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ALTHOUGH Dr. Elmslie was not destined to a long career, and died with the greater purposes of his life work almost entirely unfulfilled, very few men in the Nonconformist churches of Great Britain were better known and loved. The expectations of many in his native Scotland were fixed on him from the first; in England no preacher of his years had a larger or more enthusiastic following. Among students of the Old Testament he was beginning to be known as a master in his own subject, and as one likely to accomplish much in the reconciliation of criticism and faith. Add to this that he possessed the rarer charm of an almost unique personal magnetism—that many were attached to him by the chain which is not quickly broken, the bond of spiritual affinity, and it becomes necessary to apologise only for the imperfections, not for the existence, of this memorial.

William Gray Elmslie was born in the Free Church Manse of Insch, Aberdeenshire, October 5th, 1848, the second son of the Rev. William Elmslie, M.A., and May Cruickshank, his wife. Writing to his parents from Berlin more than twenty years after, he says, "How thankful I ought to be that I was born in dear old Scotland, and in the humble little Free Church manse of Insch!" His father was famous for his shrewd, homely, genial wisdom. He was a native of Aberdeen, and had the strong sense and quick perception for which Aberdonians are known. By no means without the nobler enthusiasms of Christianity, he had shared in the fervour of the Disruption movement, and was the popular and successful minister of a congregation large for the district, and including many members of earnest Christian principle. Mr. Elmslie was the father and counsellor of the whole parish; his advice was sought by members of all Churches, and cheerfully given. If there was any danger of his practical nature becoming somewhat too hard and worldly, the influence of his wife was a corrective. Dr. Elmslie's mother—a beautiful and accomplished woman—was a religious enthusiast. "I recognised," writes her son, from the New College, Edinburgh, "mamma's review in the Free Press by the words 'wrestling believing prayer.'" They were indeed characteristic, and it was the rare union of mystic elevation and warmth with perfect comprehension of ordinary life that gave Dr. Elmslie his separate and commanding place among the teachers of his time. The austerity, the somewhat chilly rigour which characterised manse life in the Free Church were not found at Insch. The children never suffered from the want of affection—what the French call le besoin d'être aimé. All the best was brought out in them, and in the case of our subject the brightness and sweetness of his disposition procured for him more than ordinary endearments. Two lovingly preserved letters in a large round child's hand give a better idea of the home than anything I can say. The first describes a visit to Huntly and the home of Duncan Matheson, the great evangelist, who did yeoman service in the Crimean War.

"Insch, July 14th, 1856.

"My dear Mamma,—I am always glad when I hear that you are all keeping well. I have such a long string of news that I do not know where to begin, for I was at Huntly, and saw so many things there. I will now tell you the most of what I saw. I first saw the Bogie, and a few sheep being washed in it. When I arrived at Huntly, and had walked a short distance, Mr. Matheson and I met his dog Dash. When I got to the house I was first shown the Bugle, then the Drum, and three swords; one was broken after killing five Rusians, and the man who had used it killed. And then I saw the Rifle, and fired it off, though without shot. When I got out of the house I went to a shop where I bought a gun and Almonds, and on our way home Miss Matheson and I called on the Lawsons, and brought Johny and Jamie home, where we met William Brown, with his Aunt Mrs. Douglas, waiting us. When we went into the house there were two pistols which William and I took, and frightened some boys with them. I saw a piece of the rock of Gibralter. I saw a piece of wood made into stone, and two teeth—one a shark's, and the other an Alligator's—hardened into stone. There were medals and coins of the various countries of Europe, a piece of a church in Sevastopool, and a thing which the Russian soldiers wear on their coats. I also saw a brush which the Turks use for brushing themselves. I also saw an idol and a great many pictures of the Virgin Mary. I saw a small picture-book with all the different priests of Rome. Our Rabbits are all quite well and growing. I am your affᵗᵉ Son,

"William Gray Elmslie."

"My dear Mama,—I am glad to hear that Papa is keeping better. How I would like to be with you, and see the beautiful scenery and the many rabbits. Tell our cousins to come here some time soon, and let them see our rabbits if they will come. I send some Heather and some broom which we got on the hill beside John Davison, and took tea with him. I enclose what I got down of the forenoon sermon. I am your affᵗᵉ son,

"W. G. Elmslie."

