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^ii

i I

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i * /

THE EARNEST STUDENT.

*6».

;

Iff

■>

■ 1

rHE

EARNEST STUDENT

AUTHOR

BY THE LATB

NORMAN MACLFon n r.

OF "WEE DAVIE," 'the corn ^' ^'^'>

OLB ueutenI;?? ANnVs"s'o^.^" ^^^ "
S^P^ from % «fa«rfietM«9l«Mbhia«.

the

BFIPr.^ TORONTO, CANADA : .
BELFORD BROTHERS, P^b^.sh
Sydney, N. S. W :
*•■ H. DAVENPORT, Agent.

MDCCCLXXVr.

£RS.

"aS^H-wTi^-s -i«-» -■ s

FRnfTBD AND BOUND BT

HUNTHR, ROSB AND CO.,

TORONTO.

DEDICATED

«D

MRS. MACKINTOSH OF GEDDES,

*HIS MOTHER AND MINK.'*
Augmi 1854.

THIS DEDICATION

IS RENEWED WITH INCREASED AFFECTIOH

TOTHB

GRANDMOTHER OF MY CHILDRM.

JtifuitlS^

III.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER r.

Birth-Edinburgh Academy-Glasgow College-Earlv O,,,, » r- ''
C«n.u.c_ResoIves to enter thf MinUtr^l^astlLrTirSl:;::;": ,

FAca

CHAPTER II.
Melho*-H»biKof Dtvotton-Ailmena!^ Toa,-Gedd=^Lo.e of

CHAPTER III.

Cambridge— Joins the Free ChiirrI,_TK= t i
Maddea-iietterfromJoLsh:^^:^,^:^^^^^^^^^^ [- R- Mr. ^^

CHAPTER IV.

' ■ • • Ci

CHAPTER V.

^H ''''"^" Edinburgh-i845-47-Father's Illness-West Port Wnl

CHAPTER VI.

Concert

r%.48--Lasswade-Letters to Widow Mackenzie-Jenny Lind's

I.V

• ••

Vlll

Contents,

y CHAPTER vil

'lanes in Geneva.

'AC*

109

Q CHAPTER vn^.

' * • . •««

CHAPTER IX
Uaves Geneva- Vevav-T ,

CHAPTER X.

• • ' 9U

n- CHAPTER XI.

' • • 07s

CHAPTER Xir.

Kome— Letter to Rev M m i .
Letter to R. Balf";, Esg it p"'? ^^"^^^' ^"-^"Pt'on of Ron,
Prisons-WalJc-n p ^^ ^'- ^*''«'"^s-The Ghetto-~Th ^ ^*~
Peter-, A ,^ ^°'"*-An-Saints'-nav D , ^''^ Mamertme

. >98

CHAPTER XIII,

■ • • w

Contents,

CHAPTER XIV.

PACB

Tour to the counf ' the .Sneid— Church and Convent of St. Onofrio—
Visit to the Coin., ilomano— Raphael's Picture of the TransfiKuratioo
—The Jews— Love of Truth — Last Letter from Rome — Tour to Naples ;
Vesuvius— Baiae—Poziuoli — Sorrento— A Sabbath at the Monastery of
Monte Casino— Sudden Attack of Illness— Leaves Rome, . . }5a

CHAPTER XV.

Journey from Rome to Tflbingen — Letter to Professor Forbes from Ravenna
— Letter to his Sister, Lady Gordon Cumming, from Venice — Verses :
Adieu to Venice I — Letter to Mr. Bum Murdoch from Verona — Feel-
ings on leaving Italy, ....... j8i

CHAPTER XVI.

Tflbingen — His studies there — Diary— Letters to \&s youngest Sister— To
Rev. W. Ker— Visits Stuttgart and Komthal— Letters to his Mother,
A. Bum Murdoch, Esq., and Rev. N. Macleod — Returns to Tflbingen —
Letters to A. Hamilton, Esq., to his youngest Sister, to R. Balfour, Esiq.,
to Miss Hodges, to his Mother, to A. Burn Murdoch, Esq., and to his
Sister, Lady Gordon Cumming— Christmas at Stuttgart — Letters to Miss
Hodges, to his Sister Mrs. Smith, to Rev. N. Macleod, to A. Hamilton,
Esq.— Declining Health— Diary, ......

397

CHAPTER XVII.

John Mackintosh's Friends in Scotland hear of his danger — They join him
at Tubingen— Darkness and Light — He is removed to Canstadt — Life at
Canstadt — Last Days— Death — Burial, ..... 448

Appendix— Notes on Schools in StuttgaiC

479

^.rk:-i

f I

mi-

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

A SHORT time after the death of John Mackintosh I
received the following communication ;—

•The Rev. Norman Macleod,
l6, Woodland Terrace, Glasgow.

* Rev. and Dear Sir, — Ever since it pleased God to
remove our dear friend, John Mackintosh, and to deprive
us of his living example, counsels, and affectionate com-
panionship, we have cherished the hope that a Memoir
of him would be drawn up, with liberal extracts from
his Journals and Correspondence, by which, though
dead, he might yet speak to us. We understand that
private diaries and memoranda of much interest exist,
and that a large collection of letters might easily be
made, breathing his beautiful and affectionate spirit,
and full of sage reflections, and advice, and deep Chris-
tian experience.

* Believing that you have ready access to these mate*
rials, and feeling confident that in no hands could the
task of weaving them into the form of a Memoir be
more excellently performed, we respectfully urge you to '

xii

Preface,

overcome the feelings of delicacy which may prevent
you and his other relatives from contemplating a pub-
lication in connexion with his memory. "We assure you
that such a collection as we have ventured to suggest,
with a Sketch from your pen of his character and life,
especially the deeply interesting details which you have
the power to give of his last illness, would not only
form to us a precious Memorial of our departed
friend, but would be valued by us as contaming much
on which we should wish to dwell, and often refer to
for our own instru<^u)n, example, and encouragement
through life.

* We speak not only for ourselves, but for a large circle
of those who were more or less intimately acquainted
with Mackintosh, and all of whom we feel confident will
re-echo what we now say, and would sign this letter
with us if convenience permitted.

* We urge, further, that this work, while we desire to
see it in the most modest form it can assume — the more
truly to answer to the character of him it commemorates
' — should be given to the public.

*It seems to us very desirable that ♦^he Christian
testimony of one of such sound judgment and con-
sistent character should be brought to the knowledge
of many beyond his own personal friends.

' There is no book we more earnestly desire to have
the power of putting into the .hands of the young in
whom we feel an interest; and of generally recora-

Preface,

xiii

mending; and we indulge the hope that you will find
in this consideration an additional reason for yielding
to our present request. — We are, Rev. and dear Sir,
yours most sincerely,

THOMAS CLEGHORN.
D. MACLAGAN.
ROBERT BALFOUR.
THO. THOMSON.
JOHN M. M'CANDLISH.
N. C CAMPBELL.

ALEX. H. BURN MURDOCH.
CHARLES J. BROWN.
ROBERT BOAG WATSON,
JAMES HOWDEN.
JAMES D. FORBES.
JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP.*

While conscious of my inability to perform worthily
the task thus intrusted to me, I was much gratified by
its kind proposal. But I must confess that at first I
strongly felt what I am sure the friends of John Mac-
kintosh will heartily sympathize with, that it seemed like
disloyalty to his memory, to publish Journals of a life
so faithfully recorded and so very secret before God ;
and thus to bring under th« notice of the world one who
was himself so singularly unobtrusive.

Upon the other hand, such a request, coming from
those who knew and loved him, and whose judgment
was so deserving of respect, could not be refused by
me, lest I might thereby incur the responsibility of
preventing a light from shining before men, which,
others seeing, might thereby be led to glorify God. I
felt, too, that those very features of his character which
would have made him, when alive, recoil from publi-
city, only made his ' hidden life,' so true and real, the

Preface.

liN

•nore worthy of being known -n,

° -ha. he is, evenloHan *! """'^"<'"' *"'

"hat he was, seemed to JTl f'/^^^^t-^ce of

^yJ^-^H. and truthfd attest to" "T""^ "^*

•nstrument of advancing ,fi ^ "^^ '"'" *e

•^ been an ean^eat p.pLal: "" "'^ '^'''"^ ''f*

Oeeply thankfol to G^d ^ hJ h '" °' "'"' ^ -
fe *e high privilege, a.^d h„ '"^ "'''^^''^^ "P°"
Memorials of my friend ^A "■' °' *""'"« *«»«

»y « demanded, for whatevH 7 ^"""^ '° °'^^^' ^^
-y part of the wJrk as I hf , "'^ ■'^'""^ ">

Of n>r ability, from 'th^ o^ I h" l'° *^ ^'^ '-'
I can as^e the reader lis^h" "" '"'"«
needed-that, as far as I Icn„ . ^ *''"'^"ce is
8^P% as true as can J ' ""' '^ ""« « ^o-

"^ -other. Iha:rird"nol°"^"™^'»-
e^erated nothing- nor hT r "^' "°'°"ed <»
-> ideal portnut of';hat rl J T^^'^^ '^ ?«-«
"-n, but a real one of :irh: ^f"'"* "'^"^ "-

conariTSi^:';:; -«en. for having
published; but I was afr"d of '"'^'" ''"^^ ''^-^

*e work by printing m"' ll "f" *^ ^''^^ «'

"■l^ were most cha^etr,[;oTh: "" *°^^ <""^
^- a. some Of his letters to ^...„. ^.

Preface.

that would have found a place here, had not the Pro-
fessor's absence from home made it impossible for him
to obtain them for me. I must, however, be pardoned,
if I take the liberty, unasked, of quoting a portion of
the Professor's own letter to myself, written to explain
how, to his great regret, he was thus prevented from
complying with my request : — ' I indulge the hope that
my name will be allowed to appear united with Ais in
your Biography — that you will undertake to express,
however briefly, the warmth of regard, I might truly say
affection, which united us, and which (judging from
what I have learnt from yourself and others of the re-
ferences which occur in his private papers) must have
been mutual^ to an extent of which neither party was at
the t\ra.Q fully aware.'

One word more of prefatory explanation. John
Mackintosh, in his last will, desired that, after the pay-
ment of certain sums of money, from the funds at his
disposal, any surplus should be handed over to the
Mission Schemes of the Free Church. In the same
instrument, he bequeathed his bookcase and books to
the library of the New College — where they now are —
with the exception of a few volumes specified by him-
self, and left as mementos to different friends. The
state of his funds did not, upon examination, permit
of his wishes with reference to the Schemes being car-
ried out. I mention these things here, as they belong
to his character, and to show that I am only fulfilling

xvi

Preface,

my friend's wishes, in handing over the profits from
the copyright of this work, to those missionary objects
of the Free Church, the welfare of which John Mac-
kintosh had so much at heart, for — it is unnecessary to
add — the Book, in everything which gives it any kind
9f valoe, belongs to him, and not to me.

Glasgow, Au^t 185^

111 '

PREFACE TO THE ELEVENTH EDITION.

The circumstances which led to the first publication
of these Memorials, have been already noticed in the
original Preface.

During the nine years which have elapsed since the
volume was published, ten editions of it have issued
from the press ; and many persons, especially young
men, have gratefully acknowledged the spiritual good
which they have derived from its perusal.

One of the most pleasing results of its circulation has
been the foundation of the ' Mackintosh Scholarship '
in connexion with the Free Church Mission in Madras.
This has been secured by the sum given for copyright
(;^2oo) by the late publishers, the interest of which
is found sufficient in India to support annually two
students. The excellent missionaries, who have been
kind enough to send me full details of the examinations
for this Prize, assure me that it is considered as a great
boon to the Mission, and is keenly contested for by
the more advanced pupils.

The friends of John Mackintosh will thus, I doubt
not, rejoice with me in the successful accomplishment

kviii

Preface,

of our anxious wishes to make known to others, as faf
as this could be done by so imperfect a Biography, the
reality of that Christian life which had so deeply im-
pressed ourselves, the unobtrusive excellence of which we
so long admired, and the memory of which we cherish
with undying affection.

In preparing the present edition for the press, I have
corrected the former ones, and have carefully perused
again the numerous volumes of my friend's Diaries,
adding to those already published nearly two chapters,
selected chiefly from his travels in Italy.

Principal Forbes has kindly put at my disposal
Mackintosh's letters to himself, which, for reasons pre-
viously stated, he was unable to furnish for the former
edition. But few, comparatively, could be made use
of, from their substance having been already given
either in other letters, or in the copious extracts from
his Diaries. Among the additional letters now published
is one to myself, and also the last one written by
Mackintosh, addressed to the Principal.
. As the present edition has been thus considerably
enlarged, and the price of the volume reduced nearly
one-half, it is to be hoped that its circulation as well as
its value will be thereby increased.

My friend Mr. Strahan having purchased the copy-
right of this volume, I have peculiar pleasure in pre-
paring it for his 'Family Library:' but I need hardly
say that my labour in so doing has been, as heretofore,
a labour of love only.

il:

Preface,

xix

I am glad in being able to enrich this Preface by the
following letter from Principal Forbes, which he has been
so good as send me about his much attached friend : —

• United College, St. Andrews,
October 1862.

* My dear Dr. Macleod, — 1 have learned with great
pleasure from you of the probable appearance of a new
and enlarged edition of the Life of John Mackintosh.
Great as has been the circulation of the original work,
it always appeared to me that it scarcely secured the
amount of public attention which was due to the beauty
and excellence of the character which it described \ the
unusual variety of the material for biography ; and (I
must be allowed to add) the admirable manner in which
it was employed.

' I have not forgotten that fully ten years ago, when
that work was in preparation, you, its Editor, asked me
to set down some impressions of Mackintosh derived
from several years of friendship more or less intimate.
Causes known to you, but which I need not here detail,
— including the precarious state of my own health at
the time; and my enforced absence from home, and
from all letters and documents connected with past
years, — such causes, I say, compelled me to decline any
attempt to embody recollections then embittered by the
painful recentness of his too early removal

* New, however, I cannot hesitate to comply with your
wish ; although I must own that the truthfulness of the
picture of his life and his death which you have drawn

Preface,

in The Earnest Student^ and especially the delightful
letters in which the subject of the Biography may be
said to have sketched his own portrait, require no fresh
illustration. I therefore write more as an act of pious
respect and affection for the departed, than from the
vain belief that I can add anything important to the
Biography of my friend.

*' His saltern accumulem donis et fungar inani
Munere."

* I can say not less truly now^ and from my whole
heart, what you have been so good as to quote from my
letter of 1852 in your former Preface, that "I indulge
the hope of my name being allowed to appear united
with his in your Biography," and give expression in my
own person to "the warmth of regard, I might truly
say affection, which united us, and which (judging from
what I have learnt from yourself and others of the re-
ferences which occur in his private papers) must have
been mutual to an extent of which neither party was at
the ixa\^ fully aware."

* Were I to express my feeling of John Mackintosh's
characteristics in two words, I would say they were —
Love and Truth. His was indeed the apostolic charity
which vaunteth not itself, envieth not, seeketh not her
own, thinketh no evil, hopeth all things, believeth all
things, endureth all things. I do not think that any
form of words can express more exactly the amount of
his piety towards God, his love to man, his saintly
humility, his self-denial — amounting at times to heroic

; 1

Preface, ud

endurance. His devotion to the cause of Truth was
no less conspicuous. His determination to " prove all
things, and hold fast that which is good ; " his freedom
from the blindness of party spirit, and his absolute incom-
prehension of its malignity, were conspicuous' in all his
words, his writings (I mean his diaries and letters), and
his actions. And yet his firmness to withstand what was
wrong, his unflinching pursuit ot what he believed to be
right, would have fitted him for one of the noble army
of martyrs.

* There are few relations of life in which character is
more severely tested than when friends travel together.
This was especially true twenty years ago, when (at
least abroad) some amount of personal inconvenience
was the inevitable price of visiting almost any part of
the Continent Having been so fortunate as to have
Mackintosh as my companion in France for some time
in 1 84 1, I thus saw him under the various aspects
which inevitably arise during a rambling geological and
pedestrian tour in the remoter provinces. His modesty,
affection, unselfish consideration, and engaging hilarity,
are delightful to recollect even at this distance of time.
No contretemps discomposed him; no pursuit, personal
perhaps to myself, but acquired an interest in his eyes ;
no bad weather or sleepless nights (and such we had)
irritated him ; no fatigue daunted him. His loving
heart shed an altnosphere of content around the most
adverse circumstances ; his natural gaiety and humour
helped to shorten the dreariest road.

zxi!

Pre/ace.

Ill

'One of his most inherent characteristics was a
passion for the beautiful and sublime in nature. He
had a memory of singular tenacity for local associations,
as indeed every part of his correspondence proves.
Endued with fine tact and a natural faculty of observa-
tion, nothing, however apparently insignificant, escaped
him. His soul expanded amidst natural scenery, and
he knew no fatigue in quest of its resources.

* It was during the happy weeks of our French tour,
and afterwards through the intercourse which a confi-
dential correspondence developed, that I learned to
know him best Whilst living in and near Edinburgh,
it was a matter of regret to me at the time, and of
deeper regret since, that our intercourse was compara-
tively small in amount, and not absolutely free from
constraint Possibly his having kno^vn me first in be-
coming my pupil, led him to associate me, when we met
in Edinburgh, with that long-severed relation. Possess-
ing tastes and pursuits considerably removed from the
exact sciences, his naturally profound modesty perhaps
exaggerated this divergence of our interests and occu-
pations. Probably, however, other causes, partly, no
doubt, physical, which appear to have greatly affected
his health and spirits during the later part of his student
life, were still more efficacious in making our intercourse
at that time less frequent and intimate. I used to mark
pre-occupation in his manner, not unmixed with languor,
as of one subdued by care, if not by indisposition.
And a very large amount of reserve on hi? side, s;tc1}

Preface,

xxiii

as is characteristic of deeply sensitive minds, forbade
the intrusion of inquiry or almost of sympathy. There
is no doubt that, at such times, he was working out the
great problems which Life and Duty present to every
man, and his nature was to work them out alone. Had
he happily been spared to take that active part in the
service of the Divine Master which he longed for, yet
almost feared, it is not to be doubted that he would
have been personally no less a gainer than the Church
to which he attached himself.

'But I find myself exceeding the limits of what 1
undertook. John Mackintosh will always be to me an
impersonation of whatsoever things are true, honest,
just, pure, lovely, and of good report. He was a model
of docility, intelligence, and perseverance as a student ;
of gratitude, faithfulness, and forbearance as a friend ;
of humility, purity, and devotion as a Christian. One
of the profound regrets which 1 feel in his loss (which,
while I write, seems to me yet recent) is, that he was
removed at a time when his ripened age, increased
experience, and treasures of the best kind of knowledge,
would have rendered him to me, as to others far his
seniors, a counsellor, and in the best sense a Friend,
amidst all the changes and chances of life.'

[or.

It may possibly interest some readers to know that
all those friends who requested the publication of these
Memorials, as well as the relatives and correspondents
of Mackintosh mentioned in this volume, are still alive,

XXIV

Preface.

with the exception of his aged correspondent in the
North. I may sta,^2 also that, since his death, I have
twice visited Canstadt, — the first time with my wife, his
youngest sister. It was truly pleasing, after years of
absence, to find the same excellent family still occupy-
ing the house in which he died : and the affectionate
greeting which we received, with the honest tears which
were shed by every member of it on our again meeting
them in the old rooms, afforded us a most touching
evidence of their own unselfishness, which had so fully
appreciated his, and so long kept alive the impression
of it on their own hearts.

'^^ar

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J THE EARNEST STUDENT;

Bteiiiorials of the r,-^, ^ .v ,

f t^e I.tfe ofy„,^^ Mackintosh.

CHAPTER I

Of Sajxr xrr '- "*"'^"^'> - ^^ 9*

William MackintosrErof rir^''.' '°" "^ *« '^'e
Nairn, by his marriage wria^'^."^,^: '" *e county of

'«f ; was a pupa in wfZ™' E^^'^°<'™*^^'' '»
October 1830, when he entered ,^^ v ^"'°'" ""'"

where he remained untUjub'S.' '^''''""''

L»*'">e. Free Church, CawdorTfor flf ' ' "■' ^''- S™™

r. lor some years, and while he

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His success as a scholar has hitherto, I believe, been
unrivalled in the history of that Institution, so distin-
guished in Scotland for its pupils.

For seven successive years he carried the first medal
of his class, gaining besides, during the same period, up-
wards of thirty prizes. The sixth year of his course was
saddened by the death of his excellent and revered
master, Mr. Robert Mitchell. After his last examina-
tion, the Rector, Archdeacon Williams, in bidding him
farewell, said, — * You may be a great man, but I am
quite sure you will be a good one.'

His holidays while at the Academy, and the summers
of his later years, were spent at Geddes,^ which never
ceased to be the home of his heart and of his most
cherished memories. The district of country in which
it is situated is eminently beautiful. From the windows
of his room he beheld a landscape whose foreground
was made up of cultivated fields, varied and broken ])y
copse and woodland; while the horizon was bounded
along the north by the bold line of coast of the Moray
Firth, ending in the western distance with the great Ben
Wyvis, itself a constant object of attraction to the eye
amidst all the changes of sunshine and cloud, storm and
calm, which passed over its huge mass from mom till
sunset. In the immediate neighbourhood of Geddes,
and surrounding the homes of familiar friends, were
scenes eminentlv beautiful ; with innumerable unnamed

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attended the Academy, the Rev. Dr. Nisbet of the North Church,
Edinburgh ; and for some months, the late Rev. James Halley ;
Rev. William C. Burns, now Missionary in China ; and the Rev.
Islay Bums, Free Church, Dundee.

* Now the residence of George Mackintosh, Esq., the eldest son
of the late Mr. Mackintosh, by his first marriage.

yohn Mackintosh.

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spots and sequestered nooks of loveliness, known only
to those who like himself searched for them as for
hidden treasure ; — for that intense love of nature which
through life * haunted him like a passion,' possessed
him from his earliest years, and was daily, almost hourly,
gratified by those rural glories among which he lived
and delighted to wander. Cawdor's woods and ro-
mantic burn ; the majestic forest of Damaway, with the
arrowy Findhom sweeping through it ; Findhom's banks,
so endless in their varied beauty and wild grandeur;
Dulcie with its lonely moorlands, and Loch-in-dorb the
only thing which seems to have life among the silent
hills of rock and heather that surround it — these were
his familiar friends and prized companions.

In the constant habit of mingling with good society
in his own home (which I may be permitted to say was
noted for its hospitality), those tastes and habits were
early cultivated that make up the gentleman — a name
often much abused and grievously misapplied, but which
I use here to express not merely that outward manner
in which art is discoverable only by the simplicity and
unaffected naturalness which it has aided to produce,
but more especially that inward sense of propriety,
delicacy of feeling, and nice perception of what is due
to others, which are the joint product of a benevolent
heart and the habitual influence of good society.

But there were greater powers than these which built
up his young spirit, and tended to make it what it after-
wards became. He had the blessed advantage of a
pious education. Christian truth, Christian exranple,
and Christian habits of devotion, early impressed his
heart. While at home, he was beneath the watchful
eye of his father and mother. When studying in Edin-

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burgh, he had always excellent tutors ; was constantly
associated with pious relatives ; and also received from
his minister, Dr. Muir of St. Stephen's, that religious
instruction which, with singular care and attention, he
never fails to impart to the younger members of his
congregation.

In later years still, while in College, he was never
beyond the circle of religious teaching. It is true that
there was not that learning of spirit within, which
adequately expressed the amount and excellence of all
this teaching from without — for, alas ! how much precious
seed is scattered on the soil of every heart in vain ! — but
it would sap our whole faith in the promises of God to
pious parents and teachers, in the wisdom of his ap-
pointments for the preservation upon earth of a genera-
tion to serve Him, and in the value of prayer and of
Christian example, if experience did not confirm the
truth contained in the well-known guiding text of the
godly parent, * Train up a child in the way he should
go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.' It
is very natural for young Christians, at that period of
their history when they become powerfully possessed by
the truth, and * all things become new,' so to separate
their earlier from their later life, as almost to deny any
preparedness in the one for the other. For so entirely
is the work in the soul known to be of God, and so very
different from the past are all their present views and
feelings, that this result, it is naturally supposed, would
have been the same even without that religious training
which, for so long a period, appeared to have been
given in vain. But there is a preparedness for higher
things which the eye may not easily perceive. The buds
of spring and fruits of autumn lie concealed in the leaf-

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less tree of an earlier season. It is the experience of
the universal Church, that the school which has furnished
the immense majority of her best disciples is the home-
school of Christian piety.

Full of honours, John left the Academy in 1837 ; and
in the winter of that year was enrolled as a student in
the Greek and Latin classes of the University of Glas-
gow. He also became an inmate of the family of the
Rev. Dr. Macleod,* with .vhom he lived during the two
winters of his Glasgow College life. In the winter of
1838-39, he was a student of the Greek and Logic
classes. His career at College was as distinguished as
his previous one in the Academy. During these years
he carried the highest prizes in the Greek, Latin, and
Logic Classes, besides other honours.

This period was one of great importance to him, and
exercised a lasting influence on his future life and char-
acter. Old friendships were renewed and strengthened,
and new ones formed." His student life in Glasgow
was marked by the same unswerving steadiness as his
earlier course in the Academy. I believe it is strictly
true, that he was never once absent from his class,
never even once late, nor on any occasion failed
thoroughly to master the prescribed exercises. This
patience and conscientious attention to details, with the
scholarly understanding of every subject of study, was

* My father, who died in December 1862.

• Among those who were his associates in the Academy, and also
in Glasgow, and who continued to the last to be his attached friends,
may be mentioned John C. Shairp of Houston, the late lamented
Wm. Clerk of Penicuik, and Robert Dalyell of Binns. He ever
retained the devoted affection of every member of the family in which
he lived, and formed also with his Professor, Mr. Ramsay, and hig
family, a friendship equally real and lasting on both sides.

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then, and ever after, a marked feature of his char
acter. Never was a man so devoid of all pretence.
He knew much which he did ;iot profess to know;
but never professed to know anything unless he knew
it thoroughly. Let no student, however, associate
his name with the vanity which too often accompanies
talent and academical success ; or with that selfish
moroseness and want of social affection not unfre-
quently engendered by solitary study, but which are so
repulsive to those of more lively sympathies, though
perhaps of less industrious habits. The * hard student '
is too often associated with the 'hard man.' That
hourly restraint which he is compelled to impose on
himself, and those habits of methodical arrangement of
time, untiring perseverance, minute painstaking, which
he must acquire often by the sacrifice of the society of
his fellows, and by the denial of many otherwise harm-
less tastes and amusements congenial to early life, are
sometimes imagined to be incompatible with those
strong emotions, warm affections, and that relish of
earthly existence which are so natural to young men,
and so attractive to their fellows. Though not attend-
ing the same classes, I was then in the same University,
and lived in the same house with him. His private
and public Hfe are vividly before me; and never cer-
tainly was a student more beloved as well as admired.
"With all the sobriety, thoughtfulness, and self-control of
a man, he had the merry-heartedness, buoyancy, and
unaffected playfulness of a child. His manner was
habitually quiet and full of repose ; his temper never
ruffled ; his spirits never greatly excited or depressed.
No man had a keener appreciation of the ludicrous as
well as of the grave side of things, and his mirth was as

yohn Mackintosh, 7

real when it was time to laugh, as was his sorrow when
it was time to weep. But the feature of his character
which the friends of his early as well as of his later
years will most associate with him, was the utter
unselfishness of his disposition, and that atmosphere
of gentle kindness to all around him, in which he con-
stantly lived, and which nothing ever disturbed. This
love was manifested in every-day life, not merely by the
total absence of all envy, detraction, hard speeches,
and harsh judgments, but also in a sensitive consider-
ateness for the wishes of others, and a habitual watch-
fulness to please without ever being obtrusive. Is there
a single friend of his who can hear his name mentioned
without also remembering the countenance beaming
with affection ; the hearty grasp of the hand at meeting
or parting ; and the quickened step and often warm
embrace, which marked the ending of longer periods
of separation I He was, even then, known as one of
the most cheerful, humble-minded, sincere, and loveable
of men.

It was during his residence in Glasgow, in the spring
of 1838, that he partook, for the first time, of the Lord's
Supper. He attended the ministry of the Rev. Dr.
Duncan, at present Professor of Hebrew in the New
College of Edinburgh, then the minister of Milton
Chapel, Qlasgow, who ever after was one of his most
valued friends.

He communicated his intention to his mother in the
following letter ; —

* Glasgow, March 28, 1838.

* The sacrament of the Lord's Supper is to be com-
memorated here towards the beginning of April, and I
feel it my duty, and oh ! that I could say from the

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heart, I feel it my privilege to come forward to the table
in obedience to our Redeemer's command — " Do this
in remembrance of me." I feel that all who profess to
be followers of Christ, and who have arrived at the years
of discretion, ought \.o prepare to come to this ordinance;
for how, if I am unprepared and unfit to drink of the
wine at the communion-table on earth, can I expect
and be permitted and prepared to drink it fresh in the
kingdom of heaven, were I to be called away this
moment ? The banquet is spread for sinners; and were
I to wait till I had attained some righteousness or grace
of my own, to entitle me to come, I would hold back for
ever. To come trusting to any one grace or act of self-
righteousness for acceptance, were equally sinful and
equally liable to the awful curse, as to come with un-
washen hands, and to eat and drink unworthily. May
God of His infinite and free grace grant that I may be
enabled to come, having washed my hands in the in-
nocency, not of the law, but of Christ's righteousness,
received and applied for my justification through faith,
looking on sanctification not as thegrotmdof my coming,
but as one of the benefits to be derived from it — to
come with His Holy Spirit (which is to be received
through prayer for Christ's sake) working in me sorrow
for sin, and desires after holiness ; and that I may be
enabled henceforth "to walk not after the .flesh, but
after the Spirit ! " '

This public profession of his faith was preceded by a
great change of mind in regard to spiritual things. The
following extract from his diary* narrates his past history

* This Diary, begun in June 1838, is continued to the last year of
his life, and with the exception of a portion of 1839, the events of
every day are minutely recorded.

John Mackintosh.

up to this period. It was written at Geddes, in the
autumn of 1838.

* Sept. 30, Sunday. — This is the last Sabbath which,
this year at least, I am to spend here, and as i may not
have another opportunity of noting down a few reflec-
tions upon this era of my leaving the country, I now do
so. Let me meditate on the Lord's gracious dealings
with me as far back as I can retrace them. As a child,
when just entering on boyhood, I appear to have been
most unamiable and vicious to a degree when thwarted
in anything, yet perhaps tender-hearted and fond of
those who showed me kindness. At the age of six or
seven I remember having had some religious impres-
sions, feeling a desire to be a good and a holy man ;
and, strange to say, though I had read no missionary
memoir, and had heard very little upon that subject, I
have a confused recollection of wishing to become one
in after life. I had also many thoughts of heaven, and
longed for the certainty of going there at last, deeming
the attainment of this sure hope, however, impossible.
Sometimes I even dreamed I was there, and took it as
a favourable sign; and frequently, a few years after-
wards, when these impressions had worn off — though
the desire of escaping hell was naturally still strong — I
used to look back upon these early feelings, thinking
with much comfort, that him whom God hath once
loved. He will love unto the end. At this time I was
attending a public school in Edinburgh, under a very
strict teacher (now, alas ! departed) where I was distin-
guished by a very close but specious attention and
sobriety of deportment during school hours, dictated by
a slavish fear, and carried to an extreme length. At
the age of eight I entered the lowest class of the PMin-

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burgh Academy, again under a very strict teacher, where
my attention and staid behaviour continued, with this
difference, that the former was now unfeigned, and was
kept up at home as well as in school This secured my
gradual rise to the head of a class of sixty or seventy
pupils ; and through the gradation of seven classes, the
same qualities procured me the same honourable place.
For five years of this large period of life my brother
accompanied me side by side, but in the fifth he left,
and since then I have pursued my studies alone. In
the sixth year my lamented teacher died; but in the
seventh and last year of my academical career, the most
important circumstance took place, the effects of which
1 trust will be felt by me throughout eternity. Here
for the present I must end. May the Lord make me
grateful for his many mercies V

God was surely with him, and teaching him in those
early years, though as yet he knew it not. What he
says, however, regarding his temper in boyhood is
not exaggerated. It was naturally quick, and sud-
denly flashed into a blaze when excited, especially
by any act of injustice or unkindness; but so com-
pletely subdued by the grace of God was it in after
years, that we are persuaded his most intimate friends
who were not acquainted with him in early life, will
hardly believe that his meek and gentle nature had the
capacity even of being roused to vehement emotion.
Alluding to this period of his spiritual history on his
deathbed, he said, * I used, when in the Academy, to
try and satisfy my heart and find rest in scholarship and
classical honours, but it would not do — Christ alone
could give me peace. Halley became my tutor, and
gave me Baxter's Saints' Rest; and that first made me

yolin Mackintosh,

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think. When I went to Glasgow, William Burns, then
my tutor, gave me a great hitch. But Denniston first
showed to me the freeness of the gospel.'

During the summer and autumn of 1838, which were
spent at Geddes, his hours of study were occupied by
Greek and Latin, and by general preparation for his
winter's course at College, along with history, religious
biography, and a few treatises on practical theology.
He amused himself with walking, riding, shooting, and
enjoying society in the evening. But never before was
he so occupied as now in working out his own salvation
with fear and trembling ; and never did he possess so
much real peace of heart. The journal of each day
marks the conscientious earnestness with which he en-
deavoured to know and to obey the will of God —
accompanied perhaps by a too minute and almost morbid
self-inspection, which was more natural than wholesome.
I begin with his first entry : —

^ June 21, 1838. — To-day felt somewhat moved in
prayer by a sense of God's grace ; ihe trame, however,
was soon over; in devotional reading was remiss and
unsettled. All my religious duties clearly show that I
have not yet attained a habitual sense of God's omni-
presence. O for greater inclination and strength to
serve Him with my whole heart !

'' lune 24, Sufiday. — When shall I- be enabled to pass
the Lord's day in the Spirit ! In general, how cold and
formal has my frame been, and how transient the occa-
sional gleams of sunshine ! In church, felt not that it
was none other than the gate of heaven. Have had
little experience in argument till lately ; but find that I
am prone to be self-conceited, stubborn, and hasty in
forming a decision. This must be watched against.

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How excellent the advice of Wilcox : " Measure not thy
graces by others' attainments, but by the Scripture ;" for
in comparison with the ungodly around, I am apt to
think well of myself, till a sight of Christ and holiness
reveals me a loathsome worm. Read in Henry Martyn,
and Booth's Reign of Grace; the latter, next to the Bible,
is the best and simplest book I have yet sefn for a
startled sinner, whose first impulse is generally to run to
works instead of Christ. May every Sabbath be a
stage nearer to the heavenly bourne ; and may I acquire
a more powerful stimulus the nearer I approach.

''June 26. — No moral improvement. Would that I
could obey the command : " Let each esteem others
better than himself." Sensitive and impatient of the
failings of others, forgetful of my own. When shall I be
truly humble ? — When I know Christ better, " who, be-
ing in the form of God, thought it not robbery," etc.,
" but made himself of no reputation." '

This was a month in his life memorable to him, inas-
much as he now, after much thought and prayer, resolved
to dedicate himself to the holy ministry as his future
profession. His own Diaries will best explain his views
and feelings at this time.

''June 28. — Returning home along with my father,
took the opportunity of broaching a subject which has
for some time been pressing me — my future profession
in life, if spared. He is much bent on my following the
law, to which he has dedicated me for many years. If
I do so, Oxford (a place by anticipation dear to my
heart !) and perhaps worldly honour await me. Within
myself, however, I think the ministry is the profession
in which I could lay myself out best with heart and
soul, and which, on my deathbed, would afford ine

yohn Mackintosh.

most comfort. This would crush my Oxford hopes, and
those of worldly success — which I would fain say I dis-
regard, but know too little of my carnal and deceitful
heart to do so — besides disappointing the expectations
of many of my friends. But it must be decided soon,
and is already fixed in the eternal decrees of God.
Would that the love of Christ and zeal for his glory were
so increased that they might, like the sword of the bar-
barian conqueror of Rome, easily decide the scale.

*^June 29. — Nothing more determined with regard to my
future prospects ; but it must be done with promptitude,
as steps must be taken immediately, according to my de-
cision. There is but one friend I know whom I would
consider an impartial adviser, and he is far distant. I
must, therefore, look to the Lord as my guide, for " if we
commit our ways " to him, he has promised to direct us.

'^June 30. — Spoke of the ministry to-night, and hope
the balance in favour of it is preponderating. To-morrow
is the Sabbath. O for watchfulness to commence a new
week well ! If that day is passed carelessly, how can I
expect the following six to be otherwise ! May I receive
grace to obey, in some measure, Isaiah Iviii. 13.

'■July 2. — To-day peculiarly unsettled in thought.
My principles are now to stand a test. May they come
out from the trial purified and refined. Felt very
gloomy and heartless at my future prospects, and did
not immediately resort to the admonition, " If any man
be afflicted, let him pray." My studies seemed to have
lost all their relish, and my own position to have sunk.
This clearly proves, that though professedly I do all to
the glory of God, there are other more powerful motives
lurking beneath — man-pleasing and worldly ambition. . .
Oh ! then, let me pray that self may be wholly extracted

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from all I do, and that henceforth I may live to Him
that died for me ! May my heart be convinced that it
is a reasonable service !

^July 4. — Came to a determination, after prayer for
guidance, to choose the ministry. The disappointment
it must occasion my father almost unnerved me, not
that he by any means dislikes the profession, but having
my welfare in life at heart, he fears for my success in a
line where getting an appointment is now so uncertain.
But if I have been called of God, He will provide for
me. Communicated my resolution to him, and steps
will accordingly be taken. What a solemn prospect ! I
can hardly bring myself to believe I have undertaken it.
What need of improvement ! God grant my determina-
tions may become more fixed daily, and that grace and
peace may be given me. Probably, from dwelling too
much in thought on the Spirit's office in the heart, ha^i^e
become vexed and unable to prosecute the business I
may have in hand, from my thoughts continually recur-
ring to it. May I be enabled to overcome this, or it
may become a confirmed habit.

'■July 5, — Frequently depressed on thinking of the
future. O for more faith, and its kindred grace — hope.
May I increase in love and gratitude to my Redeemer,
that so I may account the devoting of my body " a living
sacrifice" to Him, as indeed my "reasonable service."
There is a harder struggle between the flesh and the
spirit in so doing than I expected ; for sometimes my
resolution seemed immovable, and my heart fairly
weaned from worldly ambition, and set upon the heavenly
crown ; and yet I feel assured and encouraged by the
thought, that in the end I will rejoice that I have been
led to choose the sacred office.

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*July II. — To-day an answer arrived to a letter
which my father had written to Edinburgh immediately
on my communicating my determination to him. How
different from what I expected ! All friends there
pleased. What cause for gratitude to God ! Oxford
hopes, too, revived. Well, if I can go there conscien-
tiously, and God sees fit, it may tend to render me more
useful in Kis service. But into His hands I desire to
commit it In the meantime, I thirst for the internal
encouragement of growth in grace, while matters exter-
nally look so promising.'

And thus his future profession was decided. The
decision was one which never gave him any sorrow,
but much joy, during life, and afforded him, as he anti-
cipated, comfort on his deathbed. A few more extracts
from his Diary will bring this period of his life to a
close : —

''July 15. — Rose early, and read in Psalms. Finished
the Memoir of Henry Martjoi. Felt grieved that it was
done. What an exalted, lovely Christian ! Doubtless
he is now in bliss, reaping the fruit of his trials and
labours. It is impossible not to love him, and yet he
was but a faint reflection of the centre of all holiness,
meekness, and grace — Jesus. Surely, then, were I to
meditate more on His character, and read more care-
fully the sacred account of His life and labours, under
the Spirit's influence, it would be impossible not to love
Him.

*■ July 20. — The natural heart still sets its affections
on things below. Of this I have had experience this
very day; and before the evil is cured, I shall have,
alas ! much more. But into God's hands I commit
myself O that He would increase my love to Him

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and to His service; empty me of self; fill me with
Christ ; that so, living to Him alone, I may have no
inducement to seek "my own" things. Thus will I fall
asleep in peace in God's appointed time, and awake to
the enduring reward.

^July 23. — Rode for two hours. Enjoyed a sweet
confidence in God. Spoke with Kate, during my ride,
of love to Christ, and the pervading end we ought to
have in view in all we do — His glory. Read in
Brainerd.

''July 24. — Much time is too often unnecessarily
wasted in the morning between waking and dressing.
This arises from slothfulness, against which I must
guard. As I had the prospect of being engaged all day
from home, spent an hour in devotional exercises before
breakfast. Tlien started for Inverness.

'■July 25. — Greek study vigorous ; yet I think I ought
to be far more docius utriusque lingua than I am. At
twelve, resolved, in consideration of my spiritual dead-
ness, to spend my remaining study hours in reading of
the Scriptures with prayer, till two. I long for an
abiding sense of my own vileness, that thus I may be
filled with Christ, for I am proud, impatient and selfish,
to a fearful degree.

'■July 26. — Had a nearer and more clear view of
Christ than ever before ; tasted of His goodness, but oh !
of how short duration was the communion ! What must
heaven be, where His love is felt without cessation !

^July 29, Sunday. — Read in Hebrews. Then in
Durham. In prayer, was enabled to feel somewhat of
my own nothingness, and Christ's fulness. They onl)'
who wait upon God can expect an answer to theb.'
petitions. Read Brainerd. Holy man ! yet his natural

yohn Mackintosh.

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temperament appears to have rendered him more
frequently melancholy and depressed than such Chris-
tians as H. Martyn, who seem seldom to have had a
humbling view of their sinfulness without at the same
time feeling cheered by the thought of the covenant of
grace.

* August 5, Sunday. — It is a strait and a steep road
to sanctification. Blessed be God, that He forbears
with such an offender. Can such a worm ever be made
holy ? Yes, for Christ's sake. O may the work make
more rapid progress ; and may the Lord enable me to
keep with watchfulness my own vineyard, lest, if He
please to appoint me to the charge of others, I myself
be found a castaway.

^August 8. — Began to meditate on the vanity of all
earthly things, unless God have a share in them. Con»
sidered first the worthlessness of human acquirement*
unless pursued with a single eye to God's glory. Still
squander much time, especially during study; this is
very bad, after the discipline in that point I have for
many years undergone. Again, in humble trust on
Divine help, I would resolve to live wholly to Christ
This would have saved me from the jealousy I felt to-
day, on hearing I was surpassed in ability by another.
Surely I know that all natural talent is God's gift \ and
that, therefore, whether mine is great or small, I have no
reason either to boast or complain, but only to seek to
husband it to the best advantage in my Master's service,
though it be but one.

' August 25, Saturday. — This day has, I trust, been
appointed for good ; many things having occurred
throughout to humble my naturally proud heart. O
may I be led to make a friend of Him who sticketh

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closer than a brother, who despiseth not even the mean-
est that cast themselves on His mercy. How base has
been my conduct of late toward Him who gave up His
life for me; surely I am too black with sin to be per-
mitted to cumber the earth, for I have been a reproach
to the cause of Christ by my selfish and vain walk and
conversation. But God's ways are not as our ways, and
He is (amazing forbearance and love !) waiting to be
gracious, and to receive back His prodigal son. O may
I not be deceiving myself, but do Thou give me the evi-
dence of my adoption, by bringing me to rest in Jesus —
" Say unto my soul, I am thy salvation." Lord, prepare
me for the Sabbath ; may it be a foretaste of that rest
which remaineth for Thy people.

^August 30, Thursday. — I fear I am not paying at-
tention enough to my health ; that is, it is not so good
as it should be after so long a stay in the country \ this
is observable more from looks and from indigestion, than
in any actual feeling. I must, therefore (as the in cor-
pore sano is no small requisite for the mens sand)
endeavour to take more exercise and out-of-doors re-
laxation than hitherto, and make up the loss to study by
more intense labour while engaged in it. May I do this
from a single eye to God's glory, which may be essen-
tially promoted by my doing my utmost, as far as human
means go, to preserve my health. May it give rise to no
slothful habits ! Lord, accompany it with Thy blessing,
doing with Thy servant as seemeth to Thee good.

''Sept. 22, Saturday. — Much unwatchfulness through-
out the day — how prejudicial to growth in grace ! how
injurious to the cause of Christ, which may be furthered
even by the least of His professing followers.'

The winter of 183839 was spent, as I have before

yohn Mackintosh,

re-

this

;en-

iian

eel

)re

said, in Glasgow ; where he again Hved in the family of
Dr. Macleod, and was enrolled as a student in the Greek
and Logic Classes of the University. Nothing of any
peculiar interest marked this winter's career. He began
to teach a class in a Sunday-school ; an occupation in
which he ever after engaged with peculiar pleasure, when
he had an opportunity of engaging in it ; and of the
importance and responsibility of whose duties he was
profoundly convinc ed. He says —

*y<2«. 13, 1839. — Sunday morning, to Milton (Dr.
Duncan's) ; afternoon, to St. Columba (Dr. Macleod's) ;
evening, to teach class ; it consists of nine or ten, vary-
ing from six to ten years of age — a very difficult task
from the extreme youth of the children, and fatiguing,
though pleasant. " Cast thy bread upon the waters,
and thou shalt find it after many days !" Let this be
my encouragement. The management of it will require
scrae thought and much prayer.' And often was it made
the subject of his prayers and thanksgivings !

On his birth-day (January 9), he writes : * This day
I am seventeen. It is about two years since I began to
think seriously of religion. I trust I have made pro-
gress ; but alas ! how small compared with my oppor-
tunities ! God be praised for His goodness to me in
the past ! May his loving-kindness continue, and may
I daily make growth in every grace.' . . . ' Opportunities
occur for my saying a word for Jesus, yet I am unpre-
pared and unable to speak ! Enable me to walk more
closely with Thee, O Lord.'

He attended as often as possible the prayer-meeting
of the College Missionary Association along with his
friends Burns and Denniston, and derived much good
from those meetings. In his last Glasgow Diary, he says —

Memorials of

' April 27. — Prizes voted. I first prize in Greek Class,
on senior side ; and first prize also in the Log?c Class.

^ May I. — Prizes delivered. Off at four. Sad part-
ing ! the only thing makes me leave Glasgow with regret
is parting with Dr. Macleod and his dear family.*

I may add, that the regret was as deep and sincere in
the family which he left, when parting from their dear
inmate. On the top of the coach, he composed verses
to those he left behind, full of that ardent love which in
him 'never failed*

i:i

John Mackintosh,

Hass,

ISS.

part-
egret

re in
dear
erses
ch in

CHAPTER IL

t839-4i— Spiritual Decay — Winter in Edinburgh 1840-41— Accompanies Pro-
fcMor Forbes to the Continent — Diary of Tour — Geddes — Love of Metliod—
Habits of Devotion — Ailments.

His Studies in Glasgow were now over.

The summer and autumn of 1839 were spent at home,
and the winter of 1839-40 in Edinburgh, where he at-
tended the classes of Moral Philosophy and Mathema-
tics in the University.

His Diaries of this time present a striking contrast to
those of every other.

The only events briefly and hurriedly noted in them
during the days of summer and autumn, are fishings,
shootings, and pleasant festivities at home or among the
families in the neighbourhood. These were followed up
in Edinburgh by a life of idleness and gaiety, so that the
history of his winter's career is recorded in one single
page, of which dinner-parties, balls, and the theatre are
the only features. The summer and autumn of 1840,
again spent at home, were much the same in their outer
and inner history as those of the previous year; and
not till he resumes his College work in Edinburgh in
the winter of 1841, does the better and the higher life
again appear as it had been before, and continued

Memorials of

uninterruptedly ever after, until it ended in perfect life
above.

During this long period, he had not fallen indeed
into gross outward sins, or given up the ' form of godli-
ness,' but nevertheless he was gradually losing confi-
dence in God, and seeking more and more to find his
life in those things which were *not of the Father.*
Such summer recreation as was given him after his
severe Glasgow winter of mental study and spiritual
conflicts, was what he most needed, as being best fitted
to re-create health and freshness in mind and body. He
had abundance of time for reading and thought, relieved
by the loving and cheering influences of domestic and
family life. He could stroll with his fishing-rod along
the banks of a romantic stream, or the shores of a moun-
tain loch, and have good shooting among the cover on
the breezy uplands or across the wild moorlands. These
were gifts from God designed for his good. But such
reactions of free life and joyous social intercourse at
home and in the neighbourhood, seemed to have been
far too much for him at the time. The natural man,
with its strong emotions and keen sympathies, enjoyed
them so intensely, that the spiritual man, yet weak and
tottering, was thrown as it were off its balance. For
so it is, that the very same things which become to us a
source of good and happiness, when received in a right
spirit, as given from Christ, and when enjoyed in such a
measure and in such a way as He wills, may in another
state of our inward being, and in a different stage of our
mental history, be received by us in such a spirit as
may make them evil to us — feeding only life in self
and alienating us trom *the life of God.' It is thus
with the soul as with a plant ; the very same outward

man,

ioyed

and

For

us a

[right

ich a

►ther

our

It as

Iself

Ithus

ard

John Mackintosh,

elements of light and darkness, calm and storm, sun-
shine and rain, which nourish it when alive, growing
and producing its leaves and flowers of beauty, become
also the means of turning it, when dead, into corrup-
tion.

The excitements of society into which he was thrown
thus gradually entangled him. He became careless
in his private devotions, and ceased to 'live by faith
in the Son of God.' He felt more and more unhappy,
habitually clung to outward things for peace, and ever
and anon, in distress of mind, cried ' out of the depths'
for pardon ; until Christ became more a deliverer from
future punishment than a deliverer also from present
evil, the bestower of every real good, and the sustainer
of a true life that ''n<nv is.' And so the war in his soul
between the flesh and the spirit, the ' old man ' and the
*new,' God in all things, or all things without God,
became less and less earnest as the 'tilings seen' con-
cealed from his spiritual eye * the things unseen.' Peace
was purchased by the sacrifice, at first, of conscientious
scruples, and latterly of conscientious convictions, until
he settled down into the dead level of things around him,
or stood rather on the very brink of a precipice, over
which he might fall into utter religious indifference.
But the Lord in mercy kept him from falling into
those lower depths of sin from which there is so seldom
any recovery; and, not without many wounds, many
tears, and sore struggles. He restored his soul, and led
him, * for His own name's sake, along a path of right-
eousness,' from which he never departed till he ' dwelt
in the house of the Lord for ever ! '

I must pause in my narrative, and for once at least,
directly address my young readers. If these lines are

Memorials of

perased by any who are entering on their Christian
course, and who, having * received the word with joy,*
are now full of ardent feeling, let me affectionately warn
them. For how many have thus escaped the pollutions
of the world through the knowledge of the Lord and
Saviour, who nevertheless have become again entangled
therein, and overcome, their latter end being worse with
them than the beginning ! Beware how you trifle with
temptation. The first step from God may determine
your eternal destiny, by its being the first of a series
that will soon pass into a fixed habit of ungodliness.
Declension generally begins in the closet. Be instant,
therefore, and earnest in prayer. Make no Saviour of
your feelings, resolutions, or past experiences, and have
no confidence in the flesh ; but look outward by faith
to Christ, and abide in Him every day as the living,
personal, and eVer-present Saviour, your loving Friend
and Omnipotent Redeemer. Be firmly persuaded that
He knoweth your frame, and the things which you
stand in need of i and that He will supply every
want of soul and body in the fullest measure, at the
best time, and in the best way, consistent with your
greatest good, and therefore with your deepest peace
and joy. Accept all things from Him, enjoy all things
in Him, return all things to Him, 'and go on your
way rejoicing !* But think not that when you please to
depart from Christ, you may at any time please to re-
turn; or that should you return, the loss sustained
by this sad departure can ever be so made up in this
world, as that it shall not be a constant deduction from
that sum of character, of usefulness, and of joy, which
otherwise would have resulted from * a patient continu-
ance in well-doing !'

John Mackintosh,

«5

The following extracts from his Journals during this
period sufficiently disclose his state of mind : —

* Geddes^ Saturday^ June 8, 1839. — I fear I am re-
trograding, from carelessness and temptations around.
This week, especially, my devotions have been sadly
neglected, and it has certainly told on my walk and
conversation. Alas ! the folly of my heart, that is ever
suffering worldly things to take such a hold on it, to
the neglect of the infinitely higher concerns of eternity.
Oh to feel that I am nothing ; to be made sensible ot
the vanity of earthly things, that they are gilded with
their attraction by the enemy of souls. Let me endea-
vour to commence a closer walk with God. To-morrow
(Sabbath), O Lord, enable me to make a stand in Thy
strength against the gradual and insidious encroach-
ments of Satan.

* Sunday^ June 9. — I thirst for a greater love to holi-
ness, for I cannot but feel that my affections are often
fixed on objects wholly devoid of holiness, who would
even lose their interest in me, were they holy. This is
a fearful confession. Oh to have no will of my own, no
self-seeking ; to feel that my life, stated opportunities,
all, were given not for my own purposes, but God's,
to employ them therefore as a steward, not an irre-
sponsible owner — to deny myself, to live wholly for my
Master.

*■ Monday J June 17. — Great conflict in mind. Temp-
tations to vanity, self-pleasing, and worldliness very
strong, and hard to be overcome ; indeed, in my situa-
tion, I cannot expect it to be otherwise ; and if sup-
pressed once, it will, I feel, be ever ready to burst out
with greater force. In me there is no strength to over-
come. Lord, Thou canst do all things. O preserve

Memorials of

me to Thyself 1 Let not Satan make me his prey.
Give me humility — humility, and enable me to devote
myself to Thee a living sacrifice, which is my reasonable
service.'

No other notice is taken of his spiritual history
until the April of the following year. I, who had
watched his progress with deep interest, • ' "; to him
very earnestly, pointing out his danger, ai. expressing
my anxiety regarding him. With reference to that
letter, he says —

' Saturday, April 11, 1 840. — Received an answer from
Norman this morning. Some good advice in it has
awakened a train of reflection, and led me to some con-
clusions and resolutions. First, I have re-resolved in my
heart to enter, if permitted, God's service in the ministry,
and this resolve I make from even more unbiassed mo-
tives than before ; for I have tasted within the last six
months some of this world's gay joys and rewards, and
do here record for my future guidance, th' 'hough I
have enjoyed as far as my nature ever, if > up to

them, could enjoy them, they are in the end unsatisfy-
ing, and compared with the purer and healthier joys of
a stricter walk, much inferior. I therefore shake hands
with them, and propose for the future, in divine strength,
to devote myself anew to a holy life, from the lowest
motives of prudence, up to those of diviner and more
disinterested origin, which I trust may even now be found
in my heart, and will continue to gain strength. I de-
sire to abstain from partaking in or countenancing known
sin, as also from thoughtless speech, and acts of doubt-
ful propriety-^as theatre-going, ball-going, etc. ; and, in
opposition to these, to persevere more in the means of
grace. The task is difficult ; it must be a work. Too

yohn Mackintosh.

long have I backslidden, I may say in sincerity, " Faci-
lis descensus ; at revocare gradum, hoc opus." May
God, who I trust has put this into my heart, enable
me to perform.'

When leaving College, he asks himself the question,
* Why is it that for the first time these ten years I have
received no honours V * Alas !' he says in reply, ' my
past Journal explains it. It must if possible be compen-
sated for in future. I have not done my duty to myself,
my friends, or my old interested teachers.'

After taking a short excursion to Loch Lomond, he
returned home to Geddes, and again the same routine
during the summer and autumn (of 1840) of amusements
and excitements every day ; but with great compara-
tive deadness as to spiritual things. A visit of a day or
two which he paid in August to his friend Halley, who
was then in Glasgow on his dying bed, to whom he was
so much attached, and from whom he had received so
much good, while it showed the warmth of his affection,
does not seem to have been the means of rousing him
effectually fr^ a his lethargy.

Immediately before going to Glasgow, he writes : —

* Thursday, July 30. — In forenoon reading, struck
with thoughts of my neglect of God ; and the manner in
which I have occasionally been resolving to lead a more
correct life, without resolving on an entire surrender of
myself to God. Religion must be everything, or nothing.
Therefore, seeking to strive, yet depend on God's grace,
I have undertaken a godly life.'

After his return to Geddes in October, he again says : —

* Wednesday, Oct. 14. — At home writing to Halley, etc.
Happened to glance through my old journals, and rejoice
I have kept them. How extraordinary they are ; con-

II '

If .-i

I) J;

Memorials of

trasts strong as night and day ! Here the most sincere
(I in my heart believe sincere) expressions of fervent and
for me exalted piety ; there a total change — a thorough
worldling in thought, word, and deed — suddenly reso-
lutions of amendment ; but, alas ! a partial backsliding
again, in which state, I fear, I in some degree still remain.
So metamorphosed did I feel that I appeared to be read-
ing the journal of another, and passing impartial judg-
ment on it Scarce a thought or feeling now the same.
However, I do find now in my heart a strong yearning
to return to my rest, in humble dependence on Jesus
Christ.

*^ Saturday ^ Oct. 17.— Alas ! the time of my departure
draws nigh. Struggle in ray heart between the world
and holiness depresses me. In the former I could drink
deep of its pleasures, which have their charm; but
reason — though alas ! at present, not inclination — leads
me to desire the latter. May God have mercy on
me.'

He resumed his studies in Edinburgh early in Novem-
ber, as a student of the Mathematical and Natural
Philosophy Classes; and never again does there ap-
pear in the conscientious record of his hfe a trace of

* departure from the living God.'

This winter was one of growth in grace, labours ot
love, vigorous study, and peace of mind. He then
attended and enjoyed the ministry of Dr. Candlish.
Every Sabbath morning and evening he taught a class
in his Sabbath-school : * earnestly preparing for his
work, and desiring to have a deep sense of his responsi-
bility for these souls, whom " he committed to Christ." '

* May, God,* he prays, * choose some of them for his
sheep.* He began also family worship in his lodgings ;

yohn Mackintosh.

attended a prayer-meeting, and meetings of the Students'
Missionary Society, and was also a monthly visitor of
the pensioners of the Indigent Sick Society; and all
these acts of the life without, strengthened the life
within. Remembering the past, he says —

''Jan. II, 1 84 1. — Letter from mother. Reminded by
letter that Saturday was birthday, 19. My last year has
been sadly misspent, more than any preceding, consider-
ing my opportunities. Dissipation, worldliness, extrava-
gance, and almost uniform forgetfulne^s of God mark it
throughout. Add, too, disobedience to parents. May
my sin be washed out in Christ's blood, and may I be
enabled to return to my rest in God ! Since I came
here I have been recovering, I think.'

More than once he returns to the same period of his
backsliding, and is conscious of his danger ; and labours
aiid prays earnestly to be kept from falling.

''Jan. 22. — Often depressed partly by my backwardness
in studies ; yet how good for me, as bringing me nearer
to God, and leading me to labour solely for Him, com-
mitting the results without any fear into His hands ! I
dread a decline when my present mode of life ceases,
and I am again exposed in society to temptations. My
fall is certain if I trust myself, or ever relax religious
meditation and reading. God grant this may nevei
again occur ! rather sacrifice everything than my peace
and rest in Him.'

In tlie month of March he heard the intelligence ot
Mr. Halley's death : —

* Thursday^ March 18. — Received tidings of Mr. Hal-
ley's death, long expected, but heavy to me ; inasmuch
as my dearest friend on earth has departed, and one
whom I regard as my spiritual father, having first awak*

lit

3Temorials of

ened in me serioufs impressions of religion. It seems
wonderful that his great attainments, dedicated to Christ,
have been thus cut off; but His ways are not as our
ways, and he has been taken to the heavenly rest. Just
a week since he wrote me — cheerful and vigorous in
mind ; now he is singing the song of the redeemed in
Christ's presence. May I live, realizing that state — a
pilgrim, wholly to Christ. May I have his presence
here, and be made meet for the inheritance above !
May his sorrowing relations be comforted !

* So ends another volume of diary, from leaving Glas-
gow to nearly end of second winter in Edinburgh, re-
cording much that is bad ; I trust the next shall, through
God's help, be stained with no backslidings. Amen.'

The following were now his hours of study : — * Rise
at six, read Scriptures to seven and a half; study to
nine ; then breakfast, College, walk, etc., to three ; study
three to four ; meditation, etc., four to five ; dine, and
light reading, five to six ; six to eight study ; eight to
nine, tea, etc. ; nine to ten, study ; then, ten to eleven,
prayers and to bed.'

It was during this winter in Edinburgh, and while
attending the class of Natural Philosophy, that he had
the happiness of becoming acquainted with Professor
James Forbes ; and, among his many friends, there were
none for whom he entertained a deeper and more lasting
affection.

In the spring of 184 1, he was invited by the Professor
to accompany him on one of his geological rambles
through the magnificent Island of Arran. An excellent
pedestrian, passionately fond of scenery, eager to acquire
knowledge, he gladly accepted the invitation to follow
puch a guide, and heartily did he enjoy his ramble. The

John MacMfitosh,

3»

low
:he

Professor, having thus proved the capabilities of his
companion, again very kindly asked him to join him in
a more distant expedition to the south of France, to
geologize, learn French, and prosecute Elementary
Mathematics for Cambridge. An offer in every respect
so congenial to his tastes, was gladly accepted. He
had, until now, never penetrated farther south than, on
a fishing excursion the previous year, to Gala Water,
from whose banks he had seen with delight the far-off
Cheviots. And now to visit London and cross . the
Channel to Paris, and travel into the unknown and yet
well-known scenes of southern France, with eveiy hope
of taking Switzerland on the way home, was an enchant-
ing prospect ! All things being arranged, he left Edin-
burgh on the last day of May, and, arriving in London,
thoroughly enjoyed all its 'sights,' from the Houses of
Parliament to the Diorama in Regent's Park. After a
nm to Cambridge, the scene of his future labours, which,
he says, 'took his heart at first sight,' he returned to
London, joined Professor Forbes, and with him coached
it to Dover. 'Here I am,' he says when landing in
France, ' fairly landed \ I who have been so long pent
up in Scotland, being now in my twentieth year. I
trust my mind may be opened and strengthened by this
tour, so that it may redound to God's glor)'.' In Paris,
he was introduced to the world of art, which from that
day became to him as the gift of a new sense. Good
music he had known from his infancy; but great
paintings he had never seen till now, and the effects of
this glorious vision, when it first flashes upon the mind,
they alone can tell who have experienced it. But Paris
was soon left, and Lyons, the arrowy Rhone, and the
sunny south reached. The district of country through

Meiiprials of

which they journeyed, included the Departments of the
Ard^he and Auvergne, and is one of the most pictur-
esque in landscape, as well as remarkable in the field of
geology. Of singular fertility and beauty, its chiet
interest lies in the history — which is clearly written, as
with * a pen of iron on the rocks for ever' — of a remote
and distant age long antecedent to the creation of man,
when fresh-water lakes once dotted the surface of the
land, on whose banks huge mammalia roamed, of forms
now unknown ; and of a later but still far distant period,
when those lakes were elevated by subterranean forces
into platforms of dry land, while other lakes took their
place, and other kinds and races of animals tenanted
the land and water ; and when at last volcanoes, long
extinct, became active, and poured forth their lava
streams, damming up rivers, covering and preserving old
deposits, forming precipitous and basaltic ranges, and,
witii new-formed mountains and valleys, altering the
whole face of the country. Professor Forbes, having
visited the district before, was familiar with every spot,
and was able to guide his young friend to its picturesque
beauties, and to reveal to him its geological treasures.
Their route from Lyons was by steamer to Valence —
one of the most superb river-scenes in the world —
thence to Privas, Aubenas, and Thueys, in the Ardeche,
and by Langogne and Mende in the Lozfere, to the
summit of the famous Plomb de Cantal, and by Le Puy
to Lyons. One or two extracts from his brief journal
of this tour may be given, as it is one to which he
always looked back with peculiar pleasure : —

* Thursday, June 17. — By steamboat, on Saone, for
Lyons, at eight Lovely sail as we advanced. Boat,
the Hirondelle (or, as our sailors christened it, " Iron

John Mackintosh,

the

It,
>n

devil "), excellent. The Saone is a broad, deep, and in
some places rapid river, ornamented with frequent sus-
pension bridges : even these do not withstand its occa-
sional inundations. Many pretty villages line its banks,
where traces of the south become manifest — flat roofs,
yellow tiles, Venetian blinds. The people too appear
primitive in dress, certainly ; several of the women's
head -pieces were very singular — round hood, flat brims,
with the smallest possible chimney stuck upon them.
A handsome Provengal came on board with his guitar
— a fine troubadour-looking fellow, with dark Italian
eyes, flowing jet ringlets, etc. Arrived at Lyons by one.
Some of our companions of the Diligence have accom-
panied us thus far : two Irish gentlemen, whom I found
to be Professors of Theology at Maynooth, conducting
to the College at Rome a raw Irish youth of twenty,
who had never been from home before, and by his own
inclination never would have been. Nothing he had
seen did he remember or wish to remember ; and the
thought of Rome made him sick at heart. What a sin-
gular compound of potatoes and butter-milk his mind
must be 1 an embryo priest too ! Poor lad ! it will be
difficult, however, to instil guile into him. The course
at the College of Rome is five years.

* FrivaSy Sunday, June 20. — After long sleep, rose:
at half-past eleven to Protestant Church — a modest
building at the top of the street towards Aubenas. How
refreshing the sight ! several hundreds of respectable
and interesting-looking people, mun as well as women
— a rare sight in the Popish chapels I have entered.
Some soldiers too. After an assistant had read the
Scriptures, and psalms had been sung, the minister, a
devout intelligent -looking man, of about thirty, entered

1
i

Memorials of

the pulpit, and, with his prayers and address, which I
partially followed, was much pleased. The people
appeared attentive. On either side of the pulpit were
printed texts of Scripture, principally directed against
Popery, and very significantly ending with that : "Blessed
are they that are persecuted for righteousness' sake,"
etc. ; not that Government is intolerant, for wherever a
sufficient congregation can be raised, a minister is sup-
ported by the State ; but the private, and perhaps more
harassing, persecution is by the Papist population. The
sight so unexpected, and the psalm tune familiar to my
ears, quite overpowered me, perhaps with joy that the
true gospel prevailed there, and possibly also as remind-
ing me of home.

* Thursday^ June 24. — After breakfast crossed the
Ardeche. Professor took sketch from a picturesque
little house half-way up the hill. I bathed near the
bridge. The lava cut, probably the work of the stream,
is very, very fine. Returned home by some stairs
formed out of the natural basaltic columns, called here
" les ^chelles du roi " — very remarkable. Paused long
to admire and meditate on the beautiful landscape be-
fore me, the luxuriant growth of chestnuts, walnuts, and
other trees ; the harvest, in little patches, already ripe ;
the hay -making diffusing old familiar fragrance, the
little gardens of vines and vegetables courting the shade
more than the sun, and irrigated by gushing rippling
sluices that gave a freshness to the earth, and indeed to
the whole scene ; the stupendous walls of lava, carrying
the thoughts back to oldest times, and overhead " the
witchery of the soft blue sky " — a sky of southern soft-
ness. Such is a faint catalogue of th " thousand beauties
of these valleys ; so far as I am aware, little known ;

yohn Mackintosh,

and so far as selfishness is concerned, long may they
remain so. After dinner, walked with Professor to ex-
amine the volcanic crater, and the direction and spread
of its stream.*

After thus spending a month of rare enjoyment, he
parted from the Professor to return home by the Alps,
Geneva, and the Rhine. He then records his parting
with his friend, which I cannot help quoting : —

* Sunday, July i8. — He (Professor Forbes) accom-
panied me for some miles up the hill, commanding a
noble view of the Is^re, then bade me God-speed, kissed,
and departed to return to Grenoble, and thence, by Aug.
12, make for the Grimsel with Mr. Heath to meet
Agassiz, and study the glaciers. I, with a bursting
heart, proceeded on my lonely way, committing myself
and him to God in prayer, and endeavouring to direct
my thoughts heavenward. His kindness to me makes
me ashamed of my poor return, and my great deficien-
cies as a companion ; having been, I fear, very selfish,
taciturn, and foolish in my remarks. I trust I have de-
rived benefit from his company, on the other hand;
having seen an example in his indefatigable energy, his
exactness of observation, and acuteness of remark ; and,
as a traveller, his patience under vexations, his total
want of selfishness, and his universal kindness of
heart God grant that our love may be cemented in
Christ Jesus, and that we may both live to his glory —
the only true way to avoid selfishness and every other
sin. May every blessing, temporal and spiritual, be
multiplied to him ! '

After parting with the Professor, he spent the night in
the Convent of the Grande Chartreuse.

* The Convent of the Grande Chartreuse is situated in

Memorials of

a deep and lonely valley, surrounded by lofty and strik-
ingly-formed hills of limestone. The entrance is very
fine. The building is extensive and simple. I arrived
by half-past seven, and was presented to the Superior,
with whom I spoke for a little ; and was then conducted
by a Frlre (they are divided into Plres and Frlres) into
the visitors' hall, where I found a small party at supper,
but did not partake. Was shown into a small but clean
bedroom off the salle^ furnished with a crucifix, figure of
the Virgin and Child, basin of holy water, etc. I wrote
for a short time, and as it became very cold, went to
bed. They would not call me at five, as I wished.

* Monday^ July 19. — Not called; so slept till seven.
Breakfasted on soup, ill-cooked eggs, dry fish, old bread,
butter, cheese, bad wine (which I only tasted), elixir — a
kind of dram which they make and sell — strong, and to
me unpleasant, Alpine strawberries, figs, and apples ;
among all which I contrived to make a tolerable repast.
It was some time before they showed me the convent
Meanwhile I made acquaintance with two young
Frenchmen — one military, the other a civilian, who
accompanied me. There are about sixty cells ; before
the Revolution, the number was much greater. It is
the largest in France entirely for monks. These have
each little cells (which I could not visit) into which
their frugal fare is thrust, and a little garden. On
Sundays and feasts they dine together, but do not
speak. They have a good library, theological, classical,
and historical. The dress is of white wool, head shaved,
etc. ; and it is to ,this, for which I know of no authority
in Scripture or right reason, that many in England
would seek to return 1 '
" Next day he proceeded on his journey to Chamouni.

John Mackintosh^

young

who
before

It is
; have •
which
. On
o not
ssical,
haved,
thority
|ngland

louni.

In a letter to a friend, he says — *I was by this time
half deUrious. You will see whither I was whirling
— to Chamouni ! The rest is as a giddy dream. I
walked thither, and over a Col (called Bellevue) com-
manding a view of the valley and a host of glaciers,
with the Arve raving at my feet ; then descended in the
evening, visiting a lovely glacier by the way ; next day,
with a party of various foreigners, I walked over the
Mer de Glace until we reached the Jardin^ returning
late at night to Chamouni The day following, I walked
to Geneva, not less than fifty miles. On Thursday
evening, Blanc and his compeers were ht up at sunset
with a heavenly glow — the finest that has been seen this
year.'

After remaining some days in Geneva, and becoming
acquainted with several of the clergy — an acquaintance
soon renewed, he pursued his way homeward, enjoying
the glories of the Rhine and the reminiscences of
Waterloo. On landing at Granton from the steamer,
he says in his Journal, ^August 9. — Arrived by nine at
Granton. Good passage ; could have kissed the shores
of dear Scotland ! '

The next two months were spent at Geddes, in the
quiet of home. His time was, as usual, divided from
morning till night. This method, in study, was not
confined to the minute arrangement of time merely \
but was extended to recording, in various commonplace
books, what he had read each day, month, and year,
with classified memoranda of what had been acquired
* and mastered thoroughly.^ This love of order amounted
in him almost to a tyranny, against which he would
sometimes rebel, but in whose iron rule he felt soon
compelled by his temperament to acquiesce. With all

■p

Memorials of

the advantages which it conferred, he was quite alive to
some of the evils which it entailed. The studies, for
instance, of a whole day were often disturbed, and his
temper fretted, if the work arranged for one hour was
interrupted or forced into the next He acknowledged,
and often lamented, the selfishness and want of con-
sideration for the legitimate demands of family and
friends, which were apt to be produced by his resistance
to the almost unavoidable encroachments of both, upon
the time otherwise disposed of by rule. It was positive
suffering, the constant effort to adjust the claims of
labour, which seemed to him to be imperative, with
those of the home affections, which, however delightful,
appeared too much akin to idleness and self-indulgence.
Yet no man needed more that the rigorous exactions of
the former should be softened, refreshed, and humanized
by the soothing influences of the latter. And therefore
home, whose very charms looked as stumbling-blocks
in his way as a student, was on that very account the
best place for him as a man, whose heart, as well as
head, required cultivation. It would have added more
to his happiness, and, humanly speaking, to his life,
if he had been able to see the goodness and wisdom
of Providence in such domestic arrangements, which
check and modify self-will too sternly bent in carrying
out its own plans and purposes, however excellent
in themselves. But though no man more passionately
loved home, the student carried the day, whose earthly
paradise is his own room, in a University town, at home,
or abroad.

But there is one feature in his plan of study for every
day, characteristic of his later as well as of his earlier
years ; the time, namely, which was spent in devotion

John Mackintosh.

and the study of the Holy Scriptures. Two hours in
the morning — from five to seven, an hour at mid-day,
half-an-hour before dinner, a short time before retiring
to rest, were daily spent in Scripture and devotion.
Many entries in his Diary like the following also occur,
showing his earnestness : — ^ Friday j Sept. 3. — Resolved
to devote till two to reading, meditation, and prayer,
that, by God's blessing, my aim may be made more
single in all I do.' *Sept. 9 — Rose early and resolved
to dedicate till two to study of Scriptures and prayer.'
*Sept. 17. — Devoted morning and forenoon to Scriptures,
prayer,' etc.

He now appears to have begun with greater earnest-
ness to do good to others, by direct communication
with them, which was by no means an easy task for one
naturally so shy and sensitive. Duty, however, made it
a growing habit all his life afterwards.

*Sept. II. — Rode with , Endeavoured to intro-
duce religion, and press it upon his attention as the ^rst
business of his life, to which every other lawful occupa-
tion would fit in always well as second. Pressed study of
Bible as the chief thing, and its doctrines as admirably
condensed in the " Confession of Faith," which I gave
him. May the Spirit of God impress him ! for my
tongue was that of a stammerer in Christ's service. Oh
that it were more my meat and drink to draw souls to
Christ in His strength !

* Sept. 12. — A few words with dear , but inter-
rupted when I hoped it was tending to good. May the
Lord lead her to Himself from every other false source
of happiness I

*SeJ>t. 19. — Evening, read to, and spoke much with
, on the necessity of regeneration, and now to

Memorials of

choose Christ. Advised daily perusal of God's Word
with prayer, which alone would make any other study
useful, and give depth in it, from regarding it as unto
God, apart even from the cultivation of the mind, by
reading, meditation, and prayer, through the Spirit. All
pursuits and studies to be done in God's Spirit. I
prayed with her, and recommended two hours^ at
least, to be devoted to such studies. May God in
His mercy draw her to Christ, and every member of
the family ! '

But even amidst those sunny days at Geddes, there
appear, for the first time, symptoms of sadness, which
more frequently returned in after years ; and which,
though seldom discovered by others, was often pain-
fully experienced by himself. This was always occa-
sioned, I believe, in his case, by the state of his bodily
health. He became subject to attacks of dyspepsia;
having, at the same time, a great dislike ever to allude
to bodily ailments, or to have recourse to medical treat-
ment. I do not mean to assert that such physical
causes will always account for those spiritual sorrows
frequently experienced by 'the servant of God, who
walks in darkness, and has no light* Apart from the
pain of a conscience troubled by neglect of known duty,
or any departure from God, there are souls who, in
their progress heavenward, and while educating for the
enjoyments and employments of immortality, seem des-
tined to endure conflicts and experience sorrows which
cannot be accounted for by any physical causes with
which we are acquainted. We doubt not there are
depths, the only escape from which is di God

— agonies in which the sufferer en' fi' Tt or

relief but in praying * more eai I ve as

yohn Mackintosh^

little doubt that in many cases in which true Christians
complain of the * hidings of God's countenance,' of
darkness, and depression — the cause is solely physical
disease : and, what is more to the purpose here to ob-
serve, produced not unfrequently by an obstinate dis-
regard to the will of God, as expressed in the human
constitution, made up of soul and body ; and by which
a certain amount of repose, relaxation, and exercise is
essential to the right working of both. Let me earnestly
press it upon young and ardent students, that it is a
very mistaken manliness to despise the demands of
the body; and no self-denial but self-indulgence, to
sacrifice health and life in the pursuit of knowledge.
Let me remind them that God makes them respon-
sible for every talent committed to them, for short-
ening those days which might have been many, and
for turning those hours into darkness and distress
which might have been hours of sunshine and peace.
That must be no small sin in the eye of God, which
is so often punished by an early death or premature
old age, and which has deprived many a family of its
most precious treasure, and the Church of its brightest
hopes.

