how you and the others have comforted my heart. I lie not, John, but
speak the truth, that there is nothing unto life itself I would not
give for your good, who have been as the apple of my eye unto me."
Carmichael hardened himself, torn between a savage sense of
satisfaction that the Rabbi was suffering for his foolishness and the
inclination of his better self to respond to the old man's love.
"If there be a breach between us, it will not be for you as it must be
for me. You have many friends, and may God add unto them good men and
faithful, but I shall lose my one earthly joy and consolation when your
feet are no longer heard on my threshold and your face no longer brings
light to my room. And, John, even this thing which I am constrained to
do is yet of love, as . . . you shall confess one day."
Carmichael's pride alone resisted, and it was melting fast. Had he
even looked at the dear face he must have given way, but he kept his
shoulder to the Rabbi, and at that moment the sound of wheels passing
the corner of the manse gave him an ungracious way of escape.
"That is Burnbrae's dogcart . . . Dr. Saunderson, and I think he will
not wish to keep his horse standing in the snow, so unless you will
stay all night, as it's going to drift. . . . Then perhaps it would be
better. . . . Can I assist you in packing?" How formal it all
sounded; and he allowed the Rabbi to go upstairs alone, with the result
that various things of the old man's are in Carmichael's house unto
this day.
Another chance was given the lad when the Rabbi would have bidden him
good-bye at the door, beseeching that he should not come out into the
drift, and still another when Burnbrae, being concerned about his
passenger's appearance, who seemed ill-fitted to face a storm, wrapt
him in a plaid; and he had one more when the old man leant out of the
dogcart and took Carmichael's hand in both of his, but only said, "God
bless you for all you've been to me, and forgive me for all wherein I
have failed you." And they did not meet again till that
never-to-be-forgotten sederunt of the Free Kirk Presbytery of Muirtown,
when the minister of Kilbogie accused the minister of Drumtochty of
teaching the Linlathen heresy of the Fatherhood of God in a sermon
before the Sacrament.
Among all the institutions of the North a Presbytery is the most
characteristic, and affords a standing illustration of the
contradictions of a supremely logical people. It is so anti-clerical a
court that for every clergyman there must be a layman--country
ministers promising to bring in their elder for great occasions, and
instructing him audibly how to vote--and so fiercely clerical that if
the most pious and intelligent elder dared to administer a sacrament he
would be at once tried and censured for sacrilege. So careful is a
Presbytery to prevent the beginnings of Papacy that it insists upon
each of its members occupying the chair in turn, and dismisses him
again into private life as soon as he has mastered his duties, but so
imbued is it with the idea of authority that whatever decision may be
given by some lad of twenty-five in the chair--duly instructed,
however, by the clerk below--will be rigidly obeyed. When a Presbytery
has nothing else to do, it dearly loves to pass a general condemnation
on sacerdotalism, in which the tyranny of prelates and the foolishness
of vestments will be fully exposed; but a Presbytery wields a power at
which a bishop's hair would stand on end, and Doctor Dowbiggin once
made Carmichael leave the Communion Table and go into the vestry to put
on his bands.
When a Presbytery is in its lighter moods, it gives itself to points of
order with a skill and relish beyond the Southern imagination. It did
not matter how harmless, even infantile, might be the proposal placed
before the court by such a man as MacWheep of Pitscowrie; he has hardly
got past an apology for his presumption in venturing to speak at all
before a member of Presbytery--who had reduced his congregation to an
irreducible minimum by the woodenness of his preaching--inquires
whether the speech of "our esteemed brother is not _ultra vires_," or
something else as awful. MacWheep at once sits down with the air of
one taken red-handed in arson, and the court debates the point till
every authority has taken his fill, when the clerk submits to the
moderator, with a fine blend of deference and infallibility, that Mr.
MacWheep is perfectly within his rights; and then, as that estimable
person has by this time lost any thread he ever possessed, the
Presbytery passes to the next business--with the high spirit of men
returning from a holiday. Carmichael used, indeed, to relate how, in a
great stress of business, some one moved that the Presbytery should
adjourn for dinner, and the court argued for thirty minutes, with many
precedents, whether such a motion--touching as it did the standing
orders--could even be discussed, and, with an unnecessary prodigality
of testimony, he used to give perorations which improved with every
telling.
