THE DISRUPTION AND BLINKBONNY.
“Long, long be my heart with such memories filled,
As the vase in which roses have once been distilled;
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.”
_Thomas Moore._
Notice of the meeting that had been resolved on in the manse was given
in the village and parish, chiefly by one telling another of it; and
so effectively was this done, that not a few who had given the day to
the work of announcing it, felt disappointed at finding the news had
preceded them.
Before the hour of meeting there was an unusual bustle in the streets,
even for a Saturday, and the folks seemed all to have on their
Sabbath-day clothes. As soon as the doors of the Beltane Hall, the
public hall of Blinkbonny, were opened, a stream of people flowed into
it, leaving the streets with scarcely a human being on them. Mr. Barrie
entered very fully into the history of the “Ten Years’ Conflict.”
He was calm, self-possessed, and impressive. His references to the
opposite side were marked by caution and Christian courtesy. When
speaking of himself, he did so with great modesty; but he was high
in his praise of the leaders of the movement, and of the determined
attitude they maintained against all interference with the rights of
the Christian people, for these alone were the true Christian Church.
He pressed on the attention of all the duty of considering prayerfully
the whole question; that they should not be influenced by any motive of
mere human friendship or partiality or partisanship, but should bring
the light of Scripture and conscience to bear on the path of duty, and
walk in it and along it through good and bad report.
Before concluding, he thanked them all for their presence and manifest
attention to his statement, and most touchingly for all their loving
kindnesses to him: “As the minister of the Established Church of
Blinkbonny, I must now say to you ‘Farewell,’ but I fervently add the
prayer, ‘The God of peace be with you.’ By whatever distinctive name
the Churches to which we shall henceforth belong may be called, may we
all be members of the ‘Church of the firstborn, whose names are written
in the Lamb’s book of life,’ and be found in Him here, complete in Him,
and for ever with Him yonder; and as we have this hope in us, let us,
as far as we are agreed, walk by the same rule, mind the same thing,
and live at peace one with another.”
_RING IN THE NEW._
He then told that he did not feel himself at liberty to occupy his old
pulpit next day; that as far as he knew, no one had been appointed to
preach in it; but that he would preach on the green by the burn-side
at the usual hour in the forenoon, and at six o’clock in the evening.
And he hoped his _former_ (with a slight hesitation on his part, and
a responsive sigh from the meeting) congregation would join in the
service, and not be deterred by the fear that their presence would
be construed as committing them to his views of the Church question.
No such conclusion would be drawn. He would endeavour by God’s help
to preach the gospel. Let them come to hear _it_, not him. He also
expressed a willingness to answer any questions, or give further
explanations, or to confer with any who might prefer a private
interview.
There was a long silence; at length old George Brown rose and said:
“My friends, it’s Saturday nicht. Mr. Barrie’s haen a sair week,
an’ doubtless mony o’ ye hae come here this day upon account o’ the
occasion, when but for it ye wad hae been at hame at your proper
duties; and ye’ll a’ hae to get things weel forrit[6] to get to
ordinances the morn, so I think we’ll be maist in the way o’ our duty
if we think weel aboot what we’ve heard, and meditate on it.” Then
looking round the audience, he asked, “What say ee, my friends?” As
there was no reply, George looked to Mr. Barrie, and said, “I think,
sir, ye should just conclude wi’ praise and prayer; and if I may
venture, I would say, gie oot the Forty-third Psalm an’ the 3d verse.
If we all sing the first four lines frae the _heart_, there will be a
time o’ refreshin’ the morn.”
[6] Forward.
“O send thy light forth and thy truth;
Let them be guides to me,
And bring me to thine holy hill,
Ev’n where thy dwellings be.”