He writes : * Monday^ Aug. 23. — My mind all day
very clouded. I am in great spiritual darkness ; my
mind has got hold of some difficulty with regard to
repentance and faith, which I can neither grasp nor
dispel ; I can only cry, " Lord, for Jesus' sake, teach
me ! " and wait in patience for His guidance. I am
continually trying to recover the light, but ineffectually.
Thanks be unto God, I can hope in His mercy ; mean-
while, my active plans are stopped, and I move lan-
guidly.* Though this depression continues for some

Memorials of

time, and though it was referred by him, as it too often
is, to mere spiritual causes, yet it soon gives way to a
more cheerful state of things \ and why 1 because he
takes medicine and exercise. We find him accord-
ingly saying, in a few days afterwards — * Felt my dead-
ness much removed ; * and again, ' Rose early, and
enjoyed morning reading and prayer.*

Let us be assured that it is the wish of our Father
that His children should 'rejoice in the Lord always,'
and be kept in 'perfect peace,' through faith in His
love revealed to them in Christ Jesus. Yet the more
they enjoy this love and the peace which flows from it,
the more must they sorrow for those who, through un-
belief, shut themselves out from both. But this is a
very different kind of sadness from that which is occa-
sioned by their own self-willed neglect or abuse of God's
gifts to body or spirit.

^ohn Mackintosh,

CHAPTER III.

Cambridge — Joins the Free Church— The Lakes— Letter from Rev. Mr.
Madden — Letter from John Shairp, Esq., Rughy.

Cambridge had long been a delightful vision to John
Mackintosh. He yearned to realize his dreams of study
in that venerable home of learning, and there to become
more thoroughly accomplished for the work of the
ministry, in whatever portion of the vineyard — whether
in the Scotch or English Church — he was to be occu-
pied. In the summer of 1839, when at Geddes, he
thus wrote about Cambridge to his friend Dalyell.
While these letters are characteristic of that free and
hearty intercourse in which he indulged with his intimate
friends, they were written during that period I have
already alluded to, when he was not living in his habitual
earnestness of spirit

•Geddes, June 13, 18391
*My dear Dalveli, — I was delighted to receive
your letter, which I should have answered by return of
post, had I not left home that very day, and have only
now returned. I have been in one of the wildest parts
of Inverness-shire — a very world of hills, and therefore
after my own heart. I am sure I should become a
" downright genuine " poet, were I to live long in such

Memorials of

a country. In my travels I met with a Cantab, who, on
the chord being touched, raved on the theme like the
rest of the alumni whom I have had the pleasure or
misfortune to meet He strongly recommended me to
go up October first, but dis aliter visum. Nothing you
have written me of reading has astonished me, except
by its ease. We might have got it up years ago. With
regard to Plato, I am sorry I cannot answer your ques-
tions, having been engaged hitherto in finishing a play
of ^schylus, of which I had read a little before leaving
Edinburgh. However, as you do not mean to read any
for some time, I shall give you my report when I begin
him. I am reading Kelland, and though rather ik
rebrousse poil^ have better hopes of myself. Mathe-
matics I shall never forswear.'

TO THE SAME.

* Geddes, Sept. i6, 1839^
* Thanks to a terrific day of rain, for an oppcitunity
to answer my correspondents, who, thank goodness, are
few and select ; for the bore of writing to one you don't
care about is intolerable. There are some I should like
to hear from, but who never write me a line, e.g. Shairp.
I would write him an abusive letter if I knew where to
find him ; but my letter might make a circuit of the

kingdom before reaching him. B , too, is very lazy.

What can he be going to do next winter? If he is
neither going to the Continent, nor to Edinburgh, nor
to Glasgow, nor to an English University, he must be
going to teach a parish school, or take a sheep farm,
or something of that sort Next winter my father
thinks of letting his house in Edinburgh, as my brother
is going to India, and it is nonsense keeping it for me

Mf-K.

'John Mackintosh,

alone. So I expect to lodge, and mean to write to
B for some insight into that new method of exist-
ence ; unpleasant, I calculate, but only to last for six
months. Good preparation for Cambridge too. After
these six months, what visions of delight float before my
eyes ! — never, I do believe, to be realized ; for, in the
first place, I expect to turn out a beast at Cambridge,
as I am making progress at present in no study of any
one kind. Nothing but Charles O'Malley, tours in Ger-
many, and such like, can I find opportunity to read. O
that I was certain of being allowed to travel 1 It forms
my waking and sleeping dream ; and a man who does
not travel is only half a man — a cross between that
biped and plum-pudding. Such a rhapsody of nonsense
requires a Latin quotation : Duke est desipere in loco.
With Stuart I have had no communication ; and there-
fore heard by mere chance of his disaster. He is so
near that I have never written him — if you understand
the principle on which that goes — but shall do so this
very day, and invite him here, or myself there. The
British Association is this week. I wish I were going
now instead of formerly. What a bustle they will be in !
the professors, I mean. I have been reading Taylor's
Ancient Christianity^ and recommend it as very interest-
ing and instructive.

* Am improving with the gun. Heard from Halley.
Still in statu quo. Write me soon, and believe me
ever yours affectionately.*

His winter (1840) preparation for Cambridge was
more earnest than that of summer. He had by this
time become alive again. In a subsequent letter to
Dalyell, written from Edinburgh in November, he says ;

li I I

Memorials of

b-dge out. As for partie % "''"'"''j^^ «f«e .- never

»have one .ide of our hefrTh""^ ^ "^ ''^"'^ed to

operate on) to prevent th.7 ' f '"« "'' boards to

I" plain ean,est, we^:'J^;j;^ ■<^^- of such a thing!

-ho <s an excellent Professor ■« '"^ ''"'' "'* ^orbe^

Then followed m snmm.'i.- .
«tur„ in autumn ZZZ" a! T' '^'"'"^' ^"^ h"
for h-s entering upon Z L ** ""« approached
^"c-ge. hi. thoU be tr rorTand' "' ''' =" ^-

'-the Lord deauXChrero ?- ^"ousl,
been made useful to some! r ?/''^' ^ "^^ have
•nak that may await me even t^ J"" "^ '■^'"^ fo' "'e
and of heart which a week's Iv. ^'^'P""'"" "^ ™ind
I -alk in Christ, and be iZ f ™'^ °"^^'°»- May
^ 1 do, may I l,aVe , » ■ '^ '^°™ backshding i T„
■"ay be full ^f ,47:. ^ ^'"S'^ eye, that my wholf bo J

-So: Ifs't^rie'lt ''V' '' ^««e
«; ending i„ j„„^ ,843 ftwL ^;""'" '»'". ""'il
of qu.et and earnest dischIrof!f! "^ °' " ""««
harf ; enjoyed the society of^' f r^' ^' »'"died
good-as many have don^fr/'" '"""^ ' got much
"Pon Sabbath evenings enga^5^,°'?" ^'"'^ : and
work of Sabbath-school tefcWng ' "'^ ^""^ ^^°"ite

rJ-°" through the SpSt :» ' Ik ** "^" "^^I^' to

^ " -- -. - -vote-'s::: x:i;^r:^-j

yohn Mackintosh,

to Scriptures and prayer ; to bed by eleven, and rise at
five; spending from half-past five till half-past seven,
one till two, and seven till eight, in using the means of
grace. I shall thus have only five hours for study ; but
* better is little with the fear of the Lord,' etc. I am in
a vortex of ambition and honours' seeking, and the past
week has been too much conformed to the same spirit.
I believe that while this continues, my studies cannot
be blessed. Lord, deliver me, and give me a single eye
to Christ's glory and service.

^ Nov. 20. — May the Lord enable me to live more
closely in His presence, that when I lie down and rise
up, I may realize it as it actually is, to revive and com-
fort May He prepare me for His service, and lead me
here and everywhere to make that the very object of
my being ; and therefore, spiritual exercises the princi-
pal part of my education. Lord, prepare me for Thy
Sabbath and its enjoyment.

''Nov. 24. — To-morrow, the Lord's Supper is cele-
brated in College. May I receive the preparation of the
heart from God ; a deeper insight of my need, and
Christ's power and willingness to cleanse.

* Thursday^ Nov. 25. — Set apart the day for religious
exercise. At eleven, sacrament in College. Sermon
from Whewell — " I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord,"
etc. ; very solemn communion. Felt a good deal of
realization of my position before God by nature and by
grace. God grant that all who this day partook may
indeed be grafted into Christ

* Saturday^ Dec. 4. — This week have been more
punctual to hour of rising at five ; had more alacrity in
business, and sweeter thoughts of God, though how de-
ficient still I how often total deadness 1 and yet I ought

4^ Memorials of

and might walk contftiually in God's presence and ser-
vice, for He is at all times ready waiting to give me
strength. O may He convince me of my own weak-
ness, and lead me by His Spirit to follow Him wilh
singleness of heart ; ready to sacrifice whatever interferes
with my duty to Him. Have been much discomfited by
forgetting His presence in study, and attacks of carnal ease.

* Thursday^ Dec. i6. — My first term is ended, and
the retrospect is in many respects a pleasant one.
Surely I may say. Goodness and mercy have followed
me throughout. I am the subject of many blessings.
What opportunities for religious and intellectual attain-
ment ! Heavenly Father, let not my abuse of them
provoke Thee to cast me off, but quicken me by Thy
Spirit to rejoice in Christ Jesus, and put no confidence
in the flesh, while Thou sparest me here below. Enable
me in Christ to spend this new period on which I have
entered, redeeming the time to Thy glory 1

* Saturday^ Dec. i8. — Here ends an epoch of labour.
Next fortnight I shall be from home. May the Lord
keep me near Himself, and enable me to redeem the
time. Have some doubts if I do not sit too much at
desk, and so work without vigour. More sleep (at pre-
sent six hours) may perhaps be expedient. May I be
enabled to form my plans for the future with a single eye
to God's glory, and by His guidance.

'■Sunday^ Dec. 19. — O that it were my meat and
drink to do His will ; and that I may have grace to
walk near Him during my visits to my friends, to which
I have been looking forward with too much selfish eager-
ness ; that I may have a single eye in all my intercourse
with them, and may adore Him the Giver of every good
thing and enjoyment*

yohn Mackintosh,

Having spent his holidays in London with his sister,
Mrs. Smith, he returned to Cambridge in January 1842.
After arranging his time, from five in the morning till
night, he says — * Thus I have six hours for study, and
five for actual deuotiotu May I be thus strengthened for
my Master's service.*

TO HIS AUNT, MISS C. JOLLIE.

* Cambridge, Jan. 6.
*My dearest Aunt, — I received your delightful
letter before leaving Cambridge, and that accompanying
the parcel in London. For both I am much indebted
to you. I joined dear C. on the 21st of last month,
and, with the exception of a few days at Bletchingley,
remained with her till two days ago. I enjoyed my visit
exceedingly, and feel much refreshed by it. Hertniti-
cally inclined as I fancied myself, I have never truly
been put to the test before now ; and the result is, I
find social intercourse is a very important part of my
happiness and cheerfulness. That, it seems almost im-
possible to have here, as I could wish it, from the ways
and habits of the place ; and this indeed, from my first
term's experience, is the only charge which I have to
make against Cambridge — probably the fault lies with
myself I found C. very cheerful : reading much con-
duces to this. She was deeply interested in D'Aubignd;
and if, as I trust, she deeply feels what she expressed to
me in some private talks, showing a most clear and
simple understanding of the offices of Christ and the
Holy Spirit, my mind will be truly thai^kful and at rest*

It is interesting to notice his care for his Sabbath-
dass. He visited the children in their houses. He

i !

j 1

1 ^

Memorials of

prepared the lessons carefully which he was to teach,
and prayed earnestly for those who were to be taught

* Taught school,' he writes one Sabbath evening, * with-
out much comfort; children ill prepared, and inatten-
tive. May this not be traced to my own remissness in
prayer for them 1 I devote an hour for this on Sunday
morning, yet too often allow it to be curtailed. May the
Lord fill me with more concern for their immortal souls,
and more zeal in His behalf who loves little children.'
At a subsequent period, he thus writes : * Prepared for
school too slightly. Earnest prayer for the children
must be more attended to.' On a Sabbath morning : —

* Although not asleep till twelve last night, rose between
four and five ; yet taught in Sabbath-school with more
comfort than usual.' And again, in the midst of his
studies, he adds : — * Visited my Sabbath - scholars.'
Would that Sabbath - school teachers, who consider
themselves sufficiently well-informed to instruct their
class without any special preparation for it, learned a
lesson from the humility and earnestness of this Cam-
bridge student

In all his difficulties he has recourse to prayer : —

^Feb. 23, 1842. — Feeling much darkness and dead-
ness, set apart evening for prayer and devotion. But
my heart still uninterested. I propose to fast, and set
apart thus every Wednesday evening, trusting that it
may be a means in God's hands of quickening my soul
and advancing me in the Divine life. Lord, lift thou
up the light of thy countenance upon me.'

The following remarks upon his habits of studv may
be of use to the student : —

* Saturday^ March 5. — Another landing-place for re-
flection most rapidly come round. During the past

yohn Mackintosh,

teach,

aught

'with-

latten-

less in

Sunday

lay the

il souls,

lildren.'

ired for

children

ming : —
between
Lth more
St of his
scholars.*
consider
ct their
earned a
is Cam-

Ind dead-
Ion. But
,, and set
]g that it
my soul
lift thou

Itudv may

:e for re-
the pa«t

week I have striven, I may say panted, to progress in
my different studies. Have felt, too, a keen relish for
them ; and thinking that my system of hours trammelled
me by forcing me to thwart an inclination often that
might have got me forward, I disregarded them occa-
sionally, sometimes reducing sleep to little more than
four hours, yet the result confirms me in my method.
The next day always suffered, being devoid of energy,
and full of lassitude. A single vigorous hour is worth
many such. I have been enabled sometimes to lean
on the Spirit's help, and commit all to God ; acquiesc-
ing not in a slothful spirit, but in endeavours crowned
apparently with but slight success. Lord, give me a
single eye to Thy glory, and make me " fervent in spirit "
in Thy service.'

But alas ! in spite of such experiences, he writes in a
few weeks afterwards —

^ March 23. — Feel strong desire to progress more
rapidly in studies ; and last night sat up till two, to-night
twelve, wishing to increase my hours of study ; yet I
expect I will be forced back to the old system as
healthiest and best.

* Thursday, 24. — Studied with little intermission, save
for meals, from eight a.m to one A.M. following 1 '

He is again warned.

^Friday, April 1. — ^Walk with , A little tract

which he has lent me has, I trust, given me some in-
sight into the folly of my departure this last week from
my rules of study, neglecting exercise and sleep ; the
consequence of which is, that every one remarks my
looks, and I have brought on considerable deafness. I
trust it is a timely warning, to be rendered permanent
by God's Spirit The greatest sin is that, in this false

1
1

■ i
i

< h

s»

Memorials of

zeal, I have been quenching the Spirit, neglecting my
hours of devotion. Heavenly Father, restore me the
light of Thy countenance, and the fellowship of Thy
Spirit, pardoning my sin, and hearing my prayer, for
His sake alone who is my Mediator at Thy right hand.*
He had thoughts at this time of going with a reading
party to Bonn or Heidelberg — a project which he after-
wards realized, and wrote to his father asking his con-
sent. He waited anxiously for the reply. It is an in-
stance of his self-denial and meek submission to what
he believed to be right, that his father's letter having
come to him on Sabbath morning, he * deferred opening
it, knowing its contents would be most interesting, and
engross his thoughts.' But having opened it next day,
he writes: — '■April 25. — Most kind permission, with
also a sufficient sum of money enclosed to go to Ger-
many. Whole contents most kind. May the Lord
make me grateful for my mercies and opportunities, and
for my affectionate father, and so many friends ! How
can I think of my responsibility for turning all this to
account for Christ, save in trusting to his own strength 1
Lord, guide me in this thing. Give me the single eye.
If this scheme is for Thy glory and my good, let it come
to pass ; if otherwise, frustrate it j and give me a con-
tented heart, for Christ's sake.'

TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER.

•Cambridge, Oct. 29, 1841.
... It does me good, and, in God's hands, will do us
both good, to occupy some part of our letters on our
spiritual improvement I do hope, dearest, that the
Lord is leading you, through the use of means which it
is your part to use, to a greater knowledge, and, conse-

John Mackintosh.

quently, love of Himself through Jesus Christ ** God is
love," and the apprehension of Him as such, is what
fills the believing soul with all grace and spiritual gifts.
And oh 1 what gifts are those of the Spirit — " love, joy,
peace," etc. (Gal. v. 22.) Strive for these, in compari-
son with which all that the world can give is but dross.
Pray that we may count all things loss for the excellent
knowledge of Christ Jesus our Lord. Be diligent, love,
in reading the Scriptures with tneditation and prayer; and
to have your affections in heaven, walking here as a
pilgrim in the armour of the Spirit. Do not let us for«
get each other, and all we love, in our prayers. It is
very profitable for our own souls to pray for the welfare
of others. I would suggest that, whenever it is possible,
you would get good from going with mother to the
sweet prayer-meetings at Burnside — a privilege which I
would gladly share. There are many of God's people
attend tliem, and by listening to their prayers, you would
gain much practical knowledge.

* When you write, I hope you will throw off all reserve,
and just write from the heart as if we were talking to-
gether. It will carry me back to the happy time we
spent at Geddes, if you will write on these or other
studies, or whatever interests you.

*I continue to be very happy and comfortable at
Cambridge, through that goodness which has followed
me all the days of my life. The only want is the
acquaintance of some advanced Christians, which is so
beneficial to the young j but this will be supplied as the
Lord sees fit'

TO THE SAME.

*/?«■. II, 1841.
*, . . Keep this in mind, that a little, a very little,

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well learned, in however long a period, is more available
and more healthful for the mind than a great field of
undigested knowledge which soon leaves you, and is
positively injurious to the faculties of your mind. Per-
haps you have Latin enough to understand an invaluable
rule and proverb, which I often repeat to myself before
beginning a study : " Non multa sed multum."

' You will find it give vigour, however, to your work,
to mark out a particular portion which you should like
to get over in your time set for it Let this be deter-
mined by a few trials of how much you actually can
master. Let it even be within this, so as not to be
ambitious, and getting discouraged by not accomplishing
it ; and then, as you already do, revise this at stated
times till it actually becomes part and parcel of your
mind, thoroughly mastered. Really the greatest part of
education is to teach us how to acquire profitably.
Actual knowledge soon follows when the mind has
acquired a wholesome system of learning.

* But what is the object of this study ? If for our own
gratification only, it cannot be blessed; it can never
make us really happy ; but oh ! if pursued for Christ's
service, that we may use the powers He has graciously
purchased for us to promote the knowledge and love of
Him in ourselves and others — what a joy and pleasure
in them ! We may then pray for His Spirit to put us in
the right method; and being for Himself, surely He
will give it. Study everything in deep humility, as a
little child realizing His actual presence, and frequently
looking up in prayer to Him who feeds His lambs, and
carries them in His bosom. What a sweet confidence
you will have ! No anxiety and disappointment The
matter is in His hands. You have cast all your care

John Mackintosh,

upon Him, and He careth for you. He can and will
bring all things to pass for your good. Dearest, give
your Aearf and sou/ and strength and mind to the humble
prayerful study of His blessed Word. This only can
make you wise unto salvation. This is the knowledge
that will endure, and give sure peace here. Nay, you
must, if you apply, make progress in this knowledge j
and it is literally true that it makes the simple wise. It
will give a discretion, a progress, and a zest to all other
knowledge and lawful employment, that will make you
wise above your fellows. I hope that out of what I have
written here, knowing my need to be taught myself, yet,
having prayed that I may be of some use to you, you
may glean something that will answer its intention.'

TO THE SAME.

'Cambridge, Jan. 22, 1842.
* The great evil is forgetfulness of God, who made us
"to live, and move, and have our being" in Him. Let
us then seek, dear, to recover this sense of His presence,
and really to walk with God, doing all to Him from the
least act to the greatest. Cherish a thankful spirit, not
only for great mercies, but for the very least. Do you
hear of anything that pleases you, or receive anything,
will you not enjoy it still more if you recognise it as
coming from the Father of mercies, and make it matter
of praise in your prayers 1 Deal not with vague petitions
in these, but introduce into them the wants and occur-
rences of every-day life. So shall they be uttered from
the heart to* a Father who will surely answer.'

In the month of May he resolved to spend the summer
vacation with a reading party, near Keswick. He left

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II I

Cambridge accordingly at the end of May, and, accom-
panied by his friend Mr. Madden, journeyed first of all
to Scotland ; and joining his family, who were then in
Edinburgh, went north immediately to Geddes. After
enjoying a quiet month at home, he proceeded to Brow-
top, near Keswick, where his friends Fenn, Kingdon,
and Preston, had taken up their summer residence.
With the exception of a visit paid to me in Ayrshire, for
a few days, he remained here revelling in the luxury of
books an(i vigorous study, with exquisite scenery and
joyous walks, until October, when he once more was
busy at his work in Trinity.

* Geddes^ June 20. — Evening, began Life of Sir James
Mackintosh. No book is really safe for me to read,
unless my heart be right before God, realizing Kia
presence, having an eye to His glory, and a child-like
reliance on the Spirit, to help me in the work. In this
state of mind I was not; and when I know this is not
the case, how pressing soever be the engagement, my
soul would not rest till God's face and favour be felt and
realized.*

The Lakes. — ^ Aug. 15.— Have for some time devoted
from eleven to one to the study of the Scriptures and
other devotional books, such as Boston, with other
exercises. I propose to continue the practice perman-
ently, that, by God's blessing, eternity may have the
first place in my thoughts. I shall learn also, and sing,
six verses of a psalm, in metre, between morning and
evening, thus learning all in about a year.

' Felt considerable pleasure in teaching scholars in the
Sabbath-school — all in attendance, and sometimes much
interested. May the Lord guide me in teaching them,
and brin^ them all into Christ's fold.'

John Mackintosh,

TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER.

* Keswick, August 13.
* I am convinced the want of reflection and meditation
is the grand error and misfortune of most around us.
Its effect is to exalt what is present and trivial, and to
make the experience of the past and the prospects of the
future unheeded. You remember, dear, there is nothing
I so much press on you as the practice of this duty ; it
b not only the noblest exercise of the mind, but the
most useful also. Turn your eye inward to observe and
scrutinize the workings and the wickedness of your own
heart, but especially direct it to the contemplation of
God and His attributes — the person and work of Christ
— the office of the Holy Spirit. These are subjects on
which we never can meditate enough. Bring your heart
daily to Christ, all polluted as it is by nature, to be
cleansed by union and communion with Him. Pride is
what would ruin us all. It is this that makes us so un-
willing and even refuse to take up the cross of Christ,
and bear His reproach, because thereby we shall be
subjected to contempt from our fellow-men. Believe
me, it can never be overcome ; and no real advance can
be made in the improvement of character, till we have
cast ourselves at Christ's feet, to be led by Him and
endure whatever He sees meet. I am glad you have
found something in Watts which suits you. I hope you
will use all freedom in opening your mind to me ; as I
shall delight to consult together with you for our mutual
advancement, and I must be a great stranger to my own
heart were I to think less of \ ou for discovering in yours
what is so abundant in my own. I hope your pleasures
of study will not be much interfered with in summer.

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Whatever is encroached upon, do not let your devotional
hours suffer, and the study of the Bible, in comparison
with which all other studies are dross and vanity.'

•Keswick, SepU la

*Mv DEAR , — Time wears on, and I begin to

long for another letter from you. ... I must go no
further without hoping that your progress on the 12th
exceeded your expectations. I hear it is a very good
grouse season. What does your game-book say 1 The
hills here seem to be nearly devoid of game, as they are
(with some exceptions) of heather. My time for quitting
draws very nigh, which I shall do with much regret
I have seen a good deal of the beauties at intervals ;
and certainly the impressions from them on my mind
are such as I would not willingly let die. ... I once
thought of getting from Wilson an introduction to old
* Word/ (Wordsworth). The getting it, I thi\ <<. v aid
be easily managed ; but I, without two ideas m my
head to rub against another, could not intrude myself
into the presence of such a giant — a very diplopterus of
mind. I hope to be with N. some time of the week be-
ginning September 18 — towards the end, I think — but
shall let you know, and lay my commands on you to
meet me there " under the hawthorn in the dale." '

Shortly after his return to Cambridge in October, he
finally resolved not to enter the English Church as a
minister, and thus communicates his feelings on the
subject to his father : —

•CAMBRinoR, Nm. 19, 184a.

* I know, my dear father, that notwithstanding tlie
hint you ^ive me in your letter, you haye m) advantage

^ohn Mackintosh,

at heart, wherever the future sphere of my labours may
be ; and have even looked upon it as no small portion
01 my privilege, that you leave me unbiassed to decide
for myself. I trust I shall follow the dictates of a clear
conscience. The knowledge of your wishes on the one
hand would, I think, far more than counterbalance the
prepossessions of early education on the other; yet I
think I am right in conjecturing that your expectations
are not sanguine of my entering the English Church, so
that disappointment will not follow either choice. At
all events, when the time for final decision comes, I
shall state distinctly to you the grounds of my decision,
and may reasonably expect that what appears satisfactory
to my mind will do so to yours also.

* I was much concerned to hear of your late ailment,
and do hope you have completely recovered from it, and
will be careful of yourself during the coming winter. I
pray God you may be kept in health and strength, daily
ripening for His kingdom.'

A few months later he thus sketches, in his Diary,
his ideal future as a minister in the Church of Scot-
land : —

* Thursday^ Feb. 2, 1843. — I ^''^ve sometimes thought
(and if, d.v., I join the Church of Scotland as a mini-
ster, which is likely, and have the power in some re-
spects, which is unlikely, it should be more than a
thought), that my wish would be to prove a humble,
faithful minister ot the New Covenant, in some retired
country parish village of Scotland, " walking with God,"
hving in Christ, and " full of the Holy Ghost and of
power" to draw sinners to Christ ; retaining many of my
College hours and habits, rising very early, and spending
long seasons in communion with God \ and not a littl<;

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time, if parish duties permitted, in study. So that, pei*
haps, I might compile some industrious and sound book,
mainly the fruit of Bible study, illustrative of the doc-
trines of the Confession of Faith, Shorter Catechism, or
the like : labouring to catechise and instruct all ages
and classes, as well at their homes as from the pulpit,
and to establish family worship and instruction in every
family, as urged in the Confession of Faith ; so that, by
the Spirit poured out in answer to prayer, the commu-
nity might be one of awakened and converted souls, and
a heaven might be begun on earth : and at my death to
bequeath a good library to the library of the Church,

and of a patrimony, say of , to leave to the

Jews' Scheme, and to each of the other four, with

some memorials to my kinsfolk, and my best blessing to
the Catholic Church. If I had more, I should perhaps
bequeath some to establishing scholarships, or other
encouragements to promising students in the divinity
classes (would that on some good princii)le, not quite
the English one, there were the same in all departments
of learning m our Scottish Colleges ; and would that by
the way, the Church had the appointment of the Theo-
logical Professors, I ir\ean all pertaining to the Divinity
Hall). I might also, if the leadings of God were such,
devote the maturity of my life, resigning my beloved
flock to a brother in Christ, in some field of missionary
labour. How much, if any, of this I may be permitted
to accomplish, God knoweth. Meanwhile, may I stand
at His beck, waiting to do His bidding : " Lord, what
wouldst Thou have me to do T " Here am I, send
me.'"

In the meantime, he did not relax his labouis at
Trinity ; tliough the result, as far as high honours were

'John Mackintosh,

IS at

Iwere

concerned, was rather discouraging. The following are
the only entries in his Journal upon this point : —

* Tuesday y Dec. 13. — Prizes given in Hall, and re-
ceived mine for first class.

^Jan. 27. — A good deal cast down by finding

fault, very sharply, with my exercise ; and, considering
some encouraging remarks formerly, I did not expect it
Said six hours a day of classics, until I get my degree,
might get first class. I trust this may humble me, which
I much need, and for which, doubtless, the Lord designs
it I cannot now be disappointed at failure in obtain-
ing honours ; nor can I grieve if I aim singly at the
Lord's glory. May He stimulate me to persevere amidst
discouragement, believing I shall make what progress is
for His glory and my own good.

' April 3. — Called on Mr. G., who advised me to
enter name for scholarship, which I did.

' April 22. — Examinations for the scholarship ended.
Feel a good deal tired. I commit the result into His
hands, who will order all things for His glory and my
own good in this matter.

* Thursday^ April 27. — Walked in to Cambridge by

seven ; met me, and communicated scholarship

list. Rendall, Holden, Knox, Grant, Blackburn of my
year. Thought latterly I might have a chance ; but
little or nowise disappointed, recognising in it God's ap-
pointment for the best. I have no interests of my own
apart from His service, and, having sought to use the
means, the issue is His. Saw Mr. Heath, who encou-
raged me to hope for success next year if I went in.
My classics good.

' Wednesday^ June 7. — Lists out I in second class,
which did not surprise me, considering the preponder-

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ance of Mathematics ; but some in first class whom I
thought I should equal.'

But an event had now occurred in Scotland which
determined his future course. The ecclesiastical con-
flict which had so long intensely engrossed the mind of
the country was brought to a crisis by the formation of
the Free Church. John Mackintosh had been no in-
attentive or uninterested observer of what was passing
north of the Tweed, the Witness newspaper having been
regularly sent to him, while he also corresponded with
friends holding different views of the much-disputed
question ; and thus it was only after long, patient, and
prayerful deliberation, that he resolved to cast in his lot
with those who had seen it to be their duty to leave the
Established Church. He again addressed his father
upon his change of views, in the following letter : —

•CAMPRinGE, ^«w<f26, 1843.
* Mv DEAREST FATHER, — I have now made up my
mind, I trust by the guidance of God's Spirit, which I
have sought, to dedicate myself to the service of Christ
in the Free Church of Scotland. I had come to this
decision at the close of last week, but allowed the Sab-
bath to intervene, that I might spend it in prayer with
special reference to this subject, and so reconsider and
finally determine on Monday. I shall now acquaint
you with the grounds on which I have been led to this.
I first examined the standards and formularies of the
Church of England in respect of doctrine, government,
and discipline ; and while there was much, very much,
to admire with all my heart, I found that one service
alone, without regarding anything else, would prevent
my ever becoming a minister of that Church. The

'John Mackintosh,

service is that of Baptism ; and the passage which I
could not use is the prayer where the priest returns
thanks to God for having regenerated the infant with
his Holy Spirit The same sentiment is contained in
the Confirmation Service and in the Catechism. Now,
as I believe baptism to be an outward sign, accompanied
only in some cases by the inward and spiritual grace of
regeneration, and these known to God alone, I could
not in every case, or indeed in any, assume it as actually
bestowed. I have read many attempts to explain the
passage by ministers of the Church of England, who
held the same views of baptism as myself ; but none
which appeared at all satisfactor}', and I was struck with
this fact, that scarcely one understood the passages in
the same sense which the other attached to them. I
was confirmed in my objections, by considering the rapid
spread at this time, of erroneous doctrines on baptism,
by the Oxford divines, which I cannot but think is to
be attributed in no small degree to the ambiguity of the
Baptismal Service.

* I next proceeded to consider, in the same way, the
Church of Scotland ; and while I found nothing to ob-
ject to in her standards, my principal attention was
directed to the recent controversy, which I followed in
its details, as far as lay in my power. I came to the
conclusion which I have mentioned, for two very clear
reasons : First, I could never be a party to intrude a
pastor on a congregation against their will. Second, I
would never enter a Church which has surrendered the
power of the keys, intrusted to them by Christ, to a
civil magistrate.

* I feel quite satisfied that both these points are prac-
tically recognised in the Establishment, and that they

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are insuperable objections, especially <he last, which
seems to me to strike at the very existence of a Church
of Christ. With this I desire to feel no change of love
towards those who view it in a different light ; but I
also hope to be allowed to act on my own convictions.

* And now, my dear father, I must say that while my
course is clear, I write in great heaviness of heart. In
the first place, it is a bitter pang to leave this place, my
congenial friends and my quiet study, where I have
spent many happy days ; but much greater than this is
the knowledge of the grief it will give you, from whom
I have never received anything but the very greatest
kindness, and the highest advantages I could receive :
and lastly, I cannot shut my eyes to the fact, that I am
about to join a despised and destitute Church, in which
scarcely any of my friends sympathize with me. I can-
not face all or any of these trials of myself; but cast
my burden upon the Lord, who has promised to sustain
it I pray that He may incline your heart to acquiesce,
and that my way may be made plain before me. I
know that your objection will proceed from a desire
for my welfare ; but I do not seek an earthly portion,
and am content, by God's grace, to suffer the loss of all
things, that I may serve Christ according to conscience.

* I called on Mr. Heath this morning to inform him
of my decision, and to have my name taken off the
books. He has always been most kind to me, and now
at parting expressed to me his esteem. I think of going
from this to Oxford, and thence to London by railway.
A good many of my old school-fellows are there, and I
should thus see the sister University before leaving
England. With warmest love to mother, — I remain
your very attached son, John Mackintosh,'

'John Mackintosh,

He thus alludes, in his Diary, to the same important
event in his life : —

^/une 26. — Having prayerfully and carefully exam-
ined, so far as I could, the Church of England, Scottish
Establishment, and Free Church of Scotland, in respect
of doctrine, worship, government, and discipline, 1 have
come to the conclusion, without hesitation, to enter the
last, if the Lord spare me to become a minister. The
baptismal service is, of itself, an effectual barrier to the
first ; and as I consider the doctrines — first, that no
pastor be intruded on a people against their will ; and
second, that the power of the keys be exercised exclu-
sively by the Church — of far greater moment even than
an Establishment, I have no choice but to enter the
last Among the books that I have consulted are
Hooker, Soames, Strype, Bramhall, Boyd, Gillespie,
Rutherford, Calderwood, etc. ; besides the respective
formularies and standards. Acquainted Mr. H. with
my decision. He very kindly arranged to have my
name taken off the boards.

' Thursday^ June 29. — Started at half-past eight for
Oxford, bidding adieu to Cambridge, perhaps for ever.
Passed through St. Neot's, Bedford, etc. ; pretty drive,
especially latter half. Spirits sad, and my future pro-
spects, if I am spared, impressed me much.'

And thus he left Cambridge, and it was indeed for
ever. But he left it because he believed God was leading
him, though he knew not whither ! Like Luther, he
could have said, * God help me ! but I cannot do other-
wise !* And so he never looked back with regret to this
or any other step in life which he had unselfishly taken,
and with a single eye to please his Father in heaven, in
whose hands he ever desired to be as a httle child.

Memorials of

After spending a day at Oxford with his friend Mr.
Shairp, he journeyed home. But the following letters,
kindly sent to me, about those days, will show that
they are yet fresh in the memories of some who knew
and loved him well. The first is from the Rev. Mr.
Madden, incumbent of Trinity Church, Wakefield ; the
other from John Shairp, Esq., Rugby School,* containing
also reminiscences of an earlier period of John Mac-
kintosh's life.

•Wakefield, April ^^ 1854.

* ... I knew him well, and loved him much. We
sat together in the class-room of Professor Kelland, at
the University of Edinburgh, but never spoke. In my
freshman's term at Cambridge, in October or November
1 84 1, we met as he was coming out of Trinity College
gate. His face brightened up. I reminded him of
Scotland. We shook hands, and from that time were
friends. Those who knew him at Cambridge, will not
easily forget the rooms in which, for the greater portion
of his time, he lodged, or, as the University phrase is,
kept^ so exactly were they suited to the man. At the
end of a passage in a house in Trinity Street, a small
staircase led to his two rooms above. At the top of this
staircase, a green baize door shut out all the world : it
was most generally closed. I and a few friends had a
private signal, by means of which we could induce him
to open it ; but I have more than once given this signal
in vain ; I heard afterwards, that had his own brother
been at the door, he would not have been admitted.

* Whether these were times of intense mental labour,
or of special communion with God, I never knew. He
did not often speak of his own method of study, or times

' Now Professor of Latin in St. Andrews.

*John Mackintosh*

«7

of prayer. Yet his life at Cambridge was in every point
the student's life. He came with a fixed intention of
taking a degree, but chiefly for the benefit of the
University course. And most thoroughly did he take
advantage of it I believe I might say with truth, that
during the two years of his residence at Cambridge, he
never lost an hour. His time for rising in the morning,
even in winter, was about five. To insure this, he had
an alarum in his room ; and that he might not sleep too
heavily for it to awake him, he slept with very light
covering. Until chapel time, seven o'clock, he studied
in a room without fire, often with his fingers dead with
cold. And all this, not from any superstitious and
unchristian idea that there was merit in it, from which
he was singularly free, but simply to attain his object-
time to get through his appointed work. It is not with-
out feelings of sorrow that I remember these habits.
We have lost him, and were not these partially the
cause % When I first knew him, he seemed to have an
iron constitution \ but few frames could have borne his
unceasing mental toil. I know that in after years, he
felt he had committed a mistake. I remember his
telling me in Reading, that he rejoiced to find a man
who could sleep till seven or half-past in the morning.
He had experienced the difference in vigour of mind
and body, when he had begun to allow himself sufficient
rest. At Cambridj^ , it is the habit with reading men,
whatever mSy be the hour at which they commence in
the morning, to study, including lectures and private
tutor, until two p.m. Our dear friend's hours were long,
for he began so early; but they were not unvaried.
John Welsh could not pass the night without rising to
pray. John Mackintosh could not study from five till

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Memorials of

1 i

two without more than once turning to the Bible and to
God. I know not how often; but I well remember
how, in his quiet and expressive way, with one of his
own smiles, he told me where he sought refreshment
At two P.M., most men turn out to walk, or ride, or boat
Our friend's usual exercise was walking. It is customary
to make engagements, and not to spend this time alone.
John Mackintosh had many companions, and most of
them looked forward to the pleasure of a walk with
him. I enjoyed this privilege usually once a week ; and
a privilege certainly it was. Our day was Saturday.
Many an earnest conversation I have had with him in
the fields round Cambridge. His mind constantly bent
one way. Something about Christ, or the ministiy, or
Christian doctrine; or if Scotland — and Scotland was
a favourite theme — Scotland's Church, and Scotland's
worthies, and Scotland's faith ; the very rivers and hills
of his own loved land suggested thoughts of Jesus and
His truth. These walks have a hold on my memory
which it never can let slip. Yet much as he enjoyed
the society of his friends, certain days were set apart,
and not at very distant intervals, for solitary walks. He
loved communion with man, but he loved better fellow-
ship with God. These quiet rambles were seasons of
great refreshment I never heard him say much about
them. I judge only from the manner, look, and voice
accompanying some passing remark. But these words,
dropped by the way, were to those who knew him
weighty.

'His friends were numerous ; I can mention, however,
but a few names. We were members of different Col-
leges, and our companions, in many instances, were not
the same. Among those with whom he was most inti-

^ohn Mackintosh,

mate were — Preston of Trinity ; Pollexfen of Queen's ;
Hutchinson of Corpus ; Ragland of Corpus ; Garrett of
Trinity ; Fenn of Trinity ; also Stewart and Sands of
Trinity, who were both from the Edinburgh Academy.
I beUeve all who knew him, valued and respected, if
they did not love him : for there was such consistency in
all he said and did, that those who could not fully
sympathize with his deep spirituality of mind, at least
honoured and spoke well of him. I have said his life in
Cambridge was in all points the student's life, yet he
found time to work for Christ. There is a Sunday-
school taught and managed entirely by the young men
of the University, and in this he was a constant and
most efficient teacher. The children came chiefly from
one of the most depraved parishes in England ; and it
was no small break into the Sabbath's rest to take a
class in that school. But the love of Jesus was strong
in him, and he persevered, delighting in his work, and
not unfrequently visiting some of the children and their
parents during the week. There is also at Cambridge a
tract-distributing society for the villages around, con-
ducted by the students. Madingley, about three miles
from the town, was taken by John Mackintosh. He
went there with tracts, either every week or every fort-
night, I forget which. I never accompanied him on any
of these expeditions ; Garrett, I believe, was his helper
in this work. But I feel sure he did not confine himself
to simply changing the tracts. There would be some
kind encouragement, or weighty advice for many.

' To the Saturday evenings I look back with great
pleasure ; an hour or two was always then spent in his
rooms with Preston and himself. We met to read and
talk over the Bible, We began with prayer, then read

Memorials of

\ \

a few verses round, made any remark which struck us,
dwelling on each verse, and turning up references to
illustrate the meaning ; and having passed a happy hour
or more in this employment, we concluded as we began,
with prayer. We then separated ; he generally return-
ing to his studies. I do not remember much of the
conversation which we had on these occasions ; but I
never can forget his prayers. They made an impression
which will not easily be effaced. So simple, yet so
solemn ; so familiar, yet so reverential. He combined
what so few can combine, intimacy of communion with
a Father, with the humility of a sinner before God.

* In prayer, he was indeed in fellowship with the
Lord. We were one day speaking of the manner appro-
priate to private devotion, whether it should be audible,
or in a whisper, or simply mental. He evidently was
not aware how it frequently was with himself. He was
so absorbed in communion, his spirit was so engrossed,
he took no notice of the manner. O that we had many
such men of prayer! During our joint residence at
Cambridge, the Non - intrusion controversy raged in
Scotland. We were both pretty diligent readers of the
Witness newspaper; and often did we converse upon
the subject. I mention this only because I was particu-
larly struck with the sober and careful way in which he
formed his judgment. His feelings all went with the
Non-Intrusionists, but he calmly and dispassionately
weighed their arguments. In the summer of 1842, I
met him in London, and we went together in the steam-
boat to Edinburgh. We had a rough passage, and were
considerably delayed. It was Saturday morning, about
two or three, before we arrived at Granton Pier. It was
too early to drive into Edinburgh to our friends'

yohn Mackintosh,

houses ; but after waiting some time in the vessel, we
walked, just at daybreak, to the bottom of Pitt Street
It was a most lovely summer's morning, and our dear
friend was in an ecstasy. The scene was so familiar
— it was his own loved Scotland — and his arrival was
looked for by many with delight. Those who have
seen him gaze on the beauties of nature, and speak of
those he loved, will be able to reahze his look and
words that morning.

* I must just notice his visit to me at Reading. It
was in 1848. I had settled as Curate of one of the
parish churches, and was married. We had not met
since we parted in Cambridge in 1843. He arrived on
a Saturday, October 7 ; spent Sunday with me, and left
for London on the Monday morning. It was impos-
sible not to notice how he had grown in grace. His
conversation was so sweet and spiritual. With perfect
ease he introduced and dwelt upon the most solemn
subjects. Every word he said came manifestly from
the heart He spoke so impressively of dependence on
the aid and guidance of the Spirit, one felt his daily
steps were ordered by the Lord. On Sunday morning
he greatly enjoyed the service and sermon at the Rev.
C. J. Goodhart's chapel — his mind was full of them.
The English Liturgy he had not heard for some time ;
it was devotionally read, and he joined in it with de-
light Mr. Goodhart's text was Psalm xxxix. 6 :
"Surely every man walketh in a vain show." We
parted on Monday morning, and never met again. In
one of his letters he writes to me : " The memory of
my visit to Reading is still fragrant ; " it is so still with
us. He was no common friend. His place cannot
soon be filled.'

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' ♦ Rugby, ^/r?7 lo, 1854.

* My dear Norman, — It is long since you asked me
to write down my remembrances of John Mackintosh.
I have long delayed, but shall do so no longer. Many
of the times and scenes through which we passed to-
gether, the things we did, long talks we had, have
already passed from my memory, but they have left
behind a total impression which will not pass.

* It was about the beginning of November 1837, I
think, on his first coming to Glasgow College, that we
met and became acquainted. Years before, we had
been at the Edinburgh Academy together, but as we
were in different classes, we had not known each other
to speak to. I knew him, however, by name and ap-
pearance ; and seem now to see, as it had been but
yesterday, the two brothers uniformly dressed in a suit
of sky-blue from head to foot, sitting always together at
the head of their class — the younger and smaller first,
the elder next to him. Though it is full twenty years
since, his appearance is clearly before me, and the repu-
tation that went with him not only for ability, but for
character beyond his years. There was about him even
then a calm collected air, as of one who had a purpose
before him, and went straight to it, undisturbed by
other aims. It may be that I look back on that early
time through the light of what I afterwards knew ; but
however this may be, such it now appears in retrospect.

* The time when he entered Glasgow College was, as
you will remember, a stirring one in that University.
Peel had been elected Lord Rector the year before.
The Peel Club had been established to support his
principles : political feeling, which was then high among
the students, added interest to life, and quickened the

yohn Mackintosh,

stir of tftought But it is not as a young politician that
we think of him, as he then was, but rather as a chief
favourite in that small circle of friends, of which your
father's hearth was at that time the centre. There were
in all about ten or twelve of us, between the ages of six-
teen and eighteen. Many of these had come from the
Edinburgh Academy : most were preparing for Oxford
or Cambridge. We were then at that delightful time of
life when the fresh heart of boyhood, first freed from re-
straint, leaps forward eagerly to the opening interests of
manhood. Seldom do a band of friends live together on
terms so happy, so intimate, so endearing, as those on
which evening after evening we used to meet in that
room in your father's house (known amongst us as the
coffee-room), or in the lodgings of some one of our num-
ber. Many interests there met and harmonized : poetry,
philosophy, politics, or field-sports, and other amusements.
In these things, though John took some part, he was
not ardent or conspicuous. Two things specially marked
him. One was his scrupulous regularity in all things,
and his conscientiousness in preparing each evening the
College work of next day. In this he was a pattern to
all of us, to which all did honour, whether they followed
him or not. The other was the singleness of aim and
resolute purpose with which he set his face toward
divine truth, and to live an earnest religious life. This
last I have heard of, but never saw equalled in a boy of
his age. He used at that time to attend the meetings
of the College Missionary Society, and other things of
this kind — a practice in which, as far as I knew, he was
alone among the younger students. But he was not
remarkable for any precocious activity, but rather for
strict self-discipline and thoroughness of purpose, which

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made him, while earnestly seeking the highest things,
never neglect the lowest duties. Mr. William Bums,
who was then his private tutor, greatly encouraged him
in his religious endeavours ; and he used to know and
often to attend the church of Dr. Duncan. I ought
perhaps to add, that these high moral and religious
qualities were at that time not unaccompanied by a cer-
tain shade of that austereness which some think charac-
teristic of religious people in Scotland. But however
this may be, all his companions felt the force of his
goodness. Their great love for him as a friend was
mingled with deep respect, I might almost say rever-
ence, for his whole character. Two sessions, two most
delightful winters, we were together in Glasgow, and then
came the first of May 1839. On that day our band of
friends shook hands, and bade farewell to each other.
They went each on his separate way, and never all met
again, nor can meet now any more in this world. It
was indeed a golden fellowship, much to be remem-
bered by all who shared it; and none did more to
sanctify and endear it than he who was among the
earliest taken. , , : ,

* After this, I have no distinct remembrance of our
meeting till the midsummer of 1843. Then, after he
had taken final leave of Cambridge, before returning to
Scotland, he came to visit Oxford and some of his old
Glasgow friends, who were undergraduates at Balliol
College. It was then I heard from himself, and for the
first time, that after long deliberation, he had made up
his mind to join the Free Kirk. Much had passed
over both of us since we parted at Glasgow ; and you
can imagine how delightful it was, after so long an inter-
val, to renew our old companionship. For several days

yokn Mackintosh.

we wandered together among the Colleges and old
gardens, and by the banks of the river ; and the antique
air of the place seemed greatly to impress him. He
noticed, I remember, some difference between under-
graduate life as he had known it at Cambridge, and
what he saw of it at Oxford ; and seemed to think that
we were more intimate with the rest of our College than
he had been with the men of his. This may have been
owing to the difference between a small College like
Balliol, and one so large as Trinity. At the same time,
my impression is, that while there he had lived a secluded
life, chiefly with a few Uke-minded friends, and never
entering into the main current of College society. He
seemed to think that it would have been otherwise with
him, if he had been at Balliol. It might have been so,
but of this I cannot judge. " The Oxford movement"
was then at its height ; and he took much interest in all
he saw and heard regarding it. I can remember stand-
ing with him in the great square of Christ Church, to
watch Pusey's spare, bowed down, surpliced form, as he
returned from prayer in the Cathedral. He was pre-
sent also in St Mary's on one of the last Sunday after-
noons that Newman's voice was heard there or else-
where as a minister of the English Church. After
a few bright days we parted, and were never again
so long of meeting till he last went abroad. One
change, and only one, seemed to have passed over
him during our long separation. The tinge of severity
which I was aware of formerly, had wholly disappeared.
Without losing his singleness or strength of purpose, he
had grown, I thought, more gentle, more serene, more
deeply loving towards all men. Ever}' time we met, up
to the last, this impression was confirmed.

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*From this time onward, I hnd the great happiness
of seeing a good deal of him, generally twice every year,
at Christmas and at midsumraer. He used sometimes
to visit me at my home ; but oftener I visited him in
Edinburgh, or met him In your manse. During this
time he was attending Dr. Chalmers's Divinity Lectures,
visiting the poor in ar old town district, teaching their
children, and sometimes he attended some other of the
Professors. He w.%s much taken up with Dr. Chalmers,
and used to tell me much about him. He loved to
dwell too on his little peculiarities, some oi which
greatly amused and delighted him. Our conversations
during these times often turned on the things in which
he was then engaged, on the difference between English
and Scottish Universities, English and Scottish Theo-
logy. About this time, he read a good many of New-
man's parochial Sermons , and was greatly struck by
his wonderful power in laying bare men's hidden char-
acter; and putting his finger on the secret fault. Not
that he ever inclined towards the peculiar doctrines ol
Newman — from these, you know, he was always far
r.nough removed ; but this did not in the least hinder
him from freely opening his heart to these wonderful
writings, which for depth and inwardness are perhaps
unequalled in this century. I did indeed admire his
rare candour, which was with him fully as much moral
as intellectual. However widely a man differed in
opinion or sentiment from himself, it seemed he did not
care to dwell on the differences, but rather to open his
mind fairly to take in whatever of good or true he had
to teach. This open-mindedness in one so earnest and
Dxed in his own mind, was very remarkable ; and the
whole seemed so evenly balanced, that while he was not

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John Mackintosh.

only fair, but sympathetic towards all men, there ap-,
peared no symptom of that weakness and uncertainty
of thought often visible in those whose sympathies are
stronger than their heads. Akin to this was his power
of entering into works the ablest, and to many men the
most perplexing, without harm. One summer while he
was in Edinburgh, I remember he went carefully through
Kant's Religion within the Limits of Reason. Few
books, I imagine, would be more unsettling to most
young men ; but though he read it with much attention,
and seemed thoroughly to perceive its bearings, it did
not seem to cast even a momentary cloud over his clear
spirit. This may h.ave been, in part, no doubt, because
the turn of his mind was not speculative ; but much
more, I believe, because religious faith was in him no
longer matter of mere opinion and discussion, but
rooted there, where no reasonings of men could
shake it. "

* In those years, when I used to meet him in Edin-
burgh or elsewhere, there are some days which stand
out with peculiar vividness in my memory. One sum-
mer he retired to Queensferry for a time, to combine
more undisturbed study with pure air and a pleasant
neighbourhood. His days were there divided between
his books and solitary walks among the woods and
grounds of Hopetoun and Dalmeny, enjoying the grand
views they command up the Forth to the Perthshire
Highlands, and downward to the German Ocean.
Twice I rode over from Houston, and spent an after-
noon with him. One of these times he took me into
the park of Dalmeny, to a shady terrace, which was a
favourite haunt of his ; and there we walked up and
down for long in earnest talk. He then accompanied

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me for some way on my road homeward. The thought
of that evening brings strongly to mind the depth and
tenderness of his sympathy for all his friends' anxieties,
whether outward or inward. In freeness it was liker a
woman's than a man's sympathy. And there was a
healing for the griefs of others in the pureness of the
mind that opened to share them. Another time we
met, and whiled away part of a summer afternoon on
the high pastures of Midhope, looking over the Firth of
Forth. Then we made the bum our guide, and let it
lead us from the open grass fields, down through its
deep woody glen, past the antique house of Midhope,
till it reaches the salt sea-water. Tennyson was among
our other thoughts that day, and we chanted to each
other that beautiful melody of his —

** Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea—
Thy tribute wave u<j;' .ci."

We knew not then how truly that burden applied : —

" No more by thee our steps shall be,
For ever and for ever."

But no shadow passed over that afternoon ; it was alto-
gether a bright one, and is as bright in retrospect as it
was when present. Afterward he wrote to me saying
how much he had enjoyed it, and enclosing some feeling
verses of his own. I would have sent them to you, but
I cannot now recover them.

* Those visits which I used to pay to you twice yearly
at Dalkeith Manse, were generally in company with
John Mackintosh. We went together and left together;
and as we returned to Edinburgh, the feeling was shared
and expressed by both, that there were few things so
full of refreshing as these visits. One Sunday morning
in winter, I specially remember we had set our tryst at

John Mackintoslu

a certain spot, a little way from Edinburgh, whence we
walked leisurely thr \ by-roads to Dalkeith- The
morning was very caLi., and his spirit was in keeping
with the quiet of the time, and seemed to lead others
insensibly to share his own serenity.

* It must have been one of our last times of meeting,
that I went on a summer day to find him in his lodg-
ings, hoping to spend some hours with him. He told
me that he was going that evening to the West Port, to
hear Dr. Chalmers speak to the working people about
the church which he was building for them in the heart
of that unsightly district. We went together through
lanes and closes, foul with all uncleanness, till we found
ourselves in the loft of a large tannery. That low-
roofed noisome loft was crowded with the poorest in-
habitants of that poor neighbourhood, who had come
together from their work or their garret just as *hey
were. At the head of the low-roofed dingy room stood
the venerable man, his hair more white, and his body
feebler than of old, but with energy unabated, speaking
to these unlettered people not in his usual copious elo-
quence, but with a direct homeliness of speech, such as
the poorest could understand. He told them how he
had got that church built, that others had subscribed
much, but that they must give some help themselves ;
that others might well assist them, but that they should
not suffer everything to be done for them ; that he would
not, even if he could, get the church completed, till
they had given him each what they could. From this
he branched off to speak of self-help in general, of
masters and employers, adding maxims of thrift and
practical political economy, moral advice, and reli-
gious exhortation, all naturally blended together, and all

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warmed by the most open brotherly heart for those he
was addressing. It was the last time I remember to
have seen Dr. Chalmers, and one ot the last surely that
I was with John Mackintosh. After this I must have
been with him at least once — the Christmas before he
left Scotland. But I cannot recall anything special that
then took place. Neither, strange to say, can I now
remember the time of our last parting, so little thought
had I it was to be our last. When I heard that he was
going abroad, I wrote to ask him to visit me here on
his way. But soon I learned that he had gone to Lon-
don by sea, on that continental tour from which he did
not return,'

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John Mackintosh^

CHAPTER IV.

Home and Happioess — ^Winter of 1843 in Edinburgh — ^The Continent
— Heidelberg — Letter from Rev. Mr. Macintyre.

The summer and autumn (1843), from July to No-
vember, were spent in his much-loved home, Geddes.
He enjoyed much out-door exercise, 'riding a great
deal,' and making many excursions to scenes of beauty
in the society of cheerful friends. He records in his
Diary, with great gratitude again and again, 'what a
happy time * he spent ; * how serene and sunny ! ' In
September he set off on foot, by himself, through the
wilds of Ross-shire. Here is a leaf from this tour : —

' Saturday^ Oct. 7. — Started at eight, and walked up
banks of Loch Monar to the furthest extremity, about
five miles, during half of which enjoyed a road, after-
wards but a track. The day set in stormy ; and sqene
grand and imposing. Took Highland gamekeeper as
guide, and sallied across hills for Grantown on Loch
Carron. The streams were swollen into strong rivers,
and we had to ford several not without danger. After
taking me two-thirds of the way, the poor man left me,
thinking I could easily follow the track ; but, ere ten
minutes elapsed, I could not distinguish it from the
thousand rills that furrowed the mountain side. On I
sped, in what I thought the direction ; but there was no
sun to mark the west, and after ascending and de-

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scending, crossing torrents and morasses, till my
strength was spent, amid battering rain and wind,
there appeared no alternative but to spend the night,
which was fast drawing in, upon the dismal mountain.
Strange to say, however, I continued to hope against
hope ; and just as I was sitting down, entirely done up,
I descried a shepherd boy as if dropped from heaveiL
With much persuasion he approached me, and by signs
— for he spoke only Gaelic — I explained my wishes,
and he led me to a shepherd's hut, in a gorge, concealed
from sight. I welcomed it as though it had been a
palace ; and yet the hardships were considerable — a hut
with two rooms — about a dozen inhabitants ; for there
was a gathering of shepherds for sheep-smearing, and
the English of the whole would scarcely make up one
Sassenach. A dog to each shepherd, always in the most
comfortable place, busy scratching ; add to this, an
atmosphere of reek that was almost palpable. All, how-
ever, vied in supplying my wants — and what would such
hospitality not cover 1 Some cakes, porridge and milk,
with a little mountain-dew, formed my supper; and I
then retired to the sleeping-room, where a whole bed
was assigned to me. It was too bad, as it turned out, to
deprive them of it, for I never closed an eye — heather
and dried grass, under a blanket, composed the mattress,
and my carcase was soon mapped out for the denizens
of the heather, in a manner creditable to them but ex-
cruciating to me. I sallied out at midnight, and drank
the calm rapture of the quiet sky ; and the intense sleep
that lay upon the lonely hills, while the hoarse raving of
the stream below sung their lullaby, and only enhanced
the universal repose.'

On his way home he visited Mr. Stewart of Cromarty,

John Mackintosh^

for whom, with all who knew him, he entertained the
greatest admiration. * I sat up with him,' he writes, * till
one A.M., and spent a delightful evening. We had a
charming "crack" next morning after breakfast.' -

In November, John Mackintosh went to Edinburgh,
and enrolled himself as a student of divinity in con-
nexion with the Free Church; entering the classes of
Hebrew (Dr. Duncan), Church History (Dr. Welsh),
and Theology (Dr. Chalmers). In addition to his
labours in College, he undertook — as a member of an
association, formed among his fellow-students, for home-
mission work — to visit a district in the old town in con-
nexion with Mr. Elder's congregation. He became also
a member of the ' Speculative Society ' — a literary re-
union for debate and essay-writing, which, during its
existence for nearly a century, has had the most distin-
guished men enrolled among its members, while pursu-
ing their studies in our Scottish metropolis.

'^Jan. I, 1844. — Rose at four, and spent some time
in devotion, seeking to dedicate myself and all I have
anew to the service of Christ, and imploring his Spirit to
direct me in everything. At eight walked out to visit
at Dalkeith ; magnificent frosty morning, and en-
joyed many pleasant thoughts.

''Jan. 9, — To-day I enter on my 23d year. The
thought appals me ; so old, and hitherto so unprofit-
able. Many have entered into glory at this age, after
much service in their Master's vineyard. I do not de-
sire to hurry myself into the work, yet what ample field
for serving God is and has been before me even in my
preliminary course ! May the Lord give me strength to
improve it better than I have done ! I seek to be more
habitually mindful of my high vocation.

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*/an. 21. — At six to prayer-meeting at St. Leonards.
May the Lord water our meeting, and make us a bless-
ing to the district. Came home very despondent of my
being able to address a meeting. The thought that I
have made myself over to the Lord, and that therefore
it is His concern, who can and will give me all neces-
sary strength, comforted me entirely, and until I fell
asleep my frame of self-renunciation continued.

^/an. 30. — Read essay at Speculative, on " Life and
Writings of Samuel Johnson." Praised ; but I knew its
merits better. I was much ashamed to read it before
the Society. »

^ March 17, Sunday. — To-day I have had a silent
Sabbath. May my visitation be blessed to me, and
lead me to hold nearer communion with God, and so
cultivate close intercourse with Him, through the Spirit,
however numerous my studies and engagements may be.
In this I have come far short of my duty this winter.

' Blessed be His name for all His mercies. I read of
many cut off recently after short illness. May my life
be spared for the advancement of His glory.'

About this time I received from him the following
characteristic note : —

*9, Wemyss Place, Monday.
* My dear Norman, — I yearn to see you. Shall you
be at home on Thursday ? If so, expect me to break-
fast. I should have been out long ago, but unfortu-
nately arranged to go ^vith Baldy ; but, of course, when
I could come, he couldn't, and vice versd, as always
happens in such cases. I have in vain tried to see him
to-day ; but if I can, shall bring him on Thursday. I
think I shall one day die of suppression, if this kind of

yohn Mackintosh,

isolation goes on, with no one " like-minded " to whom
I may confide joys, sorrows, and, in short, my whole
souL I sometimes think it unkind of you, that you
never come near me, and take no more thought of me
than if I were blotted, as I deserve to be, out of exist-
ence ; but I suppose I oughtn't, and you may be saying
the same of me. Certainly my tendrils, which were
made to entwine, are beginning to coil into themselves,
so that, perhaps, the discipline may be good in convert-
ing my ivy disposition into that of the oak. I don't
know.

* Well, I was at Glasgow last week, and have left my
whole heart with the Ramsays and your mother, so that
it must be bigger than I thought it was. I do envy
them in Glasgow. Sorry I missed you to-day, for, on
being told you were to be in town, I poked into the
coach-office, and Dalkeith coaches, in quest of yoa

* Don't scold me as querulous for the above ; but I
have been hunting all day for some creature to lavish
my affections on, and have been obliged to bring them
home unsuccessful, and consume them myself But I
mean to heave anchor soon, and go home. — Your affec-
tionate, John.'

After partaking of the communion in connexion with
the congregation of his much-valued friend, the Rev.
Charles Brown, he says, ' O may this season be a rally*
ing-point May the Lord give me grace to cultivate
closer communion with Himself. My very studies suffer
instead of gaining by time which should not be given to
them ; and alas ! instead of leading others in the right
way, my own conversation takes the stamp of theirs.
Evening, to the prayer-meeting — many there ; and tried

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to speak on a passage from Scripture. I endeavoured
to surrender myself to God, and so my anxiety
vanished.*

And thus the winter passed in works and labours of
love, and in growth of grace ; but before it ended, he
had a short and severe illness (alluded to in the above
Diary), and resolved that, with spring, he should once
more visit the Continent.

Like an arrow springing from a bow bent to its utmost,
he left Edinburgh early in April, with a light and merry
heart, once more to cross the Channel.

* April 17. — Sailed at three for London, neither elated
nor depressed. I am becoming prematurely old, so that
changes little affect me. The mercury too of my com-
position is at preset low. Agreeable companion on
board, who lent me M^Cheyne^s Memoirs — a feast which
I devoured. O for grace to follow him, as he followed
Christ !

^ April 19. — Arrived after beautiful passage at twelve.
The repose of the Thames at the Mart of Nations, and
laden with their crafts, was to me most romantic, and

almost oppressive. Had to remain till 's carriage

arrived. • Sat on deck under a glorious sky, and read
aloud Epistle of St. Peter, with meditation of Him who
had brought us in safety ; and before entering London —
the world epitomized.

^AprU 23. —

*• Though I go CO *stamboul,
Scotland holds my heart and soul."

*The winter is past; one of laborious and somewhat
harassing occupation, and though jaded with illness
and anxiety, with a light head, and for me a heavy
purse, I wend my way for a summer in Germany. In

yohn Mackintosh,

this I believe that I am actuated by a desire to become

familiar with other languages, with the customs and

institutions of different nations, and especially their

universities, and to receive unbroken leisure for study

and meditation. In all this God may, and by His grace

will be glorified. I have taken with me Butler, Leland's

Deistical Writers, and other text-books in theology,

which, with Hebrew, shall form my principal study. I

am provided by Dr. Chalmers, Dr. Welsh, and Sir

William Hamilton, with some introductions to German

professors, and literati, so that I shall not be altogether

friendless, if

— " Sick for home^
I stand in tears amid the alien com."

He remained abroad till the month of August, residing
chiefly in Heidelberg, where he enrolled himself as a
student with Lewald, Professor of Church History.

* Ostend, April 24. — Embarked last night, as the vessel

sailed at two this morning. Wrote letters to and

and then retired to a broken slumber, in a choky

cabin, quite full of roosters. To-day exquisite, the sea
like a pond, and at four p.m. we arrived at Ostend-
**Once more I tread the continental shores."

*I hoped for this against hope, yet had a presentiment,
when I quitted them before, it should not be for ever.
No man ever wrote <?«^book, I argued with myself; and,
analogously, no man ever tasted the sweets of foreign
travel once, and once for all. My dream has been
realized. My heart beats high with a thousand thoughts,
associations, memories of the actual and the spiritual
world. The prevailing fragrance rises from the recol-
lection of the honeymoon of my life, which I passed
with Professor Forbes. Therefore, O Ostend, plain as

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thou mayest be in the hand-book's eyes, — ^to my soul-
book, thou art more beautiful than tongue can tell. . . .

*I am alone. O how I hope to revel in solitude!
My passion for the romantic maid was ever great, but
never have I enjoyed such an opportunity of wooing
her. The Recluse or Zimmermann's sweet book on
Solitude (I never read it, but if it be not sweet on such
a subject, the author should be chained to a tree or a
wife all his days) shall be but tame to my spiritual feast
To mingle freely with the natives will not break my
spell, but, for my own countrymen, my motto shall be,
" Anglus sum, et omnem Anglum a me alienum puto."
With a low bow — a salS,m, and then a fond embrace to
solitude, I conclude this Journal.

'^ April 25. — Took early train, and passing through
level but highly cultivated country " with whose sweet
orchard blooms the soft winds play" at this exulting
season of the year, I arrived at Bruges, to breakfast A
few days ago the mercury of my composition stood very
low, the blood refused to permeate my veins ; now all is
" life, and splendour, and joy." " The light has returned
to my eyes, and they dance like boys in a festival." This
energy must not be wasted. Let me agonize at German
and other studies in the serene evenings I enjoy after a
laborious day of sight-seeing. In Bruges, I am a denizen
of the Middle Ages — in short, a middle-aged gentleman,
tenanting the corpus^ we shall say, of some fat burgher
with a pipe half a mile long, and a purse without any
end. Of course I have no sympathy with the present
Brugensians. They could have no part in these fine old
Gothic structures ; on the contrary, wherever they can,
they show their degenerate taste for square unmeaning-
looking houses like themselves. Middle-aged ladies to

fit

yohn Mackintosh,

keep me company there are none, but plenty pretty girls

with regular features and eyes of jet flashing from under

their silken snoods. The priests were right in describing

as famous, " formosis Bruga puellis." For description of

the town, I need do no more than set my seal to

Murray's account I conclude with a free translation of

Horace's line —

"O matre pulchrl, filia pulchrior.**
•* Bruges, thou art fair; but fairer still thy face, daughter of Bruges.'*

• 4pril 26. —

**Hail, town of Ghent, time-honour'd Manchester!
Hail, town of Ghent, the Belgian Manchester I "

For this full bathos in comparing antique and romantic
Ghent to a city of tallow-chandlers like Manchester,
thank Murray, not me. Spent from "mom to dewy
eve" enjoying a similar feast to that of yesterday. But
who shall tell the ecstasies of that eve ! My hotel is in
the Place d'Armes, and my windows open upon it.
Long after the bright star of evening had taken his
watch in the sky, I wandered like one entranced, " while
every passing zephyr whispered joy;" and ever and
anon the quaint old chimes of the cathedral, "most
musical, most melancholy," broke the silence, but only
enhanced my waking dream. " The measure of my soul
was filled with bliss." I seemed to dissolve into spirit,
and to take my place as a steadfast portion of the
influence which surrounded me.

*Dr. Johnson's rule would probably apply here.
Whenever you think you have written something un-
usually fine, draw your pen through it. All I mean to
say is, that this evening, in the firm of Mackintosh, the
material appeared to form a very junior member of the
concern. This is it in right Manchester phrase.

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* Sunday, April 28. — (Aix-la-Chapelle.)—

•* How many thousands on this day are wending
Through Scotland's glens and mountain-paths their way
Towards spire and tower, 'mid shadowy elm ascending,
Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallow' d day 1
I may not tread with them those pathways."

* My first Sabbath abroad ! It is refreshing, amid
the laxity of foreign observance, to turn the thoughts
homewards, where, with all our shortcomings, God has
not yet given us over to a general and shameless breach
of the fourth commandment. This feature abroad has
shocked many, who yet knew little or nothing of the
blessedness of a Christian Sabbath, when spiritually ob-
served. Does my feeling proceed merely from habit or
sentimentalism 1 I think I have tasted somewhat of
the promised reward annexed to this duty, and there-
fore grieve that this people should be so blind to their
best interests ; but I am sadly deficient in jealousy for
the Lord God of hosts, my Lord and Father, who has
challenged this day as his own. Do Thou give me
more of the spirit of the Psalmist, that " rivers of waters
may run down mine eyes, because they keep not Thy
laws."

* The thought occurs to me sometimes — are we right
in Scotland in desiring a strict observance of the Sab-
bath, and, generally, in the shape which religion assumes
with us, which even with some of the better Protestants
abroad would be termed mysticism 1 I speak, of course,
of spiritual religion at home. After bursting, as far as
possible, the shackles of habit and prejudice, and view-
ing the matter in the light of Scripture example and
precept, as well as in that of reason, I am abundantly
satisfied that we are right, and that any attempt at a

John Mackintosh.

9«

religion below this standard, be it recommended by
bishop, statesman, or savant, must be vain and unsatist-
factory. If religion, hearty love to God in Christ, with
all those spiritual graces which it implies, be not
wrought into the spirit of man by the Spirit of God,
it is nothing at all ; and yet I suspect this would be
called mysticism by many Protestant divines abroad,
and by some at home, though not perhaps in so many
words. I say " suspect," because I wish it otherwise,
end have had too slender opportunities of knowing it to
be true. My clean retired room, in the quiet hotel
court, with my Bible, Winslow (a choice book), and
Owen, was enough to make me forget the surrounding
profanity, and to dwell in the secret place of the Most
High, under the shadow of the Almighty.

** Sweet is the breath of Sabbath eve,

And soft the sunbeams lingering there ;
These sacred hours this low earth leave,
Wafted on wings of praise and prayer."

* Sunday, May 5. — (Mannheim.) — Never shall I for-
get that evening, in the gardens by the river-side, long
after the stars had come out in the silent sky, while the
myriad-minded river itself bore burden to my thoughts,
more myriad-minded still. What soul was mine ! At-
tuned it was in unison with the Sabbath eve, and
while long it could find no utterance in words, it at
length found vent in repeating the Apostles' Creed,
and this alone, every word of which seemed fraught
with a new meaning, and almost lay on my mind like a
substance.

* May 6. — (Heidelberg.) — My windows command an
enchanting prospect far down the course of the Neckar,
and terminated in the distant west by the Vosges moun-

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tains of France, whose dreamy outline of blue transports
my soul into another world. Beyond them, almost in a
direct line westward, is Paris ; and were I disposed to
be romantic, there might be something in the thought,
and some appropriateness in the song, " O' a' the airts
the wind can blaw ; " but it is not so. There is one
sublimer consideration which overwhelms all others,
and that is, that ray windows are looking towards Jeru-
salem, or Scotland, and every evening the glorious sun
sets right in the direction of the beloved hallowed land,
surrounding it visibly with that halo with which to my
mind it is invested, and bearing to it, at this solemn
season of her Assembly, my fervent, spirit-drawn prayers.
Never can I forget the sweet solitude of these rooms,
and yet not so solitary as to be irksome, for I enjoy the
novel and noiseless traffic of the river, and the busy
thoroughfare of the Frankfort road on its farther bank,
visible, but inaudible from its distance. Never can I
forget the sober and contemplative evenings, and yet
not sober, for the joy of the climate and the scene
amounted to an ecstasy. I shall here record an outline
of my day's disposal ; and " ab uno disce omnes." Rise
sometimes at four, but occasionally later. Read and
meditate on the Scriptures with prayer till six; when
breakfast d rAnglaise; study German and Hebrew;
read with master ; attend lectures in the University till
twelve. Read and meditate till dinner at one, in
Museum with the students, after which read the news-
papers, German, French, and English {Times and
Galignant) for a short time. I then return home and
study history and theology (Thierry's Norman Conquest
in French, and Butler), for two or three hours, till five ;
after which I bid farewell to study for the day, and

yohn Mackintosh

sally forth to enjoy the evening coolness, in walking
among the beautiful environs of the place alone, or,
more generally now, in company with some fellow-
students and others whose society I much enjoy. My
bow is then unstrung, and for the time being I adopt
the sentiment of Wordsworth —

** The impulse fi'^m a vernal wood
May teach you more of man—
Of moral evil, and of good,
Than all the sages can."

At all events it conduces very much to my improvement
in German conversation ; at nine, when the shades of
evening fall more heavily on the plain, I retire ; and
after closing the day as I began it, in meditation on the
Alpha and Omega, I commend myself to His care who
slumbereth not nor sleepeth, and fall asleep to the
lullaby of whispering winds, and the river murmuring
beneath my window.

' Sometimes, for variety, when the weather is cool, I
take my contemplative, i.e., my walk after dinner, and
thus reserve my evening for study and meditation at the
open casement of my room, when balmiest thoughts
float or frolic in my mind, and the whole measure of
my soul is filled with bliss. The following lines are a
faint echo of those thoughts, fragrant of myrrh and aloes
and cassia, but incommunicable, which I penned under
the influence of the scene —

** Place me in some westering tower, *

Where, at the thoughtful twilight hour,
' I may see the car of day

Majestically roll away.
While on his footsteps star-bedight,
. . Slowly ascends grey -hooded night }

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And bright Hesperus on high
Glimmers clear and silently I
Alone of all the starry train
In the unfathomable plain ;
While the river, broad and deep^
E'en in its mo«:ion seems to sleep,
Well pleased upon its breast, I ween,
To bear that star of wondrous sheen ;
While the hills increasing seem,
Like phantoms in a waking dream." '

In the same buoyant and joyous strain is every Diary
at this time on the Continent The healthy body now
seconded the healthy soul, and both rejoiced 1

Partly from curiosity, and anxious to drink a little of
the spirit of the Burschen life, he attended one of those
burlesque scenes — a duel with swords, several of which
were fought every week by the students ; but are by no
means so very deadly as those encounters which, under
the same name, were once so common in our own land.
* Picture to yourself,' he writes, * two ugly rascals con-
fronting each other, with long padded trousers reaching
up to their middle, their right arm bound with padded
bandages to such an extent, that during the intervals
of fighting they must be supported by a friend ; their
neck protected by a cravat (not hempen) similarly
padded, and a long snouted cap drawn over their head
and concealing the upper part of the face \ such, and so
bedight, were the heroes on whom all eyes were con-
centrated. So much for defensive armour. The wea-
pons of offence were long, narrow, sharp rapiers, sharp
enough to cut, and blunt enough to make a very
awkward wound. Behind each combatant stood his
second, in many respects similarly equipped. The
second is always one pf the leading men of the respec-

John Mackintosh,

tive corps, and a good swordsraan. Around stand the
spectators, of course all students or privileged persons
like myself. At the word of command, the German of
which I forget, but, ItecapellcB — "Go it, ye cripples !" —
will serve the purpose ; a noisy scuffle ensues for about
two seconds, when the supporters interfere with the
word " Halt ! " and the principals drop their swords ;
this is repeated for twenty-four rounds, as the case may
be, of which note is kept by the umpire. How any
damage is done in this mimic warfare, illustrating the
proverb of " Much cry and little wool," or " Much ado
about nothing," might well afford matter of much as-
tonishment; but yet two students out of three have
traces of wounds in all parts of their face — a badge of
distinction, it seems, in many cases retained through
life. Chacun h son goUt!

