"48, REGENT SQUARE, _Tuesday_.
"MY DEAR FOLKS,—On Saturday morning a shabby man called, said he was a
cousin of Dykes, needing money too, etc., just come from
America—awkward Dykes on Continent. I saw he was an impostor, so
resolved to get rid of him. I answered, 'It _is_ awkward.' Then he
said, 'What is to become of me? I look to you, sir.' 'Nothing will come
of that, I fear.' 'But are you not Dr. Dykes's assistant?' 'Yes, I
assist _him_, but not his relatives.' 'Well, but, sir, what would you
advise me to do?' 'To say "Good morning," and not lose more of your
time here.' As he got up he rubbed his stomach and said, 'I have had no
breakfast to-day.' 'Very hard that mine is over, and my landlady does
not like to have to make a second; do you often go without food?' 'Many
and many a time, sir.' 'Ah, the doctor says it is good for the health!
I wish I looked as well-fed as you do, going without breakfast. It must
be economical. Good morning.' And we parted with mutual grins."
Among the congregation at Regent Square Mr. Elmslie formed many
friendships. He conceived a warm regard for Professor Burdon-Sanderson
(now of Oxford) and his wife; and other names might be mentioned of
those who became lifelong friends. Among men who have since become well
known, he saw something of Professor G. J. Romanes, who was then an
occasional visitor at Regent Square. About this time he describes a
meeting with Macdonell of the _Times_, whom he speaks of as "full of
light." On the same occasion he met Dr. Marcus Dods for, I think, the
first time. "_Dods, I like very much_," is his brief comment.
* * * * *
Two years after his first arrival in London Mr. Elmslie settled in
Willesden as minister of the Presbyterian Congregation there. When he
left Scotland in 1873 he had formed no resolve to sever his
ecclesiastical connection with that country. Circumstances and
inclination, however, kept him in the south. He was much impressed with
the type of congregation which represented English Presbyterianism at
Regent Square. For many members of the session he had a warm respect and
friendly admiration. He was interested in the experimental position of a
Church, such as the Presbyterian one in England, comparatively young and
small. The appeal that came to him from Willesden was direct and urgent.
It is not to be wondered at that he yielded, at first rather
reluctantly, to its pleading. The next eight years of his life were
spent in active ministry in this little metropolitan suburb.
When Mr. Elmslie came to Willesden the place was much less populous than
it has since become. The streets were only partially lighted. The road
from the Junction Station to the little village of Harlesden, which is
now a continuous row of shops and houses, passed then between ragged
hedges, under a canopy of elms. The Presbyterian Church was not built,
but services were held in a hall, which was the first building the
Scotch residents put up. Mr. Elmslie took rooms near the site of the
prospective church, but shortly after moved to the little house in Manor
Villas which belonged to the chapel-keeper and his wife—Mr. and Mrs.
Oxlade—a worthy couple, who returned the respect with which he regarded
them by a loving admiration for the best man, as they phrased it, whom
they ever knew.
On November 23rd, 1875, Mr. Elmslie was duly ordained. His dear mother
was present at the service, and many friends. I had been with him during
the earlier part of the day. Among other subjects of conversation we had
been anticipating an episcopal discussion on the ethics of betting. He
recognized the difficulty of the subject, and as he got more hopelessly
perplexed in his effort to justify an absolute prohibition of the
practice on grounds which could be intellectually defended, he turned, I
remember, to his mother with a look of comical helplessness: "Here am I
going to be ordained, and I don't even know why it's wrong to bet."
The congregation under his watchful care grew and prospered. A more
united body of people never kept together in corporate life, and this
happy result was due in chief measure to the unwearied tact and resource
of the young minister.