_READIN’ THE LINE._
George was unmarried, and lived by himself. He was in the constant
practice of making worship aloud and alone, reading each verse singly
and then singing it. He, without waiting for Mr. Barrie “giein’ out”
the psalm, and as if quite forgetful of his presence, started to sing
it to the tune called “Bedford,” which the audience very heartily
joined in. At the close of the first verse George held up one hand
to secure silence, and repeated in singing tone on one key the next
verse,—what my older readers will remember as “reading the line,”—which
was then sung, and so on to the end of the psalm. George was then
proceeding to close his eyes for the prayer, after having made a slight
bow to Mr. Barrie; but Mr. Barrie said, “Lead our devotions, if you
please, Mr. Brown;” and the old man did this so as to make every heart
thrill, and many strong men sob, and all the women cry. I was too much
agitated to be able to carry away much. I am sorry to confess that
the bit I can best recall is not the most impressive and solemn part,
but rather a bit memorable for its quaintness as a specimen of the
prayers of the earlier days of the old worthies: “That all who on the
coming Sabbath assemble in the courts of Thy house may be delivered
from formality, and legality, and carnality, purged from the leaven of
malice and wickedness, and prepared according to the preparation of the
sanctuary; ... and that all Thy sent servants may be ministers of the
true tabernacle, which the Lord pitched, and not man, and may be as the
he-goats before the flocks.”
Mr. Barrie pronounced the benediction, but the audience seemed
unwilling to break up. At length old George stepped forward and shook
Mr. Barrie’s hand, wishing him “the blessing of him that was separated
from his brethren.” This proved contagious: every one shook hands with
Mr. Barrie; even Bell, who had been trying to keep herself concealed
during the meeting, forgot her reserve, and although she broke down
immediately after, and sobbed bitterly, she kept saying between the
sobs, “The arrow of the Lord’s deliverance;—the bush burning but not
consumed;—the five loaves and the two small fishes.”
As she went out, old George Brown was at her side, and everybody that
could get near him was shaking his horny hands. He had overheard
Bell saying, “It is good for us to be here.” George knew Bell well,
and taking her hand he said, “Yes, Bell, ’deed is’t. Or ever I was
aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadab.” Then looking
heavenwards: “Return, return, O Shulamite; return, return, that we
may look upon thee. What will ye see in the Shulamite? As it were the
company of two armies—or, as it’s in the margin, Mahanaim, the place
where the angels met Jacob on his way back to Canaan, and Jacob said,
‘This is God’s host, and he called the name of that place Mahanaim.’”
One subject filled every heart on the way homewards. There was little
said; they mused, and the fire burned.
_THE BELLMAN’S DILEMMA._
Sabbath morning brought promise of a lovely summer day, and the promise
was not belied. Gavin Sinclair, or “Guy,” now the full beadle, sexton,
bellman, and minister’s man of Blinkbonny, was in a state of great
perplexity. Annie Gawdie, who cleaned the church, had told him that
just as she was finished on Saturday night, everybody came “troopin’
into the kirk to take awa’ their books, an’ spoke o’ coming in soon to
take away their cushions and stools; that they had made a bonnie mess
o’ her clean kirk, and when she quarrelled them for it, they said there
was to be nae kirk in the morn, but Mr. Barrie was to preach on the
Annie Green.”
Guy had not gone to the meeting. He was a cautious man, and “didna
think it became the like o’ him, being a man in a public capacity,
to meddle wi’ kirk quarrels; for although Mr. Barrie micht leave the
kirk,—the mair’s the pity, for we’ll no’ soon get ane like him, if
ever,—there was the kirkyard. Ane didna ken how soon they micht hae to
break the gr’und for some death or anither in the parish. He didna like
to gi’e offence to ony side—he had to look till his bread,” etc.
Guy’s difficulty was whether to ring the church bell or not. He always
rung it at ten o’clock, and would do that as usual,—“That wasna the
bell for gaun to the kirk—it was just to let folk ken the richt time to
set their clocks by.” His “swither” was about the ringing of the bell
for calling the folk to the kirk at the usual time. If, as he learned,
there “was to be no sermon in the kirk, what for should he ring the
bell? Then, on the ither hand, what business had he to stop the ringing
o’ the bell without orders? and wha was to direct him? Would he ask
Mr. Barrie, or the schoolmaster, who was session-clerk? He never did
that before, and it would look officious.” So he resolved to go on as
usual. He rang the bell at ten o’clock, and sauntered, as was his wont,
to the manse to ask if there were any orders for him, such as to make
preparations for a baptism; but instead of going into the kitchen,
he hovered about the door until Bell observed him. Bell was full of
activity to get all ready that she might go to the Annie Green, and had
forgotten about Guy’s regular call. Both were perplexed. Guy muttered,
he wondered if there “would be ony orders for him the day—she micht ask
the minister—if—if he—if he had ony—ony special—” Then a happy idea
seemed to strike him, and he got out—“onything to get ready before
bell-time?”