Soon after, he enjoyed a meeting of a very different
description, and one more congenial to his tastes.

^June lo. — On Sunday I went as usual, to the English
service, at eleven, in the Museum. I was seated near
the door, and had not been engaged long before a
family entered, the sight of whom was so unexpected
that at first I could scarcely believe my eyes. It was
none other than Dr. and Mrs. Duncan, from whom I had
long expected to hear ; but failing to do so, I had at
length given up all hopes of seeing them, in what, as
regards congenial spirits, may be called " the house of
my pilgrimage." What joy was mine once more to
worship with him ! The place became to me the gate
of heaven, and my recollections of it are hallowed ever
since. My heart overflowed with gratitude to God, the
Giver of every mercy. The preacher had occasion, in
his sermon, to define the object and end of baptism.

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The Doctor's head bowed involuntarily at the end of
each proposition \ and when the whole was concluded^
without any reference to baptismal regeneration or the
like, except in way of condemnation, an Amen of appro-
bation and satisfaction proceeded audibly from his lips.
It was very characteristic of the embodied " Confession
of Faith."

* The remainder of the afternoon I spent in their com-
pany, listening with astonishment and gratitude to an
account of the wonderful things God is doing for the
beloved Church of our fathers, which, in the midst of
much tribulation, He is yet visiting with such peculiar
favour. The spirit of humiliation and self-abasement,
which I understand to be more abundantly felt through-
out its borders, is the most eminent token of good we
could have, both for the stability and wellbeing of the
Church of Scotland itself — for our living in charity and
brotherly love with those who differ from us — for heal-
ing the divisions of our beloved native land. O may the
Lord bless the whole Church, and especially His own
office-bearers, that they may be faithful watchmen on the
walls of Zion, living in His presence, and drawing from
the fountain of life, rivers of grace to be imparted to all
the people ! O may He bless and multiply all who love
the I ord Jesus, and hasten the coming of His glorious
kingdom. Amen.

* After worship in the Hotel, I left them and repaired
to Professor Tiedemann's, Vine Hill, where I was intro-
duced to Professors UUmann, Umbreit, and Rothe.
There were others there, but I confined my attention
principally to them, and enjoyed some very pleasant
conversation, conducted, of course, in German. Their
kindness to me was very great I obtained Professor

John Mackintosh,

Umbreit's leave to introduce Dr. Duncan to him next
morning, and was invited by the others to visit them,
which I was anxious to do, and accomplished soon
afterwards. Next morning I accompanied Dr. D. at
seven o'clock, to hear Director Rothe lecture ; and at
nine, to visit Umbreit. The reception was most cordial.
The conversation turned chiefly on the Oriental Lan-
guages — Professor Umbreit speaking German, and Dr.
D. Latin, which he does with great beauty and accuracy.
They appeared to harmonize very much in their views
of the subjects discussed, and after an hour's interview
we departed, Umbreit having presented Dr. D. with
one of his works recently published ; and the Doctor
having obtained permission to correspond with him on
the common subject of their professorship. ...

* Dr. UUmann's opinion (of the Free Church), in com-
mon with that of most others of the German divines, is
in admiration of the men, but in disapprobation of their
proceedings. Were it otherwise, I should be much
astonished ; their own ecclesiastical position being still
more Erastian than that of the Church of England, and
the principle on which the Establishment was rejected,
appearing very naturally of minor importance, when
compared with their own matters of controversy, which
are the very elements of Christianity. But in how far
their own fearful heterodoxies and doctrinal anarchy is
to be attributed to this very cause — the want of ecclesi-
astical discipline and freedom — is a question pregnant
with significance and moment.

* Week the 'jth. — On Monday visited Professor Rothe,
and had an interesting conversation with him. I read
to him Dr. Chalmers's letter to me, in which, among
other things, he asks me to ascertain In what esteem

m
in! It

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Stapferus, Maestricht, Pictetus, and the elder Turretine,
are held by the divines in Heidelberg; and also the
names of such German authors as are in greatest request
among them. To the former question I understood
him to reply, with some na'ivetk, that the above-
mentioned books were out of date, and almost un-
known among them. To the second query, he kindly
furnished me with the following names : — " Storr,
Schleiermacher^ Twesten, Nitzsch, Hahn, etc. ; Rationalist
— Wegscheider, Bretschneider, Hase ; Speculative —
Marheinecke, Strauss." '

Mackintosh left Heidelberg at the end of June ; and
after parting with the Reitz family, and many friends, he
writes : — * 1 then crossed the bridge, took a last view of
my windows, as I drove along the road I had so often
witnessed from them; and finally, bade a long and
sorrowful adieu to Heidelberg, as the turn of the road
at Neuenheim concealed it from my sight. It has been
the witness these two months of many hopes and fears,
joys and sorrows ; a little sadness no doubt at first,
from being among a strange people, and unable to com-
municate with them easily; yet, on the whole, what
goodness and mercy and enjo)niient, temporal and spiri-
tual, have I to record 1 Lord, fill my heart with grati-
tude, and whatever I have learned that may tend to Thy
glory, enable me to retain and improve.'

I received from him the following letter while on Ws
tour, after leaving Heidelberg :—

* Erb-prinz, Weimar, July 24, 1844.
*My dear Norman, — My heart leaps up at the
thought of writing you, and this too al Weimar the birth-
place of your soul. While I write, my spirit is " baud

yohn Mackintosh,

praeter solitum" at Dalkeith, and while you read your
spirit will doubtless be at Weimar, and therefore I have
been particular in giving you the very spot from which
I indite this. O Norman, I have seen Sabbath sights
and inhaled spiritual feasts since we parted that evening,
which are to dream of, not to be, and all this too " with
no one near, to whom I might confess the things I saw !"
Whether this added to the charm or not I leave you to
judge ; but this I know, there is but one I can think of
whose presence would have enhanced instead of breaking
the spell, and that is you, for we should have had but
one existence between us — and that part and parcel of
the witchery around. I consider Weimar the crowning
point of all ; it is indeed a most love-worthy place, fit
paradise for the mighty dead. Haunted as it is by the
shades of the departed, there was another shade that
haunted me still more powerfully, for here it was that
"joyous Norman loved and sang." I visited your old
house before that of Goethe and Schiller ! The landlord
was delighted to hear of you, and sends you his hearty
greeting. I soon found my way to Dr. Weisenbom,
who still lives. This forenoon I had the Doctor all to
myself. He is quite a trump, and has the same loving
recollection of you which you have of him. No trouble
was too great for him to undertake for your sake, and,
accordingly, under his agreeable auspices I saw all the
mark-worthiness of Weimar, from the Grand Duke
upwards, or rather downwards. He has made me the
bearer of a letter to you, which in due time I hope to
deliver to you at your own fireside, along with the other
boiler full of suppressed remarks with which I am
ready to burst I

*And now I must give you a brief sketch of my previous

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doings in Germany, premising that delighted as I have

been I almost reproach myself I did not come here at

first Well then, in the first instance, I journeyed

leisurely through Belgium, enjoying at every pore the

wonders of its cities, and almost fancying myself a

middle-aged gentleman. I cannot describe to you how

the blood shot through my veins from the first hour I

set foot on the Continent. For some time before it had

been very stagnant, but now it was like the breaking up

of the winter's ice. On reaching the Rhine I halted a

few days at Bonn, and presented my introductions, with

several of which I had furnished myself from Dr. Welsh

and Sir William Hamilton to different Universities in

Germany, that I might not be altogether friendless, if ,

*• Sick for home,
I stand in tears amid the alien corn."

* From Bonn I passed to Heidelberg, and spent there
six weeks of unalloyed happiness. My rooms were on
the banks of the Neckar, with a glorious view down its
course, terminated in the horizon by the blue dreamy
outline of the Vosges mountains of France. There was
something to me in the thought that in that very direc-
tion lay Paris, something which would tickle you I know,
but still more in the thought that my windows were
looking towards (my) Jerusalem, and that every evening
the glorious sun bore thither my behests. I mixed very
much with the students, and found them, under a wild
exterior, above average gentlemanly and kind. I
attended lectures three times a day, and sometimes
more, German as a living language being yet to learn.
I rose betimes — ^the shepherds of Persia were not earlier
abroad ; and thus, between study and relaxation, to say
I lived in ecstasy would be too tame a word. I pitied

John Mackintosh*

loi

mes
:am.
rlier

Csesar ; often during this time I wished to write to you
but did not, and I daresay you have abused me for it
before now ; why not, I don't know, but from experience
you must be aware that the seat of such procrastination
is the liver, and not the heart Towards the end of my
stay I made a short excursion with Dr. Duncan, who
visited me on his way to Pesth, to Carlsruhe, and
Stuttgart (I thought of writing you thence), and so home
by Heilbronn and the Neckar. On leaving Heidelberg,
I visited Baden-Baden, a spot that must have dropped
ready-made from the third heaven ; then back to Frank-
fort, and on foot through the charming Brunnens of
Nassau to Coblenz and Bonn. At Bonn I remained a
fortnight, and as at Heidelberg made the acquaintance
of most of the theological professors. The kindness of
one and all is something marvellous. My dear Norman,
my heart is too big for utterance of all I think of this
extraordinary people. In the first place, there is some-
thing singularly beautiful in the brotherhood, the sort of
freemasonry of letters that exists among these sages who
are scattered all over Germany, almost as thickly as
"the mild assemblage of the starry heaven." Is Dr.
Neander sick at Berlin ? His greatest literary antagonist
in the most remote south mourns over it as a brother.
The wildest student is as proud of a Neander or a Nitzsch,
and respects him as much as he does Goethe or Schiller.
I fear it is not so with us. The John Bull of Germany
is a large square-headed man, with a face like a great torn
cat's, and smoked as dry as a Finnan haddock ; a cap,
a surtout or Mongol greatcoat reaching near his heels,
and pipe sticking out of his mouth or his pocket This
character I like pre-eminently. He is what is very rare
with us — a thinking maa But this nonsense should not

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have been put on paper. From Bonn I crossed by
Coblenz to the valley of Giessen and Cassel, Gottingen,
Eisenach, Erfurt, Weimar; thence to Lena, Leipsic,
Dresden; and this sheet is written on my return to
Leipsic. I now go (d.v.) to Halle, Berlin, and thence
make the best of my way home. Sweet word — an
epitome of all that knits me to earth, of which you are
a link.*

He spent his autumn at Geddes in health and joy.

*Geddes, Sept. 27, 1844.

* My dearest Aunt, — I received your delightful letter
with great pleasure, and I trust profit. It is stimulating
in the midst of our own lethargy in Christ's service, to
hear of one so greatly made over to Him as you describe
my dear pastor to be. After all, I am convinced that
half-measures in religion are most unsatisfactory, that
there are also more of those half-measures in our dedica-
tion of heart and life to Christ than we are ourselves
aware of; and that the full flood of Christian joy and
consolation can never be reached by us, until we become
as it were dead to ourselves, and Christ alone lives in
us. For this blessed state I long and pray, knowing its
sweetness from the experience of others, and some
slight but precious glimpses I may have had of it myself.
I cannot but think that the atmosphere I am now in is
not the most favourable for making such attainments ;
and yet I blame no one but myself, for I have multitudes
of privileges. I have such redundant spirits when sur-
rounded, after a long and far absence, by my dear family,
that I shall sympathize more for the future with those
whose natural spirits are always such ; and who, from
this cause, cannot know so much of the broken and

yohn Mackintosh,

103

contrite heart as those whom the Lord is pleased to
chasten more. I once thought them enviable, but I do
not any more. You have now, perhaps, little acquaint-
ance with the state of which I speak; and that it is
otherwise should form, believe me, no small portion of
your song ot praise. At the same time, there is a
spiritual buoyancy, such as bright and holy Joseph
AUeine felt, which is the best state of all, and the
Christian's portion.*

The Rev. Mr. Macintyre, now minister of the Free
Church, Monikie, has kindly furnished me with the fol-
lowing reminiscences of John during the period in which
he studied in the New College, Edinburgh : —

* It was during the four years he spent at the New
College that I became acquainted with him, and had
opportunities of intercourse with him. It has often been
matter of grateful recollection that these opportunities
were frequent, and such as in time to beget friendship.
What afforded them was not merely our being members
of the same classes, but also of the same societies,
literary and sacred, of which the members of necessity
come into close contact Mr. M. belonged to several
of these, and took a great interest in them, especially
those whose object was the mutual religious improve-
ment of the students. He was a deeply interested and
active member of the Students' Missionary Association,
of which he was eventually made President ; and when
he had associated with him in the direction several of
his intimate friends. If I remember rightly, Mr. Rainy
of Huntly, Mr. Carlile of Brechin, Mr. Ker of Deskford,
Mr. Lundie of Birkenhead, Mr. Sandeman, and others
of his friends, were then on its committee ; and as its

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business brought them frequently together, so their
meeting seemed to cement their friendship. For,
indeed, it was the noble and rare quality of Mr. M.,
that the more he was known the more he was esteemed
and loved. The most frequent and familiar intercourse
never seemed to disclose anything that tended to
diminish either the admiration or affection with which
his friends regarded him. At all times he was found to
be the devout Christian, the warm friend, and the superior
man.

* I suppose his friends will all agree in this, that of all
the students of his time there was probably not one
that combined the two characters of the humble and
devoted Christian and the ardent scholar so completely.
It was manifest that he prosecuted his studies with
great zeal and success, by the earnest attention he
always gave to the lectuies and exercises of the class ;
by the care with which he husbanded the time ; by his
anxiety to improve conversation to useful purposes ;
and by the ripe knowledge he showed of many of the
subjects of study. But this ardent success never seemed
to chill the fervour of his spiritual affections, or lower
the tone of his piety. He seemed to make it his busi-
ness to give heed to our Lord's injunction, to seek first
the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and not to
allow anything to interfere with the interests and duties of
spiritual religion. He once told me of a practice he fre-
quently adopted, when he felt the desk becoming too
engrossing, or when he felt the dust and drought of any
occupation not strictly religious gathering upon his spirit,
which was, to shut his books, and take a long walk into
the country alone; and endeavour by meditation an?"
ejaculatory prayer to bring his soul into a healthy state,

John Mackintosh,

105

and that it veiy often proved successful. There were
two other methods, besides the ordinary and necessary
one of conscientious private exercises to keep his lamp
trimmed and burning, which he also practised. The
one was meeting regularly with a few friends for the
study of the Scriptures and prayer ; and the other,
visitation of a district of poor, ignorant, and, in general,
wicked people, in whose religious welfare he took a
very sincere and warm interest. By such means, and
by the rich blessing of God, his soul was kept as a well-
watered garden, fresh and fruitful ; and he was enabled
to exhibit spiritual religion in as amiable and attractive
and withal healthful light, as I ever witnessed.

'There were two things about him that struck me
much — struck me because they are not commonly
found. The one was his breadth of interest ; and the
other, his seeming continually to feel that his mind with
all its faculties and powers was immortal, and given
him by God to be trained and cultivated for immorta-
lity. There were few things beyond his interest. His
s)nnpathies and likings did not move in a confined and
narrow channel. His knowledge was not limited to
a few departments. He loved to let his mind expa-
tiate freely over man and nature, and seemed to take
an interest in whatever was worthy of it on broad and
general grounds. In this way his mind was kept from
getting into ruts, and moving only in the tracks that
habit and association have formed. But while there
was this freedom and generality of interest, there was
no risk of its running to waste, for he had both a sound
judgment and a strong will to regulate it ; and so far
as he was able, he would not allow it to influence
unduly his opinion and his conduct, but kept himself

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strictly within what he believed to be the requirements
of truth and duty.

* The other thing I mentioned was very noticeable in
him. He s«emed to feel that God had given him not
his heart only to prepare for immortality, but his mind
also, — his intelligence and taste, as well as conscience
and affections ; and he appeared assiduously and de-
votedly to cultivate them with that end in view. It
seemed to be his aim to improve his powers to the
utmost, not merely for service here, but as a spirit pre*
paring for immortali^/

John Mackintosh,

107

CHAPTER V.

Last Years in Edinburgh, 1845-47 — Father's Illness — West Port-
Wales — Home — Christian Friends among the Poor — Father's Death
— Lasswade— Mr. Tasker's Account of his West Port Labours.

John Mackintosh returned in December (1844) to
Edinburgh, to resume his studies in the Free Church
College, and his labours as a district missionary. These
labours were now connected with Dr. Chalmers's
Territorial Church of the West Port, where * the old
man eloquent,' with all the vigour of youth and all his
early enthusiasm mellowed and chastened, but not les-
sened by advancing years, was applying to a wretched*
district in Edinburgh, those principles for Christianizing
the masses, and reclaiming the outcast heathen of our
cities, which he had attempted with such success nearly
thirty years before in Glasgow. John also took as great
an interest as before in the Speculative Society, and
received much good from attending the ministry of Dr.
Buchanan, Mr. C. Brown having been laid aside from
bad health.

^JatL I, 1845. — May this year, on which, through
grace, I have been spared to enter, be an epoch in my
preparation for the ministry !'

;« • »
"l 1
f ! ■

TO HIS MOTHER.

*9, Wemvss Place, Jan. 8, 1845.
'Dearest Mother, — I have intended writing you
ever since your birthdav, which I did not forget, but

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alas for intentions ! However, I begin the year well,
and need not mention to you how much it is in my
heart at this epoch that you may be long spared on
earth, and made from year to year, or rather from day
to day, more ripe for glory by being more and more
conformed to the image of Christ, our blessed Ee-
deemer ! I should not wonder if I had a letter from
you to-morrow ; but if not, I do not deserve it, being in
your debt. I shall then attain the advanced age of
twenty-three, and to my mind, one's own birthday is a
more solemnizing season for reflection than that of the
year. I have to look back on much shortcoming and
cause of penitence in my duties both to God and man,
and many mercies and causes of thankfulness to the
Giver of them all. Blessed be His name, I can look
forward to acceptance and pardon in the name of Christ,
whose blood cleanseth from all sin, and for the promised
strength of His Spirit to perfect me more in time to
come. Let this, dearest mother, be your prayer for me,
as I know it is. Indeed, as I grow in years and reflec-
tion, I recognise more and more deeply the loving-
kindness of God in having granted me such parents ;
and not least her who, both by precept and example,
trained up my youthful mind in the knowledge and love
of Himself. I say not this to flatter, because I know
that you acknowledge it to be of His mercy that you
have been enabled to do so ; but to express the just
debt of gratitude I owe you both, and the call I feel to
show myself sensible of it, while life is granted me.'

'^Jan. 12. — Writing retrospectively, I have omitted to
record that my birthday was on Thursday, January 9.
I endeavoured to mark it, by prayer and fasting, as a
day of solemn reflection ; considering and repenting of

yohn Mackintosh.

109

my past shortcomings, and resolving, by God's grace,
to realize more in time to come, the precept, " Walk in
the Spirit" '

TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER.

' Edinburgh, January 1845.

* I say, write me, will you ? To you, in that Elysian
den of yours, it ought to be like a glass of nectar to do
so, as it would be to me ; but I am so horribly busy,
that I've scarcely time to blow my nose — d'ye heai"?

* And yet I have a sweet study to which I become

daily, I should say nightly, more wedded, with my silent

but pleasant midnight darlings smiling around me ; and

my thoughts generally engaged on the loftiest of all

contemplations, whose base is indeed on earth, but

their summit higher than the heavens. Write me then,

dear, often : for

** Sweet is the postman's matin bell.
Its chimes to me are dear ;
The letter come, oh ! who can tell
My joy, my hope, my fear ! "

* John the Rhymer.'

* Feb, 2. — In this week I desire to be more with God
in meditation, reading, and prayer; to realize more
genuine humility and brokenness of heart — more de-
pendence on God in all duties ; in short, more of the
feeling, " Not I, but Christ liveth in me." '

At the end of February he was summoned home—
* much overwhelmed in mind ' — to attend, as he thought,
his father's deathbed ; but to the great surprise and joy
of himself and the other members of his family, he was
spared. He thus writes his mother after his return to
Edinburgh :-—

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Memorials of

•Edinburgh, March 17, 1845.

* My dearest Mother, — I am indeed delighted by
the cheering and satisfactory accounts of dear father
which I have received since my return. Agreeably to
your request, I asked Drs. Muir and Buchanan to return

thanks publicly to God; and tells me nothing

could have been more hearty and beautiful than the
way in which Dr. M. complied yesterday. Had he
been one of the family, it could not have been more
appropriate. Dr. Buchanan has taken the most Chris-
tian and affectionate interest in us all He had pre-
viously done what I wished, but repeated it yesterday.
God grant our prayers may be still further answered, in
the surrender of ourselves, one and all, to Christ, to be
His followers in spirit and in truth, trusting in Him for
our salvation, and seeking to love those things which
He loves, and hate what He hates. Ah ! except the
Spirit deepen and perpetuate the work, this warning,
solemn as it has been, will soon be forgotten and in-
effectual for good. Let us be instant in prayer, that so
fearful a result may be averted, and the reverse accom-
pHshed.

* You would be astonished and gratified to know of
the interest our affliction has excited ; and the sympathy,
prayerful s)niipathy, it has met, even down to my poor
paupers, old and young, of the West Port.

* I have endeavoured, by calling and writing, to ex-
press our gratitude to , and many others who have

been unceasing in their inquiries. None have been
more kind than dear old Dr. Chalmers ; I never see
him that he does not ask me my accounts. To-day
was his birthday, and his students had a breakfast in
honour of it in Gibb's Hotel

yohn Mackintosh*

III

* I am again in the full swing of study, much refreshed
by my fortnight's interruption ; and my fellow-students,
by their note-books, have quite made up any lectures I
have lost

*Tenderest love to my father, and all I trust,
dearest, you are getting repose now, and recovering
strength. A line at your leisure would be most wel-
come ; especially to say when you think my father could
receive a letter from me. Ever your fondly attached
son, — John Mackintosh.*

Next month, to his great delight, he received a note
from his father, and replies : —

'Edinburgh, April t^^ 1845.
* My dearest Father, — I cannot express my joy on
seeing your writing once more ; and desire to feel very
grateful to God for his goodness in restoring you so
wonderfully. I pray that this great proof of his loving-
kindness may lead us to repentance, and to devote our-
selves more entirely to God in return for all his benefits,
seeking in all things to please Him through Christ
Jesus, and to walk before Him in love. I have felt,
especially of late, my dear father, the unspeakable neces-
sity of having a personal interest in Christ, not merely
nominally, but in very truth — such an interest and union
as makes us new creatures : for " if any man be in
Christ, he is a new creature." May you and I, through
God's grace, possess such an interest I'

Early in May he visited Glasgow, on his way to pay
a visit to his friend Mr. James Brown at Fairlie. After
passing through the old courts of the College, he says :
* Old memories cluster thick around this hallowed Col-

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Memorials of

lege — nowhere more so. Its dim courts and gloomy
arches are to my mind peopled with forms of the past,
made up alike of the living and the dead. And hence
my spirit is always solemn and my emotions very varied
when I visit these walls. Here I truly entered upon
life; and so deep was the impress upon the page of
time, at this period of my history, that I can as it were
turn back to it upon the spot, and compare it with that
which intervenes.'

After returning to Edinburgh he attended the * de-
liberations of the General Assembly of the Free Church
for the first time, and was greatly gratified by the solem-
nity, decorum, and spirit of sanctity which pervaded
them.'

Immediately after^vards he was joined by his youngest
sister, and both started for Wales, to pay a visit to their
brother Alexander, with whom he spent a month of great
enjoyment — ^touring it on foot through the lovely scenes
of that beautiful land; ascending Snowdon; and, en
passant^ being present at the great annual Conference of
the Welsh Calvinistic Methodists.

Diary. — * Bala, June ii. — ^At four in the morning
the people began to pour in on foot, in cars, and on
horseback, from a circumference, I am told, of forty
miles. Booths and stalls were erected in the principal
street for the sale of Bibles and religious literature, in
Welsh; as well as for other refreshments. At ten
o'clock the multitude repaired to the common, where
the preachers addressed them successively from a text ;
the better sort being seated on vans and waggons round
a circle, in the centre of which stood or sat the body of
the people, numbering probably 10,000. The language
and manner of the preachers reminded me of our own

jfohn Mackintosh,

Gaelic ministers. How far the good in such meetings
preponderates over the bad, I am unable to determine.
When God is active, Satan is generally active also.

*June 13. — After breakfast walked down the truly
lovely valley to Maen-Twrog, left knapsack there, and
crossed the stream to the delightful terrace-walks and
grounds of Mrs. Oakley. The views up the valley, the
shade, the perfumed air, were luxurious and perfect
bliss. I had Wordsworth, and spent some hours here
of highest enjoyment.

^July 6. — Took communion in Gresford Church.

*July 9. — Adieu to Gresford, with much regret, having
enjoyed much happiness there.'

In August he was present at the Assembly of the
Free Church in Inverness, and records, with great thank-
fulness, the good which he derived from the addresses
and sermons to which he listened, and the persons
whom he met on that occasion in the house of his friend
Mr. Mackintosh of Raigmore, where he was a guest
during the Assembly week, and his sojourn in which he
* enjoyed exceedingly.'

* During rest of time at Geddes, secluded, in general,
till two every day, and had thus some pleasant hours
of labour. Good deal of satisfaction in my Sunday
evening class; founded library for their reading, with
considerable success.'

He thus writes to his aunt, Miss Jollie :^

* Geddes, August 14, 1845.
*. . , I think I am learning two things at present;
that the situation we are in, if of God's appointment, is
the most favourable for progress, and should be so im-
proved without vainly sighing for a better and looking

I ■

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Memorials of

to the future; and next, my utter inability to resist
temptation of myself ; I trust I may add, in some de-
gree from experience, the possibility of doing all things
through Christ's strength. Let me have your prayers, as
you certainly have mine. I have frequently felt myself
arrested, when contact with the world was paralysing my
soul ; and to what is this to be attributed, but to the
intercession of saints, and of the Great Intercessor?'

\\ !

He once more began his winter labours in December.
These were much the same as during the previous
winter, without anything peculiarly marked in their
: iiaracter. The old routine of patient duty was re-
peatv'd; and then, hard study at home; attending
lectures in College ; fagging in the West Port ; enjoying
the Spt.^ib.tive Society; daily and loving intercourse
with Christian friends and fellow-students; and, upon
the whole, sunshine, with some days of gloom and
despondency in his spiritual life — such features as these
made up his winter's history.

Having heard of the illness of his friend, Mr. Alex-
ander Burn Murdoch, he writes to him : —

' January 1846.

* I can understand that it inust be difficult for you to
bear the trial, and say. The will of God be done. Yet I
am convinced that whom the Lord loves He chastens,
and that this affliction must be sent you for His glory
and your own good. How light would every trial be,
were our will wholly swallowed up in God's, and were
we so completely made over to Christ and His work,
that we could say : I am Thine ; do with me what
seemeth to Thee good. By action or suffering, enable
me to serve Thee the few years of my earthly pilgrimage.

yohn Mackintosh,

lex-
to

ret I

tens,
|lory
be,
/ere
|ork,
/hat
ible

ere Thou takest me home to enjoy Thee for ever. Ah I
it is hard to say this, for our souls and affections cleave
to earth; but Christ's Spirit can put it in our hearts,
though when we pray for the Spirit we may be in much
darkness. May our heavenly Father sanctify this afflic-
tion to you, as I believe He will. You shall have my
prayers for your speedy recovery, such as they are, as
if it were for my own.'

*Jati. 1 6. — Had a long walk with

— . On some
topics of religious thought, we coincide remarkably ; as,
for instance, on the characteristics of Scottish and
English piety, and the superiority of the latter when
genuine ; also on the independence of thought which
should be fostered for candour in religious opinions, but
which in Scotland and in our halls is too much repressed.
Theologians rather made, than taught to make them-
selves- For the few who might fall off from the freedom
of indulging inquiry, the rest would become more
earnest and manly in their beliefs. The religion of
Scotland too controversial in its character. The injury
of the Reformation to the fine arts btill too apparent,
and this to the popular mind, especially when there is
no religion to counteract the evil.

'■Jan. 31. — Worked hard all day, from eleven a.m.
till twelve p.m., except a hasty meeting at eight in the
West Port*

TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER.

• Edinburgh, Feb. 5, 1846.
* I am in a kind of mad humour — hip, hip, hurrah,
hip, hip, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! My spirits are
perhaps only the whirr of a bow long tightened closely,

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now relaxed — for I have been inconceivably busy, some-
times desking it thirteen to fifteen hours per diem ; but
say not this to our venerable mother, or I shall have a
fresh influx of flannels, honey, and jams. 'Tis now over,
and there's an end on't, and of my silence.

* Meanwhile, a word of sobriety ere I close, as we
often used to have ; although I know not how it may
sound after so much jocularity. It is this, and I
meant to have said it to you at the beginning of the
year. With all your progress, are you making any, my
dear love, in the ways of God, in the knmvledge and love
of Christ % I have sometimes feared not, and if you
really wish it, I know no more effectual way of getting
out of apathy than by doi7ig something for Christ.
Concern yourself about others, teach the young, visit
the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and keep
yourself unspotted from the world ; and I am sure,
using the closet means as well, you would soon begin to
bud and blossom. Do lay this to heart, and believe me
ever,' etc.

The following remarks upon an essay which he was
writing, and which greatly absorbed his thoughts, show
how watchful he was of himself, and how anxious, ac-
cording to his frequent prayer, to have a single eye : —
* I fear, indeed I am sure, that I am writing this essay
more for my own glory than for God's. May He even
yet turn my heart, and ere I lay down convince me there
is nothing worth living for but Christ. And oh ! if this
essay can really promote my usefulness, let not my un-
worthy motives prevent it. O God ! baptize me with
the Holy Ghost, to be a vessel consecrated alone for
the Master's use. I wish now to prosecute more search-

yohn Mackintosh,

117

ingly this inquiry : Am I really a child of God ? — and if
so, Have I really a Divine call to the ministry 1 Lord,
make me faithful in these inquiries, and enlighten me.
If I have, or am to have, no call from Thee, turn me
aside to another field of usefulness. If otherwise, fit me
now manifestly, and in due time employ me. I think I
am willing to place myself at Thy disposal, blessed Jesus.'
There is a tendency, however, more or less visible in
his Diary, during the later months of this session, to in-
dulge in a too minute and morbid analysis of his char-
acter and motives, when ovenvrought and fatigued in
mind or body. Without the slightest evidence of his
halting or of his being weary in well-doing, he some-
times palpably misjudges his religious state, and re-
proaches himself for everything but what he was justly
blameable for — overtaxed energies. Alluding, for in-
stance, to a visit which he had paid a friend whom he
greatly loved, and who greatly loved him, he says
{March 22) — 'I do reverence his character and love
him, and feel grateful to him that I am not myself in
speaking to him — that is, I seem more amiable, humble,
meek, and the like, than belongs to my true character.
This grieves me, because it is a kind of imposition, and
yet it is involuntary. I cannot be otherwise with him^
Again, in going one day to visit the West Port, he finds
Mrs. H., an old randy woman, who, from whatever
motives, had always appeared a better person than she
really was ; but who, on this occasion, was discovered
by him in a towering passion, excited by a neighbour,
whom she had overheard traducing her character.
Nothing could pacify Mrs. H. : her wrath was not a
sudden ebullition of feeling, but a steady rage which
continued for days together. Alas ! those who are long

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accustomed to deal with old reprobates, become too
familiarized with the power exercised upon them by in-
veterate habits of evil, to be surprised by such out-
breaks, however much they may be regretted ; but this
having occurred to the young missionary when his body
was wearied and his spirits low, he thus writes of it
{April 2) : — * I was quite nonplussed. My conscience
reproached me for going without due consideration and
prayer for such a case, and sore perplexed. I felt
heartless, and left her as I found her. Many thoughts
have crossed my mind. . . . Do I yet know anything
myself of Christ in deed and in truth ? I have shut up
the avenues to the world, and spend my whole time
professedly, and I believe desiringly, in the service of
Christ ; but am I yet doing more than groping uncer-
tainly in the dark ? Have I yet one spark of genuine
love to Christ, or genuine love to souls % In one word,
is duty not my god — a more honourable one, no doubt,
than the world or self, but still a lifeless god ? . . . All
this perplexes me, and coupled with low spirits from
weariness and east winds, have brought on a habitual
dejection. I cannot smile, I cannot love ; the Lord
lead me into life and liberty. Have I any call or fit-
ness for the Christian ministry?'

It was surely high time for him to be off from the
West Port and Mrs. H., and seek repose and refresh-
ment among the old hills and green fields ! And
so, once again, with the same companion as formerly,
he sought refuge with his brother at Gresford, and soon
felt the benefit of the change.

^ April 9. — Charming day! The voice of spring
returned ! Read and studied Faust^ and Lamb's Life
byTalfourd.

yohn Mackintosh.

119

* April 10. — Good Friday, which, being in England,
I resolved to keep sacred. Sunny day !

^ April 12. — Took sacrament with Aleck (his brother),
in Gresfcwd Church.'

On his way back to Edinburgh, at the end of April,
he met his friend, James Brown of Fairlie, in Glasgow,
and says : — * He is reduced by illness ; my heart
yearned over him. My ever dear friend — a relic of
college days, when our acquaintance commenced in our
being bench-fellows in logic, and soon ripened into inti-
macy. I think I love him as myself May the Lord tend
him graciously in his illness, for better or for worse.'

He returns to his work in the West Port, and finds
Mrs. H. much as he left her j and is so impressed by
all he sees in the district that * even her tornado broke
the stillness of death.' The old dulness and sadness
return. He says {May 7) — * My walks are dreary.
My soul is dreary — hav« few near and endearing
thoughts of Christ as at Gresford — I am, in short, dead.
How strange this seems, when I thought my present
mode of life would make my communion more in
heaven than on earth. At two, dear Shairp called ; my
heart leaped up ! And yet I feared my present un-
genial spirit would show itself and disgust him.' Every
kind of work becomes oppressive to his spirit ; still he
labours on until July, when in order to find more quiet
for study and rest for his mind, *in a paroxysm of
despair,' he set off for Queensferry, and hired lodgings,
where he remained for a month. Reviewing his sum-
mer's work, he says, *A more signal failure than it
seems to have been for every purpose, is scarcely con-
ceivable. Broken health, and consequently broken,
nay jaundiced spirits, unceasing interruption, and con-

«'.

N,^

■^

' ' 1 t ■'
! t

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Memorials of

■' ^}

I V:

ti !

sequently little progress in work. The town is not for
me, and the less I have of it in future the better. At
Queensferry, how very different ! I overtook a great
deal of reading and thorough reading, with every day a
charming walk, and pleasant friends to visit in the
neighbourhood.' And thus, with health, rest c 1>,
quiet thoughts, undisturbed devotions, and the dweet
influences of God's beautiful world, came peace to his
heart ; the rage of Mrs. H. vexed him no more. Heaven
and earth were seen in their true light. The hills began
to sing, and the trees to clap their hands !

In September, his grandfather Mr. Jollie died at the
extreme age of ninety-three. Mr. Jollie was the l>eau
ideal of the thoroughly upright lawyer, with the most
refined sense of honour, combined with the most affec-
tionate and genial disposition. To him was intrusted
the winding up of the affairs of Sir Walter Scott ; and
his family gratefully preserve Sir Walter's presp tion
to him of plate and of all his works, inscribed an

expression of his own personal regard for him. Mr.
Jollie was an unswerving adherent, till the last, of the
National Church, of which he had been an elder for
half a century. John loved him much. In a letter to
his aunt the previous year, he says : ' Remember me
to grandfather fondly. I often think still of my interest-
ing interviews with him after breakfast, and how much,
I believe, I learned from him.' He writes of his death

to Mr. Bum Murdoch : —

* September 7.

* My grandfather died at a great age ; and, I trust
and believe, was gathered as a ripe shock into the
garner of the Lord. His death was tnily a falling asleep
in Jesus, and for this we all return thanks to God amid
our sorrow.'

r-)

yohn Mackintosh,

121

His autumn months, until October, were again spent
at Geddes. By this time, his visits among the poorer
families in his immediate neighbourhood, had made him
acquainted with several persons with whom he was able
to enjoy true Christian fellowship. These were indeed
in very humble life, but yet among such poor as Christ
blessed, and who are ' chosen rich in faith, and are
heirs of the kingdom that God has promised to those
who love Him.' His communion with such did not end
when he left Geddes, for he never ceased to write to them
from time to time. He thus speaks of one of them —

' Sept. 28. — Romantic walk and interview with old
Saunders Rose on that marvellous moorland behind the
hill ; then down upon the Black Mill, where I found
them all at tea, in a clean clean room, and with a cheery
wood fire. After tea, h insisted upon walking back
with me, and escorted me accordingly through the black
wood. His conversation was truly heavenly, and so full
of primitive and patriarchal simplicity. In bidding me
farewell, he said— I am thinkin* this will be the last
walk we'll ha'e, Maister John, and my heart's knit till
ye ; the Lord be wi' ye, and mak' ye a blessin'." My
heart was like to burst, for, from his years and frailty,
'tis very likely to be his last summer. Besides, this
walk and benediction has been an annual thing for
many years back, and thus reminds me of bygone days
— of the flight of time — and of the uncertainty of the
future. Such men are indeed the salt of the earth, and
to me the noblest spectacle beneath the skies ; for what
are they but kings on the eve of possessing their in-
heritance % — to-day the denizens of a hut, ere long high
in the ranks of heaven !'

Another poor but much valued friend of his was old

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122

Memorials of

r! *■■

Widow Mackenzie, who only a few months ago has gone
to her rest The following letter, though introduced
here, was written to her at the beginning of the year : —

* Dear Mrs. Mackenzie, — You see I have delayed
to the last day you gave me, if I intended to gratify
your request that I would write ; and yet, after all, I am
going to send but a short letter. I shall begin by call-
ing on you to join with me in praise to God, who has
spared us to enter on another year, and given us so
many mercies during the past on which to look back.
May we not from this be confident that He is ready to
be the same God to us in future, if we diligently seek
him and love his name ? What a solemn season this
should be when we reflect on our ingratitude and pro-
vocations, on our shortcomings, on how little we have
lived to God's glory, and at what a distance we have
been content to dwell from him ! Blessed be his name,
although he might have shut us out for ever from his
communion, wherein alone is life and peace, we may
yet come to-day as if we had never come before, and
lay our sins on the head of the great Victim, and so be
received as justified and dear children. May me Lord
fill our hearts with sincere repentance for the past, and
enable us by his gracious Spirit to walk more closely
with himself in time to come. I hope you enjoy your
usual health, and delight in reading, and that your deaf-
ness is no worse. May He who has brought you from
your youth, be the strength and support of your old
age, and finally bear you through the swellings of Jor-
dan to His everlasting kingdom. Were I seated with
you by your fireside, I should read you the 71st Psalm,
which you will perhaps do for yourself, thinking of me.

l> t. .

jfohn Mackintosh.

123

And now, my dear widow, in conclusion, let me seek
an interest in your prayers, that He who alone can,
may prepare me for His own service. Besides my
studies, which are my chief duty at present, I have some
practice in visiting and holding prayer-meetings in a
neglected and poor part of the town, which I find of
great spiritual benefit to myself, and which serves to
show me the great requirements, chiefly of the heart,
which are necessary for a minister of Christ, and which
can be had through prayer alone. I often think with
pleasure of my summer class of young men, and am
glad to hear that they still meet. I endeavour to be
with them in spirit every Sunday evening, interceding
with God on their behalf Good-bye, and trusting, if it
be God's will, we may meet again in summer, — I remain,
your sincere friend, John Mackintosh.'

eaf-
om
old
or-
ith
jlm,
e.

Before returning to Edinburgh for the winter, he took
lodgings for a month at Corstorphine ; and early in
November commenced his old work in the town. The
day before he left the country, he thus writes : — ' I
desire anew to make myself over to Christ, body, soul,
and spirit — first to be prepared for His work, and then,
as now, to live entirely for Him. I desire self and all
other idols to be utterly extinguished, that I may have
one aim and only one interest — the advancement of
Christ's cause in the world. Blessed Lord, do Thou
accept me, a poor and vile worm, out of infinite mercy,
and fit me to be an instrument in Thy hands. My
heart is grateful to God for His mercies here. To-
morrow I go into Edinburgh. May His presence go
with me, that His work in my soul may be daily deefH
ened instead of obliterated.'

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Memorials of

Though his bodily health and spirits suffer as usual
from his life and labours in the city, he says — * I think
I am content to walk in constitutional heaviness of soul,
if God wills it, and look upon it as for good. I desire
to seek not my OAvn ease, but Christ's glory and service.
My soul praises God for the many mercies with which
I am still surrounded.' He was, however, very thankful
for any release, however short, from physical or mental
troubles : * To-day the cloud of biliousness and dejec-
tion seems rising off my spirits, like a cloud from Hel-
vellyn. I trust it is so, and will be permanent. How
light I feel, how thankful and loving and ready for all
work ! I trust my bearings are forward as yet, and not
retrograde in the life of God.'

His West Port labours were continued in all their
vigour. . '

The year 1846 was closed by a visit to the north, to
attend the marriage of his sister Jane, to Sir William
Gordon Gumming. He was happy in being able at this
time also to see much of his father, who was still in a
very precarious state of health. * Each day,' he writes,
* I read, talked, and prayed with him in the forenoon.'

The year 1847 began by his being summoned once
more to the north, by the intelligence of his father's
death. Upon the 25 th January, he laid him in his
grave, in Geddes churchyard, and sorrowed much for
one who was a most tender, sympathizing, and loving
parent, as well as a genuine ' old country gentleman.' ^
Geddes, the home of his youth, the ideal spot of his
greatest earthly happiness, was to be his home no more..

He returned to Edinburgh alone to prepare a resi-

* Mr. Mackintosh had been for many years the Convener of the
county of Nairn.

John Mackintosh.

I2C

dence for his mother and sister. — ' May He who has
done all for me hitherto,' he writes, * look in mercy on
me now, strengthen my feeble will, and enable me to
cast in my lot with Him entirely and unreservedly.
May I have done with the world for ever, and may I
acknowledge myself a stranger on the earth. The cares
of a residence for my mother, etc., press upon me, but
I desire to commit them to Him in perfect l^t humble
faith.'

On March 17th, he presided at a large morning
breakfast of upwards of a hundred students of the Free
Church, to commemorate the birthday of Dr. Chalmers ;
and at the request of his fellow-students, he prepared,
and along with a deputation, presented an address to
their venerable teacher at Momingside.

After paying a short visit to his brother-in-law and
sister. Captain and Mrs. Smith, then living at Temple
Sowerby, near Carlisle, and taking a short tour in West-
moreland, he left Edinburgh, and, along with his mother
and youngest sister, took up his residence at Laurel
Bank, Lasswade.

Almost the first tidings which greeted him on enter-
ing his new home, was the death of his beloved and
venerated teacher, Dr. Chalmers. It was to him, as
well as to many, a deep personal affliction. He had
known him as a friend, and had a great affection for
all the members of his family.

''May 30. — News of Dr. Chalmers's death — much
overcome. I feel as if I had lost a second father, and
the world were now too dreary. Often am I tempted
to disbelieve that that voice is now " gone silent," and
that mighty heart has ceased to beat. It seems like a
translation.'

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TO HIS AUNT, MISS JOLLIE.

*Ah ! what shall I say of Chalmers'^ I dare not yet
speak of him ; I have felt it almost more than my own
father's death ; for words cannot tell the love I bore
him, bordering on idolatry. I cannot conceive of a
wiser, greater, or better man. Every part of his char-
acter was colossal ; he had the heart of twenty men ;
the head of twenty ; the energy of a hundred ; and then
to be cut off in the vigour of all ! — I cannot but think,
killed by this visit to London. He has not left his
equal in the world. For the present I am stunned by
it ; and yet we must not murmur or repine. How pro-
vidential ! — he died at home, among his own people,
and on such an anniversary, having just completed, too,
the first curriculum in the Hall since the Church entered
on her new condition. He has " exchanged the bosom
of his family for that of his God," and is now enjoying
those " felicities " he took such pleasure in describing.
The Church above is enriched ; nor will the Church below
be left desolated

TO THE SAME.

June.

* A pensive walk to Morningside, and a return through
the Meadows to the High Street, that made my heart
burst with old thoughts of the departed and the past.
Our communion walks were not forgotten ; and thinking
of Chalmers now in heaven, and the allusions I had
heard in the forenoon to the united Church triumphant, I
tried to realize this future, and to ask, Would I enjoy it?
Could I part with all that is earthly, and relish the
spiritual, and God himself, for their own sake % I don't
know ; I fear not yet'

yohfi Mackintosh,

127

I cannot better close this period of his history, than
by giving the testimony of Mr. Tasker, the indefatigable
missionary in the West Port, as to the earnestness and
success of John Mackintosh's labours in that district.
In spite of his days of despondency and sadness, it is
cheering to know now that these labours were not, as
he thought, all in vain ; but that he has left behind, on
other hearts, sanctifying impressions of his character.

' I had the privilege,' Mr. Tasker writes to me, * with
many others, to be his fellow-student under Dr. Chal-
mers, and very soon we all discerned his constitutional
diffidence, elevated into Christian humility. As a matter
of course he became a leader in all our literary societies
as well as home missionary enterprises in this city, not
certainly because he stood forward \ but because, with
common consent, we determined to make him our head.
I dwell on this phase in his character, and its silent and
instant effect on his fellows, because it brings out this
testimony to what grace did in him, in the way of ever-
burning zeal, conquering his native diffidence — even
more than conquering; for grace made that native
diffidence a beauteous and an ample cloak of humility,
in which he was ever invested and adorned. As might
be expected, such a student became, from the first, a
fellow-worker with Dr. Chalmers in the West Port.
The mission had been six months in operation before I
entered on its ecclesiastical superintendence. He was,
therefore, my senior in the good work. I well remem-
ber with what zeal, tempered with his uniform, Christian,
and gentle modesty, he urged me to accept the charge
of what seemed then — of what seems still — a formidable
undertaking; and, having entered on its duties, I can
never forget the brotherly kindness which he displayed ;

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his prayerful and sympathizing efforts sustained and
augmented, as long as he was at home, until failing
health as well as a deepening sense — in which, however,
he stood all alone — of the need of far higher literary
attainments in divinity, induced him to visit our most
illustrious continental Schools of Theology.

*I need not here explain Dr. Chalmers's territorial
mode of operation, as exemplified in the West Port. It
is sufficient to say that Mr. Mackintosh was the gentle-
man visitor of one of our twenty districts. The lady
who was appointed to co-operate with him among the
same families still survives, and by the grace of God
continues with us to this day. I have conversed with
her ere writing this letter, so that what follows may be
held her testimony as much as mine. / •

* In that district, inhabited chiefly by the most sunken
of immigrating as well as migrating Roman Catholic
Irish people — the remainder being Scotch, yet more
deeply sunken — there was, when they began, scarcely
to be found one member of any Christian church. The
consequent moral and social degradation may be more
easily conceived than described. Besides visiting from
house to house, Mr. M. opened and maintained a dis-
trict prayer-meeting in oAe of the humble houses, and
by dint of domiciliary visits of unwearied kindness on
the part of the lady and himself, a goodly number was
drawn out to attend an hour weekly to hear the Word
of God at his mouth, and listen to the prayers which
the Holy Spirit helped him to present, in Jesus' name,
on their behalf.

*He conducted, besides, a Sabbath-evening class ol
young men — half a dozen or so of the lads in his district,
whom he found in some instances strangers to the ordi-

yohn Mackintosh.

129

nary routine and proprieties of a daily school, they
having never been within the walls of such a place.
These he induced, by the humanizing power of his
Christian kindness, to attend our week-day evening
classes, opened for such from the first, within our old
humble tan-loft church.

* No doubt we yearn to see and hear of fruit ; but the
Word of God and experience warn us to beware of dog-
matizing about any while yet in this wilderness. Never-
theless, the lady of whom I have spoken, and others my
fellow-labourers, as well as myself, have no hesitation in
speaking of two — a man and a woman — who, in health
and in sickness, in life and in death, gave pleasing and
decisive evidence of being brought to the knowledge ot
the truth as it is in Jesus, while residing in that district,
and who, we believe, are now where he is — "with Christ,
which is yfer better."

'Others we^e brought to church-going habits, and ^
reed not explain to you the restraining and elevating
power of two decidedly godly among even twenty families.
At least one lad of his class was effectually awakened
to self-respect, in such a degree as to remove to the
west country, and, under an uncle, there to become an
apprentice to a respectable trade which he has acquired \
recently to withdraw his brother with himself, in order
to his moral elevation also, which he certainly was not
attaining at home; and he continues, we believe, to
help to pay his mother's rent here from term to term. I
regret that I cannot add, that I feel sure that he does
all this in the fear of God and out of love to Christ ;
still, such qualities render him hopeful.

* I may mention, as a distinguishing mark of his Chris-
tian character and missionary zeal among us, his simple

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f^iith in the exercise of prayer. He truly believed in
prayer. Alas, how few practically do ! He was wont to
arrange with the lady visitor to make special and secret
supplication for individuals, one by one, among the old
and young, as occasion called or opportunity offered.
He failed not to take advantage of the promise : " If
any two of you shall agree on earth touching what ye
shall ask, it shall be done unto you of my Father who is
in heaven."

*To this day his memory is blessed in the district
All that remain in it, that knew him, are awed, subdued,
softened, at the mention of his name. They have been
made sure of this : that a servant of the Lord hath been
among them ; and that, by Mr. Mackintosh's Christian
example, by his holy life as well as by his lips, the king-
dom of God has come nigh unto them.

* As for us, when we think of the Christian freshness

and fervid enthusiasm of these youthful West Port days,

with Dr. Chalmers at our head, and Mr. Mackintosh and

others at our side, now no more here, we are constrained

to say :

** Of joys departed, never to return-
How painful the remembrance !" . ,

until the day break and the shadows flee away«* i

John Mackintosh.

"3«

CHAPTER VI.

1847-48 — Lasswade — Letters to Widow Mackenzie — ^Jenny Lind*!
Concert — Letter to Free Church Minister — Letters to Poor Cliristian
Friends in the North— Bad Health— Visit to his Father's Grave-
Letter to a Young Friend.

Laurel Bank, Lasswade, might seem to have been
John's ideal of a residence. It was surrounded by the
sweetest scenery, with endless walks of rural beauty, were
these even confined to the picturesque grounds of Mel-
ville Castle, Dalkeith Palace, Newbattle Abbey, Roslin,
or Hawthomden. Edinburgh too was but a few miles
off. At home he had leisure to read, with the com-
panionship of his mother and sister, and no severe
duties, as when in town, to task his energies ; while in
his immediate neighbourhood were many old and
attached friends. Yet, in spite of these advantages, the
two years spent in Lasswade were, owing to the state of
his health, years of comparative suffering. He found
the cUmate too relaxing, and suffered constantly from
his old enemy dyspepsy. There is, therefore, not much
in his history during these years, as far as can be gathered
from his Diary and Letters, that would interest the
reader. He attended the ministry of the Free Church
clergyman, Mr. Pitcaim, but lived on the most inti-
mate terms with his old friend, Mr. Mackenzie, the
parish minister. He pursued his studies; did good
to all as he had an opportunity; visited the sick;

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ft:

helped, as he could, the poor ; and enjoyed the society
of his friends.

'^June II. — Finished and returned vol. i. of Foster' i
Life^ but have not yet got vol. il Like it on the whole.
The character intense; imaginative; original because
observant and thoughtful ; little addicted to the serener
parts of philosophy ; pensive, but not horror-ish. Yet
withal, under the cloak of "individuality," too misan-
thropic and selfish. Many feel insulated as he did, who
yet make nobler and more successful efforts to overcome
the feeling. Chalmers seems an instance of this, as
may be gathered from his commentary on Ps. cxix. 19 :
" I indeed feel myself a stranger, and have marvellously
little sympathy with my fellows ; but hide not from me
a knowledge of Thy will, nor suffer me to hide myself
from those of my own flesh." And yet who so singularly
laboured with and for his fellows I

* Went in the afternoon to a meeting of the Evangelical
Alliance in Edinburgh. Heard some good things from
Angell James. But I seem to myself so little able to
understand sectarianism, that all this fine talk is like so
many truisms ; — 'tis like a sermon to me on justifica-
tion by faith alone, my mind seems so incapable of
receiving any different idea of justification. The com-
mon love of my neighbour, however, and of his soul,
is a topic on which I cannot hear too much, being
sorely deficient in it.'

* Deficient,' no doubt; but yet real hearty love to
the neighbour was there, as the following letter to old
Widow Mackenzie testifies : —

* Lasswade, June 22.

* My dear Mrs. Mackenzie, — I have been very long
of writing you, so long that I daresay you think I have

yohn Mackintosh,

133

to
d

g
re

forgotten you altogether. Ah ! that is impossible. My
thoughts daily revert to the dear old place and its
inhabitants, whom I envy, and with whom I think I
could gladly exchange lots. I can scarcely believe that
I am not again to come down this summer to see you
all, and have my Sabbath evening meetings with the
young men, and my sequestered meditative walks past
your house and in other quarters. I often picture you
and some others to my mind, and wonder if you are still
the same, and if everything goes on as formerly, now
that happy home is shut up and silent. There are few
things I look back on with greater pleasure than my
religious associations with the place, and my intercourse
with God's people among you ; these are the brightest,
greenest spots in my memory, and the joy of such
thoughts is solidy because it relates to that which can
never pass away. I think especially of the old folk
among you, and the words of counsel I have heard from
your lips ; I owe you all a debt for it, which I trust I
shall acknowledge throughout eternity. How are you,
my dear old friend ? I hope as well as your advanced
age can lead you to expect ; still happy by your quiet
fireside, and able to read and feed on th^ Word, and
other good books founded on the Word. If this be the
case, you have reason to be thankful. May God grant
you still a green old age, and ever clearer views of your
own sinfulness, Christ's fulness, and the Spirit's power.
Be assured you are not forgotten in my prayers, as I
believe I am not in yours. I need it much, having
received many mercies from God, and proved as yet an
ungrateful and unprofitable servant My mother and
sister are now living with me here. 'Tis a pleasant
house and neighbourhood, about six miles south of

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Edinburgh, and though not yet a manse, as near a
manse in its character as I can make it. My mother
and sister are both well and happy, and desire to be
remembered to you with old kindness. All my other
friends are well whom you know of. I stayed for some
months with your friend Miss Joliie, and found it very
agreeable and improving.

'The students and the Church generally have sus-
tained a sad loss in the death of Dr. Chalmers, of which
you must have heard. He was, indeed, ripe for glory,
and has left us a rich example to follow his steps as he
followed Christ. My minister, Mr. Brown, is in excel-
lent health, and much blessed and favoured of God in
his own soul, and in his ministry. I hope your own
minister has turned out as w :;11 as was expected.

' Would I could come and see you ! but ever believe
me, present or absent, your very affectionate friend,

* John Mackintosh.'

The only events which broke in upon the even tenor
of this year, were, first of all, a residence for a few days
at Callander with his aunt; then a pleasant 'raid' into
the Highlands with his youngest sister and his cousins,
Robert and Thomas Strong ; and finally, hearing Jenny
Lind in Edinburgh. Passionately fond of music as he
was, this was a great delight to him. He thus writes
his youngest sister, then in the north, about the con-
cert : —

*0 the darling! She was received rapturr •
I literally yelled. She is not pretty, b' ^ — '
bodiment of poetry — her face is li d i

genius ; and, as she sings, becomes bea i ul anc avei » ly.
She's little, very pale, looks about seventeen, her hair

tl \

yohn Mackintosh,

^ZS

crisped, her nose flattish, but pretty mouth and teeth,
and an eye (that is to say, two eyes) full of meaning,
neck and arms very white, and well-bred looking ; to
complete all, very nicely dressed. She was at first very
nervous and melancholy-looking, but very soon threw
her whole soul and being into the song, and forgot her
own emotions. I think this is one of her greatest
charms — her earnestness, and her impassioned serious-
ness. O child ! how she wailed out Malibran's song in
the Sonnambula ! and then with notes of silver clearness
and sweetness bounded off in the " Ah non giunge " — it
haunts me with ecstasy ! There is far more originality
in her voice than in Grisi's, it is round and ringing ; and
she passes so exquisitely from gushing fulness into low,
sweet, plaintive airs, and trills just like the wind.*

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A few days after this, he received a letter from a
Christian friend, 'attacking him' for going to the con-
cert He is good-natured enough to discuss the matter
in his Diary, as if it was a matter of grave importance.

* Were I a minister, I would probably not go, knowing
that some disapprove of them, and fearing to make such
stumble. In the meantime, I would encourage them to
the disparagement of the stage, there being nothing
necessarily wrong in a concert, ei)en as ai present con-
ducted, while there is such in the present condition of
the stage. Music is a divine art : its performers of
average respectability; the audience grave, and of all
classes ; the hours regular, and the excitement moderate.
It is very easy in everything to go all lengths, but I
doubt its judiciousness ; extremes meet in their effects.
By drawing the line too tightly, it snaps altogether.*

We should think so I

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Diary. — ^Sept 21. — Just as awoke, received note in-
viting me to . Delighted to go ; yet sore cast down

at fresh interruptions to study. Lay retracing past life,
especially my connexion with Halley, and the dawn of
my mind and character, so far as I can now from an
eminence look back upon it Prayed and read. Got
several verses in my portion of Proverbs that rebuked
my impatience under God's providence, as these in-
terruptions of course are, and brought me to a happier
mood — " The foolishness of man perverteth his way, and
fretteth against the Lord," and the like. May these in-
terruptions not be for my greater good ? and am I not
too apt to form my own idea of what will fit me for
God's service, and, as it were, force that upon God 1 . . .
Home at half-past twelve, and had just composed myself

for study when announced. Remembered verses

in the morning, and went do\vn cheerful and resigned.
. . . With my desire and deep-felt necessity for study,
these interruptions are a painful mystery. Is it an in-
timation that I should nc*^^ enter into the ministry 1

'^Sept. 29. — I regret I have dropped my classics ; must
retrieve my error. Began with Plato's Phaedon, and
relished it Many serious thoughts crossed me in study-
ing ; the importance of greater sacredness of life, and
deeper and more vivid thoughts of God in Christ ; much
humbled and solemnized. I think it was Lushington's
remark, in his fresh and beautiful inaugural lecture, on
the difference perceptible in the Greek Fathers who had
found a resting-place for their souls, and the classic
Greeks, who had none, that first struck the chord
within me.

^Oct. 4. — By putting off, was not in time to meet
mother at the railway. I feel very sensitive of inatten-

yohn Mackintosh,

tion to her, however slight, and this cut me to the heart
May such never happen again !

' Oct. 17. — Talk with about the Christian's bear-
ing to the world, and condemned excessive separation
from it of some ; coinciding with Simeon's views in his
letter to the Duke of Bedford, which I have often
expressed almost in Simeon's words. Nothing irritates
me so much (I fear to an unguarded degree) as the idea
of spiritual despotism. I should like to read Taylor's
opinion on this point. I can bear to be remonstrated
with on spiritual subjects; but not to be dictated to.

for a soul-subduing look from Christ, such as He
cast on Peter ! how effectually could it accomplish the

matter at any time, and far more ! 's birth-day.

Thought much of her, and prayed much for her.*

A few days after the above Diary was penned, a minis-
ter of the Free Church, whom he much loved, and whose
judgment he had hitherto respected, called for him at
Lasswade, and earnestly remonstrated with him against

* occasional attendance at churches of the Establish-
ment,' as * indicating a departure from his principles!'
Alluding to this conversation in his Diary, and after
recording the argument held on both sides, he says :

* It agitated my mind, as I am constitutionally nervous
and timid, and greatly dislike controversy. My desire
is to serve God quietly and unnoticed, if men would
only let me. . . . But timid as I am, I know that the
whole universe cannot turn me from my sentiments, till

1 am satisfied of their untruth.'

After calmly and prayerfully weighing the question
between him and his friend, he addressed to him, * and
through him to all and sundry,' the following letter —
a copy of which was found among John Mackintosh's
papers.

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Memorials of

*■ My dear Sir, — ^As your visit yesterday was so hur-
ried, I think it right, and indeed cannot rest until I set
you in possession of some of the leading arguments on
which I ground my occasional attendance in churches
of the Establishment — a line of conduct which I con-
scientiously determined to pursue before I left Cam-
bridge, and gave in my adherence to the Free Church,
which I have, from the first moment of coming down
to Scotland, followed out, and which I have never
shrunk from not only defending but advocating among
my friends of all classes, as many of them can testify.
It is a subject on which I feel deeply ; and, therefore, if
I should appear guilty of vehemence or presumption in
stating my opinions, I can only plead the strength with
which they possess me, and my unwillingness to counter-
feit a tone of diffidence which I do not feeL

* As I stated then to you before, I view the Esta-
blished Church as homologating the doctrines more or
less directly, that the State may interfere in spiritual
matters, and that in certain circumstances a pastor may
be intruded on a people : I can agree with neither of
these doctrines, nor in any way be a party to their
practical working ; consequently, I cannot be a member
or minister of the Established Church. But here my
"consequently" begins, and here it ends. In the
abstract view of the subject, I have never yet seen any
valid argument for going farther, nor can I conceive of
any, and the onus probandi rests with you. To secure
our principles, we abandoned State support Had those
who now compose the Establishment chosen to waive
their Erastian sentiment for the sake of unity, and re-
mained with us, I suppose we should have allowed
them ; but having, the majority of them, Dreferred State

John Mackintosh,

139

alliance to Churcli unity, they left us, and are now, as
we consider them — the Established Secession. Why,
then, should we treat them differently from any other
evangelical body of Seceders and Dissenters from us,
and put a ban on their churches and their pulpits ? By
occasional attendance there, or even by occasional
preaching there, I no more homologate their ob-
noxious doctrines, or render myself liable to carrying
them out in practice, than I do in the case of other
churches by like conduct. The majority of the present
Establishment never held our doctrines on the disputed
points, and consequently never lapsed from them, and
are, therefore, entitled to be treated as conscientious
Seceders. I cannot see that their receiving State sup-
port alters the case, though I cannot but think, in many
minds this is ^he one reason for their being marked out
for a special treatment.

' But to come to the expediency view of it, it will be
said that the separation being so recent, we should be
more jealous of countenancing them in any way lest
some should be misled, and think our difference im-
material. To this I reply that I think it best to begin
as we mean to end, otherwise there is far more risk of
our afterwards appearing to decline from the steadfast-
ness of our convictions. Why, from motives of policy,
put the matter on a higher footing even than we
think it deserves ? There is no course of conduct that
may not be misinterpreted, if people choose ; but I
think, that from the first, so strong has been the general
repugnance to the Establishment, so little the likeli-
hood of halting and concessions on that side, that the
counteractive should be applied all the other way. I
am persuaded that many of our people entertain very

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erroneous and unenlightened notions of the grounds of
our separation, and any ultra conduct on my part would
only tend among those around me to heighten these.
Indeed it is with poignant regret, I could even say with
distress, that I have long observed what I thought the
false position which our Church and the members of
our Church were taking up — that instead of the high
and dignified attitude of regarding mainly the State in
their separation, and cherishing a feeling of benevo-
lence and love towards all, whether erring or dissenting
churches, they have, to some extent, degraded them-
selves into the character of a sect by hostility to the
Establishment I feel deeply persuaded, that had we
from the first assumed a loftier and more generous tone,
our position in the country would have been different,
even from the splendid one which we still are per-
mitted to occupy. Our bounds would have been greatly
extended, and our opportunities of usefulness to the
E-^tablishment and other Churches vastly increased.
Instead of this, we have voluntarily checked their sym-
pathies and kindly feelings, and thrown up a wall of
separation between us, which it would take generations
to undo. We gave such emphatic testimony to our
principles at the Disruption, that no further measures, it
seems to me, were required for the purpose, and all be-
yond it, whether justly or not, is set down by the world at
large to the score of revenge ; the first we did rightly
enough for God, they say, the rest for human nature.
Be it so, I have always answered — and allowances must
t>e made for infirmity in all human transactions — but it
is not too lat( vet to retrieve our way in part. By tak-
ing up a positiv/n which is not tenable by argument, we
incur the risk, as has already happened, of losing adher-

John Mackintosh,

141

ents who, when forced from ground that was in truth
ultra, hastily abandoned all. By a calm but judicious
bearing, we shall not only make sure of our friends, but
be more likely to win over our opponents. In this
hope, I have never omitted any opportunity, within my
own sphere, of stating my opinions to friends and com-
panions; and not without the belief that in the judg-
ment of some of those whom I most respected, I found
a response. Moreover, I had always till yesterday
pleased myself with the idea, that you and others were
tacitly of the same way of thinking, and even now, while
I admit the apparent presumptuousness of holding my
opinions in the face of such a majority, yet holding them
so clearly and strongly as I do, I can account for the
unanimity on the other side on no other supposition
than that it is a spell communicated from one to another
in the enthusiasm of the battle, but which must one day
give place to milder sentiments. Taking the wider
survey of the Church as the Church Catholic, I know
that I should find support in the authority of many who
are most distinguished for piety and wisdom, so that my
belief in their correctness is entitled to greater confidence.
' In conclusion, allow me to say that I trace the in-
jurious effect of our present position not only on those
who differ from us, but on ourselves. I cannot refrain
from saying to you, that I think it has no small share in
that want of progress in our own, and consequently our
neighbour's Christianity, which you yesterday deplored.
In the mass of minds, I feel it must be inconsistent with
the spirit of love, and tend to beget self-complacency as
well as other sinful feelings. While in regard to the dif-
fusion of the Gospel, and of a loving spirit, I will freely
confess, for my own part, to take but one instance, that

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I have never been able to get over the feeling of incon-
gruity to ray mind, in our Church, or members of our
Church, advocating the Evangelical Alliance, while they
treated the Establishment as an exception. I fancy to
myself that I have traced the blight and dwarfing effects
of this feeling even more in individual members of our
Church.

* To be more personal in my communication, I must
say that I never felt more strongly attached to the Free
Church than I do now; and on this account all the
more do I feel grieved for the above circumstances. I
have to thank you very cordially for being the first to
speak so frankly to me, and thereby give me an oppor-
tunity of speaking out my sentiments, and vindicating
my conduct. I have long known that my conduct was
canvassed, but felt much pained that I could find no
opportunity of explaining myself. Your kindness has
relieved me, and while I feared at first it might disturb
the serenity of my studies, I now believe your visit hap-
pened well for me in the Providence of God. I have
no wish this letter should be private between us, but
that it may be submitted to wli<:m you please. If you
are kind enough to meet my arguments by writing or at
our next meeting, I shall be very grateful to you, and, I
hope, weigh your answers impartially, as I know no
consideration that should bias me either way against
the truth. Entreating your prayers that the Spirit of
grace may lead me into all truth, I remain, with unalter-
able affection and respect, very truly yours,

*JoHN Mackintosh.

* P.S. — I should be unwilling, if it could be avoided,
and as there will be abundant opportunity for inter-

^ohn Mackintosh.

143

views, to carry on the discussion by writing, as I find it
would occupy so much of my time.

* I should also say — which, however, is of no conse-
quence while the principle is held — that I find I have
attended at an Established Church more than once since
I came here — I believe, on three occasions. I said one
to you yesterday, having no time to recall the right
number. I have kept this letter for a re-perusal, and
also that it might not interfere with your Sabbath pre-
parations. In reading the Scriptures this morning, it
struck me that, on tke subject of expediency, Paul's
example to Timothy to avoid stumbling weak brethren,
is that most generally quoted ; but that being a matter
of expediency, it was not likely the one side of his con-
duct would be recorded without an instance of the other.
Accordingly, the narrative in the second chapter of Gala-
tians immediately occurred to me, where he gave place
to the prejudices of his friends^ " no, not for an hour."
Many points seemed to me, on referring to the passage,
as very parallel to my case. While I say this, I repeat
what I said when we met, that were I minister of a con-
gregation, I might see it my duty to yield in some
measure to the prejudices of those whose good I had
specially to consider.' .

Being thus obliged to differ in opinion with such a
friend on such a subject, gave him more pain than could
be believed by those who did not know his acute and
sensitive feelings. In his Journal, he remarks : * I have
been violently moved by this business, yet spirit-solem-
nized, and looked up to God in Christ for countenance
and support, and felt much love. I posted it with the
prayer that it might not be misinterpreted, or alienate

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my dear friend Mr. , or others. Resolved anew to

make myself over to Christ, and, forgetting self, to seek
only to do His service.'

There was nothing he guarded with such jealousy as
his own sense of what was right On another occasion,
when he thought himself unduly interfered with by a
leader of the Free Church as to his not taking license,
he says : — * Whether under delusion or not, I chose the
ministry, and subsequently the Free Church, from a
simple regard to Christ, without reference to any human
being's influence or opinion ; and having found the free-
dom and elasticity which this gives me, I feel very jealous
of the interposition of any other influence or restraint
May God give me grace to reject such, if it present itself,
and to maintain my liberty in Christ without licentious-
ness.'

I may add, that the mutual lov* which existed between
John and the friend to whom he addressed the above
letter, remained unabated on both sides, all the days of
his life. But John held fast to his own view of duty.

^ Dec. 29, 1847. • • • spoke to me of taking

license and succeeding ; a most eligible place from

size, neighbourhood, manse, and ' seclusion : it

seems, intends to resign, and wishes me to succeed
him. Replied decidedly that the reason of my delay
to take license, viz., unfitness, could not yield to so
tempting an offer ; that though the work there was mild,
that the people might not have me, and I might be
ushered on that field of bustle elsewhere, which I
deprecated. Moreover, that in entering the Free
Church, I had made up my mind to hardships, should
God so order it, and did not therefore feel at liberty to
go out of my way in order to secure an easy berth, or

John Mackintosh,

«45

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e
I
le

avoid sharing alike with my brethren. I thanked him
most warmly for his kind interest in suggesting it ; and
that I might not appear hasty, said, I would look on
his proposal as a call to inquire my way of the Lord,
and then respond finally and deliberately, although I
suspected my first impressions were correct and final*

In a letter written about this time to his friend, Mr.
Macintyre (Free Church Minister, Monikie), he says —

* ... I could wish to grow in simplicity of depend-
ence upon Him, taking orders, as it were, every day
and every hour at His mouth, what He would have me
to do as His servant and soldier. What a deal of un-
certainty and over-anxiety as to our course and present
employment would this take from us ! It would, in-
deed, be rolling our burden on the Lord, and if done
with unceasing prayer and childlike humility, making
Him responsible as if for our progress and success. But
it would need a very very single eye, and deadness to
self in all its subtle interests. Were each servant of
Christ thus to radiate from the centre, what an army
of occupation would the Christian host be !*

I have already alluded to his humble friends at Geddes,
and the friendship which he never ceased to cultivate
with them by * pen and ink,* when unable to see them
*face to face.' Here are two of those letters. The
ploughman is still alive, and still, I believe, bears an
excellent Christian character. Alexander M'Arthur was
the son of a small farmer in the north, and was then
dying of consumption.

TO JAMES

*Mv DEAR James,

PLOUGHMAN.

•Lasswade, Sept. i8, 1847.
The tone of your letter is

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such that, believing you to be diligent and earnest in
the Christian life, I do not feel qualified to send you
advice, as in the case of some other young men of my
acquaintance, in different parts of the country, to whom
my letters, therefore, may be more necessary. My chief
object, then, in writing you, is to perpetuate a friendship
which you seem unwilling to drop, and which is cer-
tainly endeared to me by many very sweet and tender
recollections of the past If you are indeed a child of
God, you will not feel flattered by what I say of my in-
capacity to advise you, but probably humbled from a
knowledge of your own heart, such as I cannot have,
while you give God the praise for whatever He has done
for you, in enabling you to know its desperate wicked-
ness, and in some measure to subdue it. It is a feeling
of this depravity of heart that makes me write so hum-
bly to you — for I am not a Reverend, as you suppose ;
but I am still delaying to labour among others, with a
view to further preparation for it This I find renders
me more exposed to the assaults of sin and of the
world ; for I verily believe there are few things so help-
ful to our growth in grace, as concerning ourselves ac-
tively for the souls of others. Still I trust that with
me, as with you, the current of my soul is towards God,
and the desire of my heart after holiness ; but the
progress that may be made in this, by a faithful use of
the means of grace, I seem but beginning to know,
while I feel greatly guilty for the meanness of my at-
tainment

' The prevalence of ungodliness in our land, and the
withdrawal of so many of God's witnesses, call upon us
to be more than ever circumspect in our walk and close
in our relations to God Each of us should live and

John Mackintosh^

«47

act as if on him depended the maintenance of vital reli-
gion in the Church, or, at all events, the preserving of a
healthful salt in his neighbourhood. Indeed, did we
but know or consider what depends upon our individual
exertions for good or evil aiound us, it would make our
walk more careful, our feelings more solemn, and our
reference to God more real and habitual every day and
every hour ; but I trust you know something of this, and
that with others you will be honoured and blessed of
God in maintaining His cause where you now are, and
by and by supplying the places of those whom He
takes before you to glory.

* I heard from Mr. C. not long ago, and am delighted
to know, from a later date, that the Suftday evening
meetings still continue and prosper. My thoughts often
recur to them and to you all at that precious time,
nor can I well describe to you the feeling I have in
thinking that some of you remember me at the throne
of grace, and thus return the interest I take in your
welfare. The accounts of Sandy Macarthur's protracted
illness grieve me much. I may perhaps write him, but
I trust the Lord is ripening His work in him, so that to
him to live may be Christ, and to die gain.

'Remember me very warmly to my friends around
you, at the Square and elsewhere, and believe me to be,
my dear James, your sincere friend,

*J. Mackintosh.*

TO ALEXANDER MACARTHUR.

' Lasswade, Nov. 19, 1847.

