"Perhaps my most vivid remembrances of Dr. Elmslie collect round his
criticisms upon his students' trial discourses. Always kind, invariably
conciliatory, in his criticism, yet he pointed out very plainly the
defects, and indicated what was lacking with unfailing clearness of
judgment. Even in the midst of his rebukes he would frequently take the
bitterness away by some half-playful remark or reference to his own
experiences.... But better than any criticisms were his own concluding
remarks on the text. Compressed, as they had to be, into a very few
minutes, the whole intensity of his nature was seen in them. We often
left the lecture-hall with our brains all astir and our hearts glowing
with the inspiration of his words.
"I rather think some of his first-year students generally thought him
occasionally heretical in his remarks at the close of his criticism.
The one thing he could not bear was dulness, a uniformity of mediocre
unreproachableness about a sermon. So he loved to give with startling
effect a single side of a truth, and thus to send us away with our
minds in a state of rather anxious activity. Once he half-humorously
gave us the advice to begin our sermons with a truth stated in an
unusual, half-heretical way, if one liked; for there is nothing makes
people listen so attentively as a suspicion of heresy. But these early
doubts of our Professor's soundness soon vanished, and we found him, as
one has said, 'not so much _broad_, as _big_.'"
"He read to us a letter from a young man in much doubt as to whether he
should enter the Wesleyan pulpit or no. His correspondent had read with
relish Dr. Elmslie's article on Genesis. Could the Professor tell him
of any books in which points of Christian faith were dealt with in an
intelligent and convincing way? He, the correspondent, knew of no such
books. Dr. Elmslie asked our opinion. I ventured to suggest that
everybody had to hammer out these points of faith for himself. The
Doctor was rather pleased with this remark, and at once said, 'Oh, yes!
indeed he has, and to live them out too.'"
In his old students who had become ministers he took an earnest
interest, and their letters show sufficiently how they prized him. "I
feel," says one, "that you have inspired me with a something quite apart
from the detailed work of the class—with spirit and enthusiasm for
preaching."
* * * * *
He himself was soon drawn back to the pulpit, and as he preached in the
various Nonconformist churches of the Metropolis it was almost
immediately felt that a new force of the first rank had appeared. He
preached frequently in Brixton Independent Church, then under the
brilliant and devout ministry of James Baldwin Brown. Mr. Brown's health
was very infirm when Dr. Elmslie began to preach there, and on his death
the congregation looked to the Professor as his natural successor.
Ultimately a cordial invitation was given. The inducements offered were
great, and the position was among the most influential London
Nonconformity can bestow. That a change of ecclesiastical relations
would have been necessitated by his acceptance would have been no
difficulty to Dr. Elmslie. But he feared to face the physical strain
involved, and preferred to continue his work as Professor.
The disappointment felt at his declinature of the invitation to Brixton
Independent Church was very deep, although the members construed his
refusal in the right way, and understood that no difference of opinion
on ecclesiastical polity and no doubt of their fidelity had anything to
do with it. Some of the letters written to him were very touching. Among
these I may quote the following:—
"DEAR SIR,—We are, with the exception of my husband (who is somewhat of
an invalid), closely occupied all the week, sometimes even the strain
becoming excessive. On Sundays, when you come, your teaching and
influence lift us above all our difficulties, and we start for the next
week full of hope, and feeling nothing too hard to be accomplished. With
regard to my sons, it is an especial boon, because, though they are
thoughtful and good, it has been almost impossible to get them to attend
church during the last two or three years. They did not meet, perhaps,
with a single service for many weeks into which they could enter with
the slightest interest, so they stayed away. We have all found our
Sundays very wearisome, but on those you have visited us all is changed.
All are deeply interested, one competing with the other in bringing
forward the ideas that have interested them." The writer goes on
reluctantly to acquiesce in a declinature which had evidently gone to
the heart of the whole household.