P.S.—We sometimes receive to small dinners, but sometimes pretty good.

"W. G. Elmslie."

The religious forces of the time were those of that Evangelicalism which has been the base of so many powerful characters, even among those who have afterwards rejected it, like Cardinal Newman and George Eliot. These were reinforced by the influences of the Disruption, then at their strongest. It was something to be born at such a time, a time when, to use the words of Lacordaire, there was a noble union of heroic character and memorable achievement. The pecuniary poverty and spiritual opulence of Scotland, on which Carlyle has said so much, were then seen at their best. If a cautious, reticent race, impatient of extravagant action and unmeasured speech, is to be found anywhere, it is among the peasants of Aberdeenshire; but when possessed and stirred by religious feeling they are capable of unyielding firmness and unstinted devotion. These qualities were remarkably brought out at the Disruption. The religious life of New England, pictured by Harriet Beecher Stowe, must have been similar in many things, and Dr. George Macdonald, who was born in Huntly, a few miles from Insch, has rendered some aspects with incomparable beauty and tenderness in his first works. The preaching was intensely theological. The great highways of truth were trodden and retrodden. Texts were largely taken from the Epistles, and the doctrines of grace were accurately and thoroughly expounded. Freshness, style, and the other qualities now held essential to popular sermons were unknown. But the preaching did its work, nevertheless, as Dr. Macdonald says, because it was preaching—the rare speech of a man to his fellows, whereby they know that he is in his inmost heart a believer. As the result, every conscience hung out the pale or the red flag. Dr. Macdonald complains of the inharmonious singing, but others will testify with Mrs. Stowe that the slow, rude, and primitive rendering of the metrical Psalms excited them painfully. "It brought over one, like a presence, the sense of the infinite and the eternal, the yearning, and the fear, and the desire of the poor finite being, so ignorant and so helpless." Not less impressive was the piety to be found among the peasants. There were David Elginbrods in their ranks, men among whom you felt in the presence of the higher natures of the world—and women delivered from lonely, craving solitude by the Eternal Love that had broken through and ended the dark and melancholy years. These were to be found not only among the prominent Church members, but among others willing to be unknown, to be stones sunk in the foundation of the spiritual building. Under such influences the boy became a Christian almost unconsciously. There was no crisis in his life, that I can trace. When a mere boy he writes to his parents, during their absence from Insch, that he had conducted family worship according to their desire. "It required a great deal of previous thought and prayer, too, for I have found that is useful, and not study only, in preparing for the service of God. Yet I have good cause to be glad and thankful that I am able to do it; and I feel it a real relief and privilege to commit all to the care of God." At this time he visited an aged member of his father's Church, and prayed with her. He repeats with pride the compliment paid him in return, "Ye ken hoo to be kind and couthy wi' a puir auld body." His faith and vision grew clearer, but in cruder shape those thoughts were his from the beginning that haunted him to the very end.

The intellectual atmosphere of the place was much more quickening than might be thought. Insch is a cosy little village enough, and though not in itself beautiful, has picturesque bits near it. But even in summer sunshine it can hardly be called lively, and in winter, when the snow is piled for weeks on hill and field, and the leaden-coloured clouds refuse to part, it could not well look duller. But the Free Church manses of the district were full of eager inquiry. The ministers were educated men, graduates of the University, and in some cases had swept its prizes. Their ambition was satisfied in the service of Christ. There was a noble contentment with their lot which it is inspiring to think of; but they cherished a righteous ambition for their children, and spared no toil and no self-denial to open the way for them. From three Free Church manses in that neighbourhood, all at first included in the same Presbytery, have gone forth men whose names are familiar to the English people. From the manse of Keig, Professor Robertson Smith; from Rhynie, Mr. A. M. Mackay, of Uganda, the true successor to Livingstone, whose early death is announced as these sheets are passing through the press; and from Insch, Professor Elmslie. The educational facilities of the district were of almost ideal excellence. The parish teachers, when salaries were increased by certain wise and liberal bequests, were almost without exception accomplished scholars. They took pride in a promising pupil, and would cheerfully work extra hours to ensure his success. Their fees were sufficiently moderate, one pound being enough to cover all expenses for a year. At these schools a boy might remain till he had reached the age, say, of fourteen or fifteen, when he might go to Aberdeen to compete for a scholarship, or "bursary" as it was called. Of these, perhaps forty were offered every year, varying from £35 a year for the University course, downwards. It was thought wiser to go for the last year or two to the Grammar School in Aberdeen, to receive the last polish; but often lads went in from their native glens, and defeated all competitors. Elmslie was trained at first in the Free Church school at Insch, then at the parish school, under the Rev. James McLachlan. He then proceeded to the Aberdeen Grammar School, where he was two years, under the Rev. William Barrack, a teacher of rare attainments and enthusiasm. He carried off one of the highest honours, and in 1864 entered the University of Aberdeen.

