ON Sabbath evening, 3d May,
1891, the above minister died in Glasgow, in his 74th year. He had been in
failing health for some time, and retired finally from the ministry in
October, 1890. It is some years now since I heard him preach, but his
venerable appearance was so different from the slim, active figure I
remembered so well when he first came to Girvan, that I hardly recognised
him. But the peculiar tone of the voice, and the striking look and gestures,
all assured me that he was the same.He
came to Girvan when he was about 27 years of age. It was the year after the
Disruption, and the air was electric Feelings were high strung, and their
tension was not lessened when Mr Waddell came among us. He did not, however,
settle down as Free Church minister of Girvan. When the time for his
ordination came round, he insisted on signing the Confession of Faith with
certain reservations as to the duty of the Civil Magistrate, which the
Presbytery could not allow, and so he came out with his congregation, and
established an independent communion, which was known in Girvan as the "Waddellites."
This congregation was never very large (about 200 or so), but they built him
a church, which is now used as the Assembly Rooms, and he ministered
faithfully to them for 18 years.
He had great fluency of utterance, and an
attractive style of elocution, but the subjects he spoke about rarely came
home to men's business and bosoms. Even when he went to Glasgow, and
advertised his topics weekly in the papers, they were still for the most
part of the same unpractical sort. They seemed to be always on knotty
points, which it did not matter much which side you took. At last, by some
happy thought, the Alloway Burns Club in 1859, asked Mr Waddell to occupy
the chair at a Burns Anniversary dinner. The speech he delivered that night
made him famous. And certainly there was a rush of eloquence about that
oration which surprised us Girvanites. We had been so long accustomed to his
finical splitting of hairs that we opened wide our eyes to hear of him
standing at the head of a festive board, and giving out these ringing
words:—"To your feet, gentlemen, and observe the toast we pledge. To Burns,
to Robert Burns, the illustrious, the immortal!" I have heard people who
were present that night speak of the thrill that passed over them as they
listened to his words. He had fairly caught hold of them, and carried them
whither he pleased. One of the company, Mr Peter Connor, started to his
feet, pressed a pound note into Mr Waddell's hand, and said:—"God be with
you, sir, keep you that! You'll never know me nor my name, but you'll know
that I love you." Mr Waddell afterwards framed that pound note as a
keepsake.
About the time he left Girvan, he was asked
to go to London to lecture there, and be introduced to literary society.
Amongst others, he got a note of introduction to Thomas Carlyle. On the
night he arrived at Cheyne Row, however, the great writer was in one of his
thunderous moods, and was standing leaning against one end of the
mantel-piece, while Mrs Carlyle sat patient and expectant at the other. Mr
Waddell came in and bowed. Carlyle turned to him and said:—"You're a
minister?" A bow followed. "What na kirk d 'ye belang to?" This was an
awkward question to answer, so the respondent said nothing. —"Ye'll belang
to the Auld Kirk?"— "No."—"Then, ye'll belang to that compendium of a'
righteousness, the Free Kirk?"—"No."—"Then, yell be a Dissenter?"—"No."
"Then, what in the name o' goodness are ye?"—"My views on religious
subjects, Mr Carlyle, are, I presume, much the same as your own."—"The same
as mine," said Carlyle, looking up. "And who told you what mine were?" This
was too much for the proud spirit, so, stiffening his back a little, Mr
Waddell said, "I came here at your invitation, Mr Carlyle, but seeing my
company does not seem to be agreeable to you, I shall withdraw." But now it
was Carlyle's turn to apologise. "Tut, tut, man, never mind. Sit doon, and
my wife will give us some tea, and we'll hae a crack "—which they had till
midnight.
Another characteristic incident occurred
during the same London visit. He had been invited to meet some literary men
at supper; but as they were assembling, one of the party began to tell an
improper story. The old Scotch clerical feeling at once asserted itself.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I may not be counted orthodox in my theology, but I
am quite orthodox in my morals, and I wish you a good evening." Some of them
expostulated with him, and promised an apology from the offender, but it was
in vain. Mr Waddell left; and Carlyle, when he heard of it afterwards,
said—"That was right, now. There's more stuff in that fellow than 1
thought.''
Shortly after writing the above. I received
from the Rev. Mr Hately Waddell of Whitekirk, East Lothian, a handsome
volume entitled "Selections from the published writings of the Rev. Dr Peter
Hately Waddell, with biographical notice and portrait—privately printed.''