The love of law diffused through the Presbytery became incarnate in the
clerk, who was one of the most finished specimens of his class in the
Scottish Kirk. His sedate appearance, bald, polished head, fringed
with pure white hair, shrewd face, with neatly cut side whiskers, his
suggestion of unerring accuracy and inexhaustible memory, his attitude
for exposition--holding his glasses in his left hand and enforcing his
decision with the little finger of the right hand--carried conviction
even to the most disorderly. Ecclesiastical radicals, boiling over
with new schemes, and boasting to admiring circles of MacWheeps that
they would not be brow-beaten by red-tape officials, became
ungrammatical before that firm gaze, and ended in abject surrender.
Self-contained and self-sufficing, the clerk took no part in debate,
save at critical moments to lay down the law, but wrote his minutes
unmoved through torrents of speech on every subject, from the
Sustentation Fund to the Union between England and Scotland, and even
under the picturesque eloquence of foreign deputies, whose names he
invariably requested should be handed to him, written legibly on a
sheet of paper. On two occasions only he ceased from writing: when Dr.
Dowbiggin discussed a method of procedure--then he watched him over his
spectacles in hope of a nice point; or when some enthusiastic brother
would urge the Presbytery to issue an injunction on the sin of Sabbath
walking--then the clerk would abandon his pen in visible despair, and
sitting sideways on his chair and supporting his head by that same
little finger, would face the Presbytery with an expression of reverent
curiosity on his face why the Almighty was pleased to create such a
man. His preaching was distinguished for orderliness, and was much
sought after for Fast days. It turned largely on the use of
prepositions and the scope of conjunctions, so that the clerk could
prove the doctrine of Vicarious Sacrifice from "for," and Retribution
from "as" in the Lord's Prayer, emphasizing and confirming everything
by that wonderful finger, which seemed to be designed by Providence for
delicate distinctions, just as another man's fist served for popular
declamation. His pulpit masterpiece was a lecture on the Council of
Jerusalem, in which its whole deliberations were reviewed by the rules
of the Free Kirk Book of Procedure, and a searching and edifying
discourse concluded with two lessons. First: That no ecclesiastical
body can conduct its proceedings without officials. Second: That such
men ought to be accepted as a special gift of Providence.
The general opinion among good people was that the clerk's preaching
was rather for upbuilding than arousing, but it is still remembered by
the survivors of the old Presbytery that when MacWheep organized a
conference on "The state of religion in our congregations," and it was
meandering in strange directions, the clerk, who utilised such seasons
for the writing of letters, rose amid a keen revival of interest--it
was supposed that he had detected an irregularity in the
proceedings--and offered his contribution. It did not become him to
boast, he said, but he had seen marvellous things in his day: under his
unworthy ministry three beadles had been converted to Christianity, and
this experience was so final that the conference immediately closed.
Times there were, however, when the Presbytery rose to its height and
was invested with an undeniable spiritual dignity. Its members, taken
one by one, consisted of farmers, shepherds, tradesmen, and one or two
professional men, with some twenty ministers, only two or three of whom
were known beyond their parishes. Yet those men had no doubt that as
soon as they were constituted in the name of Christ they held their
authority from the Son of God and the Saviour of the world, and they
bore themselves in spiritual matters as His servants. No kindly
feeling of neighbourliness or any fear of man could hinder them from
inquiring into the religious condition of a parish or dealing
faithfully with an erring minister. They had power to ordain, and laid
hands on the bent head of some young probationer with much solemnity;
they had also power to take away the orders they had given, and he had
been hardened indeed beyond hope who could be present and not tremble
when the Moderator, standing in his place, with the Presbytery around,
and speaking in the name of the Head of the Church, deposed an unworthy
brother from the holy ministry. MacWheep was a "cratur," and much
given to twaddle, but when it was his duty once to rebuke a
fellow-minister for quarrelling with his people, he was delivered from
himself, and spake with such grave wisdom as he has never shown before
or since.
