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 soldiers 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 your affᵗᵉ Son,
"WILLIAM GRAY ELMSLIE."
"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 affᵗᵉ 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 afterwards 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 character
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 religious
life of New England, pictured 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 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. Freshness, 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 inmost 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 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
compliment 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 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 Aberdeen 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 life of the Aberdeen student has never, perhaps, been rendered with
sufficient fidelity, save in "Alec Forbes," and Dr. Walter Smith's
"Borland Hall," and it may have changed in some respects 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 £10 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
which would open the path to Oxford or Cambridge, or give them a fair
chance in other fields of life. 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 lines 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 _défaillance_ 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 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
indefatigable labour at the prescribed tasks. Although he might well be
termed _l'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 accordingly was
great and growing. In a class which numbered, 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
without a price. From the first his studies brought on some occasional
headaches, and the first triumph resulted 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 intellectual 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 Natural History, with his hoarse
voice, his homely kindness, and his thorough knowledge of his subject,
was a universal 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 of the most outstanding of Professor
Elmslie's classfellows, 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 Highland
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, C.I.E., 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 slimness 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 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 humorous, 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 victories 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, however 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 inclination 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 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 his 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 Professors, 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 in 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 contribution 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 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 addressing 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 receiving benefit from others. The longest
personal sketch he ever wrote was an article on Professor Davidson in
the _Expositor_ (January, 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 quality 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 combination of all these, and the strange, subtle,
and fascinating 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 personality.... 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 at
pointing not to the lives, but to the deaths of Christians, 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 breathless
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 practical, 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 already filled up, waiting to be despatched.
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 congregation, 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 motive power in work. "On coming out I accosted an
intelligent-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 indeed,' 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 1871 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 overwhelmingly kind in their congratulations, and he
himself seems to have rejoiced in this success 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 of 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 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 quarrelling, 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 intercourse, visited
Switzerland in company, 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 meetings 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 patronage. 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 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. Candlish'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 possession 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 feeling I have that in preparing for it I
have made an immense addition to my knowledge in several departments,
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 incidents of his experience among them.
Edinburgh seemed to him more terrible in its undress than Aberdeen. "I
never saw such miserable squalid faces, intermingled with roughs and
coarse-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
pulling 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
regularly, and to me at least it has been very pleasant and very useful.
And now good-night to both."
"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 feeling, 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 listen; some of them especially 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 little ones; and several times,
as they went out, some of them have put their hand in mine and
whispered, 'I'll 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 quarrelling 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 interfere 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. It was terribly annoying at the time, especially
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 little things, but I never had the same sort of _feeling_
in teaching a class before, and I would like you to _remember_ 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, _Jan. 23rd, 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, _I_ 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.' '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 conceited 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 preaching 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 religion, 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 you should not take to street preaching;
they are all hypocrites.' 'Oh, nonsense!' I replied. He exclaimed, very
bitterly, 'Look at ————' (mentioning a recent scandal); '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
manage, 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 on your side with half your sharpness and common
sense; and besides, I must say _you_ are honest about it.' And then we
shook hands, 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 Thomson, 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 professorship of Natural Philosophy with a large salary in the
Colonies, and was specially tempted to enter the medical profession. His
closest friend at the University, 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 14th, 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
'Dissecting-room,' 'Anatomical Museum,' 'Infirmary,' and 'Incurable
Hospital,' and he did his best to sicken me (as you remember befell me
three years ago), but I was all 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 everything 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 conclusion 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 good and very
useful, especially for Germany. "For instance, he has been defending the
doctrine of the Trinity, the personality of the Holy Ghost, the Divinity
of Christ, and eternal punishment. He is very practical and thorough."