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1820-21.
I WAS invited when in
Aberdeen on several occasions to assist Mr. MacLeod, of the Gaelic
chapel in Dundee, at the communion. His church was nothing else than
an ordinary-sized dwelling-house converted into a place of worship
by being fitted up with seats and galleries. The congregation
consisted of Highlanders from the mountainous districts of
Perthshire—plain, unsophisticated men. It was during my visits to
Dundee that I first became acquainted with Dr. Peters, who was
married to a sister of the wife of Professor Stuart of Marischal
College. Mr. MacLeod and I were invited to sup with him, where we
found before us Mr. W. Thomson of Perth, brother of Dr. Andrew
Thomson of Edinburgh. Mr. Thomson of Dundee was, I think, there
also. Mr. MacLeod sang a few of the old Gaelic psalm tunes. ["In
1626 Lord Reav, Munro of Fowlis, etc., with thousands of their
retainers, were influenced by their Protestant zeal to embark for
Germany and fight for the ascendancy of their religion in that part
of the continent Many of them fell there, others returned, and
afterwards upheld the covenanting canoe in Scotland under General
Leslie. The old Gaelic tunes are only to he found in those parts of
the Highlands whence those soldiers came, and it is supposed that
they; learned them in Germany, and brought them to this country." (Gustavus
Aird, D.D.)—Ed.] These tunes, producing the most solemn impression
when sung by a congregation in the open air, laboured under every
possible disadvantage when set forth by Mr. MacLeod, whose voice,
naturally husky and coming exclusively through his nose, made the
effect so perfectly ridiculous that his guests had the greatest
difficulty in reducing their countenances within the limits of
decorum. Another of the acquaintances I formed at Dundee was a Mr.
Kirkaldy. He was then a wealthy merchant in town, and had been
married to a daughter of Dr. MacLauchlan, one of the town's
ministers; but she had died, and the trial, a very sore one, for
they lived most happily together, was eminently sanctified to her
widowed husband.
In the year 1821 I
received a unanimous call from the congregation of the Gaelic chapel
at Rothesay. The offer was a most advantageous one in every way, and
in looking back upon the circumstances, I can only wonder that I did
not see my way to accept it. But Providence had designed for me
another sphere.
About this time a
great breach was made among the veteran watchmen on the walls of our
Sion by the death of Dr. Ronald Bayne, minister of Kirtarlity,
Inverness-shire, of whom mention has already been made. lie died in
February, 1821, aged 66 years. His second son, Charles John, was at
the time a preacher. He was a candidate for his father's charge and
living, but the patron disappointed him. He became minister of
Fodderty in 1826, and died in 1832, at the age of 35 years.
Mr. Kenneth Bayne,
minister of the Gaelic chapel in Greenock, died in 1821. This truly
eminent minister was brother of Dr. Bayne of Kiltarlity, who
preceded him to his everlasting rest only a few months before. Mr.
I3ayne's ministerial labours at Greenock were very specially owned
and blessed. His wife, an eminently pious woman, died some years
before then, and Mr. Bayne, tenderly attached to her, never fully
rallied from the shock which that heart-rending event had inflicted
upon him.
From the president of
the Greenock Gaelic chapel committee I received a letter asking me
to preach as a candidate. I did not precisely understand the general
regulations by which Chapels of Ease were guided, particularly
during vacancies, and the letter of the committee to me was framed
in a way to darken, rather than to enlighten, my views upon the
subject. The purport of it was that, having heard of me as a
minister of the gospel, and that I was, in my public teaching, at
one in views and sentiments with their departed pastor, the wish of
the congregation was that I should preach at Greenock on a certain
Sabbath shortly thereafter, which was particularly mentioned. What
occurred to me at once, on receiving this intimation, was that, as
the congregation is situated in the very heart of a large district
of the south-west of Scotland where the Gaelic was not understood,
the request of the managers to me was neither more nor less than to
favour them with a supply during the vacancy, Gaelic preachers being
few in that part of the country. On this understanding solely, and
not with any, the most distant, desire of preaching there as a
candidate, I agreed to go. I went by the stage-coach from Aberdeen,
first to Perth, and next day to Stirling and Glasgow. After
remaining there for a night at the "Black-bull" hotel, I went next
day by one of the small Clyde steamers to Greenock. I arrived on
Saturday, and met on the pier my worthy friend Mr. Bannatyne, under
whose hospitable roof I lodged during the whole time I remained
there. I preached in the chapel on the Sabbath. What the effect on
the audience, a very large and crowded one, really was I could not
well say, but I felt very much straitened. Being quite unconscious
of any intention on the part of the congregation to think of me at
all, as their future pastor, even youthful vanity did not urge me to
keep up appearances. My residence with Mr. Bannatyne, under his own
roof, served to raise him high in my esteem. On the Monday he had
planned an expedition, along with his brother James, to Rothesay, or
"Rosay" as he called it. We went thither by a steamer, and the wind
almost blew a hurricane. The smell of the steamboat, together with
the violence of the waves, made me both squeamish and frightened.