In the spring of the following year the new church was completed and
opened for public worship. Mr. Elmslie seemed to be able to draw into it
men of all shades of religious opinion, and some even whose family
traditions were at variance with evangelical orthodoxy. One of
the distinguished sons of a famous Unitarian household was a
fellow-worshipper with Ned Wright the evangelist. Throughout the whole
of the little community which he ruled, for young and old alike, there
was life, energy, and kindly charity. He felt that the path of Christian
living was not to be trodden without ardent effort; and his example was
at once a stimulus to the strong and an encouragement to the weak. "Your
prayers," said a lady to him at this time, "always make me feel that it
is a terribly difficult thing to be a Christian—but you can't think what
a lot of good they do me."
The year after (1877) Mr. Elmslie commenced mission work. The London and
North Western Railway Company had just built an Institute for their
employés who are housed in large numbers in what is known as the Railway
Village, at Willesden Junction. Above the recreation rooms in the new
building was a large hall, which was placed at the disposal of Mr.
Elmslie, by the directors, for Sunday services. He willingly took
advantage of this kindness to gain a further hold on men whose hearts,
in many cases, he had already reached. An engine-driver, who had been
long ill, remarked to a friend about him: "He comes here, has a long
chat, and tells me about many things; but never lets me feel he knows
more than I do." The services then commenced are still continued under
the oversight of Mr. Elmslie's successor.
Four years later another mission was started from Willesden which has
since grown into an independent charge. The district of College Park
came into being beneath Mr. Elmslie's eyes, and its spiritual needs
attracted his attention. He applied to the London School Board for use
of a schoolroom in which to hold Sunday services. The application having
failed he bought, in the following year, along with his office-bearers,
the site for a hall and church. The hall was at once built, and by the
kindness of Mr. Andrew Wark, and other friends to whom Mr. Elmslie made
a personal appeal, the money to meet the cost was subscribed. The church
has been more recently completed.
One noticeable feature in his work at Willesden was his power to attract
the young. I remember his saying on one occasion, half jestingly, that
he liked to make children happy, as he knew how miserable they would be
when they grew up. He meant that the strain of living was bound to tell,
and that children should have all the happiness which can be enjoyed in
the elasticity of youth. I do not know which were more attractive to the
young people of Willesden—his children's sermons, or the sweets which he
used to produce from mysterious stores when they came to visit him. Both
were excellent and both did good.
* * * * *
The following contains an interesting account of his pastoral work, and
is worth quoting at length:—
"Though it is late, and the text for Sunday (Communion) has not been
fixed yet, I am going to tell you a very sad story, that has made me
think of many things. Over a year ago Mrs. X————, on my recommendation,
engaged as governess a Miss Y————, a great friend of Mrs. Z————, who
asked that she might be very kindly treated, because she had had a deal
to bear, and was all but disgusted with religion. She was a bright
young girl, very pretty and graceful, clever in talk and repartee.
Often I wished to find a way of showing her some kindness, but
naturally that was hardly possible. However, I knew that both Mr. and
Mrs. G———— were good to her. She was to have left last Saturday, but
took suddenly unwell—had to go to bed. On the same day I called in at
Mrs. G————'s on my way to say good-bye to Miss Y————; learning of her
attack, I did not go on.... Mrs. G———— had given her some
eau-de-Cologne, and she had liked it much, so I took with me my little
spray bottle. Her mother was with her; she looked wretchedly ill in
face, eyes, and hands, but spoke in a very firm voice, and that made me
think there was certainly no immediate danger.
"I at once told her about the spray bottle, and making her shut her
eyes, applied it on her temples. She said it was delicious, and took it
in her hands.
"I cannot try to describe her talk, for it was broken by moments of
wandering, when she said very odd things, and in the midst she grew
sick, and I had to go outside; she was too ill then to say much. I
deemed it kind not to remain, but had a short, simple prayer. She said,
very earnestly, 'Thank you so much for that!' I told her I would come
again, and she must not fear to say to me all she wished. She answered,
'Yes, come again.' Thursday was a very busy day, for I had many
engagements in London. Though I tried hard, I could not get home early,
but it would have made no difference. She had been delirious night and
day, with occasional intervals, and died at a quarter to three in the
afternoon. She was only twenty-three.