It is, or was, the ambition of every hopeful youth in the North to wear the student's gown. "Oh that God would spare me to wear the red cloakie!" said John Duncan, afterwards the well-known Professor of Hebrew in the New College, Edinburgh, when weakened by an early illness. The life of the Aberdeen student has never, perhaps, been rendered with sufficient fidelity, save in "Alec Forbes," and Dr. Walter Smith's "Borland Hall," and it may have changed in some respects since Elmslie's time. Then it was emphatically a period of plain living and hard work. Eight shillings a week sufficed to cover many a student's expenses for board and lodging, amounting to less than £10 for the twenty weeks of the session, and the summer was spent at home. The spirit of the place was democratic in the extreme. There were a few students who came out of wealthy families, but any claim to respect on this ground would have been fiercely resented. George Macdonald tells of an aristocrat among the students condemned and sentenced by a meeting presided over by "the pale-faced son of a burly ploughman." The high spirits of youth would at times break out in coarse and even ferocious excesses, but these were rare, and the characteristic of the place was a limitless persistency of application. Most of the men felt that this was their one chance. If they could distinguish themselves, there were scholarships to be had which would open the path to Oxford or Cambridge, or give them a fair chance in other fields of life. Some yielded to temptation, and became wrecks; others, after a period of obscuration, recovered themselves; a few soon abandoned the quest for University honours, and busied themselves with other lines of reading and study; but Elmslie set himself, without flinching or turning aside, to his task. Evil did not lure him. There was no stamp of moral défaillance on that clear brow. His watchful parents were still with him, for they set up another home in Aberdeen, and were constantly with their children. It ought, perhaps, to be mentioned that Elmslie's father was an enthusiastic total abstainer, in days when the practice was quite unfashionable, and in many parts of the country entirely unknown. In this his son warmly sympathised, maintaining the principle of abstinence to the end of his life, and carrying out the practice even during his studies in Germany. He wrote home, when assistant in Regent Square, "Glad you are getting on so famously in the temperance line, and do hope it will have a permanent and wide influence." But the secret of his University success was his indefatigable labour at the prescribed tasks. Although he might well be termed l'esprit soudain, he was capable of the long-continued and daily application which belongs to the rare union of ardour and patience. He had the characteristic of his countrymen—nothing could daunt him from fighting the battle out. His success accordingly was great and growing. In a class which numbered, perhaps, an unusual proportion of brilliant men, he steadily made his way to the front. He distinguished himself by taking prizes in almost every department of study, specially excelling in mathematics, and closed his career by carrying off the gold medal awarded by the Aberdeen Town Council to the first student of the year, in April, 1868. The victory was not gained without a price. From the first his studies brought on some occasional headaches, and the first triumph resulted in a serious illness, which his wise and skilful physician, Dr. Davidson, of Wartle, warned him would reappear twenty years later—an ominous prophecy, which was but too exactly fulfilled. The chief intellectual force in the Northern University at that time and long after was Dr. Alexander Bain, the Professor of Logic. In after life Dr. Elmslie frequently referred to his influence. But other chairs were also occupied by powerful men. Geddes infected many with his own enthusiasm for Greek literature; Fuller and Thomson were admirably efficient teachers of mathematics; and to name no more, "Jeems" Nicol, the Professor of Natural History, with his hoarse voice, his homely kindness, and his thorough knowledge of his subject, was a universal favourite. Thomson was, perhaps, the most original and cynical character of them all, and his dry wit had a great attraction for Elmslie.