Mr. Bannatyne, to keel) up my spirits, although I was not much
disposed to listen to it, told me an anecdote of Mr. Kenneth Bayne,
their late excellent minister. He and his truly Christian brother,
Mr. Mackenzie of Glasgow, had resolved, immediately after a
communion occasion at Greenock, to go on a gospel expedition to
Rothesay. They came to the boat; but, before stepping on board, Mr.
Mackenzie who was but a "timid sailor," took out his handkerchief,
held it up to the wind, and, finding that it very considerably
"flickered" in the breeze, expressed his doubts as to the safety of
going in "an open boat." fir. Bayne laughed at his fears. "O, man."
said Mr. Kenneth, "where is your faith?" "Oh," said Mr. Mackenzie,
"there are many who have no faith to be afraid." We arrived at
Rothesay in safety, and were kindly received by our friends. I found
Mr. I). Fraser, the minister they had chosen when I declined, there
before me. We landed at a house situated close by the ruins of
Rothesay Castle, and although the conversation between us was
altogether on a very different subject, and far more profitable, yet
I could not entirely keep my mind's recollections away from the
majestic ruin so distinctly seen from the windows. I said nothing of
it to my friends, and it was just as well. Our time was limited; the
boat, after a rest and delay of half-an-hour, was just on the tiptoe
of departure; we rose up. bade our friends a hasty adieu, and sailed
back to Greenock. I Ieft Greenock for Aberdeen next day, under the
impression, on my part, that I was no candidate for the chapel at
all, but on their part that I was. I had not, therefore, been but
about a month at home, when, by a letter I received from Dr. Dewar,
I was at once made aware of the precise circumstances in which my
agreement to preach at Greenock had placed me. I wrote off at once
to the president of the managers of the chapel there requesting of
him to withdraw my name from the roll of candidates, assuring him
that it had been owing purely to mistake on my part that it was ever
attached to it.
On the day of my
arrival at Aberdeen by the coach from Greenock, I found a letter on
the table before me from my then most intimate friend and
acquaintance, Nathaniel Morren. It made a very plain and pointed
reference, though not a little in the bantering style, to one of the
most important events of my life—my first entrance into the marriage
relation. The preliminaries had been begun some time previous to my
visit to Greenock. I bad, since my first arrival in Aberdeen, been
intimate with and almost a weekly visitor in the family of Mrs.
Robertson at Tanfield, near Aberdeen. The eldest daughter I ever
regarded, since my first acquaintance with her, as a thorough and
devoted Christian. Her piety was vital and ardent. Maria, the
youngest of the three sisters, was also a subject of divine grace,
but her piety was more concealed. She deferred much to her eldest
sister Frances. Harriet. however, was different from them all. She
naturally possessed all that amiability and native power of mind
which attach us to things spiritual and temporal at one and the same
time. There was, therefore, in tier, even from the very moment of
our acquaintance, a tie and an attraction which I could not attempt
to• define; and this before either the one or the other of us ever
thought of the relation in which we might stand connected with each
other.
Some time in the
month of February or March, of 1821, going out from Aberdeen towards
the Printfield, with the view of visiting some of my congregation
residing there, I met Mrs. Robertson and her two daughters, Frances
and Harriet. near the Old Town. After a cordial greeting, Frances
said that she and her mother had, on special business, to go to
Aberdeen, but that Harriet was to return home, Harriet I offered to
escort on her homeward journey. We entered the house, walked into
the parlour, and sat down each of us on the sofa. I stammered out my
attachment to her, long felt but concealed until now. At last she
said, with a frankness peculiarly her own, that our attachment was
reciprocal, but that, before we could take any important step, both
our surviving parents ought to be consulted, for their approbation
and blessing. Our conference, so interesting to us both, had just
come to this point, when the entry-door opened, and her mother and
two sisters entered the room. We had time to compose ourselves, rise
from the sofa, and to stand, with all possible calmness, to receive
them.