' My dear, dear Sandy, — On asking my sister, who
has just returned from the north, about all my friends,
I came to you, and she said she had not seen you, but

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had heard that you were very frail and poorly. This
has given me much sorrow, though not so much on
your own account as on that of your friends, among
whom I number myself Should the Lord be pleased
to take you to Himself, I would always feel it a pen-
sive thought that one so near my own age, with whom
I had taken sweet counsel at an interesting period
of my life, and whom I had expected to meet again as
my fellow-traveller, had gone before and left me with-
out the stimulus of his example. For you, however,
my dear Sandy, I believe it would be great gain. I
trust, as your bodily strength declined, the Lord has
been manifesting Himself more and more to your spirit
I sometimes try to bear you fervently on my heart be-
fore God. There is a reality in the simple truths of His
Word, which we only require to know deeper, and with-
out any new knowledge our souls will be filled as with
marrow and fatness. It is the Holy Spirit, through
meditation and prayer, that gives us this insight, as you
well know, I believe, by experience : and God is often
pleased to employ the season of sickness for this blessed
end. O to live near Christ, yea in Him, by Him, to
Him ! That Divine Person, the brightness of the
Father's glory, and the express image of His person,
yet our fellow-man, must be the great centre of our
thoughts, our affections, and our deep devotion. Hav-
ing Him, we have all. He has all power in heaven and
in earth \ can, therefore provide for all our concerns
here, and preserve our body and soul to everlasting life.
My dear Sandy, I am sure we may say, as we have often
said before, what a dreary earth this of sorrow and
changes but for Christ our blessed companion through
it, and that glorious hope of everlasting life. My heart

'J^okn Mackintosh,

149

is very warm to you when I think of the past, and those
quahties in you which endeared you to me. How I wish
I had the prospect of again seeing you, as of old ! I pray
God He may lay His hand gently upon you, and sweeten
your cup with many mercies. I fear I cannot expect
you to write me, from your weakness ; but if it were not
a burden to you, it would give me very great pleasure
were you to dictate a few words to George or any other
of your family, which they might send me. It is for
them I feel, for I am sure they must love you very
much, and be very sad to see you drooping. Pray
remember me to your father and all. Tell George I
hope his studies are prospering, and above all, that his
Boul is growing in grace. If you have opportunity, will
you remember me to Widow M., to the Campbells, and
any other friends about you, to Jenny and Wm. F.
And now farewell, my dear Sandy. Remember me
sometimes when you feel near the throne, and believe
me to be, your affectionate friend,

* John Mackintosh.*

'PHI

our

[av-

and

terns

life.

^ften

and

iugh

ieart

Having received a reply to this letter, he says, in his
Diary : — * A very touching and gratifying letter from
Sandy, for which I desire to humble myself and give
thanks to God.'

'^Jan. 9, 1848. — My birth-day, aged twenty- six.
Awoke to renewed confession of sin, recognition of
utter weakness in myself, and profession of reliance
entire on Divine grace. Anew made myself over to
Christ ; to renounce self, the world, the flesh, and the
devil, and to consecrate myself to His service. Prayed
long and fervently on those heads, and that this year I
may grow in grace, in the knowledge and love of God,

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and of His Son Jesus Christ, of His Word, of His people,
and of His cause; that I may grow in knowledge,
righteousness, and true holiness, in fitness for the
ministry, and in discerning clearly my call to it. I pray
also that I may better discharge my duty to my neigh-
bour, whether relative or friend, high or low ; and, on
this head, that in certain company I may neither err by
unbecoming levity, nor offend by undue austerity; to
hit the mean here. My chief snare in time past is in-
deed beyond me ; but Lord, give me a single eye, and
do Thou teach me the way wherein I should go.

*Jan. 24. — God grant my heart may not decline, but
in the midst of a jarring and suspicious world, keep me
in the secret of Thy presence. Hide me from the strife
of tongues, and make me unobtrusively useful to my
fellow-men in Thy service.*

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TO WIDOW MACKENZIE.

'Lasswade, yan. i8, 1848.
* My dear Widow Mackenzie, — I bear you on my
heart often at the throne of grace, and should be glad
to know from you that, as you approach the gates of
the celestial world, your soul is admitted to nearer com-
munion with God, and to a foretaste of glory. Is the
Word becoming more and more precious to you above
all other books, however holy? Is Christ becoming
more invaluable to you— your all in all — in His person,
His offices, and His work ? Ah ! my dear old friend,
this world passes way, and the things thereof, but Christ
is a portion that can never fail us. Without Him how
gloomy — with Him, how bright and intelligible all
events, even death itself! I suppose, if we are to
make any real progress in the divine life and know-

yohn Mackintosh.

'5'

ling
rson,
lend,
Ihrist
Ihow
all
to

lOW-

ledge, it must be in the direct acknowledgment that the
Holy Spirit is our great Teacher j and may He, there-
fore, teach you and me, even when our natural faculties
appear to be failing.

* I have a strange feeling, through not having been
north as usual last summer, and seen all my old friends
about Geddes. I sometimes doubt whether summer
has really fled without it ; yet not the less does my
heart cling to the very dust and stones of the place, and
how much more to its inhabitants, old and young ! . . .

* It is but too probable we shall never meet again in
the flesh ; but I trust we are both travellers to that world
where there shall be no separation.'

TO JAMES

PLOUGHMAN.

>, March 3.
no situation

' LAsswAinc

* My dear James, ... I can conceive
more favourable for leading a quiet, honest, godly, and
happy life, than that of an unambitious tenant farmer.
I might even go the length of warning you against too
enterprising a spirit, by which your worldly cares might
be increased, to the disadvantage of your peace and
piety.

* I could sometimes almost envy those whose walk it
is to ply a healthful labour, with Solomon's mean
between poverty and riches, and ample leisure, even
in the calling, to occupy the soul with thoughts of God
and the welfare of those about them. Every condition,
however, has its own trials, and with these its own
supports, its own promises, its own rewartls. Blessed
be that overruling wisdom that assigns to each of us our
own place ! Let our part be to Karn what that place
is, by direct counsel from God. Of course this matter

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of yours you will spread before God, and ascertain what
He would have you do. When we thus acknowledge
Him in all our ways, we may expect His blessing in
our path, and His guidance to the end,; whereas when
we devise and struggle on without God, not to say
against Him, it is but one succession of failure upon
failure.

* It is a great matter, I feel, to attain to that personal
and habitual communion with Christ our Lord in
prayer, that we can, as it were, see Him face to face,
and be guided by His eye. I believe we are too con-
tent to walk in a kind of twilight, guided by an obscure
sense of duty, which may be called the reflection of His
beams, when, were our spirits more exercised, we might
have the clear and quickening radiance of the Sun
Himself. We are entitled, if only our hearts be pure,
to expect a voice continually in our ears, saying — This
is the way, walk thou in it Let us seek this, t Men,
dear James, especially in matters of importance, and .vc
shall never err or go astray.'

TO ALEXANDER MACARTHUR.

•Lasswade, May i8.
* Mv DEAR Sandy Macarthur, . . . My mother writes
me tfiat she did not see you, indeed, but heard you
were very much reduced, and this again gives me sor-
row and apprehension. Yet why should I say sorrow,
for I believe you can say, To me to live is Christ, and
to die gain. Blessed are they whom God chastens, and
thus brings near to Himself, to be taught by His gra-
cious Spirit the mysteries of the kingdom, and to be
enlightened in the knowledge of Jesus Christ. The
sufficiency of His atonement, the riches of His love.

'John MackintosJu

153

the tenderness of His care, the glories of His character
and person, the faithfulness of His promises, the excel-
lence of His precepts, become to such a one realities^
and not mere doctrines and names.

* I trust, my dear Sandy, that you are daily feeding
upon Christ in all His manifold attributes and offices,
and finding him meat indeed and drink indeed. You
will thus be prepared, meekly and lovingly, for what-
ever may be His will concerning you. I have sent you
by Mrs. Mackintosh the present of M^Cheyn^s Life^
wliich, I am sure, you will enjoy if you have not read it
before. Pray give it to George to read, with my kind
regards. 1 hope he is making progress intellectually
and spiritually ; and if you should be able to write me
again, I should be much interested to hear of him, what
he is doing and intending to do. After all — the Word,
the Word, the Word — this is what actually makes us
grow through the Divine blessing, and especially in sick-
ness, sorrow, or any other distress ; every other book
beside it appears poor and insignificant'

Although of a later date, I shall here give the last
letter written to Widow Mackenzie, which will also
finish his correspondence with those friends, then among
the poor on earth, but the society of two of whom, I
doubt not, he now shares in heaven.

TO WIDOW MACKENZIE.

• Lasswapk, Aus^isf 22.

*Mv DEAR Widow Mackenzie, , . . T trust tlie Lord
is continuing to sustain you, and to fulfil that word in
your experience, that having known Him in your youth,
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forsake you. You are drawing nearer and nearer to the
eternal world, and I trust have a desire to be with
Christ, and to see Him as He is. I trust He is daily
revealing to you more of His surpassing beauty, holi-
ness, tenderness, and compassion, and enabling you to
feed upon Him in your heart by faith. I wish I were
near to talk with you of Him, and to hear what He is
teaching you. I think I have been in His school
myself for some time — the school of discipline — and
have been learning somewhat, which may yet be useful
to myself and others. God grant it be so 1 '

* April 7. — My work very regular this week, my pro-
gress steady; yet it is long now since I felt any
elasticity of mind, Oi any of that " joy," which, as
Coleridge sjys, clothes all things with its effluence. I
believe the weather of these two months has much to do
with it, as well as my sedentariness ; and am not without
hopes that one day it may return. Meanwhile, let me
persevere humbly, prayerfully, resolutely in duty.

^ April 17. — While many fancy I am indulging in
selfish luxury in study, I have daily cause to know that it
is a weariness to the flesh. I envy those in active employ-
ment ; my present position I compare to that of the British
troops at Waterloo before being allowed to charge.

'May 2. — At Exhibition, and again delighted with
Turner's picture ; what refinement of colouring, what
perspective, what scope for the imagination ! Contrast
this delicate ideal picture with the best landscapes in
the room. They so deteriorate the eye, that it is some
time before it can be purified for the higher style. The
more one gazes upon him, the more one comes up to
somewhat the measure of his suggestions.'

John Mackintosh,

155

Not a month passes, hardly a week, in which some
nUusion to declining health does not occur.

* May 4. — My strength wonderfully gone ; I may say,
** My flesh is dried like a potsherd." I attribute it to
the rain we have had for the last three months, and m>
sedentary habits.

* In future I shall endeavour never to let myself get
80 low. In the meantime, may this experience be
blessed to make me forbearing with those whose bodily
ailments quench their spirit.

* Heavenly Father ! if this trial be also chastisement,
show me wherein I have offended Thee ; for verily I
thought that this winter my walk with Thee, in spite of
many shortcomings, had been holier than wont, and my
communion with Thee, and labour among Thy people,
nearer and sweeter.*

To recover strength he went off for a tour to Aber-
deenshire, and on his way home spent some days with
my brother John — an old Glasgow friend of his — at
Crawford Priory, Fifeshire. He came home much re-
freshed, and blessing God * for all the happiness he had
enjoyed, and desiring to consecrate his renovated powers
anew to His service.'

But no sooner does he again settle at Lasswade than
his sufferings are renewed — sleepless nights and weary
days. Such distressing entries in his Diary as the
following occur : —

* May 20. — O that weight ! I feel stifled and op-
pressed. My mind is as if under nightmare, and yet
unable to shake it off.'

' O that weight !' It was indeed time to do something
to cast it off. Wearied and oppressed with this ' stifled,
drowsy, unimpassioned grief,' and dreaming of the sun-

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shine and joy of the olden time, his heart turned in-
stinctively to the north. He longed once more to get
his foot upon the heather, and to * wander lonely as a
cloud ' among the solitudes of Braemar ; while a strange
yearning seized him to visit his father's grave, and to
snatch a glimpse, if but for a moment, of the well-known
scenes embalmed in his memory by which it was sur-
rounded. The morbid feeling, occasioned by the state
of body, can be better understood than explained, which
induced him to keep his intentions secret, even from
his mother and sister. UnknoAvn to all he must pursue
his journey ; a'^id neither to relative nor friend, north or
south, will he discover himself, but revel in the undis-
turbed society of his own thoughts, whether these were
of joy or sorrow, including the memories of a happy
past, or the dim anticipations of a sadder future. Such
was his humour, and thus he began his journey.

*June 6. — Forenoon, read old journals. Packed port-
manteau for Braemar, putting in Gibbon, three vols.,
Mosheim one, Locke two, Reid's Works, Coleridge's
Aids, Milton, Keats, Vinet, Fragments, and two last
vols, of Scott This will do, I think.'

From Aberdeen he started with his 'knapsack on
back ; day fine, but showery ; halted twice, and read
Keats and Scott, the latter with great gusto ; delicious
siesta in wood, lulled by soft winds and waterfalls.'

His first halt was at the Castletown of Braemar, where
he began to devo'ir his books, as usual, within doors,
and to enjoy the glories of the world without. Scott's
Life greatlv delighted him.

*June 13. — (Castletown of Braemar.) Incessant and
desperate rain. Read Locke and Gibl)on till four.
Sauntered out for a short time. Dined at five, and

'John Mackintosh.

'57

had a tumbler of toddy and a cigar ; then read Scott,
beginning vol. x. The interest is now most pathetic,
indeed, so as ever and anon to force the tear into one's
eye ; the strength departing from that mighty spirit so
suddenly, and so consciously withal ; and the many
beautiful traits of character, formerly concealed, but, as
Lockhart says, " now trembling to the surface." In
reading it, too, we know the sequel, which adds a
peculiar pathos to Scott's forebodings, and yet manful
struggles against yielding to them. It is quite refiesh-
ing to hear of the universal kindness and sympathy
shown him throughout the whole of his decline. There
is something very wonderful in those overtowering spirits,
and their influence over others, the recipients of a gift
divine — they have a mission to perform. Mark how
all the previous circumstances, or, as we would say,
accidents of life conduce to this ; how in due time it is
accomplished ; and then the machine, as in one sense
it may be called, is exhausted and removed. It is en-
couraging to think, that in the Christian world, where
every stone has its part to fulfil, this process is enacted
even in the humblest ; and I take comfort to myself in
the thought, that though at present apparently useless
on the earth, God may be fitting me in spite of my
seemingly slow progress for some service to my fellow-
men. '

*^June 17. — Reached Scott's death; and how affecting
the whole narrative of his stay in Italy ; his indifference
to everything except as it reminded him of Scotland,
and latterly, under a presentiment of his fate, his in-
tense yearning to be home ; his last autograph at an inn
in Switzerland, "Walter Sco\X, for Scotland ;'' the sym-
pathy shown him in London ; his revival and remarks

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on coming in sight of Tweedside and Abbotsford ; the
scene with Laidlaw and the dogs; and finally, that
minstrel close within hearing of his own dear Tweed.
I am not ashamed to say that I have frequently sobbed
outright — Grata guies Patrice*

But he had not as yet dived into the recesses of the
wild hills. So he started for Glen Quoich, ' whose love-
liness and delicious odours,* he says, * I enjoyed exces-
sively. At top of the glen, turned to the left and saw a
cottage, where I expected refreshment, but no one was
in it ; I lay down faint with hunger — soon refreshed.
Started many fine deer, and among them a doe, with
fawn not many days old. The mother fled with little
difficulty, but I caught the fawn, a lovely creature. I
made of it so, that when I wished to leave it, it still ran
by my side ; fearful that the mother might lose its track,
I took to my heels, and it could not keep up with me.
At first I was afraid that its mother might desert it, but
consoled myself by thinking that we had both the same
Protector. Descended into Glen Deny, which, as the
sun declined, looked very beautiful. On reaching its
outlet, where it joins Glen Lui, I discovered a cottage.
It was now seven o'clock, and the idea struck me of
asking a night's shelter here, and starting next morning
for the ascent of Ben Macdhui. I did so accordingly,
and found the owner of the cottage at the door, a tall
handsome man, one of the Duke's keepers, and he at
once, with the greatest courtesy and hospitality, bid me
welcome.'

And now for the ascent of Ben Macdhui : —
^June 20. — Started by moonlight, and according to
keeper's directions took up Glen Derry. After some
marshy walking got upon Speyside track, on left bank of

Johit Mackhitosh,

159

Perry ; but left it again at head of valley, wncn the path
crossed col^ but I followed the stream up a glen and a
very steep hill to its source, in Loch Echatal ; a black
tarn reflecting on its bosom the snow cliffs that rose from
its margin. By this time I had passed considerably the
snow level, and found myself among large fields of it
Much at a loss which way now to go, seeing no probable
summit for Ben Macdhui, and, indeed, the highest visible
in what I considered the wrong direction — to the north.
Moreover, the Sappers and Miners' track now abandoned
me, which the keeper had led me to expect was traceable
to the very summit. Drew out map (Black's) ; thought
I could make out Loch Echatal on it, and accordingly
pushed on with crossing or rounding loch, and then
clambered up very steep granite walls of hill. On get-
ting up, saw far off what I thought must be my bourne,
and accordingly made for it by a very circuitous route,
owing to the quantity of snow which I encountered, and
which it was dangerous to traverse. At last, about
seven o'clock, and considerably (no, not at all) fatigued,
I reached a precipice at the base of the point I was
making for, and here / was bamboozled. An open
country of corn fields, wood, and cottages lay before
me, and a great extent of prospect to the north and
north-east. It must be Speyside, and yet could it be
Speyside, — for it did not quite answer my ideas of it.
One thing was clear, my summit was not Ben Macdhui,
for where were Glen Lui and Glen Dee, into which I
was to descend ? It might be Cairngorm, and then the
Ben would lie to the southward. I drew out my map,
and tried by the sun and by Loch-na-Garr, which I
descried to the east ; but among such innumerable
summits, and having often been forced out of my path

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in getting hither, wliat certainty could I have I One
thing, I thought, I still knew the whereabouts of Loch
Echatal, and might And my way back as I came. Also,
beyond Loch Echatal, I had descried in coming up
another loch which I took to be Loch Avon, and which
the map placed in the north side of Ben Macdhui. Well,
I feasted on the view, — saw what, if it were Speyside,
must be Aviemore Inn — tried some barley bannocks,
being hungry, but oh ! so dry, I could not use it ; and
then my watch having now stopped from having no key
to wind it, pushed southward for two black snow-covered
peaks, which I there saw. Feeling a little chagrined,
in case, after my trouble, I should miss the view from
Ben Macdhui, I lifted my thoughts to God, as a Christian
will do in perplexities, small or great. I had not gone
far ere I heard a man's voice, and perceived sheep
running towards me. I soon descried the cause, and
hailed my friend. He came gladly, no doubt expecting
a flask of whisky, being very thirsty like myself. He
was a shepherd from Speyside, neighbourhood of Rothie-
murchus ; told me the hill I had been on was Cairngorm,
pointed out, not far off, the summit of Ben Macdhui,
and told me my black friends were Cairn Toul and Brae
Riach. This was most satisfactory. I regretted much
having no dram to reward him with, and pushed on
without crossing any valley to climb the summit. It
was steep, covered, as I got higher, with perfect quarries
of granite boulders, hard for the feet. At last I gained
the pile of stones erected on the top by the Sappers and
Miners, and sat down to reconnoitre. The day was on
the whole favourable, though not so hazeless as yester-
day ; the hour, I guess, about nine o'clock. I distinctly
made out houses, farms, Aviemore Inn, and the Spey,

yohn Mackintosh,

161

m Speyside ; but considerably more distant-looking than
from Cairngorm. The knock of Brae Moray, and
beyond it a long white line of sea, the Moray Firth
probably at Nairn, awakened in my heart unutterable
feelings. Indeed I was fairly overcome, and filled both
with yearning and sadness. I briefly looked at Ben
Wyvis, Ben-y-Gloe, and a very high range between
these giants — probably Schehallion or Ben Aulder, and
then again, and again, and once again, turned and
yearned towards the north. O how lonely did I feel,
far far oflf from men, and yet not far from God ! I felt
as though I could talk with Him in Christ, as a man
with his fellow. My past life, from its very source,
seemed spread out and mapped before me ; and from
this stand-point I felt as if I could even gaze into the
future — so much did my heart yearn at the thought of
Geddes, as it was, and as it is, with all around it, that I
was forced for relief to turn my thoughts upward. O
God, my Father in Christ, how great has been Thy
goodness to me, an unworthy child, all the days of my
life ! To Thee anew I dedicate myself, and commend
me to Thy keeping. What a Father ! What a Saviour
and friend ! How sure Thy word ! How faithful Thy
promises ! how wonderful Thy condescension ! O Lord,
I am Thine, fit and employ me in Thy service. All
else, as those past joys and thoughts, pass away, being
of earth ; but Thy ser ce is an everlasting service, and
Thy pleasures are for evermore. In this strain I went
on, reading and singing part of the 103d Psalm. I then
bethought me of all my friends and relatives, and those
whom I am wont to pray for, and interceded for them,
with a special remembrance of those at Geddes. At
last I tore myself away from the summit, fearing clouds

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Memorials of

might gather and endanger the descent One othel
look, and with a heavy heart I made for the south
edge of the hill.

' Here I saw Cairn Toul and Brae Riach before me,
undoubtedly the wildest-looking mountains I ever saw
— the very brigands of the race. I saw the source of
the Dee opposite, in the side of Brae Riach, and then
its long winding, comparatively tiny, course in its valley.
Also striking off from the centre of Glen Dee, and
separated from it by a col of no great height, Glen Lui.
All things considered, my hunger, etc., I determined to
make for this col^ and then down Glen Lui as the
shortest way home. It was, indeed, kittle work getting
down, being just one sheer pile of loose granite boul-
ders — the progress slow — ^the strain all on one set of
muscles, and the footing hard. At last, however, by
dint of patience and much care I did reach the <:<?/, and
congratulated myself; the keeper had deterred me from
going up on this side. I descended Glen Lui, which at
last seemed interminable, and the heat tremendous;
several times I tried to court the shade, but it was of no
use. At length reached my friend the keeper's house ;
where would fain have fed, but dreaded to take any
more milk and cakes, having already suffered from them.
Took a notion of whisky and water. Again bade them
all adieu, with much gratitude, and started for Castleton,
ten miles off. Hunger, however, and heat fairly ex-
hausted me ere I reached Mar Lodge, half way — added
to my entire want of sleep the previous night I felt
very breathless and uncomfortable ; besought a sofa at
the Lodge, on which to rest a little, and some bread
and water. The housekeeper gave me some ale and
cranberries, on which I refreshed ; and after two hours

■ i Mwi iJliipl

yohn Mackintosh*

163

again fit for starting. Lovely evening, and pushed on
to Castleton. Made good dinner at inn, and relieved
my good landlady, who, it seems, had been much
alarmed at my disappearance.'

But the chief object of his expedition had not yet
been accomplished, for Geddes had not been reached.
Thither he proceeds on foot via Tomintoul and Gran-
town. In the midst of rain and storm, drenched to the
skin, yet singing lustily, and ' in ecstasies, striding for-
ward like a hero, feeling gusts of poetic thought and
sentiment,' he reached the Spey. * I declare it seemed
to know me ! What a monarch it looked, rolling dark
and majestic, with the inspiration of the Highlands in
its flow ; not even the great Rhine so inspires me !*

* Grantown, June 28. — :How quaint my feeling last
evening after crossing the Spey, and now to think of
my being so near Geddes. I am in a state of high and
thrilling excitement ; and (partly perhaps owing to the
peat fire), scarcely closed an eye last night, but lay
pleasantly awake thinking Geddes, Geddes, Geddes I
Rose early — day promising. Trode with peculiar feel-
ings the first seven or eight miles, until at length my
own familiar objects hove in sight — the knock of Brae
Moray, the distant sea, the blue hills of Ross and
Sutherland. At Dava I turned off to Lochindorb,
about two miles westward. On the way two gigfuls of
fishers passed me, whom I did not recognise ; but who,
I feared, would recognise me. I reached the loch, and

there it lay as of old, when, years ago, and I made

an expedition to it. A goat-herd by the side, and his
wife, invited me to partake of some goat's milk, which I
accepted, with some cakes. I then crossed a gentle
hill, and on reaching the summit sat down to weep, to

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Memorials of

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muse, to drfnk the spectacle. The panorama of the
sea, the Cromarty Bay, the Sutherland hills, and nearer
Dulsie, the Findhom, the Black Wood, and numberless
other landmarks, brought back other days with an in-
tensity almost painful. I can say no more of what
passed through my mind in reviewing the chain of years ;
but, of course, my father's death and grave were upper-
most in my thoughts, and tinged the whole with sadness.
I descended the oft traversed route to Dulsie Bridge,
and rested an hour in a shady spot, reading some chap-
ters as well as musing. There lay the black pools, as
motionless and as solemn as ever — all unchanged. I
recalled five years ago, when, fresh from Cambridge,
and just embarked on my studies for the Free Church,
I opened a quartette of years, perhaps the happiest of
my life hitherto. Here I came with a peaceful domestic
party, and how much quiet bliss, how much holy so-
ciety, and how many pious epochs of my life have since'
occurred ! Alas ! too, how much yielding to the en-
chantments of the world — I do not mean to a heinous
extent, but in subtle forms, to which now I fain would
be a stranger. At three left Dulsie, and took road to
Clunas. The thoughts and sights soon became in-
toxicating, and I forgot all fatigue. A short way beyond
Clunas I made bold to cross the morass for the Black
Wood, to avoid some riders who perhaps might have
recognised me. I emerged just where the road turns
down to the Black Mill. Here some women were
working -, but I turned my head, to their chagrin, and
passed them. I soon took the low wood, and wound
ray way gradually round for the edge of the old Black
Wood. I gained it, and followed the well-known path,
fragrant of a thousand memories — passed some wood

John Mackintosh,

165

men unobserved, and at last reached the hill of Urchany.
Just at Price's. Here I was, indeed, familiar with the
passes, where at early dawn I so often stood with James,
Wisheart, and others, stalking roe. The day was lovely,
but very hot The rmell of the larch luxurious, the
hum of the bee, the far-off cries as of old, the baying of
collies. I strode on among wood, intending to strike
down to Castle Findlas ; but inadvertently I walked
on to the trunk road of the hill, and descended on
Donald Bowie's bridge. I then retraced my way up
the glen to Castle Findlas ; the solitude was a luxury,
but oh ! an agonizing one. The " days that are no
more," how often trode at eve and all hours, and with
what various companies ! but ever with that house, and
its rich domestic pleasures, its serene repose, its sub-
stantial cheer, looming as the bourne. I sat long at
Castle Findlas, plucked a sprig of heather as a relic,
and then, it being now about six o'clock, made for the
top of the hill. The pensiveness, if not the sadness of
evening had stolen on when I reached it; and so,
though all was clear, all looked melancholy. I gazed
around, and around, and around, upon the glorious
scene, and then, ere I left, took out my note-book, and
wrote oflf as follows : — " My heart is full ; I have been
for hours traversing the old familiar walks upon the hills,
conversing with the dead. O God, I bless Thee for
the past ; sad, sad as is now its retrospect, from the re-
moval of one who gave unity to the whole ! May the
future be devoted to Thee ; and may I learn to cherish
and value her who still remains to me, as I ought, re-
membering that, in human probability, I shall one day
look back on her too as no more. My heart is like to
burst. O how lonely do I feel on earth ; but on Thee,

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O my Father in heaven, through Thy dear Son, will I
pillow my head !

* " The sea is like a mirror j but as if mirroring sad-
ness. Cromarty Bay, Nairn, the sand-hills, the yellow
broom on the Forres Moor, Brodie, Forres Tower are
all most visible. The tall larches — ^my father's pride,
make moan around me. Night is closing in, and I go
now to visit my father's grave. May it be unobserved.
— Seat on top of Urchany Hill, Wednesday evening,
seven o'clock. — ^June 28, 1848."

* I did go, crossing the wood behind Sandy Milne's,
with much trepidation, lest I should be recognised. I
tied a wide handkerchief across my mouth. On reach-
ing the road behind the forester's, made eastward for
Clerk's, then turned up by dyke into field but one
removed from Geddes, hurried across it unmet, and
climbed gate into burial-ground — there I knelt by grave,,
and lingered some time ; finally, jumped gate again,
quaking, and boldly made for Macarthur's. His daugh-
ter, I think, passed churchyard just as I was leaving it,
and I hid behind a tombstone. She afterwards paused
long below her house, as if to see who it was ; I also
saw her father returning from Raith, and so, like a
wounded deer, I made a rapid circuit by hill above
reservoir, passed Raith, descended into v^ey of Gran-
town road, and once more breathed freely.'

And so he parted from his early home, which he
never saw again I

The last week of July was spent with his much-valued
friend, Professor Ramsay (of Glasgow) and family, at
their country residence in Perthshire. In spite of much
suffering from bad health, this was a very happy week.
After his return to Lasswade he addressed the following

'John Mackintosh,

167

letter to Miss Ramsay, then a mere child, and which I
select as a specimen of his letters ♦^o his young friends :

• Lasswade, July 25.

* I, too, was very dull on leaving you that morning,
and have scarcely quite recovered my spirits yet I
amuse myself with thinking over the different days at
Rannagulzean, and what we did ; — how we pasted the
the kite, and made it fly ; our walk to old Jenny's ; our
expedition with Solomon to Strowan ; our gathering
blackberries ; our games at night ; and lastly, how I
saw you asleep, with Bushy at your feet, the night
before I came away. I was very much too happy, and
am suffering for it now; you may think, then, how
happy I was, since I could not get yourself, to get your
letter to-day. I knew at once it was from Cassy ; and
such a nice letter ! I am glad you haven't forgot my re-
presentative, and I wish I had some little robin to feed,
and call it Cassy. My mother (whom I know you would
love) thinks it very improper for me to receive a letter
from you, but I hope to get another some day ; that is
to say, if young Mr. Wishaw when he comes does not
supplant me. Talking of my mother, do you know I
am very envious of your mamma and your aunt, whom
I do not think you can love half enough, much as you
do love them.

* I wonder how you would go to Banff 1 in a cart, I
suppose, across the moor ; and I hope you enjoyed
yourself as much as I did the day I walked with papa.
I hope poor Nelly is better. Have you had any more
games in the evening, or any moonlight walks ? Ah !
we never made out our tite-d-tete, but I hope we shall
some evening yet. I am so glad you like the biogra-
phies. I am tpld papa is to be in town next week, and

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I shall try and get him to take you the sacred history of
which I spoke to auntie, and which, I think, you would
like ; my copy is quite ready for you, and it would be
such a pleasure to me to think Cassy had read out of it,
Mr. B. has a nice little nephew, whom I took to-day to
see the prizes giv^en at the Academy, and he was quite
delighted. It was not so grand as your first of May,
but still there were some very happy faces, and some
nice-looking boys whom you know, — Lewis Campbell,
and others. Tell cousins Mary and Maggie not to be
angry with me for sending them some trash in return for
all their nice music. — Give my tender love to mamma,
papa, and auntie, and believe me to be, etc.

* Remember me to old Betty.'

* Diary. — Wednesday^ July 25. — Lord Cockbum spoke
to me very kindly, and, when I told him I was going
abroad, warned me not to come back and found a new
sect I

* Thursday ^ August 24. — ^Wrote Professor Forbes, from
whom had note alluding to expressions about my sad-
ness of mind, and o£fering sympathy if an)rthing was
distressing me. My heart wept over his kindness, and
I wrote to tell him my dejection was entirely physical.

* Tuesday^ Sept. 26. — I feel I have gained much by
the perusal of Gibbon, and would not willingly have
skipped any portion for speed sake. It has formed,
to say the least, a fine background to my mind before
which to place the events of that period which I may
learn more vividly, and in detail, firom other sources. It
has connected together periods which formerly I viewed
disjointedly, often wondering what was between them ;
and though the answer often be nothing, yet it is well to
know even that,'

a i ji.i. i ii Mr iw i iff wff Bt.. i . ' . ' S ' iJU>i..«.irtW !wa

John Mackintosh,

169

CHAPTER VIL

Leaves Scotland — Letter of Alex. Bum Murdoch, Esq. — Diaries in
Geneva, 1848 ; and Letters to his Mother, Rev. N. Macleod, and
the Rev. W. Madden — Diary, 1849.

In May (1848), John Mackintosh says in his Diary: —
*I have resolved, d.v., to spend next winter at Geneva,
thinking it may enlarge my future usefulness, and add a
year to my preparation for the ministry. I think I seek
God's glory first in this, and I pray Him, if it will lead
to this, to make my way plain before me, and if not,
then to thwart my plan. I have as yet broached it to
no one.'

As the summer and autumn advanced, the state of
his health confirmed him in his resolution to go abroad.
His way became still more clear, when he found that his
friend, Mr. Bum Murdoch, was willing to accompany him.

In writing to him, he said : ' Should you make up
your mind then to go, I trust we shall look for, and
obtain God's blessing in making us profitable to one
another, and in turning our labours to account in His
service.

* I have already hinted to you, what, I fear, you may
have to put up with in me, in the way of physical
moroseness j but perhaps yoiu" cheerfulness may com-
municate itself to me, or at all events, it will enable you
to bear with me.'

170

Memorials of

I shall leave Mr. Bum Murdoch himself to tell the
reader his early remembrances of John, and of their
journey to Geneva, and residence there, as he has kindly
told all this to me in a letter received from him. Before
doing so, there are a few of John's Diaries previous to
his departure, which may be recorded-

Lasswade. — * Sunday f Sept. 24. — Sweet thoughts on
waking ; at ten got to room, and most unusual medita-
tion. I thought I could trace God's hand in all my past
suffering, and that it was designed, in love, to chasten
and correct. Like Samuel, when God spoke to him, I
have been long in recognising the voice as His. I now
seem to see it distinctly ; and what is more, my mind
was filled with adoring gratitude and wonder, that God
should condescend to discipline me, that His faithful-
ness and goodness in it quite melted my heart I
prayed Him not so much to remove the rod, as to bless
it to the sanctifying of my soul. I have needed it much
for purifying, and, for punishment, have suffered infi-
nitely less than my iniquities deserve. Of what self-
seeking in my life am I conscious, although professing
to be only Christ's ; that is, I love the praise of man
more than the praise of God, and am not willing to be
counted a fool or a disagreeable person for Christ's sake,
or to give up all and follow Him. O Lord, give me
grace to renounce self, and to live only for Thee and
my neighbours' good.

* Tuesday^ Sept. 26. — Tol lol night, but woke jaded.
Short walk before breakfast ; afterwards finished Gibbon.
It took him twenty years to write, and as he says, linked
year to year, and afforded much delight It has taken
me a year to read, linked month to month, and con-
i^ected together their very varied, sometimes happy,

John Mackintosh*

171

often sad experience ; yet, in looking back, the sad is
forgotten, and the pleasing alone prevails with a deep
tinge of pensiveness. I am surprised at my slowness in
getting through, but, alas ! dire ill health has had much

to do with it ... To West Port, and saw Mrs. ,

with , also old Rachel ; spoke and prayed at both

houses ; walked up Port, and many old and profitable
thoughts of past years crowded my mind ; in which dear,
great, good Dr. Chalmers stood as centre. With all
the suffering that has been since, " the thought of my
past years in me doth breed perpetual benediction."

* Wednesday^ Oct 4. — Rose early, and after a brief
feeling of awe, in the thought of leaving home, experi-
enced much assurance of God's favour and presence,
and, in particular, with that promise, as if from the Lord
Himself : " Lo, I am with thee alway, even to the end
of the world." After devotions, dressed and packed ;
much overcome at family prayers. ... At parting, solemn
prayer with mother. Farewell to Kate, and departed
much unmanned.'

His next meeting with his mother and sister was not
in his own beloved Scotland.

And now I shall permit Mr. Bum Murdoch to go on
with his narrative : —

* From the circumstance of my brother being in the
same class at the Edinburgh Academy, of which our
dear friend was all along the head boy, I of course had
known about him for years. It was not, however, till
we met in the class-rooms of the New College that I
had the pleasure of becoming personally acquainted
with him. His appearance there was very striking. He
always sat in the same place ; and I believe few, if any,
failed to remairk his animated intelligent countenance|

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Memoirs of

his perfect gentlemanliness, and his demeanour irre-
proachable alike by the gravest or the gayest, being
quite untinged with either the censoriousness of the
cynic or the boisterousness of the boy. Some pleasant
strolls with John, and one or two other friends, invited
like myself to visit him at Laurel Bank, and wander to-
gether on the shady banks of the Esk, recur to my
memory as marking our last months in Scotland. But
I hasten on to our journey. When we had agreed to
go together to Geneva, he came for a day or two to
Gartincaber in September 1848, where, besides my bro-
ther John, he met another old class-fellow, George Kin-
near, now a clerg)maan in the Church of England, and
my own and his friend, Robert Watson. I well remem-
ber that the day after he arrived he asked me to retire
with him, that together we might ask God's blessing on
our proposed journey. And when we sailed from
Granton Pier on the 4th of October, after Robert
Balfour and my brother William had bid us farewell,
and when the forms of James Howden, and my own
dear and now absent brother, James, who alone of our
friends lingered on the point of the pier, were no longer
visible, — again, at his request, retiring to our state-
cabin, we sought the blessing and guidance of Him for
whose gloiy our dear friend assuredly undertook the
journey. We slept at Folkestone on the loth ; it was
a lovely moonlight night, and long we paced, almost
silently, up and down the short jetty, gazing on the
moon, the gently undulating silvered sea, and the shores
of the dear land we were about to leave. His every
look that night seemed to me an outgushing of the love
of country, which in him was only second to the love of
bis mother and of his God.'

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yohn Mackintosh,

173

I shall here interrupt Mr. Bum Murdoch's narrative
by giving an extract from a letter written by John Mac-
kintosh that night to his mother .■-

•Folkestone, Oct. 10

*. . . I can say no more just now, than that your
letter filled my heart with prayer and thanksgiving.
I have felt, I may say, in a very peaceful frame of
spirit towards God my Saviour, since I set out on my
joumeyings, and, as I tolv^ you, for some time pre-
viously; God grant it may last and increase! Who
knows how far a mother's anxiety and prayers may
have to do with it?

* It is a sublime night here, as I write ; the moon is
shedding a wonderful effulgence on the great English
Channel, which throbs beneath its beams as if it knew
the mighty place it holds, and has ever held, to our
beloved country, defending it from danger, and, as at
this day, separating it from convulsions. The lights of
France are visible \ the waves lash \\. ^ chalk cliffs of old
England with a solemnity of sound that is appropriate.
I am in the neighbourhood of Caesar's landing-place,
and the Conqueror's great Norman battle-field ; so that,
you may suppose, my poetic temperament is worked up
to the highest pitch. To-morrow morning we cross the
channel for Paris, which we expect to reach by evening,
and bidding farewell to you almost in the same
breath with which I say good-night to my native land,
—I remain,' etc.

* Paris, October 16. — I feel impressed with the great-
ness of the French as a people, which from national
prejudice I have been slow to admit They seem to
me most like the ancients of any modem nation, and a
sort of combination of the Greek and the Roman, having

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the feebler ess, subtlety of intellect, and vivacity of the
one, the ambition and nationality and grandeur of the
other. Napoleon must have been a genuine Roman.
Alas, that they resemble the ancients also in their
atheism and idolatry I'

*0n the 17 th we left Paris for Geneva, per Diligence^
in the banquette of course ; it was a sixty hours' journey
of almost uninterrupted travelling. It was only in the
end seat of the banquette that one could sleep, and we
took it alternately ; and it was not my kind companion's
fault if I had not far more than my share. What a
pleasant journey it was ! . . .

'Many of the students attending the Theological
Academy of the Evangelical Society at Gentva come
from a distance — from France, from the Waldensian
valleys, from Belgium and from French Canada. They
are not, generally speaking, of the rich of the earth, and
most of them find it convenient to live in boarding-
houses, almost confined to themselves, where the style
of living is simple, and the expense moderate. John at
once resolved to take up his abode in one of these.
His great object in going to CJeneva had been to obtain
a thorough knowledge of French, a good general view
of French literature, and- a familiar acquaintance with
the theological students and the theological teaching.
It was among students that these ends could be best
attained ; and accordingly, we very soon found ourselves
inmates of a students* boarding-house — a pretty, irregular
building, with its garden, vine-covered promenade, ad-
joining field, and artificial mound, up which a spiral
walk led through thick young fir-trees to a favourite seat
on the top. It was pleasantly situated, in the suburb of

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Champel, some half a mile west of Geneva, and nearest
that point of the fortifications where a suspension foot-
bridge, thrown across the moat, gives access to the city.
Close to this little bridge is the Oratoire, where the
classes in connexion with the Evangelical Society meet.
Our boarding-house was presided over by M. and Mme.
Loup, excellent people ; and there were fully a dozen
of students besides ourselves. It was a great induce-
ment to go to M. Loup's, that we found there a dear
friend, William Ker, now minister of the Free Church
in Deskford, who had arrived just before us, with the
intention of spending some months at Geneva. Indeed,
our house was quite full, and M. Loup put himself con-
siderably about in order to accommodate us. We had
all separate bedrooms, with fire-places or stoves, which
had to serve also for study and sitting-room; but we
met at meals in a common dining-room. We break-
fasted at seven (in summer still earlier), dined at one,
and had tea, which in Switzerland is generally a some-
what more solid meal than with us, at seven. The
distinguishing feature in John's character was, I think,
conscientiousness ; and hence his ordinary daily life was
characterized by extreme regularity. One was some-
times tempted to wish that he would follow more un-
thinkingly the fresh impulse of feeling in little matters ;
but it was a wish arising probably from a less vivid and
constant realization than his, of the presence of Him
who is invisible. His blamelessness of life deeply
impressed the students, from some of whom I have had
letters since his death, showing that, after the interval of
many year^, they still retain a most affectionate remem-
brance of him. Being away from home, I have not
^hese by me. One is from a most amiable fellow-

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student, M. Ambresin, now pastor at Thiat, in the
Department of Haute Vienne ; another from an equally
kind-hearted friend, M. Harmdgnies, now a pastor in
Belgium ; another from Italy. After our early breakfast
we three met for a sort of family-worship in English ;
then John shut himself up for study till dinner-time.
After dinner we walked, and he almost always found
his way to the reading-room in the afternoon, where we
saw the English papers, and news of home. He very
generally walked with one of the students, that he might
have more intercourse with them, and might be com-
pelled to speak French, and this, I am sure, from the
home-feelings that creep over one at such a time, must
have cost him no small self-denial. As to Ker and
myself, wandering up the shady banks of the yellow
Arve, and seeking for the first flowers of spring, we
very unscrupulously made the woods ring with our
mother-tongue. After Ker left us for home, in the
middle of March, John and I had our daily walk
oftener together ; but I was generally requested to speak
French. Both in the forenoon and afternoon, we
occasionally attended the theological lectures at the
Oratoire, not indeed with great regularity — ^we had had
much lecture-attending before — but often enough to
understand the system pursued; less frequently at the
excellent theological lectures of Gaussen, the Church
history of Merle, and the Hebrew of La Harpe, as these
differed little from our own in Scotland ; very often at
the admirable but occasional lectures of Filet, on
preaching and sermon-writing, and the fresh and inter-
esting though somewhat Germanized exegesis of Scherer
— ^both subjects hitherto comparatively neglected in our
own theological schools.

'John Mackintosh,

177

* M. Loup had prayers in the evening in the public
dining-room, where we generally, however, had but a
small attendance. There were almost always, however,
at least two or three students, an excellent old watch-
maker, Jac'ottet, since gone to his rest (our only non-
student housemate), and, to do them justice, " les trois
Ecossais," when they happened to be at home. Some-
times M. Loup conducted our devotions himself, pour-
ing forth his supplications with a faith, a fervour, and,
above all, a volubility unexampled but among French
Christians. Very often his place was taken by La
Fleur, one of our students, who, with his countryman
Cyr, were regular attendants. La Fleur was a French
Canadian of good talents and blameless life, greatly
beloved and respected by us all — by none more than
by John. It was a great privilege to join in his calm
and solemn prayers. He is now at the Mission de la
Grande Ligne, St. John's, Canada, where, I doubt not,
he is about his Master's business. When speaking
of the students, I might name them all as showing un-
varying kindness to the English strangers. The steady
Ledune, the musical Chatelanat, the jovial D Ihorbe,
the half-English Auberjonois, Roux, Lecocq, even the
impetuous arguer, Ferrette,* all were kind to us. The
students had a prayer-meeting at the Oratoire, in which
John occasionally took a part, so soon as he had suffi-
ciently mastered the language. He also attempted a
little in the way of home-mission work, but he did not
speak of it even to me. I only gathered that he found
his nationality an insurmountable barrier, as he was im-
portuned for temporal aid whenever he was perceived
to be an Englishman.

* Now missionary agent at Damascus of the Synod of Ulster.

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*I have spoken of our evenings at the "Pension
Loup." But, indeed, the "Trois Ecossais," thanks to
the kind hospitality of friends, were under little neces-
sity of spending evenings at home. Pleasant uncere-
monious evening parties are quite a feature of Genevese
life, and especially in the circle of our most intimate
acquaintance, which was not thoroughly English, nor
yet thoroughly French ; but one in which the two
elements, by intermarriage or otherwise, were very much
blended. The venerable occupant of the Prd-Bdni is,
as everybody knows, the hospes of all our nation, and
many an English chat had we under his roof Mr.
Stevenson, although within an ace of being a thorough
Frenchman, was English still, and his wife not English
merely, but Scotch, and a Sinclair ; and a Scotch wel-
come we invariably received from them. Count St
George is half-English, and his wife is English ; but it
was not nationality, but the large-heartedness of Chris-
tian love that dictated their unvarying kindness to us.
Madam Scherer, too, is our countrywoman, and Pro-
fessor Scherer is well acquainted with our language and
literature. They had one evening in the week, when
any of the students who pleased were welcomed, and
many availed themselves of it; but we strangers and
foreigners were far more constant guests, and we shall
never forget the unwearied kindness which made " Les
Grottes " to us a second liome. Pleasant evenings too
we passed with tlie excellent Professor Gaussen, with
Dr. M,erle, the Perrots, and several others, which re-
lieved the monotony of student-life, and gave us an
insight into a very pleasant and Christian society.

'One feature in our Geneva life I must not omit;
John's health was not very vigorous, and an uninter-

yohn Mackintosh,

179

rupted course of sedentary life always induced great
torpidity of the system. To throw aside books and
dash into the country, was the only remedy. You
know his intense enjoyment of nature, and can there-
fore understand with what delight he started on such
an expedition, when his health rendered it imperative.
And here, indeed, I could let my pen run on. Fancy
us three, with a French friend (whom we nearly killed
by overwalking), on an intensely cold and brilliant day
in the end of December, following the course of the
Rhone for some twenty miles, spending the long evening
in pleasant chat round the stove of the most primitive
of French wayside inns j and hailing the sunrise among
the rocks and icicles that surrounded the "Perte du
Rhone." Fancy us trudging along to Chamonix in the
middle of February, astonishing the snow-bound in-
mates of the Hotel de la Couronne, and crossing the
Tete Noire to Martigny, over ten to fifteen feet of snow,
in the highest spirits, and with as much ease as in sum-
mer. To console ourselves for the loss of Ker, John
and I spent the last days of March in accompanying
Professor Scherer in a delightful walk round the Lake
of Geneva, beginning with the south side. We had,
indeed, our little hardships. We started in the gloom
of a snow-shower ; but spring was already triumphant,
and never shall we forget these meadows and grassy
slopes between Evian and St. Gingolph, covered with
cowslips, violets, and many-coloured patches of the
wild crocus ; that sunny churchyard of Montreux, and
the quiet grave of the great, the good, the lovely Alex-
andre Vinet I might speak, too, of summer trips to
Annecy, and Aix les Bains, with its fairy Lac de Bour-
get, where John and I, alone among strangers, felt, with

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a vague and undefined delight, the spirit of a new and
more southern climate breathing in all that we saw
around us ; but I shall deny myself the pleasure of say-
ing anything more about these most delightful hours.
It was on these occasions that I most enjoyed his
society ; and what struck me most was his intense de-
light in the beautiful works of God, and his ever per-
ceptible gratitude to Him who gave him so much to
enjoy. One very noticeable trait in his character was
his power of entirely forgetting any accompanying
annoyances or hardships, and admiring and enjoying
with all his heart He would express his delight ver-
bally, or in a letter, at the scenes he was beholding, in
the most glowing lerms; and there was not a tinge of
sadness to lead you to suspect that his bodily health
was perhaps such as, in the case of most men, would
have thrown a dark gloom over the most glorious land-
scape. Indeed, this power of ignoring personal sorrow,
and therefore bearing it alone, without asking any
sympathy from his friends, amounted, in his case, as
concerned his health, to a misfortune, if not a fault :
if a fault, certainly a rare and dignified one. Well do I
remember a day in June, when, after a long and fatiguing
Diligence journey, we started on foot, with heavy knap-
sacks, from Albertville, in the valley of the Is^re, intend-
ing to find our way, as best we could, across mountain
roads to Chamonix. We had many miles of a long
straight road, white, and inches deep of dry burning
dust -J the sun was blazing in fieice noon-day splendour.
Our lips were far too parched to admit of conversation,
and we tramped slowly along on opposite sides of the
way, where there was least dust. It was decidedly a
case in which a sea breeze-loving John Bull might law-

'John Mackintosh.

i8i

fully grumble a little, and with that intention I turned
to my companion ; but, alas for sympathy ! his eye was
fixed on a far-stretching and splendidly-wooded hillside,
which rose on our left : here and there among the high,
bare, rocky jidges which towered beyond, was perched a
chateau — the very home of romance ; it was evident that
the toils of the way, the fury of the sun, were forgotten ;
his eye expressed a quiet delight, and a slow, uncon-
sciously murmured "beautiful!" told the grumbler that
he must grumble alone.

* One word about the more peculiarly religious aspect
of our Ufe at Geneva. This alone makes the retrospect
even joyful ; other things may have passed away for
ever. The " new earth " may perhaps have no more its
Lac de Bourget, its Savoy, its Alps (though even these
are immortalized, at least in memory) ; but it is our
delight to think that our Geneva ties were of the most
enduring kind. The great bulk of those who showed
us kindness were followers, and many of them most
exemplary followers of the Lord Jesus. It was a great
privilege to hear such admirable sermons as those of M.
Pilet at the Oratoire, to be present at the unique Cat^-
chisme of Gaussen, to receive the affectionate exhorta-
tions of the venerable Malan. It was a great privilege,
the constantly recurring opportunities we had of meeting
round the table of the Lord, and commemorating His
death, in a language and with a form that showed us to
be of one family with the Cdvenols and the Camisards.
It was perhaps a greater privilege still to see before us
many men, some of them men of rank and wealth and
leisure, devoting themselves, with all the ardour of men
of business, to the advancement of Christ's kingdom,
and deserving a place beside the honoured worthies of

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our own Clapham sect I believe that the effect, in a
religious point of view, produced on John and on all of
us, was a feeling of admiration for the greater joyfulness
manifested by these French Christians. We thought
this arose, in part, from the prominent place they gave
in their thoughts to the person of the Saviour ; and, I
believe, we found it very advantageous to ourselves,
to regard personal Christianity more as a cleaving of
soul to a living loving Saviour, than a belief of certain
truths. That the accent has been laid too much on the
latter view in our country was, I think, felt by our dear
friend; and had he lived, he would have seen many
signs in our sermons and religious literature that this was
becoming generally felt, acknowledged, and amended.

'This letter is already too long, and I must hasten to
a close. Though written hurriedly, unmethodically, and
amid a press of duties, I hope it may be possible to
gather from it some idea of John's life at Geneva. I
have noi spoken of the feelings cherished towards him
by our kind Geneva friends. They were, I know,
feelings of unmingled respect and love.

* The 30th of July was the last day we spent together.
Circumstances obliged me to return home : his course
was towards Italy. It was a day of sorrow to both.
We were in Lausanne. We sat gazing sadly on the
lake, beyond which the Salbve, the C6te d'Or, and the
mountains near the " Perte du Rhone," loomed solemnly
through a hazy atmosphere. As the parting hour ap-
proached, we read a portion of Scripture and prayed
together. The darkness concealed our tears ; and mid-
night tolled solemnly as the Diligence hurried me away
towards Besan9on, with my eyes fixed, for the last time,
on the form of John Mackintosh.

John Mackintosh,

■83

* That 30th day of July he wrote in my album the
following lines : —

•• Adieu I — to God — what words can else express

The parting, and the prayer that soars to heaven,
When two fond hearts, long link'd in tenderness,

By the decree of fate at length are riven ?

Yet happy they to whom the hope is given
To meet again upon this travailing earth.
And side by side inaugurate the birth

Of that bright age for which our sires have striven.
Adieu ! — to God— if not below, above I
"While even here, how wide soe'er we roam,
High in an atmosphere of peace and love,
Our souls may meet in God — the wanderer's home."

* " If not below, above !" My heart echoes that
prayer. The Lord enable me to follow him in his
upward course. Hitherto, alas 1 at the very best, it has
been non passihus CBquis*

I will now let him tell his own tale of his life at
Geneva by extracts from his Diaries and Letters, during
the nine months in which he resided there, from the
end of October 1848 till the end of July 1849.

* Oct. 29. — I desire to walk with God, to live entirely
to Christ, and, if it be His precious will, to be a sweet
savour of Him to all around, particularly my fellow
students. . . . The desire of my heart is after holiness,
and an entire dedication and surrender of myself to
Christ

* Wednesday, Nov. 8. — Evening, drank tea with Mr.
Darby, accompanied by Ker; long discussion on his
views ; feel very strong on the subject of the ministry,
as of apostolic appointment, and most necessary : yet
harmonize more with him than with High Churchmen

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and system-mongers of any church. After tea he gave
us his views on prophecy — very interesting ; and many
of them, I have no doubt, just I consulted him on his
views of the person of Christ, and the nature of his
intercourse with the Lord, to which he repHed in a
manner very edifying, and in strict harmony with what,
I trust, the Lord has of late been teaching me by His
Spirit We prayed before parting. Home by half-past
ten, greatly pleased with evening.

' Thursday^ Nov. 9. — Holiday as usuaL Read, nine to
twelve, Monsell on Plymouthism, and greatly interested
in the questions it opens up. I think his views of the
institution of the ministry are quite wTong, but desire to
sift them more thoroughly.

'■Sunday^ Nov. 12. — Another Sunday; time rolls on !
At nine to Oratoire ; M. Pilet on Forgiving our Neigh-
bour, etc. Walked to warm myself till twelve, read to
one. Dr. Malan's at two ; at half-past three, B. M., Ker,
and I had nice prayer-meeting in B. M.'s room. Began
Timothy then, and interesting conversation \ took sacra-
ment at six, at Dr. Malan's, at his request, and enjoyed
it much ; home by half-past seven- Began Life of Felix
Neff; it seems he died in this house, in B. M.'s room.

* O Lord, give me Thy Holy Spirit, and amend my
heart, and lead me in all my ways ! May I live only
for Thee, recognise Thy love and faithfulness in all my
circumstances, live by faith and hope ; and forasmuch
as the time is short, and there are many heavenly wit-
nesses of my course, may I press forward, under the
Spirit's leading, for the prize of God's high calling in
Christ. Lord, show me my work, and give me grace to
execute it ; I have ceased to choose it for myself.
Work in me and by me.

'John Mackintosh,

•85

* Motiifay^ Nov. 13. — At seven, to private meeting of
Plymouth Brethren in Isle. The topics rather rambling;
yet instructive on that of the Holy Spirit's agency in
believer : several spoke besides Mr. Darby. . . . The
Brethren seem to carry the doctrine to a length to which
I dare not follow them. It is a blessed doctrine that of
the Spirit's individual and hourly guidance ; but to be
used with much humility and discretion. The Christian
is to seek it earnestly, and to walk in the general faith
of it ; but so many are the corruptions still within him,
that he should at no time confidently assert that the
Spirit moves him ; but knowing the treachery of his
heart, cast ever a humble upward eye — test the fact by
the result — imputing all that is plainly good to the oper-
ations of the good Spirit, and mourning over the error
as his own. The more tremblingly we walk in this
way, the less likely will we be to act of ourselves, and
consequently the safer and holier will be our conduct.
While the one is presumption, considering the existence
of the old man still within us ; the other does not
imply want of faith in God mingled with a holy jealousy
and fear of ourselves.

' They then got off the unity of the Church (of which
they wished to speak), upon the parable of the Ten
Virgins, in relation to Christ's coming, and the situation
of His Church. This seems a very favourite parable as
illustrating their views ; but I was not much arrested by
anything I heard.

* I could not but be sad at the general strain of the
meeting, groping, one and all, in Scripture, often upon
important points, and speaking very much at random,
without any solid conclusions. How different, thought
I, from a prayer-union in Scotland, where the facts are

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admitted — thanks to the early training of the people —
and all that remains (certainly not the least important
part), is to realize them to edification. Hence there is
no contradiction; no looking for a supernatural en-
lightenment, or for what is only to be got in conjunction
with much patient study and search in the closet ; nor
a looking for what may be got suddenly on such an oc-
casion as when two or three are met together, a " felt
power " (as it is called), or " a feeling of the power of
the truth." Home by ten.

* Nov. 1 6. — Again with Scherer. He spoke of Ar-
nold, Neander, and Vinet, as the three bright stars whom
he loved to think of in a religious point of view. He
too had been struck with the prominence given to the
person of Christ in Arnold's life. Spoke of this as the
grand point in Christianity which gave to the Christian
justification and sanctification with daily warmth and
comfort.

* Wednesday y Nov. 22. — Read sermon by A. Monod,
very eloquent ; I should say English eloquence. Fore-
noon, full of longings for quickening and unity of
Christians and churches everywhere, by the outpouring
of the blessed Spirit. This doctrine, that we live
under the economy of the Spirit, par excellence^ is
forcing itself more upon me ; yet the coming of Christ
is necessary and greatly desired, not only by the Church,
but by the Spirit Himself, who is now the Church's
guide and property. " The Spirit and the Bride say,
Come."

^Saturday, Dec. a. — ^To-night, a converted Roman
Catholic, but very young Protestant, whose tenets given
out at table shocked me some days ago, overtook me
after tea, and showed disposition to converse quietly

yohn Mackintosh.

187

tly

and modestly, as feeling he had much to learn. O my
God, open up a path for doing good, and give me grace
and wisdom, for my blessed Lord's sake.

' Sunday ^ Dec. 17. — To-day the collection for missions
is being made in Scotland. My heart overflowed with
earnestness, that God would bless those missions, and
put it into the heart of His people and servants to come
nobly forward to their aid. I could not think of the
subject without weeping tears of joy at what God has
done for us, for the missions, and for my own poor soul ;
tears of shame at our stinted gratitude and efforts for
Him, at my own lukewarmness hitherto. O Lord, let
Thy Spirit be within me as a burning fire, as a live coal,
filling me with love, zeal, and devotion to Thee. May
I henceforth recognise this one end in life — Christ —
and to make known His name among my fellow-crea-
tures, and all around me.

* Dec. 27. — Morning thought over arguments of na-
tural and revealed religion, for the first time in my life,
feeling what it would be to doubt rather than doubting.
Putting myself in such a position was cold, and for a
time with difficulty could I come back to intimate re-
freshing thoughts of Him whose credentials, so to speak,
I had been testing. After all, not to enter here into the
conclusions at which I arrived, the more I meditate the
more I set value for the individual himself, at least on
the experimental evidence. If God be so and so, if
Christ be so and so, if the Spirit be so and so, let me
put these assumptions to the trial. My belief, may I say
my experience is, when this is sincerely done, the fire will
always come down from heaven and testify to the fact.

* Saturday y Dec. 30. — Forenoon finished " Sterling's
Memoir." I feel the reading of the book has wonder-

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fully quickened my interest in the Christian argument
and all relating to it, and may thus hope the book has
been providentially put in my way. O Lord, give me
in humility and prayer, fitness to study those subjects.
Let Thy Spirit lead me into all truth, and fit me for
being useful to others, and especially to Thy little ones
in turning aside the assaults of thtir enemies. The ex-
perimental evidence which they enjoy, most philoso-
phical ai.d reasonable in itself, has greatly risen in my
esteem. I desire to realize it more in myself, as my
buckler in studying the others.

'■Sunday, Dec. 31. — Meditated on past year, and en-
deavoured to confess and feel humbled for my sins,
above all, my selfishness in so often seeking my own
ends and not Christ's. I bless God for His faithful-
ness, as well as His rich goodness throughout this year ;
and now I desire to cast myself upon Him for that on
which I am about to enter. I desire to live wholly to
His glory, and to make great progress in His love, in
self-denial, in the love of my neighbour, in humility,
faith, perseverance, and devotedness. I feel, that ex-
cept God undertake for me, I must end where I began,
and have again to review a year of resolutions, falls,
and endeavours at repentance. But, O God ! Thy
grace is omnipotent and all-sufficient. "Thy Spirit is
good ; lead me into the land of uprightness." Oh ! if I
be indeed Thy servant, and a chosen vessel for bearing
Thy name, fit me, I pray Thee ; set Thy stamp and
likeness upon me, and the praise shall be Thine. May
every faculty of body, mind, and spirit, every moment,
and every possession, be entirely consecrated to Thee,
and to Thy service. May Thy peace dwell in my heart.
May I be as a little child, obeying Thine eye, and

yokn Mackintosh.

189

having the habitual consciousness that I am pleasing
God. Lord, bless my dear family and friends, and
make me more faithful and useful to them than in time
past. Bless also those among whom I am now placed.'

TO HIS MOTHER.

' November 18.

* My darling Mother, — I am in receipt of both your
last letters; and if you could but know the joy they
gave me, you would not think your time in writing
them misspent The last solemnized me very much.
First, to hear that another of those I so lately visited
had been called away ; next, to hear that cholera was so
near you, attd in such an alarming degree. How often
we have walked by Robert Paterson's without thinking
such a mortality was so nigh. But I have found great
comfort in God, our adorable Father and Saviour, com-
mitting you into His hands, as one near me and near
you, who by His omnipresence strides over the great
distance between us, and, as it were, brings us close to
one another. In a moment my thoughts, my prayer to
Him, may be conveyed to you in the way of blessing.
Precious doctrine, precious faith ! Oh, then, let us live
near each other, in each other's company, by living near
the throne ! He is not a far-off God, but one who loves
that we should nestle beneath His wings in Jesus Christ
How often I picture you in your various rounds, and
how happy I am that from last winter's experience I
know all your ways. God bless you, enrich you, and
comfort you in them all. It interests me exceedingly
to hear of the poor and others around. Pray remember
me expressly to my friends Miss M'Leod, the Petleys,
the M?.nse, poor Ellen, Robert, the girl Ker, Old Jean,

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and poor Mrs. Ruthven, with others. Also very par-
ticularly to Mr, and Mrs. Pitcaim, to the former of
whom I shall one day write. For myself, goodness and
mercy continue to follow me.'

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TO THE SAME.

* December 19.

* . . . Many thanks for your two letters. They have
afforded me the usual satisfaction, and I have perused
them the usual number of times. ... I have little news
for you. We have had some very remarkable fogs for
nearly a fortnight ; but they do not affect me as the
Lasswade ones used to do, though they are very dense
and cheerless. One day last week I made a party to
climb the Mount Sal^ve, and after reaching a little
village a considerable height, we all at once emerged
from the mist. The sun was shining brightly and
powerfully from an unclouded sky. The long line of
the Jura summits overtopped the mist. Everything
above rejoiced ; but below there lay the heavy rolling
sea, a few hill-tops like islands appearing out of it, but
all else buried beneath — Geneva with its thousands of
people, and its traffic, rivers, lake, steamboats. It gave
me an idea of Herculaneum, with mist for lava, and
consequently life for death. The effect of the church
bells ringing below was very curious.* . • •

TO THE SAME.

* December 26.

*I await with trembling interest the resuH of last Sun-
day's collection for India Missions. In my view, it was
the most critical day for the Free Church since 1843,
and I trust to hear of something overwhelming to indi-

John Mackintosh,

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cate that we consider missions as equally important
with home efforts. I should like to hear that from
£20 to 40,000 had been put into the plate. I am con-
fident the decline of the Sustentation Fund is due to
our neglect of missions, and that the constant cry of
home is short-sighted policy. It makes one's heart
bleed to read those noble accounts from India, to hear
of the wide door opened, and then to talk of curtailing
the missions. I do not know if it be love to Christ ;
but I have not been so moved for years as in interced-
ing last Sunday for this great cause ; and oh ! I trust
that my spirit told the travail of the Church at home, as
a shell is said, if applied to the ear, to tell the state of
the ocean, however distant, from which it came.'

TO REV. N. MACLEOD.

* November 26.

*My beloved Norman, — I shall not apologize for
having been so long in writing ; for you know well you
have been in my daily thoughts and prayers, as I have
been in yours. 'Tis not easy to write here ; the hours
of lecture, which I scrupulously attend, are so numerous,
etc. etc. . . . Norman, there is much more life here ;
and I know if you were here you would be delighted —
shall I say enthusiased — ^with not a few things that are
going on.

* First, as to the Evangelical Society of Geneva, you
know their three grand departments are — colporteurs;
missionaries in France ; and the theological school, for
training up ministers to labour in the French countries
of the Continent, and elsewhere. The two former
schemes have been greatly and signally blessed, so as,

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indeed, to stamp mockery — from the simplicity of the
means employed, but employed in faith — on many of
our petrified ministries. The funds of the Society re-
ceived a severe shock last summer, which obliged them
to prepare all their agents for the possibility of being
discharged; and nothing can exceed the beauty, sim-
plicity, and Christian faith of the replies which they
received to their circulars. As it is, although many
churches and individuals came to their aid, they have
been obliged greatly to reduce their stafif ; but I trust
the Lord only permits it for a season, to try their faith.
Do the people of Scotland help them as they ought 1
They disclaim all identification with parties, and very
properly; for the very fact of their being a Society,
and not a Church, is, that they may form a vehicle,
like the Bible Society and others, for the efforts of all
Christians in this field of simple evangelization. Next,
the theological school. It is admirably supplied ; the
course is very complete. They have lectures on Intro-
duction to the Old and New Testaments, Church history,
exegetic, apologetic, polemic, systematic, symbolic,
homiletic, and pastoral theology. The professors
are five in number — D'Aubignd, Gaussen, Pilet, La
Harpe, and Scherer ; the last comparatively a young
man of great parts and great promise, and a great
admirer of Arnold.

'Each professor lectures on various subjects, and
thus the course is overtaken. Perhaps the same remark
applies to theirs, as to most lectures — that what they
say would be better learned from books ; but this is
very much matter of opinion. Scherer's lectures are
undoubtedly admirable, and not to be otherwise re-
placed. He has been lecturing on Catholicism, and

yohn Mackintosh,

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goes very profoundly into principles, which he treats
with much originality, alluding, in his way, to the lead-
ing works of recent times on the subject — as Mahler's
in Germany, and Newman's in England. He has that
air of pensive thought which you find in Pascal, saved
from gloom by his vigorous realization of the person of
Christ, as the true home for the lonely heart — a fact,
alas ! in our Christianity, which comes in often at the
very circumference, if it finds a place in it at all. Nay,
but it must be the very centre starting-point of our faith;
and if we miss it in our system, I can well understand a
vigorous and thirsty spirit like Newman's wandering on
from one dogma to another, and still unsatisfied. But
to return from this digression. The students, numbering
about thirty, are drawn from all parts of the French-
speaking world, including Canada; and truly, I know
not where else they could go at present for a sound
theological training; so that this department of the
Society is amply justified by its necessity. The course
of study in the hall is three years ; and each session
consists of nine months. There is one very useful
branch of the training which I ought to mention. It is
that of practical homiletics, conducted once a week by
Pilet, the preacher to the Oratoire. The student brings
his plan of a sermon ; the other students then criticise,
and perhaps suggest a better ; and lastly, the professor
points out the errors, and gives his own idea. He is a
most remarkable preacher himself, and therefore well
able to give advice. D'Aubign^'s lectures, I may say,
on the early Christian Church, are a good deal of the
Mosheim cast; for he cannot be dramatic among so
many dry bones as the Fathers and Apologists ; but his
piety and zeal for the extension of Christ's kingdom are

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so beautiful and ardent, that every day one is quickened,
though it be but a few words.

* I must now tell you of the attempt which has been
made, and which I think has succeeded, to unite the
Evangelical Churches here upon a wide but scriptural
basis. Their articles are published; suffice it to say,
that in doctrine there are seventeen, embracing the usual
fundamental points, clearly and briefly stated. Then on
the constitution, embracing government, worship, and
discipline, there are twenty-one. It is here that they are
most liberal. The government is, in the main, Presby-
terian ; but they admit all varieties of form in worship,
encourage the ministry of elders and the laity (a term
not liked here) for edification, and admit even Baptists
into their communion. Indeed, the two points I should
be most disposed to question, are their practice in regard
to the two sacraments. They hold infant baptism, but
admit Baptists and churches; and in regard to the
Lord's Table, their article is as follows : — * LEglise,
consid^rant la table de la Cine dresste par elle^ non comme
sa propre table mais comme celle du Seigneur^ y accueille
tons les membres de lafamille de Dim.^ Acting on this
principle, any one may present himself, and no token or
examination is required. There are three things to be
regarded in arriving at this union, which are well stated
by D'Aubignd, in last year's report of the Evangelical
Society. They are, u/. That the spiritual must precede
the external ; otherwise we fall into the error of Ro-
manism. 2^, An absolute uniformity in rules, and other
non-essentials, is not to be looked for ; it did not obtain
even in apostolic times. 3//, The union must be gradual,
and not forced ; otherwise heterogeneous elements will
soon clash.

yohn Mackintosh,

>95

*The ecclesiastical world here is much distracted by
Plymouthism. The sect, through the labours of Mr.
Darby, has multiplied greatly in this and the neighbour-
ing countries ; — ^you know that they discard the ministry
altogether. A very prominent place is given to all the
facts of Christ's work — accomplished, present, and to
come. The present economy of the Holy Spirit is also
powerfully realized, and is, I think, exaggerated. Mr.
Darby is accused here of doing much evil, by causing
schism ; but he has given an impulse to so many great
doctrines, which all admit, and which, perhaps, but for
his schism, would not have excited so much attention,
that I can fancy the good to have preponderated over
the bad. In addition to the great doctrines I have
noticed above, no doubt every Christian ought to con-
sider, more than is usual among us, his obligation to
preach Christ by his life, and otherwise.

* But I must have wearied you, dear Norman, with all
this talk. You must write me soon; won't you? telling
me, besides family matters, any subjects or views that
have been of late occupying your own spirit. ... O to
be more instructed in that great mystery — God manifest
in the flesh ! I cry out for this knowledge, which the
Spirit can alone give me, and which I believe to contain
a mine that is inexhaustible. I am not without hopes
that the light is breaking upon me, and that my heart
is in its love grasping a Person instead of being content
with a mere set of well-regulated opinions — to which
from our early education in religion we are so prone.
God give you too, to advance in this knowledge, for its
depths never can be reached. — Your very fondly
•attached, ' J. M.'

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TO REV. W. MADDEN.

* December 14.

* My very dear Madden, — The memory of my visit
to Reading is still fragrant. Often do I picture to my-
self your happy little home, and wish myself again its
inmate. God grant we may yet have many meetings
beneath each other's roof during our term of pilgrimage
and service here below ! . . . I trust you are both well
and happy, possessed of that peace which passeth all
understanding. I trust we are seeking to live more in
the habitual presence of our blessed Lord, and in the
communion of His gracious Spirit. It is want of faith
that prevents us from hearing His voice ever in our ears,
saying, " This is the way, walk thou in it," and enjoying
the consciousness that we are pleasing Him. Inef-
fable love and condescension, to admit us to such a
privilege I How humbling, how encouraging, how safe !
let us sit at His feet as children, and learn of Him,
and have our hearts filled with His love. I send a kiss
to dear baby. — Receive my very tenderest affection, and
believe me ever your loving friend, J. M.'

^ Monday ^ Jan. 9, 1849. — My birthday, aged twenty;
seven. O Lord, anew I desire to give myself to Thee.
Despise me not, reject me not ; but take me as I am,
and make me what Thou wouldst have me to be.
Enable me to deny self, and to do Thy will continu-
ally in this year, and all the years of my life. Enable
me to redeem the time ; guide me in ray preparations
for the ministry, preserve me from all error, and lead
me into all truth, for Christ my Redeemer's sake.
Amen.

* Forenoon, study; walk with B. M. and K., afternoon.

yohn Mackintosh.

"97

Dear fellows, they gave me birthday presents in the
evening, which quite overcame me. God bless them !

* Wednesday^ Jan. 31. — Evening, M. Scherer's. He
spoke of Vinet — his tenderness of conscience and
gentleness as a critic — his sensibility, often weeping
as he read a fine passage, which he did with great
power. Showed me some of his letters and mss.,
written in very neat, small, accurate, philological hand,
with many erasures and corrections. He often sent
long list of such corrections afterwards, sometimes
proposing mere change of word.

* M. Scherer is about to publish critique of his moral
and theological works and character. Showed me his
note-book, with some fine thoughts, especially of Vinet's.
Such as, short but pregnant character of Voltaire, etc.
Also such expressions as this : Lafoi a sa raisouy et la
raison a safoi.

* Thursday^ Feb. 22. — Started from Sallenches for Cha-
mouni ; glorious road by Servoz, where had brown bread
and cheese. All very silent from sublimity of mountains
and glaciers. Sky harmoniously wild ; snow deep and
sufficiently firm. Chamouni, in dark, by seven. Hotel
de la Couronne ; capital dinner — bishop, and sent for
Balmat ; gave him Professor Forbes's note. Very nice
man — ^long talk — he overjoyed to see us.

' Friday, Feb. 23. — Charming beds, breakfast, and as
I could not think of quitting Chamouni so soon, got leave
of rest to go by Tete Noire. B. M. generously offered
to accompany me. After breakfast looked at maps
which Balmat gave us, at his cabinet, and then to source
of Arveiron ; day superb, north wind and glorious sky ;
route to Montanvert impassable. Some deep wading
through snow to reach source, very very small. At

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two, Ker and Reid left. I went with them nearly to
Les Ouches ; glorious walk. The Aiguille du Dm
rising out of its forest of ice-pinnacles, and seen against
the clear blue sky, was fine beyond description. At
half-past four called on the cur^ of Chamouni, with B.
M. ; friend of Professor Forbes ; very warm welcome.
Wrote our names for hint I put after mine Un qui
aitne le Seigneur^ et tous ceux qui Faiment.

* Saturday^ Feb. 24. — Breakfast, and started at a
quarter-past eight with Balmat Glorious day ; anni-
versary of last French Revolution : what a contrast
here ! Went by Val d'Argenti^re, saw and crossed
recent avalanche which had killed a woman ; passed
villages, ascended opposite glacier of Tour, by Les
Montets, Snow deep, but hard ; beautiful descent to
Valorsine, Aiguilles rouges, Buet, etc, beautiful. Tete
Noire, valley superb ; what rock-colouring, what gran-
deur, what contrasts ! I felt intoxicated. Lunch at
Trient ; crossed col., pretty steep, and descended on
Martigny; high wind on Forclaz, at top of col. Saw
Jungfrau and other grand Alps. Sion, and valley of
Rhone, very picturesque — descent very slippery, at
which I got on badly ; other two went like sledges ;
passed Burg Martigny, and to Hotel de la Tour at
five. Balmat, long chat ; he very unwilling to take
aught ; but paid him for three days, which he had to
be forced to accept.

* Lord, fill our hearts with gratitude for Thy many
mercies, and grant that this excursion may strengthen
us in body, and mind, and spirit, for Thy blessed
service. •

''Friday., June i. — Always memorable day, having
been for many years associated with much pleasure.

John Mackintosh,

199

This day, in 1841, I quitted London with the Profea-
sor, en route for Continent ; my first visit. At this
season, in 1843, I visited Oxford. Last year I set off
in my glorious and hallowed tour to Deeside, and after-
wards Geddes. This morning rose at half-past five;
•ate enough, considering what was before us. Called
B. M., and packed knapsack and bag; breakfasted,
said good-byes, and started by Diligence. My health is
indifferent, confirmed cough, which reconciles me to
a trip at this time. Enjoyed much the beautiful day
and scene, spite of this low state of my mercury.

* Thursday^ June 7. — Called in middle of sound sleep,
so half asleep all day ; descended as others were finish-
ing breakfast ; endeavoured to contribute to happiness
of others, and never mind my own. After breakfast,
with guide to La FMgbre. Met F^te Dieu procession.
Mont Blanc must have been familiar with such sights
through Middle Ages onwards ; but not the less . re
they in terrible discord with the grandeur of nature's
temple. Balmat accompanied me en route. Day lovely,
pursued my way alone, meditating on past ; but some-
how Chamouni has lost for me the glory and the dream
it had eight years ago — health not very robust may
have somewhat to do with this — botanized, meditated,
sung. I remember as though it were yesterday, doing
the very same thing in 1841.

