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IN Dr Macculloch's "Tour
to the Highlands of Scotland," we have the most perfect and eloquent
descriptions of scenery; but in Dr Johnson's, the truest yet most
complimentary delineation of the character and manners of the people.
The physical features of the country are, no doubt, abiding, while its
social condition is constantly changing; so that we can now-a-days more
easily recognise the truth of the sketches by the former than by the
latter tourist. But the minister of whom I write, and the manners of his
time, belonged to the era of Johnson, and not to that of Macculloch.
There is something, by
the way, peculiarly touching in that same tour of the old Doctor's, when
we remember the tastes and habits of the man, with the state of the
country at the time in which he visited it. Unaccustomed to physical
exercise, obese in person and short-sighted in vision, he rode along
execrable roads, cautiously felt his way across interminable morasses,
on a Highland shelty. He had no means of navigating those stormy seas
but an open boat, pulled by sturdy rowers, against wetting spray, or
tacking from morning till night amidst squalls, rain, and turbulent
tideways. He had to put up in wretched pot-houses, sleeping, as he did
at Glenelg, "on a bundle of hay, in his riding-coat; while Mr Boswell,
being more delicate, laid himself in sheets, with hay over and above
him, and lay in linen like a gentleman." In some of the houses, he found
but clay floors below and peat-reek around, and nowhere did he find the
luxuries of his own favourite London. Yet he never growls or expresses
one word of discontent or peevishness. Whether this was owing to his
having for the first time escaped the conventionalities of city life; or
to the fact of the Highlands being then the last stronghold of
Jacobitism; or to the honour and respect which was everywhere shown
towards himself; or, what is more probable, to the genial influence of
fresh air and exercise upon his phlegmatic constitution, banishing its
"bad humours,"—in whatever way we may account for it, so it was, that he
encountered every difficulty and discomfort with the greatest
cheerfulness ; partook of the fare given him and the hospitality
afforded to him with hearty gratitude; and has written about every class
of the people with the generous courtesy of a. well-bred English
gentleman.
His opinion of the
Highland clergy is not the least remarkable of his "testimonies,"
considering his intense love of Episcopacy, and its forms of public
worship, with his sincere dislike of Presbyterianism. "I saw," he says,
writing of the clergy, "not one in the Islands whom I had reason to
think either deficient in learning or irregular in life, but found
several with whom I could not converse without wishing, as my respect
increased, that they had not been Presbyterians." Moreover, in each of
the distant islands which the Doctor visited, he met ministers with whom
even he was able to have genial and scholarly conversation. "They had
attained," he says, "a knowledge as may be justly admired in men who
have no motive to study but generous curiosity, or, what is still
better, desire of usefulness ; with such politeness as no measure or
circle of converse could ever have supplied, but to minds naturally
disposed to elegance." When in Skye, he remarks of one of those
clergymen, Mr M'Queen, who had been his guide, that he was "courteous,
candid, sensible, well-informed, very learned ;" and at parting, he said
to him, "I shall ever retain a great regard for you. Do not forget me."
In another island, the small island of Coll, he paid a visit to Mr
Maclean, who was living in a small, straw-thatched, mud-walled hut, "a
fine old man," as the Doctor observed to Boswell, "well dressed, with as
much dignity in his appearance as the Dean of a cathedral!" Mr Maclean
had "a valuable library," which he was obliged, "from want of
accommodation, to keep in large chests;" and this solitary, shut up "in
a green isle amidst the ocean's waves, argued with the awful Southern
Don about Leibnitz, Bayle, etc., and though the Doctor displayed a
little of the bear, owing to the old man's deafness, yet he acknowledged
that he "liked his firmness and orthodoxy." In the island of Mull,
again, Johnson spent a night under the roof of another clergyman, whom
he calls, by mistake, Mr Maclean, but whose name was Macleod, [The
grandfather of the present, and the father of the late Rev. Dr Macleod
of New York, U.S., both distinguished clergymen.] and of whom he says
that he was "a minister whose elegance of conversation, and strength of
judgment, would make him conspicuous in places of greater celerity." It
is pleasant to know, on such good authority, that there lived at that
time, in these wild and distant parts, ministers of such character,
manners, and learning.