The house of Tanfield
stood at the foot of a rather steep hill. The top of the hill was
crowned with the ancient and, at that period, rather dilapidated and
much decayed house and policies of the ancient family of the
Johnstones, Baronets of Hiltoun. The place of Hiltoun stood at the
top of the eminence above, and to the north of Tanfield. Thither
Harriet and I, often afterwards, strayed together. We passed the
house, and entered a clump of trees behind the garden wall, where
there were several green glades opening up here and there between
them. There we sat down, and conversed upon various topics, but
always concluded with the renewal of our warm attachment to each
other, and thus the intervening time between our engagement and our
nuptials passed away.
I happened one day to
be passing down slowly from my own house, through Woolmanhill
Street, and had entered School-hill Street on my way to the
discharge of some congregational duty. 1 had not very far passed the
gate of Gordon's Hospital when I noticed two respectable and
clerical-looking persons talking very cordially and anxiously with
each other. As I drew nearer I recognised one of them, and
discovered him to be none other than my old teacher of Moral
Philosophy, namely, Dr. George Glennie, and I overheard him say, "I
am exceedingly sorry to learn that our truly excellent brother, Mr.
Arthur of Resolis, is no more." Some weeks thereafter I had occasion
to pass up Gallowgate Street, and had just reached the end of it,
when a Highlander, a member of my own congregation, met me fully in
the face. After the usual salutation I was about to pass on, when he
said, "Stop, sir, if you please, I have something to tell you; you
will have heard, perhaps, that Mr. Arthur of Resolis is dead." I
replied that I had. "Then, said he, "I am a native of the Black
Isle, and have just returned from visiting my relations in that
country. I had occasion to know, when in the north, that the people
of Resolis have held several meetings in expectation that the
patron, the laird of Newhall, will give them their choice. So far as
I could ascertain, they are likely to choose you." I replied, in
general terms, that such a thing might be probable enough, but that
I had never heard of it till now, nor even thought of it. I left
him, but the intelligence, however undecisive, took a stronger hold
of my mind than I had anticipated. Could it be true P If it were
not, would it not be strange that, when two parishes (Dornoch and
Golspie) had not the power of choosing, I should have been their
selected candidate, and if now, when a parish had the power, I
should not be the object of their choice? Soon afterwards, however,
I got a letter from a Mr. Young, a writer in Fortrose, and married
to one of the Cordons of Swiney, cousins of my own, intimating that
the people of Resolis, having got their choice of a minister from
the patron, had held several congregational meetings; that they were
divided into two parties; that they had three candidates in view,
viz., Mr. William MacPhail, then in Holland, Mr. John Munro of the
Gaelic Chapel in Edinburgh, and that I was the third. He suggested
that, as he was on an intimate footing in the way of business with
many of the Resolis people, I should privately authorise him to
canvass the parishioners to secure a majority in my favour. I wrote
back that such a measure I utterly repudiated, seeing that one of
the questions expressly to be put to me, if I were settled there,
would be, "Did I use any means to procure the living?" and that I
would rather be without the living than so burden my conscience.
My marriage took
place, according to appointment, on the 21st of July, 1821. My
brother-in-law, Mr. Forbes, officiated, and Prof. Tulloch of King's
College acted as " best man." After the ceremony, we all partook of
a glass of wine and the marriage cake. Our marriage-jaunt had been
planned to be a visit to the north, to my dear and venerable father.
Into the same post-chaise which had carried me from Gilcomston to
Tanfield we stepped immediately, accompanied by Mr. Forbes and
Harriet's elder sister, Frances. We arrived that evening at the inn
of Pitmachie, about twenty miles north of Aberdeen, where we
remained that night. How often have my recollections hovered around
that country inn! It was my usual resting-place on my way to and
from college, but its only association in my mind is with that
wedding journey. With all our joy and mirth, we never once thought
of joining "trembling." 'ay, the very anticipation of sorrow or
bereavement in the future, I should have regarded as mere morbid
apprehension.
Next day we rose
early in expectation of the coach, and had full time to take a
stroll before breakfast. Mr. Forbes, in the course of his walk, had
fallen in with a Ross-shire Highlander employed as a day labourer on
a farm near the inn. He greatly shocked us by repeating the man's
description of what he had seen in the parish church on the
preceding Sabbath at the communion table. He had seen old and young,
male and female, rushing forward to the table, jostling each other
rudely in order to get a seat, and boys, not much above fourteen
years of age, tittering and laughing, and throwing the bread in each
other's faces. No wonder that the man said he would not presume to
be a communicant in such a manner.