_GUY’S DECISION._
Bell took in the situation at once, but had not time to master it.
Generally the pulpit Bible and Psalm-book were put on the parlour table
on Sabbath mornings, ready for Guy, and Bell got instructions about
anything specially wanted. They were not on the table, but in the
study, which Bell never entered before church time. She asked Mrs.
Barrie, who answered that there could be nothing. Bell lingered, and
said in a distant tone, “I think, mem, that Guy disna ken whether to
ring the bell at kirk-time or no’.”
Mrs. Barrie hesitated a little whether to disturb Mr. Barrie or not,
then said, “Tell Guy to please himself; that Mr. Barrie left no orders,
and I cannot disturb him at present, but will ask him at half-past
eleven and let Guy know what he says.”
At half-past eleven, as usual, Mrs. Barrie tapped at the study door,
and said, “Now, my dear.” Mr. Barrie almost immediately came out, and
she asked him about the bell, lifting up at the same time the simple
Geneva pulpit gown worn by Presbyterian ministers, to help him on with
it. Mr. Barrie did not turn and stoop a little as usual to get the robe
of office put on, but kept saying,
“Bell—ring the bell—I had not thought of that. What do you think, Mary?”
Mrs. Barrie said she had told Guy to do as he thought fit, unless he
got other instructions,—“the best thing that could have been done in
the circumstances.”
Guy did ring the bell as usual, and got a neighbour to tell any who
came that the service was to be on the Annie Green. The herald,
however, had little to do. A few slipped quietly into the church for
their pew Bibles; some paid their weekly visit to the graves of their
loved ones around the church; but the stream was towards the Annie
Green. About a dozen male figures stood around the church door when
the bell ceased; the stream had passed; not a straggler was in the
churchyard. After a general conversation they broke up; some went to
the Annie Green, others moodily and wonderingly homewards.
I had arranged with George Brown to get his ancestor’s chair, table,
and books brought to my place on Saturday evening, and persuaded him
to stay with me till Monday. I had also told Mr. Barrie about them.
The incident pleased him, and touched him not a little. All forms,
chairs, and available seats were brought by willing hands to the
Annie Green early in the forenoon. The Priesthill relics were placed
nearest the burn, the forms and chairs in front, and the dry grassy
braes of the burn, which at the place had the form of an irregular
half-circle sloping gently upwards, afforded comfortable room for a
large congregation.
_UNDER THE OPEN CANOPY._
Long before the hour of meeting, the country folks began to come in,
going from “strength to strength.” Many lingered about the old church
and churchyard, and on the road or sward leading to the place of
meeting. Mr. Barrie left the manse in time to walk leisurely. His plain
black Geneva gown, his handsome figure, his
“Aspect manly, grave, and sage.
As on king’s errand come,”
gave solemnity to the scene. Mrs. Barrie leant on his arm. Each led one
of the younger children by the hand, whilst Bell followed with the two
older ones. As soon as they entered the avenue, the word, “There he
is—there they are,” passed from lip to lip; and when they came to the
public road, and as they walked along it, the people stepped aside and
stood hat in hand till they had passed, then falling in behind, formed
an irregular procession to the green. Those who had already gathered
there all rose up and uncovered as Mr. Barrie appeared. When the
audience had got seated or settled, Mr. Barrie opened the service by
reading the 125th Psalm, which he did in a firm, clear voice. The braes
of the burn, the glen, the neighbouring woods, and for a considerable
distance the country around, heard the sound of grave, sweet melody,
rising in volume and intensity as it proceeded. The tune was “St.
Andrew’s,” an old favourite, and said by tradition to be associated in
early Scottish Reformation times with the same words:
“They in the Lord that firmly trust
Shall be like Sion hill,
Which at no time can be remov’d,
But standeth ever still.
“As round about Jerusalem
The mountains stand alway,
The Lord his folk doth compass so,
From henceforth and for aye.”
_GRAVE, SWEET MELODY._
All the services were impressive, but I will not attempt to detail
them. The text was, “Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and to-day,
and for ever.” The sermon was, in the opinion of all, the best
sermon they had ever heard from him. George Brown was delighted
with it—characterized it as “a feast of fat things full of marrow,
of wines on the lees well refined;” and all the more so that Mr.