"... J———— G———— went up and held her hands. She struggled for a moment
or two, and then let her head down, and while he spoke to her, quieting
her, she said she was going to be good and sleep now. Her wild eyes
shut at last, and she was in a sleep, such as she had not had since
Saturday.
"The mother and Mrs. G———— stole out, leaving only a sister, thinking
it was recovery; but it was death. In ten minutes, with a little sigh,
she ceased to breathe. Mr. G———— was her great friend, and she died in
his arms. You can hardly think how sad her death has made me. So many
forlorn things are about it that I have no time to write. Those lonely
nights of agony and death-like sickness, that she had said nothing
about at the time, believing herself dying, a governess among
strangers, etc.
"Two things I am glad of—that Mrs. G———— was with her one night, and
that I thought of the spray bottle. She said to me, '_You_ had Mrs.
G———— to nurse _you_; is not she an _angel_?' and I said, 'Yes, as much
as if she had wings,' and I meant it.
"Then her sisters told me that all that last night and day, till close
on the end, my little bottle was never out of her hand; the coolness of
the air and the softness of the spray relieved her sickness so much.
Once, when in a spasm she jerked the bottle on the floor, she cried,
for fear it was broken. The mother has sent a message asking if she may
keep it, since it was the last thing in her child's hand, and the last
that gave her any pleasure. It seems, too, that she spoke more than
once of my prayer for her. Before the mother left last night to go
home, she said to Mrs. G————, 'I shall always love you and your husband
for what you have done for my child. Your kindness to her and the
preaching she heard in your church did her so much good. She came to
you with her life embittered, and with her religious beliefs nearly
gone. Only a month ago she told me they had all come back again, and
she understood Christ better, and believed in Him more, because of the
way Mr. Elmslie preached of him, and we all have seen that this last
year at Willesden has been the happiest in all her life. If she had
been taken a year ago our recollections would have been very, very sad;
now it is different,' and then the poor lady burst out crying. To-day I
tried hard to get some white roses to lay on her ere the body is taken
home, but I could only get some smaller white flowers, and maiden-hair
ferns. Mrs. G———— had also got a basket of flowers, and I think the
sight of them will comfort the old folks at home a little, as also a
letter I have sent the poor mammy, saying some kind things about her
lassie.
"Many other touching things the poor girl said and did come to my mind,
and I could tell you more, but there is not time. I called it a sad
story, but in some ways it is not sad. Indeed, I almost think that it
is death alone that makes life at all sacred.
"All these things have made me think that Christ's account of the
judgment must be quite real. I mean the 'Inasmuch as ye did it to one
of these,' etc., for that is just how we would feel, that is just how
the poor mother of the dead girl felt. There is nothing to thank God
for more than to have been able to do a kindness to a dying soul. To
think that a poor troubled soul has gone out of the pain and tiredness
of life straight into the arms of God from yours, with the touch of
pitying hands fresh on it; to feel God sees that, and knows those hands
were yours, seems to me to bring you and God very near to each other.
If it be true that He loves 'the souls that He hath made,' surely He
must love you for loving them. I do not think it would matter very much
about other things, if you had loved a good deal. If a little child
said, as you were being turned away, 'He made me so happy!' and
another, 'He fed and clothed me;' and another, 'He held me so gently in
the agony of death,' even if he were a very sinful man, what could God
do to him who had been good to the 'little ones'? The Apostle John had
thought of it, and said, 'He that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God,'
and Paul must have been in the same mind when he wrote 1 Cor. xiii."
They were very bright and happy, those Willesden days with their
expanding usefulness; and before Mr. Elmslie left the district his life
had been crowned by the commencement of that heart-union with another
which seemed to more than double the separate influence of each for
good. He worked unremittingly, and even his holidays were not given to
idleness or rest. When he came to London he knew little of French, and
one of his first holidays was spent in Paris, where he worked at the
language with conscientious thoroughness, and obtained an adequate
mastery over its difficulties. He returned to Paris on another occasion
for further study, and one late summer he spent in Rome studying Italian.