The minister of our
Highland parish was a man of similar culture and character with those of
his brethren, two of whom mentioned by the Doctor were his intimate
friends. He had the good fortune, let me mention in passing, to meet the
famous traveller at Dunvegan Castle; and he used to tell, with great
glee, how he found him alone in the drawing-room before dinner, poring
over some volume on the sofa, and how the Doctor, before rising to greet
him kindly, dashed to the ground the book he had been reading,
exclaiming, in a loud and angry voice, "The author is an ass!"
When the minister came to
his parish, the people were but emerging from those old patriarchal
times of clanship, with its loyal feelings and friendships, yet with its
violent prejudices and intense clinging to the past, and to all that was
bad as well as good in it. Many of his parishioners had been "out in the
'45," and were Prince Charlie men to the core. [The minister himself was
a loyal "Hanoverian." This was caused by his very decided Protestantism,
and also, no doubt, by his devotion to the Dunvegan family, which,
through the influence chiefly of President Forbes, had opposed Prince
Charles. The minister, on a memorable occasion, had his Highland and
loyal feeling rather severely tried. It happened thus:—When King William
IV., like our noble Prince Alfred, was a midshipman in the royal navy,
his ship, the Caesar, visited the western Isles. The minister, along
with the other public men in the district, went to pay his respects to
his Royal Highness. He was most graciously received, and while
conversing with the prince on the quarter-deck, a galley manned with six
rowers pulled alongside. The prince asked him to whom it belonged. On
being informed that it belonged to a neighbouring proprietor, the
additional remark was made, with a kind smile, "He was out, no doubt, in
the '45? Of course he was! Ah, doctor, all you Highlanders were rebels,
every one of you! H a—ha—ha!" "Please your Royal Highness," said the
minister, with a low bow, "I am thankful to say all the Highlanders were
not rebels, for had they been so, we might not have had the honour and
happiness of seeing your Royal Highness among us now." The prince
laughed heartily, and complimented the minister on the felicity of his
reply.] These were not characterised by much religion—one of the
predecessors of our minister had been commanded by this party not to
dare in their hearing to pray for King George in church, or they would
shoot him dead. He did, nevertheless, pray, at least in words, but not,
we fear, in pure faith. He took a brace of pistols with him to the
pulpit, and cocking them before his prayer began, he laid them down
before him, and for once at least offered up his petitions with his eyes
open.
There was no law-officer
of the crown, not even a justice of the peace at that time in the whole
parish. The people were therefore obliged to take the law to some extent
into their own hands. Shortly after our minister came to the parish, he
wrote stating that "no fewer than thirty persons have been expelled for
theft, not by sentence of the magistrate, but by the united efforts of
the better sort of the inhabitants. The good effects of this expulsion
have been sensibly felt; but a court of law having been established
since then in the neighbourhood, the necessity for such violent means is
in a great measure obviated."
The minister was too far
removed from the big world of church politics, General Assembly debates,
controversial meetings and pamphlets, to be a party man. It satisfied
him to be a part of the great Catholic Church, and of that small section
of it in which he had been born. The business of his Presbytery [It may
interest some of our southern readers to know that the government of the
Established Church of Scotland is conducted as follows:—(1.) Over a
single parish is the court called the Kirk-Session, composed of lay
members, who are ordained for the office as Elders and as Deacons, (to
attend to the poor,) but always presided over by the minister. The
number of this court varies according to the size and circumstances of
the congregation and parish. (2.) Over a number of parishes is the
Presbytery, composed of all the clergy within a certain district, and a
representative Elder from each Session. (3.) Over the Presbyteries of a
Province is the Synod, composed of all the members of the several
Presbyteries; and, finally, over the whole Church is the General
Assembly, presided over by a nobleman, representing the Sovereign, and a
"moderator" or chairman, elected by the Church, and composed of
representatives, lay and clerical, from every presbytery, and also of
laymen from the Royal Burghs and Universities. These several courts have
many privileges conferred upon them by Act of Parliament. Beyond
Scotland, they are no more "established" than the Church of England is
beyond England. Both Churches are, by the Act of Union, placed on an
equal footing as regards the State in the Colonies. The government of
the Church of Scotland is very similar to that of all the Established
Protestant Churches on the Continent.] was chiefly local, and his work
was confined mainly to his parish.
