“We are puir creatures, Matthew,” said the old man; “strength an’ weakness are often next door neighbours in the best o’ us; nay, what is our vera strength taen on the ae side, may be our vera weakness taen on the ither. Never was there a stancher, firmer fallow than Robert Burns; an’ now that he has taen a wrang step, puir chield, that vera stanchness seems just a weak want o’ ability to yield. He has planted his foot where it lighted by mishanter, and a’ the guid an’ ill in Scotland wadna budge him frae the spot.”
“Dear me! that so powerful a mind should be so frivolously engaged! Making ballads, you say?—with what success?”
“Ah, Matthew lad, when the strong man puts out his strength,” said my companion, “there’s naething frivolous in the matter, be his object what it may. Robert’s ballads are far, far aboon the best things ever seen in Scotland afore; we auld folk dinna ken whether maist to blame or praise them, but they keep the young people laughing frae the ae nuik o’ the shire till the ither.”
“But how,” I inquired, “have the better clergy rendered themselves obnoxious to Burns? The laws he has violated, if I rightly understand you, are indeed severe, and somewhat questionable in their tendencies; and even good men often press them too far.”
“And in the case of Robert,” said the old man, “our clergy have been strict to the very letter. They’re guid men an’ faithfu’ ministers; but ane o’ them, at least, an’ he a leader, has a harsh, ill temper, an’ mistakes sometimes the corruption o’ the auld man in him for the proper zeal o’ the new ane. Nor is there ony o’ the ithers wha kent what they had to deal wi’ when Robert cam afore them. They saw but a proud, thrawart ploughman, that stood uncow’ring under the glunsh o’ a hail session; and so they opened on him the artillery o’ the kirk, to bear down his pride. Wha could hae told them that they were but frushing their straw an’ rotten wood against the iron scales o’ Leviathan? An’ now that they hae dune their maist, the record o’ Robert’s mishanter is lying in whity-brown ink yonder in a page o’ the session-buik, while the ballads hae sunk deep deep intil the very mind o’ the country, and may live there for hunders and hunders o’ years.”
“You seem to contrast, in this business,” I said, “our better with what you must deem our inferior clergy. You mean, do you not, the higher and lower parties in our church? How are they getting on now?”
“Never worse,” replied the old man; “an’, oh, it’s surely ill when the ministers o’ peace become the very leaders o’ contention! But let the blame rest in the right place. Peace is surely a blessing frae Heaven—no a guid wark demanded frae man; an’ when it grows our duty to be in war, it’s an ill thing to be in peace. Our Evangelicals are stan’in’, puir folk, whar their faithers stood; an’ if they maun either fight or be beaten frae their post, why, it’s just their duty to fight. But the Moderates are rinnin’ mad a’thegither amang us: signing our auld Confession, just that they may get intil the kirk to preach against it; paring the New Testament doun to the vera standard o’ heathen Plawto; and sinking ae doctrine after anither, till they leave ahint naething but deism that might scunner an infidel. Deed, Matthew, if there comena a change among them, an’ that sune, they’ll swamp the puir kirk a’ thegither. The cauld morality that never made ony ane mair moral, taks nae hand o’ the people; an’ patronage, as meikle’s they roose it, winna keep up either kirk or manse o’ itsel. Sorry I am, sin’ Robert has entered on the quarrel at a’, it suld hae been on the wrang side.”
“One of my chief objections,” I said, “to the religion of the Moderate party is, that it is of no use.”
“A gey serious ane,” rejoined the old man; “but maybe there’s a waur still. I’m unco vexed for Robert, baith on his worthy faither’s account and his ain. He’s a fearsome fellow when ance angered, but an honest, warm-hearted chield for a’ that; an’ there’s mair sense in yon big head o’ his, than in ony ither twa in the country.”
“Can you tell me aught,” said the north country gentleman, addressing my companion, “of Mr. R——, the chapel minister in K——? I was once one of his pupils in the far north; but I have heard nothing of him since he left Cromarty.”