* Sunday y July 22. — My last Sunday here, d.v. O
Lord, anew I give myself to Thee ! '

After many tender partings he finally left Geneva.

* Tuesday y July 24. — We watched,' he says, * Geneva
fading from our view, and all the old familiar spots ;
then wrapped ourselves in silence, till we reached Lau-
sanne. La Fleur left us at Nyon ; Lausanne by half-

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past one; our windows command the lake, and die
opening of the Fort de I'Ecluse shows us the position
of Geneva, and carries our thoughts over the past nine
months. What mercies i what communions 1 what pri-
vileges and opportunities ! What sorrows and anxieties
as well as joys ! What vistas insensibly opened up
to our spirits ! What shortcomings, feeblenesses, un-
faithfulness ! Lord, accept our thanks. Lord, pardon ;
Lord, forgive. Continue thy loving-kindness to us, and
sanctify whatever was of Thee in the past to Thy glory.
Ameu and Amen t

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CHAPTER VIII.

Geneva, 1849— Letters 'o **>* R*^- N. Macleod, to his Mother, to A.
Hamilton, Esq., Miss Hunter Blair, to his Youngest Sister, to
Robert Balfour, Estj., to the Rev. W. Madden, the Rev. William
Ktf.

TO THE REV. NORMAN MACLEOD.

• Geneva, Jan. 2, 1849.
* , , , I received your thrice welcome letter on
Sunday, and had tlie satisfaction of opening and reading
it on New Year's Day, as you desired. The horrible
practice of having their public services in church at nine
o'clock took me out at that hour, broke up my New
Year's Day, and so has prevented me from ' first-foot-
ing' you, by writing yesterday. I choose, however, to
consider this as a prolongation of the first day of the
year. I make it so to myself in respect of quiet home
thoughts, and I make it so to you by inditing this
Benedicite. It is impossible for me to tell you the joy
your letter gave me, not only for its sweet scent of
home, at this season so grateful to an alien ; but also
for its communication of thought I have no doubt
I have often heard you in conversation express the
same sentiments, but we ponder what is written more
than what is spoken. I hope, therefore, you will not
consider it lost time to write to me again and again.
It is instruction, and that is part of your ofiice. There

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is, besides, a progressive development of mind of
which we must all be conscious. The same truths to
me now are not what they were three, two, one year
ago. It is to me perfectly marvellous how slow the
spirit is in opening its eyes to take in the deeper mean-
ing of things with which it has long been familiar.
You reproach ypurself, I observe, for only now possess-
ing what you might have had a score of years ago. I
beg to differ from you, from a pretty wide induction.
The result seems small, but so it is \ our nature was not
up to it till the moment we possess it, and an extra-
ordinary process of preparation, error, and experience
was necessary even for that. In this view I cannot but
trace another of those mysterious analogies between the
history of the world within us, and the world at large.
What ages did the wisdom of God see fit should pass,
and what a slow and gradual advance through signs and
symbols ere the God-man was actually manifested !
But you will think I am forgetting myself. Only I will
say this, in conclusion, upon the subject, that I daily
wonder how long I have been conversant, yea posi-
tively glib^ with the book-work — the algebra of subjects,
take for example the Christian evidences or doctrines,
without penetrating into their real weight and force as
presented, not to the spirit of Paley, Chalmers, or
anybody else, but — to my own. We, students, are ter-
ribly overlaid — the remark is general all the world over
— with the opinions of others, and very little stimulated
to think for ourselves. The result will soon be appal-
ling, and will demonstrate either the blindness or the
sin of the system \ for it sometimes has proceeded from
a Protestant Popery. Confessions are to us, what the
Church is to the Romanists. These remarks are, in

John Mackintosh,

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part, suggested by your letter \ but for many years they
have been forcing themselves upon me, and of late have
been much deepened. Even when our eyes- are partially
opened, it is as much to see the crowd of things which
our spirits have yet to sift, as to discern a little increase
of light on one or two of them. And in spiritual sub-
jects, what constant prayer and faith are requisite to
retain the light, so subtle is its character, or rather so
subtle is the counter tendency of our materialism.
How soon, on that fundamental subject for hourly ex-
perience, of which I wrote before, does the person de-
generate into the personality, so that we take and make
a doctrine of it, on which to discourse occasionally, and
then shelve it. . . . Have you happened to read Hare's
Memoir of John Sterling 1 It gives an alarming picture
of that sad process going on among some of the finest
spirits at the English Universities, of which John Shairp
used to tell us, but of which this is the first specimen I
have seen brought to light. I wish you would read it
I think you will agree with me that Hare is not very
likely to be of use in muzzling or extracting the teeth
from the German doctrines as they reach Engl ad,
however competent he may think himself for the task.
From what you have read of Stanley's, should you
think even him likely to prove a judicious guide ? or
where do your hopes lie for the unfledged thinkers and
theologians in England ? I read some of Scott's testi-
monials from Carlyle, Maurice, and others ; and as
these are men who use words advisedly, he must really
be a remarkable fellow. Don't forget to tell me about
your interview with him j for, as Johnson used to say,
it is an epoch in this life to meet a superior person.
You say nothing of John Shairp ; as you will probably

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see him at this time, pray tell me about him, and give
him my masonic love.'

TO HIS MOTHER.

*yan. ro.

* , . . How much the example of good and devoted
men (or women) stimulates us ! I sometimes wonder
from this why we, or perhaps I should say I, am not
more moved and stimulated by the life of our blessed
Lord than I am and ought to be. Perhaps it is because
we cannot so easily regard it as a whole, from the
weight of each passage, and the slowness with which we
are compelled and accustomed to read it. Nevertheless,
I believe that we should saturate ourselves more with
this all-perfect character as a whole, seeking to have
His person defined to our minds and spirits, not ac-
cording to our own notions, but as the Gospels give it
to us, that so we may hold communion with Him as
with our best known friend, and, from associating with
Him, be conformed to His likeness. If you will tell
me from time to time, as you sometimes used to do in
our walks, the various aspects under which He reveals
Himself to you at various periods, you will confer a
great favour on me, and do my heart good. It is to
babes and children that He loves to show Himself, and
I desire to cherish this spirit. ...

* The time is drawing nigh when your thoughts, dear-
est mother, will revert to sadness ; but I trust that, as
hitherto, you will experience still more that truth, " that
God is the husband of the widow," and be enabled so
to realize heavenly things as to feel that in them there
is far more than a compensation for all else. Such a
God, such a Saviour, such a Spirit, Sanctifier, and

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205

Comforter^ such hopes, such promises, such present love
and heavenly communion ! You may believe that I
shall be ipore than usually earnest in remembering you
before the throne. I need not say to you write me
soon, for your kindness in this respect has been beyond
all, especially my deserts. I feel we are to each other,
what no one else could now be to either of us, and I
feel also that this love is infinitely strengthened by the
thought that it is in Christ, and that we hope to remain
united in a better country beyond the grave.

TO THE REV. N. MACLEOD.

' February 2.

, . . May it not be said that the movement of our
age is towards life? I sometimes fancy that I can dis-
cern three epochs in the Reformed Churches, corre-
sponding in the main to those three weighty epithets —
ma, Veritas^ vita. The Reformers themselves no doubt
laid the stress chiefly upon the first i^ia). It was on
this Popery had gone most astray, obscuring the doc-
trine of justification by faith alone. The epoch follow-
ing was essentially dogmatic {veritas), when the Doctors
drew up " systems " of the truth. It was now, indeed,
Christ as Veritas, but the dogma taken alone led to cold-
ness, dogmatism, sectarianism, and formality. Happy will
it be for the Church, if, not forgetting the other two, she
shall now be found moving on to the third development
of Christ as vita — tAe life, which will regulate the two
former aspects, while it consummates and informs them
This life must develop the individual, and on individuals
the Church depends ; for in God's sight it is no abstrac-
tion. O Norman ! as little centres of influence let us
make it our first work to foster and exhibit this principle

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of life — living union with Christ Himself. Thus indeed
may we " make our lives sublime," and eflfect more for
the advancement of the kingdom of Christ-than if we
had the eloquence and genius of the greatest orators.
. . . This fine day carries my thoughts across the Jura
to dear old Scotland, including England, and with all
her foibles, peerless among nations for all that is do-
mestic, romantic, holy, good. I do not think any
foreigner can know the intense peacefulness amid which
we are brought up from infancy, in the village with its
church and common, or in the Highland glen, which no
stranger-war, at least, has swept within the memory of
maa We should have better ideas of heaven than
other nations ; and I believe the sight of that calm holy
scene in youth does more to anchor our souls through
life than anything else save religion.*

^ ,; TO ANDREW HAMILTON, ESQ. ,? •

'Geneva, /v<5. 8, 1849.
*My dear Andrew, — I was very happy to receive
your letter. I have had many thoughts of you since the
day you saw me in bed at Lasswade ; where you were,
and what you were doing, a speck on the broad breast
of heaving Germany. At last comes your letter, showing
me how you have realized the very vision you contem-
plated. How different the society, the ideas, the out-
ward and inward life, amid which we have been respec-
tively moving for the last three months ! Did you see
Christmas in Germany, as Coleridge so exquisitely
describes it? But you wish me to be egotistical : so I
shall. We had a glorious autumn here on first arriving,
but December and January were externally gloomy,

yohn Mackintosh,

207

foggy, unnatural months. Now, however, the blessed
sun again predominates, and in such circumstances,
Geneva is a. charming place. ... I suppose, in your
retirement, you have not yet come much in contact
with German theology and opinions. We get an echo
of them here, perhaps more true than that which reaches
us in Scotland, across the channel. I fear that in some
form or other they are certain to find their way exten-
sively among us, and I hope, therefore, that some pro-
vision will be made among our students and fiiture
theologians to encounter them intelligently. Many of
our opinions are traditional We receive them by in-
heritance, and it is a goodly one; but I believe the
time is near when we must make good our title to the
inheritance by a more conscious mental and spiritual
effort. I think if the study of German theology and
opinions leads to this, it will do us much good. There
is first the kernel to be possessed and held fast in the
adorable person of the Lord Jesus — God historically
manifest in the flesh, and profoundly adapted to all the
wants of our spiritual being ; then there are the Scrip-
tures which set Him forth in His person, character, and
teaching. I feel we very much require to get back
from doctrines and systems crystallized, into a more
living and life-giving form of the truth. In other words,
we must know, love, and have constant intercourse with
Christ as our God, Saviour, Friend, and Brother ; and
all the rest must and will emanate fi-om this. We must
begin at the centre, and not at the circumference —
which all systems are liable to do. Religion is love
even more than light I believe a more diligent study
of the Scriptures, with the Spirit and prayer, will emin-
ently lead to this ; but we have too much neglected it

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Well then, for the present adieu, praying that you
may grow daily in this delightful and soul-satisfying
knowledge.*

TO MISS HUNTER BLAIR.

* February ly.
, . . 1 find much to interest me liere in a religious
point of view ; so much life, and such a concentration
of zeal and energy. There is nothing strikes me more
than the prominent part taken by the laity in the
advancement of Christ's kingdom, which, I think, sur-
pa-^pp*? us as far as we surpass England in this respect
It ; e^nT^ i" be wholesome both for ministers and people,
warrar ;t*j ■ > Scripture, and agreeable to the practice of
the errly Christians, that, while some have the special
care o oor's, all -jclievers should contribute to advance
the spiritual kiagdoiiij not only directly but indirectly.
Our good laymen, in general, make sacrifices and under-
take expenses ; but do not so much labour in their
sphere, and in social church-meetings, to stir up the gift
that is in them. The thought of this being required
at their hands, promotes diligence in the closet ; gives
greater reality to the life of God ; refreshes the Church,
and none more than the minister himself, when he is
weary and overwhelmed. There is one church here
where an entire service each Sunday, and frequent
meetings throughout the week, are devoted to this free
exercise of the Christian priesthood. They seem de-
sirous to make the Christian life really predominate
over and pervade the secular, and so are not content
to give it merely the comer and stated place which is
still so common among us. I cannot help thinking
that this diffusion and enhancing of Christian duties

John Mackintosh.

209

and responsibility will be one of the great harbingers
of a better day for the Church.'

lis

TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER.

' Geneva, March 23.

* . , . Dear spot (Geddes) 1 — ^how often my thoughts
travel thither, and I wander once more by wood or
stream or shady grove, or over the joyous fields with
the lark shouting above my head, and the drone-bee
humming by. What peace, what repose — patriarchal
country ! Abraham might yet sit there by his tent door,
in the heat of the day, and entertain angels unawares !
Ye glorious hills of Cromarty and Ross ! there is nothing
more beautiful than you in the world — not Jura, not
Ben Blanc, not the Alps.* Do you see the matchless
colouring of the Black Isle — that perfect opening for
the bay — those dreamy hills of Sutherland, and those

* The following verses., penned at this time in Geneva, whatever
poetic merit they possess, are interesting from their truthfulness of
feeling, and the evidence they afford of the passionate attachment
he had to his early home. They refer to the expedition to Geddes,
in Chapter V.

'I stood alone on lone Macdhui's crest,

I gazed abroad upon the glorious scene ;
An agony of yearning seized my breast.
In thinking of the pleasures that had been.

Before me gleamed the rapid rolling Spey,
And that great valley where my fathers sleep ;

Long had I pined in Lowlands far away,
And now, this vision ! how could I but weep?

Yonder the road that bore me to my home ;

Yonder the white- wall' d house of Aviemore ;
All monumental of the thoughts that come

In fits and gusts upon the days of yore.
O

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pinnacles westv/ard in Strathglass ? worthy of old Jove
hinmself. God be with you, happy people, whose lot it
is to dwell ever among such scenes, and to know nothing
of the turmoil and strife that rend the world ! Study
the Bible; for its atmosphere, at least, is there repro-
duced, and abide the time when all the earth shall be-
come as tranquil and as still under the Prince of Peace.
My child, farewell I'

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TO ROBERT BALFOUR, ESQ.

* Geneva, April xa^, 1849.
* Mv DEAR Robert, . , , . As to the Academy, I
trust to hear that Swinton's effort is succeeding. Some
person wrote me that the Academy was on the eve
of dissolution; but the statement in the Witness has
set my mind at ease. No ; it must not perish ! its roots
are struck too deep in many hearts for such a consum-
mation. How fearful for a generation of men to be
obliged to say the school of our boyhood is no more ;
its very existence is a tradition only known to ourselves !
For my part, I should feel as if that chapter of my
memory had been obliterated — as if I was a man who

* Yonder Brae Moray with its well-known knock,

That oft look'd down on days and rides of glee ;
And yonder, too, as bright as if to mock
The distance— yonder my beloved sea.

Ah ! there must lie the scene of all my joy,
That which gave tone to all my after life ;

Geddes ! the birthplace of the dreamer-boy—
Geddes ! O name with all heart-stirrings rife,

O God, the past o'erwhelms me with a sense
Of Thy great goodness to an erring child ;

Father in Christ, my refuge and defence
Continue Thou »mid life's tempests wild,*

"*';■'

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211

my
who

had never known a youth, launched upon the seas of
life with no sweet haven to recur to and sustain the soul.
It is agony enough to lose the masters that launched us
forth ; but that the very walls should lose their place on
earth — I can fancy nothing more terrible ! I should be
gloomy all my days ; but away with such thoughts. The
hallowed soil is watered with prayers, and I augur days
for our children there, such as we ourselves have not
known. I believe your staff will yet need some mend-
ing, but the informing spirit is the Rector, and with him
you seem abundantly content. All particulars, then,
on this subject will interest me vastly. How strange it
is that the halo of Greece and Rome, and also, I trust,
of beloved Palestine itself, is indissolubly shed around
our youth and the place of our education, and so
blended with it that we cannot distinguish what part of
our enthusiastic feelings connected with those countries
is due to themselves, or simply to their association with
the most imaginative, poetic, pensive period of our lives.
I see the Rhone here, and what does it not recall of
Hannibal and Csesar, and a host of others ? But would
it be the same were I now, for the first time, made
acquainted with those heroes of the olden time? — I
think not. And as those feelings to me are worth the
music of the skies, I say, by all means introduce your
children early to such characters and scenes ; and I
bless my parents, who saw fit so to introduce me. The
mother's knee, the pastor's Sunday-school, the Sabbath-
evening conversation, are perhaps the best associations
for the patriarchs and the Holy Land ; but hallow the
day-school with them too, and you add another link to
the " electric, mysterious chain wherewith we are darkly
bound."

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* Now, dear Robert, farewell May the God of peace
and of all grace be with you and dear Mrs. Balfour, to
whom pray remember me affectionately ; also to Cleg-
horn, T. Thomson, Maclagan, and other friends. I try
to live upon my knees, and I find it is the only plan.
My heart is knit to Geneva, chieily, I believe, because
I have enjoyed here much communion with God in
Christ. I find the more childlike and dependent I can
keep my heart, the more I thrive ; and, above all, 1
find that an occasional cross is one of the richest token>>
of a Father's love. I trust your experience has been
kindred, and has exceeded mine. I never forget you in
my prayers, although often feeble ; and I feel as if you
did not forget me. — Your very afiectionate friend.*

TO THE REV. W. &LADDEN.

* April 27.

*My very dear Wvndham, — ^Your letter refreshed
me much, I cannot tell you how much ; and that sweet
postscript from Mrs. Madden, that opens up such a
view of domestic happiness, and makes me almost
envious of your lot. Your vista in life appears plain —
it is to breathe the atmosphere of heaven ; to be made
acquainted with those trials of daily life that make the
Bible sweet to us, and its promises most precious ; to
know the joy that rises out of sorrow and suffering, so
that earth will be serene and pleasant to you, but the
thought of heaven still more so. This is what I picture,
and perhaps even hope for you and your companion.
I feel that my own lot is much more uncertain, and
likely to be more full of trial ; but it is a haven to my
soul to be able to think on such a path as yours. . . .
I am so conscious of an ardent desire to serve Christ,

yohn Mackintosh,

213

and to enter on the work of the ministry, from personal
reasons as well as more important ones, that I can the
more trust myself in resolving to take this step. It
seems only the natural conclusion to such a visit as I
have made here ; and always considering the feebleness
of my capacity, I shall not think it lost if I receive only
as much profit from it as I have done from a winter's
residence at Geneva. It would be difficult for me to
give you the results of this latter in so many words, for
it consists more in an enlarged horizon, mentally,
theologically and spiritually, than in definite acquisi-
tions. Still my mind has gone through a process in
many points, which must have been useful, even though
it has only brought me back, I am happy to say, to
what I held before, but which I now hold more intelli- .
gently, more thankfully, more humbly. I speak espe-
cially with regard to the evidences for the truth of
Christianity, and the inspiration of the Sacred Record.
I do think it is well for certain minds, and especially
those which are to guide and guard others, to be shaken
out of traditions, and brought to accept and welcome
the truth as though they were the first to whom it had
been presented. It becomes then a living element of
our minds and hearts, and every after detail^ as well
as every action of our lives, must feel this influence :
commonplaces, unreal opinions, unreal words vanish,
and we feel the freshness of the truth, and diffuse its
savour all around.'

''I- " d
111 i

TO THE REV. WILLIAM KER.

' Geneva, May 3.
'My dear Ker, — The thought of writing to you was
simmering in my head when your letter to Bum Murdoch

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arrived, and brought it to the point. Believe me, neither
laziness nor aught else has delayed me, but the wish to
allow an interval between our communications. Can it
be that you are once more at home ; and, still more
dreamlike, can it be that you were ever here, crossing
the petit potit^ haunting the Socidtd de Lecture, looking
on the Salfeve, visiting the Scherers, Stevensons, etc.,
with ourselves 1 It is indeed like " a dream remembered
in a dream I" . . . And so now you are regarding the
hills of Dumbarton and Argyllshire, and finding no fault
with them in comparison of the Alps ! No more do I ;
on the contrary, I am ready to maintain against all
comers, that our hills surpass the Alps in everything
except sublimity and silence, which is itself sublime.
It is perhaps a merciful provision that every man stands
up for his own. But who can call Mont Blanc his own,
except old Winter? I am glad you are yet to have a
few months' respite before mounting bavette^ and froc du
charbonnier, as Colonel Saladin somewhat irreligiously
calls the gown and bands — for those words, see Nugent.
When the time comes, I have no doubt you will sit
them very well, and entertain a due horror of such
unlicensed meetings as are held at the Pelisserie here.
I never took possession of your rooms ; I could not. I
could neither quit my own little abode, where I had so
often shivered during the winter, nor have your ghost,
which I knew would haunt me by night and by day.
So Chatelanat is now in the camera major, a roost
being put in the comer where your books stood ; and
so on Sundays the doleful violin takes the place of our
more Christian worship. We visited the room, and heu
quantum mutatus ab iUo. The other little room is still
empty ; but La Fleur thinks of dropping into it when

);•

yohn Mackintosh,

215

the summer heat begins to roast the tiles, and through
them, him. All else goes on as before. We meet in
my room, and sometimes have Roux and La Fleur.
Only there is no saying now when we may breakfast ;
one would almost require to go to bed harnessed, for
the first man up, be it nearer six than seven, rings the
bell, and the whole set roll into their dressing-gowns,
and are down at once, leaving B. M. and me to wash
at our leisure. Claudine persists in the old routine of
viands, so that if you chose you may even know each
day what we are having for dinner ; and guess how we
are digesting it It is remarked that B. M. smokes
much less since he has lost your pernicious example.
Did he tell you of Count St. George having presented
us with some cigars to refresh us in our labours ? Since
our excursion with Scherer, we have done n* ihing very
deadly. I am glad to say he is gaining ground every
day, but it is by a total cessation from work : he lectures,
of course, as usual. The devices he falls upon for exer-
cise are most amusing. In addition ) a daily bath in
the Arve, he has taken to rowing on the lake till his
hands are covered with blisters ; and the other day we
found him scarcely able to walk — he had been to the
riding-school, and not being allowed stirrups, had got a
shaking till every bone and rib ached. We still dis-
countenance the other lectures, and I am inclined to
think Dr. Merle has forgiven us. He and Madame
have several times inquired for you. You will soon see
La Harpe. He gave us a famous breakfast before he
went away. Reid and Stevenson were of the party. We
assembled in his rooms, roaming at large through bed-
room, drawing-room, study, etc., and delighting his
heart by still further disarranging his books and papers.

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Then breakfast was announced in Robert's salle. It
began with fowl and sausage, and ended with superb
crime and eau de cerises; so that, in fact, it was a r'esum'e
of all the meals of the day. We did it great justice, and
so did he ; Stevenson nearly slew us with some of his
stories. By the by, Scherer was there too, and ate and
laughed till his face grew blue. . . . What shall I say
of our weather now ? It is too heavenly ; towards the
middle of April, it took it into its head to snow and
blow, and be very disagreeable, but now and for a week
back it is voluptuous — trees, hedges, all like to burst with
beauty. You can have no conception of it ; and then
the sounds and smells that remind us alike of home and
old visits to the Continent 1 At this very moment
(evening), the frogs are making a most characteristic
row, which goes on all night \ so are the grasshoppers or
rather crickets — to show that I do profit by my com-
panion's science. Then the bees and the cockchafers,
etc. ; oh ! how delicious. . . . Farewell, dear Ker ! I
have filled this letter with gossip, not caring how it
came, thinking you would like it best to remind you of
the past. I trust we shall soon be brothers in arms as
we have been this winter in repose. The Lord bless
you and keep you, and cause his face to shine upon
you. If you live in close union and communion with
Jesus Christ, your ministry must be blessed, for out of
the abundance of the heart your mouth will speak ; the
humble will hear thereof and be glad. I trust that
our ways are all ordered by Him who knows to lead
us as our case requires, and in due time to place us
where we shall be most useful. You are not forgotten
in our prayers, social or private. Let us not be in
yours.'

yoJin Mackintosh*

217

TO HIS MOTHER.

* Geneva, May 8.
* My darling Mother, — I had been expecting your
letter for two or three days, with an account of your stay

at , and your communion at Edinburgh, and was on

the point of writing you to-day, when lo ! your beloved
hand. Many, many thanks for both, so refreshing to a
heart that is far from you, but loves you more than its
ownself. Truly there is force in that simile of " Good
news from a far country." I wonder how old Solomon
could have known the feeling, for it is not likely he was
ever far away from those he loved ! I liked exceedingly
the idea of your going to Portobello, first communicated

to me by in her delightful letter ; and pictured to

myself all last week your walks on the beach, your
simple tea, and the novelty altogether of your situation
on waking and on going to rest. I hope the change
has done you good ; but, after all, you were chiefly in
Edinburgh, and then that too long walk afterwards at
this season of the year, from which I do hope you are
all three recovered. I know the road well by the Duke's
Walk, having often paced it in anguish and sorrow, and
a long hot walk it is. By and by, we may make such
a sea-shore escapade together, and walk at evening by
the boundless sea, talking of what we have read and
done, but, above all, of our aspirations, and that shore-
less eternity that awaits us, and that boundless ocean of
the love of God in which we can ever bathe, but which
shall afterwards fill our heart to overflowing. I am
truly glad you had such a sweet season at the com-
munion. You might have felt I was with you in spirit
and in prayer, as was the case. " My Lord and my
God 1 " Yes, it is to address Christ thus as if seemg

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Him face to face, conversing with him as a man with
his friend ; it is this that overpowers our souls, humbles
us in the dust, under a sense of unlimited love and kind-
ness, and makes us daily taste of heaven upon earth.
What majesty, what beauty, what purity, what compas-
sion, what grace, what tenderness, what strength ! Ah 1
yes, He is our all in all. Without Him, undone ;
when we come to Him, vile ; when we are with Him,
vile, but not despised, not abhorred, not cast oflf — no ;
welcomed, washed, clothed, justified, sanctified, pre-
sented with a new heart and new affections fitted to
reflect His own image, and to live and do something
for His glory. Alas ! that we should ever leave his
feet, and be content to live without hearing his voice
from hour to hour, and experiencing His sweet regard.
It is the Christian right and duty to be ever in this
position ; and I trust, as we grow in grace, this blessed
lot is becoming more and more ours.'

TO THE REV. N. MACLEOD.

' Geneva, May ii, 1849.
' My dear Norman, — I thank you from the bottom
of my soul for your last letter. So you have been to Lon-
don and Paris % Tell me about this. I saw your name
in Galignani. Did you see anything characteristic at
Paris, in the shape of Socialist demonstration or the
anniversary of the Republic ? How odd to think you
were so near me, and yet unapproachable. I hope
both you and your sister have much enjoyed and pro-
fited by your raid ; but oh, remember the halycon days
of this time last year, and do not, do not say that this
year's doings have surpassed them ! When the balmy
freshness of those mornings at the Priory, the sweet

yohn Mackintosh.

219

repose, the retirement from all strife and din in that happy
valley, the mirror of heart to heart, the contentment
with the present, the aspirations for the future — then
the poetic walks and wanderings, the merry, merry,
evenings ; — trust me, Jane and Norman, Jack and
Annie, Geneva with its Rhone and lake, its Mont
Blanc and Jura, has not, shall not, cannot efface them
from my heart. It was this very time. I wish I could
once more unite the same parties in the same circum-
stances, putting quid pro quo, and writing 8 for 9 in the
signature of the year. But it may not be : we must
be forward with the younger time ; and who can say
what destinies await us as individuals, as who can say
what awaits the nations of the earth ! My own feeling
for the latter is, that everything and every man of emi-
nence, and every nostrum that is proposed, is ust —
spent, worn out, effete, belonging tt> a past order of
things, but having little to do, except in order of time,
with the events and men and principles of the future.
All politics and all newspapers of every country and
clime disgust and pall me in this respect. I pant for
something betokening freshness, youth, whether in
Church or State ; but nowhere or nearly nowhere do
I see any s)niiptoms of it Do you share this feeling
with me, or does your sanguine nature buoy you up ?
I know indeed the morning will arrive, and I trust that
our generation will inaugurate it ; but in the meantime,
it is wearisome to grope amid a crumbling civilisation.
. . . Well, Norman, write me soon about Tu^ and I
shall here devote a few lines to Ego and his plans.
About the end of June, I think of quitting Geneva
(d.v.), and if my mother consents to it, which I expect
to hear soon, shall make a tour in Switzerland — your

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ear, if you please, that I may whisper it in tones that
Zephyrus himself could not imitate — shall perhaps visit
Rome III O no ! it cannot be ! I cannot believe my
own writing, still less the possibility of accomplishing
a purpose so divine ! Of course it would be old Rome
that I should visit, and I should implore my friends to
pray that I might retain my reason — for such a current
from the past and resurrection from my boyhood, might
be fatal to a head very easily turned ! The Forum, the
Capitol, the Via Sacra, the Tiber, Apennines, Cam-
pagna ! my hand quivers — I must stop. Oh ! shades
of school-fellows, scattered or gathered ! Oh ! shades
of teachers, can it be I shall yet see where those lived
and died who inspired you — where Virgil, and Horace,

and ! Well, this raving is for thyself only. After

Rome, Germany beckons me ; maybe Berlin for a
session, ere I return home and buckle on mv harness.
Norman, farewell 1'

yohn Mackintosh.

221

CHAPTER IX.

Leaves Geneva — Vevay — Lausanne — Letter to Rev. N. Macleod—
Berne — Zurich — Letter to his Sister, Mrs. E. Smith — Fribourg—
Ascent of the Righi — Letter to his Mother — Rapperschwyll — Einsie-
deln — Lake of Wallenstadt — Interview with a Swiss Merchant — Rei-
chenau — ^Tusis — The Via Mala — Spliigen Pass.

John Mackintosh left Geneva at the end of July,
after having spent nine months there, during which hte
enjoyed great happiness, realizing much intellectual
good from the calm and undisturbed pursuit of con-
genial Studies, and much heart good from daily inter-
course with congenial minds. He more than once
expresses his deep gratitude for all the kindness re-
ceived by him from his friends, ' the St. Georges, the
Malans, Stevensons, and Scherers j' and confesses that
he ' left his old home at Champel with tears.'

He had now fully resolved * to see Rome also.' But
before doing so, he took an excursion for a month
through those parts of Switzerland which he had not
hitherto visited. His friend, Mr. Alex. Bum Murdoch,
accompanied him part of the way. The weather wr.s
glorious. Starting from Geneva, they sailed along its
lovely lake to Villeneuve, at its eastern extremity ; and
via Aigle, they set off on foot for the Ormonds Dessus
by Sepey.

^July 26. — At Aigles starting on foot for Les Ormonds
Dessus by Scpey, lovely walk, realizing all my youthful

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dreams of Swiss scenery, the marvellous green svvards,
the lovely chAlets, the smiling simplicity of the fore-
ground, backed up by Alpine grandeur. Reached our
inn at L'Eglise about ten, moonlight, and enchanting
night.

* Friday, July 27. — Started at seven, took up valley
towards Col de Fillon, Les Diablerets overhead, but
overshrouded in mists. Crossed high col to left, whence
saw solitary green lake of Amen, cradled among the
hills, took sharp to left over another low col, touched
at chilet of La Grande Clef, where saw process of curds
and cheese making ; then descended by most pictur-
esque path into lovely valley of L'Etivas, dined at small
inn, where are baths. Read some of Virgil's Eclogues.
After dinner, strolled down a lovely glen to Chateau
d'Oex, no great distance ; had letter for pasteur dhnis-
sionnaire M. Morel not at home, but saw Madame and
family, and one of his boys conducted us to cottage,
where he was in conclave with his elders, and Professor
Chopins of Lausanne. Spoke of church matters in
general, but very tired and sleepy.

''July 28. — ^Rose early, nice inn ; but at ten I was bit,
and did not sleep. Superb morning, and glorious
valley, joined a German from Bale, going same route with
a guide — Rev. Mr. Bruchner. Commenced ascent from
Col de Jaman before reaching Monterra, and just after
quitting splendid narrow defile, richly wooded, glorious
views. Our path took us winding among the moun-
tains covered with chdletSy velvet lawns, and woods ;
the hill-sides musical with the bells of cattle, brow. -ng
or marching in file to the cMlets to be milked. Passed
small village, AUibre ; others lunched. I pushed on and
reached top of Col de Jaman by one, hailed my old

John Mackintosh,

223

friends the Jura, the lake, the Savoy hills, and . fell
asleep ; others came up at half-past one, and Adams and
I descended rapidly by picturesque winding path, with
beautiful views of lake and mountains to Vevay, where
by half-past four.'

He and his friend spent the Sunday at Lausanne.
But Mr. Bum Murdoch being obliged, on Monday morn-
ing, to return to Geneva for Scotland, they parted, and
John writes in his Diary : — * Monday. — Saw my dear
friend depart; very desolate — returned to hotel.' ^Tues-
day morning. — Awoke in prayer for B. M.' These feel-
ings he expressed in a letter written to him from Berne
a few days afterwards : — * I followed your Diligence that
memorable night with the eye, and afterwards with the
ear, as long as I could. After that, I returned desolate
to the inn. Next morning you were first in my thoughts,
as though I still held your hand ; in truth, I awoke in
prayer for you.'

From Lausanne he wrote the following letter '^

TO THE REV. N. MACLEOD.

* The wish to give you some details on Church mat-
ters, has made me delay longer to answer your last most
welcome letter than I should otherwise have done. . . .
In truth, it would appear that God is destining Switzer-
land to be the cradle again of a second and equally
important reformation in the Protestant Churches.

* Not only at Geneva, but also in the Canton de Vaud,
may be seen the elements of an important progress.
. . . Equally devoted with ourselves to the doctrines
accentuated in the sixteenth century, they still appear
to feel the need of revising and accommod.r ing their
Confessions to the peculiar exigencies of the incteenth

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Memorials of

century. "To say," says Vinet, in the project of a
constitution which he drew up for the Free Church of
the Canton de Vaud, " that confessions and formulailes
are unalterable, is to place the work of man on an equal
footing with the Bible itself, and thus to fall into the
very error of Romanism." This far-seeing man, privi-
leged to make those fetches into the future, for which
all minds are not yet ripe, but which indicate almost
certainly to what the Church is tending, was very
strongly opposed to a cumbersome and detailed con-
fession. He thought it should be such as each member
could conscientiously subscribe ; and that thus only
could it be truly the confession of a Church, including
in this term both ministers and people, and doing away
with that dangerous distinction between a religion for
the laity and another for the clergy, which he regarded
as one of the fatal legacies of Popery. How far this
view is correct, will no doubt be brought under the
notice of all the churches. One thing, however, is un-
questionably true, — that the germ of what constitutes a
Christian may be comprised within a very small com-
pass, this being the positive side of confessions ; while
the negative, or that which is to serve as a defence
against heresies, must be of a very different character in
the sixteenth and in the nineteenth centuries. In the
former, Popery — in the present, infidelity — would be
chiefly regarded, always excepting the unchangeableness
of Pelagianism and Socinianism, which appear to be the
contemporaries of every age, and to strike against the
germ or positive side of the truth.

' The document of Vinet, to which I have alluded,
like everything that ever came from his gifted pen, is
deeply interesting, from the reasoning with which his

yohn Mackintosh,

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propositions are supported. The venerable Neander —
standing like a prophet between two mighty epochs,
and whose afflicting blindness, while it prevents him
from any more investigating the past, may cause him to
look with the eye of faith upon the future — is known to
have received, with eager interest, the draft of M.
Vinet's plan ; but his criticism I have not learned. I
cannot doubt but that from the elevated though solitary
watchtower of Lausanne, the signal was caught up by
the brother watchman more instructed in the history of
the past, but perhaps not so favoured with those flashes
of inspiration which open vistas into the night of the
future.

* The suggestions of Vinet have not been altogether
adopted in the constitution of the Free Church of Vaud.
In this light, it is interesting to compare the two docu-
ments ; but a simplicity, and therefore a largeness, can-
not be denied to the articles as they even now stand.
. . . You see I write from Lausanne, so that I have bid
farewell to dear Geneva, having quitted it with much
gratitude and much regret . . .

* My window here commands a glorious view of the
Lake ; towards the west, the hills above Geneva fading
from my view ; towards the east, a magnificent panorama
of Alps closing in upon the lake, with Chillon, Clarens,
and other well-known places at their base ; opposite,
the mountains of Savoy. Below my windows, and on
the banks of the lake, Ouchd, the little port of Lausanne,
and the birthplace of the immortal Vinet; and still
nearer me, in fact right under my eye, that memorable
acacia walk where Gibbon completed his History ,0/ the
Decline and MIL " '""'

* I have met many of the pastors here, heard them

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Memorials of

preach in private houses ; and to-day communicated
with a little stealthy flock.

To-morrow I leave for Berne, and God willing, hope
to make the tour of Switzerland ere descending among
the monuments that date ac. Amid all this beauty, I
still feel that "the eye is not satisfied with seeing ;" and
that the soul requires something for its immortal appetite
which " eye hath not seen, neither hath entered into the
heart of man to conceive.** One word amid the most
glorious wonders of creation ; — I turn to the thought of
the God-man with inexpressible sweetness — to Him
who, being the brightness of the Father's glory and
the express image of His Person, "hath by Himself
purged our sins, and sat down on the right hand of
the Majesty on high." '

From Lausanne he travelled to Berne via Fribourg.
From Berne, he thus wrote to his friend Mr. Ker, who
had just entered upon the charge of a congregation in
Scotland: — 'Our prayers for you have ascended often,
and yet not often enough, considering the solemnity,
importance, and novelty of your positioiL May God
give you to live for Him, to experience much in your
own soul of the love of Christ, and that you may be
able conscientiously, ably, and fervently to commend
His cause to others ! And may His Holy Spirit so
accompany your words and labours, that many may be
introduced by your means into the kingdom of righteous-
ness, peace, and love. It is a great matter to get the
simple facts of the case clearly before oiu* minds, and to
keep them there. We are so apt to lose sight of them
amid the forms and machinery to be employed, and the
conventionalities of language and every-day life. The

yohn Mackintosh.

127

sight, however, of Christ, with the consideration of His
woric, Y^3.sX^ present, and to come, must be the best and
surest preservative against lapsing into a mere preaching
and visiting machine, which, I have no doubt, is the
natural tendency of even the best of ministers. May
He who has called you, employ and perfect you !
So prays your ever attached friend and future brother
in arms.'

The rest of his journey, as far as Zurich, is thus
briefly sketched in a letter to his sister, Mrs. Edward
Smith : —

•Zurich, August 21.

* My dearest Chris., — Being the most Swiss of my
sisters, I send you a stave at this stage of my travels,
for the above reason, and also because our mother being
now with you, a letter to you is as good as one to her.
I bitterly regret not having told her to write to me here,
because I should have had plenty time to receive her
letter ; and I am now very far back in my knowledge of
her health and movements, which is always a source of
irksomeness when one is far away. My last letter to her
was written from Lausanne ; thence I passed to Berne,
admiring the organ and suspension-bridge of Fribourg
on my way. Berne is a beautiful town, and beautifully
situated on the Aar, which washes the town on three
sides. Geneva is scarcely Switzerland — Lausanne rather
more so ; but Berne is its capital, and the true starting-
point for all its lakes and mountains. You can fancy
nothing finer than the view of the Bernese Alps from
some parts of the town j the Jungfrau and her brethren
appearing in long array, like the ghosts of winter ; or,
when the sun is shining on them, like something too
bright and pure for earth. From Berne I went to Thun,

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Memorials of

which is quite a fairy little town, situated at the extremity
of its lake, and contrasting the utmost softness with
the stem mountains near which it lies. You sail up the
lake and reach Interlaken, so called because it lies be-
tween the lakes of Thun and Brientz — another fairy spot,
and, at this season, the height of fashion — having superb
hotels, where people delude themselves into the idea
that they have exchanged the dissipations of town for
the bracing life of the mountains, because they are near
the mountains. Quitting Interlaken, I took up a valley
of wonderful beauty to Lauterbrunnen, which is quite up
among the glaciers, and the mountains that give them
birth ; from Lauterbrunnen you cross the Wengern Alp
— a high col which brings you round in front ot the
Jungfrau and her peers, so that it appears as if you could
caress her, or take any other liberty you please. Nothing
can be more glorious than this view ; the near neighbour-
hood of such redoubtable sky-piercers, in their awful
purity and silence, is appalling ; the only sound to break
tl^e stillness is that of the avalanche, which you some-
times see descending, apparently indeed disproportionate
to the thunder it makes, but conveying all the more an
impression of its greatness, when you know that what
seems but a cascade of snow is in reality composed of
blocks of ice and snow, capable of subverting villages. I
think of the Jungfrau as what might form a great white
throne of awe and majesty for the judgment-day 1 From
this point you descend upon the village of Grindelwald, in
a valley of the same name, and close by two glaciers, which
are also called after the valley into which they desctii,<l
As the setting sun reflects an innocence and a pe
ch&let, hamlet, and corn-field, the contrast betwet. he
Alps and those valleys at their feet is unique ; and the

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yohn Mackintosh.

229

emotions it excites is what is termed poetry! From
Grindelwald, still skirting round the Alps, the traveller
generally crosses over the great Scheideck to reach the
parallel valley of Meyringen. We, however, turned aside
and climbed the Faulhorn — a high hill commanding a
very extensive panorama of Alps, and lakes, and valleys,
and far-off mountains to the north, in France and Ger-
many. We were fortunate in having a clear day ; but
the evening became overcast, and a thunderstorm en-
sued around and beneath, very grand and terrific in its
character. There is an inn on the very summit, some
8000 feet high, 1 think, and there we passed the night
When all had retired to rest, I climbed to the summit,
and felt eerie at the spectacle — wind, rain, lightning, and
somehow the thought of the near neighbourhood to the
huge Alps, with avalanches and glaciers. A few lights
twinkled in the Grindelwald. It was like going on deck
in the midst of a storm on the great Atlantic. Next
day brought us to the lovely valley of the Reichenbach,
with the glacier of Rosenlaui, one of the most beautiful
and come-at-able in Switzerland. One can get in below
it, as it were, and admire its walls and roof of crystal
blue, while the cold clear water percolates from it on
every side. This is the winning side of glaciers, but
higher up they are no joke — a sea, a torrent of slowly
but surely moving ice. My first week ended at Mey-
ringen, a village and valley just under the stupendous
fall of the Reichenbach. Thence we made an excursion
to the Lake of Brientz, of glassy green, reflecting its
quiet hills ; and on the banks of which is the beautiful
waterfall of Giesbach, reputed to be the most beautiful
in Switzerland. It is a succession of falls, perhaps five
or six, which you can see all at once, looking so in-

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Memorials of

tensely white, and a rich foliage of intensest greea
One of the wonders of this most wonderful country is,
that you may travel for weeks, and find no two days, I
might say no two hours, alike in respect of the scenery
you visit. Each waterfall is new, each glen, each glacier
— so we found it on Monday on resuming our course.
We traced the Aar up to its source in the great Aar
glacier near the Grimsel ; and what pen can describe
the awful solitude and increasing sterility of that valley,
as you gradually wind up until you find yourself in com-
pany with the bare mountain -tops, cheek by jowl with
remote glaciers, and actually walking where Xkioy must
once have flowed. There is a hospice there, called the
Grimsel, which is now used as an inn, and where we
reposed amongst <^he sublimest objects of nature. I
should not omit to mention the celebrated fall of the
Aar or Handek, which you pass in ascending to the
Grimsel, and where two vast torrents unite their waters
at half way in their descent. It is ver}' striking, and, in
its way, a prodigy. From the Grimsel we visited the
glacier in which the Rhone has its source — the most
magnificent I have seen, and worthy parent of such a
stream. There is none of the usual turbulence about
this source, but a quiet consciousness of future strength
and greatness. Yet certainly among those solitudes,
and with this comparatively tiny stream before you, it
was curious to think of Geneva, Lyons, Marseilles, the
Mediterranean, and the commerce of nations. Crossing
a wild pass, called the Furca, we descended into the
valley of the Reuss, and joined the Great St. Gothard
road from Switzerland into Italy. This valley is very
fine in itself, and famous as the scene of a long struggle
at the end of last century, between the Austrians, French,

John Mackintosh,

231

and Russians ; at its moulh lies Altorf, a lovely Swiss
town, realizing all one has read or dreamed in youth of
such places. Near it is the birthplace of Tell, which I
visited; and on reaching the Lake of Lucerne, at no
great distance, you soon see Griitli, and other spots
famous in the early history of Swiss independence. The
Lake of Lucerne — how I longed to have you there ! — it
surpasses all that the most ardent fancy had conceived.
Such softness, combined with such lofty grandeur ; such
variety in its bays and turns, and undulating shores, and
villages, and woods, and lawns, and rocky mountains.
I can only huddle together words ; but to feel it, you
must see it. And then, too, the thought that it is the
heart of Switzerland, having on its shores those four
cantons — Uri, Unterwalden, Schweitz, and Lucerne —
that nursed her patriots of old, and formed the theatre
of their exploits ! On the banks of this lake stands the
celebrated Righi hill, which you must ascend to witness
a sunset and sunrise, if you would have the credit of
making a complete tour in Switzerland. This I did,
and was well rewarded ; the panorama being even more
extensive than that from the Faulhorn, and including
some dozen beautiful lakes. Here too there is a fine
hotel on the summit. Next day we descended upon
Kusnacht, where Tell shot Gessler, and finally reached
Lucerne, a town worthy of its name. Thence I came to
Zurich, where I now write you. Its lake is charming,
different from all I have seen, having gently-sloping hills
all along its shores, very green and smiling, and studded
with innumerable white villages and houses that give it
a very gay and happy aspect. The town at the end of
the lake is also very beautiful and lively, combining in-
dustry with beauty. So ends my personal narrative for

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the present, and soon I hope to cross the Alps into
Italy. My love, you may think that I do not think of
you, because I write you seldom; it is far otherwise,
and I only wish I could believe I was as often in your
thoughts as you" are in mine. My tenderest love to
Ned and the bairns, especially Bill. O how my heart
warms to home, particularly just at present, when the
friends I had with me during my tour hitherto have left
me, and I have no one to fall back upon but myself !
I wish I had you here, or any of you ; but it cannot be
— only a friend enhances wonderfully the pleasure of
things. Well then, love, in every mood we have a friend
in God, in that Saviour who is infinitely compassionate
and condescending, and who has pity on our weakness.
It is good sometimes to be alone, though. We may
draw near to Him, and prove how true He is to all His
promises, and how fitted to supply all our wants — above
all, that want of one to love, which our hearts need.
Have I your prayers? Believe me, you have mine;
and may the God of love ever watch over you and keep
you. Those fair sights of creation fill our hearts with
love and praise ; but far less, after all, than the great
work of redemption, or God contemplated in the face
of Jesus Christ. It is this which brings us near, and
enhances all other thoughts of God. With warmest
love, then, to all around you, — believe me, ever your
fondly attached brother.'

He was fortunate in having as his companion, during
almost the whole of this part of his tour, a Mr. Adams, a
student of divinity from America, who had been attend-
ing the University of Berlin during the winter, and to
whom he soon became greatly attached.

*John Mackintosh,

'^IZ

Diary. — ^Fribourg. — Arriving at half-past two a.m.
I walked about till full daylight ... I can never
forget the transition from moonlight to that of day —
from the unusual giddy visionary character of the one
— to the distinct and palpable of the other. As the
coming sun streaked the heavens, my thoughts flew at
once to those halcyon mornings when I have witnessed
it in like guise from Geddes and the hill of Urchany.
Never, for months, have I been able to survey that far
past so free from mist; for, as if looking through a
powerful, telescope, I felt as if I could converse with
each object apart, and with the individuals who thronged
the scene. Such glimpses are from heaven, and assure
me that my mind and imagination are not yet altogether
wrinkled ; but may at any time, if so permitted, renew
their youth. Yet, if compared with former, how seldom
do I enjoy those visitations of the clear-sighted soul !

* August 1 6. — Commenced ascent of the Righi. Day
very warm, and views of lake so superb that it was
impossible to get on. Ravishing and resistless beauty I
There was nothing for it but to cry ; the mountain-tops
were bare — the lake so glassy — its coasts so varied with
hamlets, villages, innumerable bays. Lucerne with its
battlements in the distance. All this added to the
thoughts of youth and songs and sisters which came
flitting over the soul, like " a dream remembered in a
dream." View from summit magnificent ; I say, finer
far than Faulhom, because far more extensive. You
have not only the overland Alps, but a real panorama
from west to east, as far as the horizon goes ; great
variety in their form and grandeur, not less than twelve
lakes visible, and the northern and north-western hori-
zons still more distinct I can fancy few things more

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superb ; people continued to arrive on horseback, on
foot, etc., to the last The sun did his part admirably,
tinging the whole western heavens with a marvellous
glow, that set off the long outline of the Juras and
Vosges, and glorified them to the eye as well as to the
soul. The lakes reflected his rays with dazzling magni-
ficence. Only the Bernese Alps, to the far west, were
not so free of clouds as they should have been, and gave
back no crimson glow. I was enchanted ; my ecstasy
over, it was something to look round on my co-admirers,
and smile at their appearance — representatives -of every
nation and every character here, determined to be
pleased ; but shivering under the cold north wind with
red eyes and red noses, and their hands in their breeches
pockets. Young ladies with overshadowing Swiss bon-
nets, which the wind blew into a thousand shapes,
in spite of all their efforts to " fix " them : Austrians
listening to the story of Tell and Sempach ; German
students, in knots, marking the summits from their
guide-books ; men selling souvenirs, and fat old ladies
buying them ; one Edinburgh man, with undoubted
dialect, who had seen it all before, proving that too
much familiarity breeds contempt ; newly married
couples thinking of anything but the view ; and other
persons and figures indescribable. When all was over,
a Swiss went round and gathered " bash," as if he had
the merit of the whole thing ; and that not even a sun
could rise or set in Switzerland without a guide getting
money for the spectacle 1 Some said the worthy had
bicvn a horn ; but r." far as I could learn, it was
inaudible to all as well us to myself. Remained till all
were gone, then descended with dear Adams.

^ Horgen {Sabbath). — I kept the house, and tried to

yokn Mackintosh,

raise my heart and soul to God. In the evening I spoke
to young Swiss merchants, and to the waiter, on religion.
Gave the latter Valaisane which I had just read, recom-
mending him to serve first his Master in heaven. ... I
have no doubt now — [he had parted from Mr. Adams
the day before] — that I am much happier with a com-
panion. If it is my Father's will, I pray that I may yet
meet one to accompany me ; but, above all, O Lord, be
Thou with me ! Keep my heart from wandering and
estrangement. May my joy be in Thee 1 May I live
continually to Thy glory !

^Zurich, August 20. — Felt an indescribable feeling of
loneliness (after parting from Adams) come over me.
Sat down in my bedroom in mute despair, and at last
found relief in tears. . . . Walked out ; met crowds of
operatives coming from the factories at six. How like
our own sons of toil ! Several wished me good evening ;
my heart warmed to them. I wonder if they have any
one who cares for their souls 1 '

''August 22. — (Rapperschwyll.) — A luscious morning.
The sun shone in at my windows, looking on the lake
with the brightness of a seraph. On quitting the inn at
seven, I took the road for Einsiedeln ; there was that
freshness in the air which one associates with the thought
of Switzerland, the cottages looked so white and clean,
the people so industrious, the green fields and wooded
lawns of the sloping shores gave forth a perfume so
luxurious that to walk was a delight — one seemed to
have wings, and, at all events, the thoughts took wing,
and made their accustomed and alternate journey to the
two homes. I thought much of the love of God in
Christ — a subject ever fresh, and alas ! but very shadowy
to my mind, except in some of its very brightest mo-

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ments. This fair earth His handiwork, and T, too, His
creature. " He came to his own, and his own received
him not!" What condescension! what forbearance!
the same which He now daily exercises towards me, so
vile. O that precious thought, that my vileness does
not separate between me and Him ! My earthly friends,
when they discover it, cease to love me, but not so He.
I trust He will one day completely change this heart
and nature, and make me pure, holy, humble, like
Himself.

* Au^ist 24. — (Lake of Wallenstadt.) — Met once more
the Glarus merchant, whom I had seen at Rapperschwyll,
and who seems to me to have a disposition towards re-
ligion ; but to whom I had not been able to speak as I
could have wished. In the steamboat, while admiring
the very fine scenery, after some interesting conversation
on Swiss manufactures, etc, I had an opportunity of
speaking to him at large as I desired. I found that with
much temporal prosperity he enjoyed precarious health,
having a tendency of blood to the head. I endeavoured
to show him how this might prove to him, in fact, more
a blessing than an evil, if it taught him submission to
the will of God; and led him, above all, to live for
eternity, having made his peace with God through Jesus
Christ. He was forced to confess that too much pros-
perity might lead to forgetfulness of God, as with him-
self and others whom he knew ; and the view I gave him
of his malady, and its possible result, seemed so new to
him, that he thanked me very warmly; and I would
even hope that, with the blessing of God's Spirit, I may
have been employed to say what may afterwards spring
up to everlasting life in his soul.

The following extracts from a letter to Professor

yohn Mackintosh,

'^S?

Forbes give an account of his crossing the Alps into
Italy:—

TO PROFESSOR FORBES.

' COMO, Aug. 29, 1849s

*My very dear Sir, — ^Your last most kind letter
afforded me even an unusual degree of pleasure, and
truly glad I was to hear you had enjoyed so much your
trip to London, and were then so well with all your
family at Melrose.

* The idea of again travelling with you through the
Alps would have been just too much (happiness) for
me, and so little am I conscious of much intellectual
progress, that I fear I should now make quite as bad a
companion in that respect as I then did; only it is
perhaps not so much a companionship of the head as
of the heart that you would desire, and I can answer
for that, however poorly it might express itself. The
Alps, however, are always there, and there is little
chance of the glaciers melting away before you pay
them a visit. If the bare mention of some of their
names will whet your appetite, I proceed to do so in
giving you rapidly an account of my last three weeks
of unabated happiness.'

After narrating the portion of his journey which is
described by him in his previous letters and Diaries, he
says —

' At Reichenau I remained last Sunday, feeding on the
past, and thinking, with a palpitating heart, of the im-
pending passage of the Spliigen, which was to bear me
into Italy, whwe my fancy had so often wandered. The
spot was fitting for the view of such an epoch, at the
confluence of the two Rhines, which river is itself a great
fountain of electricity for the imagination, with the ro-

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! 4

mantic associations too of a past name in modem history.
Accordingly on Monday I took the Spliigen road, and was
greatly struck with the Via Mala : these to otlier such
passes, as the Alps and the Rhine are to their hunabler
constituents. I passed it in utter solitude, till near the
end, when who should I recognise in the only travelRng-
carriage I met but our friend Emile Gautier, returning
from the Italian lakes with his young bride ! He was at
St Gervais when I left Geneva, so that I could not say
farewell, and his marriage was to take place in about a
week. Judge of our surprise now ! He seemed very
happy, and I christened it immediately the Via Bona.
She too looked very nice, and had become prettier since
I first saw her. I wished them both, in my heart, many
blessings, and thought there might be really less interesting
things in the world than a young newly-married couple.
I should mention that the Oberland was crowded with
such characters, but I gave the palm to the Gautiers.
That night Spliigen I thought the perfection of a situa-
tion, — and next day by that marvellous road, which
must have been conceived by a madman, to Chiavenna.
How my heart beat on the apex of the pass in tak-
ing a last look of Transalpine Europe, when I began
actually to descend into the Italy of the Romans —
Horace, Virgil, Livy, and the Caesars. I wish I could
recal it, but it is to be only once done in a life, and the
electric jar can never be again charged with the whole
associations of boyhood and of youth. About six feet
separated two little brooks, one of which had the good
sense to make for the German Ocean, the other for the
Gulf of Venice. I did honour to the former by a
copious libation. How much more savage this pass is
to the south ; such barrenness, such fearful precipices,

yohn Mackintosh.

and then that zig-zag up a frowning face of rock, almost
inconceivable. It appeared like magic the sudden
transition to Chiavenna and vineyards. Yet so it was.
I was fairly in Italy ; and to-day I have even sailed the
thoroughly Italian lake of Como. I see you told me
to land at Bellagio. I had forgotten it, and the sultry
heat (a thunder-storm impending), has a little stanched
my spirit of romance, which flourished so vigorously
upon the Swiss mountains. I begin to fear Italy is a
place to dream of rather than to visit (in summer at
least), but shall not be premature. One day especially,
on so sudden a change, should not fix my judgment
The ominous lines, however, occur —

" But when I'm there, although 'tis fair,
'Twill be another Yarrow."

However, we shall see. To-morrow I hope to revel
in the glories of Lugano and Maggiore. Meanwhile I
must ask you to excuse so much of personal narrative.
I thought, however, that the mere names would recal
old times to you, and I have no father to participate in
my pleasure.'

In his Diary of August 28, he says : — * On reaching
the summit of the Spliigen pass, I paused and contem-
plated. Yonder the hills of Transalpine Europe;
southwards, Italy. I breathed a prayer for my friends ;
then, turning round, commenced my descent into Italy.
I felt great on the occasion, and recognised it as ao
epoch in my life. Sursum corda I *

240

Memorials of

CHAPTER X.

Enter* Italy— Austrian surveillance — Como— The Lombards — Isola
Bella — Thoughts on entering Italy — Milan — Letter to Mr. Bum
Murdoch — Pavia — Placentia — Mantua — Parma — ^Apennines.

The journey from the Alps to Rome occupied about
two months, and a minute diary of these and subse-
quent days of travel in Italy, was kept, with the design
of sending or reading it to his mother. Space per-
mits only of my giving a few selections from his own
copious pages, and compels me, therefore, to omit many
which are equal in interest to those which I now lay
before the reader : —

* Wednesday, August 29, 1849. — I was now in Italy \
and my first thoughts on waking turned to this fact. I
praised God, who had hitherto led me in safety, and
permitted me so great an enjoyment ! The morning was
pre-eminently fine. By ten a.m. we were at Colico, on
the banks of the Lake of Como. . . . The scenery,
until Bellagio, did not strike me as different from what
I had often seen before. At this point, however, the
lake divides in two, one branch going to Lecco, the
other to Como. We took the latter, and nothing could
now surpass the Italian richness of the shores. Villas
of luxurious grandeur, such as you see in pictures, read
of in novels, and dream of in dreams; villages of

'John M'lckintosh.

241

southern construction with porticos, painted houses and
flat roofs, vineyards crowding the hills on either side,
covered barges sleeping on their shadows, or skimming
the glassy surface of the water. It was enough ; my
imagination was filled, and Italy was written there in
enduring colours. The sultry heat, however, and some-
what covered sky, prevented me from feeling all those
raptures I should otherwise have done ; I was content
to lay up food for after reveries. When about half-way
to Como, an incident occurred which may throw some
light on the fidgety tenure which the Austrians now
have of Lombardy. One of their officials, a soldier,
who had come on board during the passage, took it into
his head to eye me very narrowly — my dress, person,
and accoutrements, afid, in a language I did not know,
to address me, as I thought, some questions thereupon.
Thinking it was merely impertinent curiosity, I told him
in French and German I did not understand him ; but
those languages were to him equally unintelligible. At
last the scurvy rascal rose, quitted his seat, and dis-
appeared. Soon after, he returned with one of the
Austrian officers, who demanded my passport of me in
German, and wished to know whither I was going. A
circle was formed in expectation of a scene ; but I pro-
duced my passport, explained it to him, told him my
country and destination, and so the matter ended. But
such scrutiny as this in a steamboat, and upon a lake
of pleasure, provoked my bile, especially as I was con-
scious of looking openness and innocence itself.

* (Landed at Como.) — About nine went out to see
the effect of moonlight upon the lake and mountains.
It was indeed voluptuous — I use this word advisedly —
for I think that herein lies the difference between what

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Memorials of

I saw to-night and what I have seen elsewhere, whether
in Switzerland or Savoy : it is not that the hills are
finer, either in form or magnitude, or that the sheet of
water differs in any respect ; but that over all is thrown
a rich, dreamy, voluptuous influence — the effect, doubt-
less, of atmosphere and climate. There is something
intoxicating even in the air, which predisposes you to
see all things beautiful. The moon shone down with
more than usual splendour, every trace of cloud having
vanished from the crystal sky ; the white houses
gleamed with a supernatural whiteness, and, especially
in the town, were brilliantly reflected from the lake;
the mountains trembled beneath the wavy light, and all
spoke of Italy — the land of dreams ! Thus tranquil-
lized, I returned to my room fully satisfied that Italy
may still be enjoyed at least by moonlight : her nights
are perhaps more beautiful than her days. And so
it is in fact — her day is past ; but oh ! how beautiful
even her night of souvenir and dream !

* August 30. — They (the Lombards) appear to me as
yet a very interesting people — serious, cultivated, in-
dustrious, gentlemanly, and, though not warlike, perhaps
as fit to be happy under a government of their own as
any European nation. By what singular judgment . are
they condemned to be the subjects of a people infinitely
less advanced in civilisation than themselves ? I know
not, except it be in retribution for the ancient cruelties
and tyranny of that people to whom, in many respects,
they serve themselves heirs. I should fancy that under
many regards they were the nearest resemblance to the
Romans of the later empire of all the Italian peoples —
their looks, their luxury, their refinement, their letters,
I fear I must add too, their effeminacy. . , . My com-

yohn Mackintosh.

243

panion was an emaciated Lombard, who had taken
part in the war of independence. He was in exile with
his family at Lugano, where his health had given way
under the superior rigour of the climate. Now he had
been for a month trying the effect of the air natale to
restore him., and with some success. I took him to be
a Lombard merchant, and found him to be intelligent,
our medium of communication being French. He
spoke with much certainty of their final emancipation
from the Austrian yoke, and would not admit even such
a feeble word as esperance. The present state of things,
he said, could not go on, so overbearing had become
the tyranny of the Austrians, with some few exceptions.
Before the rebellion, they had conducted themselves
with courtesy and caution, but now it was intolerable.
The Lombards were not to blame for pusillanimity in
the war, because first they were totally unaccustomed to
arms, and, next, those who did take them up, were on
the Stelvio and other passes, where they were not called
into action. In the recent defence of Venice, how-
ever, it was mainly Lombards who held out, the Vene-
tians themselves being ready to make any sacrifices in
their defence, but not to stand fire. I must say I sym-
pathized with the man, as I do with the Lombards
generally.

' At about a third of the way we reached the frontier
of the Swiss canton of Tessin. Here our passports
were examined by the Austrian authorities, and again
I was subjected to annoyance. It seems my passport
at Chiavenna should have been visdd by the military
commandant as well as by the police. This second
process I had left to the commissionnaire of the hotel,
as the officer resided there, and my omnibus was soon

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Memorials of

to start Tne fellow pretended to do it, but neglected.
Again at Como my pass should have been vist^d, but
not having been asked for it, I did not volunteer it.
These circumstances combined infuriated my Austrian,
and nothing would serve him but I should return to
Como. I thanked him for his kind advice, so politely
given, and fearing a succession of vexations was even
meditating such a step ; when a Lombard gentleman
in the carriage spoke privately to the authority, and one
of his fellows, not he, came out to tell me I might go
on and take my chance ; I did so, and breathed more
freely on crossing the frontier.

* Certainly the air became cooler, and everything wore
a more happy smiling aspect on entering Switzerland
once more. What a province of fertility and beauty I
We reached the lake as the sun was already on the
decline. It was evidently not so beautiful as Como,
but it pleased me more. The mountains were more
lofty, the lake more dark and serious. We embarked
in company with several very fine-looking Lombards,
companions and refugees in adversity, and their mani-
festation of sympathy and brotherhood towards each
other, although their ranks were apparently different,
pleased me very much. Wo passed a long mole of
stone, with two or three arches, under one of which
the boat passes, and by means of which the Great St.
Gothard road crosses the Lugano. A tall, conical hill
rose to the left, on one side of which runs up a long
and many-homed bay of the lake, on the other gilding
its graceful shore, and beautifully thrown out against a
gentle group of hills behind, appeared the town of
Lugano. Its situation is very perfect, and perhaps
worth the whole lake. As the setcmg sun illumined the

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yohft Mackintosh.

245

heavens behind, and threw a parting glory over the
bosky hills in front, we entered the little harbour, and
disembarked. The moon was just rising over one of
the western hills, and with increasing splendour shed its
rays on the greatly ruffled waters : I quickly took my
room in the Hotel de la Couronne, deposited my sack,
and went out to enjoy what Italy alone can afford.

* August 2t\. — (Maggiore.) — I left the vessel at Baveno,
and visited the Isola Bella, in company with some
others. The external etfect of these islands had greatly
disappointed me, after all that has been said in their
praise, but the visit to the chateau amply repaid me.
It was all that the most fervent fancy could dream ot
the natural, heightened by luxury and art I wan-
dered through long corridors, opening into lofty
chambers magnificently furnished, and decorated with
pictures of the first masters, while the lake appeared
in perspective through the open windows, blue as
heaven, and glistering like a shield. A cool breeze
from the south entered and pervaded the mansion, and
the ripple of the water was heard without, alone break-
ing the silence that reigned around. The gardens also
pleased me, with their terraces, grottos, and flowers,
but especially their trees of every clime, diffusing fra-
grance, and conveying an idea of the meridian climate
that must there prevail. The citron, the orange, the
pomegranate, the sugar, the cork, were among those I
chiefly remarked ; and a delicious grove of spruce firs,
I think, afforded a grateful shade, and created that sigh-
ing sound among the branches which speaks such
soothing music to the senses.

' As we neared Maggiore, I was enchanted to find
heather, and its fragrance, combined with the very High-

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246

Memorials of

land character of the scenery, filled me with inexpres-
sible emotions. The frst view of the lake before
descending confirmed my impression that it was Loch
Lomond.

* Sept. I. — The Diligence started for Milan at one.
By this time the sky had cleared. I was on the roof,
upon a comfortable seat, without any covering ; so that
the view was open on every side. The fragrance of
trees and of heather for a considerable way filled the
air, still more fragrant after the rain ; the blue retiring
hills behind, and the vast plains flat below, richly wooded
and cultivated, reminded me I was in Lombardy and
the valley of the Po. I cannot tell what sensations
I felt, or what thoughts passed through my mind, as we
were bame along towards Milan, a cool breeze meeting
us from the south, and a light-blue Italian sky overhead.
If there be meaning in the expression, I seemed to see
more deeply into the mystery of the hfe of man and of
the world, when I reflected in such a country on the
history of the past, and strove to look out upon the
future ; but mystery it still remained until revelation
came in and solved the difliculty, the element of faitli
being added. The story of those ages that have gone
down to oblivion, and which yet is not oblivion — the
development of the world and the change of power —
the reason of this slow development, and why man
should oppress man, and often undo ali the fair work
of time — the riddle of existence, destiny, and the slow
working out of any consummation whatever — all the.se,
and a thousand such questions, flitted over ray spirit,
and seemed to acquire a voice still more potent upon
the battle field of two, if not of many civilisations.
And those old Romans still live, and those Gauls cut

n 1

yohn Mackintosh.

247

down by thousands, and those barbarians who after-
wards avenged their ancestors, and all who followed
them in the Middle Ages. It is not so much that here
there have been more generations, more havoc, or
perhaps more changes, than elsewhere ; but that their
history is written in such unfading colours, and was so
critical for the human race, that it appears as though
it had been selected to be one of the gauging points of
human life and human history, where that lesson might
be read, that " one generation cometh after another," and
that " as a flower of the field, so man flourisheth." The
thought, however, came out in all the more impressive
lustre, that " the word of the Lord endureth for ever."

' Some autumn leaves already appearing on the trees,
affected me almost to the verge of weeping, so elo(iuently
did they speak the tale of Italy. O Thou who hast
shown to me such unmerited mercy, who hast accom-
panied me hitherto as I cannot doubt, withdraw not
from me Thy presence, Thy protection, and Thy love,
now when I am in the midst of strangers, and wholly
cast on Thee ! " I said, I will confess my transgression
unto tiie Lord, and Thou forgavest the iniquity of my
sin." Yes, Thy hand is still about me, and my con-
fidence is in Thee ! Lead me, O Lord, to the praise
of the glory of Thy grace !

* All youthful as it seems in climate and vegetation ;
this very climate, that once braced to deeds of highest
virtue, now breeds eftVminacy, disease, and death, and
with Italy itself it is now more than autunm — our times
have reached the autumn of the world.

'The full-orbed moon arose like the eye of heaven
looking in sorrow on the earth as we approached the
splendid arch of peace by which you enter Milan from

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Memorials of

the north. So level is the plain on which the city is
built, that you see but little of it at once. Only you
pass through a gate beside the arch, and come upon a
vast esplanade, at the farther side of which stands the
extensive castle or barracks, and over one wing of this
you see houses and house-tops surmounted by the white
tower of the cathedral. Our passports being taken, and
temporary ones given in their place, we drove round the
esplanade, and entered the narrow but clean and stately
streets of my first Italian city. I have often been struck
by the resemblance of Lombard gentlemen to our better
class of well-dressed, well-appointed Englishmen, and
now the equipages we ii?*»t were more English than any-
thing of the kind I have seen upon the Continent.

* I took a turn in the tall silent streets, and felt that
here too prevailed that deep dejection which I had
already remarked ait Como. We read of revolutions,
of fighting, of war, but to appreciate the effects of these
the country must be visited ; it is then we perceive how
they chastise and scourge a country, and that we learn
to value our own most blessed peace. May God restore
the Lombards to liberty, prosperity, and happiness, if it
be His all-wise but inscrutable will.

* Sunday J Sept. 2. — (Milan Cathedral.) — The exterior
of the structure arrested me, and after a rapid survey 1
entered by Ihe western door ; the interior was very very
fine. The people who paced the nave served to illustrate
its vast proportions, such pigmies did they seem. The
effect was very imposing ; by degrees I allowed myself
to advance — gazing above, around, and forwards ; and
of a truth, I felt that there could be religion expressed
in a building. It is one of the few " temples made with
hands" that seem to me at all adequate to the concep-

K <

yohn Mackintosh,

249

tion — the dim light, the gigantic pillars, the heavenward
bearing of all — shall I say the mystery and indefiniteness
of the edifice ? — all pointed to that faith which is sub-
lime yet lowly, revealed yet hidden. I was solemnized,
tranquillized, awed, encouraged. . . . The structure is
vast, and of solid marble ; a quarry having been be-
queathed for the purpose by one of its founders. Al-
though so massive, it rises very clean from the ground,
and has an air of particular lightness and elegance
beyond all I have ever seen : no doubt this is greatly
owing to its vast number of tall sky-pointing minarets,
from one extremity of the roof to the other, while the
tower is likewise girdled and surmounted by them.
Each of these is surmounted by a full-length figure,
angel or saint ; and the effect of this in white marble,
seen against a clear light-blue sky, is altogether inde-
scribable. There are also what I, in my ignorance of
architectural terms, would call festoons of marble sculp-
ture and tracery, at regular intervals athwart the roof
and rising above it, through which the bright sky is also
visible, so that nothing is wanting to give airiness to the
architecture. From its foundation till now, it has never
been without scaffolding in some quarter or other, having
been brought thus gradually to its present state, which
is not even yet that of completion. Is not this fact,
which applies to so many cathedrals, significant of the
religion itself, which, so far from having yet completed
its part in the world and being now effete, has not yet,
I verily believe, reached the climax of its wonderful and
awful destinies ? . . . A considerable audience crowded the
eastern portion of the nave, listening to a preacher, who
seemed eloquent Rich and poor were met together,
but all nicely clad. In fact the congregation was very

250

Memorials of

picturesque. The Austrian officer with his showy regi-
mentals, the well-dressed, handsome Lombard, the
peasantess with her head-dress, and sometimes fine
countenance, were all apparently engaged in devotion.
Nor were there wanting black eyes among the more
aristocratic part of the assembly, which from beneath
arched eye-brows upon a pale handsome countenance
met your glance as it chanced to fall upon them, and
did not shrink with the bashfulness to which in England
we are accustomed. The organ which was placed above
the choir was played with much sweetness, and hallowed
the gloom, and elevated the soul by its expressive music.
I waited till all was over, then took another look at the
exterior of the cathedral, and returned home. Here I read,
and endeavoured to elevate my soul in humble worship.'

From Milan he thus wrote Mr. A. Bum Murdoch : —

'Milan, Sept. 3.

•. . . By this time, indeed long ere this, y vill have
been speaking your mother-tongue without compunction,
enjoying the dear delights of home in the happiest country
on the face of the earth. In some respects I could envy
you, but my destiny carries me yet southwards, and pro-
longs my absence from all my heart loves. I trust to
hear in your next of still further amendment in your
moil'or's health, of your happy meeting with them all,
ai. )f your own doings smce ytjur arrival. Forme you
will be happy to hear that I have had very very great
enjoyment, so much so that I am humbled as well as
overpowered with gmtitude, when 1 think of my very
great unworthiness. The Lord has not forsaken me, I
have reason to believe, but has been near me and about
me. . . . O that you were with me, my dear Christian
friend 1 There are, of course, hours of loneliness, when

John Mackintosh,

251

even the neighbourhood of one we love is agreeable and
cheering ; however, God has otherwise ordered — I hope
and believe for the best. . . . May God bless you and
keep you, and direct all your future ways ! How good
He is, and condescending to our littleness and infir-
mities ! I am persuaded we cannot too much treat Him
as a friend ; and the more we do so, the greater our
reverence as well as our intimacy. Were it not for this
faith, the world would be a wilderness in spite of the
kind hearts it contains. I think of past times, last
winter, with great pleasure, and I trust we may be
allowed to recall them some day when the harness is
on our back, and we are fighting, like good soldiers of
Jesus Christ, the battle which is fought for peace and
love. — Yours,' etc.

* Sept. 4. — (Milan ; Church of Santa Maria — Picture
of Last Supper.) — The outline and form of the figures is
still as Leonardo drew them. Our Saviour is the most
perfect remains ; and immediately the attention is con-
centrated on Him as it ought to be : such divinity, such
gentleness, such majesty of sorrow ! not in anger has He
said it, but in regret. The idea of placing this figure in
front of a window, opening out on Palestine and the
unsullied sky, assists to throw out the figure in relief,
and forms a fine setting, so to speak, for that calm in-
eff"able form. Next Judas is brought into notice, and
while neither regards the other, he may yet be said to
confront the Saviour, so palpably has he taken the
charge* as personal. The contrast between the counte-
nances is matchless : Judas is evidently stunned, be-
wildered by the discovery and exposure of his fearful
guilt of heart ; yet there is none of that assassin-look
of knavery, so commonplace, whi^h you see in many

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Memorials of

: f-

of the prints of it No ; he is a thoroughly bad, uncon-
verted man — a devil, who has all the time been wearing
Ae garb of a disciple ; and now that, for the first time,
the Saviour manifests that He knows him, and mildly
alludes to his guilt, the effect is electric — he has no
time and no nerve to get up cunning — he is paralysed.
The variety of attitude and expression is also wonderful ;
they are in groups of three, and yet there is a perfect
unity in the whole. Our Saviour has uttered the words,
and all in consequence hang upon Him. As Words-
worth says : " There is a power in the picture " which
no words can convey : it illustrates the Scripture ac-
count to you, and the effect upon the mind is religious
and elevating, as it ought to be.

' I liked the fellow's expression who showed us the
picture (a Hungarian hussar), intelligent though daring ;
and as he showed a desire to enter into conversation
about it, I explained to him how Christ had given His
body and blood for us, and urged him to put his con-
fidence in Him, to seek a country in the skies which no
man could take away. He seemed pleased that I
should notice him, and invited me to come and see
their stables and Hungarian horses, of which he was
very proud.

