THE TWO SIDES OF THE CHURCH QUESTION.
“They lay aside their private caresTo mind the Kirk and State affairs;They’ll talk o’ patronage and priestsWi’ kindling fury in their breasts,Or tell what new taxation ’s comin’,And ferlie at the folk in Lon’on.”—Burns.
“They lay aside their private caresTo mind the Kirk and State affairs;They’ll talk o’ patronage and priestsWi’ kindling fury in their breasts,Or tell what new taxation ’s comin’,And ferlie at the folk in Lon’on.”—Burns.
“They lay aside their private caresTo mind the Kirk and State affairs;They’ll talk o’ patronage and priestsWi’ kindling fury in their breasts,Or tell what new taxation ’s comin’,And ferlie at the folk in Lon’on.”—Burns.
“They lay aside their private cares
To mind the Kirk and State affairs;
They’ll talk o’ patronage and priests
Wi’ kindling fury in their breasts,
Or tell what new taxation ’s comin’,
And ferlie at the folk in Lon’on.”—Burns.
THE SEED POTATOES.
THE agitation which resulted in the Disruption of 1843, when nearly five hundred ministers left the Established Church of Scotland and formed the “Free Church,” extended even to the quiet parish of Blinkbonny, although Mr. Barrie had not taken an active part in the conferences held on the subjects in dispute between the Government and the Non-Intrusionists, as they were sometimes called. He rather avoided the subject; but in the presbytery his attitude indicated that his sympathies were with those who ultimately formed the Free Church,—so much so that many of his friends remonstrated with him, urging him to be careful, to consider his family, not to commit himself hastily. The latter advice Mr. Barrie carried out by thankingis advisers very sincerely, assuring them that he would endeavour to act conscientiously and “judeeciously;” and although he did not commit himself, his answer was made the basis of different conclusions, according as the “conscientiously” or the “judeeciously” was put foremost.
He more nearly committed himself to Bell than to any other person, and this accidentally. She was the head, the only gardener, and early spring found her deeply absorbed in the arrangement of the season’s crops. She had already planted peas and beans, and sundry vegetables; had carefully cut the seed of the early potatoes, making each potato yield as many bits with eyes or buds as she thought safe; and had the “dibble” in her hand to form the holes into which to drop the seed, when Mr. Barrie, returning from the village, stopped at the “break” which she was beginning to plant.
He never passed Bell without some kindly word. In the garden it was generally, “Well, Bell, always at it?” and Bell’s “Yes, sir” followed him, for he generally walked on. But on this occasion he stood for a few seconds, long enough for Bell to look at him inquiringly, then to wonder whether to speak or not. At length Mr. Barrie said, with something like an introductory sigh:
“Well, Bell, planting the early potatoes, I see. How will you look if we have to flit soon and leave the crop to some other body?”
“Flit!” said Bell; “flit! What d’ye mean, sir? We’ll flit nane;” and forgetting her usual good manners, she added, “Ye havena gotten a call to ony ither kirk that I’ve heard o’, or to ony o’ the big town kirks, have ye, sir?”
“No, not exactly that, Bell; but wemayhave to leave the manse for all that. But if we have, we will leave the garden in such a state as to be a credit to us.” Then collecting himself, and observing her perplexed face, he made a passing remark on the weather, and had moved towards the manse, too confused to be able to reply to Bell’s practical question, which cut him to the quick, simple as it was, “What for did ye no’ speak about that before I cut the pitaties, sir?”
COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE.
The question was not asked in Bell’s usual respectful tone, and although she saw that Mr. Barrie had got into the house, she kept looking at the closed door as if it should answer her; then slowly surveyed the garden, the mould of which had been enriched by her industry. She rested her eye first on what she had already planted, next on what she intended to plant; wistfully on the rows that were already above theground, and that had an hour before been her pride; then looked again at the manse door with an expression of bewilderment. She took the hamper which contained the seed-potatoes in the one hand, still holding the dibble in the other, and walked dreamily round the parts of the garden that were planted. The pace was very unlike her everyday one; it was slow, heavy, interrupted. Every few steps she looked around her solemnly, until she reached the top of the garden, when, as if some forgotten engagement had flashed across her mind, she walked briskly to the outhouse, laid down her perplexing seed-potatoes, locked the door, and tidied herself more quickly and more carelessly than usual. Putting on her shawl and a knitted worsted black cap or “mutch” with a crimson border (for she wore a bonnet only on Sundays), something like a hood (it had a name, which I now forget), she went to Mrs. Barrie to inquire if she needed anything from the village,—that being Bell’s way of asking whether she could get out for a short time.
“Nothing, Bell,” said Mrs. Barrie, “nothing at all that I remember of; and I am anxious to have as little as possible in the house at present.”