His sphere as a preacher steadily widened, and he became, in addition, a
most popular platform speaker at the May meetings in Exeter Hall and
elsewhere. There is no room to recount his triumphs, and no need to do
so. All who heard him bore the same testimony. If he was preaching in
one of the suburbs the trains towards the time of service brought a
company of admirers from all parts of London. The chapel would be
crowded to the doors. When he stood up in the pulpit strangers felt
surprise. Youthful in appearance, unpretending in manner to the last
degree, and in the early part of the service generally nervous and
restrained, it was not till the sermon began that he showed his full
powers. He usually read the first prayer, and was always glad if he
could get some one to help him with the lessons and the giving out of
hymns. But in preaching all his powers were displayed at their highest.
He did not read his sermons, but his language was as abundant and
felicitous as his thought, and his audience was always riveted. Alike in
manner and matter he was quite original. He imitated no preacher; he did
not care to listen to sermons, and was rarely much impressed by them
when he did. I doubt if he ever read a volume of sermons unless it was
to review them. His knowledge of the Bible and his knowledge of life
gave him inexhaustible stores; he had always matter in advance, and
never felt that sterility of mind which so often afflicts the preacher.
He would retell the stories of the Old Testament, and make them live in
the light of to-day. The reality and firmness with which he grasped
life—the life of toiling, struggling, suffering men and women—was his
chief power. His sympathetic imagination helped him to divine the
feelings of various classes of the young men in business, for example,
with a small salary, and little prospect of rising, forbidden the hope
of honourable love, and tempted to baseness from without and within. He
had an intense concern for the happiness of home life, and much of his
preaching was an amplification of the words—
"To mak' a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife;
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life."
Mothers' hearts he would win by praying for the "dear little children
asleep in their beds at home." Young couples he would warn to keep fresh
the tenderness and self-sacrifice of first love. But the sermons which
follow speak for themselves, though nothing can transfer to the printed
page the light and fire of which they were full as the preacher spoke
them.
Of the helpfulness of his preaching he had from time to time many
testimonies, of which he preserved a few. These were very welcome to
him, far more so than any appreciation of the intellectual ability or
the eloquence of his sermons. This, from one letter, is a specimen of
many more: "I wandered past my own church in a heavy weight of business
care, knowing that a mortgagee would this week likely take all I had,
and caring little where I wandered when I went in to hear you, and was
surprised at the text you preached from, and more so at the helpful
words you spoke, which I hope, by God's grace, will enable me to see—
'Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.'"
He delivered courses of lectures to Sunday-school teachers under the
auspices of the Sunday-school Union. These were very largely attended
and highly appreciated. He received many letters of encouragement, among
them one from the vicar of a London church, who wrote that although he
could not attend them all, owing to the exacting nature of his own work,
he listened to those he could be present at with the deepest attention
and the greatest thankfulness. "That a great scholar should fearlessly
approach these vexed questions, and with his grasp of them be able to
make them popular and understood by the people, and above all attractive
to the people, is to me a great joy. You make the Bible a living book,
filled with people met with in workaday life. You show that the social
problems which superficial minds imagine are utterly new are only old
difficulties under new names, and that the Bible has a definite word to
say upon them, and its 'Thus saith the Lord' is to be listened to still.
I venture to think that this is the great need of this fevered age of
ours, and I heartily thank you."
An attempt was made in 1888 by the Westminster Congregational Church,
where he had often preached with great acceptance, to secure him as
pastor. This invitation he was inclined to accept. The condition of the
Theological College was not at the time satisfactory, and for that and
other reasons it seemed not unlikely that the call would be closed with.
To me, as to others of his friends, it seemed certain that his physical
strength was wholly inadequate to the position, and I am glad to think
of the urgency with which this view was pressed on him. He was reassured
about the College, and gratefully declined the invitation. In connection
with it he received the following letter, which reflects so much honour
on all concerned that I venture to include it here:—
"LONDON, _March 8th, 1888_.
"TO THE REV. PROFESSOR ELMSLIE, M.A., D.D.—We hear with sympathetic
interest that the Westminster Church is calling you to its pastorate.
"The traditions of the Westminster Church are good, its ministry has
always been highly spiritual and largely human, and its importance and
influence have been second to none among the churches of our order in
this great Metropolis.
"We feel special interest in this call from the fact that it will
involve on your part the crossing of the denominational boundary
between Presbyterianism and Congregationalism. Identical though the
churches practically are in the foundation of their theological belief,
we appreciate the strain upon early and sacred association which this
may involve, with, however, this compensation, that, borne in answer to
a call for service and furtherance of the kingdom of Christ, it is a
practical and valuable evidence that the sister denominations are truly
wings in the one great army of God.