After having studied
eight years at a university, he entered on his charge with a stipend of
£40, which was afterwards raised to £80. He ministered to 2000 souls,
all of whom—with the exception of perhaps a dozen families of
Episcopalians and Roman Catholics—acknowledged him as their pastor. His
charge was scattered over 130 square miles, with a sea-board of 100!
This is his own description of the ecclesiastical edifices of the parish
at the beginning of his ministry:—"There are two churches so called, but
with respect to decency of accommodation, they might as properly be
called sheds or barns. The dimensions of each is no more than forty by
sixteen feet, and without seats or bells. It is much to be regretted
that since the Reformation little or no attention has been paid to the
seating of churches in this country." No such churches can now be found.
How the congregation managed to arrange themselves during service in
those "sheds," I know not. Did they stand ? sit on stones or bunches of
heather? or recline on the earthen floor? Fortunately the minister was
an eloquent and earnest preacher, and he may have made them forget their
discomfort. But the picture is not pleasing of a congregation dripping
wet, huddled together in a shed, without seats, after a long walk across
the mountains. Sleeping, at all events, was impossible.
It is worth noticing, as
characteristic of the times, that during the first period of his
ministry the Scriptures had not been translated into Gaelic. The clergy
translated what they read to the people from the English version, with
such assistance as could be derived from Bedell's Irish Bible. The
Highlanders owed much to Gaelic hymns, composed by some of their own
poets, and also to metrical translations of the Psalms, [It is just as
strange that the eldest son of "the manse" was the first to prepare a
metrical translation of the Psalms in Irish, for the use of the Irish
Protestant Churches. He also was the chief means of obtaining a new
edition of the Gaelic Scriptures for his own countrymen, and of
originating and helping on the Education Scheme of the Church of
Scotland, which now instructs 20,000 children in the Highlands. In order
to supply the hunger for knowledge which these additional means of
education would create, he prepared admirable Gaelic school-books, and
conducted a monthly magazine in Gaelic for several years, which, it is
not too much to say, was, in point of talent, interest, usefulness, and
genius, the most precious literary boon ever conferred on the Highlands.
I hope this allusion to one so recently departed may be kindly
interpreted.] by Mr Kirke, minister of Balquhidder, and by the Synod of
Argyle. But even if there had been Bibles, many of the people had not
the means of education. What could one or two schools avail in so
extensive a parish? To meet the wants of the people, a school would
require to be in almost every glen.
But preaching on Sunday,
even on a stormy winter's day, was the easiest of the minister's duties.
There was not a road in the parish. Along the coast indeed for a few
miles there was what was charitably called a road, and, as compared with
those slender sheep-tracks which wormed their way through the glens, and
across some of the wilder passes, it perhaps deserved the name. By this
said road country carts, introduced during his days, [His brother
introduced the first-cart into the Isle of Skye.] could toil, pitching,
jolting, tossing, in deep ruts, over stones, and through the burns, like
waggons in South Africa, and with all the irregular motion of boats in a
storm. But for twenty miles inland the hills and glens were as the Danes
had left them.