The coach-hour
arrived, so, dismissing the chaise, we took seats for Alves on the
outside, as those inside were occupied. We dined at Elgin, and met
there Captain Mackay, old Araidh-chlinni's son, who then lived at
Inverness. We now set out for the manse of Alves, alighting right
opposite to it at a small village. Mr. Duncan Grant, my predecessor
in Aberdeen, was then minister there. We found him waiting for us,
and got a most hearty reception from himself and his sister. The
next day we resolved to proceed to Burghead, about six miles to the
north, and thence to hire a boat and crew to take us to Tarbatness,
or to land us as near the manse of Tarbat as possible. Mr. Grant,
accordingly, conveyed us thither in a cart, and no sooner had we
arrived than we sought out, found, and arranged with the boat's
crew; so we proceeded on our journey. The weather was sufficiently
mild, and we experienced neither difficulty nor danger in crossing,
in an open boat, that wide arm of the sea. At the Tarbat shore we
landed in a small creek called Wilkhaven, two or three miles to the
east of the manse, where conveyances awaited us. We received a
cordial welcome from my sister and her family, who all, then in the
bloom of youth, still clustered around her.
We remained at Tarbat
over Sabbath, and on .Monday we all three, Harriet, Frances, and
myself, left by a fisherman's boat for the Sutherland coast, which
stretched out, right opposite, about twenty miles across. We landed
at about six o'clock below the manse of Loth. After dismissing the
boatmen, we went to Kilmote, then tenanted by Mr. Robert Mackay, one
of the sons of Robert of Achoul, parish of Farr, and nephew of old
and venerable William of Achoul. We left Kilmote that evening for
Wester-Garty, the abode of Mr. James Duncan, where we remained
during the night. Mr. Duncan was kind enough to furnish us with a
conveyance to the manse of Kildonan next day. We left his house
after breakfast, and arrived at Kildonan, coming by Helmisdale and
the Strath, about three o'clock in the afternoon. My father met us
at the door. His gigantic figure and his large countenance, beaming
with love and kindness, were calculated to make a deep impression
upon us all. He stood before us with all the affection of a
venerated father, and with the native dignity of a gentleman of the
old school. I presented to him my young and dearly-beloved wife. lie
opened up his large and massy arms, into which dear Harriet, in the
gushing warmth of her natural affection, threw herself at once. He
clasped her in his embrace, and imprinted a paternal kiss upon her
forehead. We spent many happy days at Kildonan, every one of which
we enjoyed.
But the time arrived
when we must depart. We left Kildonan for Aberdeen, but many things
intervening prevented us from getting there so soon as we had
intended. We went first to the manse of Dorngch, where we remained
for some time. While here, my father wrote asking me to return and
assist him, as he proposed administering the sacrament. Leaving my
wife and her sister, therefore, in Dornoch, I returned to Kildonan.
There I found my sister Elizabeth, though her husband, Mr. Cook,
being similarly engaged in Caithness, could not be present. On
Sabbath I preached the action sermon in English. My sister was my
hearer, but she was dissatisfied. She expressed this feeling to me
at the close of the communion season. Her objections were
well-founded, but I did not receive them as I ought to have done,
and it was no wonder. Her mind and mine were, at the time, in two
very different, and even contrary, frames. She was in sorrow, I was
in joy; she mourned the loss of a beloved babe, whilst I rejoiced in
my recent union to the wife of my youth; her sorrows turned her to
Christ's death and atonement, my joys, alas of a far less spiritual
character, turned me to the opposite side, even to the world, which
whispered insidiously into my mind's ear that to-morrow would be as
to-day, and every day thereafter accordingly. How egregiously was I
mistaken! I was then like a foolish boy spending his time in
pursuing the butterfly which, as he caught it, was crushed in his
grasp. This I afterwards bitterly realised. I spoke to my sister of
her recent bereavement, but she was silent, and could not find
utterance for the swelling of her heart; she turned from me and
walked away.