Barrie’s practice had hitherto been to have his carefully prepared
manuscript before him when preaching, and to use it occasionally, while
on this occasion all that he had was the open Priesthill Bible. The
only objection that George ever had to Mr. Barrie was that he used
“the paper;” read sermons were, according to George, neither good
for minister nor people. To-day there was nothing to mar George’s
enjoyment of the worship. The concluding paraphrase was sung with even
more enthusiasm. It was the 48th Paraphrase, verses 6–9; the tune was
“Montrose,” sometimes called “the burghers’ rant.” I give it in full,
as I did the one sung in the manse, and my readers can imagine the
vigour with which such words were sung in such a meeting at such a
crisis:—
“Who then can e’er divide us more
From Jesus and his love,
Or break the sacred chain that binds
The earth to heav’n above?
“Let troubles rise, and terrors frown,
And days of darkness fall;
Through him all dangers we’ll defy,
And more than conquer all.
“Nor death nor life, nor earth nor hell,
Nor time’s destroying sway,
Can e’er efface us from his heart,
Or make his love decay.
“Each future period that will bless,
As it has bless’d the past;
He lov’d us from the first of time,
He loves us to the last.”
Not the least surprising of the forenoon’s incidents was the amount of
the collection. It had been debated whether there should be any made on
the occasion, but Mr. Taylor was most determined to have one. “Bring an
offering with you,” said he, “is as plain a command as, Come into His
courts;” and he undertook to provide and to stand at “_the plates_,”
which were placed just inside the gate of the Annie Green. The result
surprised Mr. Taylor. I have since learned that many borrowed of their
neighbours, and that the amount put in as the congregation retired was
larger than that made as they entered. The sum was £29, 13s. 3d.
George, of course, took dinner with us, and a few country friends
joined who wished to be at the evening service. I had been struck with
the worn appearance of the knees of George’s clothes compared with
the fresh “nap” on the other parts; but I observed that, when asking
a blessing before meat, and returning thanks after it, he rubbed his
hands firmly over his knees, moving his body backwards and forwards,
and speaking louder as he began the forward motion. His exercises
were longer than are usual in such cases, and I found on further
acquaintance with him that they were stereotyped, generally containing,
“May we go up through the wilderness of this world, leaning on the
staff of Him who is the beloved of our souls. May we sit under His
shadow with great delight, and find His fruit sweet unto our taste.
Bless and sanctify all Thy ways and dealings towards us,” etc. When
remarking on the sermon, he also rubbed his knees and discoursed rather
than conversed about it.
The evening service was better attended than the forenoon one. The
burst of music was overpowering as the 46th Psalm was being sung:—
“God is our refuge and our strength,
In straits a present aid,” etc.
_FREE-WILL OFFERINGS._
The sermon was from these words, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God
and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.”
It was a grand sermon, suitable for all times. At the close, in a
few moderately worded sentences, Mr. Barrie referred to the special
circumstances under which they had met, and stated that they would
meet in the same place next Sabbath, the first Sabbath of June, the
anniversary of the battle of Drumclog; and he waxed eloquent as he held
up John Brown of Priesthill’s Bible, and referred to the other relics
before him, until the audience felt the martyr spirit, and were sorry
that he concluded so soon.
I have already referred to the singing of the day, and will only add
that the singing of the concluding psalm—cxxii., verses 6–9, to the
tune of “St. Paul’s”—
“Pray that Jerusalem may have
Peace and felicity;
Let them that love thee and thy peace
Have still prosperity”—
was grand. The evening’s collection made the day’s offering amount
altogether to over £38. I have dwelt at more length than I intended
on this subject, but it was a great event for a little place. Very
possibly I have overdrawn the picture; but had you mingled with the
companies of the worshippers as they walked homewards, you would
have heard Mr. Barrie’s oldest hearers say he never preached like
that in his life before, and strangers that they had no idea that Mr.
Barrie could preach like that,—“he was a man of immense ability,—the
best sermon they had ever heard,—it’s a wonder he had been so long in
Blinkbonny.”
