"DEAR MR. NICOLL,—It is futile to plead want of recollection as an
excuse for what must be a too brief contribution to your little
portrait, for no one who ever knew Elmslie could ever forget him. But
the truth is, I never knew him well. At college he was too much my
senior for me to have presumed to know him, and in after years we
scarcely ever met, except on one occasion, for more than a passing
moment.
"I never heard Elmslie preach, or lecture, or do anything public. I
knew him chiefly as a human being. Elmslie off the chair was one of
the most attractive spirits who ever graced this planet. It was not so
much his simple character, or the bubbling and irresistible
_bonhommie_, or even the amazing versatility of his gifts, but a
certain radiance that he carried with him, a certain something that
made you sun yourself in his presence, and open the pores of your
soul, and be happy. I think I can recall no word that he ever spoke,
or even any idea that he ever forged, but the _man_ made an impression
on you indelibly delightful and joyous.
"My first distinct impression of him was crossing the College
quadrangle with 'Romola' under his arm. He was kind enough to stop and
introduce me to the authoress, whom I forthwith proceeded to cultivate
assiduously. Shortly after this Elmslie gave a supper-party, a function
much too rare among Scotch students. I had the honour to be invited to
represent the juniors—an act of pure mercy, for I then neither knew
Elmslie nor his set. If I were now asked by a senior man at college how
he could best influence his less-advanced colleagues, I should answer,
'Make him your debtor for life by asking him up to your rooms.' Of the
entertainment itself—the literary entertainment, I mean—I remember
little; it was the being there that helped me. And what I do remember I
do not know that I ought to divulge, for the _pièce de resistance_ was
the Hans Breitman Ballads, which Elmslie carved and served himself,
with extraordinary relish, throughout most of the evening.
"It was this same man, unchanged by the weight of years and work, whom
I met several years after in the Black Forest, and accompanied for some
weeks in a walking tour. The third member of the party was Dr. Marcus
Dods, and we tramped with our knapsacks through the Tyrol, the dolomite
country, and the Saltzkammergut. Elmslie at first was full of the
Strasburg professors under whom he had been studying, but after a few
days I saw no more of his wisdom, for he gave himself up like a
schoolboy to the toys of St. Ulrich and the Glockner glaciers. But of
this most perfect of all vacations nothing now remains with me but an
impression of health, sunshine, and gentle friendship.
"Elmslie's graver side I can only dimly realise from the appearances he
used to make in the Theological Society of the New College, Edinburgh.
I do not remember even the theme of any debate in which he ever took
part, but the figure and voice, and especially the look of the student
as he stood up there amidst the almost awe-stricken hush of his
classmates, lives most vividly in my mind. When Elmslie spoke every one
felt that he at least had something to give, some message of his own.
He never seemed to be merely saying things, _i.e._ 'making a speech,'
but to be thinking aloud, and that with an intensity and originality
most inspiring and impressive. His voice and tone had that conviction
in them which was as impossible to define as to resist. I could with
difficulty imagine any one moving the previous question after Elmslie.
Another peculiarity, which added greatly to his power, was that he
thought with his whole face. In fact, in listening to him one did not
so much hear a man speaking as see a man thinking. His eyes on these
occasions would become very large and full of light, not of fire or
heat, but of a calm luminosity, expressive of a mingled glow of reason,
conscience, and emotion.
"One of the last things I read of Elmslie saying was that what people
needed most was _comfort_. Probably he never knew how much his mission,
personally, was to give it. I presume he often preached it, but I think
he must always have _been_ it. For all who knew him will testify that
to be in his presence was to leave care, and live where skies were blue.
"Yours very sincerely,
"HENRY DRUMMOND.
"BRINDISI, _March 17th, 1890_."