When the Presbytery assembled to receive a statement from Doctor
Saunderson "re error in doctrine by a brother Presbyter," even a
stranger might have noticed that its members were weighted with a sense
of responsibility, and although a discussion arose on the attempt of a
desultory member to introduce a deputy charged with the subject of the
lost Ten Tribes, yet it was promptly squelched by the clerk, who
intimated, with much gravity, that the court had met _in hunc
effectum_, viz. to hear Doctor Saunderson, and that the court could
not, in consistence with law, take up any other business, not
even--here Carmichael professed to detect a flicker of the clerkly
eyelids--the disappearance of the Ten Tribes.
It was the last time that the Rabbi ever spoke in public, and it is now
agreed that the deliverance was a fit memorial of the most learned
scholar that has been ever known in those parts. He began by showing
that Christian doctrine has taken various shapes, some more and some
less in accordance with the deposit of truth given by Christ and the
holy Apostles, and especially that the doctrine of Grace had been
differently conceived by two eminent theologians, Calvin and Arminius,
and his exposition was so lucid that the clerk gave it as his opinion
afterwards that the two systems were understood by certain members of
the court for the first time that day. Afterwards the Rabbi vindicated
and glorified Calvinism from the Scriptures of the Old and New
Testament, from the Fathers, from the Reformation Divines, from the
later creeds, till the brain of the Presbytery reeled through the
wealth of allusion and quotation, all in the tongues of the learned.
Then he dealt with the theology of Mr. Erskine of Linlathen, and showed
how it was undermining the very foundations of Calvinism; yet the Rabbi
spake so tenderly of our Scottish Maurice that the Presbytery knew not
whether it ought to condemn Erskine as a heretic or love him as a
saint. Having thus brought the court face to face with the issues
involved, the Rabbi gave a sketch of a certain sermon he had heard
while assisting "a learned and much-beloved brother at the Sacrament,"
and Carmichael was amazed at the transfiguration of this very youthful
performance, which now figured as a profound and edifying discourse,
for whose excellent qualities the speaker had not adequate words. This
fine discourse was, however, to a certain degree marred, the Rabbi
suggested, by an unfortunate, although no doubt temporary, leaning to
the teaching of Mr. Erskine, whose beautiful piety had exercised its
just fascination upon his spiritually-minded brother. Finally the
Rabbi left the matter in the hands of the Presbytery, declaring that he
had cleared his conscience, and that the minister in question was
one--here he was painfully overcome--dear to him as a son, and one to
whose many labours and singular graces he could bear full testimony,
the Rev. John Carmichael, of Drumtochty. The Presbytery was slow and
pedantic, but was not insensible to a spiritual situation, and there
was a murmur of sympathy when the Rabbi sat down--much exhausted, and
never having allowed himself to look once at Carmichael.
Then arose a self-made man, who considered orthodoxy and capital to be
bound up together, and especially identified any departure from
sovereignty with that pestilent form of Socialism which demanded equal
chances for every man. He was only a plain layman, he said, and
perhaps he ought not to speak in the presence of so many reverend
gentlemen, but he was very grateful to Doctor Saunderson for his
honourable and straight-forward conduct. It would be better for the
Church if there were more like him, and he would just like to ask Mr.
Carmichael three questions. Did he sign the Confession of Faith?--that
was one; and had he kept it?--that was two; and the last was, When did
he propose to leave the Church? He knew something about building
contracts, and he had heard of a penalty when a contract was broken.
There was just one thing more he would like to say--if there was less
loose theology in the pulpit there would be more money in the plate.
The shame of the Rabbi during this harangue was pitiable to behold.
[Illustration: THEN AROSE A SELF-MADE MAN]
Then a stalwart arose on the other side, and a young gentleman who had
just escaped from a college debating society wished to know what
century we were living in, warned the last speaker that the progress of
theological science would not be hindered by mercenary threats, advised
Doctor Saunderson to read a certain German, called Ritschl--as if he
had been speaking to a babe in arms--and was re-freshing himself with a
Latin quotation, when the Rabbi, in utter absence of mind, corrected a
false quantity aloud.
"Moderator," the old man apologized in much confusion, "I wot not what
I did, and I pray my reverend brother, whose interesting and
instructive address I have interrupted by this unmannerliness, to grant
me his pardon, for my tongue simply obeyed my ear." Which untoward
incident brought the modern to an end, as by a stroke of ironical fate.