This is evidently meant as a final memorial of our old friend and neighbour,
and a very fitting memorial it is.
The portrait is well executed, and shows the
striking prophet like face, the rapt, sad-looking eyes, the long flowing
locks, with the loose ends of the white tie floating over his breast; for
our friend, while spiritually-minded, was always carefully attentive to the
appearance of his outer man.
The biographical notice is brief, but
partakes more of the character of an Apologia than a memoir. It contains, in
fact, no data at all as to his birth, upbringing, or death. Its object is
more to pour tray his spiritual life than his natural one, and to set a
misunderstood man right before the eyes of posterity. Viewed in this light,
however, the notice is well written, interesting, yet reticent. Sent forth
by a son, not for the public, but for friends, it has, of course, its
natural limitations; but to those who remember Dr Waddell, and can read
between the lines, this little notice is exceedingly valuable and
instructive.
I confess that, when Dr Waddell was in
Girvan, I could make very little of his preaching. It was neither doctrinal
nor practical; which were the only kinds of preaching I was then accustomed
to. It was what he called vital, and based not on truths of Scripture so
much as on his own spiritual experience. He gave out texts, of course, but
he did not expound them as others did. He always spoke as a man who saw the
truth, without reasoning about it.
Dr Waddell, in fact, was an idealist; and all
idealists are unpractical. What he wanted, perhaps, was right enough in a
way, but he forgot the imperfections and limitations of human nature. He
wanted to form a church of the good, and of all the good; and this will come
by and by, but the time is not yet. He declared for a Christian communion
emancipated from all shackles of outward opinion, and held together solely
by faith in God, and charity to one's fellow-men, but he never stopped to
inquire whether, or how far, such a thing was really practicable in this
world.
And yet there was something grand in this
man, alone and single-handed, standing up in this little, out-of-the-way
town of Girvan, like Edward Irving before him in London, "to make a
demonstration for a higher style of Christianity— something more heroical,
more magnanimous than this age affects." And the issue in both cases was the
same. Indeed, I have seen a private letter of the Doctor's, in which he
classed himself with Irving, both in his aim and in his failure. Unhappy he,
at this time of the world's history, who is too original, and cannot work in
harness with the ordinary mortals around him.
Some touching glimpses into Dr Waddell's
private life are given in this memoir. His salary at the beginning was under
£100 a year, and never rose to much above £200. He was always particular, as
I have said, about his personal appearance, but this had a religious aspect
about it. His pulpit Bible, for instance, which, I remember, he used to
handle very reverently, was so treated from conscientious reasons. And we
are here told that on the Saturday before the Communion he always "prepared
the bread" himself, and the way in which he did it made it in the eyes of
his children a sacrament in itself. He had a horror, too, of ministers
wearing coloured shirts or cuffs in the pulpit, and spoke much more strongly
about a well-known minister who had preached in a shooting-jacket under his
gown, than he would have done about any doctrinal deviations.
Some facts are here mentioned, too, that will
rather surprise outsiders. For instance, we are told that he was very
reserved in religious conversation, and that even in his family, religious
subjects were almost never touched on. He did not give his children any
definite religious instruction, but thought it sufficient to teach them
silence and reverence. He found even family worship, after trial, too
touching a service, and only on a New Year's morning, or at some family
parting, would he almost timidly add an extra petition to the usual
morning's "grace." These things are certainly surprising in a man so full of
the religious spirit as Dr Waddell undoubtedly was.
In the Selected Writings, we renew our acquaintance with some of his
lectures and pamphlets, a chapter or two from his "Sceptic's Sojourn,"
specimens of his poetry, bits of his estimate of Burns, an extract or two
from his Scottish version of Isaiah and the Psalms, with a .portion of what
I have always regarded as his ablest work—"The Christ of Revelation and
Reality.'" In all cases, the writing is eloquent, though not always
definite or clear. I heartily thank Mr Waddell for sending me this volume,
and consider that he has not only discharged a filial duty in printing it,
but gratified all who knew his father, as well as given the message he was
allotted to deliver a fresh opportunity of asserting itself. He has now gone
into the Great Silence, and his body rests in the Necropolis of Glasgow; but
in this book we feel his spirit's throbbing eagerness as vividly as ever.