All the Jameses who lived and died kings of Scotland were fond of being their own spies; and for this purpose, as well as for other purposes, they were in the habit of travelling the country disguised and alone; upon which occasions their doings had more of love or of war in them, according to the disposition of the royal incognito. The rambles, and amours, and songs, of James V. are well known, and so are some of the brawls and battles of James II., not the second of England, who fought by mercenaries for the purpose of slavery, but the second of Scotland, who occasionally fought in prize battles with his subjects, by way of experiment as to whether the sinews of a man or a monarch were the better knit.
Upon one occasion, a gang of gypsies assailed him at Cramond, a few miles west of Edinburgh; and, though he fought long and desperately, he was beaten down. A ploughman, of the name of Howison, who was threshing in a barn not far off, heard the noise, ran toward the place, and seeing one man assailed, down, and all but defeated, by so many, began to belabour the gypsies with his flail; and, having great strength and skill at his weapon, soon put the gypsies to flight, lifted up the King, carried him to his cottage, presented him with a towel and water to remove the consequences of the fray, and then, declaring that himself was “master there,” set the stranger at the head of his humble board. “If you will call at the castle of Edinburgh,” said the stranger, “and ask for Jamie Stuart, I will be glad to return your hospitality.” “My hospitality,” said the farmer, “is nae gryte things in itself; and it was gien without ony thought o’ a return, just as nae doot you wad hae done to me in the same tacking; but I am obliged to you for your offer, and wad like to see the castle at ony rate. The King is a queer man, they say, and has queer things about him.” The stranger upon this took his departure; and the rustic was well pleased with the idea that he would get a sight of the inside of that strong and majestic pile, of which he had so long admired the exterior.
A few days afterwards he repaired to the castle, inquired for “ane Jamie Stuart, a stout gude-lookin chield, that could lick a dozen o’ gypsies, but not a score,” was admitted, and ushered into an apartment, the splendour of whose furniture, and the number of whose company, bewildered him not a little. At last, however, he recognised his old guest Jamie Stuart, went up to him, shook him heartily by the hand, inquired how he did, and expressed a very earnest wish to see the King, if such an honour was at all possible for a man of his condition. “The King is present now,” said Jamie Stuart, “and if you look round, you will easily know him, for all the rest are bareheaded.” “Then, I’m thinkin’ it maun either be you or me,” said Howison, pulling off his bonnet, which till then his astonishment had prevented him from thinking of; “and, as our acquaintance has begun by my fighting for you, I had better keep to that when you need it, and let you keep to bein’ King.” “Then, as you are so true and so trusty,” replied the monarch, “you shall ride home the laird of Braehead.” “I like that better than twa kingdoms,” said Howison, “but I canno’ accept o’ sae much even frae your majesty, without gien’ something for’t.” “Well, then,” said the King, “as long as we are kings of Scotland and lairds of Braehead, let you and your’s present to me and mine, a basin and towel to wash our hands, whenever we ask for it.”
This was the only occurrence which took place to break the dull activity of the dinner. But when the cup circulated, a ceremony was performed which delighted the corporation-men of the Athens, and made the other corporation-men all over Scotland sad through sore disappointment. The chief magistrate of Edinburgh, who had taken his dinner as plain Mr. William Arbuthnot, took his drink as Sir William Arbuthnot, Knight Baronet of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland,—the knighthood, as was alleged, having been, for the want of a sword, inflicted by that much more appropriate weapon, a large carving-knife, and the baronetage having subsequently issued from the patent office in the usual form, and for the usual fee. All this having been done, the King retired, and the corporation-men kept up the feast, though not so long or so heartily but that all the rest finally went to their homes more sober than a judge.
After the King had witnessed the devotedness of the Athenian authorities at the table, it was proper that he should see the devotion of the people in the church; and here again was one of those scenes which struck me, and must have struck him, very forcibly, as to the difference of a free people, and fawning courtiers, corporation fools, and party slaves.