* Sept. 5. — (The summit of Milan Cathedral.) I
fancied I could descry the dim outline of the Apennines
to the south, as the sun veered in this direction,
and dispelled the darkness — and the possibility of this
was itself ravishing. Then, too, the thought that
among these meadows were acted the Bucolics of Virgil,
and that for them he wrote his Georgics ; that there
fived the Agricolae, whom he pronounced fcrtunati
nimium sua si dona ndrint; that there, above all, he

yohn Mackintosh.

^ST,

was bom himself, " nourishing a youth sublime," and
meditating his future fame among these very woods
and meads ! It was too much ; and I sat down on the
marble balustrade of the tower to indulge, as the cool
breeze of the morning fanned me, a long delicious re-
verie. I tried to realize the life of Virgil, his home, his
parentage, his opportunities, his character, his genius.
With what surprise in those days, with so few to imitate,
must he have felt the first stirrings of his muse, not
knowing perhaps what it well meant, unable to appreciate
it, and with none to enlighten him, as we read of the
first dawn of love in the soul of Max and Thekla.
Then, too, his exquisife delight in falling upon Homer,
Plato, and the Gr^'iks ; his fragments carried to the
river-side, and conned till they were made his own ; his
yearning desire, early formed, and long, perhaps hope-
lessly cherished, of visiting that glorious land, and
weeping for joy, and yearning over the monuments of
the Greeks; further on, his translation to Rome, the boy
converted into man — formerly ardent and melancholy
by turns, now refined, chastened, instructed in the
" music of humanity ;" his friends at Rome, his patrons,
especially among aristocratic ladies, but his soul all the
while " dwelling apart," like a star in the remote un-
peopled heavens — unpeopled, that is, to common eye,
but richly peopled with the invisible ; the terms on
which he and Horace must have lived, deeply respecting
each other ; but Horace regarding Virgil as a superior
spirit, awed by his gentleness, and feeling that, though
poets both, they had nothing in common ; in fact, at this
stage, it is difficult to regard Virgil living — he is already
" apotheosed," bound, if you will, in quarto vellum, with
annotations and commentary. What a luxury to have

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been with him in his visit to Greece, and heard his
criticisms and expressions ! — if indeed he made any,
which I doubt A self-contained world revolves in its
own orbit, and its satellites reflect light simply by
gazing on its face. Compare with all this the life and
character of Milton, his visit to Italy and Virgil's tomb,
and see there the spirit with whom he could hold
communion, athwart all intervening objects and ages.
" Most musical, most melancholy," such thoughts !

^Sept. 6. — (University of Pavia.) — I paced the cloisters^
and regarded the tablets on their walls to the most dis-
tinguished of her professors, with no common emotions.
Here was one of the earliest seats of learning opened in
Europe, prior, it is said, even to the time of Charlemagne.
And then, too, although only a private in the ranks, I
have a sympathy for learning and all its accompani-
ments, and know so much of College life myself, that I
could not but feel I was standing on the most familiar
spot I had yet visited in Italy. Feelings of home came
over me, and as the students passed me, there was a
free-masonry of look between us, clad as I was in an
academic blouse that spoke volumes, and was equivalent
to an introduction. How truly is it called the Republic
of Letters ! The students, with a characteristic differ-
ence of dress, were but a modification of the great
genus, admitting, I should think, of the usual division
of reading and rowing men. The vision of Oxford
rose before my eyes — here Broad Street, or rather I
should say, High Street; behind, the Ticino, for the
Isis, hastening to join the Po or Thames ; the Univer-
sity, one of her many colleges, and the students going
down for non-term. Again, I felt so much at home
that it required a struggle ever and anon to realize I

yohn Mackintosh,

was at Pavia. There were even about the hotel, where
I was waiting for my voiture, some of those old servants
of the place, with wits sharpened by the intercourse
with the students, and a certain sympathy for them,
which you find at the English Universities. One of
these, with a mixture of respect and bantering, began to
twit me for not having gone to visit the Certosa in the
neighbourhood of Pavia, about four miles distant — the
Blenheim of Oxford, He talked of what I might and
should have done, as if to a rich young blade of a
student money were no concern. I knew that the Cer-
tosa is very gorgeous ; Murray says as much ; but some-
how I have been so often disappointed, and have so
little heart for these garish, comparatively modem,
Roman Catholic edifices, that I did not feel enthusiasm
enough to go ; this too, added to the heat of the day,
and the probable expense of a carriage, which I should
have required. It may seem strange, but I seek feelings
more than facts and actual statistics in my travels.
What ! not see the Museum of Natural History ; this,
that, and the other thing in the University and town !
for what, then, did you go to Pavia all the way? I
answer, I was satisfied and amply rewarded. The
question is like that of the mathematician who read
Milton, and asked what it proved. On the fields of
Marathon and Bannockbum are to be seen but bare
rocks or corn-fields, yet they are visited i -n afar ; and
the imagination has a feast, if imagination there exist.
For facts, then, and statistics, consult Murray, and not
me. . . . We got under way. The evening was pecu-
liarly balmy ; our road lay through some of the richest
pasturages in Lombardy , darkness for a time invested
US, through which distant lights appeared, giving one to

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suppose that cottage life was not unknown among those
extensive plains. Soon, however, the moon arose in
her wonted splendour, and the landscape was reveled
in fictitious beauty. After talking to my fellow-travellers
to nearly the same effect as to my student at the inn,
I fell into a reverie, which it would be vain to attempt
to commit to paper. Italy and Scotland — where I had
dreamed of Italy — were mysteriously blended. My spirit
was sometimes in one, sometimes in the other. One
of these flashes of surprise came across me that I was
really here ; and yet with all its romance, and the de-
licious softness of the night air I was inhaUng, there
seemed no discrepancy in thinking of old Scotland as
equally romantic, if not even more so than where I now
was. Those scenes of beauty that I know — that society
of which I have tasted, with Italian song, river-sides,
starry nights, shady walks, gardens and flowers, formed
a nosegay to the soul, as sweet as any I was now enjoy-
ing. Dangerous both, if the soul rise not to God, and
experience its chief, attempered, and all-pervading satis-
faction in Him. This mine has not always done, but I
now sought to do it.

*^ Sept. 7. — (Lodi.) — He (a young Austrian officer) re-
quested we should sleep together; and as it was but
for a few hours, I consented. My practice of kneeling
before going to rest surprised him ; but he admitted it
was good, and I put the duty of it afterwards to him in
as strong a position as I could.

^ Sept. 8.-^(0n the road near Piacenza.) — I started
from Lodi at five a.m. on foot ; passed the Austrian fron-
tier about eight. Soon after a turn in the road brought
me in presence of a scene which I would find it diffi-
cult to convey by words. Immediately before me the

*John Mackintosh,

^57

broad full-shining Po, one of the four or five monarchs
of European rivers, which the fancy is prepared to wel-
come with a thrill of emotion. On its southern bank, a
little to the eastward of where I was standing, Piacenza,
most picturesquely situated, with an unusual abundance
of minaret, dome, and tower for a Lombard city ; the
dark stone spire of the Cathedral, in particular, gave
character to the pictorial effect of the town. Lastly,
behind the town, and skirting the whole southern
horizon from east to west, the beautiful outline of the
Apennines, ridge over ridge, fold within fold, here a
peak, there a dome, with soft but variegated lights on
their various parts, as you see on many of the bonny
hills of Scotland. This association, their intrinsic
beauty, together with the surprise of coming upon
mountains after the dreary plains of Lombardy, filled
me with delight, I may say intoxicated me. I lingered
long and drank the spectacle ; the desolate beauty of
Placentia, which seemed as if it had lost its way upon
those forlorn banks ; the river itself, fringed with willows
and sand, rolling on in its dreary channel — a waste
though fertilizing all around — smote my soul with one
of those notes of melancholy which are profound but
not unpleasing. I followed its "wild and willowy
shore" for a considerable way beyond Placentia, until
I reached the appropriately forlorn and rickety bridge
of boats by which the highroad crosses it. Nothing, in
truth, could be more in keeping or more significant of
the departed grandeur of Placentia. With such emotions
I entered the town, and found my way to the hotel.

^Sunday, Sept. 9. — To-day I had the rampart with
its promenade entirely to myself I tried to retrace,
realize, arwd re-people the history of Placentia. Visions

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of Roman greatness rose before my eyes, her haughty
senators, dames, patricians ; her stem, stately soldiers j
her worship, in so far as I could make it out \ and while
I regretted that in former days I had learned those
details so much by rote as to have now forgotten much
which I would wish to have recalled, I was still able to
make the picture complete enough to please myself.
How singular the contrast between their civilisation on
the one hand, and their religious darkness on the other !
while those two things to our minds must ever go
together. It is Hke a dark cloud tinged by the moon
shining behind, which is at once beautiful and the re-
verse. I cannot help thinking that, for character and
mode of life, the transition between later Rome and
Italy of the middle ages was not so great or so sudden
as we sometimes imagine. Those lovers of luxury,
those patrons of art, those monsters of tyranny and
cruelty, might belong to one or other epoch ; the later,
whom we have accurately sketched to the life, were the
lineal inheritors of the names and nature of the former.
Thus then I passed to Placentia of the middle ages, and
endeavoured to collect all I had gathered in history or
romance of their glory, their splendour, and their shame.
Finally, I passed on to more recent times ; the universal
revolutions effected by Napoleon, the long peace that
followed, and the poets who have visited and sung these
lands from my own and other countries. I know not
which of all these phases seemed endowed to my mind
with the richest halo. All are equally blended with my
youthful dreams in that season when the cold reason is
allowed to slumber, and Imagination is lord of the
ascendant.

*I entered the Cathedral towards dusk. There is

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yohn Mackintosh,

259

nothing in it particularly to arrest the attention or
elevate the thoughts; but mine were for the moment
independent of outward aids, and sitting down with my
book of Psalms in hand, I turned my soul towards
H'oi, the events of whose marvellous life, from the
cradie to the tomb, were portrayed around me. I
cannot say that in general those pictures or frescoes,
however good, awake devotion in my mind. This may
be the defect of habit, or that the aesthetic predominates
in regarding them; or that, among so many, the soul
has not time for an operation so absorbing and profound
as that of devotion. Be this as it may, excepting by
the Supper of a Leonardo, or the Crucifixion of a Guido
— for which, besides their being masterpieces, you give
yourself time and scope for religious musings — I have
rarely felt myself sanctified in Italian churches. To-
night, however, all was dim excepting to the spiritual
eye ; and the marvellous love and work of Him who
Himself purged our sins, and wrought out a righteous-
ness for His people, shone out with peculiar lustre. No
wonder that, when the tide of genius first flowed in its
various channels since the conversion of the world to
Christianity, this should be the all-absorbing topic of its
efforts, whether on canvas or in verse. — My Saviour, I
am Thine, and I desire to appropriate the prayer, " One
thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after ;
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days
of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to in-
quire in His temple." Under many aspects, there is
much to be said in favour of these solemn cathedrals —
calm retreats for the thirsty soul amid the bustle of the
world, and using them as Oratoires or places of medita-
tion. I have often of late felt their power, and been

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greatly indebted to them. O that error could be kept
apart from good, so that good might not have to be
sacrificed to error !

* Sept 10. — (Cremona.) — ^A short walk over the com-
mon brought us to Cremona, which we entered by the
Milan gate. Its appearance from the river, with the
exception of its tall tower, is not imposing, owing to
the flatness of the country in which it stands. Within,
however, was an air of industry, affluence, and pros-
perity. I first visited the Cathedral, whose tall tower,
396 feet high, is the wonder of Lombardy, giving
occasion to the monkish rhyme —

" Unus Petrus est in Rom^
Una turns in Cremon^"

The marble pillars in front rise here, as elsewhere, out
of lions or griffins, a quaint idea. The interior is not
striking, although containing some fine frescoes, and
indeed covered almost to excess with painting.

* Leaving the Cathedral, I made the tour of the town,
visiting its gates, its ramparts, and several other churches.
From the most eastern boulevard I had a fine view of
the distant mountains above Brescia, on the lake of
Garda, and westward towards Como. In spite of its
fiddles, it has nothing very attractive to offer.

^ Sept 12. — (Mantua.) — By about five the Diligence
had arrived, and was again under way, I in the in-
terior. It was a beautifully built carriage, combining
ease of motion and great comfort, fitted up in every
respect like one of our railway carriages ; seats abreast,
with partitions. As day dawned, I took cognizance of
my company; two young Lombards, and a lady with
pale marble features, arched brows, young and pretty.

^)*'.i

John Mackintosh.

261

I perceived that she was very animated with my com-
panions in Italian, and by degrees I took courage to
speak to her in French, which she knew. Italian
politics her favourite topic. In fact, she was a Vene-
tian, and was now going to join her family, the siege
being over. Her aspirations for freedom were abun-
dant, and her sneers at those prmcipes d'equilibre pre-
valent in the courts of Europe, under cover of which
were perpetrated de trh-tnauvaises choses. Lord Pal-
merston and the English wished them well, but had not
courage to break with Austria. As for the French
Government, she could not make it out ; it was a
monarchico-imperial republic — she did not know what
However, she said, they cannot make us altogether
slaves. We Italians have a rich imagination (pointing
to her forehead) ; the heart, too, is free, and while that
is the case, we still have something. I was greatly
amused with these and similar remarks, given with an
eloquence by the fair Venetian, worthy of Corinne.
The others appeared to derive a still more copious
delight in Italian, and I could not but envy them.
Indeed, and alas ! I regret my ignorance of the language
at every step. Without it, as Bacon says, you really go
to school and not to travel. ...

*I turned my steps northward, and, passing the
Piazza Virgiliana — a grove of trees overhanging the
Mincio, and commanding from the northern rampart
a fine view of the hills of Brescia, and the Lake of
Garda — I reached the Verona Gate and the Bridge of
the Mills. From this point upon the Mincio, I en-
joyed a fine sweep of its smooth-flowing waters, blue
and fresh, gently rippled by the breath of evening, and
reflecting on their bosom the glowing western heavens ;

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wild lovely reeds and willows fringed its banks in vast
numbers ; and as I gazed towards the hills of the north-
ern and southern horizon, then at sunset, then at the
classic Mincio, I could not but feel that Virgil had had
every advantage which a poet need have, in regard to
the scenes with which his youth was conversant. The
thought that he had actually gazed upon those waters,
and gathered inspiration and expansion of soul from
contemplating those far-off mountains, was thrilling to
my spirit, and more than rewarded me for ray pilgrimage
to Mantua. Satisfied that "the boy is father of the
man," and that the impressions of youth affect the whole
after tone and character of the mind, I was anxious to
see the moulders of the vis Virgilii; and now that I
have seen them, I think that I can better comprehend
that glorious spirit. What ideas of life, of solitude, of
melancholy, must he have learned from the lonely wan-
dering Mincio ; what yearnings, what desires from the
bounding mountains I To the north, an unknown
mysterious world, serving for eternity ; to the south, the
hills that separated him from Rome — ^the earthly heaven
and idol of every Roman. I confess that in the tame
plains of Lombardy I had yet seen, I could not fancy
a Virgil being reared, but Mantua will do — nay, Shaks-
pere upon Avon, with the Severn for his muse, was not
better off.

* After a long and satisfactory draught of thought,
I crossed the curious bridge over the Mincio, where
twelve successive mills, turned by the stream, are de-
dicated and named after the twelve apostles, statues ol
whom surmount their doors. Recrossing the bridge,
I exactly traversed the town until I reached the Porta
Ceresa on its southern side, and by this gate I

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263

emerged, towards evening, to visit the village of Andes,
or as it is now called Pictola, where Donatus on
the one hand, and tradition, which identifies Andes
and the modem village on the other, assign the birth-
place of Virgil. The road followed a devious course
among the marshes or lakes, by which the circumference
of the town is flooded, and this for about a mile. Bar-
rier after barrier is passed, rampart after rampart most
skilfully adjusted, so that I could well believe the city
impregnable, as it is. The setting sun threw its light
upon the clear fresh water of the brooks, and the pic-
turesque trees and willows with which they abound were
wonderfully reflected on its glassy mirror. Could Virgil
have seen this, I thought, what a multitude of images it
would have furnished him. At last I reached the village
of Ceresa, where the Parma and Modena roads branch
off". I was directed to follow the latter, which I did for
a considerable way, and then took to the left by an un-
frequented road towards Mantua, according to my in-
structions. It was now, however, half-past six. The
sun had set ; night was drawing on, and soon it would
be quite dark without a moon. My enthusiasm for the
birthplace of Virgil, and my fear of being benighted
among those vast marshes, underwent a fearful struggle ;
as it was, I had long transgressed my limits of time,
having been warned in lea^ang that this gate was shut
at seven, and it was now half-past six, with about a
league between me and it. Seeing no village as I
advanced, I resolved to turn, and retraced my steps
with all speed, even to running. At length I gained
the high road, and neared the town, but the hour was
past, and the peasants warned me it was in vain to try.
A phaeton passed me at this moment, and in despair J

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sought admittance. The gentleman most courteously
complied; being a native of Mantua, and coming in
state, the gate was opened to him ; and full of gratitude
to him and the above, I was deposited near my hotel.

* I cannot but feel that the name of England is not
now upon the Continent what it was very recently. Her
foreign policy of the last eighteen months seems to have
sunk her in the opinion of all parties alike, and I am
much mistaken if Englishmen, on returning to the Con-
tinent, after this present cessation, do not find themselves
in a less proud position than formerly. There has been
a want of openness, as well as of generosity and manli-
ness, which has made a deep impression. How sad,
when her influence stood on such a pinnacle, and from
her domestic peace and example might have been so
wholesomely employed. Russia, on the other hand, has
greatly risen in the scale, and it is quite extraordinary
the reverence or awe with which her name is every-
where pronounced. An undeveloped power on which
the future of Europe depends, such appears to be
her posture in the minds of men. I know not but it
would take another Waterloo to restore Great Bri-
tain, and that Russia and she through their respective
principles must one day come to loggerheads I cannot
doubt.

* Sept. 13. — (Parma.) — My heart lingered at Mantua,
and never was lover torn from lover with more regret
The coolness diffused around by the extensive fresh-water
lakes was regaling. The town itself stately, old-fashioned,
and as it were consecrated to the memory of one of the
triumvirate of matchless poets. I should like to have
again visited the very site of Virgil's birth, and, his
Georgics and Bucolics in hand, to have repeopled their

John Mackintosh*

265

pastures and corn-fields with his shepherds and husband-
men ; comparing scenery with description, and meditat-
ing on the time when the very swains and their sweet-
hearts participated in the dignity of the masters of the
world. The willow groves and slimy reeds are still the
same — marshes diffuse coolness and prevent contagion —
apples, pears, grapes, and chestnuts are still the fruits
with which one shepherd might regale anotlier; but the
spirit of liberty is gone — the Italians are the conquered,
not the conquerors; and in another sense from what
Virgil meant, it might be exclaimed —

**En, quo discordia cives
Produxit miseros ! "

Mantua shall linger in my memory while I live, and it is
perhaps the first place in Italy which I have seen as yet
that I should wish to visit again before I die.

* I met a Venetian lady and her little boy. She had
been there during all the horrors of the siege, when they
were reduced to eat bread of the coarsest description,
and provisions of any kind sold at a ruinous expense.
She said they would have held out still longer against
the Austrians, but the ravages of cholera appalled them
into submission. She had some coins and paper money
of the young republic, with one of which — a fifteen cent
piece, she presented me. I felt much interested in her
from her countenance of beauty, and expression of deep-
seated melancholy; and the kindly feeling seemed
mutual, for she requested me to give her my memoran-
dum-book, in which she inserted her name and address
at Venice, inviting me, when there, to go and see her
and her family. It was somewhat novel to me, how-
ever, to see her deliberately smoke two cigars — a lady,

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too, very nicely dressed, and with all the softness and
delicacy of a lady. ...

* Another character, in truth, both English, or rather
Irish, and Italian — was a Count Magauley (Macaulay)
Perati — his father an Irishman, his mother Italian, he
himself married also to a Venetian. It seems his family
had long ago been expatriated from Ireland, and their
estates confiscated. They had come to Parma, where
his father had been minister to the Duke, and he him-
self chamberlain to the Duchess ; he had served for a
good many years in the Austrian service, and was now
a half-pay captain of cavalry. Although he now knew
Italian better than English, not having been home for
twenty-six years, I tound him a true Irishman for cour-
tesy and kindness. We repaired together to a cafSy
where I was served with excellent coffee in a tumbler,
and butter brought in fresh from market upon a vine-
leaf. By and by our carriage started, and, passing
some interesting little towns through a fine dry open
country abounding with beautiful vines, we reached at
last the banks of the Po, at Casalmaggiore. A charming
cooi breeze played about us on the way ; and altogether
the climate, as well as the country, appeared to have
undergone a most agreeable change* How I welcomed
the sight of autumn upon the leaves, as a symptom that
the sun had now spent its force, and also as the prelude
to that universal garb of decay which I cannot but think
the most appropriate for Italy. The breeze sighed
through the willow groves, as Virgil has so often melo-
diously described it, and the vines no longer stuck up-
right in whole fields, as in France and Switzerland, and
gracefully wedded to the manly elms between which they
fonn the most beautiful festoons and tresses ; the jet black

yohn Mackintosh.

267

clusters hanging lusciously among the leaves wherever
the c^ night happen to turn. The bulk of the field is
thus devoted to corn or other produce, while the vines
are there as it were unbidden.

* Nothing could exceed the beauty of the afternoon
and evening. The line of the Apennines appeared
stretched out before us. I had not seen so joyous, so
bright a glow on the face of the country since leaving
Switzerland. There was much to remind me indeed of
merry England — tasteful clean cottages and farm stead-
ings, cows grazing in herds, and now and then a milk-
maid sitting beneath, and drawing their distended udders ;
peasants returning from the vintage — everywhere appa-
rently happiness and peace. My companion could give
me much information on all matters, political and agri-
cultural. Although an Irishman and an Italian, he
greatly condemned the Revolution, as brought about by
demag-" jues who would have proved more grinding and
selfish tyrants than any foreign power. Before all was
prosperity, now all was the reverse. Society was broken
up, beggary induced where affluence had once reigned,
and the breach between governor and governed irre-
parably widened. The tenants of Parma, as well as
generally in Lombardy, obtain a nine years' lease, with
a break to either party at the end of each three years.
In Parma, the landlord advances capital on security.
The Dukes and Duchesses have shown themselves
munificent benefactors ; but the people about them
are largely composed of knaves, so that works under-
taken for the public good have in most cases been
miserably executed, and their funds diverted into pri-
vate channels. Alas for Italy ! this want of honesty and
public faith, which was the harbinger of her downfall,

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is still one of the most certain signs of her inability to
rise again. Punka fides must now be turned to their
opponents.

* Sept. 14. — I repaired to the Famese Palace, and
there saw its very interesting little collection of paintings,
especially Corregio's. Several of these — the Madonna
and Child, with St. Jerome, an angel, and the Magda-
lene kissing the feet of the child ; also the Taking Down
from the Cross — are justly celebrated. The first is
really perfect in design and colouring. Although so
many centuries old, and having been one of the first
pictures which the French removed to Paris, it is still
bright and fresh as when it issued from Corregio's hand.
I admire him always for his perfect command of colour-
ing, his knowledge of harmony, and the secret of dura-
bility; but often, as in the second picture I have
mentioned, he fails greatly in the conception ot charac-
ters. There are also some Caraccis, Titians, Guercinos,
and Francias of great beauty; one a Transfiguration
ascribed to Raphael, besides several of the Dutch
school.

* Sunday ^ Sept. 16. — Spent the forenoon in meditation
and prayer, dwelling on the mystery of Him who, though
rich, for our sakes became poor, and gave Himself a
ransom for us ; who now liveth for evermore the friend
and shepherd of His people I

^ Sept. 17. — (Bologna.) ... I repaired to the library
opposite the vast church of San Petronio, and where
was the ancient University of Bologna. It is a splendid
sight. You enter a quad, of two stories high, where the
walls are literally covered with the monuments of the
great men who have taught or been taught there. The
little chapel opens from the lower gallery ; it is richly

yohn Mackintosh^

269

frescoed, and two paintings in particular, a death-bed
and a veiled nun, are pre-eminently remarkable — the
white transparent veil of the nun is superb. On the
upper story is the splendid library containing more
than 130,000 volumes, in a long suite of apartments,
roomily and well arranged, whose walls are likewise
thickly covered with the arms, names, and countries of
the alumni of this once famous university — English,
German, French, and all European nations are there
represented.

'^ Sept. 18. — (On foot across the Apennines.) — The
summit of the pass was wild enough — a high wind blew ;
wherever the eye might turn appeared brown mountain-
tops and moorlands, not unlike some of our grouse
country in Scotland ; but — shall I say it — inferior to it,
vastly and in every respect. Only the association of the
Apennines turned the scale, and furnished to the soul
whatever might be lacking to the eye. I paced on,
elevated by this grand idea.

' Monte Carelli was the first station on the southern
side of the pass, but here I did not pause. The road
descended rapidly until I had fairly left behind the
great central ridge or backbone of the mountains, and
could look back on its wavy outline stretching west
and south, for this passage is just in the comer where
the Appenines make a bend from running eastward to
take a southerly direction. Vines soon re-appeared,
olives too, I understand, walnuts, and every symptom
of increasing fertility. At last towards dusk I reached
Caffagiolo, with its princely castle built by one of the
Medici, and of course the scene of horror and of blood,
for here in truth, through jealousy he murdered his
wife, the beautiful Eleanor of Toledo. At length the

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sun had set, and I had some way yet to make in the
uncertain twilight

* My thoughts reverted at this — a fresh epoch in my
extensive tour — to the happy days of my residence at
Geneva, and the many friends I had there known.
The thought of each was tender, and merged insensibly
into prayer, while my heart was full of gratitude to Him
who had so highly favoured me, not only there, but
since I set out on my present travels, and committed
myself as it were, peculiarly to His care. Although
there are many who, from natural capacity, might profit
more from such opportunities as I now enjoy ; yet,
I trust, O Lord, what I see and feel shall not be lost
in Thy service, in what time and way Thou seest fit to
employ it.

* With little difficulty I found a decent house, where,
after a slight repast, I retired to rest.

* Sept. 19. — But though I did so last night, it was
not to sleep ! During the waking hours I heard the
rain descending in torrents, accompanied by much
thunder and lightning. At dawn I rose and hailed the
glorious sight of a cloudless sky, in which the morfi-
ing stars hung with sparkling lustre. I now paid the
reckoning and departed, big with the hope of seeing
Florence and the plains of Tnscany/

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27]

CHAPTER XL

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Diary continued : — Florence — Fiesole — Vallombrosa— Lucca — Leghorn—
Volterra — The M aremma — Sienna — Bolsena — Viterbo— Rome.

^ Sept. 19. — (Florence.) — The sun had not yet risen,
but all the east gave token of his coming, and the green
waving woods that clothed the opposite hills were illu-
mined with a glow quite preternatural. Far off, in front
of me, rose the round brown back of a mountain that
might have looked down on the Findhom, or any other
Highland stream. The valley through ,which I sped
was filled with the most luxuriant vegetation, vineyards,
olive-rows, and corn-fields ; while the descending
slopes were crowned and dotted over with cottages and
chiteaus of uncommon whiteness. I breakfasted at
the end of a winding and wilder glen, and then pre-
pared to cross the last ridge that separated between me
and Florence.

* The summit gained, I confess that the view on the
farther side was by no means what I had expected.
Instead of an extensive and luxuriant plain, clearly out
lined by the Apennines, and through which the Amo
wound, with Florence on its banks, and every variety of
broken knoll along its course, there was a wide and un-
dulating mountain-district, hills stretching in all direc-
tions, the Amo barely traceable by a denuded course?

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that looked as if it had once formed the basin of a lake ;
numerous clusters of villages that did not look pic-
turesque from so great a height, and a brown-mountain
character over all. Florence lay before me with its
remarkable and majestic dome, and no lack of other
domes and towers — but it appeared small to my expec-
tations ; and the foliage with which on all sides it was
invested, from the preponderance of willows, bore a
whitish aspect, instead of that depth of green which the
promising name of Florence indicated. There was
much, however, to transport the soul, and, in particular,
a far-stretching line of ethereal mountains that bore
away towards Rome, and which is one of those objects
in nature that never fails to captivate me, like the sea
or distant music, or anything that speaks of the infinite
and undefined.

* I passed through the antique gate, presenting my
passport on the way, and then traversed a long line ot
street, extending nearly to the Amo. It was very curi-
ously paved, with flags of irregular shape, but all fitting
into each other, over which carriages run with great
lightness; and, I should suppose, horses would fall
with equal ease. At first the traffic was not consider-
able, but, as I approached the dome, the thoroughfare
became very gay and crowded. Besides the artisans
and those engaged in business, there were great num-
bers of elegantly dressed ladies and handsome men ;
altogether, such an air of life and happiness as I had
not seen since entering Italy. The shops with their
tempting display of goods, delighted me ; and my
passing glance at the Cathedral filled me with quite
novel sensations. It is a vast structure cased in marble
of various colours, so as to present a most rare and

yohn Mackintosh,

picturesque effect, — and then its gorgeous dome ! but
of this hereafter. I pushed on a little farther through
an increasingly gay and crowded thoroughfare to the
Piazza di Gran Duca, where was the office of my Dili-
gence. I found it easily, and while waiting for the
facchino to carry my baggage, amused myself with regard-
ing the passers-by. The ladies of Florence undoubtedly
carry the palm over any I have yet seen ; they are very
fair and pretty, and exquisitely dressed. Then, too, the
sumptuous sky above, and the cool breeze that tempered
the noonday heat, and enabled one to enjoy the bright-
ness of the sun without his fierceness ; marble statues
that graced the farther side of the square, and smart
dashing equipages that passed and repassed with officers
in uniform, or the aristocracy of Florence, — all gave me
such an idea of the fulness and brilliancy of Italian life,
as to act like an opiate on the senses.

* In the afternoon I sallied out, and was again en-
chanted with the marvellously transparent and crystal
sky above — certainly unlike any I have seen in more
northern climes — and the bewitching purity and elasti-
city of the air. I then visited the dome, and after again
admiring its superb cupola — the design of Brunelleschi,
and the largest in the world, not excepting St. Peter's —
I entered, and was struck with the great simplicity of
the internal arrangements. An altar enclosed with a
marble rail and seats, is placed beneath the dome,
without any elevation ; and here priests and choristers
were chanting the evening service. All the rest of the
church is quite open ; the cupola is frescoed with a very
multitudinous subject, and the windows that stud it,
as well as those of the Cathedral generally, are fitted
Mdth beautiful and deep stained glass. I regarded the

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few monuments and paintings without particularizing;
I then visited the Baptistery, a separate and octagonal
marble edifice at the south-west comer of the Cathedral,
Its gates are the pride of Florence, and, as Dante says,
might serve for Paradise. The campanile or belfry of
the Cathedral is also a gigantic building, rising to the
height of 27s feet, and cased in parti-coloured marble
like the church. • '

* Committing myself now to hazard, I took a street
leading to the west, and followed the frequent carriages
which all left the town by the Porto al Prato. I did so
too, and found a beautifully wooded avenue conducting to
the Cascine. Along this I paced, admiring the termi-
nus of the Pisa Railway on my right, and wondering
whither the innumerable carriages, with gaily-dressed
ladies and their knights, that overtook me on the way,
could be tending. At last the sound of music reached
my ears, and soon I discovered carriages, horses, and
other equipages drawn up in front of a circle, where a
very powerful military band was discoursing most elo-
quent music I joined the throng, had ample opportu
nity of remarking the beauty and vivacity of the fair
Florentines, and the attention of their squires ; the
latter, however, are as far inferior in outward appear-
ance to the gentlemen of Lombardy, as the ladies of
Florence are superior to those of the north. The
glorious purpled sunset on the Apennines, and the ris-
ing of a silver crescent moon, pleased me more than
all ; and thinking with satisfaction of the time, not long
ago, when it might have been the reverse, and my heart
would have been filled with mere dreams of romance
on seeing the pride of chivalry and beauty, — I re-
traced my stpes to the town when the music had ceased,

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yohn Mackintosh,

275

glad that I had become wiser, if not better through in-
creasing years. The moon was shining, as in a dio-
ramic picture, behind the dome of a convent on the
farther side of the river, as I stood for a moment on
the bridge beside my hotel, and then retired to sleep
within sound of the rushing Amo. My first day at
Florence has taken my whole heart by storm.

* Sept. 20. — (The Uffizi Gallery.) — After a general view
of the wonders before me, I commenced a regular
inspection of the pictures, etc., to be continued during
successive days.*

I omit his long and minute journals of visits to the
glorious collections in the Uffizi and Pitti, as well as to
the various churches and works of art in Florence. The
study of those occupied a portion of his every-day work,
and was a source of intense enjoyment to him.

* Sept 21. — (Galileo's Tower.) — Through a farm-
house now attached to the tower, I gained admission,
and climbed to the top by means of a stair and ladder.
The view from it towards Florence and up Valdamo is
superb. The town is expanded before you in nearly all
its amplitude ; the dome and campanile from here
assuming a yellow hue, instead of its actual checkering.
Santa Croce beneath you, second only to the cathedral \
and that deeply-stirring Fiesole directly opposite, the
cradle of Florence, and the witness of so many succes-
sive civilisations. Beyond and above it, on the far
heights of the Apennines, a solitary and apparently
massive convent ; to the right, the Arno stealing from
its hills, and its vale illustrated by so many sanctu-
aries ; behind and around you, the thickly wooded,
undulating country, richly studded with villas, churches,
and convents. At six, I repaired to Meyer's lodgings

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at the Ponte Vecchio, where I had sought him in the
morning, but unsuccessfully ; and this time I had the
infinite satisfaction of once more embracing a friend.
He gave me much interesting information, of his jour-
ney by Turin, Genoa, Massa, and Pisa ; the latter part
— along the shores of the Mediterranean — of surpassing
loveliness ; ^ of his visit to the valleys of Piedmont, and
his interview with the admirable General Beckwith, and
(as below) some of the pastors.

^ Sept. 22. — On the way (to the exhibition of modem
paintings) I learned from the Count Guicciardini — who
by the way is a Plymouthist in his opinions, but a
liberal one — how little he confided in the late popular
movement and its leaders, Mazzini and the rest, for
effecting any wholesome regeneration in the civil and
political state of Italy, far less in the religious. He
looked upon the ringleaders as ambitious, unprincipled
men. He thinks good may result from the Bibles that
have been circulated, at least in individual cases ; and
that a persecution for the truth would be one of the best
things that could happen to awaken inquiry, etc. . . .

* Sunday, Sept. 23. — On going out had some conversa-
tion with my landlady on religious subjects, about which
I found her sadly indifferent. I pressed upon her the
value of her soul, the marvellous love of God claiming
ours in return, and the necessity of preparing for the life
to come. She seemed affected for the moment. . . .
I made my way to the English Chapel in the Via
Maglio. Admission to the body cost two or three pauls,
but there were free seats in the gallery ; and not liking
this mode of paying for admittance to the house of God,

* This drive is quite as fine as that along the Comiche road from
Nice to Genoa — one indeed also of * surpassing loveliness.' — Ed.

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277

1 went up stairs, and gave my subscription afterwards for
the poor. The seats were very comfortable, and the
audience few and select enough. Below, there was a fair
sprinkling of Englishers, and some ladies apparently,
perhaps the family of the clergyman, played the organ
and led the music in my neighbourhood. The pastor, a
Mr. y preached a Florentine sermon against distrac-
tion during divine service from giddy thoughts about
fashion, dress, and the like ; choosing for his text the
verse in Job where Satan presents himself among the
sons of God. I enjoyed the liturgy, with its home-
coming prayers and sweet associations, as much as heart
could wish; also the psalm-singing in this land of
unintelligible worship; the sermon I heard with the
hundredth part of one ear, and was contented. If he
had mentioned Fiesole and the cities of Etruria among
the subjects which might cause distraction, he would
have found me out ; but, poor man I the lace bonnets
and bouquets filled his eye.

^ Sept. 25. — At eight called with Meyer on M. Cr^-
mieux ; heard that Captain Pakenham, the agent for the
Bible Society here, had got notice from the Government
to quit immediately, for his zeal in Protestant propa-
gandism. He is a fine frank English sailor, it seems,
utterly devoid of fear ; and they admit he went to ex-
tremes, using little prudence, and offering the Bible to
the priests themselves without scruple.

* Sept 26. — Excessively tired, I retraced my steps
homeward, sitting long by the way upon the Ponte S.
Trinitd to enjoy the cool breeze, the moonshine and
lights upon the river. It was one of those tranquil
moments, when, after the mind has been long engrossed
with outward and present things, we suddenly get a

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vivid retrospect of the past, and see deeply into the life
of things, realizing our position as living among the
living. How insensible are we in general to the life
around us, which thus flashes at times upon the notice
of the spirit like the aerial host to the Jewish prophet.

^ Sept. 28. — (Fiesole.) — At two I joined Meyer, the
day being promising, and we set off for Fiesole. We had
intended leaving by the Pinti gate, and so visiting the
Protestant cemetery, which is without it, and said to be
interesting and beautiful. A mistake, however, in our
course brought us to the San Gallo, and from it we took
the road for Fiesole. The sun now shone out most glo-
riously, and the blue sky rapidly appeared. The views
of the hill and the adjacent heights were quite bewitching
as we advanced. On reaching a Dominican convent
we began to ascend, and now the views of the valley
behind Florence, with the Arno and its environs, looked
so lovely that it was impossible to proceed. I had long
since discovered that the pale green leaf, of which I
complained on my first sight of the cjuntry, and which
I set down as the willow, was no other than the olive,
and this thought reconciled me to their appearance.
We passed the Villa Mozzi, the residence of Lorenzo di
Medici, and in former times the retreat of Catiline the
conspirator. The prospect from its neighbourhood so
eloquently, as well as faithfully described by Hallam,
is indeed sumptuous in the extreme, embracing the
Valdarno, Florence with its domes and towers, the sur-
rounding heights crowned with villas and convents, the
Arno stretching in a long line towards the mountains,
and these far off and near presenting their varied outline
to the sky. After my first disappointment, I have now
got reconciled to the situation of Florence, and admire it

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279

more and more. The most interesting point of view from
Ficsole is just behind the Cathedral, where we were shown
the scanty remains of an amphitheatre, with five caves that
once opened into it, and which v/e now entered by a
passage cut from one to the other. They were evidently
employed as dens for the wild animals, and a hole in the
roof of each served to convey them their food. We
passed from one to the other, sometimes crawling on
all-fours, and familiarizing ourselves with the thought
that here wild beasts actually fed in the great but cruel
days of old. A very remarkable portion of the ancient
Etruscan wall still remains, of Cyclopean architecture,
that is, composed of vast blocks of rock, in this case cut
so as to present a regular and even outline. No words
can describe the interest of those existing memorials of
a state of things prior to the aggrandizement, perhaps,
to the foundation of Rome. '

* Sept. 29. — I again visited Galileo's Tower, accor»-
panied by Meyer. We carried some grapes and figs to
the top, and there quietly awaited the approaching sun-
set. It was exquisite, and still more so the round full
silver moon, which brightened the heavens as evening
drew on, and made me think that Milton must have
beheld it in such very circumstances to give him after-
wards the idea of employing it for his simile —

" Hung o'er his shoulders like the moon, whose orb
I'hro' optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening from the top of Fiesole,
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,
Rivers, or mountains in her spotty globe."

* The Arno, no longer yellow from such a distance,
shone brightly among its enclosing verdure, and every
palace, villa, and convent was illumined throughout the

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whole of that much-peopled valley. After satiating our
souls with this bliss, we descended by Porta San
Miniata, and resisting the seduction of moonlight on the
towers and cupolas of Florence, I retired to my room,
and wrote my mother.

* Sunday^ Sept. 30. — Grateful the repose of Sabbath !
No son of toil ever welcomed more its immunity
from care. After the incessant sight-seeing of the
past week, leaving so little time for the closet, I hailed
this day even from afar, as the Psalmist does in some
of his aspirations. From the time I rose, my thoughts
were turned inwards and heavenwards, and strove
after that union and communion with God in Christ,
which is the health and happiness of His people.
Alas ! it is not easy to attain to this, when the mind has
been for a time dissipated ; yet sweet and refreshing was
the meditation I had while it was yet morning with
nature and with me. About eight I heard the swell of
magnificent music in the Church of Santo Spirito oppo-
site my window; and going out soon afterwards, I found
an Austrian regimeAt ranged in double file the whole
length of either aisle, in one of the largest churches of
Florence. The men wore their caps and shouldered
their bayonets, but at the ringing ot a bell during mass,
suddenly every head was uncovered, and every knee
bent on the pavement of the church. A numerous con-
gregation filled the nave, and did likewise. Towards
the conclusion of the service, as in the middle, the fine
military band, stationed near the choir, chimed in with
pealing music, which sounded and resounded through
the lengthened aisles like the symphonies of heaven.
The anthem was familial to me, and nothing could be
grander than the general effect After service at nine,

yohn Mackintosh,

281

the men were marched out — their orders being shouted
through the church — the band struck up, and they filed
off to their respective quarters. Military worship more
imposing, and, if possible, more unintelligent than that
of ordinary Catholics.

* To the English service : sweet church, and the sound
of those lovely prayers and petitions read in a clear, im-
pressive English voice, affected me powerfully. " How
amiable are Thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts ! " . . .
Groping after a new heart and a change of nature ; but
feeling, alas ! sadly, my coldness and unworthiness, my
inability to help myself, and my deep need of the Holy
Spirit's teaching. My present mode of life, and the re-
laxing climate of these few days, is not favourable to
religious life ; but O Thou, whose I am and whom I
serve, interpose, as Thou hast so often done, and recall
me to thy feet, and deep devotion ! Hear, Lord, hear,
for I am vile ; but Thy goodness and condescension
are infinite !

* Oct. I. — (Vallombrosa, with Mr. Meyer.) — On cross-
ing the stream, a noble forest of walnuts and other trees
appeared before us, extending upwards a considerable way,
and completely covering one side of the glen. This we
entered, and by a paved zig-zag road gradually wound up
the hill. Heather, moss, and broom were plentiful on
either side, and ripe brambles, the first I have eaten out of
Scotland and the north of England. As we ascended the
rich green of the walnut was changed for solemn groves
of pine, through which the wind sighed in familiar accents,
filling my soul with the memory of the past At length,
at the end of a longish avenue, the Convent came in sight
— a long white building, with a low wall in front, and sur-
rounded by a tower. Higher up, on a very abrupt rock

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to th** left of the convent, gleamed the smaller tenement
of Paradasnio ; while behind and around, in a semi-
circle, rose the summit of the mountain clothed with
black firs, as well as oaks and beeches, on which autumn
had already stamped the tale of the declining year. . . .
We amused ourselves in conversing upon Napoleon and
his wars, until sleep reminded us of bed about nine
o'clock. We joined in worship, and then retired to our
respective rooms leading off the great corridor ; mine
was most comfortable. I threw open the casement, and
enjoyed a long time the cool breeze that gently agitated
the pines, the mountain odours, the noise of tumbling
water that broke or enhanced the surrounding silence.
The little world of this upland solitude had gone to rest.
Some friar, perhaps, still continued his devotions in
seclusion ] but spiritual beings seemed to me to people
the air in a sanctuary so charming, where all the fresh-
ness of spring and Scotland was islanded ai "vid the sultry
vales of Italy.

* Tuesday, Oct. 2. — ^A delicious bed, and repose most
balmy. On awaking, the profound silence struck me,
as it has sometimes done at Geddes on first coming
there after the noise of town. Looking from my win-
dow, the grey mists of dawn, the sombre hill, and drip-
ping grass and pines, reminded me powerfully of many
a morning in the Highlands of the hallowed country.
I dressed rapidly ; but found, on trying to get out, that
we were prisoners at discretion — the great convent door
being closed upon us. We had mentioned seven as the
hour of breakfast, and the idea probably never entered
our attendant's head, that we might wish to taste
the mountain-air beforehand. With time, noise, and
patience, however, we at last succeeded in obtaining our

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yohn Mackintosh.

283

freedom ; and oh ! how sweet that breath of morning,
scented with the fir, the moss, the wet rocks and soil,
where a tiny brook came tumbling from the mountains.
Nothing more regaling has entered my soul since I
crossed the Alps and entered Italy. We clambered up
the hill-side, above the chapel ; the woodmen were
felling and barking the tallest pines, while others were
preparing for young ones. The meadow land in front
of and beside the convent, showed so green beside the
dark forest that encircled it, and the plains and cities
below afforded, by their contrast, a fresh charm to the
peace and seclusion of the scene around. Tht day was
fine, but mists were driving rapidly from the south, over
the highest summits of the hills, revealing, ever and
anon, through their shroud of grey, the tall pines and
beeches that fringed the upper horizon. In returning
to the convent, we agreed that a Sabbath here, where
all was Sabbath, would be one of the most delightful
things on earth ; and that memory might feed, and
meditation might wander through long days and days in
such a spot without weariness, without distraction. Every
opening glade tempted us to enter, every rising path to
ascend the mountain, and when satiated here, we might
cross the ridge and descend on the sources of the Amo and
the Tiber, where other sanctuaries overhang the valleys.
* October 5. — (Lucca.) — The day was fine, though hot,
the road very beautiful. At first it follows the left bank
of the Sterchio along a level plain, richly cultivated ; the
Apennines, at this point, highly picturesque in front.
Presently the road enters a winding valley, its sides
clothed with magnificent walnuts, vines, olives, and
silver poplars. On, on you wind, passing a most re-
markable bridge over the torrent, called by the country

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people Ponte di Diavolo, and with the usual legend
attached to it. A few miles' drive in a rustic car set us
down at the lowest of the series of villages appropriated
to the baths, called Ponte a Seraglio. By this time we
had quitted the valley of the Sterchio and taken that of
the Lima, its tributary, whose direction is east and west.
The scene that opened on us was of unwonted beauty.
Picturesque cottages and hotels along the valley, the
rushing river, the hill-sides richly clothed with woods
already deeply embrowned and tinted by autumn, and
through whose foliage white dwelling-houses everywhere
appeared. I thought of the Ewings, so closely associated
with days of sunny happiness, and whom I had heard
so often speak of the charms of this spot In company
with them, I often strode on through the romantic glen,
passing village after village, while acacias and all other
fragrant trees perfumed the air with familiar odours,
which occasional showers of rain brought out with un-
common freshness. At last we crossed the river, and
through the fallen leaves of autumn, in a valley intensely
Scottish, we wandered, unwilling to interrupt a happiness
so great and so memorial. Wearied, however, with our
journey, we finally stopped and retraced our steps with
some deviations to the hotel. There we dined. After-
wards visited and investigated the library attached to a
reading-room, but not very well selected ; then strolling
by the star-light, and with the river rushing by our side,
we talked of old Scotland with fresh delight, the never-
failing theme, when every other topic was fatigued.
After all had retired, I again wandered out, heard the
music of the stream, saw the lights twinkling on the
hills and listened to the still more harrowing music of
an awakened memory. \

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285

* Sunday^ Oct. 7. — (Leghorn.) — I directed my steps
to the Scotch Church, at no great distance. In front
were lingering some sailors and other unmistakable
countrymen, as they are wont to do at home before en-
tering. I accosted one, probably the skipper of a mer-
chant vessel lading in the port, and with a little boy in
his hand. He was from Bute, and spoke with serious-
ness of religion, and gratitude for the privilege of wor-
ship here accorded him. I found he had lost his wife
after a short illness, from cholera, at Glasgow, last
Christmas \ and that his Httle boy was an orphan. I
said to him what I could to deepen his love to God
and devotedness to Him. The front seats were pre-
pared for the celebration of the Lord's Supper, after
sermon. I valued highly the privilege of once more
sitting down to the Lord's Table, more Scotico^ and
among so many of my countrymen.

' After service at two I was introduced to the vestry,
and there made myself known to Mr. Stewart, and Mr.
Wingate, the Jewish missionary, at present a fugitive
from Pesth, and residing at Leghorn. The reception
from both was very cordial. »

* Tuesday^ Oct. 9. — I went out with Meyer, and to-
gether we visited the graves of Smollett, Horner, and
Martin — men how different ! and yet, now that death
has made them neighbours in the tomb, each awakening
a feeling of pensive thought and sadness. Smollett the
gifted. Homer the upright, Martin the pious, each buried
beneath an alien sky; would that we could suppose
each drawing to the other, and imparting to him what
he had to give.

* Near this I again parted with dear Meyer, and left
him desolate \ returned to the inn and found my

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English friend had gone back to the steamboat for
Rome. I took the railway, and proceeded by Pisa to
Pontedera.

* It is sad to part with friends, and almost balances
the pleasure of meeting them.

^Wednesday, Oct. 10. — (Volterra.) — Tossing, and
miserable from my enemies, I rose and lay, rose and lay
till, about half-past two a.m., I again dressed myself. At
half-past three started in a cab. The morning air was
fresh, even cold, the sky glorious. As day dawned in
the east, the heights of Volterra already appeared in sight,
tower and building crowning a long but still distant
ridge of mountain. The country around was barren
and wild in the extreme. No vegetation covered the
undulating plain, but, on the contrary, everything be-
tokened that I had now entered on the Maremma.
Some smoking salt-pits to the right added to the wild-
ness of the scene. Even when apparently near the
city, we were still many miles distant, as the road has
to wind by many zig-zags to reach the lofty eminence
on which it stands. Most of the ascent I walked, until
at last, passing under the fortress of Mastro, we entered
by a gate fronting the west. It seemed stirprising at
such a height to meet with shops, houses, and a living
population.

'After breakfast, I inquired of my landlord if he
could procure me any book on the subject of Volterra
and its antiquities. He gave me one in Italian, and
offered to request the loan of one in English from a
countryman of my own in the house. The result was
an invitation to the room of my compatriot, which I
accepted, and found a genuine antiquarian and his
niece, a Dr. Bromet, late of the First Life Gaards, who

John Mackintosh,

287

his
who

was quartered here for some days to explore the Etruscan
monuments. He showed me a translation of Valery's
Italy, which I read on Volterra, and then we had much
conversation on architecture, antiquities, and things in
general. We arranged to go together to the Museum,
and what other places merited a visit.

* Our cicerone first took us to the Porta dell' Arco to
trie west of the town, behind the Cathedral, through
which the view ot the country below was very striking.
The gate itself is Roman and Etruscan, and from its
arches, its massive blocks, and three heads which orna-
ment it without, well merits attention. Portions of the
Etruscan as well as Roman wall appeared on either
side.

* Returning to the town, we presented ourselves at
the Museum, kept in the Hotel de Ville, and where a
canon of the town awaited our arrival, to show the
room which contains the most valuable relics, and
which cannot be seen except in his company. Here
the collection of remains is indeed most admirable ;
but our opportunity of viewing them was rather hurried.
All instruments used in sacrifices — the knife, the rake
for tearing out the entrails, the patera of libation, and
the bowl for receiving the blood, were there in order ;
mirrors, also clasps, bracelets, and other ornaments of
attire ; vases of all ages, gods, writing materials, rings,
chains, horse-gear, instruments for the baths, and the
like, filled the drawers and shelves, from which a very
faithful idea might be formed of the manners and
customs of the Etrurians. In other chambers were in-
scriptions and statues, with an innumerable number of
funeral urns, representing on their sides the Grecian

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mythology, legends, fancies, and other stories. Were
the latter arranged in order, they might throw light on
the progress of art, as well as on the origin and inter-
course of the early Etrurians. As it is, they corroborate
Grecian story, and give a clue to the ideas, dress, and
advancement of those ancient people.

'■October ii.— (The Maremma.) — Upon the hill I
had an opportunity of viewing more nearly the character
of this desolate region. The soil is white and clayey,
with scanty traces of cultivation. Here and there a
solitary and very miserable farm-steading appears, sepa-
rated from others like it by ravines and chasms. The
houses are perched on the higher eminences just as the
cities crowned the surrounding heights. The appear-
ance of Volterra from below on its high and broad-
backed hill was very imposing. About half way the
country became more smiling, covered with rich woods
and fields, and a far more numerous population. It
rained much and heavily, but my courage did not fail
The approaching evening supplied me with many
thoughts of home, so much did scenery and climate re-
semble those familiar to me.

* October 13. — (Sienna.) — ^Arriving at the hotel (de
I'Aigle), I at first thought of going to bed till my clothes
should be dried, but ultimately, through the landlord's
suggestion, had dinner in a little parlour, where a cheer-
ful wood fire was kindled for me, and my garments dried
as I fed. I confess I had a damper, not counting upon
such a disaster in Italy in the middle of October, but
being in high health my spirits rallied, and in the even-
ing I went out to escplore and raise my thoughts above
the accidents of time and sense.

* After breakfast went out to see the town, and first

tones. Were
hrow light on
igin and inter-
ey corroborate
eas, dress, and

3n the hill I
y the character
ite and clayey,
e and there a
appears, sepa-
chasms. The
ices just as the
The appear-
gh and broad-
t half way the
vith rich woods
)opulation. It
yQ did not fail,
le with many
and climate re-

the hotel (de
till my clothes
the landlord's
where a cheer-
garments dried
counting upon
)f October, but
id in the even-
thoughts above

town, and first

yohn Mackintosh,

289

to the Cathedral. It delighted me by its finished beauty,
being decidedly one of the four finest I have seen in
Italy — Milan, Florence, and Pisa the others. Within
and without this one seems complete. The front is very
rich, the campanile and dome handsome, but of course
poor in comparison with those at Florence. The piazza
in which the Cathedral stands is in harmony with it,
and helps to set off its beauty. Within you know not
what to admire most — the roof, the pavement of mosaic
marble, the walls with frescoes more distinct than is
usually the case, the stained windows, the dome, the
pillars, all are admirable, and produce together quite a
dazzling effect on the aesthetic. I stood for a long time
at the entrance riveted with delight, and regarding this
as one of the most finished epitomes of church architec-
ture. I surrendered myself to its influence, resolving to
do away with prejudice, and to try it on its own merits ;
the result I shall elsewhere state, and at greater length,
having made a still larger induction ; but impressions
such as I this morning received are not forgotten, but
help inconceivably to mould the ultimate judgment to
which we come.

' I went to see a private gallery of paintings in the
Casa Sanacini, containing some good ones ; but what
most struck me was a fresco in the chapel, of the
Crucifixion, where the countenance of our Lord's mo-
ther fainting at the foot of the cross, fairly added an
idea to my mind. You could see there her who had
treasured in her heart all the promises given of her Son,
marked all His perfect life, felt His Divinity, and yet
who now saw Him expiring on the cross. A sword
had pierced through her own heart, and the agonized,
bereaved, disappointed mother, is admirably depicted.

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I could have gazed at it for hours, so touching was it,
and so true.

* Sunday^ Oct. 14. — Another gloomy day ; threatening
rain. After breakfast, to the Cathedral, where again
observed the mass, the endless movements and genu-
flexions of the priests, and the devout bearing of the
people. At a side-chapel I saw the wafers distributed
to several communicants. With much parade also, a
priest, preceded by boys and candles, mounted the
marble pulpit ; but instead of an address as I expected,
he chanted a little, looking through his eye-glass, and
then walked down again. Can it be that the people
receive any nourishment, either to faith or reason, by
all this next to dumb show 1 The audience would have
astonished the worshippers of Milan or Florence, being
greatly composed of shaggy men from the hills, with
hairy faces, thick rough cloaks often of skins, and huge
shoes covered with mud.

* At half-past ten, I set off for the railway terminus,
about two miles from the town, at the extremity of a
tunnel not yet completed. It was to be consecrated ;
and being a religious service, I felt free to go. The
way was covered with walkers and equipages of all sorts.
Rain, alas ! descended in torrents. On reaching the
spot I was at first refused admittance to the covered
stand ; but on telling the guard I was a stranger and an
Englishman, I was allowed to pass. Soon the Grand
Duke arrived with his suite, in handsome state carriages,
and alighted close to where I was standing. He was
dressed in the uniform of an Austrian general; the
Duchess looked well ; two boys in military uniform were
with them, and their daughter, fair and rather pretty.
The bishop and his suite were already on the spot ; an

yohn Mackintosh,

291

altar was erected on a bridge, spanning the railway at
the extremity of the tunnel. At the side of this stood
the Grand Duke and his court, while in front the priests
knelt, and muttered as usual. Below was a covered
station, and several carriages filled with those invited to
make the trip to Empoli and back. A line of soldiers
was stationed along either side of the railway, on the
top of the bank — first Italians, and then Austrians ; two
bands of the former played alternately. The bishop
and priests descended to consecrate the carriages, I
suppose ; then returned to the altar, and then redescended
to take their places in one. The Grand Duke and his
suite also took their places, and after a series of shrill
whistles, which greatly amused the Italians, the train
moved on. The military and multitude returned to
Sienna.

'This commending of the railway to God and His
protection, with the acknowledgment of Him, in what
with us is so entirely a secular aftair of convenience and
lucre, greatly pleases me ; though, of course, when so
much festivity must be mingled with it, I should have
preferred another day for the purpose. Were I over
critical, I might say that it is natural for Popery to seek
to blend its influence with everything secular or spiritual,
and that, as in education, it does so with the most bane-
ful consequences ; but I am willing in the beginning of
my scrutiny to admire good, when I see it, without too
closely investigating motives.

* Returning to the town, I dined ; and as it still rained,
read with unusual delight and unction the last chapters
of the Acts. The thought of Paul's being at Rome, after
many longings, and there for two whole years preaching
the gospel without let or hindrance, is a bright Christian

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souvenir amid so much that is intensely interesting but
pagan. The waning year, the broken weather, the ex-
perience of how long it takes to visit such monumental
cities, as well as the distance of Berlin, and the multitude
of sights between — all concur in forcing on me the idea
that I must make up my mind to winter at Rome. I
do not, however, regard this as fixed ; but seek with
singleness of heart to know the Lord's will in the matter,
assured that, insignificant as I am. He orders all my
goings. Lord Jesus, whose I am, and whom I serve,
dispose my heart and will as Thou seest good, and
never leave me, never forsake me 1 Amid the gloomi-
ness of the day, and my loneliness in this place, I have
not felt desolate — the Lord drawing near to me more
than usually. I have dwelt with much endearment on
His life on earth and His future reign, reading the
Gospel of St. Luke. How sweet, too, is the recollection
of past mercies and happiness ! My home and my dear
mother, Geneva, Meyer, and the services and friends of
last Sunday, which rendered Leghorn to me a little
Scotland — all passed before my soul, and afforded food
for thanksgiving and pleasant meditation !

* Oct. 17. — By ten o'clock I was on my way to Bolsena,
the ancient famous Volscinii. The country still continued
richer than that I had traversed in Tuscany, with a rich
red loam in the fields. The peasants were busy ploughing
and sowing. Five miles on I reached San Lorenzo, and
right before me at a considerably lower level spread the
round plump lake of Bolsena, The sight of a sheet of
water after so many arid hills refreshed me. Descending
by the road I reached its banks, passing on the way the
ruins of an extensive fortress, with innumerable caverns
underneath and in the rocks opposite, some of which I

*John Mackintosh,

293

entered. I al first fancied it something antique, at the
least mediaeval, and was about to people its caves and
courts with banditti and what not, when I was informed
that here San Lorenzo had stood till very lately, when
it was abandoned for a higher situation, from the in-
salubrity of the air. Thus we antiquaries (!) go adrift.
After dinner I went round to explore Bolsena. The
whole hill-side to the summit, and over a great extent
of surface, is covered with debris and existing portions
of walls and edifices ; vines and copses are now every-
where plenty among them. There are numerous paved
ways about, which must once have served for streets,
and about the centre of the hill on a piece of table-land
stands the well-defined circuit of an amphitheatre ; the
surrounding wall of strongly cemented stone, averaging
five or six feet high. Nothing could be finer than the
situation, looking westward over the fine sheet of water
with its rim of gently rounded hills. The setting sun lit up
lake and sky with its parting glory. It was already late
when I started upon my journey, and a more solitary
road I never took. Neither house nor person did I
meet for many miles save two dragoons of the Pope in
their wide cloaks and picturesque costumes with carbines,
suggesting the idea of lurking banditti. The night set
in with rain and pitch darkness. But the lights of the
citadel in due time appeared, and I was at rest

* Oct. 1 8. — (Viterbo.) — After breakfast I entered the
town on its lofty hill, and could scarcely help smiling at
the well-known dress and features of the well-known
French soldiers in this strange Italy. A ruined castle
crowned the summit, and there I enjoyed a magnificent
view over the lake of Radicofani, and Monte F*"*'^ Rtill
appearing in the distance. To the left, the sea betor*.

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Mefnorials of

Corneto and Civita Vecchia ; to the north, Viterbo, and
a fertile country. I had been informed that there were
Etruscan monuments at some distance from Viterbo,
and hoped to visit them this afternoon, but nobody
seemed to know anything about them, until one of two
priests whom I accosted gave me all the information I
desired, with the fulness of an antiquary and the polite-
ness of a gentleman. I found, however, that it was too
late this afternoon to visit either Caste d'Asso or Vita
Orchio, and accordingly turned my steps again towards
the town to explore its comers. I found it very filthy,
but full, even in its lanes and alleys, of the architecture
of the middle ages. One thing surprised me, that the
churches all pointed out west, and even the dome
seemed to me to look west instead of east. In pacing
the antique city I had much the feeling of traversing
the Canongate, or one of our own mediaeval purlieus.
It is still large, and, from the extent of the walls, must
once have covered a still greater surface. The fountains
are numerous, quaint, and very old. Some streets
aspire to greater openness and fashionableness than the
rest I remarked the dark eyes and regular features of
the women quite different trom the Tuscans, as well as
the tall, lank, solemn, picturesque appearance of the
men. They are more like the Lombards, but still
handsomer and wilder in their dress. I speak, of
course, of the peasants every^vhere in Italy. They cer-
tainly bear it in appearance over the conquerors, though
inferior in tidiness and activity.

* Oct 19. — On reaching the last summit between me
and Rome, I looked down on the little Lago di Vico at
my feet, and far southward recognised the extending plain
of the Campagna, in which I felt certain Rome must

yohn Mackintosh,

'^95

stand. I

ight

and a caral)

my conjecture,
whom I met pointed out the very spot, asserting that he
himself could faintly distinguish some of the buildings.
It was enough to know the fact, and I felt this moment
the most romantic in my life.

' Oct. 20. — (Rome.) — An epoch in my life ! Of course
I lay awake all night, thinking of what was before me.
Very early in the morning, as Lucifer indeed was just
soaring above the horizon, we started for Rome. When
day dawned, I discovered the desolate majesty of the
Campagna through which we were passing, and which
on this side, for more than twenty miles, separates Rome
from common Italy. Broom, furze, brambles, and
ferns, cover the whole face of this remarkable country,
and the scanty attempts at cultivation serve only to
render the wilderness more apparent. It is not that
the soil is bad or incapable of produce, as in some
parts of Tuscany — no, the vineyards and fields imme-
diately around Rome attest the contrary — but that the
common sympathy of mankind appears to have assigned
this depth of mourning to the widowed queen of nations.
No other homage more fitting to departed greatness —
no setting more appropriate to be desired. The soul
is thus attuned to melancholy long before you reach the
walls of the Eternal City ; and were it possible, you
would weep, but that your sympathy lies too deep for
tears. I never before felt such emotions as crowded
this morning in my heart, nor shall I perhaps ever
again, except I were privileged to visit Geddes, Greece,
or Palestine ! The long line of the Apennines, now
the Apennines, because those of Horace and of Cicero,
appeared more beautiful, visionary, and wavy, than I
had anywhere else beheld them; and the situation of

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Tivoli and Frascati were pointed out to me by one
acquainted with the conntry. At last, about seven
miles from Rome, the dome of St. Peter's appeared
overtopping a low line of hill that hid the rest of Rome ;
but of course, admonishing me it was exactly there.
Two miles farther on, we reached the tomb of Nero,
and from this point Rome was visible. Like one bereft
of reason, I called on the voiturier to stop, took my
knapsack, paid him, and descended.

'After investigating the sarcophagus — ^which, placed
on the top of a pedestal, contains some figures and an
inscription I could scarcely make out lor the weathering
— I satiated myself with gazing on the Apennines, and
recognising, from the line of rising fog and glancing
water, the course of the Tiber. I then turned round
and looked on Rome. The Apennines were precisely
as I had pictured them, only more beautiful ; approach-
ing, however, to near the city on the south, instead of
bearing away in hazy outline towards Lucania and
Apulia. The city again appeared to me to lie too
much in a hollow between a line of hills, and below the
level of the Campagna. I had fancied it on the level,
the hills rising above, and, save for them, commanding
a view from every point of the Apennines towards the
east, and the open country north, south, and west. I was
disappointed, then, in finding the city and its hills not open
but in a valley, so to speak, to which the road gradually
but gently descended. Two miles farther on began the
region of vineyards, and cultivation extremely rich and
beautiful. About a mile from Rome I reached the
Ponte Molle, near which, I think, were the head-quarters
of the French army during the siege. Sad havoc among
the trees, whole rows of which were felled; and the

yohn Mackintosh,

297

partial demolition of the bridge attested the recent hand
of war. I was able, however, to cross with the aid of
planks. Before me now rolled the yellow Tiber, and
my heart and head filled. It looked familiar, and I
recognised it as an old acquaintance. St. Peter's and
the Castle of San Angelo appeared on the right
bank ; on the left a multitude of domes and towers.
Walking on a mile through a long suburb, I at length
reached the Porta del Popolo, when, after regarding
the further havoc on the Villa Borghese, without the
gate, I uncovered my head, and entered the Eternal
CityT

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■- 1

CHAPTER XIL

Rome — Letter to Rev. N. Macleod, with general description of Some
—Letter to R. Balfour, Esq.— St Peter's— The Ghetto — The •
Mamertine Prisons — Walks in Rome — All-Saint' s-Day — Palazzo
Borghese — St. Peter's — Arnold — Romanism — English College —
Studying Life in Rome — Christmas-Day there — Last day of 1849.

The Letters and Diaries written by John Mackintosh
during the seven months of 1849-50 that he resided in
Rome, enter as fully into such details of his inner and
outer life, as those interested in him would like to know;
and they tell their own story so clearly, that no explana-
tions are required to make them understood by the
reader. My only difficulty has been, from the abun-
dant materials afforded by these letters and diaries, to
abridge their contents, and to select from them whatever
was most characteristic of what he saw, and how he
saw, in a city so full of undying interest as Rome.

Diary. — ^Rome, Oct 20, 1849. — Took a walk on the
Pincian Hill, above the gate by which I entered ; and
here I lingered long after the sun had set, and moon
and stars succeeded. At Rome ! — that was the one great
thought ; to continue the winter at Rome or not — that
was the second. I am more inclined to hesitate from
the wish to rejoin my mother, than from any other con
sideration, although at times it does occur to me — Are
you worthy of all this training 1 go work like your gom-

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Jo/m Mackintosh.

299

peers. I am so conscious of a willingness to suffer
hardness as a soldier of Christ, when He shall call me
to it, that the last thought little oppresses me. Never-
theless, O Lord, take the matter into Thine own hands !
if it be Thy will I should depart, work in me to will and
to do so ; if otherwise, remain with me. Employ me
now, and prepare me for future usefulness, and dispose
my mother and my friends to acquiesce in this arrange-
ment. Hear and answer me, O Lord, for to Thee do I
look up 1 '

TO THE REV. N. MACLEOD.

* Rome, Nov. 28, 1849.
* Dearest Norman, . . . Your letter, sweet as vio-
lets among moss, awaited me on my arrival here.
From Geneva, more literally from Lausanne to Rome,
A a long step ; but I propose to take it, in bringing you
up to the current of my present life and associations.
Space would fail me to speak of the glorious beauties of
Switzerland, certainly unattained by any description I
have seen, however fine ; as well as of the passage of
the Alps, the descent into Italy, the wonders of her
cities, the Apennines, Florence, Vallombrosa, the Medi-
terranean, and other places whose very names are epics.
To write of all or any of these, I say, is impossible ;
but, God willing, the time may come when, veiled in my
sable prose, they may be presented to your mind's eye
over your own fireside, in a manner not to dazzle you
with their excess of beauty. Meanwhile, in Rome, who
dare think but of Rome ? Six weeks have I now passed
here in utter solitude, and they seem but a day \ nor do
I feel that I have more than scratched the mine that is
yet fraught with exhaustless stores. Thankful I am to

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have reached it when not too old to feel the glory and
the dream. What a world-compendium it is ! what an
education ! Nor can I fancy any complete, which does
not include a certain portion of time passed within this
echoing city. There is not a note of the soul that is
not sounded, not a feeling of the heart that is not
appealed to, and not a faculty of the mind that is not
called into active exercise. Do you think that, fiom a
distance, you can have any conception of what Rome
was and is % Undeceive yourself — it is absolutely im-
possible ; in my simplicity, I once thought so too, but
every day now serves to show me how wide I was of
the mark. But to descend from generalities, and touch
on a few particulars — how very few 1 The hundred
miles of Campagna, which serves for setting, is the first
reraarkability {merkwiirdigkeit) that strikes you. This
is a vast undulating plain, in width extending from the
Apennines to the sea, and, except in the immediate vicin-
ity of Rome, wholly abandoned to spontaneous produce.
* Cdte terre fatiguke de gloire, qui semble dtdaigner de pro-
duire,' says Madame de Stael, and in one view the idea
is apt enough -, in another, it might be called the appro-
priate weeds of her majestic widowhood. Some thirty
miles of this I traversed in approaching from the north,
with a sounding heart, and hearing in my ears that
magic music, which I am certain warns us when we
approach the important epochs of our lives. You can
have no idea of the effect of the Campagna on the soul,
in preparing it for Rome, nor of the thrilling beauty of
the Apenninian chain, as it stretches into the blue
distance, and seems an elysium on which the spirits
of Cicero, and Horace, and the rest might yet be wan-
dering. Then old Tiber shows his fields, shining in the

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301

solitude, and pointing like an arrow to the site of Rome.
At last the Eternal City, perhaps under that aspect in
which it is most eternal, its domes and minarets, and
above all, St. Peter's, lettering the horizon. Then you
enter, after crossing the river, about a mile to the north-
ward, and find that modem Rome encounters you on
this side, occupying the whole extent of what was the
Campus Martins — a long, low plain between the Tiber
and the seven hills. The streets are narrow, cold, and
dark, and — as the population is somewhere about
160,000, crowded mostly into what was the mere field
of exercise to old Rome — very closely compacted.
There is something imposing even in those narrow
streets, and they grow upon you with all the grandeur
and gloom of the Middle Ages, but at first sight the im-
pression is certainly disappointment. Is this the city
of palaces and romance, of murders and carnivals, of '
Colonnas and Borgias, of Popes and Cardinals, the
home of pilgrimages, the cradle of religious orders, the
heart of Christendom ! But all that realizes itself by
and by ; and you have only to open the flood-gates of
this class of associations, and surrender yourself to the
current, and then the thoughts go spinning down, until
you see the Gregorys, and the Leos, and the Crusades,
and hear the spiritual thunders, as though of yesterday.
* Nor are you without memorials of the classics even
here. Immediately on entering, in the centre of a
grand fountained piazza, stands a glorious obelisk,
brought from On in Egypt, by Augustus, and where its
fellow still remains, to show where rose the Temple of
the Sun in the days of Moses ! If this does not take
you back into antiquity, what will ? The Mausoleum of
Hadrian, in the modern city across the Tiber, a vast

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round building, like a Martello Tower, is now erected
into the fortress of San Angelo ; and the Mausoleum of
Augustus, which once stood in the open Campus Mar-
tins, surrounded by gardens and walks, and which con-
tained the ashes of Marcellus and the first Caesars, is
now built up into the modem Rome, and converted,
alas ! into a circus. The long Corso, the principal
street of Rome, stretches before you in a direct line on
entering, and carries the eye to the capitol. Of course
I traversed it, almost closing my eyes to all else, and
found myself, oh ! joy of joys, and sorrow of sorrows,
at the foot of the Capitol, in the Forum. Ancient
Rome is thus entirely aloof and separate from the other ;
its hills and intervening depressions skirt the south and
eastern position of the city, and cover a far more ample
surface. Beginning with the river, which runs for the
most part north and south in passing through Rome,
they occur somewhat in this order, — the Aventine,
most picturesque hill, now abandoned to a few con-
vents overhanging it, and stretching eastward ; the
Palatine, covered with the ruins of palaces, north of
the Aventine, and a little inland from the river; the
Capitoline, north of this, and nearer the river's side ;
then northward, as I have said, the modem city. East-
ward, again, from the Aventine, and with it forming the
southern boundary, the Cselian, this hill partly occupied
by modem buildings, among which the Lateran \ then
north from it, forming the eastem boundary of Rome,
parallel to the river, but with the modem city of course
interposed, first the Esquiline, on which stood the
palace of Maecenas, and probably the grave of Horace,
next the Viminal and Quirinal, side by side ; so that
the Quirinal is thrust into modem Rome, and is covered

yohn Mackintosh,

Z^Z

by the Pope's and other palaces. Lastly, the Pin-
cian — which was not one of tJie famous Seven, but
which overhangs the gate by which I made you enter
Rome — has its northern extremity laid out in public
gardens, from which you see Soracte and the Apen-
nines, and on which, in conclusion, resides, and now
writes, your humble servant The walls of Aurelian,
repaired by Belisarius and successive Popes, surround
this vast circumference, and serve along their southern
and eastern extent but to divide wilderness and vine-
yard, from wilderness and vineyard — for the hills, as I
have mentioned, are almost void of habitation. Thus
entering by the famous Appian gate on the south — by
which, along the Appian Way, conquerors and their
trains, proconsuls from the east coming from Brundu-
sium, and nobles and senators from their villas at Baiae,
would approach the city — you now travel nearly two
miles ere you reach the Forum, without meeting more
than one or two solitary houses. Yet here it was that
the thousands, if not millions, of old Rome lived and
breathed. I know no more touching thing than to
walk round Rome outside the walls ; on one hand,
looking over the desolate Campagna, and hearing the
wind sighing among the reeds ; on the other, looking
up with reverence and regret on the alta mania Romce.
The gaunt peasants working here and there among the
reeds and vineyards, have a kind of wail as melancholy
as that of the sea, and of which I am told the burden
sometimes is — Roma, Roma, Roma, turn I piii come era
prima I At all events, when I want this feeling —

•• Deep as first-love, and wild with all regret ;
Oh I death in life, the days that are no more I **

to be peculiarly vivid, I go towards evening to make

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tiiis pilgrimage, and if the full-eyed moon happen to rise
over my head, and throw its pensive influence over wall
and tower, I divest myself of all sympathy with the
present, and seem to feel the toga hanging from my
shoulder, and enter expecting to meet with Cicero, or
the mighty Caesar. Every gate, too, is connected with
some mighty event in history. By this Alaric entered
over-night with his Goths, and the glory was departed.
Here Hannibal would have entered — this was betrayed
to Totila and his Vandals ; and again, by this Belisa-
rius retook the prostrate city ; last, though not least, by
this St. Paul must have entered from Appii Forum, and
the Tres Tabernae. Oh ! glorious is the way by which
he must have passed, though it had not then the orna-
ments that have come down to us. It was the same
with that of the conquerors. Winding between the
Aventine and Caelian, and then between the Caelian and
the Palatine, you pass under the magnificent Arch of
Constantine; then, leaving the gigantic Coliseum on
the right, you slowly skirt the Palatine, passing between
palaces on the one hand, and ruined temples on the
other, until, at the top of a gentle slope, you reach the
Arch of Titus. From this, the Forum bursts upon you
with its pillars and porticoes, showing the wealth of
temples that must have adorned it ; then, by the Via
Sacra, you descend and traverse it, and, if you please,
ascend the Capitol at its extremity. No one could be
disappointed with the remains and the appropriate con-
dition of ancient Rome ; and day after day, often with
some classic in my hand, do I spend among them, re-
calling, repeopling, re-inhabiting, and gathering, as I
may, that instruction and aggrandizement of spirit which
they are so fitted to convey.

yohn Mackintosh,

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* But I daresay, dear Norman, though all this interests
you — yet in the strong, practical nineteenth century,
and religious bent of your mind — you would wish me
rather to have enlarged on the city of the Pope. Well,
its interest, always great, is daily increasing on my spirit
Of course I omit no opportunity of gathering such in-
formation, and making such observations as I can, but
this must be the work of time ; and it is especially in
this point of view, that I have proposed to remain here
for the winter ; but we imbibe so much prejudice with
our mother's milk ; we have so much thrust upon us as
the offspring of Calvin and of Luther, that I am anxious
calmly to examine for myself, and have my judgment of
the Romish system intelligent and candid. I know you
will approve of this, and would not have me, at my
years, to come here a ready-made judge, instead of a
patient learner and observer ; nor do I think that the
vulgar mode of argument, what may be called the slan^
of the question, is what will avail in the coming struggle.
Now it seems to me that as I am not flying through
Rome, as I intended, this answer to your letter will
please you better than a more direct one, and I hope to
hear so soon. Briefly, you cannot but be conscious
that you are here in the city of the Pope ; there is great
solemnity, great decorum, great gravity — no sights by
day or night are suffered to offend the eye — the streets
are early silent— even swearing is repressed by law.
On Sunday all shops shut ; day and night the air is
melodious with church or convent bells ; and where
service is performed, it is generally well attended ; but,
then, what is that service ? Ah ! there is the question :
at first sight the grossnesses present themselves ; but I
want to read, and probe, and hear what is to be said

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that reconcilea a Bellarmine, a Pascal, and a Bossuet
to what offends me. As far as I can learn, the mass of
the Romans are republicans, and would wish the govern-
ment vested in the laity. Many of those, however,
would retain the Pope, even as a temporal sovereign,
and are stanch Catholics ; the others are infidels, and
only talk of Protestantism because they hate the priests.
Strange to say, even where the priests are notoriously
corrupt, which is not specially the case here, the Catholic
Italian distinguishes carefully between the man and his
office. I cannot hear of anything permanently effected
by Protestant efforts during the Republic. Of course
all clubs are now dissolved ; the cardinals, who are
displeasing all parties by their vindictiveness, having
quickly put a stop to them.. I saw a gentleman who
had visited the Inquisition during the Republic, and
described its dungeons in blackest colours ; but, of
course, they are now closed again for ages to come.
There is little doubt, the Pope was on the eve of re-
turning, when the new somerset in the French Cham-
bers deterred him. He is personally loved. Being of a
liberal family, he wished reforms, and began them most
judiciously, thereby alienating all the Cardinals and High
Church party. The return he met with for this from
the people, unaccustomed to any concession of political
influence, was demand upon demand, until he was be-
sieged in the Vatican, and forced to flee. They have
thus themselves chiefly to blame for the re-imposition of
the galling yoke. When he returns, he will be wel-
comed, for he is better than the cardinals ; and without
him trade, etc., languish. Now I must reserve many
remarks I have already made, and many more I hope
t9 make, for a future letter, where you shall have no

John Mackintoshm

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rubbish about old Rome. How grateful all your views
of home ! My warmest love to your dad, the Doctor,
your mother, and all others. How blessed you are in
your work ! yes, I will say even from amid the frscina-
tions of Rome, how enviable ! I wish I could get Meyer
here — but it would be impossible. Thanks, thanks for
your loving counsel, which was not unneeded, nor, I
hope, unprofitable. Blessed be God, He restores my
soul often by sharp chastisements, reminding me that I
am a son and not a bastard. You are daily in my
prayers, and I ever am your fondly attached. — Yes, you
shall have the best view of Rome that I can procure,
and aught else I can think would interest you — a friend
to whom I owe many of the happiest hours of my life,
much mental development, and not a few faithful and
well-timed warnings — a friend, the thought of whom
brightens my future.'