The Rev. Thomas Nicol, of Tolbooth, Edinburgh, a distinguished minister of the Church of Scotland and one of the most outstanding of Professor Elmslie's classfellows, wrote thus to his father: "Since Dr. Elmslie's death I have often gone back to the days, just twenty-five years ago, when we first met at the bursary competition, and in the Bageant class at King's College, Aberdeen. Even from the first he was one of the most winsome and attractive members of the class, full of fun and mirth, with a perennial smile on his beautiful and finely formed face, and with a cheery word for everybody. I can see him to-day, with his neat Highland cape and the college gown over it, coming through the quadrangle, as distinctly as if it were yesterday, and it is easier for me preserving that picture because we have met so seldom of recent years. He is associated in my mind with another of our classfellows, who achieved distinction early, and early met an heroic and tragic death—I mean Mr. William Jenkyns, C.I.E., who died with Sir Louis Cavagnari, at Cabul. Your son and he were unlike in some things, but in delicacy of features, and expressiveness of countenance, and slimness of figure one associates them at once together. When I was helping to get up funds for the memorial of Mr. Jenkyns now in the University Library at Aberdeen I well remember the cheerfulness with which Mr. Elmslie contributed, and the kindly words of affection and esteem which accompanied his contribution. Of both it might most truly be said that 'being made perfect, in a short time they fulfilled a long time.' Like others of my classfellows, Mr. Bruce, our first Bursar, now minister of Banff, W. L. Davidson, LL.D., minister of Bourtie, and our mutual friend John Smith, of Broughton Place Church here, and many more, I watched your son's career with the deepest interest, and as I have said, took quite a pride in the career of usefulness and honour which by his ability and hard work he shaped for himself in London. We really felt as if he were our own somehow, and as if we had a share in all the honours he was gaining, both as a literary and as a public man." The Rev. W. A. Gray, of Elgin, who was brought up in a neighbouring Free Church manse, says, "What characterised him then was his intense sense of fun, his perception of the comic side of things, especially in regard to people, and his never-failing stock of anecdotes, almost always humorous, never malicious." Coming several years after Elmslie to the University of Aberdeen, I only knew him from a distance. To an outsider his prominent quality was winsomeness. There was no jealousy in Aberdeen of fairly won success; if there had been, Elmslie would have disarmed it. Then, as always, he took his victories with the utmost simplicity. He was always humble, with the humility which is very consistent with strenuous effort and even great ambition.

The sons of Free Church ministers in those days, however great their University successes might have been, generally desired no higher position than that of their fathers. It was, no doubt, the wish of his parents that Elmslie should be a minister, and his inclination fell in with that. At the same time there were counter-inducements; for one, many Aberdeen students had been winning high distinction at Cambridge, the senior wranglership having fallen to some of them, and his teacher and some of his relatives were anxious that he should try his fortunes there. He had himself a strong bent to the medical profession. Whatever line he had taken in life he would have been successful. A well-known revivalist preacher, also a professional man, is understood to have counselled him to go in for a business life. One who knew him well has remarked to me, since his death, that his true pre-eminence would have been shown in a scientific career. But his life, and especially its closing years, made it plain that his own choice was wise.

A new era opened for him when he went as a theological student to the New College, Edinburgh. The Free Church possesses a theological seminary in Aberdeen which assuredly did not lack for able Professors, but the number of students is small, and the more ambitious men usually go to Edinburgh. In Edinburgh the Free Church College (known as New College) had for its first Principal Dr. Chalmers, and in succession Dr. Cunningham and Dr. Candlish, the three greatest of the Disruption worthies. It had also some notable men among its Professors. When Elmslie went up Candlish was at the head. His appearances were only occasional, as he was also minister of Free St. George's, Edinburgh. But although his contribution to the vitality of the New College was necessarily small, it was real. Mr. Gray writes: "He gave no lectures, his work being confined to the examining and criticising of the students' discourses. There was always a considerable interest in these criticisms, and a good turn out to hear them. They were usually strongly put, both in the direction of censure and of praise; but any one who knew the Doctor's methods, and made allowance for vigour of phrase, could depend on a true and perceptive estimate of the merits or demerits of a sermon. Sometimes he could be savage enough. Fancy a man tomahawked with the following, delivered with the well-known burr, flash of eye, and protrusion of underlip: 'All I have got to say about this discourse is' (raising his voice) 'that one half should be struck out, and' (lowering it again) 'it doesn't matter which half.' This may have compared with another historic criticism, attributed to Dr. Cunningham when addressing the author of a certain Latin thesis: 'Of this discourse I have only to say two things—the writer has murdered the Latin tongue, and perverted the glorious Gospel of Christ.' But Candlish was one of the kindest of men. How well I remember the little figure, with the gold spectacles flashing beneath the big hat; the loosely fitting coat; the wide trousers, lapping two or three inches above the shoes, which were usually set off by a foot of loose lace; the gruff greeting, which usually changed into a warm, hearty smile if he were accosted."

