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In England the middle classes
can rarely boast of connection with a romantic past. Their progenitors may
have been worthy, capable, useful in their day and generation, but how
seldom have they left traditions stranded on the flats of present
provincialism. Whatever their local worth, the grandfathers of a
middle-class Englishman inspired no ballad, as warriors on the moorland in
the wake of a ruined dynasty—as martyrs in the lowland singing the psalms of
the Covenant while Episcopal bullets whizzed about their ears. In Scotland,
the blue blood of a squandered loyalty, of a faithfulness unto death,
whatever the cause, fills the veins of the middle classes. Their ancestors
were Jacobites or Covenanters, and so, even unto this generation, men are to
be found inheriting their strong individuality, refusing the dull canals of
conventional life, and working their way in self-worn channels, through
obstacles as unrelenting as their granite rocks.
Perhaps for lack of "causes"
the Scotchmen of to-day are growing tame, but the men born within the first
quarter of this century were still endowed with free gesture and plain
speech, and through their hearts ran rills of poetry from the springs of
ancestral suffering.
From a stock of solid
Borderers John Stuart Blackie took his name and something of his nature. He
says himself:—
I desire to thank God for
the good stock-in-trade, so to speak, which I inherited from my parents
for the business of life. My father was a man of great vigour both
mental and bodily, made mainly for action and enjoyment, but with a
discursive habit of thought, a turn for philosophical speculation, and
freedom from all narrow ideas. He had great sagacity and knowledge of
the world. My mother died when I was ten years old, and I remember her
only as everything that was womanly and motherly. I have no doubt I owe
much of what is best in my moral and emotional nature to her.
His great-grandfather was a
native of Kelso in Roxburghshire, and cultivated a strip of ground, his own
property, which stretched between the Tweed and the high-road on the eastern
outskirts of the town. He married the daughter of Mr Stevenson, who lived at
Galalaw, an extensive farm tenanted by himself and his forebears for a
century and a half Three sons and three daughters grew up in the Tweedside
home, and found callings and husbands within Kelso and its neighbourhood.
The eldest took to business, and became 'a wine-merchant in the town. A
much- respected family of Stuarts was resident in Kelso. Father and son were
doctors, and were descended from a line of doctors. An old lady of the
family used to say that thirty-two Stuarts of her race were doctors. A
current of Highland blood ran in their veins, they could relate exploits of
Jacobite forefathers, and they held their heads high. The Dr Stuart of
something more than a century ago was assisted by his son Archibald, and had
a daughter called Alison. Some kinship existed between them and the Blackies,
and the wine- merchant fell in love with his cousin. Old Dr Stuart forbade
the marriage, but the lovers braved his ire and made a runaway match. Their
married life was shadowed by straitened circumstances, and by estrangement
from disapproving relatives; but Mr Blackie died, and as Dr Archibald Stuart
had succeeded to his father, also dead, he offered a home to his widowed
sister and her two children. The widow soon died, but Dr Stuart brought up
the little Alexander and his sister with his own children.
Alexander was clever, and
took kindly to Latin at the Kelso Grammar-School, whose boys played under
the shadow of King David's stately abbey. He was possessed of fitful energy,
and took interest in many matters, in antiquities and gardening as well as
in his lessons. His cousin John, the doctor's son, was his companion and
playmate; but although gifted with a vein of caustic humour, and of sterling
rectitude and ability, he was sober- sided compared to the mercurial Sandy.
When school-days were at an
end, Dr Stuart found an opening for his nephew in a Glasgow house of
business, and he was despatched thither to learn the mysteries of
manufacture, although tradition tells not in what kind. But his temperament
recoiled from the unrelieved drudgery, and he accepted a situation in the
Commercial Bank, where shorter toil left him leisure for other pursuits, and
where he acquitted himself so well that he was made an agent before he was
twenty years old. Stern Presbyterianism prevailed both in the Stuart
household and in that of his Blackie cousins, who were useful Kelsonians and
growing in consideration amongst their fellows. But the wilful Sandy had
moulted some feathers of that sober plumage, and vexed his cousins with bold
questioning of the minor observances and with untoward whistling on the
Sabbath day. These signs of licence ruffled somewhat the peace of his
holiday visits to the Blackies, but they were ready to grant that he was a
pleasant fellow and did them otherwise no discredit.
Having reached a modest
position, it is not wonderful to find that he promptly took to himself a
wife. The lady was Miss Helen Stodart, and she was twenty-two years old when
Mr Blackie married her in 1805. She was the eldest of three sisters, and the
daughter of Mr William Stodart, an architect at Hamilton, who designed two
of the bridges over the Clyde, one at Glasgow and one near Hamilton. This Mr
Stodart was descended from a branch of the Border family of Stoutheart,
which had settled in Lanarkshire early in the seventeenth century. Its
kinship with the Selkirkshire branch is evidenced by the singular likeness
between the descendants of both branches—a likeness maintained in mental and
moral characteristics, as well as in stature, complexion, and other physical
features, to this day.