TO ROBERT BALFOUR, ESQ. •

*RoME, Feb. 22, 185a

* My VERY DEAR Balfour, ... On the subject of
the Academy — could I be forgetful of it here, where I
know not whether the images of early days, or the records
of the great Romans themselves, predominate in piy
mind, or are most touching 1 We little know the harvest
of delight which is being prepared in boyhood with its
pains, and little did I then suspect how wisely we were
made acquainted with the history, literature, and institu-
tions of old Rome. The ages are not unconnected — the
human family is still the same, and often with amaze-
ment do I now recognise analogies of which I never
dreamt before. ... I traversed the Alps with the

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emotions of a hero, and descended into those plains
which our fancy has almost celestialized. Much, how-
ever, as the north of Italy struck me, it was not till I
again crossed the Apennines and reached Florence, that
I realized all that poets have sung of earth, air, and
sky. Finally, I distinguish ir this respect even between
Florence and Rome. Here, it is that you have a

liquid ether overhead, that seems to lend its character
to every object, and invest the most common with the
glory of a dream. The sky is perfect whether by night
or day. Rome speaks with a majesty of sorrow that
never ceases to solemnize and impress — the Campagna,
a vast wilderness, in vhich, with a narrow border ol
cultivation, Rome is placed, seems never to have acknow>
ledged the Christian era, but mournfully to count from
the foundation of the city ; destitute of all buildings save
the ruins of antiquity, majestic aqueducts and sepulchres
— the ghosts of greatness ; ye*- oh ! the beauty of the
wild flowers, "fresh with < hood," that cover its
grassy turf; the gladness of ^i.. ark that shouts above,
only rendering its melancholy more touching ; the lovely
views of the Alban and other hills that line it, and where
each modem town, gleaming whitely on their flanks,
marks the site of some famous place — Alba Longa,
Tusculum, Praeneste, Tibur; so that it is positively
more easy to live in the past than in the present I
am more than satisfied with Rome j I am in love — in-
toxicated ; and how I am to break the chain when the
sad time comes, I know not; but come it must, and
that soon. . . .

* My dear Balfour, although you may think me a great
truant, I long to be once more among my dear friends^
surrounded by those means of grace so necessary for

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John Mackintosh,

309

personal religion, and with those opportunities of useful-
ness, no less a privilege than a duty. If the Lord will,
I trust that this time may be near ; but in the meantime,
it is incumbent to work where I am. I find that every
situation has its discipline, and if we are the Lord's
children and walking in His ways, that He will not fail
to guide us, whether by chastisement or by eucourage-
ment. But for this, I know not where I might now be
— with so much to engross the spirit, and offer a happi-
ness, as it were, apart from God. I believe I have your
prayers, as you have mine ; and when you write, do not
fail to say what you think may quicken or reprove me.'

Diary. — * Sunday, Oct. 21. — (St. Peter's.) — Having
formed the resolution to dismiss all prejudice, and regard
the Roman Cntholic religion with as much respect as
possible in examining its merits and demerits, I was not
a little staggered, just after reverting to my purpose, by
observing the superstitious reverence paid to a statue of
St. Pete- I had forgotten this famous statue was here ;
and so, in passing it, had wondered at the peculiar
appearance of one of the feet. Soon, however, a re-
spectably-dressed man came up, did obeisance, and then
placed his head under the foot, concluding by wiping
and kissing it. This process was gone through by many
persons of all ranks, mothers holding up even their
infants to render the homage. My assumed respect
gave way for the moment to a smile. At last, without
on this occasion observing the church in its details, I sat
down upon a bench, and read through the Epistle to the
Romans with much attention and admiration. I sup-
pose I spent about three hours in this delightful study,
after which I left the church.

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* Oct 22. — My steps were turned by the Piazza di
Minerva, wliere is an obelisk once dedicated to her, now
to Mary, towards the quarter of the Ghetto. I soon
reached it, between the Capitol and the river. It is of
considerable extent, and entirely occupied by Jews.
There they have continued since the days ot Claudius
and Nero, hedged off as it were from their fellow-citizens,
as though their touch were pollution. I confess that
on seeing them with their strongly-marked Israelitish
features, old men and maidens, young men and children,
my heart for the first time warmed towards the living
Jews. It seemed as if but one day intervened between
the time when they were visited by Paul, and persecuted
by the Romans. Outcast Israel ! — there was something
touching in their looks, especially of the old, as though
Zion were still written on their hearts. Still, too, be-
loved of God, and excluded only for a season, faith
could leap over this future interval as easily as the past,
and see them once more within their own borders.
There was nothing inharmonious in the sight of them
amid so much that is venerable, as may be said of the
modem Romans ; nay, more antique than all, they throw
a shade on the monuments that surround them.

* Oct. 24. — The custode conducted me to the tower
on the summit of the chief Senator's palace upon the
Capitol. Workmen were busy repairing the tower, part
of the edifice, once, I believe, a prison. From the top
what a prospect, whether as regards its natural, poetical,
or historic interest. Rome ancient and Rome modem
beneath you, with their monuments of almost all the
epochs the world has seen ; beyond, the mountains with
their classic heights and villages ; north, but especially
south, the vast tract of the Campagna, by no means the

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least interesting, or even the least poetic feature of
Rome. It harmonizes with, and indeed contributes to
this character of " a living death." It has all the soli-
tary dreariness of the sea, with this in addition, that its
breath is deadly. Soracte ends the chain of mountains
to the north. ,

•* Here would I sit, and haply meditate,
Until my soul were channeled by the Past
Conducting to the Future ; for deem not
Those seven hills have played their farewell part"

* As I descended from my elevation, French troops
were again deploying through the Arch of Titus and the
Forum. Never before did old Rome appear to me so :

** Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe ;**

uttering not a word ; yet the very ground seemed to
me to heave with indignant sorrow that the foreign
conqueror should thus trample on her holiest spots,
where the memory of the dead should have awakened
reverence and awe. There is nothing in the world so
touching as fallen majesty enduring insult

* Oct. 25. — Descended to the Forum, and again more
fully identified its remains from the Arch of Severus to
that of Constantine. The Forum, of course, ended at
the Temple of Antoninus, but all this open ground I
include in the term. As I stood towards sunset, between
the Arch of Titus and of Constantine, and filled up the
picture with those churches, baths, palaces, and columns,
of which the fragments, often only the sites, now remain,
I became conscious of the magnificent spectacle which
must have greeted the Roman's eye as he entered the
city by the Via Appia. Advancing between the beauti-
ful Ca^lian and Palatine, he would skirt round the latter

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to the left, passing, in after times, under the Arch of
Constantine, then ascending to that of Titus between
magnificent baths and palaces, until at this point he
came in sight of the Forum with its wealth of temples,
and the Capitoline, no less decorated, beyond. I can
fancy nothing more sumptuous, whether for natural or
historic interest ; and this stand-point, just beyond the
Arch of Titus, must be one of my favourites. It is
probable that the Via Sacra passed under this A*" ;h, and
onwards by that of Severus to the Capitol — favourite
walk of Horace, as he tells us. Entered the Coliseum
again, and thought of Ignatius and the Christian martyrs,
repeopling it with spectators. As I mused, many passed,
stopping reverentially to kiss a cross on the centre. An
indulgence is promised them for this, but were it spon-
taneous, I could not but be moved by the sight, and
indeed was so.

* Oct. 26. — Made for the Mamertine prisons below
the Capitol. They are of republican construction, or
rather regal. You descend to them by a staircase
beneath the Church of St. Giuseppe. The upper one is
vaulted, I believe, in Etruscan style, and a round hole in
the floor communicated with the lower, a small dungeon
cut and built in the rock, not much more than six feet
high, and formerly without either light or air. A fright-
ful place ; here Jugurtha was starved to death ; here
Catiline's accomplices were strangled; and here, says
tradition, Peter and Paul were confined nine months.
The impression of Peter's face was shown me on the
rock, carefully protected by an iron grating. Also a
well which he is said to have caused to flow, in order to
baptize his converted jailers. I tasted it It was fresh
enough ; and my guide drank a jug of it to convince me

yohn Mackintosh.

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it was not stagnant. Nevertheless, I have some doubts
of its source being there. Above is a shrine to Peter and
Paul, entered from the street ; and all day, apparently,
the faithful frequent it with offerings and pravers. The
heat was suffocating.

* On leaving the Palatine, I returned and dined ; then,
by moonlight, retraced the Corso, that I might see my
favourite spots under its bewitching influence. There
was an opiate in the air which had the same effect as
the Schlangenbad waters ; it made one in love with
everything, even with himself. I seemed walking in
a dream, even as I trod the crowded streets ; how much
more when I got among columns, arches, and the poetry
of ruins ! A mellow light suffused them, and a balmy
atmosphere enveloped, that might have tempted the old
Romans from their tombs.

* How soft and visionary the pillars of Vespasian's
and Saturn's Temples, as if steeped in the sleep of
centuries ! the Palatine, in the shade, dark and haunted
looking ; the Arch of Titus grand, but still more that of
Constantine ; and the romantic road between the Pala-
tine and Cselian, bearing away from the Appian gate.
And then, too, the Coliseum; but here I felt the contrari-
ousness of my nature, which will not go in the beaten
track. So much has been said and sung of it, and so
many visit it by moonlight, that I could only see, not
feel, or at least not feel to enthusiasm, its beauty. Yet
beautiful it was, grand, sublime, a world-creation. Its
bulk impresses me more on passing between it and the
Esquiline than even from its centre. Home again by
the Corso, without being stabbed, robbed, or aught else.
O for one hour of Cicero in the Forum, to awake once
more the nobility of Roman spirit ! Or rather once

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more for Paul to confute and set right his followers who
worship his slightest relic, and yet steep their hands in
the blood of the saints, his true successors : " Ye build
the tombs of the prophets, and garnish the sepulchres of
the righteous. Wherefore ye be witnesses unto your-
selves, that ye are the children of them which killed the
prophets ! "

* Oct. 27. — In spite of last night's sleeplessness, I
have never had a day in which the past stood more
vividly before my eyes. Passing the Coliseum, and
looking towards the Esquiline, I had Horace, Maecenas,
and Virgil so distinctly realized, that I could have con-
tinued for hours in their company : Horace, the lover
of wine and good cheer, the admirer of pretty girls,
writing with ease his odes, and reciting them at his next
interview with Maecenas ; talking, too, with him of other
matters, as of Augustus — still a marvel to them as the
first Emperor, feared and yet loved, and flattered for
his favours ; and then the politics of the Roman world
— architecture, rural matters, men, manners, and what
not. Virgil, too, caressed at court, but a separate spirit.
His visit to Greece, and the talk it would occasion be-
fore and after I How singular the suddenness of this
transition from a Republic to an Empire ! and what a
clever fellov/ Augustus must have been, to effect and
perpetuate it ! I thirst to read an intelligent history of
the gradually predisposing causes of this in the wane
of the republican spirit, and the misguided conspiracy
against the first Caesar.

* Sunday, Oct. 28. — On entering the Porta Angelica,
I was much shocked at this barefaced perversion of
Scripture, printed in large characters on the church
adjoining the gate : — " Let us therefore come boldly to

yohn Mackintosh,

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the throne of Mary, that we may find mercy to pardon,
and grace to help in time of need" — the original of
course in Latin. Take the most favourable view of
Popery, overlook their priesthood, their Pope, even
their restriction of Scriptures, and such a breach of the
first commandment is staggering. O Lord, lead me
into all truth ! Enable me to form an impartial and
correct judgment of this part of professing Christians,
and on other points keep me from error, and guide me
by Thy Spirit ; above all, may the love of Christ dwell
richly and habitually in my heart, and bring fortli in me
the fruits of godly living.

* Thursday^ Nov. i. — Church-bells ringing tumultu-
ously, followed by the firing of cannon, awoke me at an
early hour this morning. It was All-Saints'-Day, and
hence the demonstration. After breakfast, I deliberated
how I should spend it, and repaired to TrinitJi del
Monte, the nearest parish church. Although ten o'clock,
the hour of service, no mass was being celebrated, but
a few worshippers were scattered in a church of great
beauty, where the bright light of day was subdued and
hallowed before we entered, and the fragrance of incense
told gratefully on the senses. Nothing loath, I joined
the worshippers in silent prayer — perhaps the only cir-
cumstance in the Roman Catholic ritual where I feel in-
clined, nay prone, to unite with them. Those churches,
ever open, and affording a calm retreat from the bustle
and ungodliness of the world, refresh the spirit

* After my devotions, I found that I was a prisoner,
the church belonging to a convent of nuns, employed in
the education of children of the upper classes. One of
the venerable ladies, however, whom I had observed
moving about, pointed out to me a side entrance by

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which I could escape. I did so with feelings of respect
for this church and convent ; and as it was one of those
clear-heavened days, when summer is bequeathing her
trust to approaching winter, I could not resist the
temptation of walking round the Pincian gardens, and
admiring the set outline of dome and mountain. Many
thoughts crossed my mind on the various topics which
Rome suggests, ere I regained my rooms, and indited a
long letter to my mother.

* This finished, it was two o'clock, and I sallied out
for St. Peter's, where vespers were to be celebrated at
three. It was a complete Roman holiday — every shop
shut, and the people all arrayed in holiday attire. St
Peter's reached, I found service going on in one of the
side-chapels, where apparently three orders of dignitaries
were ranged at either end, the altar in the centre, and
the organ-loft with a choir of men above. The anthem
was very long, and well played and sung. Then followed
chanting below, with manifold mysterious forms ; priests
coming forward in pairs, and chanting a few words at
the desk ; boys detaching, and setting up a different
frontispiece to the altar; priests scattering incense
around each other in succession, etc. etc. Taking the
most favourable view of the matter, I had to admit
that, whatever might be the profit to themselves, the
bystanders were little included : not but that they were
a numerous company in themselves, and might have
their hearts occupied in devotion ; yet, such as yet ap-
pears to me the genius of this religion, the masses are
not suitably taken in. . . During the mass they may
have some profitable idea of what is going on, or
typified ; but in general, how little can their worship be
** with understanding I"

yohn Mackintosh,

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* Coming home, I meditated more on the crying ob-
jections to the system, which indeed led to the Refor-
mation ; the indubitable worship of the Virgin ; the
unlawful canonizing of saints, and praying to them ; the
institution of purgatory ; with prayers for the dead ; and
the shameful system of indulgences. The primacy of
Peter and institution of the Pope, the withholding of
the Scriptures, the sacrifice of the mass, the confessional,
crossings, holy water, etc., appear as nothing in com-
parison with the former. They admit of being even
artfully defended and vindicated from Scripture ; but
the other, especially the worship of the Virgin, seem to
be the very height of wantonness, and I should like
to have the introduction of this latter satisfactorily
explained as to time n nd probable cause.

Spent the evening in my rooms, and, among other
things, read the catalogue of the saints in Hebrews xi.,
who all " lived by faith."

^ N<yv. 2. — From the Porta Pia, near which also to
the left, within the walls, were the gardens of Sallust, I
peeped without to the Porta Salaria, by which Alaric
entered with his Goths and sealed the fate of Rome, one
of the great landmarks in history. Thence I passed,
still without the walls, by the now closed Porta Pincia,
where Belisarius is said to have sat and begged alms
after his degradation ; and onwards under the Pincian
Hill and the Muro Torto, to the Porta del Popolo. The
traces of Belisarius's repairs are still most visible in the
walls, forming a contrast by their coarseness with the
compact brickwork of the rest. The Muro Torto is at the
north-east angle, and uiffers in construction from the rest,
besides having an enormous rent, and inclining forwards
in one point so as to threaten to fall ; so it was in the

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days^of Belisarius, and before him, as minutely described
by Procopius.

* It is impossible to describe the feeling of lone-
liness and melancholy, and the many thoughts that
crowd upon the mind, in thus wandering round the bul-
warks of the Eternal City. Within, modem habitations
everywhere meet the eye ; but here, it is the very shell
of old Rome herself. You have pre-eminently, too, the
feeling of having got back to what is anterior to all our
modem stream of civilisation. The Middle Ages, the
Cmsades, the tournaments, the monasteries, the abbots,
the international wars, the revolutions ; the poets, philo-
sophers, historians; the discoveries, inventions, refor-
mations, and modem society — all are before you ; and
you are able, as it were, to look down the wondrous
stream. What a mighty, what a wonderful thing, this
destiny of the world, slowly but certainly evolving !

** For I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs,
And the thoughts of men grow greater with the process of the

suns.

* After dinner, I went to the reading-room, and there
leamed from the Times' Correspondent, things of which
I might live months in Rome, as I am now doing, and
not hear a word about them. As, for example, about
the converted priest Achilli, and of a young gentleman,
not named, who had taken part with the Republicans,
and was now under sentence of banishment by the car-
dinals. Happening to speak of the Inquisition to a
friend at the table, another gentleman with dark flowing
beard and moustachios, whom I had taken for an Italian,
told me he had visited it during the Republic, and had
found it a horrible succession of dungeons, descending
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yohn Mackintosh.

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left of St. Peter's as you approach from the Grand Place.
This led me to speak to him of other matters connected
with Roman affairs, and, finally, I asked him who the
young gentleman was of whom I had been reading. " I
am," he replied, and astonished me not a little. He
pointed out a letter to me in the Daily News in which
he recounts his interview some weeks ago with the car-
dinals, and the ground he takes up as having never con-
spired, or wished to conspire, against the Pope or any
Government ; but simply, seeing Rome abandoned by
them to anarchy, that it was his duty as a good citizen
to do all in behalf of order. In this cause he acknow-
ledged to me that he had gone out to Garibaldi against
the NeapoHtans, and shot their leader. At Albano where
he has a villa, he had, as a magistrate of the Republic,
succeeded in maintaining order against the French. He
did not fight, but on the contrary, attended and aided
the prisoners. His name is Dr. Milligan, and he has
been twenty years at Rome and Albano. The true
cause, he says, of the hatred of the priests towards him
is, that they forcibly detained his brother's children (their
mother being a Roman Catholic) during twelve years, in
spite of all the remonstrances of the father. And during
the Republic, Dr. Milligan urged his brother, who is a
physician to the Sultan, to come to Rome and take his
children, which he did. This the priests knew and re-
sented. He described them asfearfully dissolute and aban-
doned in their lives. Every branch of the government, he
said, needed reform, and the Romans themselves were
a fine people, but kept in ignorance and pupilage by the
priests. The Pope himself was well meaning, but very
weak. The Circolo Popolari and Circolo Romano, to the
last of which he belonged, had been suppressed as well

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as all clubs. The Romans were of two kinds, thorough in-
fidels, of no religion at all, the rest imbeciles and bigots,
and whatever was the field for religious effort among
them lately they had no thoughts of a religious move-
ment themselves ; although he knew many of the middle
classes who would be ripe for some living change, were
it presented to them. I heard much more from him that
was interesting, viewed of course as the statements of
one side of the matter. The papers speak as to the
speedy return of the Pope, and why not 1

* Nov. 6. — The first point in this day's walk at which I
touched the banks of the Tiber was the Pons Fabricius,
leading to the island, and adjoining the Ghetto. It is
one of the six Roman bridges (seven if we include its
continuation to the farther shore), three of which still
stand, and correspond to the existing ones in use \ the
other three are in ruins. The Ponte MoUe, being with-
out the city, I have not included. The Jews again
interested me by their looks, and I remarked what I
had not seen before, a Roman Ca(:holic chapel just
opposite their quarter, with a figure of Christ on the
cross painted outside, and these words in Latin, "All
day long have I stretched forth my hands unto a dis-
obedient and gainsaying people, etc.," with others in
Hebrew. Not a very likely means of winning the Jews
to repentance. . . .

* I turned round upon the Monte Testaccio, so called
from its being artificially composed of tiles and debris.
It is of considerable height, and commands a glorious
view : tc the north, the city and the distant Soracte ; to
the west, the plain of the Tiber, where a small river
steamer was slowly wending its way up, suggesting
many thoughts and contrasts. At its feet the pyramid

yohn Mackintosh,

321

of Cestius, taking under its protection the interesting
little Protestant — I might say EngUsh — cemetery. The
wide sweep of the walls now at this quarter, but separat-
ing one set of fields from another, the numerous tombs
and monuments outside the walls to the south, the hills
of Albano and Frascati, beyond on the east giving back
the glow of evening. The sun had just gone down in
resplendent glory, and the pensiveness and deep instruc-
tiveness of the scene I shall never cease to remember.

^ Nov. II. — Felt discouraged at this continued want
of repose and consequent debility ; yet endeavoured to
fortify myself in God, and recognise His will as mine,
being in no sense my own. Went out to dine, and then
returned and read Dr. Cappadose's conversion, in
Italian, as well as the Scriptures. " O Lord, in Thee
have I trusted ; let me not be ashamed"

^ Motiday^ Nov. 12. — A betterish night, but still some-
thing lacking; I am colded, jaded, and not myself.
Studied, and not least the seraphic sky above my head,
visible in extensive canopy from my windows, and for
this, or indeed for any season, how wonderful, how sub-
lime I — an airy vault so delicately blue that you might
think to pierce it, and discover behind the heaven of
heavens! My windows look upon a terraced garden,
pretty withal, even now, and well kept ; but, above all,
here the merry pipe of birds heralds the dawn, and gives
the idea of a second spring. They are birds of passage,
visiting old Rome on their way to a yet more genial
climate ; and, like tourists, they are to be found chiefly
among the ruins, the Coliseum, the Palatine, the Aven-
tine, and Caracalla's Baths, forcing a smile upon their
heavy features by their blithe merry din. In the after-
noon I visited the Museum of the CapitoL ^ the Cor-

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ridor many of the busts pleased me, especially those of
Juno and Jupiter, most expressive of the best heathen
conception of these personages. The hall of the Em-
perors also most interesting. This bust of Julius Caesar
answers to one's expectations, with its grave thoughtful
countenance ; Augustus, haughty and refined ; the
others, for the most part, as elsewhere. Noble statue
of Agrippina in the centre, with all the grace and dig-
nity and character of a Roman matron, the mother of
Germanicus. Hall of the philosophers : Virgil, elegance
and power mingled in that long, oval, half-feminine
countenance.

^ Nov. 13. — Two young Englishmen accompanied me
through the ruins — most gentlemanly, pleasant fellows.
On quitting, I ascended the Coliseum to witness sunset
Down he went —

"Not as in northern climes, obscurely bright {
But one unclouded blaze of living light ! "

The view of the Capitol, the Palatine, the Arches of
Titus and Constantine, the ruined temples, the woody
Caelian, the Esquiline, the Quirinal, and the Alban
Hills, again, as ever, sank into my soul. However low
I may be otherwise, the genius of this part of Rome
never fails to move me. How beautiful the vista
through the Arch of Constantine, bright as the future,
though leading, it may be, only to ruin! The grey
banks of the Coliseum, and the red walls behind, look
from above still more imposing, and can be more
readily understood, and re?* "'^ acy to theu: pris-

tine glory. I believ T er have tired of

dreaming here, bi pei me to descend.

Home then, medita ^ upon ner uays.

I ')

yohn Mackintosh,

* Nov. 15. — Study, and at two to Museum of Capitol.
Again regarded the statues of the Corridor, and struck
with this : — that all the finest heads, whether male or
female, gods or men, might find their types among the
physiognomies of England ; but of no other country I
have visited, not even Rome itself. Again delighted
with Agrippina and VirgiL

''Nov. 17. — Another Roman week ended, during
which I have experienced much goodness, mingled with
trial. O my Saviour, enable me to regard myself as
Thine, and to acknowledge and believe in Thy wisdom,
whatever Thou art pleased to send me ! Grant that
to-morrow my soul may be refreshed and urged heaven-
wards by Thine own gracious Spirit

'Sunday, Nov. 18. — At eleven, to church — a large
congregation. Again an admirable sermon from Mr.
Bazett, on the Syrophenician Woman. My heart
warmed to him for his truth and faithfulness, mixed
also with so much encouragement and tenderness.

' I think my daily practice here, in endeavouring to
realize past times, communicates its effects also to my
Scripture-reading and other studies ; at least I feel a
new zest in picturing the circumstances under which the
prophecies were delivered — the efiect they would have ;
and then again, still farther, in projecting the thoughts
to their accomplishment

* Afternoon — another beautiful sermon, on the Lost
Sheep. Home again, and read some chapters of John,
endeavouring to get out of the accustomed formality and
stereotyped ideas with which I read them, and to ac-
company the Lord as did the disciples, seeing and hear-
ing him speak. This gives a new light, life, meaning, to
the whole.

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^Nov. 20. — Out at two, and to St. Peter's, pausing on
the way at the Palazzo Borghese, one of those vast
gloomy dwellings so numerous at Rome ; and tenanted,
for aught I know, by the lineal descendants of the proud
patrician Romans of old times. No symptoms of life —
a cold cloistered quadrangle, with heje and there a
liveried servant, lounging or stealing along ; statues in
front, and a little, irregular, wall-environed garden be-
hind, where fountains dribble, and statues are again
interspersed among the little walks and plots. I should
like much to know the interior life of one of those
prison palaces. I believe it is cold, stately, and un-
comfortable enough. The inmates are, I presume, to
be seen driving on the Pincio at four ; and very grave
and joyless they look to my eyes, as those who were
regretting other days, or oppressed by the weight of
dignity they had to sustain. A portion of the palace is
now generally allocated to French officers)' and, I be-
lieve, in the season ot Rome, is wont to be let to
strargers.

' Leaving, tnen, this romantic edifice, I proceeded on
my way, specially regarding, en passant^ the bridge and
fortress of San Angelo. Some little boys also emerging
from a free school, near the Piazza of St. Peter's,
arrested my attention, trom the ridiculous manner in
which the full-grown Roman was miniatured in their
features, dress, attitudes, and expressions. Such schools
abound; and one just opposite my windows, in the
Via Sistina, daily interests and amuses me. I see the
rogues muster at eight \ then hear their chant at com-
mencing ; then the reading singly, in a bawling voice,
as at our own parish schools, only more musical ; then
the reading, or rather cantilating, in chorus. The

yohn Mackintosh,

325

wandering attention of the boys near the window, the
exertions of the worthy gowned pedagogue, the occa-
sional rebukes — all recall vividly my own early days,
when, amid languishing and ennui^ I was laying up the
rich harvest of association I am now reaping among the
monuments of Rome. I am thus glad to say that the
usual happiness of boyhood has with me been reserved
for a later period of my life.

* St Peter's is indeed stupendous, though the criticisms
must be right, which blame the fagade and porch — a
departure from Michael Angelo's plan — for taking away
from the overpowering effect of the dome, which in most
parts of the Piazza it conceals. Then that forest of
gigantic pillars on either side of the Piazza — what a
conception — what a creation ! Entered, and stood long
looking over the area, and then slowly upwards to the
ceiling. Walk down one of the side aisles ; see what
magnificent Cathedrals might be made even of the trans-
verse sections, what churches of the side-chapels ! Stop
at various stages of your progress, and see what a vast
edifice might be even the section you have traversed,
and thus you will arrive at some idea of the enormous
area of the whole. The eye and mind require some
such process as this, otherwise the immensity is, from
the admirable proportions of the whole, not adequately
comprehended. The lightness of the vast acculminating
dome also impressed me. It seems to partake of the
ethereal nature of Italian skies — an epitome of the
heaven bent above it, or of one still more ample, more
divine. The mellow light of evening compensated for
the absence of an artificial gloom, and no doubt lent
mystery and indefinite grandeur to the whole.

'^aving replenished for the night the ever-burning

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lamps of the sepulchre in the centre, the verger chanted
the retreat, and the temple was soon cleared of all
human occupants ; but I doubt not that, as Milton says
of earth's fairest spots, "myriads of spiritual creatures"
hover round it, both when we wake and when we sleep!
The erection of this temple stands on the verge of the
Reformation, and indeed, from the shameful traffic in
indulgences, sanctioned for its completion, may be said
to have occasioned it It may fairly, however, as some
one says, be claimed alike by Protestants and Catholics,
as a temple worthy of its end — next to that which the
Creator has Himself reared in the external world; inferior,
however, both to the humble and contrite heart I

* Monday y Nov. 26. — Continuation of bad, muggy
weather. Forenoon, read some of Cornelius Nepos, to
remind me of my school days. The life of MUtiades
and Themistocles told with what beauty and simplicity I
— ^gems both : in some respects he may be called the
Izaak Walton of the Latins. How Greece "unvisited"
shines to the mental eye ! I think I see the beautiful
pillars of her temples defined against the sapphire sky —
not a name, not a river, not a mountain, not an island,
but is music to the soul. Were it put in my power, I
know not that I would risk the dissipation of this dream
by an actual visit It is otherwise with Rome ; for here
the interests bear upon the present and the future;
while of Greece, they are more as it were a consecrated
vision, like her own mythology.

*■ Saturday y Dec. i. — Advent is approaching, and I
desire to put my thoughts in unison Mrith those of the
churches around me ; to meditate specially on that great
epoch when the Desire of all Nations appeared, and the
deep night of heathenism, broken only by uncertain

ind,

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Ithe
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John Mackintosh,

3^7

gleams, gave way before the light of Him who has
introduced life and immortality.

* At this season Rome is crowded with shepherds from
the mountains, clad in their wild mountain dress, and
playing in couples a kind of rude bagpipe, called in
Italian zamponia. They are hired to play before the
images of the Virgin ; and, I believe, to represent those
shepherds of Bethlehem, who paid their early homage
to the Saviour. The music is particularly shrill and
discordant ; and could we suppose the original to have
been such, it would diminish somewhat the exquisite
relish which this anecdote of the morning has for the
imagination and the heart

* Tuesday^ Dec. 4. — To-day, for the first time since
leaving Zurich, I have felt positively dejected. I know
not exactly why, but things do not seem to go well with
me here. Yet, O my Father, I desire to recognise Thy
discipline, and to profit ; give me Thy grace, for without
Thee I can do nothing, through Thee all things !

'^ Dec, 5. — I find that all subjects of interest here are
diminishing to me, in comparison with the study of the
Roman Catholic Church and its tenets. God give me
grace and opportunity to investigate the question can*
didly, humbly, and prayerfully.

* Sunday y Dec. 9. — Morning service j then home, and
after the Scriptures, read Arnold's noble introduction,
directed against the Tractarian's idea of the priesthood
and succession. What power — what adamantine integ-
rity, purity, nobility of purpose !

' This has been to me a most sweet day. The gracious
calm and absence of discomfort in my new abode, after
my former sufferings ; the leisure my spirit now had to
review past mercies with gratitude, ^d past short*

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comings with contrition ; above all, the delightful sense
of Christ's favour and presence, the Spirit witnessing
with my spirit, filled me with peace and joy, and no
weariness of mind or body has visited me through my
unbroken solitude : " Lord, lift Thou up the light of
Thy countenance upon me. Thou hast put gladness
in my heart, more than when the blessings of the
worldling do most abound."

* Monday^ Dec, 10. — ^This morning read one of Arnold's
sermons j how admirable for exalted views, pure expres-
sion, and happy illustration! I have no doubt his
sermons have told most favourably on the English as
well as other pulpits.

* Wednesday^ Dec. la. — ^The Roman Catholic contro-
versy, as well as other subjects, occupied my mind.
Following out rapidly the promises to St. Peter and the
apostles, and all that can be learned on the subject from
the New Testament, I confess I drifted very widely
from any approximation to Romanism : I found myself
recalling that form of doctrine, worship, and government,
exhibited in the new Church of Geneva. The laity
must exercise their Christian functions as a portion of
the spiritual Church ; otherwise you have already taken
the first step towards the substitution of the clergy for
the Church. How genial, how warning, consoling,
sanctifying, the spiritual worship of a truly evangelical
church or body of believers 1

'Passing along the street, I observed a little knot
of women chanting the Litany of the Virgin, in Latin,
before one of her images. One acted as coryphaeus, and
the rest gave the responses. Poor souls, thought I| the
Lord may hear and answer your prayers, directed in
your ignorance, to one who cannot hear and intercede I

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329

The reflex influence of this devotional spirit, too, may
be wholesome; though how far short of the same,
rightly directed, and how terrible the blame of those,
if such there be, who have wilfully and knowingly
misguided you !

* At home, — a quantity of Seymour, who, from his own
account, is well read in the Roman Catholic contro-
versy ; but appears to have met with sad men of straw
as his opponents. The importance of the style, coupled
with the lightness of the matter \ his exceeding naivete
in exposing the workings of his mind and heart; the
somewhat Jesuitical position which he himself assumes,
in order to have discussions with the Jesuits, and yet
not be sent away from Rome, are amusing. A worthy,
good roan, I kave no doubt ; belonging to the happy,
contented, fully persuaded, comfortable, useful body of
evangelical English pastors.

*^ December 14. — Met Hemans by appointment, and to
the English College, near Famese Palace. Immediately
on entering the College I was struck with the English
air of solidity and comfort which pervaded it; strong
walls, well closed doors, clean and spacious corridors.
We ascended until we met his friend, Mr. Devy, who
received us with very great courtesy. After pacing the
lobby for some time, he took us to a small lecture-room,
with a good fire burning, where the lectures are at pre-
sent given, while the Collegio Romano is closed ; the
subjects being, moral philosophy for an hour in the
forenoon, dogmatic theology for an hour in the afternoon.
A small chapel opens from this, in part painted with
great taste by an amateur, Mr. Weld, a barrister by
profession. From this we visited a kind of saloon or
sitting-room, most comfortable and neat, provided with

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a small library, and where a Tablet and Galignani are
always to be found. Afterwards one of the dormitories,
without fireplace, but most snug, with its little bed,
crucifix, and holy water by the side, select collection of
books, reading-desk, etc. Thence we ascended to the
roof, open but covered, and commanding an extensive
view over the Famese, the Cancellaria, St. Peter's, and
many surrounding churches, with the Quirinal and
Capitol in the distance. The evening was peculiarly
lovely, and we lingered long here talking of various
matters. Finally, we descended to the library, a large
apartment, apparently furnished with a most select col-
lection of books, from which literature, whether English,
French, or Italian, was by no means excluded. Thence
to the refectory and chapel, both exceedingly nice and
in keeping with the rest of the edifice. I have omitted
to mention the theatre, with a regular stage and curtain,
where the students perform plays from Shakspere, Beau-
mont, Fletcher, and others. The present number of
students here represented has dwindled to a dozen,
although the college may contain some sixty. Of these
no less than four were from Cambridge ! Walking in
the corridor, it being now dark, we conversed on many
subjects, but specially the habits of the college, and the
present subjects of lecture and study. They have
morning chapel at 6.15, evening 7.30; breakfast, dine,
and sup together at 8, 12.30, and 7. During part of the
time one of the students reads aloud from the Latin Bible
and Lives of Saints, and at another time from Alison's
French Revolution. The lectures in Latin are upon
the future state of the soul, whether and how far it enjoys
the beatific vision of God. On this point depends their
theory for explaining how the saints hear prayers or

John Mackintosh,

Zl^

If',

receive intuition of them, so to speak, in God. The
Fathers in their days, and the Roman Catholics in ours,
have exactly the same battle to fight, with different sets
of heretics, on this important point I confess the
question in itself seemed to me only worthy of the
schoolmen. We got to speak also of the Rationalists
aid infidels, and Spinoza and Lord Herbert. I could
perceive from all this how wide a range of learning and
research was allowed and required, at least of English
priests. Ignorance is by no means part of their system,
nw exclusiveness of their studies. Their library con-
tains many Protestant works, not excepting even such
as Middleton's Letters from Rome. . All this is politic,
as well as wise and judicious. Our friend, at parting,
gave us many invitations to return, ot which I could
gladly avail myself

* Towards nine I went to the Forbeses, in my morning
clothes, forsooth, and found a large party of Levens,
Duncans (Camperdown), Archdeacon Hodson and
family, Mr. and Mrs. Acworth (pretty daughter of
Mr. Close of Cheltenham), the Hanoverian Ambassa-
dor, the Hays, etc. I was introduced to everybody,
and by dint of modesty in keeping in a corner, enjoyed
the evening very much, and heard some good Scotch
songs sweetly sung by the Miss Hays, that did my heart
good. The kindness of the Forbeses makes me ashamed.
Home by 11.30, bearing away another book they have
lent me.

^ Saturday y Dec. 15. — Rather poorly this forenoon.
O my Lord and Saviour ! at the close of another week,
more deeply conscious than ever of my helplessness
without Thee, either to resist sin, or to do good, I cast
myself on Thy divine grace, mercy, and strength ; and

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I know that Thou wilt not leave me nor forsake me I
Mould me according to the good pleasure of Thy will ;
and when temptations abound, may Thy grace much
more abound 1 " I am Thine, save me."

*Z>ec. 19. — Dull day, but health better than yesterday,
and study good. Afternoon, allowed myself to wander
through the heart of modem Rome, looking at all the
shop windows and stalls, the countenances of the people,
the markets, everything in short — studying life. Bating
cold fingers, I can fancy no more thorough or delicious
diversion for the mind. The history of such a progress,
with the sudden and widely different trains of thought
suggested, would make an interesting paper. The cameo
windows, the marble and bronze models of ruins and
statues, each of course pregnant with ideas, and bringing
within the ken details hardly noticed in the originals ;
suddenly a palace with the arms of the Knights of St
John; the people of the Corso; and soon after the
different class of the market-place in the Piazza Navona ;
the little birds, alive and dead, exposed for sale, sug-
gested many natural history inquiries, and wafted the
•jpirit to the gardens where they lately carolled; the
Swiss Palace; the endless suggestions of the market-
place, leading the mind to those of other cities in Ger-
many, France, Belgium, or England ; the palaces ; the
architecture of the streets; the appearance and occu-
pants of the shops, when lit for the evening — all afforded
a feast, and a useful one, which I hope oftener to enjoy :
for my mind needs diversion as much as the body exer-
cise ; and I believe the one may be sometimes not
inaptly substituted for the other.

* Monday, Dec. 24. — It is the custom at Rome to
bring in Christmas-day by watching. Having fasted the

*John Mackintosh,

ZZ'S

previous day, they assemble towards evening at each
other's houses, and regale themselves on cakes, etc.,
and play games till the churches begin to open, towards
eleven. They then go out and spend the night and
early morning in visiting one or more of these. At
eleven I repaired with Hemans to St. Luigi Francese,
which was brilliantly illuminated, and where half of the
nave had reserved seats, with one of which we were
accommodated, Having a Breviary, and Hemans by
my side, I war able to follow the whole service, and en-
joyed its beauty and piety very much. The selection
of psalms, hymns, and prayers, was most beautiful, and
the chanting and music excellent Towards mass, a
French military band lent its aid, and altogether the
service was most imposing. It did not conclude till
one A.M., at which time the crowd in going out was very
great, and, being greatly composed of French, full of
levity and irreligion. We hastened to the Ara Coeli, on
the Capitol, and the view of those grand spots by lus-
trous moonlight, and under a deep blue frosty sky, was
delicious. The church itself was dimly bright, and from
its site and the occasion led me particularly to think
how miraculously the humble babe of Bethlehem had
overturned and supplanted the empire of the world.
The bambino and prasepio were not, however, exposed.
At two I parted with Hemans, and made my way to
Santa Maria Maggiore, on the Esquiline, where, had the
Pope been here, he would in person have celebrated
mass at midnight To-night the service was not till
three, and I had to wait for an hour with many others
in the cold. On my way all Rome seemed to be quietly
astir ; but every shop being shut, under penalties, there
was no drunkenness or indecorum. At last we were

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admitted, and a blaze of light burst upon the view — the
long Basilica being splendidly illuminated. A line of
troops on either side kept open the centre of the nave.
The service was long and tedious, taking place at the
extreme end of the church, so that the effect of both
music and chanting was much lost The Hodsons were
there, and with them I conversed. At last, about five,
the procession took place ; but it was very poor in point
of numbers, the cardinal-vicar alone of the cardinals,
and, of course, no Pope. They returned with the silver
culla or cradle, with the figure of an infant on the top,
and this they bore in procession into one of the side-
chapels. At this stage we all departed; and, bitterly
cold, I got to bed soon after six.

^ Dec. 25. — Slept till nearly ten, and woke refreshed,
thinking of the glad event which this day is selected to
commemorate. So rose, and being too late for St
Peter's and even for the English Chapel — ^feeling, too,
the need of retirement and spiritual repose, remained
the forenoon at home. Read the narrative in the four
Gospels, the Church of England service, and looked
over some Roman Catholic books of devotion, till two ;
then to St Peter's. The music there fine, and had
some sweet thoughts.

' Called on Hemans ; papers briefly, and at nine to
the Acworths, by invitation, to tea. Most delightful
evening; the Hastings there. At the end, the dear
Archdeacon (Hodson), whose voice reminds me so
much of Rev. C. Brown's, read some verses from Philip-
pians on our Lord's humiliation, and exhorted us most
beautifully, by His example, to humility and the denial
of self, concluding with a prayer full of unction. Often
have I longed for such social religious communion;

John Mackintosh,

^^S

tful
ear
so
ip-
lost
lial
ten

and to-night my heart literally overflowed with gratitude
to God and love to His dear servant, apparently so en-
dowed with his Master's spirit Home early, walking
part of way with Mr. Gordon, a young English clergy-
man, here for his health. Father, to Thy name be
praise for this day's mercies in Christ I

^ Dec. 28. — My dear mother's birthday, of whom my
thoughts have been very full Heavenly Father, mul-
tiply to her abundantly grace, mercy, and peace ; how
great a blessing the good news I have received from her
all the time of my absence hitherto ! Continue, Lord,
Thy loving-kindness ; and if it be Thy gracious will,
spare us to meet again, and to labour together in Thy
service, and make me the comfort and support of her
declining years, for Jesus Christ's sake !

* Sunday, Dec. 30. — Bitterly cold day. Forenoon and
afternoon to chapel. Between services walked on the
Pincian to warm myself, and lost in raptures at the
glorious sky and atmosphere, so still, so transparent, so
" serenely, brightly, beautifully blue." After last service
I took another turn up the banks of the Tiber. Evening
at home ; read the Scriptures, and Stanley's St Paul, —
the Judaizers. To-day endeavoured to recall the sin-
gular mercies of the past year, whether to myself or to
my dear mother, in her preservation, though cholera
raged around, and for all the love and happiness she
has enjoyed. I tried also to raise my heart in thankful-
ness to God, confessing my sins and shortcomings, and
imploring Him not, on this account, to remove His
favour ; and now I desired to make myself over to Him,
and to live entirely to His glory. In the year I am
about to enter may He bestow upon me largely His
grace, and be Himself my Shepherd and Teacher,

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* Dee. 31. — At dinner, a travelling wine-merchant from
Montauban, whom I have met there re[)eatedly, showed
me an infinitesimal portion of the true cross, pasted on
red ribbon, within a little crucifix, and accompanied
with a printed authenticate, and the signature of the
Bishop (Castellani) from whom it had been got. He
had procured it for his wife, who is a strict Catholic :
also ^ small portion of the bones of St Augustine.
Without implying doubt of its authenticity, I spoke to
him of the cross still more real, that every Christian can
and ought to bear in his heart and life. We had some
further conversation on the essentials of religion, which
I thought better than to attack him in bad French on
the errors of RomanisnL

< The last day of the year. Again, as throughout the
day, I desire to humble myself under a sense of un-
worthiness, and innumerable sins and shortcomings
throughout its course, biding myself under the covert of
my Saviour's atonement and obedience. In Thee, O
Lord, is all my hope for the year to come ; but through
Thee, I can do all things, overcome temptation, re-
nounce self, and bring forth the fruits of love to God
and man, unto Thy praise and glory. O undertake for
me, and accomplish great things in me and by me I
Confessing, thanking, and casting myself on Christ for
pardon and strength, I close a year of absence from
home, of living among strangers, of wanderings^ of £>•
perience, and of signal merdea.*

John Mackintosh,

Z37

CHAPTER XIIT.

Rome. 1850 : Letters and Journals — Letter to hl« Youngest Sister — To
A. Bum Murdoch, Esq. — Service in the Greek Church of St. Atha-
naaia — Visit to the GhettO'— the Propaganda — the Jewish SynaROKiie
— Convent of Ara Cceli — Catechizing in Church of San Andrea-
Museum of Capitol.

TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER.

• Rome, Jan. 2, 185a
*This is the first time I have written 1850, and it
comes strange to my hand. I can hardly believe that
we are already half way through the nineteenth century ;
and certainly never was that imaginary wall which
separates one year from another passed by me more
imperceptibly, though not, I trust, without earnest en-
deavours to make it a religious epoch in my personal
history. Yet so it is ; we have entered on another con-
ventional division of time; and I fancy there is no
reflecting person but says, in looking back on the past,
" I have cause for tl anksgiving and humiliation ;" in
looking out on the future, " I resolve, in divine grace, on
a more consistent, loyal, and loving life towards God
and my fellow-men.*' Such, from the tone of your last
letters, is, I doubt not, your frame of mind ; and may the
God of all mercy, the Saviour of all compassion, and the
Holy Spirit of resistless power, give you strength to
fulfil, nay, to surpass your resolutions. What He may
be teaching you, you yourself know best, for none can
tell it for another ; but through many various ways He

33^

Me^rormls of

calls us into His fold — and that His eye and love are
upon you, is my fond hope and fervent prayer. ... I
was truly happy to hear of the pleasant impressions with

which you left j and you may deem yourself happy

that the age is not past when anything in life can be
called balmy and enchantinit That spontaneous efflu-
ence of youth, must with youth, I fear, pass away from
us all, and the enjoyment must then come from perhaps
a higher region of our nature, but by a more laborious
and uncertain process. I am not sure but that I should
write to you from Rome as I did from Geneva, and pos-
sibly should from any other given quarter of the globe,
that the poetry of our own bonny north is greater, and
its associations more trumpet-tongued than those of
the Forum or the Vatican — it may be, than Athens and
Jerusalem ; but no, this last, and all the other melting
names of Scripture, are part and parcel of the favoured
class which we have learned at our mother's knees on
Sabbath evenings, and by the domestic hearth. Yet
Rome is a thrilling place, absolutely inexhaustible in
its power of awakening echoes, and touching chords that
vibrate through the whole being. Sometimes for a
moment you wander forth, as though the dust you tread
upon were common ground ; but anon, some sight or
soand-"-or it may be no sight or sound at all, but a
flash of consciousness — brings the facts before your
mind, and you feel inclined to take the shoes from off
your feet, and move on in holy reverential mood. I am
sometimes oppressed with the multitude of memories,
and the eagerness on the spot to probe more dee|}!y
this, to follow out that train of thought already known,
while it is impossible to do all, or nearly all. In this
cold weather, fiercely cold — for such a winter has been

John Mackintosh.

339

rarely known at Rome — it is not so easy to stand and
dream among hills and monuments, the hands finding
their way too readily into the breeches pockets, and the
nose hanging out signals of distress. I accordingly
betake myself more to the ceremonies in the churches,
which afford a fine opportunity of actually becoming
acquainted with the ritual, observances, and teaching of
the Church of Rome. Young Hemans (I wrote some
of you that I had made acquaintance with the youngest
son of the poetess) is often my guide on such occasions
— he is unfortunately a converted Catholic — and I can
fully understand here what are the outward and sesthetic
attractions of the system, not to speak of its inward
adaptations to human nature. Nothing can exceed the
grandeur and soothing softness of the music on their
great occasions, or the artistic effect of light and orna-
ment in their churches. Advent, Christmas, and Lent
now approaching, besides special feasts, are important
epochs in their Christian year, and contain, as was to
be expected, a large amount of what is good in their
manner of celebration, mingled with very much that is
objectionable. H* wever, I do not come as a ready-
made John Knox to the study, but with the wish to
pass through the successive stages of the Reformation
for myself, independently of Luther and the rest
Actual Rome, apart fVom its religious aspect, offers
many features of interest, whether in its people, its
customs, or its environs ; including, of course, those
Apennines, whose very name is magic, and the Cam-
pagna — vast, melancholy, and majestic ! Summer, how-
ever, lends to all these a large portion of theii mystery
and enchantment, although we have days even now
when the heavens look so limpid and transparent, that

340

Memorials of

you could almost think to pierce them, and discover the
inner heaven itself, yet the lights on the mountains are
not so apparent ; and you may traverse the Campagna
as you would a moor, instead of visiting it, so to speak,
only by stratagem, and. as it were, under pain of death
from its invisible malaria. Still old Tiber is always
there ; the ruins shout the glorious greatness of other
days, and so predominate over modem Rome as to give
it the appearance, as has been said, of a city of pilgrims
encamping under their shadow. After full two months
of a sort of wild abandon^ unbroken by the sight of a
single familiar face, my friends have suddenly turned up
— ^a position, you will say, by no means unnatural for
me ; I am here with a very small amount of toggery,
having sent most of my effects from Switzerland to Ber-
lin, in expectation of being there this winter. I cannot
afford a fresh rig, but manage audaricsly to go about
in mufty — a wholesome restraint ; r .aps on over-
dissipation. This small anecdote will remind you of
old times, and show you, that amid all the divinizing
influences of Rome, I am still human. But enough of
self; exit Jack, having already well-nigh filled two pages.
If mother has not previously read this letter, you will
write to her of it, and say that if not in my arms, at
least in my heart, I carried her about with me the whole
of the 28th of December, and even hope she had a
consciousness of my so doing, although I could not
manage to make a letter fall in on that day.'

TO A. BURN MURDOCH, ESQ.

* RoMK, Jan. 13, 185a

*Were it not for my firm belief in the leadings of
God's providence, I should regret your not sharing with

John Mackintosh,

341

}- ; ■!

;es.

wUl

[hole

id a

not

ith

me this chapter in my education at Rome — for I thin\
we are entered on a time when all our hereditary re-
ligious opinions must be revised, and adopted anew from
a more personal, and therefore profound persuasion of
their truth. Now the Roman Catholic questioh assuredly
takes its place among the renascent forms of religious
opinions ; and I am persuaded had you been here, you
would have undergone, in regard to it, a somewhat
analogous process to that which you may now be con-
scious of having undergone last winter. I am not yet
conscious of all the results of my present study and ob-
servations — so it would be rash to pronounce upon them ;
but this I do feel more and more, that Popery is more
plausible than we think it, and less easily to be confuted
in detail; in short, that it shades off from true Christianity
often so imperceptibly at first, that it is only when you
look at the grand result you can entertain that horror of
it, and bestow that condemnation on the system, which
it merits. I came to Rome believing that all its more
controverted errors were gross and palpable. I am daily
persuaded more and more that it is not so ; and there-
fore I see how difficult must be the emancipation of any
one from its thraldom, and how easy, in certain cases,
the re-imposition of that thraldom on those who have
been bom free. Should God spare us to meet again, I
shall have much to say on this score, but a letter is not
the place for it

'As you conjecture, God has very graciously given me
not a few friends here, after a time of loneliness, but not
dulness. Mr. and Mrs. Forbes, whom we saw at Geneva,
live close by me, and are most affectionate, as well as
delightful people. Through them, I was introduced to
:\jchdeacon Hodson and his family ; he is one of the

!;;!

1
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341

Memorials of

most beautiful specimens of a Christian minister I have
known, so holy and so humble. He takes me occasion-
ally to walk with him, as well as visiting at his house, and
I love his company.

* I am studying the formulaiies of the Roman Catholic
Church, as well as her practice, and propose soon to
begin the Catechism of the Council of Trent, and other
exponents and defences of her theology. For labours, I
have little apparent field, but occasionally I visit in the
Ghetto, and, besides the spirit of inquiry which this
excites in my own mind, may hope that tracts and con-
versation will be blessed. Mr. Wingate, the Jewish
missionary at Leghorn, furnished me with some tracts,
etc, before coming here.'

Diary. — * Sunday ^ /an. 6. — After ten, to St. Athanasia,
the Greek Church, where, after long delay, saw part of
very stately Greek service. The Archbishop entered, a
tall dignified-looking man with flowing black beard, clad
at first in purple, with gold chain round his neck, and
purple veil over his head, which was soon removed.
After kissing successively a picture of the Virgin and
Christ, in front of the altar, and blessing the people with
a triple taper in one hand, and a double in the other, to
signify the Trinity and the two natures of Christ ; he took
his seat upon a throne at the side, where with much
reverence he was gradually robed in the sumptuous gar-
ments of the altar — a crown of goid being placed upon
his head. So accoutred, he received his crozier, and
took his seat upon the throne, with all the dignity of a
royal priest. No instrumental music ; but a full choir
raised a magnificent Greek anthem, which, resounding
through the comparatively small church, seemed to swell

yohn Mackintosh,

343

the soul, and bear it aloft on angels' pinions. The
service was now commerxced, but being unwilling again,
to-day, to lose the opportunity of taking the sacrament,
I quitted and repaired to the English Church ; arrived
there just at the conclusion of the Litany. Although
wretched from cold, swelled face, etc., enjoyed the
communion very much, and think I had some real
communion with God.

^Jan. 12. — At ten, to Ghetto, with intention of visiting
synagogue. God seemed to lead me ; for a Jew, whom
I afterwards found to be the sacristan, immediately came
forward and offered to show me the schools, />., the
synagogue. There are no less than five of these beneath
one roof, in a square which takes its name from them,
near the Piazza di Santa Maria in Pianto. Three of
these are below, two above, and they correspond with
five parishes into which the Ghetto is divided. The
upper ones are even handsome. Opposite the pulpit in
each, is a recess in the wall containing the Holy Scrip-
tures, with a curtain in front and other ornaments. The
walls are inscribed with texts in Hebrew ; the pulpit is
large and handsome. At the door is a large marble
trough, for performing ablutions before entering ; hats
are worn during service, to show that outward observance
is of no avail. Many of the men had short white tunics,
with cords at the four corners, to symbolize the omni-
presence of the Deity. A small concealed gallery
above, like that for nuns in Roman Catholic churches,
is apportioned to the women, who are not re(|uired to
take part in public services, or even, so far as I could
learn, in private devotions. The hours of service on
Saturday are half-past eight, mid-day, and three o'clock.
I was shown copies of the Pentateuch and their ritual,

344

Memorials of

with the prayers, hymns, and selections from Scripture —
on one side Hebrew, on the other Italian. I was able to
have a long discussion with the sacristan, whose replies
were very evasive, when I pressed him on the meaning
of the ancient sacrifices. His little boys joined us —
dear little Israelites, and very intelligent I made one of
them read a part of a psalm, and compared my pronun-
ciation with his. The little fellow was very particular
to know of whom I had learnt — a Hebrew or a Gentile.

' On quitting the sacristan, who promised on a future
day to take me to the schools for education, I went into
one of the synagogues where mid-day service had already
commenced ; seeing the Bible borne in procession to
the pulpit, many kissing the trappings with which it was
covered, I asked some questions of a better-class Jew
standing by me. He answered in good English, and
finally I found that he was used to give lessons in
Hebrew to English novices — Mr. Hutcheson, for exr
ample. We spoke on many points, and he told me he
had already written a work against the belief that Christ
had come. The New Testament he oflen read, and
admired its high moral code. He offered to call on me
and show me this, as well as a method he had for teaching
Hebrew. At last I arranged to go to him next Tuesday
evening, his time being more engrossed than mine.

* After leaving him, and observing the ceremonies as
well as some awisos posted on the walls, and bearing
record to the recent formation of a society to secure
more decorum in public worship, I left the synagogue j
some young men in front arrested my attention — I put
a topographical question to one of them, whose open
ingenuous countenance pleased me. By degrees we
got to talk of the Messiah, and here again I was able to

'John Mackintosh,

345

and
me

)en

present strongly to them the difficulty of accounting for
the ancient sacrifices, except as typical ot Christ the
great sacrifice for sin, who should thus come first in
humiliation. I alluded to Isaiah liii. ; and then, as in-
deed I had said at starting, I agreed with them in look-
ing for His glorious coming, to give deliverance to His
people, and perhaps restore the Jews to their own
land. The young men seemed to like the discussion,
especially when hearing on the bright side of the pro-
mises to their nation ; but fearing observation, as I sus-
pect, many passing and repassing from the synagogue,
they cordially pressed my hand and departed Sons of
Abraham, I said to them, I love you for your fathers'
sake, and, so saying, bade them adieu.

^ Jan. 17. — Hemanc and I went alone to see the
Propaganda, An English student and an American re-
ceived us with a kindness and courtesy unfailing among
Roman Catholic clergy and students. We proceeded
through the establishment, which is vast in extent, and
appears to be arranged on principles of method the most
consummate. The training I understood to embrace
ten years, though many may come up so far prepared
as to shorten the curriculum. Of these are devoted to
grammar (Latin, Italian, etc.) two, Rhetoric two, and
Philosophy other two. Under these heads a wide range
of study is embraced. Four are then devoted to Theo-
logy, where Hebrew, Church History, and the Evidences,
occupy the first ; Church History, Morals, and Dogmatic,
the second ; Church History, Dogmatic, and Hebrew
Exegesis, the third ; Dogmatic, etc. the fourth. I saw
many of their text-books, of which Palma's Church His-
tory arrested my attention. The different years have
catnerate^ or ranges of chambers, assigned them ; somfr-

■H

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346

Memorials of

times, however, two years are put together, so that the
camcrate vary from six to seven. The younger years are
in one large hall, where each has his little dormitory at
the side, and a table and bookcase in the hall. The
more advanced have each their room. A prefiect pre-
sides over each catneraia — one of the more advanced
students in Theology. Lecturers come in to prelect on
the various subjects, and, in some cases, students from
other Colleges — as the Irish — are admitted to these
lectures. There are two annual examinations — the
last occupying more than a week — conducted in writing ;
and these being all successfully passed, (priest's) orders
are conferred. For D. D. a different ordeal is under-
gone. The daily hours are such as these : — Rise at
half-past five ; chapel at six ] breakfast at seven \ study
from half-past seven to half-past eight; lectures, half-
past eight ; at hall-past ten study again ; dinner at half-
past eleven, preceded by a quarter of an hour's exami-
nation of conscience in chapel; after dinne/, conversation
and recreation for an hour ; then, one to three, study ;
two hours' walk before the Ave Maria; five to eight,
study ; then supper, conversation, and all to bed by ten.
Thus they have nine hours' study, including lectures.
The scholastic year lasts from November to August,
with a few holidays interspersed, and every Thursday.
In August they relax, and in September go to a country
seat they have at Frascati, where they spend very
happily six weeks of summer. I was introduced to
Chinese, Armenians, Turks, Syrians, Africans, etc. etc.
All seemed happy and united, and pervaded with
courtesy. We saw the refectory, where all take meals
together, substantial and plain; also some smaller
libraries, but had not time on this occasion to see the

John Mackintosh.

347

great library and museum. Their own libraries seemed
well supplied. I made the acquaintance of two Scottish

students ; who recited on Sunday, and whose

hearty Highland accent and loving expression took me
very much. They both invited me to come and see
them, which I offered to do, informing them, of course,
that I was Protestant I was anxious to know of some
history of this great institution ; but none such appears
to be published. Their own records are most complete.
Every student who goes out as missionary must write
them at least once a year, and he is answered. The Col-
lege was founded by Urban viii. in 1627, and San Carlo
Boromeo drew up its first rules : the wealth is very great
A Jesuit, by a Papal bull, must always be its rector.

^Jan. 19. — At nine Archdeacon Hodson called, and
we went together to the Jewish synagogue, after look-
ing through their different schools in the Catalonian,
where Mr. Consolo had trysted me. A very fine-looking
Rabbi fi"om Jerusalem, was present in Rabbinical
vestments. The law and the prophets chanted. Some
psalms well sung by all present, and prayers, during
which all turned towards Jerusalem. The decorum
greater than I expected. Many venerable men were
there, and all respectable-looking. Wore white scarf,
with fringe attached to Jewish dress, according to
Numbers xv., but since their dispersion it is transferred
to the robe of service. As the Bible was borne in pro-
cession to the tabernacle, all kissed the cloth which
enveloped it during its passage. At the close of the
service the leaders placed the younger, and the younger
their juniors, laying their hands on their head, and after
kissing their hands. The Hebrew Bibles were mostly
printed in London. After the service we went to look

•fi

'Mk

I; "

348

Memorials of

I ;h

at the portico of Octavia and theatre of Marcellus under
the Ghetto. Then returned with Mr. Console to a house
in the street bordering the Tiber, where the rite of
circumcision was to be performed. After much chant-
ing in the room where the mother and infant lay, or
rather sat up, in bed, and many males and females were
assembled, the infant was brought to a cushion near
the window, supported on the knees of two young men.
The painful rite was then performed, the infant appa-
rently being slightly drugged to prevent excess of suffer-
ing. The instruments were simple. The name of
Hezekiah Reuben was then given, and a short prayer
read by an attendant Rabbi. The whole service brought
vividly to mind many deeply interesting circumstances
of Scripture connected with this rite as well as Christian
analogies. On leaving, bon bom were offered us. The
friends had a slight collation.

* Sunday, Feb. 3. — Forenoon, sacrament Good even-
ing, and formed many resolutions of diligence, but espe-
cially of a life more entirely surrendced to the will and
service of God, and the love and good of my fellows j
for all which, O Lord, my sufficiency is in Thee.

^ Feb. 15. — Evening; finished Arnold's Journals of
tours. Heavenly Father, enable me to live more en-
tirely for Thee and for my neighbour. I feel deeply how
vain is any knowledge or attainment, in comparison
with love that goes out in ber.evolence and well-doing.

*Feb. 18. — An Irish farmer, whom I had formerly
met, overtook me at the Arch of Gallienus, walking
home to his farm, about five miles off on the same road j
heat very great, and dust, but air and sky delicious ; he
talked of farming, Ireland, etc. We passed the Mauso-
leum of Helena, and finally parted within sight of his

yohn Mackintosh,

349

farm, belonging to the Prince Borghese, an oasis in the
Campagna, an old tower amid a clump of pines. No>
thing could exceed the glorious splendour of the view.
The Alban hiili seemed close at hand, and I could con-
verse with Cicero at Tusculum. Praeneste and the
Tivoli line equally beautifuL The aqueducts and the
Campagna — a poem grander than was ever sung. I lay
down and surrendered myself to the ecstasy of the day
and scene. Roman history appeared a reality ; its wars,
its camps, its soldiers, its men of eloiiuence and letters,
its majestic province of "to conquer." The Roman
lines of Virgil on this, occurred to me as containing the
essence of her destiny, and given in words whose very
sound testifies to their spirit Above me, the merry
lark shouted, and by its shout increased the melancholy ;
troops of crows croaked of centuries gone by. With
difficulty I turned my face once more towards home.

''Feb. 21. — Morning to meet Mr. Chapman; then at
eleven sermon at St. Carlo ; at twelve, home, and studied
Dante ; at two, the Forum ; studied ruins at base of
Capitol. I wandered through the Convent of Ara Coeli,
the site as I should think of the Arx, and a high posi-
tion in the northern portion. Home by Coliseum ; at
six, dined with Major Inglis, and very pleasant evening.
The dear Baillie-Frasers there \ escorted them home
late. He r -minds me in appearance, habits, and other
associations, most touchingly of my father. The Lord
bless him for this resemblance !

^ Feb. 24. — At two to San Andrea, where listened to
catechizing ; much shocked at want of order among the
boys, and want of reverence in treating the sacred sub-
jects alike on part of boys and priests. How different
from our own dear Sabbath-schools! He first ques-
tioned them on the Incarnation, then on the Trinity in

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350

Memorials of

Unity, then on the Sacraments, tempting them to an-
swer with promise of bajocchi. One boy was asked the
meaning of a mystery, and if, e.g.^ there was any mystery
in a scudo. I understood him to reply, " No, for
there were never three sciidi in one;" at which the
priest was so highly tickled, that he rewarded him on
the spot. He asked them which was the most import-
ant sacrament, to which different answers were returned ;
but he admitted baptism, because it was the door to all
the rest. Tran substantiation was broadly explained to
them ; and then he asked if any one could effect this
change by repeating the necessary prayer. Could an
Emperor, could the blessed Mary ?— no, only the priest.
Who instituted the Seven Sacraments? Was it the
pretacci'i — ^no, Christ Himself. How many characters
could they have % — two, for the living and the dead (of
this last I am not quite sure). He frequently appealed
to me, and blamed the boys much for their pertness and
bad behaviour. When concluded, he came to me, and
asked if I was Protestant or Catholic, and seemed a
little staggered at my telling him the former. The ser-
vice concluded with the Litany to the Virgin. He
asked me how I was pleased ; I replied I should have
been more so had it been a prayer to Christ. " But
who gave Him birth 1 " he asked ; " do you not believe
in her eternal purity 1 " I replied, " Only in a sense."
" But the Supreme Pontiff has lately declared it, and all
he says ex cathedrd he says with the Spirit, and is there-
fore infallible." To this I demurred. " Ah ! " said he,
" Melanchthon, great Melanchthon, introduced many
heresies ', " and then he proceeded to assert that a dis-
like to the restraints of the Church on the subject of
marriage, etc., was at the bottom of his opposition. He
was an undignified^ vulgar little man, though brisk.

yohn Mackintosh,

351

One little fellow, brought into his class by his nurse,
immediately knelt before him, and folded his hands.
He laughed heartily, and raised him up, saying : " What 1
my boy, do you take me for the Pope ? " On going out,
boys, nurses, etc., came up and kissed his hand. An
urchin did the same to me two days ago, as I was
standing in the Forum, taking me, his mother said, for
a priest or teacher ! At seven to Baillie-Frasers, and
accompanied them and party to see statues in the
Vatican by torchlight. About a dozen wax candles
were ignited in a bracket, and fastened in a sort of
reflecting lantern. The effect was magnificent, and I
cannot describe the grandeur and mystery of the endless
gallery through which we ranged. We thus spent two
hours seeing the Laocoon, Apollo, Minerva, Her-
cules, etc.

* Monday, Feb. 25. — To Museum of Capitol, and
studied lower room. My special trial is, that, loving
solitude, I seem nowhere and seldom to find it. I feel,
however, that this discipline of having to renounce my
own way, is more useful than probably all the thoughts
and reflections that solitude might breed. I therefore
at times can bless God for the trial, and desire to have
my will merged in His more habitually. The Greek
basso relievos, and the old fresco paintings int'^ rested,
delighted me exceedingly; home by the Esquiline and
the sweet grove there, attached, I believe, to the Con-
vent of St. Francesco e Paolo, where all the birds of
Rome seem to unite for their evening song. Evening,
read Dante, Gell, and prepared for tour to country of
the -^neid to-morrow, starting (d.v.) by steamer for
Ostia afcsix A.M. My Father, shield me from all danger,
and bless it to me in body and mind.

I'tl ii'.'il

35^

Memorials

CHAPTER XI\

Tour to the country of the .Sneid — Church and Convent of St Onufrir-
— Visit to the CoUegio Romano — Raphael's Picture of the Trans-
figuration — ^The Jews — Love of Truth — Last Letter from Rome-
Tour to Naples : Vesuvius — Baia — Puzzuoli — Sorrento — ^A Sabbath
at the Monastery of Monte Casino— Sudden Attack of Illness-
Leaves Rome.

* Wednesday^ Feb. 27 . — The banks of the Tiber are now
bare enough, with here and there glades of wood ; yet
I enjoyed the sail profoundly, from its associations, and
read some of the iEneid, which I carried in my pocket.

* Ostia stands some two miles inland. The traces of
ruins were abundant, standing up among the sprouting
com, whose very soil is formed by their mouldering.
One temple still remains in considerable preservation,
with quantities of marble slabs, and capitals scattered
round. The sight was affecting. A castle and very
small hamlet attached, constitutes the whole of modern
Ostia. The woods between this and the mouth of the
river looked most attractive beneath the glowing sky,
and might have been such as Virgil has described in the
landing of the Trojans.

*From Ostia, I made for Castel Fusano — a villa be-
longing to the Chigi family, and embedded in a delicious
forest of pines, and other stately trees. Passing the
mansion, I followed a road to the coast, as Torre
Patemo, the next object of my search, lay upon the
beach, and could be more certainly found in this man-
ner. Nothing could exceed the beauty of the Mediter-

' '' ' i.

yohn Mackintosh*

353

ranean, or my joy in walking along so close that its
billows laved my feet. Some six miles brought me to
the ancient tower, attached to a farm-house, which is
supposed to mark the site of the ancient Laurentium.
A coast-guard station is also here; and finding the
deputy superintending a group of picturesque fishermen,
who were landing their nets, I was conducted by him to
the farm-house, and there entertained most hospitably
on bread, wine, eggs, and cheese, for which all remunera-
tion was steadfastly refused by the worthy farmer.

* From this point, Pratica was visible at the distance
of some seven miles, standing on a commanding emin-
ence and separated from us by a macchia or copse
forest. Knowing the difficulty of finding a path through
such a country, I again took the beach, being assured
that when about four miles on, at a ruined castle of the
Borghese, 1 should find a road leading straight to
Pratica. Night was closing in, and the sun had just
set, when I reached this tower. The next coast-guard
tower, to which I had also been recommended as a
shelter for the night, appeared in sight ; but I resolved
to try and make for Pratica. After wandering long
through the forest, following uncertain paths, and at
length commg upon an extensive marsh, I thought it
prudent to retrace my steps, if possible ; and, guided
by the noise of the sea, succeeded, to my great joy, in
regaining its shores. I then pushed on by the solemn
star-light until I reached the tower, just as the moon
way rising in the east. I entered and explained my
wishes. The deputy, with his wife and family crowded
into two little rooms, could do little for my lodging,
but the corporal and his soldiers agreed to give me one
In tlieii barrack. Meanwhile, the worthy couple made

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me welcome to what supper they had — eggs, bread,
wine, sausage almonds — so that I came off pretty well.
The conversation flowed pleasantly and freely, and in
due time I retired.

* Thursday, Feb. 28. — My bed was one of three in the
soldiers' barrack-room. Clean sheets were spread on
it; but ere five minutes elapsed, I was attacked by
legions. The situation was not pleasant, and being in
the room with others, I could not be so free in my move-
ments ; however, the greater part of the night I sat by
my bedside in great agony, and occasionally lay down
upon it in greater. Towards five in the morning I
ascended to the top of the tower, and there sat down
enjoying the balmy air — the moonlight on the water,
and the dim expanse of country so renowned in ancient
story. At daybreak I washed, and was regaled by my
hostess with some famous coffee ; for which, as for last
night's entertainment, all remuneration was refused.
Then bade them farewell, gave the soldier a trifle, and
took the road for Pratica. ' ^ '•' '

* Nothing could exceed the beauty of the lawns and
woods, gilded by the morning light, and fresh with dew
that spread along this coast, and extended upwards to-
wards Pratica. Situated on its eminence, it was easily
made for. A ravine on either side, richly cultivated,
forms a tongue of land, on part of which stands the
present village — some few filthy houses surmounted by
a tower and castle, belonging to the Prince Borghese.
The ancient town must have covered all this previously.
I skirted the town, and descended into the ravine,
which meets another also richly wooded, and which, at
right angles to the former, stretches beautifully to the
sea. Leaving this Lavinium — the grandmother so to

yohn Mackintosh*

ZSS

speak of Rome — I directed my steps towards Ardea,
passing through some pleasant watered valleys, making
iny seven miles nine by a needless detour. On the way
I rested at a grand butter-dairy, belonging to the Prince
Cesarini, where the milk of some thousand cows is
churned and sent to Rome. Ardea, which I also
latterly approached by the Roman road, is very strik-
ingly situated on a bold rocky hill, with a ravine on
either side, and connected with the high ground behind
by a narrow isthmus, so as to be rather a peninsula
than an island. In general appearance it was not
unlike the Aventine. It is still walled all round, and I
should think, the walls were of some antiquity ; though
a priest assured me this was not really the ancient Ardea.
Be this as it may, the situation as corresponding with
the name, is very striking. The modem little town
covers little of the enclosed space. The view of the
Alban hills was unspeakably touching and attractive;
for so they must have appeared in ancient days, when
the Roman army lay in siege before it, on the eve of the
expulsion of Superbus, and afterwards when it became the
scene of many deeds of prowess. But, of course, Tumus
and his Rutuli were here chiefly present to my mind.