Among the Professors, Elmslie evidently appreciated Dr. Davidson and Dr. Rainy, while conscious of receiving benefit from others. The longest personal sketch he ever wrote was an article on Professor Davidson in the Expositor (January, 1888). In this he says, "His singular and significant influence does not consist in what he does, but in what he is. It is not the quantity or the contents, but the quality and kind of the thinking. It is not even the thought, so much as the mind that secretes it. It is not its clearness nor its profundity, not its reserve nor its passion, not its scepticism nor its superiority of spiritual faith; but it is the combination of all these, and the strange, subtle, and fascinating outcome of them. The central and sovereign spring of Dr. Davidson's unique influence in the literature, scholarship, and ministry of the Church is his personality.... If the Church of Christ within our borders should pass through the present trial of faith without panic, without reactionary antagonism to truth, and without loss of spiritual power, a very large part of the credit will belong to the quiet but commanding influence of the Hebrew chair in that college which rises so picturesquely on the ancient site of Mary of Guise's palace in Edinburgh." Of Dr. Rainy he has nowhere written at length, but he was wont to speak of his "smouldering passion," and the great ideas with which he inspired the receptive among his students. Dr. Elmslie, though resolute and even daring on occasion, was a warm admirer of statesmanship, and Dr. Rainy's skilful piloting of the Free Church through many troubles he would often praise, emphasizing strongly, at the same time, his belief in the Principal's perfect honesty and singleness of purpose.

There are many kind allusions in his letters to Dr. Blaikie, to whom he was specially grateful for having introduced him to practical mission work. In this he was always intensely interested, maintaining that on this ground the true battle of Christ must be fought.

"Blaikie gave us a capital lecture, its only fault being that there was too much matter, so that we could not get down even a mere abstract of the substance."

"Edinburgh, 1868.

"Things are still going on capitally. At the hall Davidson is most admirable, and Blaikie every day coming out even better and better. For instance, speaking of the fondness the early apologists displayed at pointing not to the lives, but to the deaths of Christians, he added, 'And indeed, gentlemen, I cannot help saying that in the course of my experience as a minister I have always noticed the hush and breathless attention such a subject ever commands, and I have found nothing make a deeper impression, or act more powerfully as a means of producing good, than a description of a triumphant death-bed.' This is practical, true, and useful."

Elmslie threw himself with intense energy into the work of his classes. At first he found it difficult to maintain the place he had achieved at Aberdeen, for he had able competitors, but his unweariable diligence and quick apprehension soon put him at the head.

In one of his earliest letters from Edinburgh he writes, "On Wednesday evening I did first copy of my essay with a headache coming on, which came on with such heartiness that I went to bed, and I could not go to college on Thursday. (N.B. It is remarkable that when I have no mamma to nurse me my headaches never come to such extremes as they do when I have a fall-back. This one was bad enough, but not one of the desperate kind.)"

There was only one cure for these headaches, and he could never bring himself to take it. It would be tedious to go over the story of his successes. By this time his younger brother, Leslie, had entered the University of Edinburgh, where his triumphs were scarcely less than those of his senior at the New College. So used did the household at Insch become to telegrams announcing new prizes and scholarships, that at certain periods of the year the faithful mother had telegrams of congratulation already filled up, waiting to be despatched.