This added to Bell’s confusion and quickened her step. She made straight for the village. I happened to be at the door at the time, and, struck with thesmartness with which she was walking, I apprehended that there might be something wrong at the manse, and had taken a step or two towards her. While yet about two yards distant she asked quickly, “Hoo’s the garden doing, Mr. Martin?”
“Just middlin’, Bell; but come round and see it.”
As we went she further asked, “Have ye gotten your early taties in yet?”
“No,” said I; “my garden is far behind this year. I have been trying to get that house ready for the Whitsunday term. Ye’ll see that we’re putting a better house on the Knowe Park? It’s a nice stance. The old cottage was done, so we’re putting up a good plain house; but the plasterers have dilly-dallied; they’re a provoking set.”
We were now in the garden. Bell’s first remark was, “This is no’ like you, Mr. Martin; but, however, I want to ask ye a secret” (so Bell put it). “Can you tell me if Mr. Barrie’s gotten a call, or if he’s likely to get a call, to ony other kirk?”
“Not that I know or have heard of.”
Then she told me very circumstantially what Mr. Barrie had said, and what Mrs. Barrie had said, and ended by asking, “What canyoumak’ o’ what he said about the taties?”
BELL’S VIEW OF THE CASE.
I tried to explain that it was possible that manyinisters would leave the Church of Scotland on account of something the Government had done.
“What!” said Bell firmly; “that cannot be—that’s no’ possible. The Government wadna daur to meddle wi’ Mr. Barrie. There may be as gude ministers, but there’s nane better. Let them try to put out Mr. Barrie, and they would see a bonnie stramash,—that they would. Leave the manse! Na; thae covenantin’ times are a’ past. Just let Government try’t.”
I said that it was not at all likely that force would be required, as I believed that if the Government persisted in doing what the ministers thought wrong, the ministers would leave the Church quietly rather than submit to have their rights and those of the Christian Church interfered with.
“There’s nae Government will ever gang against gude ministers, at ony rate against Mr. Barrie; they’re the best friends the Government has,” said Bell. Then looking at it in her particular light, she added, “Will ony ither body, Government or no Government, get the peas and cabbage and taties out o’ourgarden?” for Bell was an active partner.
“I hope not,” said I, “but it’s notveryunlikely.”
“If I thocht that, I would neither plant nor sow anither dreel—that I would not; and if you’ll take the early taties I’ve cut, I’llsellye them. They’re a grandkind, the auld early Dons,—grand growers, lots at every shaw, and gude eaters,—nothing to beat them for size and quality.”
I agreed to take Bell’s seed-potatoes, which partly pacified her; but she came back on, “It’s no’ possible! Leave the manse—na!” until I said that the Knowe Park garden would need to be put right at once, that it was very good soil, that I would be happy to buy all her spare plants and seeds, and that she should still keep the manse garden right, as there was no saying what might happen.
Bell gave a qualified assent to this proposal: “She would see; but she maun awa’ hame. She would need to take something up with her;” the something was a bunch of spunks (bits of thin split wood, very dry, about six inches long, tipped with sulphur, used for lighting candles and lamps, unknown now that lucifer matches are so common) and a few pounds of salt.
Mr. Barrie looked in on me shortly after Bell had left, and after a little general talk he quietly remarked that the house—villa, he termed it—was getting on, and that it looked a nice place. “Was I going to build on the east side of the Knowe Park? Had I any tenant in view? What would be the rent? Would it be ready by Whitsunday—and dry?”
THE SHADOWS DEEPEN.
His manner and precision evinced something more than mere friendly interest, and following as they did so much in the train of Bell’s visit, I concluded that he would “come out” if the Government did not yield. It had been evident for some time that his sympathies were with what was then called the “Evangelical” party, although that name was by him considered unfair to the other side, and he preferred calling it the protesting party; but he had taken no prominent part in the public discussions, and was scrupulously careful about introducing ecclesiastical politics into his pulpit ministrations. “The good seed is the Word of God,” he would often say; “and as ordained to minister to the souls of my parishioners, I try to preach it faithfully, fully, and practically, avoiding controversy of all kinds, political, ecclesiastical, theological, or dogmatic. The only way to do real good, even in opposing error or bigotry, is to preach the truth in love.”
April had passed; May had covered the earth with beauty, and blossom, and promise. Never did the manse look so well, or its surroundings more delightful, than on the evening before Mr. Barrie left for the General Assembly in Edinburgh. I made an errand to the manse, ostensibly to ask him to procure a certain book for me when in town, but really to seeif I could pick up an inkling of his mind on the Church controversy, and to offer to be of any service in my power.