The paths which traversed
those wilds were journeyed generally on foot, but in some instances by
"the minister's brown horse," one of those sagacious creatures which,
with wonderful instinct, seemed to be able, as Rory used to say, "to
smell out the road" in the dark. The minister used to boast how the
brave animal had, on an emergency, carried him for seventy-two miles,
the greater part of which was over the roughest bridle paths in the
country. It is hardly possible to convey a just impression, except to
those acquainted with Highland paths and wildernesses, of what the
ordinary labours of such a minister was. Let us select one day out of
many of a Highland pastor's work.
Immediately after
service, a Highlander salutes him, with bonnet off and a low bow,
saying, "John Macdonald in the Black Glen is dying, and would like to
see you, sir." After some inquiry, and telling his wife not to be
anxious if he is late in returning home, he strides off at "a killing
pace" to see his parishioner. The hut is distant sixteen Highland miles;
but what miles! Not such as are travelled by the Lowland or Southern
parson, with steps solemn and regular, as if prescribed by law. But this
journey is over bogs, along rough paths, across rapid streams without
bridges, and where there is no better shelter than can be found in a
Swiss chalet. After a long and patient pastoral visit to his dying
parishioner, the minister strikes for home across the hills. But he is
soon met by a shepherd, who tells him of a sudden death which has
occurred but a few hours before in a hamlet not far off; and to visit
the afflicted widow will take him only a few miles out of his course. So
be it, quoth the parson, and he forthwith proceeds to the other glen,
and mingles his prayers with those of the widow and her children. But
the longest day must have an end, and the last rays of the sun are
gilding the mountain-tops, and leaving the valleys in darkness. And so
our minister, with less elastic step, ascends towards the steep ridge,
which rises for z000 feet, with great abruptness, from a chain of lakes
up past the "Righi" I have already described. As he nears the summit,
down comes thick, palpable, impenetrable mist. He is confident that he
knows the road nearly as well as the brown horse, and so he proceeds
with caution over deep moor-hags until he is lost in utter bewilderment.
Well, he has before now spent the night under a rock, and waited until
break of day; but having eaten only a little bread and cheese since
morning, he longs for home. The moon is out, but the light reveals only
driving mist, and the mountain begins to feel cold, damp, and terribly
lonely. He walks on, feeling his way with his staff, when suddenly the
mist clears off, and he finds himself on the slope of a precipice.
Throwing himself on his back on the ground, and digging his feet into
the soil, he recovers his footing, and with thanksgiving changes his
course. Down comes the mist again, thick as before. He has reached a
wood—where is he? Ah ! he knows the wood right well, and has passed
through it a hundred times, so he tries to do so now, and in a few
minutes has fallen down a bank into a pool of water. But now he has the
track, and following it he reaches the spot in the valley from where he
had started two hours before! He rouses a shepherd, and they journey
together to a ferry by which he can return home by a circuitous route.
The boat is there, but the tide is out, for it ebbs far to seaward at
this spot, and so he has to wait patiently for the return of the tide.
The tide turns, taking its own time to do so. Half wading, half rowing,
they at last cross the strait. It is now daybreak, and the minister
journeys homeward, and reaches the manse about five in the morning.
Such land journeys were
frequently undertaken, (with adventures more or less trying,) not merely
to visit the sick, but for every kind of parochial duty—sometimes to
baptize, and sometimes to marry. These services were occasionally
performed in most primitive fashion at one of those green spots among
the hills. Corrie Borrodale, among the old "siiielings," was a sort of
halfway house between the opposite sides of the parish. There, beside a
clear well, children have been baptized; and there, among "the bonnie
blooming heather," the Highland shepherd has been married to his bonnie
blooming bride. There were also in different districts preaching and
"catechising," as it was called. The catechising consisted in examining
on the Catechism and Scriptures every parishioner whe was disposed to
attend the meeting, and all did so with few exceptions. It constituted
an important part of the minister's regular work. Every farm and hamlet
was thus visited in rotation; notes were generally kept of the progress
made by each individual in religious knowledge, and he who was sluggish
and careless was put to shame before his neighbours. Many presbyteries,
at the time we speak of, took yearly account of the diligence of each
member in the discharge of this branch of his pastoral office: a
reckoning and a superintendence which, we humbly think, might, with
mutual benefit to people and pastor, be revived in the present day. This
"exercise" was generally followed by preaching, both of course in the
open air, when weather permitted. And no sight could be more beautiful
than that of the venerable minister, seated on the side of a green and
sheltered knoll, surrounded by the inhabitants of the neighbouring
hamlets, each, as his turn came, answering, or attempting to answer, the
questions propounded with gravity and simplicity. A simple discourse
followed from the same rural pulpit, to the simple but thoughtful and
intelligent congregation. Most touching was it then to hear the Psalms
rise from among the moorlands, disturbing "the sleep that is among the
lonely hills;" the pauses filled by the piping of the plover or some
mountain bird, and by the echoes of the streams and water-falls from the
rocky precipices. It was a peasant's choir, rude and uncultivated by
art, but heard, I doubt not, with sympathy by the mighty angels who sung
their own noblest song in the hearing of shepherds on the hills of
Bethlehem.