Many students of theology are more impressed by the preaching they hear than by their Professors, and Edinburgh has always been known for pulpit eloquence. But it was the reverse with Elmslie. No preacher seems to have had any great power over him. He attended the Free High Church, then ministered to by Mr. William Arnot; but though he admitted the freshness and fertility of the preacher's mind, he was not a warm admirer of his sermons. He often listened to Dr. Charles J. Brown, in the Free New North, and liked him: "he seems such a fine-hearted man." One day he went to hear a fellow-student, and missed the way to the church. He turned aside into the Barclay Church, where Mr. (now Dr.) Wilson was preaching. "I like Mr. Wilson very much. He is thoroughly practical, both in his preaching and in his prayers. For instance, in the one after the chapter he prayed for boys and girls at school, that they might be helped with their lessons when they were difficult, and that they might learn obedience and courtesy and be made blessings to their teachers; also for those persons who had not had a good training in their youth, and felt it now in showing a good example to the children, and especially for those parents and children who were troubled with bad tempers." After remarking on the great predominance of young people in the congregation, he says that the sermon was delivered with a great deal of energy and action, and that the idea of the preacher seemed to be to bring religion down on the every-day life, that it might become the motive power in work. "On coming out I accosted an intelligent-looking man, and said, 'Was that Mr. Wilson?' 'Yes,' he said, and added, with a proud smile, 'And didn't you like him?' I answered, 'Very much indeed,' whereupon he looked exceedingly gratified and prouder than ever. I wish there were more such pride."

On another occasion he writes, "At present I had sooner hear Dr. Candlish than any one. He is so strong and honest, and wide in his sympathies. His address to the students was full of passion and feeling, and sympathy with the difficulty of believing some of our Calvinistic doctrines, such as eternal ruin, heathens' doom, etc. He went a very great length indeed, and ended by saying it was too hard for him, and his heart drew him the other way, and all he could do was to fall back on his loyalty to Christ. It was more a picture of his own heart's struggles than the Principal's address." But his usual note is, "Heard ————, in ———— Church: middling."

In 1871 he gained the Hamilton Scholarship in a most brilliant manner, his marks being so extraordinary that as they came in the secretary of the Senatus thought there must be some mistake. His fellow-students, he writes, were overwhelmingly kind in their congratulations, and he himself seems to have rejoiced in this success more than in any other of his life. One thing was that in his after-work he would not have the same amount of anxiety and despair that weighed him down in his preparations. But the chief thing was the joy it would give at home. "I need not tell you," he writes to his mother, "how sweet your letter was to me, telling me of your joy on receipt of the telegram. When no letter came in the morning you cannot think how disappointed I was, for, to confess the truth, I had been thinking all Sabbath of the pleasure of reading the home letters, and in them getting the real joy of the scholarship. For, except the pleasure of knowing the gladness caused at home, there is not much satisfaction otherwise in it. It is strange how soon, after the first surprise of getting it, the delight of getting it passed away, and I think there was more enjoyment in the working for it than in the having it."

This incident may stand as typical of many others, and of his prominent place among men not a few of whom were of real mark. His comradeships among the students filled a large place in his life. Of all his friends the most intimate and best loved was Mr. Andrew Harper, now Lecturer on Hebrew in Ormond College, Melbourne. I regret much that exigencies of time make it impossible to include, for the present at least, any of his letters to this brother of his heart. They were always together, for ever disputing, and never quarrelling, very close to one another in heart and mind. Two years before Dr. Elmslie's death Mr. Harper visited this country. The friends resumed their ancient intercourse, visited Switzerland in company, and found that the changes of the years had only drawn them nearer. Some of the best life in the New College has always been found in the Theological Society—an association of the students who gather to discuss controverted questions, and do not fear to go into them thoroughly. These meetings were greatly relished by Elmslie. Among the leading members in his time was Professor Robertson Smith, whose amazing keenness in debate is often admiringly mentioned in his letters home. The first time Elmslie spoke in the Society was in connection with a discussion whether the Free Church should return to the Establishment on the abolition of patronage. He took the negative side, and was complimented on both sides for the ability and ingenuity of his speech. The speculative daring in the Society at a time when outside the old orthodoxy was hardly questioned partly amused and partly pleased him. He speaks of entertaining Dr. Davidson very much by telling him that the men at the Theological fathered all their heresies on Dr. Candlish's "Fatherhood of God," by, as they expressed it, carrying out its principles to their logical conclusions. The subjects themselves, however, were the main thing and took abiding possession of his heart. "I intend," he says, "to still go on studying these themes of Christ more deeply, for they have interested me intensely. By the way, I believe what will be of more value to me than the scholarship, and also far more satisfactory, is the feeling I have that in preparing for it I have made an immense addition to my knowledge in several departments, and done it so thoroughly that it will never pass away. Two subjects have so interested me that I mean to go on studying them—namely, the Person of Christ, and the Early Apostolic Church."

