My brother-in-law, the Rev. John Macnab, had come out with the Free Church, and was assisting Mr. Barrie at a communion season. The sermon he preached in the evening was a most carefully prepared one; his subject was “Heaven;” and as I do not wish to give an opinion of my relative’s abilities, I may say that three of the elders said it was “most beautiful,—it was like a series of dissolving views.” It was a long sermon, and the descriptive part of it took up so much time that there was no “application” part in it.
Old George Brown was, as he had often been on similar occasions, my guest for the “preachin’s,” as the services at communion seasons were called; and in these days they were abundant in number, being two sermons on Thursday, one on Saturday, and at least one on Monday, besides from about eleven to four and an evening service on Sabbath.
When we got home, George astonished Mr. Macnab by the amount of the day’s services he could repeat; and when he had given his résumé of the evening sermon, he finished up with:
“It was really a grand sermon as far as it went. I never enjoyed a description of heaven better. Ye told us a’thing aboot heaven except hoo to get there; and, Maister Macnab, you’ll excuse me, my young friend, for sayin’ that that shouldna hae been left out, for ye’ll admit yersel’ if that’s awantin’ a’s awantin’. Ye’ll mind o’ the king’s son’s feast? The servants didna only tell that a’thing was ready, but they compelled them to come in.”
“THERE.”
Mr. Macnab said to me that night as we sat together after every other body had retired: “I’ve been criticized by learned professors and doctors of divinity, by ministers of experience and ability, by fellow-students and relatives, but that good old man has given me more insight into what preaching should be than all the others put together; and I hope that as long as I live I will never, never, when delivering God’s message to my fellow-men, forget to tell them ‘how to get there.’”
George “got there” before another communion season came round, and with him were buried many sayings that were “like apples of gold in pictures of silver.” Those I have tried to reproduce will remind many men who are now far on in the journey of life of the frequent use of Scripture language and metaphor by the men of two or three generations ago. A tall man was a “Saul among the people;” news were carried “from Dan to Beersheba;” a disagreeable man was “a Mordecai at the gate;” and language which was in any way approaching profanity,—and the standard was a rigorous one,—was styled “part in the speech of Ashdod, and part in the Jews’ language.” Single names were also used, and to many they were most expressive, such as an “Achan,” a “Jezebel,” a “Nathaniel,” a “Goshen,” an “Ishmael.”
I have heard a keen politician, during the course of the election of a member of Parliament (in the days of open voting, before the “ballot” was introduced, when the hourly returns of the voting at the various polling stations were made, and transmitted by swift riders from one to another), as the numbers were summed up, ask, in order to know the state of the poll, “Is the young man Absalom safe?” I have also heard a very worthy elder say in the presence of a very worthy minister, “Mary, bring out Jeroboam.” Mary produced the whisky bottle. My teetotal friends will doubtless think this a most appropriate name.
Mrs. Barrie had been so pleased with Dan’s attention to Nellie’s grave, that she laid aside the first suit of clothes Mr. Barrie cast off (I may as well tell that Bell and she between them had “turned” them), and she was debating with herself whether to go to his house with them, or send for him, when she met him at the manse gate. With considerable difficulty she prevailed on him to come up to the house, but could not induce him to come on to the front approach, much less in by the front door.