His second visit to Paris was very helpful to him in more ways than one,
especially in the influence exercised upon him by Bersier.
"I find that the £30 I spent on going to Paris is going to pay me far
more than I thought of, not merely in French, though I rejoice in that
daily, but in preaching. Perhaps you remember me saying that I had got
several hints from the style of Bersier, who spoke, not read—mainly in
letting out, adopting a free, direct style, variation, etc. Since coming
back I have had constantly to preach very badly prepared; but I knew
that (partly in consequence) I was much more free, bold, and roused. On
Sunday I was very ill-prepared, nothing written, even order of thoughts
not fixed; and I did not stick, even, to the line intended; but feeling
this, I let out tremendously in vehemence and language. I saw how it
took, and several spoke. Yesterday two old folks were on the sermon, and
then they said, 'But ever since you came back from Paris you have been
so much improved,' etc., etc. And indeed, I have heard more of my
sermons during the last few weeks than ever before. So I owe a debt to
M. Bersier. Another item, however, is, I fancy, that Paris made some
things a little more real to me than they were before."
During all these years Mr. Elmslie's reading was wide and various. At
the same time it was not difficult to see that the subject that
interested him most was the study of man, and the books that attracted
him were those that threw light upon the actions and passions of men.
When he returned from Paris for the first time, for example, the author
of whom he was most full was Rousseau—not Rousseau the philosopher and
speculative thinker—but the Rousseau of the "Confessions"—with their
strange candour and unblushing avowals. He read little of the works of
the great imaginative masters of English prose or verse. If he did read
a volume of Tennyson or Ruskin, for example, his criticisms were always
brilliant and penetrating; but he never nourished his spirit upon their
loftier utterances, nor was his style moulded by the melody of theirs.
One exception I should perhaps make. His study of George Eliot was
frequent and appreciative. One of his students has told us how, shortly
before his own death, he referred to the scene in which Mr. Tulliver's
is described to point a characteristic lesson in theology and charity.
The passage was a favourite one, from the day when a friend first gave
him the "Mill on the Floss" to read. I remember another remark of his
about George Eliot which is worth quoting, but to appreciate its point I
must introduce a word of explanation. I had, just at that time, drawn up
a memorial on a subject in which we were both interested. Avoiding the
conventional "wharfoes" which "Uncle Remus" has satirized in such
documents, I had worded the appeal with perhaps exaggerated directness.
Each sentence contained a distinct proposition, and the whole was
expressed with something of that oracular emphasis with which, in those
days, Victor Hugo used, from time to time, to address the citizens of
Paris. After talking of this composition, and the subject of which it
formed part, the conversation turned on George Eliot. I referred to
"Romola"—especially to the closing scenes in the life of Savonarola,
which, as it has always seemed to me, touch the highest point that has
been reached in analysis of the drama of spiritual conflict. As I
recalled the passage in which the disciplined imagination of the writer
shows us the great Florentine stripped, one after another, of all those
dazzling evidences of divine favour with which he used to feed his soul
in pride, till there is nothing left to tell him of the unforsaking love
of God save the lowly witness of his own bowed and penitent heart, the
eyes of my companion grew bright with a large approval. After a pause he
said, "If we find George Eliot is not in heaven when we get there, I
think you and I will have to draw up a memorial—in the style of Victor
Hugo."
When one thinks of the versatility of Dr. Elmslie's mind, and of the
keenness of his intelligence, one feels that he might have won laurels
in any domain of intellectual effort. And yet theology was the one
subject on which his heart was set. He conceived of it grandly and
nobly. He believed in it in that deep, derivative sense in which it is
referred to by Carlyle in the opening to his story of the Puritan
revolt, as a knowledge of God, the Maker, and of His laws. And for him
Christ was the Divine Lawgiver—sole Lord of his conscience as well as
Saviour of his spirit. For me at least, the facts of Christianity seemed
always to grow larger and more solemn as he pressed their spiritual
significance; its doctrines seemed to grow more real as he pierced
beneath the forms in which they are encased to explore their ethical
contents. God and man, and the relations between them, were the
absorbing subjects of his study. It was his constant brooding over human
nature as seen in the light of Divine pity, which gave its largeness to
his measurement alike of the deadly hatefulness of sin and of the
atoning charity of Christ. Sin was for him a thing far more terrible
than any punishment which could possibly await it; and his sense of its
dread, though still expiable, terror gave to him his Christlike
eagerness to watch for the faintest signs of contrition and amendment.