I forgot to mention
that, while we were at the manse of Tarbat, I received a letter from
Mr. Macdonald of Ferintosh in which, after congratulating us on our
marriage, he proceeds to say:—"The presentation in your favour to
the parish of Resolis is drawn out, and no time, in that case, is to
be lost in proceeding to the other steps requisite to be gone
through. On this account you would require to be at hand, say at
Kirkhill or at my house." My letter of acceptance of the
presentation to the church and parish of hesolis, or rather
Kirkmichael and Cullicudden, was drawn out by Mr. Fraser of Kirkhill,
and signed by me. It was dated at Killearnan on the 14th day of
August, 1821. We went to Kirkhill for some days. Harriet and Lilias
Fraser, Mr. Fraser's eldest daughter, a very lively and affectionate
girl, got enthusiastically fond of each other. They were kindred
spirits; whilst they both knew and revered the truth, which
evidently was the undercurrent of their souls, the playfulness of
youthful minds and their natural vivacity during these halcyon days,
like a gentle summer breeze, swept over their more serious thoughts.
To entertain us, Mr. Fraser proposed a trip to the Fall of Foyers,
in which Lily was to accompany us, a proposal which we readily
accepted. We set out for Inverness on the preceding evening, and
were most kindly received by my aunt, Mrs. Fraser, widow of Dr.
Alex. Fraser of Kirkhill. Thence, next morning, we set out for the
canal to proceed up Loch Ness by the steamer as far as Foyers. We
landed at Foyers by the steamer's yawl, and proceeded through a few
glades and thickets, until we came to the banks of the river at the
foot of the mountain, down which the fall in its course runs
headlong. We then began to ascend, and about midway, within a few
hundred yards of a cottage built in 1737 by Gen. Wade, and commonly
called the "General's but," a narrow, scrambling pathway brought us
to the lower fall 'which, hidden as it was by the rocks and trees
rising on each side of it, burst upon us all at once, and
overpowered us with a sense of its rugged grandeur. We stood upon a
protruding ledge of rock which brought us within 20 feet of the
cataract, and from which we had a perfect view of the whole sheet of
the lower fall both upwards and downwards. Looking upwards, we could
see that the river was compressed between two rocks not apparently
more than 15 feet apart. Thence it began its downward foaming course
of at least 90 feet. It passed us on our stance enveloped in a cloud
of spray and with a deafening noise. Looking downwards, we could see
its termination. It threw itself into a deep chasm considerably
dark, but not so obscured that we could not discern its boiling rage
lose itself in a still-flowing current. On the opposite side of the
river, and situated on a fairy knowe, we saw far beneath the
manor-house of the proprietor of this beautiful Highland domain, Mr.
Fraser of Foyers. The " General's hut" was very justly so
designated. It was a low, old-looking building; its walls, gables,
and chimney tops evidently the rude, clumsy rubble-work of the
masons of 1733, when set to execute, no matter how, in that
hyperborean clime, a Government contract, responsible only to the
final approval of General Wade, who knew nothing about the matter.
The roof was of heather thatch, not of course so old as the walls,
but pretty well stricken in years notwithstanding, as its appearance
very plainly showed. '1'he internal arrangement and whole aspect of
the hut were still more in unison with its name. There was a huge
chimney in the principal room which did not vent, for the obvious
reason that it never was intended for any such purpose, and the
walls which, when originally built, had been plastered with lime,
and, of course, quite white, were jet black, hearing upon them the
annual incrustations of smoke and soot from the chimney of nearly a
century. We left the " General's hut," and proceeded towards the
shore of Loch Ness, where, after waiting about an hour, the steamer
made its appearance. Next day we returned to Kirkhill, and soon
after went home to Gilcomston, where we arrived about the end of
August.
On our arrival, our
domestic establishment underwent a complete revolution. Mrs.
Robertson and her two daughters could not possibly separate
themselves from Harriet. Frances they all looked up to as a faithful
and conscientious monitor, but Harriet was the very soul and
life-spring of the whole family circle. If I remember well, Mrs.
Robertson kept her house at Tanfield until we finally left Aberdeen
for the north, but she and her daughters resided principally with us
at Gilcomston.
My reception by my
congregation was not altogether what I could have expected. They had
all heard to a man that I had been presented, at the request of the
people, by the patron to the parish of Resolis. I naturally thought
that when 1 returned to them again, they would have been, if not
angry at me, at least disappointed or sorry. Not so, however, they
were rather gratified that a parish in Ross-shire had chosen their
minister above others; though they would have been far better
pleased had I elected rather to remain with them than to accept, as
I had done, the offer made to me. I was just three years minister of
the Gaelic Chapel, and the people were attached to me. But the call
to Resolis just came in time both to foster their attachment to me,
and to raise me in their estimation. Many of them told me so.