Becoming preparations having been made, and the King having been furnished with a perspective sketch of the church, and a written programme of the service, it was agreed that the Very Reverend David Lamont, D.D., Moderator and Spiritual Head upon Earth of the Kirk of Scotland, should preach before him, in the name and stead of all his willing and worshipping brethren, while the “men,” the “leaders,” and the people, should demean themselves with that decorum, which the day, the service, and the occasion required.
When the services of the Scottish kirk are performed in a becoming manner, there is a feeling, a sublimity, and a heavenliness about them, of which one who considers only their simple and unadorned structure could form no adequate idea; and when I observed the still and unbroken solemnity of the service, and the effect which it obviously had, not only upon those who are accustomed to it, but upon those strangers who, in whatever predilection they had for one religion more than another, were wedded to the more artificial and gaudy ritual of another church—a church which had been at enmity with the Scottish kirk from the beginning, and which, in dislike to the system of sober equality among the Scottish clergy, and the democratic nature of their church establishment, have attempted to hold up their form of worship as cold, meagre, incapable of stirring up devotion in the hearts of men, and, by consequence, not so gratifying to the Almighty as the more costly and complicated ceremonial of others,—I could not help believing that, of all forms of religion, the simplest is decidedly the best, and that if the object of the propagators of Christianity was nothing but the cultivation of the minds and the improvement of the morals of society, they would carefully avoid all artifice and all show. Those, indeed, who have considered the correspondence that exists between the forms of religious worship, and the intellectual culture of the great body of the people, cannot have failed to observe, that pompous shows and gaudy ceremonies have ever been the concomitants of general ignorance and superstition, and that a plain and unadorned system of worship, has uniformly been characteristic of an intelligent people.
Scotland is an eminent example of this; and whoever takes the trouble to investigate the structure of Scottish society will, to a certainty, find that for half their virtues, and more than half their information, they are indebted to the presbyterian kirk. Nor is it by any means difficult to find out the reason: A religion of shows and of sounds,—of mummeries and of music,—must ever be a religion of the senses. How gaudy soever the trappings, and how fine soever the music, they can afford nothing more than a gratification of the senses at the time. Forms cannot exist vividly but in matter, and when the string of an instrument ceases to vibrate on the ear, the pleasure which it affords, however sweet or however delightful, is at an end: they enter not into reflection; they stimulate not the more rational and permanent faculties of the mind; and, though they may be made to influence, and influence powerfully, the passions, while they last, they leave no lesson which can be useful as a general rule of life. Hence, though the churches of Scotland be, compared with those of England, rude in the extreme; though the sacred music of Scotland be often the untutored attempt of nature, without the aid of flutes, hautboys, and violins, as in the poorer churches of England, or the solemn notes of the organ, as in the richer ones; and though the prayers of the Scottish preacher are generally couched in terms less stately and sublime than those of the service-book of the English church, yet we have the clearest proof that can be given of the superior efficacy of the Scottish mode of worship, in the superior veneration which the people of Scotland, without any hope or even possibility of earthly reward from it, pay to the rites and ordinances of religion, and especially to that most beneficial of all religious institutions, the setting apart of the sabbath as a day of calm tranquillity and holy meditation.
I know not whether the Author of these pages, or the Sovereign of these realms, was the more delighted with the calm, sustained, and religious air of the people of the Athens and of Scotland, as they both proceeded from the palace of the Holyrood to the High Kirk, on the morning of Sunday, the 25th of August. A countless multitude thronged the street, and filled the windows and house-tops; they were habited in the neatest and cleanest manner; and their profound silence formed a wonderful contrast to the noise of their mirth upon the former occasions. There was not a cheer, a shout, or even a whisper; but, as the King passed along, the men lifted their hats, and the whole passed with the most sustained but respectful reverence. They appeared to respect their King, but to respect him less than they did the institutions of their God, and the simple sublimity of that religion which their own perseverance, faith, and courage, had gained them, in spite of the efforts of courtiers and kings, by whom its integrity, and even its existence, were menaced.
The extreme decorum of the people upon this day was the more creditable, that it had been arranged by none of the authorities; and those who formed the mass of the spectators were chiefly such as, on account of their distances or their pursuits, could not obtain a sight of their monarch upon any other day.