The following passage in a letter written to his mother some years
earlier contains, it seems to me, the heart and soul of all his
preaching.
"Am very much touched to hear about the poor Doctor. No matter what he
may have done, with his disordered brain and troubled home life, I had
rather go into the next world like him than like most of those who have
condemned, though there were even nothing more than that near the end he
tried a little to do right, and had a pitiful wish in his heart to be at
rest, and go back to his old mother, and live a Christian life. And if
it is really true that there is a heavenly Father who pities sinful men,
and a Christ who died to save them, then I think my mammy, in helping
him only but a little to better thoughts and hopes, did a greater thing
than most deeds men call great. Any way, she has the satisfaction of
having done kindly by an unfortunate man, and of knowing that it is all
well with him—unless, indeed, Christ was altogether mistaken. It is not
the first time, either, that she has done that sort of thing."
* * * * *
In 1880 he was appointed tutor of Hebrew in the Presbyterian College,
London, and carried on the work along with that of his congregation in
Willesden. He made himself very popular with the students, and when a
permanent appointment came to be made in 1883, he was unanimously
elected Professor of Hebrew. He writes: "It seems that the speeches of
Walton, Fraser, and Watson were just perfect, so earnest and generous,
and loving and hopeful. That put the Synod into a melting and happy
mood. All yesterday I felt very grave, and almost afraid. I see that a
very great thing, of good or evil, has happened in my life. God grant
that it may be for good."
Almost immediately after his appointment to the Professorship, he
married Kate, daughter of Mr. Alexander Ross, formerly Rector of the
Grammar School, Campbeltown. The home which he made first at Upper
Roundwood, Willesden, then at 31, Blomfield Road, Maida Vale, will ever
have the brightest associations for his friends. He had all the
qualities that fit a man to bless and grace married life. When his son
and only child was born it seemed as if he were drinking the richest
happiness of life in its fulness. I shrink from quoting words so sacred
and tender as these which I take from a letter to his wife, but I cannot
otherwise convey the full truth:—
"It makes me so glad, dear, every time I think of it, to know that we
chose each other for no base worldly motives, but out of pure love and
esteem for what (with all faults and defects) was good, and tender, and
true, in one another. It was not for the mean things that the world and
fashion make much of and worship that we two came together, meaning to
go hand in hand through life with mutual help and kindness. We knew
quite well the world's ways, and we could feel the pressure of its lower
estimates and aims. But this act at least was done not with shallow
hearts and for mean ends, but in honest friendship out of true
affection, and with a very earnest wish to do only what was good and
right, and to help each other to live a happy and a noble life." Such a
life it was, though its years were few; and when the news of his death
came, amid all the absorbing and confounding regrets which filled many
minds, the thought was ever uppermost of the wife and child left
desolate in the home that had been so full of sunshine.
Dr. Elmslie gave himself unsparingly to the work of his chair. He
declined preaching engagements, and made zealous preparation for his
classes. Apart from his own high standard of duty, he greatly respected
the opinion of students. He thought Professors could have no fairer
judges. The diligent study of the Old Testament, with the aid of the
best German commentaries, was of course the main part of his preparatory
work. But he did more with dictionaries than with commentaries, and made
up his mind for himself. He always kept pace with the progress of
research, and followed with deep attention the absorbing discussions of
recent years on the structure of the Old Testament. As he was himself so
chary in expressing publicly the conclusions he had arrived at on these
subjects, it would not be right for me to say much. Of this, at least,
he was sure, that the worth and message of the Old Testament were
unimpaired by criticism, and would be so whatever the ultimate
conclusion might be. He was also exceedingly sceptical as to the
finality of the critical verdicts generally accepted at present: he
believed that the analysis would be carried much farther. But although
he diligently studied these things, and was an accurate and exact
grammarian, he had his own theory of the duties of a Professor, which
cannot be better described than in his own words, in an anonymous
article contributed to the _British Weekly_ for September 16th, 1887.