It seemed to the clerk that little good to any one concerned was to
come out of this debate, and he signalled to Doctor Dowbiggin, with
whom he had dined the night before, when they concocted a motion over
their wine. Whereupon that astute man explained to the court that he
did not desire to curtail the valuable discussion, from which he
personally had derived much profit, but he had ventured to draw up a
motion, simply for the guidance of the House--it was said by the
Rabbi's boys that the Doctor's success as an ecclesiastic was largely
due to the skilful use of such phrases--and then he read: "Whereas the
Church is set in all her courts for the defence of the truth, whereas
it is reported that various erroneous doctrines are being promulgated
in books and other public prints, whereas it has been stated that one
of the ministers of this Presbytery has used words that might be
supposed to give sanction to a certain view which appears to conflict
with statements contained in the standards of the Church, the
Presbytery of Muirtown declares, first of all, its unshaken adherence
to the said standards; secondly, deplores the existence in any quarter
of notions contradictory or subversive of said standards; thirdly,
thanks Doctor Saunderson for the vigilance he has shown in the cause of
sound doctrine; fourthly, calls upon all ministers within the bounds to
have a care that they create no offence or misunderstanding by their
teaching, and finally enjoins all parties concerned to cultivate peace
and charity."
This motion was seconded by the clerk and carried
unanimously--Carmichael being compelled to silence by the two wise men
for his own sake and theirs--and was declared to be a conspicuous
victory both by the self-made man and the modern, which was another
tribute to the ecclesiastical gifts of Doctor Dowbiggin and the clerk
of the Presbytery of Muirtown.
LIGHT AT EVENTIDE
The Rabbi had been careful to send an abstract of his speech to
Carmichael, with a letter enough to melt the heart even of a
self-sufficient young clerical, and Carmichael had considered how he
should bear himself at the Presbytery. His intention had been to meet
the Rabbi with public cordiality and escort him to a seat, so that all
men should see that he was too magnanimous to be offended by this
latest eccentricity of their friend. This calculated plan was upset by
the Rabbi coming in late and taking the first seat that offered, and
when he would have gone afterwards to thank him for his generosity the
Rabbi had disappeared. It was evident that the old man's love was as
deep as ever, but that he was much hurt and would not risk another
repulse. Very likely he had walked in from Kilbogie, perhaps without
breakfast, and had now started to return to his cheerless manse. It
was a wetting spring rain, and he remembered that the Rabbi had no
coat. A fit of remorse overtook Carmichael, and he scoured the streets
of Muirtown to find the Rabbi, imagining deeds of attention--how he
would capture him unawares mooning along some side street hopelessly
astray; how he would accuse him of characteristic cunning and deep
plotting; how he would carry him by force to the Kilspindie Arms and
insist upon their dining in state; how the Rabbi would wish to
discharge the account and find twopence in his pockets--having given
all his silver to an ex-Presbyterian minister stranded in Muirtown
through peculiar circumstances; how he would speak gravely to the Rabbi
on the lack of common honesty, and threaten a real prosecution, when
the charge would be "obtaining a dinner on false pretences"; how they
would journey to Kildrummie in high content, and--the engine having
whistled for a dogcart--they would drive to Drumtochty manse, the sun
shining through the rain as they entered the garden; how he would
compass the Rabbi with observances, and the old man would sit again in
the big chair full of joy and peace. Ah, the kindly jests that have
not come off in life, the gracious deeds that never were done, the
reparations that were too late! When Carmichael reached the station
the Rabbi was already half-way to Kilbogie, trudging along wet, and
weary, and very sad, because, although he had obeyed his conscience at
a cost, it seemed to him as if all he had done was simply to alienate
the boy whom God had given him, as a son in his old age, for even the
guileless Rabbi suspected that the ecclesiastics considered his action
foolishness and of no service to the Church of God. Barbara's language
on his arrival was vituperative to a degree; she gave him food
grudgingly, and when, in the early morning, he fell asleep over an open
Father, he was repeating Carmichael's name, and the thick old paper was
soaked with tears.