An essential, an
important, and a very laborious part of the parish minister's work was
the providing for the wants of the poor and the needy. He and his
session were intrusted, under powers clearly defined by law, with the
administration of the very considerable funds contributed by charity at
the church door every Sabbath. The half-yearly, or quarterly
apportionment of this fund, however, formed a small portion of the
labours implied in providing for the poor. They were carefully visited
by minister and elders : their circumstances accurately ascertained; and
in cases of sickness, or of any special trial, where the session
allowance was insufficient, there was an ample supply provided by an
appeal to the kindness of the more prosperous in the neighbourhood; and
whether food, or clothing, or cordials were needed, they were readily
granted to an appeal thus made.
[It is a noteworthy fact,
which ought not to be forgotten, that, until the passing of the new
Poor-Law Act, twenty-two years ago, the ministers and elders of the
Church of Scotland conducted the whole business connected with the
support of the poor, without fee or reward, without a farthing's cost to
the public—large towns alone excepted, where there was a legal
assessment laid on, as is the case now throughout the country generally.
The number of publicly paid officials employed in this management in the
present day approaches two thousand, each, as a matter of course,
drawing a considerable salary.
And it is still more
noteworthy, that, during the gratuitous administration of the sessions,
the cost of all the poor in Scotland—including the large towns—went
little beyond £170,000 a-year; while under the present system, with
rentals largely increased, with wages rising rapidly, the poor cost the
country annually upwards of £750,000—that the expense is steadily
rising, and that the discontent of the poor is rising as steadily. We do
not mean to discuss questions of political economy; but these facts are
nevertheless worth recording.
It may be added, also,
that in our minister's earlier days there were no law courts established
within the parish, and consequently the settling of many of the disputes
which will arise among neighbours fell to him and to his elders; but
even after such establishment, he and his assessors continued to be the
administrators of justice in scores of cases similar to those where the
disputants now invariably taste the luxury of law.]
Our minister's work was
thus devoted and unwearied for half a century. And there is something
peculiarly pleasing and cheering to think of him and of others of the
same calling and character in every church, who from year to year pursue
their quiet course of holy, self-denying labour, educating the ignorant;
bringing life and blessing into the homes of disease and poverty;
sharing the burden of sorrow with the afflicted, the widow, and the
fatherless; reproving and admonishing, by life and word, the selfish and
ungodly; and with a heart ever open to all the fair humanities of our
nature;—a true "divine," yet every inch a man! Such men, in one sense,
have never been alone; for each could say with his Master, "I am not
alone, for the Father is with me." Yet what knew or cared the great,
bustling, religious world about them? Where were their public meetings,
with reports, speeches, addresses, "resolutions," or motions about their
work? Where their committees and associations of ardent philanthropists,
rich supporters, and zealous followers? Where their "religious" papers,
so called, to parade them before the world, and to crown them with the
laurels of puffs and leading articles? Alone, he, and thousands like
him, laboured, the very salt of the earth, the noblest of their race! |