Mrs. Barrie and he were sauntering in the garden. He was grave, and as they stopped opposite some familiar flower, both seemed sad. Bell (a most unusual thing for her) was stealthily eyeing them from the kitchen window, having turned up the corner of the little green-striped dimity under-screen. When she saw me, she signalled me to meet her at the back of the manse by jerking her thumb in that direction, and added a slight trembling motion of her clenched hand, to express further that she wanted me to do so without Mr. and Mrs. Barrie’s knowing it. When I reached the back court, there she was, and she at once took speech in hand.
THE TOWN CLERK OF EPHESUS.
“Whatever’s gaun to happen, Mr. Martin? The minister has been bundle-bundlin’ in the study for twa or three days. Mrs. Barrie has been clearin’ oot auld corners, or rather searchin’ into them, for there’s no’ much to clear out that’s either useless or lumbery. Is’t possible we maun leave? It’s no’ possible. I’ve a gude mind to speak to Mr. Barrie mysel’. Sir John was here last night, and I heard him say as he gaed through the lobby, ‘For all our sakes, for your own sake, for your family’s sake, for the sake of the Churchof our fathers, for His sake who wishes all His people to be one, think over the matter again before you make a schism in His body. Carry out the good doctrine you preached the other day when lecturing on the town clerk of Ephesus, that we ‘ought to be quiet, and do nothing rashly.’ Mr. Barrie only said, ‘Thank you, Sir John;’ but as he was coming ‘ben’ the lobby from seeing Sir John away, I took the liberty o’ saying, ‘Sir John’s a clever man, a sensible man, and he’s aye been our friend. So, sir, excuse me for saying that I hope you will’—but I got no further; I saw the tear was in Mr. Barrie’s e’e, and that fairly upset me.” Then she added, “Will ye no’ speak till him, Mr. Martin, seriously and firmly? Leave the manse, and the kirk, and the garden!—I wadna leave them if I was him, unless they sent a regiment of dragoons.”
I said I would try. “Na,” said she, “ye maun baith try’t and do’t too. He’s gaun to Edinburgh the morn to the Assembly, and they say he’ll settle whether to leave the Kirk or bide in’t before he comes back here again.”
Leaving Bell, I came to the front of the manse, and stood for a little admiring the scene. The evening sun was about to set behind the western hills. Nature was in her summer mantle of beauty and verdure,—thegarden smiling at my feet; the fields beyond, green, loamy, and rich; the stream glistering and murmuring in the valley; the distant hills lighted up with the evening glow; the clouds red, golden, and grey, massed or straggling over the glorious sky. I felt with Bell that to leave such a place was no easy matter, and as I had given little attention to the Church controversy, I was at a loss what to say. Mr. and Mrs. Barrie observed me, and came forward. After a quiet greeting, I said, “This is a lovely scene. I find myself quoting fromMarmion, ‘Who would not fight for such a land?’”
I had given the quotation strongly; it startled Mr. Barrie. He said softly and dreamily, as if speaking to himself, “Without werefightings, within were fears;” then looking me steadily in the face he said, “I go to Edinburgh to-morrow,—a most eventful journey for me and mine. In all probability I will return disjoined from the Established Church of Scotland, and no longer minister of the parish of Blinkbonny. Excuse me, Mr. Martin, for feeling perplexed and anxious.”
BELL’S SUMMING UP.
Bell had by this time become a listener, having crept forward very quietly. Shelookedat me with an imploring face to speak out. I tried to say something, but Mr. Barrie’s look was so calm and overpowering,that I could only get out “that I dared not presume to advise in the matter; that several of his people would follow him if he did find it his duty to come out; and that the Lord would provide.”
This was too much or rather too little for Bell, so she joined the colloquy, addressing herself, however, to me. “Maybe He will, if there’s a real need-be; but what sense or religion either can there be in leaving a kirk and manse provided for us already, and where He has countenanced us and given us peace and prosperity, for a chance o’ anither or maybe nane at a’? I would see anither door opened first; as Sir John said yestreen about the clerk o’ the toun o’ Ephesus, we should do nothing rashly. Think on Mrs. Barrie an’ the bairns, and the garden and the dumb craiturs, and,” looking at the churchyard, she added softly, “wee Nellie.”
Bell had joined the party suddenly, and the above sentence was finished by her almost in a breath. It made Mr. Barrie wince. Mrs. Barrie saw this, and at once left us; she got Bell to follow her, by saying that doubtless Mr. Martin had business with Mr. Barrie. Mrs. Barrie did her best to soothe Bell by agreeing with her: “Yes, Bell, it will be a severe trial to leave the manse.”
“And a terrible risk, too,” said Bell. “Oh, mem,try and dinna let the maister do’t, at least no’ as suddenly as he speaks of.”
“I leave Mr. Barrie entirely to the guidance of his own conscience in the matter. If he goes, I go.”
“So will we a’, I fancy.”
“Well, Bell,” said Mrs. Barrie thoughtfully, “we may not be able to keep a servant. If we are, and you are willing to go with us, you will be an immense help to us all.”