His nemesis seized Carmichael so soon as he reached the Dunleith train
in the shape of the Free Kirk minister of Kildrummie, who had purchased
six pounds of prize seed potatoes, and was carrying the treasure home
in a paper bag. This bag had done after its kind, and spilt its
contents, and as the distinguished agriculturist--who had not seen his
feet for years--could only have stooped at the risk of apoplexy, he
watched the dispersion of his potatoes with dismay, and hailed the
arrival of Carmichael with exclamations of thankfulness. It is
wonderful over what an area six pounds of (prize) potatoes can deploy
on a railway platform, and how the feet of passengers will carry them
unto far distances. Some might never have been restored to the bag had
it not been for Kildrummie's comprehensive eye and the physical skill
with which he guided Carmichael, till even prodigals that had strayed
over to the neighbourhood of the Aberdeen express were restored to the
extemporized fold in the minister's top-coat pockets. Carmichael had
knelt on that very platform six months or so before, but then he
laboured in the service of two most agreeable dogs and under the
approving eyes of Miss Carnegie; that was a different experience from
hunting after single potatoes on all fours among the feet of
unsympathetic passengers, and being prodded to duty by the umbrella of
an obese Free Kirk minister. As a reward for this service of the aged,
he was obliged to travel to Kildrummie with his neighbour--in whom for
the native humour that was in him he had often rejoiced, but whose
company was not congenial that day--and Kildrummie laid himself out for
a pleasant talk. After the roots had been secured and their pedigree
stated Kildrummie fell back on the proceedings of Presbytery,
expressing much admiration for the guidance of Doctor Dowbiggin and
denouncing Saunderson as "fair dottle," in proof of which judgment
Kildrummie adduced the fact that the Rabbi had allowed a very happily
situated pig-sty at the Manse of Kilbogie to sink into ruin.
Kildrummie, still in search of agreeable themes to pass the time, also
mentioned a pleasant tale he had gathered at the seed shop.
[Illustration: HE WATCHED THE DISPERSION OF HIS POTATOES WITH DISMAY]
"Yir neebur upbye, the General's dochter, is cairryin' on an awfu' rig
the noo at the Castle"--Kildrummie fell into dialect in private life,
often with much richness--"an' the sough (noise) o' her ongaeins hes
come the length o' Muirtown. The castle is foo' o' men--tae say
naethin' o' weemin; but it's little she hes tae dae wi' them or them
wi' her--officers frae Edinburgh an' writin' men frae London, as weel
as half a dozen coonty birkies."
"Well?" said Carmichael, despising himself for his curiosity.
"She hes a wy, there's nae doot o' that, an' gin the trimmie hesna
turned the heads o' half the men in the Castle, till they say she hes
the pick of twa lords, five honourables, and a poet. But the lassie
kens what's what; it's Lord Hay she's settin' her cap for, an' as sure
as ye're sittin' there, Drum, she'll hae him.
"Ma word"--and Kildrummie pursued his way--"it'll be a match, the
dochter o' a puir Hielant laird, wi' naethin' but his half pay and a
few pounds frae a fairm or twa. She's a clever ane; French songs,
dancin', shootin', ridin', actin', there's nae deevilry that's beyond
her. They say upbye that she's been a bonnie handfu' tae her
father--General though he be--an' a' peety her man."
"They say a lot of . . . lies, and I don't see what call a minister has
to slander . . ."; and then Carmichael saw the folly of quarrelling
with a veteran gossip over a young woman that would have nothing to say
to him. What two Free Kirk ministers or their people thought of her
would never affect Miss Carnegie.
"Truth's nae slander," and Kildrummie watched Carmichael with relish;
"a' thocht ye wud hae got a taste o' her in the Glen. Didna a' heer
frae Piggie Walker that ye ca'd her Jezebel frae yir ain pulpit, an'
that ma lady whuppit oot o' the kirk in the middle o' the sermon?"
"I did nothing of the kind, and Walker is a . . ."
"Piggie's no very particular at a time," admitted Kildrummie; "maybe
it's a makup the story aboot Miss Carnegie an' yirsel'.
"Accordin' tae the wratch," for Carmichael would deign no reply, "she
wes threatenin' tae mak' a fule o' the Free Kirk minister o' Drumtochty
juist for practice, but a' said, 'Na, na, Piggie, Maister Carmichael is
ower quiet and sensible a lad. He kens as weel as onybody that a
Carnegie wud never dae for a minister's wife. Gin ye said a Bailie's
dochter frae Muirtown 'at hes some money comin' tae her and kens the
principles o' the Free Kirk.'