_FRIENDS IN DEED._
The attendance at the Annie Green on the first Sabbath of June was
as large as on the previous Sabbath, and the services had special
reference to the struggles of the Covenanters and the battle of
Drumclog. Old George Brown was highly satisfied. “I have often,”
said he, “spoken to Mr. Barrie about saying ower little about thae
Cath’lics, and that he should raise his testimony against Prelacy and
Popery; but he aye said that even if he was speakin’ to Cath’lics,
he wad preach the plain gospel, an’ no scare them away by denouncin’
baith them an’ their system, or settin’ them against the truth by
no’ speakin’ it in love; and for his ain people, it would ‘minister
questions rather than godly edifying,’ as he thocht that runnin’ doon
the Cath’lics was apt to make folk think because they werena Cath’lics
that they were a’ richt, an’ beget spiritual pride. An’ he wasna far
wrang. But his subject led him _on_ the day, and I was uncommon pleased
to hear him speak as he did o’ the auld worthies, Knox and Melville,
and Cameron an’ Peden, and my forbear Brown, an’ let this backslidin’,
worldly-minded generation ken hoo far behint their ancestors they were
in courage an’ piety, in thocht, word, an’ deed.”
There was a congregation of the United Secession, now the United
Presbyterian, Church in Blinkbonny, and Mr. Morrison, the minister, and
his session had generously offered to accommodate the Free Church, as
far as lay in their power, with the use of their church, as the largest
hall in the village was too small for the congregation. Mr. Morrison
was a diligent student, conscientious and minute in his preparations
for the pulpit: he wrote these carefully out, and spent the last two
days of the week in committing them to memory. He was an estimable man,
an excellent scholar, had been a great reader, and was well versed in
general science; but he had an affluence of words and a Johnsonian
style of composition that injured him as a preacher. His matter was
good, sound, unexceptionable, but his manner of conveying it was
verbose, often a mere recasting of the grand old English of the Bible
into a laboured and profuse style of expression. He seldom used the
terse old Saxon words if he could get a word of grander sound derived
from another language, but used “plenitude” instead of “fulness,”
“capacitate” for “fit,” and “salubrious” for “healthy.” His voice was
good, but the long, involved sentences made it appear monotonous, and
justified the critique of old Robert Gunn: “Vera gude matter, nae
doubt, but tedious, a wee tedious. He has lang ‘heids,’[7] an’ disna
aye gi’e them ower again in the same words, which fickles[8] the young
folk that have to tell the ‘heids an’ particulars’ when they gang hame;
for if, as is gey an’ often the case, the first ‘heid’ is, ‘The persons
mentioned in the text,’ we’re almost sure to hear when he’s done with
it, ‘Having thus considered, in the first place, the individuals to
whom reference is made in the deeply interesting and highly instructive
passage which I have selected as the subject of this morning’s
exposition,’ which is baith confusin’ an’ tedious.”
[7] Divisions of a sermon.
[8] Puzzles.
_CORN AND CHAFF._
The services in the “Meetin’-house,” the local name of the Secession
Church, occupied without interval fully three hours, and included a
lecture and a sermon of at least an hour each. In order to suit the
Free Church, these were begun at ten o’clock, and ours at one. This put
Mr. Morrison to the serious difficulty of condensing his services. For
the first two Sabbaths he did not manage this. As he had _proposed_
that the Free Church should meet at one o’clock, he was remonstrated
with very plainly by some of his people. Robert Gunn, a forward “body,”
had suggested the means: “Just dicht [sift] yer corn better, and leave
less chaff in’t.”
On the third Sabbath he got through in about two hours and a half,
and kept thereafter rather within that limit, although not without
having often to say, “Did time permit, I would have proceeded,” etc.,
or, “The brief space of time at my disposal prevents me from entering
on the full illustration of my next head, but I may say in a word—.”
That was an ominous expression, and the result often proved it an
inconsistent one, as the “word,” or “one word more,” seldom occupied
less than fifteen minutes. “Lastly, and very briefly,” was another term
contradicted by the sequel.
The shorter service was a comfortable change for those whose uneasy
task it was to keep their children “behaving themselves” in the church.
James Spence, whose regular remark to his neighbours on their road home
had been, “He said a great deal, really he said a very great deal,”
gave as his opinion that “he really thocht that there was less skailt
noo that the kirk skailed sooner,[9] for even yet there was a great
deal said that we couldna carry home, and mair that we didna carry
oot; and wi’ the bairns no’ bein’ sae fashious through no’ bein’ sae
lang in, we could attend better.”