"Should you accept this call to the highly honourable post which the
Westminster Church offers you, we beg to assure you of the cordial
welcome, brotherly sympathy, and, as the occasion may arise, the
friendly co-operation of the ministers of our body.
"It is unusual for the representatives of other churches to intervene
in cases of this kind, but understanding there may be questions in your
mind as to the feelings with which you would be received into the ranks
of the Congregational ministry, we have thought it right, on the
suggestion of a representative of the Westminster Church, to give you
this assurance.
"With best wishes for your future welfare and highest prosperity,
"Yours fraternally,
"Alexander Hannay,
"Henry Allon,
"J. C. Harrison,
"J. Guinness Rogers,
"Andrew Mearns,
"Samuel Newth,
"Joseph Parker,
"Robert F. Horton,
"John Kennedy,
"John Fredk. Stevenson,
"R. Vaughan Pryce,
"Alfred Cave,
"John Stoughton,
"Henry Robert Reynolds."
It is unnecessary to refer in detail to the numerous invitations to
Presbyterian pulpits which reached him from time to time. Some of these
were from Scotland, on which he looked back with mingled feelings. He
did not willingly turn his face to the north, or think of it with much
pleasure. "I worked too hard there," he would say. On the other hand, he
writes from Edinburgh in 1880—"I had a splendid talk, fit to be printed,
with Taylor Innes, Davidson, and Iverach. I think I might become a great
divine with such stimulating society."
Elmslie's connection with the Congregationalists not only greatly
heightened his estimate of the loyalty and piety still abiding in the
Nonconformist churches of England; it also brought him more fully into
the current of modern life. He began to be deeply interested in
politics, which he had previously rather held aloof from, became a
diligent reader of newspapers, and was led to an absorbing interest in
Socialism, on which he delivered a memorable address in Exeter Hall in
connection with the Pan-Presbyterian Council of 1888. In politics he was
an ardent Liberal and a thoroughgoing Home Ruler.
* * * * *
Dr. Elmslie added to his other engagements some of a literary kind. He
became adviser to the firm of Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton, of 27,
Paternoster Row, and occupied this position for a few years with great
satisfaction on both sides. His work was to write estimates of any
manuscripts Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton submitted for his
consideration, and that he did it incisively and honestly the following
specimen, selected almost at random, will show:—
"Energetic, intelligent, earnest discourses on the lines of the old
Evangelical Protestant school, not in any way original in exposition or
fresh in presentation, but quite sensible, vigorous, and good. That they
are not up to date appears in such a reference as this: 'The excitement
caused in this country by the publication of "Essays and Reviews," and
subsequently of Bishop Colenso's heretical works, is still fresh in our
memories,' etc. Even if thoroughly rubbed up and revised, the sermons
would only sell where writer's name would carry them, and to some extent
to preachers in search of ready-made discourses."
He ceased to act in this capacity some time before his death, but
continued to be a constant visitor to No. 27, where his appearance gave
pleasure to every one in the place. His inaugural lecture on Ernest
Renan was published in the excellent "Present-day Tracts" of the
Religious Tract Society, and was very well received. He had often heard
Renan lecture, and was thoroughly conversant with his books. To the
_Expositor_ he made some contributions, but in spite of pressure,
delayed publishing extended articles. In _Good Words_ and the _Sunday
Magazine_ some of his sermons were published from time to time. To the
_British Weekly_ he was a large contributor, mostly of short anonymous
reviews and paragraphs; occasionally he would write an extended critique
or a travel sketch. But he was making ready for work as an author. A
remark made by Dr. Marcus Dods had sunk into his mind; it was to the
effect that men should study till they were forty, and then publish the
result of their studies. He had arranged to begin writing and to give up
preaching, and had he lived this purpose would have been carried out.
His schemes were numerous, but the chief was to write a book which
should make the Old Testament intelligible—its contents and message—to
the common people. He had made a careful study of the Minor Prophets,
the result of which will shortly appear in a popular commentary.