From December, 1821,
till the following May, when I was inducted minister of Resolis,
most of our time was occupied in preparation for our departure, and
it was resolved by us all, both at Gilcomston and Tanfield, that we
should live together at Resolis under the same roof.
My intercourse with
my congregation, in the meantime, was nothing less cordial and
confidential than it was before. I had abundant proof of their
attachment to me, especially from such of them who truly feared God.
There were but few of these comparatively; in going to Ross-shire,
certainly, true Christian intercourse would be very much increased.
The eminent and decided piety of Ross-shire was well known all over
Scotland, both to the friends and to the enemies of the truth. The
Moderate party in the church was wont to point the finger of scorn
at that county, and say, " Behold the hot-bed of fanaticism,"
meaning, by that expression, the vital influence of divine truth on
the heart. How true it is that "the natural man receiveth not the
things of God; they are foolishness to him!" Those, however, in the
north or the south, who had experienced that influence on
themselves, regarded it as the mother-county of true Christianity in
Scotland. The peculiarity connected with it was, however, that
while, in other parts of the country, true religion was to be found
among the middle classes, in Ross-shire it was almost entirely
confined to the peasantry.
At this particular
period of my life the country had scarcely yet settled into a calm
after the political excitements of 1815. The battle of Waterloo
terminated a long and sanguinary struggle, during which the balance
of power in Europe, after being often nearly lost, and as often
nearly won, was at last settled by the triumph of the allied armies
and the downfall of Bonaparte. The great military leaders who had
survived that bloody contest, at the bead of whom was the Duke of
Wellington, were loaded with emoluments and honours. But a great
many more, natives both of England and Scotland, had fallen during
the Spanish and other wars, and no reward could be conferred on them
but the honours usually accorded to the mighty dead. The fallen
heroes of England had already a `Westminster Abbey in which their
deeds and their prowess could by suitable memorials be perpetuated.
But Scotland had nothing of the kind, and therefore the idea of a
National Monument was started. It was proposed that an ornate
edifice should be erected on the Calton Hill of Edinburgh, and that,
within this building niches or stalls should be prepared for the
monuments of those Scottish heroes who fell fighting the battles of
their country, and further, that, like its Westminster prototype,
the building should be a place of worship in connection with the
National Church. Such was the scheme itself, and the question then
came to be discussed, how the funds were to be collected? For this
purpose was named a committee, described as "The Committee of the
National Monument." This committee consisted of many of the nobility
and gentry, and of the principal subscribers, and, by means of their
exertions, a very considerable sum was realised. But as this fell
far short of that required for the purpose, and as it was moreover
to be, in the strictest sense, a national monument in which the
whole, body of the Scottish people was to have a personal interest,
the committee made application, in 1819, to the General Assembly for
sanction to apply to all the ministers of the church for
subscriptions. These efforts failed, yet the redoubtable secretary,
Mr. Michael Linning, was able to collect as much money as cleared
the expenses of the erection of a few pillars on the Calton Hill,
which remain a picturesque object, but, at the same time, a monument
of the great power of design with which Scotsmen are endowed, and of
the limited power they have of executing those designs.
On the 28th of April,
1821, the foundation stone of Lord Melville's monument was laid in
the centre of St. Andrew's Square, Edinburgh. The monument is a.
huge stone pillar, hollow in the centre, containing a spiral
staircase, and surmounted by a full length statue of the political
hero whose fame it is intended to transmit to posterity. I can well
recollect the enclosed centre of the Square previous to the erection
of the memorial, and I also remember to have seen it when half up.
On Thursday the 17th
of May, 1821, the General Assembly met. Its proceedings were not
very interesting, the only thing worthy of notice being the contest
between Dr. Cook of Laurencekirk and Dr. Warns of King's College for
the moderatorship. Both were of the Moderate party in the Church,
but, from the animosity of this party against Dr. Cook, and of the
Evangelicals against Dr. Dlearns, it so turned out that, while Dr.
Mearns was supported by his own party, Dr. Cook had for his
supporters the whole of the Evangelical party with Dr. Andrew
Thomson at their head. Dr. Thomson was not a member of the Assembly,
so he could not vote, but he did what was far more effectual. He, in
the "Christian Instructor," of which he was editor, gave on the
question of the moderatorship, his strong support in favour of Dr.
Cook. |
