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"There are contentious among
you"
i Cor. I. II.
1843
WHEN I was little more than
six years old, an event occurred which made a great difference to Scotland
in many ways. The significance. of it could not come home to me then, but
what I saw can never be forgotten. It was the Disruption of the Church of
Scotland. In the forenoon I had seen the Lord High Commissioner's
procession, and on the same day was taken along George Street to the front
of St. Andrew's Church, where those who conducted me gazed up in silence —as
did a crowd of others—at the gallery windows. I saw nothing but a number of
bald and other heads, and wondered what was making those on the street gaze
so intently. It was not my idea of a show. That afternoon I was playing with
companions at home, and we were doing some children's acting, for which my
cheeks were painted a strong red. Suddenly we heard a noise, and saw from
the window people rushing along towards the street corner, and seeming an
excitement we followed them, running as hard as our little legs could carry
us. On looking up the steep street leading to George Street, we saw a long
line of black moving down the hill, which as it came near proved to be the
seceders who had left St. Andrew's Church to proceed down to Tanfield, there
to meet in a large hall. The Moderator led them, and they came on, on, on,
several hundreds. It was to me a mere sight to behold, knowing nothing of
its meaning; but I seem now to see before me the four-deep marchers, all 'n
black, with white neckcloths and tall hats, and faces set and solemn. They
looked absorbed, as seeing nothing of their surroundings, moving as in deep
thought. My ludicrous appearance in my fancy cap and with my painted cheeks
passed unnoticed, although I was in the very front row of the lookers-on. My
elder brother found me there, and whipping off the paper cap 1 wore, applied
his handkerchief and mine to remove the clown look from my face, while still
the, to me, apparently endless succession of black figures passed on. Of
course it is little that I can say except to describe what I saw, but a
child is quick to observe when there is passion in faces— their elders
generally accustom them to that. I saw nothing of passion> rather the
feeling was of sober determination of men who had made up their minds, and
in whom excitement had passed away and purpose was dominant. My recollection
as to what passed before me, and of the impression formed, was a complete
accord with what I learned to know when I grew up, of the sacrifice these
men were facing when they marched to Tanfield, giving up their homes and
their living, saciificiag for the time their prospects in life. I say
nothing as to the times of the matter, of which I could have no opinion
then: but it certainly was impressive to see that crowd of men, who were not
deterred by dread of sacrifice from giving effect to opinions
conscientiously formed and strongly held. One can imagine what a trial it
was— what a sacrifice bravely shared by many a wife and child, upholding the
fathers in suffering ' 'the loss of all things, so far as this world was
concerned. What uncertainty there must have been as to the future, not only
to those who departed, but also to those who remained! Would the great rent
prove disastrous, or would both the seceders and those whom they left be
able to survive and put on strength so as to present a working and efficient
organisation? What fireside discussions must there have been, what hand-wriging,
what uplifting of hands, what heart-searching, what demands upon the spirit
of charity! Probably all who walked in that procession to Tinfield, and all
who remained in St. Andrew's Church as an attenuated General Assembly, have
passed away. It's at least a matter for thankfulness that now, seventy years
later, the bitterness of that day has exhausted itself, and that whether a
real reunification is in the future or not, there is a spirit of
reconciliation which enables the descendants and successors of those who
took part in the long past events to meet in friendly conference. It is a
maxim not to be denied that schism, from whatever cause, is an evil, which
all must confess, cultivating in their hearts the desire that a way may be
found to get nearer to the "good and pleasant thing, by the healing of the
schisms of the Churches. But whatever may be said, the events of 1843 made
it certain that the. Scotsman who is looked upon as one eager and determined
to acquire and hold fast—as indeed he is—is yet capable, if his conscience
tells him there is a call for it, of giving up his all a sour soldier at the
Alma said—"if needs be."
I only know of one other
person now alive who saw that solemn procession. I did. not know then that a
little girl was being held up on the balcony of the bank building at George
Street corner, and who saw her father—afterwards the Rev. Dr. Bonar—passing
down in that columnj the girl who was afterwards to be my dearest friend,
and to be a helper to me in the waiting time when the desire of a man's life
is fixed and he would fain woo, but must restrain his ardour till prudence
permits; and still more, a helper when the great calamity of a lifetime had
to be borne, and when the hand and the voice of a friend can do much to
bring strength to bear. From this dear old friend I learn that at the corner
of George Street there was great excitement—now a cry of "he he's coming!"
then an indication of false alarm, and at last the outburst of excited
shouting and a rush, and presently the Moderator and his following moving in
orderly march came in view round the corner. I know she will concur in all I
have said as to the impression made upon a child's mind by the scene of that
day. What we knew as we grew up of the men who joined in that four-deep
march confirmed our impression as to its character. No movement in which
such men as Chalmers, Gordon, Guthrie, Cunningham, and Candlish, and her own
father, took part, and with such supporters in the laity as Moncreiff and
Graham Spiers—and there must have been many like them—no such movement could
he otherwise than one full of the spirit of reverent and conscientious
conviction, calling for the respect of all right-thinking men, whether in
sympathy with the views of the actors or not.
Spunkseller
Reminiscences of childhood
are countless. I shall only give three more, each of which points a moral.
One relates to the cruelties committed thoughtlessly by servants, who say
things to children when they are naughty, to make them behave better—telling
them falsehoods to frighten them into subjection. My infancy was in the time
of street cries—the milk, the coals, the kitchen sand, the fresh radishes,
the fish and the oysters, were all announced by their respective cries.