* * * * *
So his life went on, useful, happy, honoured, and but too busy. In 1888
he received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from his Alma Mater. In the
same year he preached the opening sermon at the Nottingham meeting of
the Congregational Union. This high honour was never before conferred on
a Presbyterian minister. He enjoyed social intercourse, and in recent
years had much of it. He had many pleasant Continental holidays. But the
claims upon him constantly increased, and alas! his strength did not. He
had the happiness of being under the care of an accomplished and skilful
physician, who was also an intimate friend—Dr. Montague Murray. I need
not speak of the faithful care that never ceased its vigilance. But
although often warned against overwork, and constantly paying the
penalty in severe headaches, no serious danger was apprehended. I am
anxious to make it clear that he did not wilfully throw his life away.
He apprehended no danger, and thought he was taking sufficient
precautions. The last summer of his life he took two Continental
holidays. He loved life. His last years were his best—the brightest and
the fullest of influence. If one had been asked to say who among his
friends had the prospect of the surest happiness and the greatest
influence, he would have named Elmslie without hesitation. It was in
such a noon that his sun went down.
He spent September 1889 in the Engadine. Although he enjoyed the trip he
benefited from it less than he had hoped, and began the work of his
classes with a certain feeling of weariness. He did not, however,
imagine that anything was seriously wrong, and accepted many engagements
for the winter. He preached with wonderful eloquence to crowded
audiences in St. John's Wood Presbyterian Church on the Sunday evenings
of October, and had promised to take anniversary services on Sunday,
November 3rd, for the Rev. John Watson, M.A., of Sefton Park Church,
Liverpool. Although unable to go to College on the previous Friday, he
was anxious not to disappoint his friend, and accordingly went to
Liverpool. His medical adviser reluctantly allowed him to preach once.
He officiated at the forenoon service, getting help from one of his
students in the service. That afternoon he spent in bed, and he was too
unwell to return to London till Wednesday. Dr. Murray saw he was
seriously ill, and ordered that all his engagements should be postponed.
On Thursday, however, he lectured at the College, but on Friday he was
prostrated, and remained so till Tuesday, when unconsciousness set in.
He suffered from agonizing headache. Symptoms of diphtheritic sore
throat set in on Sunday, November 10th. On Tuesday the medical man in
attendance pronounced the disease to be typhoid fever, and after the
evening of that day he was never conscious. His busy brain worked on.
The faithful friend and physician, who hardly left his side, says he
never heard such intelligent unconscious talk. If his mind travelled to
the scene of his recent journeys he would give directions in German
about ordering rooms, arranging for dinner and the like, with perfect
clearness. More often he would fancy himself in his class-room teaching
Hebrew, and urging the students to put heart into their work. Over and
over he spoke to his wife of what had been the master thought of his
life. Lifting his hand he would say with great earnestness, "No man can
deny that I always preached the love of God. That was right. I am glad I
did not puzzle poor sorrowful humanity with abstruse doctrines, but
always tried to win them to Christ by preaching a God of Love." Once he
turned to her with wistful eyes and said, "Kate, God is Love. All Love.
We will tell every one that, but specially our own boy—at least you
will, for I seem to be so tired these days, and my one wonder and
trouble is, that all these people (meaning the nurses) try to prevent me
from going home, where we were always so happy." He was reassured for
the moment, when some familiar object was pointed out, and asked that he
should often be told that he was at home. He was soon to go home indeed.
He recognised his wife on Friday, with the last signs of consciousness.
Shortly after he became faint, closed his eyes, and never opened them
again on earth. About four o'clock on the morning of November 16th,
1889, he quietly passed away.
* * * * *
Scarcely any death could have made a greater rent than this, and the
tokens of sorrow—public and private—were almost unexampled in the case
of one who held no high office in Church or State, who had not lived
long enough to make his mark in literature, who had sought no fame or
honour, but had been content with doing his duty as it called him day by
day. The funeral service was conducted in Marylebone Presbyterian Church
(Dr. Donald Fraser's), of which he was a member. Dr. Fraser and Dr.
