We halted at the little wicket gate at the bottom of the garden. There was a sad look on Mr. Barrie’s face as he turned round and looked at the pleasantly situated, snug manse. Memory seemed busy unfolding her roll of bygone days. It had been the home of his happy married life, the birthplace of his children. Then he looked at the church: it had been the scene of his labours, the joy of his heart, the place of his ministry to the flock he loved. Then he looked at the churchyard: there was one little spot specially dear, but many others hallowed in his mind by associations of the kind and good who lay there. So absorbed was he by the reflections awakened by the scene, that he seemed unconscious of my presence, and as his eye travelled from object to object, he spoke sadly and to himself, “Yes, beautiful for situation.—Thou excellest them all.—Olive plants.—Where prayer was wont to be made.—Watch-tower.—Pleasure in her stones.—With Christ; far better.—We shall not all sleep.” Then, as if awaking from a dream, he said, “Excuse me, Mr. Martin; the old Adam is too strong for young Melanchthon. Every human consideration urges me to remain in the Church of Scotland. I would exhaust every possible means for the sake of all concerned to avert a disruption, but I cannot, I dare not submit to see her rights infringed or her prerogatives violated; it would be treason to my Master. And bitter, bitter as the alternative is, I will act as my conscience impels me (and I have given the subject the devout consideration it demands), and leave all, although I freely confess it is a sore trial of my faith. I fear as I enter into the cloud. I must walk by faith, not by sight.”
THE EVE OF BATTLE.
There was a nobility, a display of true valour in his attitude, tone, and expression that awed me. The fire of his words kindled a flame in my heart, which grew in intensity as he proceeded. When he had finished he seemed as if he had been transfigured; his sadness was gone; he looked like a knight challenging a field of foemen. I could only grasp his hand and stumble out, “The battle is the Lord’s; be of good courage, and let us behave ourselves valiantly for our people and for the cities of our God, and the Lord do that which is good in His sight.”
He returned the grasp very warmly, and said, “Exactly; that text must be our motto. I thank you for it. But I am detaining you. I will let you know the result whenever declared; possibly I may be your tenant at Knowe Park.” He said this with a pleasant smile; and as we said good-night, I added, “Knowe Park will be made as comfortable as I can make it, although, had I expected such a tenant, I would have made it better.”
“It’s perhaps as much as we’ll can afford,” said he cheerfully half-way up the garden. “Good night again.”
As I walked homeward I met Sir John McLelland. I knew him as a gentleman of the neighbourhood, and had been in the habit of saluting him respectfully, but had rarely spoken to him; I was therefore surprised when he said, “I called at the house, Mr. Martin, but learning you were at the manse, I came to meet you. Have you a spare half-hour? I wish to see you particularly.”
“I am quite at your service, Sir John.”
“Then take a quiet turn down the road;” which we did. Sir John then began:
SIR JOHN McLELLAND’S OPINIONS.
“Mr. Martin, I want a long talk with you about Mr. Barrie. I know that you are very intimate with him. I need not tell you that I esteem him very highly. As a minister he has few equals, that we all feel; he is, besides, a gentleman in every sense of the word—a scholar, a man of culture, quite an acquisition to the district. Then Mrs. Barrie is a most delightful creature,—I do not know a more thorough lady than she is; and they have a very nice family—very nice children indeed—good-looking;—so they may well be, considering their parents—the handsomest couple in the parish, I may say in the county. But that is by the bye. Well, the party in the Church of Scotland that call themselves the ‘Evangelicals,’ as if they were the only true preachers of the gospel,—a most unwarrantable and impertinent name for any party to assume, or rather to adopt, for they parade it so offensively that it betrays their former orphanage, and they strut about in the plumes they have stuck on themselves, calling their opponents ‘Moderates,’ as if that were a term of contempt. It would be more consistent if they’d let their moderation be known to all men;—but that is by the bye. Well, these schismatics and agitators—‘Evangelicals,’ if you like—have raised a hue-and-cry about the Church in danger, and trampling on the rights of the Christian people, and have pestered not only the church courts, but the courts of law and the Government of the country, by their pertinacious intermeddling with time-honoured institutions and the rights of proprietors. And so determined and malignant are the leaders of this movement, that they have dug out one or two exceptional cases (you know the exception proves the rule), and dragged them through the law courts, where they got ignominiously beaten, because justice was administered impartially. This has raised the ‘odium theologicum,’ the most unreasonable and insatiable of all passions; and instead of acting as law-abiding subjects and as peacemakers, they are determined, if Government, forsooth, will not yield to them, to break up the Church of Scotland if they can! The law has been clearly laid down by the judges of the land, but they demand to be allowed to be a law to themselves.”