There was, further, the
china-mender, whom I have special cause to remember. He carried a small
brazier full of burning coals, while his wife bore a basket with mended, and
to be mended, glass and crockery. An ugly pair they were; he with unshaven
chin, and she with the red face of a virago. It's quite possible they may
have been very decent people, but I could not think so, as the reader will
presently understand. When they entered a street the man gave a frightful
yell in two syllables: "Hee yaah a-a" (long drawn out) —and then shouted
words which I could not follow. 1 know now that they ran thus: "Cheeyna,
cerusstl,and stunwa-e-re to get mendit"—a most harmless utterance. But a
poor little fellow was told by a heartless nurse that the man was calling
for naughty children to be taken away and burnt in his fire. Oh, how
terrible was my dread! If the man appeared when I was in the street, I broke
away from that nurse and fled as fast as my little legs could carry me,
reached the door of home with my heart going like the piston of a
steam-engine, tore at the bell, and screamed through the slit of the letter
box until the door was opened. But I did not dare to tell the cause of my
terror, being certain that the woman would have denied what I said, and
equally certain that the servant would be believed and the child punished
for lying, for—
"The nurse's legends are for
truth believed,"
whether they are lying to the
child, or lying to the parent. Percy Fitzgerald tells us of Charles Dickens
sufferings in childhood's days :
"The poor child must have had
his nervous temperament wrought upon by an appalling nurse, who seems to
have delighted in agitating him with ghostly and other tales."
A child can suffer agonies
caused by departures from truth of those over them. When one looks back at
such things, it ;is little to be wondered at that a tiny girl should be
found on her knees, saying : "Dear Satan, please come for nurse, and please
come soon," a prayer which actually was uttered, and with earnestness.
The second incident*s an
illustration of how children are often forbidden to do things for reasons by
which their elders are not bound. I was caught at the knee to say a little
hymn whisk ran thus:
'"Twas God that made this
little fly,
And if I pinch it, it would die.
My mother tells me God has said
I must not hurt what God has made.
For He is very kind and good,
And gives the little flies their food.
And he would have each little child
To be like Him, both good and mild."
Having learned to repeat
these rather doggerel verses, with of course the long, whining drawl of
childhood on the final syllable of each line, what was my astonishment not
long after, when the weather was hot, to see my father making a decoction of
some vile stuff—quassia, I think it was, but the maids called it flea-watter—in
which before evening those little pests that I was forbidden to destroy lay
poisoned in dozens. I could not reason the thing out, and dared not ask
"why," so wondered in silence whether it was only little people who were
called on to be "good and mild". Now, the fly is looked upon as an enemy of
the human race, to be. destroyed wherever found, the fall in the death-rate
being often beyond all doubt attributable to the diminution is the number of
flies, who in the past carried deadly things from the mews and rubbish-heaps
into dwelling-houses, causing disease and death. "Kill that fly" is not
merely a theatrical joke. It is an intention, serious, and addressed to the
humane, which it is unconscientious to disregard. The child's hymn, if sound
in its precepts, would of necessity apply to the ox, the sheep, and the
fowl. Why should bad reasoning be held good enough for little people.?'
The third incident is firmly
engraved on memory. It illustrates how the "grown ups," as we called them,
had scarcely an idea of children having any feeling of the rights of
property, and of the wrongs of their little possessions being practically
filched from them, and if they make any sign indicating their chagrin at
having what's their own carried off by someone else, they are made to
understand that they are "naughty and selfish." My half sister, being in bad
health, had spent a winter in Madeira, and on coining home brought a number
of little presents with her. A very neat hand-painted china comfit box with
gilt clasp was presented to me, to my great delight, not only for its
beauty, but also because it is so much to a child to have something real for
"its very own." Not many weeks passed, when two little girls—nice little
girls they were—came to spend the day, and when they were going away in the
afternoon a number of things were put on a large plate, including my comfit
box, and presented to them that they might choose from the collection. What
I felt when a little hand took hold of my box is beyond description. I am
sure if the little girl had known she would have put it back. The irony of
it was made all the greater when she sweetly thanked, not me, but the
"grown-ups" for their kind present. I wonder if such things ever happen now.
If so, I would put in a word for the little people. Should they be tried in
this way? My stepmother once told me a story of a little fellow to whom some
similarly provocative injury was done, and who, on being told by his mother
how pleased she was to see how patiently he had taken the wrong, candidly
repudiated the commendation, saying, "Well, Mamma, you may praise me if you
like, but I just thought Devil I wonder whether my thought was something
like that. Perhaps it is as well that I have forgotten all but the general
sense of disappointment. But it is not easy for a child to go through such
an experience without feeling that although he is taught to say that it is a
duty "to keep my hands from picking and stealing," the catechism only
applies to him and other small people, but that old people may do what they
like with what is riot their own. No honest guardian, who believed that a
child could reason at all, would do such things. The error is in thinking
that the child cannot reason. It is akin to the folly of that evil and too
common practice of saying things before children that they should not hear,
because they are supposed not to take things in. Many a story of the
dining-room or drawing-room travels up to the nursery and down to the
servants' hall, which would never have been uttered but for this
foolish—almost culpable—forgetfulness of the truth that "httle pitchers have
long ears," and can pick up what may be more or less evil both to themselves
and others. |