Allon delivered addresses, while Dr. Dykes and Dr. Monro Gibson offered
up prayer. The great church was crowded with a deeply moved audience of
two thousand persons, every one of whom probably represented some word
spoken or some service rendered by the kind heart then cold. He was
buried at Liverpool next day by the side of his mother, his attached
friend and colleague the Rev. Dr. Gibb, being among those present at the
interment. A service was conducted at the Presbyterian College, where
Principal Dykes delivered a deeply moving address. "You may send us
another Hebrew Professor," said he, "and we shall welcome him, but you
cannot send us another Elmslie."
Tributes from the Presbyteries of the Church, from congregations of
various denominations to which he had ministered, from well-known Church
leaders, from old students, and, not least, from unknown men and women
whom he had helped and comforted, poured in. They were too numerous to
be quoted or further referred to, but the intensity and turmoil of
feeling expressed in them, showed that the sorrow for him was as deep as
its appointed signs were extensive. One for whom much sympathy was felt,
his aged father, seemed to bear up bravely against the blow. He received
with eager gratitude the abundant testimonies to the honour and love in
which his son was held. But the grief had gone to his heart, he soon
began to sink, and died a few months later.
* * * * *
What was said of Henri Perreyve is eminently true of Elmslie: he was
gifted for friendship and for persuasion. During the last years of his
life, the period when I knew him intimately, he came to what has been
called the grand moral climacteric, and all his nobler qualities were
manifest in their full strength. There was about him the indefinable
charm of atmosphere, at once stimulating, elevating and composing. He
had an inexplicable personal attraction that drew to it whatever
loving-kindness there might be in the surroundings, as certain crystals
absorb moisture from the air they breathe. In his company speech became
of a sweeter and purer flavour. There was no austerity, no Pharisaism
about him; he delighted in fun and gave himself a large liberty; but
nothing he said or welcomed marred the moral beauty which he had reached
through long self-discipline.
No one could know him long without perceiving that he was full of
generous ardour for pure aims. His was not the coarse ambition for the
glittering prizes of life, nor was his enthusiasm such as would have
cooled with time. In that delicate and watchful consideration for
others, which has been called the most endearing of human
characteristics, he could hardly be surpassed. He concerned himself with
the whole life of his friends, and especially with their trials and
perplexities. Dr. Elmslie was, indeed, one of the very few men to whom
one might go in an emergency, sure of a welcome more kindly if possible
than would have been accorded in a time of prosperity. His whole
energies were solicitously given to the task of comforting. If things
could be set right he delighted in applying his singular nimbleness of
mind to the situation. He was adroit in action, and almost amusingly
fertile in schemes and suggestions. I think it is safe to say that all
his friends felt it was better worth while talking over a difficulty
with him than with any one else. Even in cases of moral failure—perhaps
I should say specially in those cases—he was eager to do what was
possible. He had a profound and compassionate sense of the frailty of
men, their sore struggles and thick temptations. Wherever he saw true
repentance he would do his utmost to secure a fresh opportunity for the
erring. He thought the Christian Church sadly remiss in allowing so many
lives to be ruined by one great fault. Out of an income which, for a man
of his talents, was not great, he gave largely, secretly, and with the
most careful discrimination.
His spirit in speaking of others, whether friends or foes was always
charitable. But I must guard against the danger of mistake. He did not
indulge in indiscriminate laudation. His perception of character was
very keen, he was not a hero-worshipper, and he had always a certain
impatience of extravagant and unmeasured speech. But he had learned the
secret of not expecting from people more than they have to give, and
this, along with the generosity of his nature, helped him to make large
allowance for what seemed unhopeful and disappointing, and made him
eager to do justice and more than justice to whatever was good. On
occasion however, he would with grave kindness point out the limitations
of a character, and sometimes, though very rarely, he would be moved to
vehemence as he spoke of modern religious Pharisaism.
In conversation he was ready alike to listen and to speak. Nothing gave
him greater delight than a long and animated talk. He loved
individuality in whatever sphere it was manifested, and would often
relate with delight the racy remarks made to him by poor people. Of
decorous commonplace he was rather impatient, and complained once that a
young man of promise, with whom he had spent a day, had said nothing
during the whole of it but what he ought to have said.