[9] “There was less spilt now that the church was dismissed sooner.”
The Free Church services in the Meeting-house were well attended. Many
of the Seceders joined in them, and confessed with shame that their
sectarian bitterness towards the principle of a church establishment
had extended to its ministers, on whom they had looked uncharitably
as “Samaritans,” with whom they could have no dealings, and they were
surprised to find Mr. Barrie so excellent. Maggie Gunn told her father
“that yon minister preached as well as Mr. Morrison, only far better.”
Mr. Barrie became a favourite with them; although, to the honour of all
parties be it told, that no one left the Secession to join the Free
Church on that account. Between Mr. Morrison and himself, as well as
between the office-bearers and congregations, there existed the most
cordial relationships, and the interchange of pleasant communion and
fellowship. I look back with so much delight to the sympathy and help
we got in the beginning of our way from our Secession friends, that I
fear I have been, to use Robert Gunn’s phrase, “a wee tedious.”
_THE NEW PARISH MINISTER._
Mr. Walker of Middlemoor was Mr. Barrie’s successor in the parish
church of Blinkbonny. In making application to Sir John McLelland for
the living, he was very honest in telling his motives, viz. that the
stipend was larger, and the manse and glebe were better; and his family
were growing up, and he would like to get settled in a place where he
could get openings for the older ones, schooling for the younger ones,
and where they could all come home at night; and he would be very much
obliged to Sir John if he would present him to Blinkbonny. And he was
presented and inducted in due form and time.
He was a kind-hearted, stout, canny man, of moderate abilities as a
scholar and preacher. His parish of Middlemoor was a small one, in a
pastoral and moorland district, thinly peopled. It had a large glebe
of indifferent land, which he cultivated diligently to eke out his
small stipend. He was quite as good at farming as preaching, and had,
on Mr. Barrie’s suggestion, been Bell’s adviser in the purchase or
sale of cows, sheep, or pigs. Even on the subject of poultry he was at
home, as he made his son keep a “hen journal,” partly as a lesson in
book-keeping, and partly as a practical application of the inspired
proverb, which was often in his mouth, “Be diligent to know the state
of thy flocks, and look well to thy herds.”
He was a frequent visitor at Mr. Barrie’s, an occasional “assistant”
at the October communion services, and a regular member of the
“thanksgiving” dinner-party at the manse on the Monday thereafter.
He was a man of peace, and took little interest in the Voluntary,
Disruption, or other controversies; and when these formed the subject
of after-dinner discussion, he left the dining-room, and slowly betook
himself to the kitchen for a smoke, for he was an inveterate smoker.
He looked relieved as he entered the kitchen; said, “Well, Bell;”
dropt heavily into the arm-chair which stood at the fireside (the arms
of which were barely wide enough to admit him, but they yielded with
a creak, and he got in, but had to press them firmly down before he
got out); took out his pipe—generally a short black one; knocked out
the dottle[10] on the hob-plate; tried if it would draw, and if not,
cleared the bowl with the point of his knife, and if that failed, asked
Bell for a stalk of lavender. When the pipe was cleared to his mind, he
slowly cut some thin slices from a roll of twist tobacco, rubbed the
fragments between his hands, filled his pipe, put on the “dottle,” and
applied the “spunk,” from which Bell had broken off the sulphur tip.
All these operations and details were done with very great deliberation
and in grave silence, with the exception of asking the lavender stalk,
which was only resorted to after the knife and the repeated blowings
from the bowl and shank ends of the pipe had failed; and after it was
fairly lighted and going well, he began an intermittent, congenial
crack.
[10] The dry, crisp remains of a former smoke.
“_THUS THINK AND SMOKE TOBACCO._”
Tobacco smoke Bell could not endure. No other person would have been
permitted to pollute her kitchen with it, and as a general rule she
got Mr. Walker to combine his inspection of the garden and glebe with
“enjoyin’ his smoke;” but as this dinner-day came round she had to
submit, so she provided against it by removing the hams and things of
that sort, that they might not be “scomfished;” and she set herself to
enjoy the leisurely preparations, and to respect the silence with which
they were conducted, as the after-crack was sure to be quite to her
mind.
At the last October dinner, after a few soothing whiffs, Mr. Walker
began the colloquy with, “Bell, I’m glad to get away from these
discussions about the Kirk; I cannot bear them. I like better to talk
about live stock. How are yours?”