On his work and influence at New College the letters of Professor Drummond and Dr. Stalker will give a distinct impression, but I cannot leave the subject without giving room to what was almost before everything with him—his work among the poor, and especially among their children. They show the brilliant and courted student in another light, and it is worth mentioning that the larger proportion of his letters home is made up of such stories. His pupils in the ragged school greatly interested him, and his letters from Edinburgh are largely filled with picturesque incidents of his experience among them.

Edinburgh seemed to him more terrible in its undress than Aberdeen. "I never saw such miserable squalid faces, intermingled with roughs and coarse-looking women." There was a humorous side to it, also, which he does not fail to give account of. One day in the Sunday-school a little boy behind indulged in an occasional pull at his coat-tail, or a facetious poke at his back, to all of which demonstrations he preserved an appearance of utter unconsciousness. When the school was over, and they were waiting their turn to get out, he turned round and said, not with a very ferocious countenance, "Now, which of you young rascals was pulling at my tails?" Of course, this occasioned immense amusement, and one bright-eyed little fellow said it could not have been so.

"Oh, well," he said, "it is strange; I wonder if the forms could have done it." This was a very tickling idea, and immediately the little fellow said, "Sir, I gave you a poke." He said, "That is honest, now, and I suppose some other one took the tails." "Yes, sir, it was me," said another merry young monkey, with a comical look. He answered, "I know you are not good scholars. How do I know that? Oh, you never heard of good scholars pulling the teacher's tails!" This was a very striking view of things to them, and they did not know whether to be impressed or amused.

The quickness of the city children, and their readiness of sympathy, specially struck him. But the main issue of the work was practical. "I cannot help saying that I feel that this work will do me real good, and will give me an actual, and not a mere theoretical interest in the work I have before me. And that is a thing very much needed. One other thing I may mention here. We have been having worship once a day very regularly, and to me at least it has been very pleasant and very useful. And now good-night to both."

"I shall be very sorry to leave my poor little bairns, for I have come to like them exceedingly, especially of late; they have become so numerous that I have to put some of them on the floor—nearly fifty last night. I don't know how it is, but I have a strange sort of feeling, as if they were having a deeper interest in what I say than I ever saw before; perhaps it is because I think I have myself. Since Christmas-time I have told them every night about Jesus, and only stories that directly illustrated His love and work, and I feel a difference in the way they listen; some of them especially sit so very still and quiet, with such an earnest, solemn look on their faces. Some nights ago Donald English (who made the disturbance the first night I began), as I was beginning, took hold of my hand and said, 'Oh, tell's about Jesus again, the night!' I often end by asking them to pray Jesus, before they go to bed, to make them His little ones; and several times, as they went out, some of them have put their hand in mine and whispered, 'I'll ask Him the nicht.' Last Sabbath, when I was speaking of Jesus having died for our sakes, they were all sitting so very attentive, but three little boys in one corner began quarrelling about a bonnet, and disturbing me by the noise. I stopped twice and looked at them, but they always began again. Presently I stopped for the third time, and was going to speak to them, when one of the boys, who had been very attentive, rushed at them, and before I could interfere dragged one of them on to the floor, and commenced a furious onslaught of blows and abuse for interrupting me. I had hard work in persuading him to stop. Another very funny thing was the looks of reproachful indignation which some of the attentive ones had been casting at the disturbers, previous to the final outbreak. It was terribly annoying at the time, especially as I saw that many of them were very deeply interested. When I was ending I spoke of how Jesus deserved to be loved, and that they should ask to be made to love Him. One little girlie whispered, 'I will ask Him, for, oh, I do want to love Him!' and when I said it was time to go away they cried, 'Oh, dinna' send's away yet, tell's mair about Jesus;' and then they came round me, and made me promise to tell them 'bonnie stories about Jesus' next Sabbath. I have found that nothing interests them more than what is directly about Jesus. I could not help telling you all these little things, but I never had the same sort of feeling in teaching a class before, and I would like you to remember sometimes my poor little children down in the Canongate. I wish I could take them all into a better atmosphere, for it is sad to think of their chances of ever becoming good in such an evil, wretched place. Harper and I have been having many nice talks. I mean to preach often in the summer—I want to."

Here he describes an incident of open-air preaching. A friend was speaking, and Elmslie was managing the audience.