A succession of Stodarts,
christened James, occupied the Lanarkshire property of Loanhead for nearly a
century. The James of 1740 or thereabouts sold Loanhead and settled at
Walston in the Upper Ward of Lanarkshire. The eldest of his seven sons
rivalled his kinsman, "the Beetle of Yarrow," in size and strength, and was
known as "King of Covington," where stood his farm. It was at Covington that
Burns supped and slept on his memorable journey to Edinburgh, and on the
following morning he breakfasted with James Stodart, another of the seven
brothers, proceeding to Carnwath, where he lunched with John Stodart, the
banker there. William was the second of these brothers. He was born in 1740,
and in 1782 married Christian Naismith, whose forefathers deserve a word of
chronicle.
Two staunch Covenanters head
the roll, James and John Naismith. The former was minister first of
Dalmellington, and then of Hamilton, from 1641 to 1662. He was a man of
note, trusted by the Scots Parliament for various duties, and, says Wodrow,
"he was reckoned a very good man and a good preacher." He proved himself of
sterling gold in the furnace of persecution, for he was thrown into prison
in 1660, the year of the Restoration, one of the first to suffer for the
Covenant. Persecuted for a time, he was at length driven from his charge;
but so far as we know, both he and his brother John, in spite of
twenty-eight troubled years, lived to a good old age. John too suffered
imprisonment, although not until the reign of James II., and both were
harassed by repeated fines. A daughter of the Reverend James Naismith
married her cousin, who was John Naismith's son, and this couple, John and
Janet Naismith, lived at Allanton, and brought up in godly fashion, and in
the memory of grandparents of such honourable record, a son, John Naismith,
afterwards of Drumloch. He married in 1731, and his family consisted of a
son and three daughters, of whom the youngest was the Christian Naismith of
our story. Mr William Stodart died a few years after his marriage, and his
wife survived him for only a short time. When she died, their little girls,
Helen, Marion, and Margaret, were adopted by relatives on both sides. The
uncle Naismith took Helen, an aunt married to Mr Hamilton of Airbiess gave
Marion a home, and Mr Stodart welcomed the little Margaret to Walston. The
Drumloch house was hospitable, and there the sisters often met. Helen, the
eldest, grew up in the congenial atmosphere, a tall and graceful girl,
dark-haired and dark-eyed, her face beaming with kindly smiles, a great
reader and a cheerful talker. An old servant described her as "a pairfit
sant." But although of orderly habits, she was not fond of dress, and rather
eschewed society, which interfered with her reading and distracted her
thoughts. Her uncle was a man of ability, loving Greek, Latin, and French,
and having some taste for research. He was able to help Sir John Sinclair in
'The Statistical Account of Scotland,' and wrote several books himself. We
are told that, like his forefathers, he was a man of goodly presence.
From time to time Helen went
to Airbless to visit her aunt and sister, and there, amongst the occasional
guests, she met Alexander Blackie. He contrived to make himself agreeable to
the gentle Helen, and an attachment grew up between them. The young banker
was handsome, well-built, self-confident, and so far successful. The touches
of dogmatism which mark the manner of youth offend only the old, and if to
these he added some flashes of quick temper, the uncles and aunts alone took
warning. So in 1805 the young people were married, and took up house in
Charlotte Street, in Glasgow. Here in 1807 their eldest daughter, Christina,
was born, and on July 28, 1809, their eldest son, John Stuart Blackie.
Friends gathered to his christening, and amongst them was the cousin from
Kelso, now a young doctor, assisting his father, and in due time to succeed
him—and after him the baby was christened John Stuart. Some homage, too, was
doubtless paid to the memory of a line of Naismiths, from John the
Covenanter to John the scholarly Laird of Drumloch.
Soon after the christening,
Mr Blackie was appointed manager of the Commercial Bank at Aberdeen, and
thither they removed and settled in Marischal Street about the close of
1809. As John grew from infancy to childhood the banker's nursery filled,
but only five of his first family reached maturity.
From his earliest years John
developed from within outwards, accepting no guidance of a coercive
character, and flatly declining to be taught the alphabet until he affected
letters. His father made many futile attempts, but he refused to be wiled
from the attic, where he and his sisters revelled in improvised sports,
sometimes theatrical, often oratorical. He filled the house with noise, a
kindly, merry child, much liked by his nurses, whom he harangued from the
top of a chest of drawers. His father was fond of Shakespeare, and John
picked up scraps by ear, and declaimed them in the nursery with abundant
gesture. But the psalms and hymns carefully administered on Sundays found
less response, until the metrical version of the nineteenth psalm pleased
his ear, and he learnt it by heart. This seems to have been the only mental
feat which he performed in his childhood. But already his character showed
its bent, and his mother wrote when he was about eight years old—
John is all
consideration. He is possessed of a good deal of the milk of human
kindness. He is rapid in all his movements and methodical to a fault.
Nothing that can be done to-day is put off till to-morrow. He is now
happy in the present, anything new rather vexes than delights him. His
character will depend much on the society he forms in after-life.
And she adds, her perspicuity
something clouded by her failures on Sundays,—
If it is good, I expect
to see him a fine young man, pushing, and fond of money, but not with
much religion about him.