Bell entered heartily into an account of her year’s doings, and Mr.
Walker listened approvingly, and in return told about his crops and
herds, and what the “mairt” (the animal which had been killed and
salted for winter use) had weighed, and how the hens, bees, etc. had
done—alternately speaking and smoking. I cannot give the interview in
detail, but both agreed they had had a grand crack—better than ony kirk
quarrels.
It was from the following story, which Mr. Walker then told, that Bell
had first heard of the Church “question;” but his way of putting it
was so conclusive to Bell, that she thought no more about it until the
matter of the potatoes brought it home to herself.
A lady from Leith had come to reside in Middlemoor, and had said to the
farmer of Hillend, who had accosted her with, “Weel, mem, hoo d’ye like
to bide in this moorland country?”
“Very much indeed, it’s delightful! If I had only my own doctor and my
own minister, I would stay here all the year through; but you know your
country doctors are not quite—quite—well—well enough in their way, but
not _quite_ like the town doctors; and the ministers are _very_ nice—”
This she said in a hesitating undertone, not expressive of hearty
concurrence, and ended in a firmer voice, “but not like my own.”
“’Deed, mem,” said Hillend, “gi’e us farmers a gude miller an’ a gude
smith, an’ we can do weel enough wi’ ony ministers or doctors that
likes to come.”
“That wasna bad for Hillend,” said Bell.
“Well, Bell,” said Mr. Walker, “I thought it rather hard on the
ministers when I first heard the story, but—” And here he gave his
views of the Non-Intrusionists with, for him, unusual fervour, and
added, “_Now_ I quite agree with Hillend, that congregations should
accept, and welcome, and honour the ministers who are appointed over
them.”
“That’s without a doubt,” said Bell; “and esteem them very highly for
their work’s sake.”
“_AS YOU LIKE IT._”
The news of Mr. Walker’s appointment to Blinkbonny was received with
first a stare, then a shrug of the shoulders, then a pretty general
feeling that “they might have had worse.” He was certainly not a
shining light, but he was a nice man, had a large family, and it would
be a good change for them. And although the local poetaster circulated
a sorry effusion on the subject, in which he, without acknowledgment,
stole from Cowper’s _Needless Alarm_,—
“A mutton statelier than the rest,”—
and—
“His loving mate and true,
But more discreet than he, a _Moorland_ ewe,”—
changing the original “Cambrian” to “Moorland,” it did not take, and
Blinkbonny on its personal and social and “soft” side was ready to
“entertain” Mr. Walker.
He carried the news of his own appointment to the manse, and although
it surprised Mr. Barrie at the moment, he heartily wished him every
success and comfort, and added that he would find the manse at his
service by the time he was inducted. Mr. Walker assured Mr. Barrie that
there was no hurry, as “he did not see that they could possibly come in
until after the harvest was past at Middlemoor.”
_JEWS AND BRITHERS._
When Bell heard that Mr. Walker was coming to Blinkbonny, she forgot
her usual good manners. “Mr. Walker!—Walker o’ Middlemoor!—fat Walker’s
gotten the kirk, has he? He’s a slow coach—pity the folk that gangs to
hear him; but ’deed they’ll no’ mony gang. He minds me o’ Cauldwell’s
speech at the cattle show. After Sir John palavered away about the
grand stock, and praised Cauldwell for gettin’ sae money prizes, the
decent man just said, ‘Sir John and gentlemen, thank ye a’ kindly. I’m
nae hand o’ makin’ a speech. I may be a man among sheep, but I’m a
sheep among men.’” And Bell showed how changeable human affections are;
for although Mr. Walker and she had been hand-and-glove friends, she
summed up with, “Mr. Walker will never fill Mr. Barrie’s shoon [shoes].
I never could thole[11] him an’ his filthy tobacco smoke. Ugh! ma puir
kitchen will sune be in a bonny mess; an’ I dinna ken what to think
about the things in the garden an’ outhouses that are _ours_, for, as
Mrs. Walker ance said to me, her motto was, ‘Count like Jews and ’gree
like brithers.’”
[11] Endure.
But when the settling up came, Bell found Mrs. Walker “easy dealt
wi’,”—not only satisfied with her valuation, but very complimentary as
to the state in which everything was left, and very agreeable—very.