Dr. Elmslie had abundantly that charity which "rejoiceth not in
iniquity." It gave him real pain to hear of the mistakes and misfortunes
of men. Without a trace of jealousy, he delighted in any success or
happiness that came to his friends. Of all virtues he most admired
magnanimity, and when he was told of generous actions, his face would
glow with pleasure. To the spirit of malice and revenge he was always
and utterly opposed. Like other public men he was occasionally attacked;
the fancied breadth of his religious views excited animosity in certain
quarters and was at times the subject of anonymous letters. He would
regret that his critics did not know him better, and might show pain for
the moment, but it was soon past. He never in any way retaliated.
Dr. Elmslie had no dæmonic passion for literature. For books as books he
had no love, and this indifference disturbed some of his associates not
a little. When he had got out of a book what he could he exchanged it
for another. Hence his personal library was small, consisting mostly of
Oriental literature, and some favourite French and German works. But his
reading was wide, and he knew the best in everything. He was master of
French, German, Italian, and Dutch, and had a working knowledge of other
languages. Of his preferences in literature he did not often speak; when
he did he would say that to George Eliot and Goethe he owed much and
very much.
No one could be his friend without perceiving that he was through and
through a Christian. In his later years his doubts seemed completely
conquered. You saw nothing but the strength he had gained in overcoming
them. He held his faith with a certain large simplicity, but with
absolute conviction. Among all his attracting qualities the chief was
his great hope in God. He was indeed "very sure of God." Latterly, he
could hardly listen without impatience to gloomy forecasts of the
future. He believed that all was right with the world; that Christ was
busy saving it, and would see of the travail of His soul. Men prone to
darker thoughts loved him very much for that. No sickness, no bodily
suffering, ever altered this mood of trust and hope.
His dogmatic position is not easy to define. Although liberal in his
views he disliked rashness; and avoided giving offence so far as he
could. My impression is, that he held an attitude of suspense towards
many debated questions. He did not feel the need of making up his mind.
The truths of which he was sure gave him all the message he needed, and
these were independent of the controversies of the hour. But he kept an
open mind, and was ever ready to add to his working creed. He could not
preach what did not thoroughly possess his own soul, but never dreamt
that he had reached finality, and I think was increasingly disposed to
respect the doctrines, which, as history proves, have stirred and
commanded men. A thorough Liberal and Nonconformist, he knew
comparatively little of the Church of England, and was repelled by its
exclusive spirit, but when told of the great qualities of the younger
High Church leaders, he listened with interest and pleasure. He was
happy in being able to think more kindly and hopefully of men from whom
he was divided in principle. As has been already said, he considered the
spiritual life of Congregationalists very deep and true; he loved the
warm old-fashioned piety he found among them, and heartily believed in
their future. Of the differences among Nonconformists he made nothing,
was a vehement advocate of union, and strongly opposed to whatever
interrupted cordial relations between Churches.
Though never chary in speaking of his religious experiences he did not
obtrude them. A real belief in immortality he thought could hardly exist
without other faiths being right. Such a belief would give life its true
shape and colour. He was very patient of honest doubts, but had to make
himself sure that they were honest, not the cloak of moral laxness. What
he loved best to speak of was the magnificence of Divine grace—the love
of God commended in Christ's death.
* * * * *
But it is time to lay down the pen. We may apply to Dr. Elmslie words,
used, I think, about an American writer: his charm was of the kind that
we fail to reduce to its grounds. It was like that of the sweetness of a
piece of music, or the softness of fine September weather. In a certain
way it was vague, indefinable, inappreciable; but it is what we must
point to, for nothing he has left behind gives any adequate idea of his
powers. Friendship occupied an immense space in his life, and all who
knew him are conscious that,
Now the candid face is hid,
The frank, sweet tongue has ceased to move,
something has gone from them never to be replaced till that daybreak
which shall unite all who belong to one another. But over the sense of
their own loss there rises and remains the feeling how much God
indicates in this life of which only some small portion is fulfilled.
The world of expectation and love thus suddenly closed for earth must be
open somewhere. There must be ministries in other spheres for which he
was prepared and summoned. His life must—we know not how—be complete in
Him, Who alone of all who lived fully achieved His life's programme, Who
came down from Heaven to do His Father's business, and having done it
died.