Professor W. G. Elmslie, D.D.: Memoir and Sermons

by William Gray Elmslie

Four years later another mission was started from Willesden which has since grown into an independent charge. The district of College Park came into being beneath Mr. Elmslie's eyes, and its spiritual needs attracted his attention. He applied to the London School Board for use of a schoolroom in which to hold Sunday services. The application having failed he bought, in the following year, along with his office-bearers, the site for a hall and church. The hall was at once built, and by the kindness of Mr. Andrew Wark, and other friends to whom Mr. Elmslie made a personal appeal, the money to meet the cost was subscribed. The church has been more recently completed.

One noticeable feature in his work at Willesden was his power to attract the young. I remember his saying on one occasion, half jestingly, that he liked to make children happy, as he knew how miserable they would be when they grew up. He meant that the strain of living was bound to tell, and that children should have all the happiness which can be enjoyed in the elasticity of youth. I do not know which were more attractive to the young people of Willesden—his children's sermons, or the sweets which he used to produce from mysterious stores when they came to visit him. Both were excellent and both did good.

The following contains an interesting account of his pastoral work, and is worth quoting at length:—

"Though it is late, and the text for Sunday (Communion) has not been fixed yet, I am going to tell you a very sad story, that has made me think of many things. Over a year ago Mrs. X————, on my recommendation, engaged as governess a Miss Y————, a great friend of Mrs. Z————, who asked that she might be very kindly treated, because she had had a deal to bear, and was all but disgusted with religion. She was a bright young girl, very pretty and graceful, clever in talk and repartee. Often I wished to find a way of showing her some kindness, but naturally that was hardly possible. However, I knew that both Mr. and Mrs. G———— were good to her. She was to have left last Saturday, but took suddenly unwell—had to go to bed. On the same day I called in at Mrs. G————'s on my way to say good-bye to Miss Y————; learning of her attack, I did not go on.... Mrs. G———— had given her some eau-de-Cologne, and she had liked it much, so I took with me my little spray bottle. Her mother was with her; she looked wretchedly ill in face, eyes, and hands, but spoke in a very firm voice, and that made me think there was certainly no immediate danger.

"I at once told her about the spray bottle, and making her shut her eyes, applied it on her temples. She said it was delicious, and took it in her hands.

"I cannot try to describe her talk, for it was broken by moments of wandering, when she said very odd things, and in the midst she grew sick, and I had to go outside; she was too ill then to say much. I deemed it kind not to remain, but had a short, simple prayer. She said, very earnestly, 'Thank you so much for that!' I told her I would come again, and she must not fear to say to me all she wished. She answered, 'Yes, come again.' Thursday was a very busy day, for I had many engagements in London. Though I tried hard, I could not get home early, but it would have made no difference. She had been delirious night and day, with occasional intervals, and died at a quarter to three in the afternoon. She was only twenty-three.

"... J———— G———— went up and held her hands. She struggled for a moment or two, and then let her head down, and while he spoke to her, quieting her, she said she was going to be good and sleep now. Her wild eyes shut at last, and she was in a sleep, such as she had not had since Saturday.

"The mother and Mrs. G———— stole out, leaving only a sister, thinking it was recovery; but it was death. In ten minutes, with a little sigh, she ceased to breathe. Mr. G———— was her great friend, and she died in his arms. You can hardly think how sad her death has made me. So many forlorn things are about it that I have no time to write. Those lonely nights of agony and death-like sickness, that she had said nothing about at the time, believing herself dying, a governess among strangers, etc.

"Two things I am glad of—that Mrs. G———— was with her one night, and that I thought of the spray bottle. She said to me, 'You had Mrs. G———— to nurse you; is not she an angel?' and I said, 'Yes, as much as if she had wings,' and I meant it.

"Then her sisters told me that all that last night and day, till close on the end, my little bottle was never out of her hand; the coolness of the air and the softness of the spray relieved her sickness so much. Once, when in a spasm she jerked the bottle on the floor, she cried, for fear it was broken. The mother has sent a message asking if she may keep it, since it was the last thing in her child's hand, and the last that gave her any pleasure. It seems, too, that she spoke more than once of my prayer for her. Before the mother left last night to go home, she said to Mrs. G————, 'I shall always love you and your husband for what you have done for my child. Your kindness to her and the preaching she heard in your church did her so much good. She came to you with her life embittered, and with her religious beliefs nearly gone. Only a month ago she told me they had all come back again, and she understood Christ better, and believed in Him more, because of the way Mr. Elmslie preached of him, and we all have seen that this last year at Willesden has been the happiest in all her life. If she had been taken a year ago our recollections would have been very, very sad; now it is different,' and then the poor lady burst out crying. To-day I tried hard to get some white roses to lay on her ere the body is taken home, but I could only get some smaller white flowers, and maiden-hair ferns. Mrs. G———— had also got a basket of flowers, and I think the sight of them will comfort the old folks at home a little, as also a letter I have sent the poor mammy, saying some kind things about her lassie.