At this time he did not know
his alphabet, and a lady experienced in teaching was asked to beguile him
through this displeasing portal into the halls of learning. She thought to
teach him with a box of ivory letters, and arranged them as toys full of
promise; but John flung them out of the window, and declined to be fooled
into lessons.
In the same year, however, a
new school was opened in Aberdeen. Professional society had grown to be
dissatisfied with the grammar-school, and took some trouble to establish an
academy, at which the mind might be cultivated and the manners not
neglected. Mr Blackie was one of the gentlemen interested. They rented a
hall in the Netherkirkgate, and fitted it up with all school requirements.
An excellent master was secured in Mr Peter Merson, a classical student then
mounting the slow rungs of Church preferment, and a Mr Bransby was engaged
as usher.
John was sent to this school,
and came first under Mr Bransby's care. The discovery that his schoolmates
could read and write was sufficient shock, and he was soon diligent enough.
Mr Bransby died a few months later, and John was transferred to Mr Merson's
class. Here he was expected to begin Latin, and refused to do so. Mr Merson
understood the boy, and left him to take to it spontaneously, from which
point he made rapid progress in his school-work. Some twelve or fourteen
boys were in his class, and in the viva voce examinations with which the
master began each morning's work, young Blackie soon distinguished himself.
His memory was strong from the beginning, and he gained smartness by doing
his lessons aloud, in his own fashion, learning Latin by the ear as well as
by the mind. "Merson's scholars" were a trial to the neighbourhood, as the
Academy had no play- ground; but although John could run and shout with the
best of them, he seems to have avoided all rougher pranks. Once he was
challenged to fight by Alick Dunbar, but he declined on the ground that
human beings were not intended to collar each other like dogs, adding,
"Although I won't fight with you, I'll knock you down," and this he did to
the admiration of his schoolfellows, who counted his courage duly proven. A
first acquaintance with the heroes of tradition and of history impressed him
greatly. At nine years of age he accepted the postulate of the future
apostle of strength, and went about the house shouting, "Father, for the
nine hundred and ninety-ninth time, I tell you there is nothing like
uncommon strength."
Mr Blackie, elated by his
rapid progress, wished him to learn music and dancing about the time that
Latin had lost its terrors. A teacher of music was instructed to give John
lessons in the violin, but the little scholar's arms and hands were not
adaptable, and he protested so vigorously against his lessons that they came
to an untimely end. Nor did dancing suit the free play of his feet and legs,
and when the weekly lesson was due, John was wont to hide himself and so
escape its tortures. On one occasion Mr Blackie dragged him out of a
cupboard, and marched him off to the dancing-school, holding a cane in
reserve for the first sign of mutiny; but this took time and trouble, and
the father had to give in, and to content himself with the fact that John
was generally dux at the Academy. Mr Blackie was particular about dress, and
John was not. A smart suit of silver-grey cloth with rows of shining buttons
was chosen for him, but caused a tempest of despair in the boy, who refused
to brave the jeers of his class in such unacademical splendour, and the fine
clothes had to be kept for James. So he grew as much as possible iii the
free exercise of his own will; and in spite of his repugnance to his
father's dilettante tastes, his truthfulness, kindliness, industry, and
sunny humour made him the favourite at home.
He was no reader at this
time. He learned his lessons thoroughly, singing them through the house, and
already marching up and down with that coincidence of mental and bodily
activity which never left him; but when he knew them, the hours to spare
were filled with original sports. The attic, where he and the little ones
were at liberty, was decorated with play-bills,—his fancy elaborated their
suggestions, and he wove in what scraps of Shakespeare and psalmody he knew,
devising strange plays, which he and his sister performed to an audience of
nurses and children. Christina was John's most capable playmate. Opposite
the house stood a theatre, and every evening these two watched the people
going in, with wistful eyes, wondering if it would ever occur to their
father to take them to the play, but not venturing to expose their longing
to his banter. He never did take them, but sent them to the circus
sometimes, and the feats of riders and clowns led to hazardous imitations at
home.
Mrs Blackie's cousin had
married Mr James Wyld, afterwards of Gilston, and then residing at
Bonnington Bank, near Edinburgh. In 1819, John, just ten years old, was
invited to spend the August holidays with his cousin Robert Wyld, a year
older than himself Robert was in low spirits at the prospect of going to the
High School after the holidays. He hated Latin, and, alas! Latin and Greek,
with a little arithmetic and small doses of the weights and measures, made
up the too solid educational diet of that famous place. Mr Wyld tried to
rouse his boy's emulation by praising John Blackie's ardour for Latin, but
Robert refused to believe in it, till one day, hearing strange sounds which
came through the open library window into the garden, he peered in to find
his cousin, a thin little lad with sharp features, shouting out at the top
of his voice, with the broad sonorous vowel-sounds taught in Scotland, the
rules of syntax from the Latin columns in Ruddirnan's 'Rudiments.' To be so
employed on a holiday visit argued a power of principle which impressed the
dejected Robert for his good.
This year, 1819, ended in
sorrow for the home in Aberdeen. The gentle mother died, and a shadow fell
on the house, which it took years to remove. |