There he says—
"Theological colleges are not in the first instance shrines of culture
or high places of abstract erudition, but factories of preachers and
pastors. They are not so much fountains of pure scholarship, but are
rather to be classed with schools of medicine and institutes of
technical education. Their function is not to produce great theologians,
but to train efficient ministers—though they will hardly do that without
possessing all that is essential to do the other. The ideal Professor is
not your dungeon of learning, in whose depths he and his pupils are
buried away from all practical life and usefulness. Information is good,
in large measure indispensable, but the rarer gift of the heaven-born
teacher is infinitely more. The old institution of the "lecture"—
pretentious, laborious, in every sense exhaustive—must vanish. What was
spun out into an hour of dry-as-dust detail must be struck off in ten
minutes of bright, sharp, suggestive sketching. It is the difference
between the heavy leading article of our newspapers and the crisp
incisiveness of the French press. There must be much more teaching from
text-books, and direct instruction from the Bible and human life.
Dogmatic must deal less with theories and mouldy controversies, and more
with the actual forces of sin and salvation. Exegetic cannot be allowed
to fool away a whole session in a wearisome analysis of a few chapters
of an epistle or a prophecy, fumbling and mumbling over verbal
trivialities, blind to the Divine grandeurs that are enshrined within,
while the students are left without even a bird's-eye view of the
contents of the Bible as a whole, and destitute of any adequate
conception of its vital majesty and meaning. Above all, a new scope and
purpose must be given to the teaching of Practical Theology. Instead of
a few lectures on the doctrine of the Church, and the ideal construction
of a sermon, and the theoretical discharge of pastoral duty, this ought
to constitute the crowning and chief study in the curriculum. And it
should be in the form, not of teaching, but of actual training.
Montaigne complained of his physicians that they "knew much of Galen,
and little about me." They manage better in medical education now. Fancy
the souls of tempted and sick men, women, and children handed over to
the unpractised mercies of our book-taught young ministers. Colleges
cannot quite mend this difficulty; but they might do much. And still
more would be done if each student could be secured a year of travel
abroad, and after that be required to serve an apprenticeship as curate
or evangelist in connection with our larger congregations."
Through the kindness of my friend Mr. W. D. Wright, B.A., a student in
the English Presbyterian College, I have received some very interesting
reminiscences from his students. Space does not permit me to give them
fully, but they show that Elmslie acted up to his own conception of a
Professor's duties. One gentleman says—
"In recalling my impressions of Professor Elmslie, nothing strikes me
so forcibly as his unfailing gentleness towards his students. It was
very seldom indeed that any student was inattentive or troublesome in
class, but when anything of the kind did occur Elmslie never spoke a
word to the offender, and but for the pained flush on his face, one
would have thought he had not noticed the occurrence. Again, when a
student had not prepared his Hebrew lesson, and was unable to read it,
Elmslie always appeared more ashamed than the student himself, but
never said a word in blame or warning. Only he was afterwards chary of
asking the same student to read.
"Elmslie was always ready to answer questions or meet any difficulties
raised by the students, and he was often more eloquent on these
occasions than when engaged in the ordinary routine of the class. He
had rather a dislike for the schoolmaster's work that he was compelled
to do with junior students, and hurried the class on until they were
able to read passages in Hebrew. He did not aim so much at turning out
Hebrew scholars as at making preachers, with a deep interest in Hebrew
literature, and imbued with its spirit. If he could only secure our
interest in a Hebrew author, and enlist our sympathies, he was willing
to excuse any ignorance of ours in regard to grammar or syntax."