'From Ardea I followed an excellent road to the
shore, which I reached at Forte Lorenzo, consequently
about twelve miles from Porto d'Anzio. I again had
some bread and wine at a large dairy establishment,
where they make frutto di latte out of buffalo's milk —
it is also for the Roman market. Following the coast,
I could not resist the pleasure of bathing in the smiling
waters. This on the last day of February, and how
delicious ! I then pursued my solitary way, until
towards sunset; I passed another fort — the last that

1'" ,

I "f

! \

.*-

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Memorials of

separated me from Porto d'Anzio. The coast here began
to present a rocky appearance, instead of the usual
sand-line that separated it from the fields. Long after
dusk, when I thought I should now be near my haven,
but saw no lights, my course was suddenly interrupted
by the sea coming close up to the base of the rocks,
and dashing against them and their toppled boulders.
As I was unable to scale the cliffs, and trusted in the
dark this interruption might only be casual, owing to
high water, I took off my boots, and boldly walked in.
"^oon, however, the water reached my waist; it was
necessary to hold my coat in the air to keep its pocket-
fuls dry, and I stumbled over the rocks, and got into
holes not a little alarming. I had already proceeded a
good way ; but thought it prudent to return, which I did
with difficulty. Then putting on my shoes, and shivering
with wet and cold, retraced my steps, very thankful that
I had come by no more than a ducking in my rashness.
*The thoughts of Porto d'Anzio — a good inn, food
and sleep, were gradually receding from my vision, when
I espied a point where I thought the rocks might be
scaled. I attempted and succeeded, and found myself
immediately on a delicious sward, without macchia or
underwood, and so paced on rapidly in the right direc-
tion. Soon the welcome lights gleamed before me. I
passed a cottage whence voices proceeded, and, on
entering, found a party of young vine-dressers gathered
near a blazing fire, and making their evening meal on a
hxgQ polenta cake to which they invited me. The most
grateful news was that Porto d'Anzio was close at hand,
and one of them accompanied me, and set me on the
track. Nothing has struck me more than the superi-
ority of character on this coast to what I have hitherto

yohn Mackintosh.

357

met in the beaten road of the Roman States. As I de-
scended on Porto d'Anzio, the effect was magical. A
light gleamed at the extremity of the modem harbour ;
directly opposite was what at first appeared a magnifi-
cent Bude light, and for such I took it ; until its slow
ascent and silver sheen upon the waters revealed the
queen of heaven, thus lowered for a moment to hold
fellowship with earth.

* The first person I accosted was mine host, other-
wise Neapolitan consul, who conducted me to his superb
hotel, whilome the Palazzo Albano ; had there a cheer-
ful fire kindled in the splendid hall, sent me dry clothes
and ordered supper, during the preparation of which I
regaled myself on the balcony, gazing on the sea heav-
ing its quiet murmur, interrupted for a time by the Mal-
tese hymn, chanted by some fishermen, ere they retired
to rest. The stillness, the beauty, the poetry of the
scene can never be effaced, while all that made Antium
famous in days of yore passed before my mind, and my
thoughts ended with those grander themes, that the
moon, and the stars, and the ocean awaken, as forming
a link to us with the invisible world.

* I retired to a comfortable bed, with feelings of love
and gratitude incommunicable.

^Friday, March i. — After breakfast sallied forth to
hunt for ruins, if such there were. Realized very vividly
the famous events which happened here — the rostra
captured from the ships and carried to the Forum — the
flight and afterwards death of Coriolanus, and more re-
cently the birth and residence of Nero. I thought I
could make out the probable precincts ot the fortifica-
tions. On following it to the rocky coast, I came upon
vast fragments and remains of walls and palaces, caves

35^

Memorials of

\ and brickwork, in many places fallen entire into the sea.
On one spot, near the present port, marble pillars, capi-
tals, and pavements had been laid open, telling of some
temple or imperial palace. The mole of Nero is still
very entire ; and indeed the present quay seems to stand
on another mole or breakwater equally ancient The
chapel, and greater part of the houses of the present
port, stand on this. The views over the sea, of Ischia
in the distance; nearer, Monte Felice, the old pro-
montory of Circe, behind which is Gaeta; the lofty
continuation of the Apennines, not visible from Rome,
with the Pontine marshes between them and the sea ;
Nettuno on its striking knoll, about a mile along the
coast from Porto d'Anzio ; all these objects were lovely
and delightful.

*At four o'clock I set oflF for a twenty-two miles'
walk, over an unknown country to an unknown town —
the evening was lovely. My way ascended through a
long macchiay and so continued until night closed in.
My thoughts were all the while actively and happily
employed. At long intervals I would pass a hamlet;
the night air made walking easy, and the stars were
never-failing company and food for meditation. Several
times, as I advanced on my path, I made inquiries
at the cottages, exciting in them much alarm, till I
was seen; and then being dismissed with a warning
against the numerous robbers in the country. How-
ever, I felt no fear.

* My pleasure, these past days, and the way in which I
have been allowed to achieve my plan, without accident
or interruption, filled my heart with gratitude, and I was
now lying down to sleep not far from the site of Alba
Longa.

hull

yohn Mackintosh,

359

* Saturday, March 2. — After breakfast walked through
town, and ascended to Albano Lake, about half a mile
off. Its beauty charmed me, with Monte Cari over-
hanging ; Rocca del Papa on its farther side, and
Castel Gandolfo on this. The russet tinge of the still
bewintered trees had a fine effect, and altogether I
thought I had seen nothing yet so thoroughly Italian.
Read Virgil by banks of lake ; then by Castel Gandolfo
to Appian Way, which I traced back to Rome — a dis-
tance of about eleven miles. At the Albano end, some
portions of the side parapets were very entire ; the
monuments, more than a hundred in number, lined the
whole road. Towards dark I once more entered Rome
—very weary, but very grateful and happy.

* March 9. — At three, to the church and convent of
St Onufrio, beautifully .situated on one of the highest
points of the Janiculum. In the church Tasso is buried,
and there is a simple inscription. The room where he
died is also shown, and many relics, chair, writing-stand,
girdle, autograph, letter and crucifix ; a mirror, and an
exact cast of his head after death. In the garden, which
commands a magnificent view of Rome, stands the
trunk of a superb oak called Tasso's, but which was
blown down by a hurricane in 1842. Tasso was fifty
when he died here in April 1595, after having been
fifteen days in the convent.

^Saturday, March 16. — Good view of Ghetto from
the island. The current of the river breaks against the
houses, whose appearance is most squalid. Some Jewish
children were playing in a sort of verandah high up over
the river, and many females were visible at the windows.
How diffierent this from the lakes, and mountains, and
jpleasant .vallejs of Palestine* where they might be

< Mi

; Of

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Memorials of

inhabiting beneath a delicious sky, and amid fresh
odoriferous breezes ! Lord, hasten their return, for
the fathers' sake, for Thy dear Son's sake, for the
Church's sake !

^ March 20. — Went to the Collegio Romano, and
heard a lecture on dogmatic theology, the subject being
the irresistibility of God's will denied, against the
Calvinists. He adduced repeated instances from Old
Testamen: to prove how God's will in certain points
was averted by man's sin. Then met the texts of the
Calvinists as in Romans ix., where he found Calvin
guilty of misinterpretation : " who hath resisted His will"
was said, he declared, not by the apostle, but by his
adversary. (Surely Calvin does not rest one of his
proofs on this.) The lecture was in good Latin, and
spoken without notes and with great fluency, even rising
to impassioned vehemence. The Professor was Pas-
saglia, a very intellectual, dark, shrewd-looking man.
The audience, composed of students from various col-
leges, numbered about sixty, generally of intelligent
appearance. After the lecture many remained to argue
the subject among themselves.

'■March 22. — Went at eight morning to hear thesis
disputed at Collegio Romano. The student occupied
the pulpit, a professor presiding at his side, while some
professors and dignitaries sat in front on either side
between the pulpit and the disputants. The thesis
being read out, one of the disputants started his argu-
ments against it, while the other had to refute them,
supporting the thesis. In this he was copiously assisted
by the presiding professor, for otherwise he would have
fared ill. The first subject, in reference to the necessity
of grace, or the supernatural aid pf the Spirit of God in

fresh

I, for

and

thesis
cupied
some
side
thesis
argu-
them,
ssisted
have
cessity
od in

yo/m Mackintosh,

361

conversion, holy living, and perseverance. The second
was or e nature and essence of God, whether our
knowledti,o of Him is immediate or deductive. Lastly,
but for this I did not wait, was disputed the right of the
Church to an independent jurisdiction. The various
heads of the separate theses were most interesting,
though not at all taken up, and I tried to procure a
copy of the whole. The students did well, but not
remarkably.

* To the Picture Gallery ; and, oh ! the Transfigura-
tion! I found it impossible not to weep, having
never read one word about it, but just surrenderirtg
myself to its own effect. Our Lord's figure — how
sublime! — what serenity, what peace, what a heaven
about Him, in Him ! what graciousness and benignity !
I have seen no conception more satisfactory ; not, how-
ever, that it is so, by any means. Moses and Elias are
pretty good as to conception ; two others, on the Mount,
I could not explain, till I find that they are a base com-
pliance with the selfish wish of some cardinal — a patron
of the fine arts, and man of taste forsooth ! The apostles
are excellent, and characteristic. The scene below, for
contrast and effect, inimitable. Of course it is strictly
true to the Scripture account, and literally taken from it,
though Lanzi and others look upon it as a happy idea
of Raphael's, and wholly misinterpret it. The friends
of the possessed are disappointed and indignant that the
disciples cannot cure their child. The apostles them-
selves are surprised and vexed at their failure. The
father's countenance eagerly expresses this, and so ^o
theirs — according to the narrative — "Lord, why could
not we cast him out?" The possessed child is admir-
ably done; and the countenances, expression, colouring,

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Memorials of

and effect of the whole, matchless. It is undoubtedly
to my mind the greatest picture I have ever seen ; and
its history, when known, greatly enhances this feeling of
.pathetic interest. ' "

^ March 25. — After breakfast determined to go to
Veil At three started, and took the path across the
fields. Joined a brook called Fossa de' dui fossi, and
pursuing it came suddenly in sight of the striking citadel.
This brook with its wooded valley joins another larger
one still more romantic, and on the tongue of elevated
ground was formed stout Veii. The site of the old
town, now chiefly occupied by a vineyard, I examined
thoroughly without seeing a vestige of those remains
mentioned by Sir W. Gell. The view down the Creivera
and over the adjacent country is however exquisite.
Descending from the heights I crossed the Fossa, and
followed the lovely banks of the Creivera for about a
mile, imagining for myself the position of the Roman
Camp, and the settlements of the Fabii.

* April 5. — Lord, give me to live in the sunshine ot
Thy favour, and in continual dependence on Thee. My
mercies, how many, and how undeserved !

^ April 7. — My great want here is intimate, social,
Christian communion. My soul longs for this, especially
when I am feeble in body and spirit, and need some
such stimulus. In Thine own time, O Lord, restore me
to it; meanwhile make Thy presence all-sufficient
When Thou sayest, "Seek my face," may my heart
respond, " Thy face, Lord, will I seek !"

^ April 13. — Letter to-day from Mr. Wingate. Tne
London Society have granted a case of Bibles to the
Jews of Rome. I have also raised, through the liberality
of friends, money for their temporal wants.*

oubtedly
en ; and
eeling of

3 go to

TOSS the
bssi, and
y citadel,
er larger
elevated

the old
ixamined

remains
Creivera
exquisite.
)ssa, and

about a

Roman

shine ot
ie. My

social,
pecially
d some
tore me
Ifficient.
heart

Tne

to the
kerality

y^oAn Mackintosh.

2fil

The readers of the Letters and Journals written by
John Mackintosh while he resided in Rome, must have
noticed the free and truthful spirit with which he
examined the principles and practices of the Roman
Catholic Church — not as described in books merely,
but as exhibited in all their living reality, in the worship,
institutions, and life of that Church in 'the centre of
Christendom,' beneath the eye, and under the immediate
government of its visible, * infallible' head.

The boldness and manly frankness with which Mack-
intosh met the various forms of human thought and
belief which presented themselves to him from time to
time in his intercourse with mankind, was not that of
one who is either indifferent to the claims of positive
truth, or ignorant of the terrible dangers to the soul
from error. His was the courage which the conscious
love of truth, and the possession at least of that measure
of it which is essential to life eternal, can alone inspire :
for what he held fast as part of his very being, was the
knowledge of Jesus Christ as God manifest in the flesh,
and of Him crucified — Christ y»r us and in us ; and his
'religion' was personal love to this Saviour, more than
to all else in the universe — a love which increased itself
by daily intercourse with the Living One in earnest
devotion; by a habitual listening to His voice; and
by strict obedience to His will. With this light of love
to God, and therefore to man — guided by 'knowledge'
and 'judgment,' he examined with reverence whatever
claimed his faith as belonging to the truth. He ' tried
the things that differed,' and ' the spirits whether they
were of God,' and the consequence was, that his pos-
session of what was true became more firm and real;
while his knowledge of the subtleties and power of error

'^.

= .!ii

ill

ill"

1 i'

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Memorials of

awakened in him but keener sympathies for the well-
being of those who were entangled in its meshes.

One well able to judge of his character, who became
acquainted with Mackintosh while in Rome, but who
differed with him widely upon points of ecclesiastical
government and discipline, writes to me of him thus : —
* I thought his character a singularly pleasing one, both
from his Christian simplicity and purity, and from the
manly spirit of inquiry and active investigation with
which he seemed to approach every subject which
claimed his notice. With very strong feelings, he had,
I used to think, remarkably little prejudice ; and his dis-
position seemed always to be, to expect well of persons
and systems, and to believe charitably of them, as long
as he truthfully could.'

Having examined Romanism with this spirit, the re-
sults at which he arrived as to its character and tenden-
cies as a system are the more valuable. Some of these
are expressed in the following letter, which he addressed
to me immediately before his leaving Rome : —

* Rome, April 15, 1850.

*A stave, dear Norman, ere I leave the Eternal City.
I have lingered on in hopes of seeing his Holiness
return ; and now he has come, and all that is inanimate
has hung out signs of joy ; but no Roman countenance
is enlightened, nor aught but the utmost indifference
expressed. Amid the thunders of cannon, preceded and
followed by squadrons of cavalry, with some cardinals
and ambassadors in his suite, the good old man entered
by the Lateran gate, and alighted at the steps of the
Great Basilica. I was so near him as to mark his
features well, and through them read his character —
benevolence and mildness united with weakness and

yohn Mackintosh,

3^5

indecision, betokening little the reformer of his age,
which he was once given out to be. He entered the
church and knelt reverently before the altar, receiving
the benediction of the host ; after which his cortege pro-
ceeded by the well-known papal route throughout the
entire city, to the glorious Piazza of St. Peter's. Here
he again alighted, and took part in the same ceremony
within the church. It was filled with on-lookers — St.
Peter's filled — think what a spectacle ! After this he
retired to the Vatican, and at nightfall the usually dark
and silent city was illuminated as only Italians know
how to do it. The dome of Michael Angelo, like a
heaven of light, was suspended within the dome of
Nature, now beginning to assume its summer look of
deep unfathomable blue, in which the stars are crystal-
lized. Believe me, it is something to see this ! The
Capitol, too, still lives for times of triumph. The three-
sided court which crowns it, was one refulgent blaze of
light, in which the antique statues of bronze and marble
seemed to live, and take their willing share in a Chris-
tian festival. Bands of music filled the air with notes ol
joy and melody ; and all was merry, save the Romans.
To-night a repetition of the same ; to-morrow also. In
one word, all classes are deeply discontented ; but for
the Pope and Popery, I don't think it matters one jot.
They are a silly folk these Romans ; they look like men,
but are in fact mere children. They are uneducated —
the best of them (not their fault, no doubt), and know
nothing of their own history except the few traditions
that have come down to them, and nothing of what has
gone on in Europe for the last thousand years ; so that
it seems to them as if but yesterday the Caesars were
masters of the universe. They have the same vanity as

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Memorials of

their predecessors, perhaps the same ambition, the same
dishonesty, the same avarice ; but Providence has willed
that the informing spirit should forsake them; and a
pitiable set they are, therefore, to all intents and pur-
poses. I confess I have been among no people who
grew upon me less through acquaintance. Generosity
and disinterestedness seem to them unknown. They
have no domestic hearths — no home — ^no heart All
along, their civic broils and feuds had no power seriously
to affect the Popedom ; and so, I suppose, it will con-
tinue usque adfinem.

* I shall say nothing in this letter of the mighty past,
l)ut confine myself to a few remarks on what has passed
^before my eyes, illustrative of Romanism. So manifold,
however, have been the subjects of study crowded into
one short winter, that I do not feel satisfied with the
time and opportunities I have been able to have, in
order to acquaint myself with such a vast subject. It
was very different at Geneva. The book-knowledge of
the system may be learned anywhere ; so it, too, I shall
waive \ it will be enough to notice her ritual ceremonies,
and apparent influence upon the people. I am disap-
pointed with the former, striking as they often are ; for
how can forms, multiplied and carried into detail, im-
press one who has understood, in some measure, the
grandeur and simplicity of spiritual worship, and been
taught, that such, under the new economy, the Father
seeks % In one word, their Christmas ceremonies, their
Easter ceremonies, nay their daily ceremonies, may have
something in them which, when explained and studied,
commends itself as beautiful in the desiga The aesthe-
tic man is pleased with it as with many other exquisite
human contrivances ; but once let the heaven-touched

yohn Mackintosh,

367

spirit take wing, and ascend into the empyrean, where
it ought to worship, and all this apparatus is cast aside
like a harness that would impede instead of aiding. The
Romish Church wishes to destroy individualism, or, at
least, to keep it in abeyance ; it is a grand Socialistic
system. Christianity, on the other hand, begins with
individuals, appeals to each apart by all that is most
solemn, and labours to make him in earnest about himself.
The Romish Church says, " Unite yourself to me, and
through me (and me alone) to Christ" Christianity says,
" Unite yourself to Christ, and through Him (and Him
alone) to one another and the Church." I believe that
this transposition expresses one of the cardinal aberra-
tions of Romanism, and one of the most fatal The con-
science once given over to the body, it is almost hopeless
to move that slumbering contented soul, and make it in
earnest about the way of salvation, or that change of
heart and nature which the Bible calls the "new creature."
Oh ! the callousness — oh ! the satisfaction in belonging
to the Church — oh ! the neglect and violation of Christian
duties that prevail everjnvhere in consequence of this
system 1 It is not exaggerated what is said about the
Mariolatry of Italy. Except in the mass (where He is
not), Christ is seldom brought before their eyes ; the
Virgin for ever ! The idea seems somewhat of this
kind, that being a woman, and a mother, she is more,
accessible to mankind, and more open to pity than her
sterner Son, with whom she has boundless influence.
Now, this idea they are taught to entertain in every
possible way; and what can be more awful, more
hideously contrary to Scripture ? Close to one of the
principal entrances to Rome, is this text upon a church
•^" Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of Mary^

■.m

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Memorials of

that we may obtain mercy to pardon, and grace to help
in time of need," — as if it so ran in Scripture. Ma-
donnas fill the churches. Is a miracle of conversion or
healing performed? it is by her instrumentality — ^per-
haps by her statue or picture. The rude sailors on the
coast are taught to look upon her as the Star of the Sea
{Stella Maris), and invoke her always in the time of
tempest ; and in the hour of death she is the stay.
Now, this of itself precludes all further patience with the
Church of Rom*. Apart from her indulgences, her
doctrine of merits, her invocation of saints, founded on
a splendid enough theory of the unity of the Church
militant and triumphant, and their intercourse through
the Head — apart also from her frauds, her idle monks,
her sacrifice of the mass, and transubstantiation, her
presumptuous claims, her suppression of knowledge of
the Scriptures, and generally of true spiritual life — oh !
it is a system of which the only thing that staggers me
is the enormity and wide-spread delusion. I cannot un-
derstand such masses of excellent intelligent men often
being "given over to believe a lie;" and this marvel
forces me again and again to ask if I understand them
fully — if there is nothing behind, which, from my educa-
tion, I cannot appreciate ; or if I am not mistaken in
many of my conceptions of them % Yet, after all, my
impression is that the multitude even of priests are very
ignorant \ that long habit and indolence of mind have
warped their religious sense ; that a few, however, but
comparatively the few, know what they are about, and
yield to system, the result of contrivance, and often of
natural human aberration to ambitious purposes, not of
tliemselves, but of their order; for Socialism is the
base of the Catholic idea. There is a deal of preach-

John Mackintosh,

369

ing at Rome — of a ready, fluent, commonplace order,
which generally leaves the conscience and heart very
much where it found them. How morals are to spring
up without regular preaching, and without the written
rule, would be a puzzle, were it not that the fruits cor-
respond with the cultivation. The devotional powers
are morbidly exercised, the moral lie waste. I have
not had much intercourse with the priests \ but a good
deal with students of different colleges, whom I like
and regret Poor fellows 1 they are generally free as
yet of that sinister stamp they will infallibly acquire.
Their studies and habits of life are all consummately
arranged for producing the desired effect I have not
been much impressed with the intelligence of those I
have met with. They are always lectured to in Latin ;
and be it in college, or be it from the pulpit. Protestant-
ism is the grand bugbear before their eyes, being far
more upon their lips than ever Popery is on ours.

* I cannot learn that anything permanent has been
done at Rome during the commotions. I cannot learn
that among the clergy there is anywhere a disposition to
Protestantism ; or among the people, more than a hatred
of the priests, and for their sakes, of Romanism. And
now the door is closed, that nothing short of a miracle
could open it Still, there is ample room for conversing
with the people individually on religion, as well as other
matters ; and in travelling through the country, I hope,
by God's grace, to do so more than I have yet done;
but when the fundamental ideas have been corrupted, it
is like speaking to the air, which receives all you say,
but loses it through vagueness. I have had some inter-
esting interviews with Jews, and been made the means
of getting their community a grant of Bibles from the

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Memorials of

London Society, and some temporal aid from the Eng-
lish at Rome ; for which I bless God. And here, dear
Norman, my stupid yam must end, for it is late and I
am weary.

' I'm off on Monday on foot to Naples. I have made
excursions round this of surpassing interest I have
given weeks of hard labour to the wonderful Vatican
galleries, besides other museums, villas, churches,
palaces innumerable. I think my ideas of art have got a
lift, and all I want is time to compare my own 'rrjpres-
sions with those of others who have studied and written
on the subject I have seen much, read much, and
thought much ; and now I am fagged, and not unwilling
to be off, always expecting to take a farewell hug of
Rome on my way back. Immortal Queen ! exalted on
her own calm throne, let those modem fellows kick
and bluster as they please. Ah ! think not that my
thoughts are concentrated here, though all this time not
one word of Dalkeith or home; but these are holy
names, and embalmed where no fogs can ever reach
them. No land like fatherland ; tio associations equal
to its. Think of you ? yes, and yearn to see you, dear,
dear Norman. How your face would put to shame a
swarm of those Southrons, and make my very heart
skip ! God willing, that day is drawing near. Love to
the Doctor, your mother, and all. Kiss for me the dust
of Scotland. All news, the tiniest, will be gloriously
welcome. How is the parish ? How is your corpora-
tion, or, as my brother Sandy used to call it technically,
the old cylinder 1 So you've had Achilli among you !
I wonder what he really is 1 An American has been
allowed to open a Presbyterian place of worship here,
which is wonderful. He is a good man, and good

■J I

i Eng-

e, dear

and I

e made
I have
Vatican
lurches,
ve got a
'vrjpres-
[ written
ich, and
mwilling
I hug of
:alted on
)ws kick
that my
Itime not
e holy
ir reach
is equal
►u, dear,
ihame a
heart
Love to
le dust
[oriously
lorpora-
inically,
ig you !
IS been
lip here,
d good

^o/in Mackintosh,

37^

preacher, and aims at being useful to the Italians.
There are floods of lay Americans too, who come across
with every tide, and see Rome in eight days, and then
Naples, and then Palestine, and get back again as they
came, without learning to speak except through their
nose, or to love an aristocracy. They are a strange
race. Good-night, dear. You do not forget me in
your prayers, and may believe in the attachment of
your affectionate J. M.'

He left Rome, as he purposed, for Naples, and per-
formed the journey on foot, accompanied by a young
clergyman of the Church of England, the Rev. Hastings
Gordon. They reached Naples in a weeic, and he
says —

* Xhus has one week ended, and the prospect of re-
pose is grateful How many mercies have we expe-
rienced, how much happiness at the time, and in store
against the future 1 Lord, add to all the gift of grateful
hearts !'

For three weeks he made Naples his head-quarters ;
thence making excursions, chiefly on foot, to Pompeii,
Vesuvius, Baise, Paestum, and the other well-knowi>
scenes of beauty in that magnificent land. His Journal
is full of expressions of the delight he experienced during
these excursions.

* Apn/ 30. — (Vesuvius.) — I pushed on for Assina, and
then took the hill, the way lying at first among rich
vineyards. I was dunned by guides wishing to accom-
pany me. One fellow actually stuck to me, bargaining
for carlini or a bottelea as far as the Hermitage. I
found the only plan was to take no earthly notice of
him. The heat was very great Crossed a vast sheet

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Memorials of

or avalanche of lava, which bears direct from the summit
to Portici or Herculaneum. I reached the hermitage
at 12.30, and found my party had been there an hour
before. The lunch was spread in the garden. Mr.
Rodewald and I set off immediately for the ascent, and
taking ponies. The tug began at the base of the cone.
I long stoutly refused the aid of a rope, which is held
while th€*guide goes before. To force me into submis-
sion, however, I think they kept longer on the yielding
soil than was necessary, and I was obliged to give
in. Soon, however, we got upon the edge of the lava
current, but I noticed lower down the task was com-
paratively easy. Poor Mr. Rodewald required much
persuasion to proceed, and was finally borne upon the
shoulders of the guides. We reached the top ere I
thought we were half way up, and amid the flying mists.
Its appearance disappointed me. A few steps brought
us to the lip of the crater, whence at intervals we got a
glimpse down some hundred feet or more into the black-
ness and smoke and wizened rocks that line it The
smell of sulphur was stifling. Ever and anon the wind
blew gusts of smoke and heated air into our faces and
nostrils. All the rocks were crusted with red and yel-
low, while smoke and steam issued at every pore. After
all, however, I was not awed. I do not know why ;
but our feelings are often unaccountable. The view
over the vale beneath towards Pompeii was fine, and
the progress and termination of the last lava stream
striking,

* Wednesday^ May i. — Baiae bewitched me ; it was
now evening, and the mellow air, the still sea, the noble
panorama of the Sorrento hills, with Vesuvius opposite,
overtopping the promontory of Posilipo, Puzzuoli in

yohn Mackintosh,

yiz

the foreground — all soothed, moved, and filled me with
delight. I sat long on the terrace of the Uttle inn, quaff-
ing a delicious wine of Ischia, which they are pleased to
call Falemian, aud surrendering myself to the spirit of
the place. I even made inquiries if I could spend the
night there, although the morrow had its own work to
look after. Finally, however, I tore myself away, having
seen the various temples and ruins ; but not Misenum,
nor the several objects of antiquity that lie beyond
Baiae. Non omnes omnia possunt At about half-past
six I took the road for Puzzuoli, still spell-bound ; passed
the Lucrine lake, separated from the sea as of old by
embankments, and consecrated to fish, if not to oyster-
beds. Ere I reached Puzzuoli it was dark, and the lights
that glimmered on sea and coast, the peasants returning
from their toil, the occasional peal of bells, made me
little regret the darkness. At Puzzuoli I got a car, and
while it was making ready, swallowed some eggs and
macaroni — my only diet since breakfast ; then home by
half-past nine again, traversing the tunnel, instead of the
road by the promontory, which, had it been day-time, I
should have done. My mistake has been in starting too
late, considering the heat of the day. I have omitted
some things which I should have seen ; and had no
time to read, on the spot, St Paul's landing at Puteoli,
and Virgil's panegyric on the harbour and lake, which
yet were fresh in my memory. Nevertheless, I mark
the day with a mark of the whitest chalk, and should
I wish it, never never could forget its deep profound
enjoyment ! '

In a small pocket memorandum-book I found written
in pencil the following diary : —

* Sorrento t Sunday ^ May 5. — My former memorandum-

Su'-M

374

Memorials of

book, hallowed by many entries at places of note or
beauty, from Geddes to Florence, was, alas ! stolen from
me at Rome November last. Since then I have had no
heart to begin another. I felt it like the loss of a child.
Ostia, Lavinium, Ardea, Antium, Veii, are thus names
which shall never in after years awaken recollections
from memoranda made on the spot, any more than the top
of the hill of Urchany, that memorable June — Champel,
Zurich, or a hundred other holy places.

* Sorrento awakens once more the long silent emotions
of my heart I yearned for a Sunday here, and have
found it all I could desire. The sweet peace of this
morning ; the melody of church bells issuing on all sides
from the midst of orange groves ; the view opposite of
Naples, and its Camaldoli, Vesuvius to the right, Miseno,
Baise, and Ischia to the left, Posilipo, and possibly
Puteoli, where Paul landed — all these are pleasant to the
eye, suggestive to the mind. My thoughts have realized
more powerfully than usual past times of Roman history;
but chiefly has the mellow air and the warm sunshine
carried them back to the time of youth and childhood,
awakening within me gratitude and love, and replenish-
ing the heart with those living waters, without which
what is life 1

* I write this on a terrace, on which my window opens.
I am all alone in a very cleanly, even elegant, yet un-
pampered hotel, where great lords and great signors do
not appear to come ; and therefore there is moderation
arri contentment O for the certainty — I have the pre-
sentiment and the desire — that all I now see and do may
conduce to my usefulness in the Lord's vineyard. My
Saviour ! lead me ; and whatever comes from Thy hand
must be good.'

yohn Mackintosh,

Z1S

On the loth of May he left Naples, along with his
friend Mr. Gordon, to return again on foot to Rome.
They had both reached the Benedictine Monastery of
Monte Casino, where they spent a quiet and happy
Sabbath.

^ Sunday y May 12. — Sweet sleep and gracious quiet.
Retired for short time, and at twelve were summoned to
dinner in the common hall — a large bleak one, where
the whole household were assembled. Padre Caravita
and we had a separate little table. The dinner was plain
but substantial; the Fathers certainly a more refined
and intellectual order than one generally sees. After
dinner our padre took us to the cafe or lounge of the
good monks, conducting to a terrace over the entrance-
court, which they call the Paradise, from the fineness of
its view westward and southward. Monte Cairo snow-
clad on the right; the Liris slowly winding to the
south-west After coffee, a walk here and conversation.
Mr. Gordon and I then set off for a Sunday stroll. A
delicious walk conducted us to what appeared to have
been a smaller convent Here, alas 1 after we had read
some of Keble, etc., the rain came on ; and we were
fain, after waiting some time under shelter, to make our
way back to the convent Vespers were by this time
just concluded (half-past three), and our host invited us
to hear one of the Fathers — a Spaniard — perform on the
organ. His selection of airs was unfortunate : Norma,
and two or three profane street tunes usually played with
the accompaniment of monkeys.

*The archives, as it were below the convent, next
awaited us. Here we saw some very ancient ms. bulls,
etc., and the strangers' books, in which we inscribed our
names. A separate one is kept for distinguished visitors,

A1 Wk

j«U|i

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Memorials of

of wht in Newman was the fifst recorded. Accompanying
the autograph he expressed his joy at having been per-
mitted to visit Monte Casino, and entreated the prayers
of the convent, from which England had of old drawn
so largely, in behalf of his countrymen— ;7'(at/« ex hceresi
expergiscentibus. The fine hand and beautiful latinity
were most characteristic ; the confidence of the tone
displeased me.

* Supper rather lighter than dinner ; finally we retired,
and in our room bade farewell to our most obliging and
courteous host, who kindly wrote his name in our memo-
randum-books, and undertook to distribute a certain
donation we made for the poor.

* Before our last interruption we enjoyed the evening
service together, and now closed the day with prayer.'

It was next day, while pursuing their journey, that
John Mackintosh received his death-wound.

^ Monday y May 13. — Rose betimes, and as soon as we
could get breakfast, started ; reached Ceprano road by
romantic path — day lovely, but very warm. About six
miles on, saw Aquino to the left At other three, reached
the apparently excellent inn of Amalfi, and rested ; then
made for Arce — a distance of five miles more. Here our
passports were viskd^ being the last station fi:om Naples,
and we reposed.

* After a violent thunder-storm, took the road for
Arpino, to the right This led us up a beautiful ascent
with charming prospects behind as well as before, many
of which recalled home, and made me speculate with in-
tense joy on my possibly soon meeting with my mother.
After some five or six miles, the main road descended
towards the left to Sora ; that to the right ascended to
Arpino,, At this point my strength greatly failed me,

It! i-

yohn Mackintosh,

377

owing probably to the broiling of tlie morning which had
excited my bile, and walking became most burdensome.
I pushed on, however, some three miles farther, my
mouth parched with thirst, until, getting sight of Arpino
near and yet high up, and approached by long windings,
I cried a halt We read together Keble's Ode on
Romans viii., in most appropriate circumstances of
natural beauty; then resumed our way. The town
seemed to possess many better-class houses, and we met
people quite answering to this description, yet all asserted
we should find no inn. On reaching the town I com-
menced to spit blood ; a symptom which, accompanied
with my great weariness and debility, alarmed me not
a little. Our inquiries for an inn were painful, and the
result far from tempting — a dismal little room where we
were to have a bed between us, and strangers in the
other. All efforts to better ourselves proved vain.
Some warm coffee, in a better-class cafe^ revived me, and
we proceeded to our dungeon. Here, however, I ex-
perienced the rich goodness of the Lord, as I cannot but
think. Being too weak, and not wishing dinner, I let
Mr. Gordon, who was fresh and hearty, make all arrange-
ments, while I lay on the lop of the bed, thinking sweetly
of God in Christ, and seeking grace to resign myself to
His will, should he see fit to leave me an invalid ere
having put my hand to the plough, and watched my dear
mother to her home.*

In a letter written in Rome to his friend. Professor
Forbes, he thus describes his illness, in the same quiet
and peaceful manner : —

* The day had been very hot ; and, about three miles
from Arpino, I quite suddenly felt not my limbs but
my whole physical strength failing me. In fact, my in-

^WlroTr! Ill

Z7^

Memorials of

cessant cough had quite deranged my organs, and just on
entering the town, I began to spit blood pretty freely,
which made me think it time to use caution. No kindly
hand awaited us, although the town is most substantial
and thriving, through its cloth works. Nevertheless, in
a most miserable tenement, we passed the night peace-
fully, if not sleepfuUy, as I lay awake thinking that if I
should have invalided myself before ever putting my
hand to my profession, it would be a hard trial, however
innocently I had brought it on myself. Next morning,
we followed a lovely road of five miles to Isola, in the
valley below, and once more in the highway to Sora,'
etc. ', and then he proceeds to narrate the rest of his
journey without any further allusion to his health.

To his own account of this disastrous day let me add
the account kindly given by his fellow-traveller : —

* I think I must now be writing within a week of the
anniversary of that last day's journey together, on which
we reached the old city of Arpino. It was a lovely
evening, when towards the close of our long day's march,
we sat down on the bridge at the foot of the hill, by
climbing which you ascend to the ancient birthplace of
Cicero and Marius. The scene was very charming;
and I well remember taking from my pocket a copy of
Keble's Christian Year — a volume my poor friend was
greatly fond of, and we read as we sat there one or two
of our favourite hymns.

* I particularly recollect how he enjoyed that — ^for the
fourth Sunday after Trinity — upon " The earnest expecta-
tion of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the
sons of God," etc. etc. As I think of the hymn now, it
seems just such as his mind would have been particularly
likely to have sympathized with, and I remember his

?p.;

*John Mackintosh

379

saying, as we rose up to renew our walk, that he should
never turn to it again without calling to mind the circum-
stances under which we then had read and talked about
it. I suppose it must only have been a few minutes
after this, that a bad cough was succeeded by haemo-
rrhage, which continued slightly through that evening,
and made it seem unadvisable that he should prosecute
any further the journey on foot He was more alarmed,
I think, than I was; but no thought about himself
altered at all that accustomed unselfishness which always
made him aim to give me, who was professedly the
weaker of the two, every advantage that could be in our
lodging arrangement, etc. That night, unfortunately,
was the only occasion on which these were so rude as
to be really uncomfortable. We had together to share
the same bedroom with a peasant and his son, and there
was little enough to meet the case of one who felt as he
did — ill and anxious ; but he was just as contented and
well satisfied as ever. We parted, to my great regret,
next day ; having procured a horse which took him at
a foot's pace to the high road from Naples, where he
joined a Diligence which brought him soon on to Rome,
where he could at once have medical advice. I did
not arrive there till some days later, travelling a less
direct road on foot. My first care, when I reached
Rome, was naturally to find out my friend ; and I was
gratified to find him, though rather weak, likely to be
as well as ever in a few days' time ; and when I finally
bade him good-bye, as he started at the end, I think, of
less than a week for the north-east coast of Italy, I never
entertained any alarm about further consequences.'

On his arrival at Rome he consulted a well-known
physician, who examined him with his stethoscope,

lli'
m

38o

Memorials of

and pronounced *all sound,' though he himself felt
*the pain in his side and right lung unabated 1' His
physician, however, permitted him to go out; and, in
a few days afterwards, advised him to leave Rome for
Germany.

^ May 19. — O Lord, I am Thine, and to Thy care I
commit health and all my future movements, assured of
Thy unmerited love and gentleness 1*

Having made the necessary preparations for his depar-
ture, bidding farewell to his friends, and visiting once
more some of his favourite haunts, on May 23d, 'left
Rome,* he says, * as I entered, by the Porta del Popolo;
full of many thoughts — ^my feelings on entering — the
interval — the future I

John Mackintosh,

381

CHAPTER XV.

Journey fitrni Rome to Tflt>*ngen — ^Letter to Professor Forbes from
Ravenna — Letter to his Sister, Lady Gordon Cumming, from Venice
—Verses : Adieu to Venice 1 — Letter to Mr. Bum Mturdoch from
Verona — Feelings on leaving Italy.

Leaving Rome, * with many feelings, many thoughts,*
he journeyed northward, crossing Italy to Loretto, and
thence along the shore of the Adriatic, by Rimini, Ra-
venna, Ferrara, and Rovigo, to Venice his first halting-
place. He travelled vetturinoj and, though suffering
terribly from cough and weakness, he enjoyed the
scenery, and visited the more remarkable sights with
unflagging interest, in the several towns through which
he passed; making the most of his travelling com-
panions, and trying to make them happy and to do
them good.

*May 26. — On my way to Perugia I had as my
companion a young priest — a most amiable and
delightful fellow. Some religious conversation and
pleasant thought

* May 27. — Started at six — glorious morning, and
drive superb. Such softness and grandeur, united with
that exquisite boyhood of all nature ! At Tolentino
had a long discourse with an Italian, upon how children
should be trained to truth and piety — ^how happiness
could never be enjoyed by a people without domestic
idrtues — ^how this social and family life was in many

382

Memorials of

respects independent of the political condition, and
dependent mainly on religion — the love and fear of
God in Christ Two families gathered round us, and
all seemed interested. He wished to throw the whole
blame of the dispeace he felt, on the political state of
the country and on the priests ; I avoided condemning
either, wishing him to see how, as matters stood, there
was a remedy ; but I tried to kindle in them all a thirst
to possess the Word of God in their native tongue, to
be daily a lamp to their feet and a light to their path ;
they then left me, and I slept Just before we started
at three, he came back, and wrote out for me the life of
a poet of Macerata, thanking me for the principles I
had expounded to him.

* Macerata by half-past six, where I caught my first
sight of the blue Adriatic. I am struck by the supe-
riority of the towns, and generally of the people of the
Papal States on this side the Apennines, over those of
the other. The towns are so clean — have such an air
of being lately built or rebuilt — and tenanted by a large
gentry, and even an aristocratic class of their own ; the
manners of the people are so good, and they seem
so industrious, and the fielr' are so admirably tilled.
Writing this journal, as I do, at Ravenna, I apply these
remarks to all the succeeding route. How can the
people be discontented or miserable, asks the passing
traveller, when from every inquiry which he makes
about provisions, he finds they are amazingly abundant
and cheap ?

^May 28. — At Loretto, my cough and chest oppress-
ing me Saw the holy cottage, said to belong to Joseph
and Mary, where our Lord spent His youth, and which
has been brought here miraculously V

yohn Mackintosh.

383

TO PROFESSOR FORBES.

* Ravenna, yune^, 185a

* My very dear Sir, — I must throw myself upon your
indulgence. You know there is no one of my own sex
on earth I love more. Be that enough. I will show
you by and by how it comes that 1 have allowed so long
a breach in my correspondence. Well then, all winter
I was constantly studying busily the language, and a
multitude of other subjects, with no temptations, from
the severity of the weather, to stir abroad. On the ist
April I proceeded to move towards Naples, and then
thought I should have something to recount, perhaps in-
cluding a description of the coquettish Subiaco.

*I started from Rome on the 15th April, having
remained so long to witness the Pope's entry and recep-
tion, in my opinion a very frigid one ; but the illumina-
tion of the dark city, was fine, and so was the pageant.
Your friends, as you have probably heard, remained till
about the same time, then left for Palermo. I experi-
enced their parental kindness to the last. I must
mention here that the last week of February, to celebrate
the anniversary of the Chamouni expedition last year, I
set off one morning m a small Tiber steamer for Fiu-
micino, crossed the island of the Tiber to Ostia, and
mused among its ruins. Made next for Castel Fusana,
a valley of Prince Chiji's, which I followed till I arrived
at Torrepaterno.'

After generally narrating those tours with which the
reader is sufficiently acquainted, and also giving the
account of his illness (as already quoted at p. 377), with
the subsequent events of his journey, he goes on to say —
* I crossed the Colfiorito, where there are snow-posts as
in Scotland, and reached the point where the streams

:/ ^'

384

Memorials of

begin to flow towards the Adriatic. This pass and the
descent to Tolentino is really beautiful

* At Macerata we passed a night, and next night, and
next day reached Loretto and Ancona. The house at
Loretto enabled me at least to realize the great fact of
" The Incarnation," as a picture or model might have
done, and the marble case that encloses it is covered with
sculpture of first-rate merit. The position of the church
must be striking from the sea. Ancona is nestled in a
kind of comer, and formed by a widely jutting hill to
the south (which its cathedral seems to overhang), by
two castles, besides other heights up which its houses
cluster. But it is a damp and dirty town, so that I
spent in it only a single day. The view firom the cathe-
dral over the Adriatic is delicious. The mountains of
Greece are dimly visible, and the thoughts go wander-
ing to the many countries which those waters touch.

* A meditation there is certainly to be remembered.
The port of Trajan is still the harbour, and its beauti-
ful arch of white marble I think surpasses any at Rome.
From Ancona I followed the coast by Fano and Pesaro
to Rimini. Both of these cities are beautiful, but the
general route greatly inferior to that along the shores of
the Mediterranean. The country is richly cultivated, but
bare of trees and mountainous, except when you get a
peep up the valley of some river. From Rimini I wished
to reach Ravenna, but the direct road being but little
travelled, I found it better to follow the Bologna road by
Forli and Faenza, and thence taking the Diligence to
Ravenna. Nothing could surpass here, too, the richness
and beauty of the country, the cleanliness and thriving-
ness of the town. The Apennines, now running east
and west, presented a soft and exquisitely varied back-

ill

John Mackintosh,

ground. I have made the general remark that town and
country on this side of the Apennines seemed greatly to
surpass those on the other in cleanliness and cultivation,
and in the apparent industry and thriving condition of
the inhabitants. They seem intelligent and happy, and
many nobility and gentry reside among thenu Fewer
beggars, too, are seen, and provisions are wonderfully
cheap. Whence then that readiness to revolt, I cannot
tell. The occupation of the Austrians is greatly liked, as
they are soi equal in their administration of justice, and
appear to furnish redress to the people even against
their proper rulers. Very different is the case in Lom-
bardy. But this is easily explained. Finally, behold
me at Ravenna where it rains incessantly, and my cough
gives me often no rest. I fear the insipidity of this letter
savours of it ; but I thought details would please you.
I would remind you how this very day nine years ago,
we sailed in all the freshness of nine years younger from
the Ship Inn, Dover, to Boulogne, under a bright sky,
and a warm sun, for which I would give much just now,
not to add, could they be enjoyed in your company !'

He arrived at Venice early in June. From thence
he wrote the following letter

TO HIS SISTER, LADY GORDON GUMMING.

' Venice, June ii, 1850.
*My DEAREST Jenny, — I had intended writing you
from Rome, but the Fates have ordered it should be
from Venice — the one name, I daresay, as thrilling to
you as the other. I always quote you as an instance of
how two persons may love each other almost better
than any one else on earth (I speak for myself at least),
and yet correspond but rarely. There is no one with

2 B

III!

386

Memorials of

whom my past is more sweetly blended than with you ;
and I have a presentiment that our future will not be
altogether unmingled. O that, at the present hour, I
could have you as my dear congenial fellow-traveller !
My dear mother, whose letters are a perfect treat to me
abroad, from their newsiness, keeps me up of course to
all your doings and movements ; and occasionally trans-
mits to me your love. I sometimes wonder at my ex-
treme audacity, in thus kilravaging the world, while so
many of my own age are hard at work at h6me ; but I
have never the slightest misgivings that I am doing
wisely, with the nature of the profession I look forward
to, and the gravity and experience it demands. My
stay at Gene^ a, I may say, was worth my four years'
study of Divinity at home. At Rome last winter I
abandoned the Roman Catholic Church, and became a
Reformer, as it were, on my own responsibility. I yet
wish to complete the process, and in Germany to dis-
cern the excesses and perils of the Reformation.
Through God's blessing I may hope that this training
will make me neither heretic nor fanatic. I cannot be
too grateful for the opportunities I have had — not only
of studying men, manners, languages, religions, but also
of beholding some of the most beautiful and hallowed
portions of God's created earth. What pen or pencil
could do justice to the glories of Switzerland — a country
fresh with youth, and where its Maker's fingering seems
ineffaced % Then the transit of the Alps, into the land
of poetry and song, from Virgil down to your modem
composers, all endowed with that divine spark which
elevates its possessor above his fellows, and exalts others
too, under its influence, above themselves. Land of
glorious memories ! how my bosom thrilled as I strode

yohn Mackintosh.

387

majestically across the summit of the mountain, and at
length was fairly descending upon its sunny plains 1
Moment of delicious excitement ! which it takes a whole
youth and boyhood to prepare. I am now about to
leave Italy, and what is my verdict t You used to ac-
cuse me of seeing everything couleur de rose; but here
it shall not — cannot be so. For one thing, I have been
direfuUy unfortunate in seeing it under what is called an
exceptional phasis. The winter was bitterly cold ; the
spring wet beyond description ; and even still, in the
heart of June, a serene unclouded sky — such as one
fancied to be the prevailing sky of Italy — is an uncom-
mon rarity. Now, the sun is the grand magician whose
wand electrifies the earth. Everywhere I have seen the
elements of bewitching beauty — given only a climate ;
but, as I say, this has generally been denied me. Some
exceptions, however, there have been, and the memory
of these I cherish to the exclusion of the rest, as tally-
ing quite with that Italy of my imagination which all
the hard realities I have witnessed, shall not obliterate.
To any one who has thi prospect of coming abroad, I
would say : " Don't look at Byron — don't look at this
and that ecstatic lady-writer ; but go with a plain matter-
of-fact map in your pocket, and good knowledge of his-
tory and literature in your head. Then, what is beautiful
or striking you discover for yourself, which lends it an
unspeakable charm, and you are taken by surprise. I
can safely say, that almost everything previously her-
alded and sung makes on me comparatively small im-
pression j while the beauties I had not known of set
me wild and dangerous. The wretches have puffed up
Florence, so that it took several days for the ebb to
return into a gentle flow ; and now my memorial of its

;;7i.:

,; ' !

388

Memorials of

galleries, its churches, its environs, its associations, ar»
truly dulcet Of Rome, they cannot cheat you; its
interest is too deep-seated, too tremendous, too endur-
ing. Oh ! the solemn beauty of its ruins, where yet the
spring lies green, and the birds are ever gay ! Oh ! the
grandeur of its echoes, when the spirits of the past stalk
before you, and you hesitate to say which epoch of the
world you belong to. Pagan times, dark ages, middle
ages, renaissance — all are there epitomized and repre-
sented ; and for years you might dwell on, finding ever
fresh material for the thoughts, augmented by increasing
knowledge. Naples is brilliant as the morning — Rome
as sunset You may weary even of that dazzling bay,
with its islands, mountains and promontories. Raise
has its charms; but they are perilous if they linger.
Vesuvius is a fellow that requires much getting up : I
never saw him erupt, and when silent he is insipid.
Pompeii, although now a railway station, is indeed mar-
vellous; Paestum — the threshold of Magna Graecia —
glorious for its temples ; Amalfi, Sorrento, and Castella-
mare — the very garden of the Hesperides, and spots
where I should love to linger. The journey from Rome
to Naples is exceedingly beautiful and interesting, whether
you take the coast road or the hills : I performed it both
ways, and nearly all on foot. FVom Rome, I crossed
the country by Nami, Temi, and Spoleto, to Loretto
and Ancona. This was, without exception, the love-
liest portion of Italy I have seen, and the weather
charming. The poets or fibbers cannot humbug you out
of this, any more than they can out of Switzerland or
Rome. Greenest, richest vegetation ; softest, most
varying outline of hills ; clear streams, and sleek herds
roaming through surpassing valleys, with that vision-

.■
.*
j

yohn Mackintosh*

389

irjr light which gives everything, the grossest even,
« dream-like ethereal character, and which only an
Italian sun can shed. The night, too, when there
•8 moonlight, yields not to the day. From Ancona
I reached Ravenna, for whose thrilling interest I
•efer you to that small work of Gibbon. The tomb
r\f Dante is there, and others of chaps much older.
Next and now, Venice — bride and queen of the
Adriatic ! — gorgeously, sumptuously, fantastically, ridi-
culously beautiful — the most un-Presbyterian city it is
possible for the mind to fancy. What if Calvin
tad got his hammer among the minarets and pin-
nacles of St. Mark's ? I am morally certain that cathe-
•iral must have been imported on the wings of genii
ffom Bagdad or some city of the Arabian Nights j hav-
Ang said which, I have said enough. Before it, rise
three stupendous masts — emblems of the maritime
tepublic ; then the piazza — three sides of a long rect-
Angle — the fagades of an architecture at once quaint and
rich, with a long cloister (or piazza, as we should use the
word) of brilliant shops and cafes all round. The whole
square is paved, and entirely shut in from sight of sea
or canal. Here Greeks and Turks mingle with Chris-
tians ; and at evening, beneath the still and starry sky,
an Austrian band, or native singers, discourse most elo-
quent music ; while all the rank and fashion of Venice
and its visitors enjoy the cool air, feeding on ices, coffee,
and harmonious thought The Doge's Palace, and a
thousand others, line the Quay and the Grand Canal,
all of rich marble and most fantastic architecture, as if
to scout the usual stiffness of Europeans. I am not sure
if the Venetians say their prayers to the Madonna or the
Prophet, but it is of little consequence : one and all in

390

Memorials of

Italy are alike Pagan. I have left myself no room to
talk of the Italian character ; their abundant talent, so
sadly stunted and misdirected; their ignorance; their
grand defects of dishonesty and untruthfulness, increased
if not originated by shameful priests, or frightfully per-
verted religion, and in some parts grievous misgovem-
ment. These elements of character are universal ; but
in other respects, there is much difference of character
between different States. The Lombards and Romans
are grave and serious, noble-looking men, and of cour-
teous manners. The Florentines and Neapolitans are
of fair complexion, and giddy and gay in temperament ;
less sincere, and greater rogues perhaps than the other.
Except at Florence and Venice, the generality of the
women I think hideous; and, after a certain age, they
become hags, too ugly to live. The men everywhere
are handsome ; pity their hearts are so poltroon ! Espe-
cially at Rome, they have, every mother's son of them,
a splendid voice ; but they sing little just now, whether
from laziness or sulks. In instrumental music, the
Germans leave them miles behind. In the public gar-
dens of Rome, Florence, Naples, except when the
French or Austrians play, you never hear the sound of
music. In Germany, no little village could let the even-
ing pass without it I believe it is well they should be
under foreign rule, although I felt strongly liberal before
sojourning among them. They are arrant children with
fierce passions, and would certainly go to wreck and
ruin if left to themselves. The sincerity and certainty
of the Austrians' word, their stem and impartial justice,
are acknowledged, while they hate and fear them. Noble
fellows those Austrians are, and dashing men their
officers ; so unlike the poor peaky-looking French, who

yohn Mackintosh,

391

yet are brave and good soldiers, and, I believe, could
lick the others. The Madonna is the great goddess of
the Italians. About a third of the churches and altars
are dedicated to her — the mass of the prayers are ad-
dressed to her — every year she is rising in dignity, and
the redemption of the world is ascribed to her. A more
terrific perversion of Satan it is impossible to conceive,
\nd when the day-star is again to dawn on this benighted
country, God only knows ; but the time must come !

* Instead of going to the north of Germany, as I had
Uitended, I think now of taking up my residence for
some time at the University of Tiibingen, in Wiirtem-
berg. 'I'hither, then, my pet — to the Poste Restante —
will you write me a return stave, and imitate my ego-
tism % for you cannot be too minute or trifling in details,
in all about yourself and family. Notwithstanding all I
see, my heart is still wedded to the shores of the Moray
Firth, and I envy those whose lot it is there to live and
there to die. My affectionate remembrances to Sir Wil-
liam and each of the bairns. Adieu ! dearest Jenny, and
never doubt, as you cannot, in the constant love of," etc

Venice. — ^ June 13. — Resolved to stay out the week
in this charming place, where my cough daily dimin-
ishes ; and, for perhaps the first time in Italy, I experi-
ence at once physical and mental happiness. Evening,
at seven, to Alison's, and walk in piazza; lingered
long after he left me, enjoying delicious air and all the
glorious associations; forming also schemes of study
for the future.

'•June 15. — Shakspere and Marino Faliero. Took
gondola ; landed at Ghetto, and was conducted by
Jewish gentlemen to synagogue. Distributed tracts ;
back to St. Mark's. Luxurious evening, as heretofore.

39*

Memorials of

Indeed, I think I should never weary of the Oriental
Arabian-Night-looking Cathedral ; and the noble piazza,
with its fresh breeze and calm patch of sky. One can
breathe here, and know, without leaving the city, what
atmosphere prevails a^jjd fills the earth. None of your
shut-up rooms, narrow streets, and choking caf^s*

The folloAving verses, written in his pocket-book when
leaving Venice, show at least how much he was affected
by this noble city : —

* Adieu I fair Venice, city of the sea —

Long had I loved the beauty of thy name ;
But now that I've been bless'd to visit thee,

No need of others to extol thy fame.
Into my heart thy beauty silently

Hath sunk ; how deeply, it perhaps were shame
To express in accents that with truth agree !

Yet let it be allowed me without blame
To say, at least, I leave thee sadder than I came,

* I leave thee, Venice, but my spirit still

Lingers amid thy calm ethereal joys —
Thy mimic ocean, where one glides at will ''"''-"

i From isle to isle, nor tempest rude annoys.

What deep tranquillity thy nights instil r

Into the soul that learns ere long to poise
'Tween earth and heaven, where holier breathings fill

Th' enraptured breast, and earth with all its noise

Becomes a thing of nought — a harmless, empty voice

* There I have enter'd into Plato's mind,

And felt for once with him a kindred tie ;
Not as of old in bearing with mankind,

The common burthen of humanity—
But in being able in myself to find

A shadowing forth of immortality —
A something that informs me, that, confined

Within this clay, there is that cannot die —

A spark of God's own life imparted from on high.

John Mackintosh,

393

* Plato was one of these that from below

Rose to the empyrean, and attain'd
Perhaps a greater vision than can know,

Any by human force alone sustain' d.
But there was One who came from heav'n to show

How man might commune with the skies, and deign'd
To take upon Him our vile clay — when lo !

God became man— .and man was surely train'd

To soar from earth to heav'n on wings divinely gain'd.

* Daily I strive, my yearning spirit seeks

To fix its home among those higher spheres.
Alas ! in vain ; but now and then are streaks

Of morning light upon my heav'n that cheers.
Yet soon again, long night its vengeance wreaks ;

Yet not the less, e'en then it music hears,
Christ gave the compass that 'mid shoals and breaks

Guides the benighted mariner without fears,

And whispers oft and sure deliv'rance in his ears.'

Leaving Venice, he journeyed via Padua, Vicenza,
Verona, Trent, Botzen, Innspruck, and thence by Lake of
Constance to Stuttgart and Tubingen. From Verona, he
wrote to his friend Mr. Bum Murdoch, then at Halle : —

*. . . My dear mother still writes in the hope of
being able to get abroad, in which case I should be
sorry, indeed it would be impossible, to tabernacle at
Halle and she at Wildbad. Accordingly, looking at the
map, I perceived that our friend Meyer's University — no
mean one either — stands within a few hours' drive of
the baths. This appeared exactly to suit me ; and to
Tiibingen I have resolved to go, diere to tarry out the
session, with frequent visits to niy mother, should she
come, during its course, and joining her when it is over,
in August . . .

* On a winter at Berlin, I have always secretly set my
heart, and always had the presentiment we should be

' : I' •

394

Memorials of

'fix

there together. If I see my mother this summer, all my
scruples and hindrances will be removed, and my way
made plain. ... I am sure you have studied well, and,
above all, I hope you have inhaled a long draught of
Scottish air and heart, to bear you through a foreign
winter. At the same time, I believe we should find the
native Germans more hearty and home-like than the
native Genevese. ...

* I touched at Halle in 1844, walked and drank tea
with Dr. Tholuck, whom I admired and loved. I heard
him lecture on Romans viii., and give a most beautiful
cottage address, in a hall of the tovm, to rustics and
others — the subject, John vi. ; and every syllable edify-
ing and touching. . . .

*What rude, raw thing in general, is student life
among theologians ! All other professions (the students
of) are true to their youth and bias ; but here there is
an incongruity. The subject of their thoughts and con-
versation is grave, sublime, but infinitely too delicate
for such coarse handling ; and their Hves should be one
thing, and are another; but they are neither one nor
other out and out. I confess I shrink from again
coming into daily, hourly contact with what I deplore,
but cannot mend. . . .

* Of Venice, I shall not trust myself to speak. I am
over head and ears in love with it more than any other
city in Italy, or than all the rest put together : it has
captivated me, heart and soul. I don't know how I got
away from it, but I felt myself even intellectually another
being there ; and floating on the Lagune, or pacing St
Mark's till nearly midnight, used to form visions of
study, and follow out trains of meditation that made me
think my clay had forsaken me, or become moulded

yohn Mackintosh,

395

into something more ethereal Glorious city, under
whatever point you view it.'

He notices in his Diary that * In the travellers' book
at Trent, one of the earliest names in the book (1824)
was that of Sir Walter Scott, written in a female hand.
Twice occurs that of Willie Gumming ; the first time
with Mr. Callander, the second with young Islay. Dal-
yell's name also in 1845, awoke many thoughts. There
were also the two S s moving into Italy, and there-
fore breathing high contentment with everything and
everybody ; everywhere in refreshing contrast with the
complaints of those moving northwards, and telling of
knaves, thieves, rogues, impostors, filth, uncleanliness,
to be avoided by the forewarned ; but how^ it is not
added. I would say (but not sweepingly), only by re-
turning to the latitudes from which they came.'

'■June 23. — (Brixen.) — A long sleep in a gloriously
clean bed. Then read in German Testament and wrote
till five. Short walk, and dined at eight Out again.
Delicious air, and thoroughly Tyrolese scenery — wooded
hills and green uplands, with their white hamlets and
fine church and spire ; then woods above, and higher,
but rarer, hamlets, till the mountain insensibly passes
into bare rock and snow. In a cemetery on which the
mountain looked down, the simple villagers of above
seemed to repair reverently, one by one, to visit the
tombs and crosses, and to pray, kneeling and repeating
inaudibly with their lips. The sight, the place, the
hour affected me, and here at least I had no doubt that
their hearts were full. The German language seems to
me ill suited for lip-service. To-morrow I cross the
Alps, and adieu to Italy, — land which I entered with the

'«"■■;

• ii

111

39^

Memorials of

highest expectations, but which, except for instruction,
has presented me with few attractions. A climate for
cold, heat, rain, and apparent transparency of atmos-
phere, odious and incongruous. But let me hope that
the instruction has been substantial, deep, and lasting,
and so we are more than quits. Farewell.'

How different were his feelings on entering Italy !
But his own bad health, we suspect, had to do with his
change of feelings quite as much as the bad climate.
But so glad was he to return to the north, that the
volume of his diary (the thirteenth !) in which his de-
parture out of Italy is recorded, is inscribed, ' Out of
Italy— Hurrah V

t;v*(

yohn Mackintosh,

397

^^1

CHAPTER XVI.

TflMngen— Hfs studies there— Diary— Letters to his youngest Sister—
To Rev. W. Ker— Visits Stuttgart and Komthal— Letters to his
Mother, A. Bum Murdoch, Esq., and Rev. N. Macleod— Returns
to Tfibingen — Letters to A. Hamilton, Esq., to his youngest Sister,
to R. Balfour, Esq., to Miss Hodges, to his Mother, to Mr. Bum
Murdoch, and to his Sister Lady Gordon Gumming— Christmas
at Stuttgart — Letters to Miss Hodges, to his Sister Mrs. Smith,
to Rev. N. Macleod, to A. Hamilton, Esq.— Declining Health —
Diary.

John Mackintosh once more resumed his student-
life in Tubingen. This is a town in Wiirtemberg of
eight thousand inhabitants, situated about forty miles to
the south of Stuttgart, and in one of the most picturesque
and fertile districts of Suabia. It is built upon a low
undulating ridge of vineyard-clad slopes, rising abruptly
above the Neckar, which, here a small arro^\7 stream,
sweeps their base. The nar~ow streets of the greater
portion of the town wind their way up the hill, with old
houses, whose high-peaked gables approach each other
in the strip of blue sky overhead ; while here and there
are open spaces for a market-place, a church, or some
venerable school of learning. The ridge is crowned by
an old SchlosSy once belonging to the Pfalzgraves of
Tiibingen — a race extinct two centuries ago. The
castle itself is yet in good repair, and turned to account
by the University, to which it now belongs. From its
l>attlements there is a beautiful view to the eastward,

398

Memorials of

of which the Suabian * Alp ' forms the most striking
feature. Beyond the Schloss, the path winds through
the vineyards. In a summer-house, on the Osterberg,
Wieland composed his Oberon; and amidst the same
scenes of rural beauty, Uhland still chants his exquisite
lyrics.

The University of Tiibingen is one of the oldest and
most illustrious in Germany. Reuchlin and Melanchthon
once taught in it. It possesses an ancient Protestant
Theological, and also a Roman Catholic Seminary.

Mackintosh took up his residence in the ina * You
know,' he says in writing to a friend, ' my weakness for
inns, and would choose one to die in.*

On the first day of his arrival (July i), he writes thus
in his Diary : — * I know not how it is, but the moment
I halt at a place with the design of resting there per-
manently some months, my spirits sink, and all seems
dark and dreary. At Geneva and Rome it was not
so; but I remember the same thing at Heidelberg
and Bonn, and now here. I seem to have reached the
back of the world, and have all the sensations of night-
mare and suffocation. This may pass, and, at all events,
Gk)d grant that I may here make diligent progress in all
my studies ! '

This sadness passed away, when he once more entered
upon his studies. These were as earnest as ever. Every
hour was occupied. In one of his letters, he says : —
* Among many lectures that attracted me, I have limited
myself to (beginning with the lowest) Vischer, at six p.m.,
on German Literature; Hefele (Roman Catholic Semi-
nary) on Church History, at ten ; and the Fathers at
four ; Beck, on Christian Ethics, three days a week ;
Schwegler, on Plato, at two; and, twice a week,

%':\

yohn Mackintosh.

399

not

berg

the

nited

P.M.,

emi-
s at

Ephoms " Hoffman, of the Theological Stift, on Old
Testament Theology, at two. I attend also, as often as
possible, the excellent Dr. Schmidt, and his colleague,
the famous Rationalist, Bauer, who lectures on the
History of Dogmas, his /or/e, and on New Testament
Theology. I am anxious to hear him, as he represents
the newest and most learned school of the Hegelian or
Strauss philosophy.'

Considering that this was only a portion of the work
which filled up the twenty-four hours, he might well
say, in writing to a friend, that he * worked the clock
out of countenance,' and in his journal (August 6) : — * I
am moving in full sail, every inch of canvas spread,
although my craft be small : not two minutes of the
day but I work and turn to account O my Lord, may
I add that it is all for Thee !'

He remained in Tiibingen without a break, for more
than two months.

*y?//v 8. — Got a letter from my mother, which allayed
my fears of their coming abroad to Wildbad as they in-
tended; and the Wildbad road is for me henceforth
gloomy, leading to gloom, and utterly unwalkable, espe-
cially at evening I My judgment rejoices, /uy heart
mourns.

* Had a long walk with Professor Michaelis. In the
evening, the reading-room. Read the news of Sir
Robert Peel's death, which made my heart beat, and
my eyes swim. What ! in the prime of life, and the
only competent prime minister at present for England !
Some day, I suppose, Gladstone will be prime minister,
and then, however England may be managed externally,
she will be thrown into internal Church broils, for which
she is already ripe; and some agencies which are at

,■1

it:'

400

Memorials of

present in the background, will once more play an in-
fluential part in the history of Europe. Russia and
England are preparing the ground for a tussle. The
former has religious objects in view as well as political.
God grant that, if she endeavour to supplant the Church
of Rome, England enter not mto the quarrel, as giving

her power to 1 I feel a gloom over my mind and

spirit in consequence of this news.

*July 27. — My life is here tranquil and happy. A
week, a month ended, during which much cause of
thankfulness to God. May the next in all respects
witness better things, through Thy blessing, O my
Godr

TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER.

* Tubingen, July 30.
* ... It is perfectly absurd to imagine that any part of
the Continent can for a moment vie with the thousand
and one spots of our own dear land. Chris' accounts of
Clifton and Malvern sent my thoughts a-spinning, and,
shall I say it, created a certain Heimweh; but this I
must keep down for some time yet. I received her
dear letter this afternoon — ^blessings on her for it! it
did me more good than ten physicians ; how marvellous
her recovery, how rich the goodness of God ! I do not
wish to miss the lesson you must all have had during
the process of the fever, but try to realize it all, and
feel as you do. I wish, since you will a-jaunting, you
could for a week change places with me, brat; not
but that I am most happy here, and making some
progress in that dictionary-needing tongue; but you
know the keen relish I had for Temple Sowerby, and
its picture of domestic and village life — the sweet associ-

yohn Mackintosh,

401

M«Qns [ have with it, and now I shall never more be-
hold it under the same dynasty. It ia like the curiosity
I have to see Constantinople tenanted by the Turks ;
and the presentiment I have that, ere I visit it in my
grand tour of the world, the Russians and not the
proper, romantic, orthodox Mahometans will be there.
Well, alas ! I could weep for it — for oh ! those days of
Gresford, Wrexham, of Appleby and UUswaterizing !
but hush ! down 1 not a word more. I have no doubt
destiny will conduct them to some other sweet spot in
south-west England; and there too one's heart may
nestle. How look the rocks by Eden now 1 how grow
the cowslips in the intervening park? Is Eggspoon
still the hero of the village? und so wetter. You will
admire the lyrical character of this effusion, but it mat-
ters not. I have written my travels to so many, in
shreds and patches, distributed over Europe, that the
subject palls me. I expect this time to make distin-
guished progress in German. Are you doing anything
in that way? There is a Professor here who lectures
twice a week upon Faust ; and even without his aid I
have discovered it to be not quite such nonsense (!) as
we once imagined ; but you must understand the allu-
sions, and for that we were not then competent Some
day (that is never) I may lecture to you on it I some-
times think, "Where am I? what brought me here?
what am I doing here ? where is everybody else ? when
shall I rejoin them?" Well, the only conclusion is,
that our life is a strange mystery, and understood not
even by ourselves. We don't know the consequence of
our acts, or whither we are tending; but One above
does, and it becomes us in faith, and yet with trembling,
to wait upon Him, and as much as possible confine our

3 c

M'i

402

Memorials of

attention to the limits of the present, and make the
most oi" it.'

TO THE REV. WM. KER.

•TUBINOEN, August 2^, 185a

* ... I feel satisfied there is very much to be learned
in this heretical land, and only ''>nm that so few of my
right tuchtig friends are here t( .p the benefits which
I see may be acquired, would fain acquire, but am strait-
ened from acquiring and importing, through poverty of
intellect. I am persuaded we seldom rightly sound and
probe the truth till we are urged to it by error. The
more the soul travails in those high regions, the more
will it bring forth — albeit it be to the eye and in form
ju»t what it had before — and that without much eftbrt
They tell me here God is diffused through time and
space, without any distinct individuality or personality.
I try this upon my spirit, and it rebounds from such a
doctrine, to cling — with what fc dness, with what ear-
nestness, with what deep-felt 'tude ! — to all that
Scripture reveals of the high Ui.- holy, as well as in-
finitely gracious and condescending One; and so on
through all the attacks I have yet encountered. I must
say I feel a world of information — I might say of light
breaking in upon me from all sides. I feel that I am
bemg educated — that each day adds something to its
predecessor, and only regret (though perhaps the regret
is vain) that so late in life I have entered on so whole-
some and invigorating a mental discipline. Could we
but transplant the good to Scotland, the spirit of inquiry
— profound, enlightened, patient; and reject the evil
accompani7nents — I fear in some measure with sinful
man, consequences — it would be an achievement worthy

yohn Mackintosh,

403

of the thanks of all posterity. But a truce to such
remarks. We are at least happier with the practical
side of things developed among us ; the humble,
believing, loving, but withal perhaps uninquiring Chris-
tianity.'

The month of September was spent at Stuttgart. He
says in his Diary, August 19 : — ' I begin to welcome the
thought of a move — for I have here, through God's
goodness, studied well, and need relaxation.' His few
weeks were busily occupied in constant attendance at
the meetings of the Kirchcntag, and more especially in
examining, with great minuteness and patience, the
various schools in the city, so as to master the German
system of education, to which so much attention has so
deservedly been directed in this country.

While in Stutt irt he enjoyed the society of Professor
Mentzell, the well-known author of Lectures on German
Literature.

' Sept. 6. — Had a walk in the park gardens with Pro-
fessor M( tzell, as far as Hoffer's Castor and Pollux.
He criticibcd the sculptures. Spoke also with much
despair of the condition of Germany, as regards unity
and liberty. The petty sovereigns, in spite of the wishes
of their people, must just revert to the old system, and
be, if possible, more arbitrary and despotic. The Cham-
bers are a mere shadow. He spoke of historians ; the
Germans amass materials, but are too long : the French
fail in solid materials — this is true of Fleury, Mignet,
and Guizot. Mignet's style he greatly admires. The
English historians he likes : Gibbon, however, defective
in his notice of the migration of the people after the
fall of the Roman Empire, too much in the style of the

V
I

iV\

404

Memorials of

old Roman historians. Hume good lor his time. He
spoke of some old historians (as Moore) who had pleased
him much ; and also of Sir Thomas Browne's (his son
Edward's fj Travels in Germany.

^ Sept. 9. — (The Sunday question at the Kirchentag.)
— At eight went to the Cathedral : very full. Many old
heads among the audience. Hofprediger Klein preached,
as I thought, a capital sermon for the occasion, full of
patriotism and judicious pious admonition. Alluded to
the state of Germany, the desire for unity in its church,
and more life among its people, and welcomed the
builders of their Zion then present. The best means
for building, he said, was unity of spirit, but not uni-
formity. And the best means for promoting life and
godliness was personal godliness and personal example.
At 9.30 to Spital Kirche. Dr. Schmid mounted the
pulpit about 12 to give a discourse on Sabbath obser-
vance. Kapf, of Herrenberg, read aloud afterwards
Dr. Schmid's " heads," and some more of his own, on the
obligation and advantage of sanctifying the Lord's day.
Dr. Schmid had given up the Old Testament, New Tes-
tament, and Church argument separately, but grounded
the duty on all together. Kapf seemed to go farther in
a Scottish direction, and he was followed by an endless
succession of speakers, old and young, professors and
pastors, some of them for the divine obligation, as, for
instance, Dr. Sack ; others against it, as Krummacher.
It was just the old range of argument for and against.
All were yearning for something to be decided out of
Scripture, and calling for some deeply learned professor
to give his opinion and help them to decide. But surely
this very dividing is itself instructive % Truth must lie
on both sides, since neither party (unless bitroted) can

*John Mackintosh,

405

out and out condemn the otlier. Luther, Calvin, Eng-
land, America, etc. etc., were all quoted. The result
was that at three o'clock, all other business having been
excluded, they decided practically to address govern-
ments, requesting their aid in the outward consecration
of the day, and to address the people on its inward, per-
sonal, family, and social observation. Tlie conclusion
thus come to was one, though the grounds by which it
was urged differed widely. I cannot help thinking that
after all the deep search and long scepticism of German
theology, in debateable and unsearchable questions, it
will at last come back, in the mass of pastors and people,
to a certain working out of and a living upon the light
which their fathers had, and which they themselves will
re-adopt, without farther vain inquiry, or much progress
in actual knowledge. After all, religion makes its pro-
gress in another region and in another manner. The
doing has here an altogether marvellous, and humanly
speaking, incomprehensible relation to the knotmng.'

LETTER TO HIS MOTHER.

' Stuttgart, Sept. 8.
'Ere I finally decide for next winter, I look up to
Him whom I desire to serve ; and, were it not that my
decision will be already made when you receive this,
would ask you to intercede for me. I do not think
that I am following the devices of my own heart, in
thus lingering abroad, and wishing to pass a winter in
Germany ; because I can foresee, almost with gloom,
many things from which the flesh naturally shrinks, and
which I might avoid by returning at once to a dear
home, to loving friends, and to active work, for which
my soul yearns. No, my sojourn abroad, from the

ili

4o6

Memorials of

first moment down to the present, has been no pastime.
The very scantiness of the means on which I have
managed so much travelUng and residence in expensive
places, betokens that I am not given to outward self-
indulgence ; and these two years are sufficient to have
convinced me, that there is no happiness on earth at
all equal to that to be enjoyed at home, and among
friends, in a sphere too where language is no bar to
proclaiming, and so serving, Christ. But I feel im-
pelled to complete what I have begun — so strongly,
that were I to act otherwise, I should be doing violence
to all those indications which I must regard as the
leadings of God's providence. What He designs for
me and with me, I do not know ; but I can see my
present duty in no other way. I know, dearest mother,
that this defence, so to speak, is quite unnecessary for
you — for you, who gave me birth, have always instinc-
tively had confidence in my motives; but I write it
because, in my present perplexity, I have been led more
closely to examine my heart, and to search after the
Lord's will ; and the verdict I have given to myself, I
communicate to you.'

In the beginning of the following letter to Mr. Bum
Murdoch, he refers to a severe illness from which his
firiend was slowly recovering : —

• Stuttgart, Sept. 14, 1850.
* It would be impossible for me to tell you, in a letter,
how much yours, from Geneva, moved and distressed
me — the nature of your trial is so painful and severe ;
but even for such a case the Lord is all-sufficient, and,
I trust, and indeed have the conviction, that His strength
has been made perfect in your weakness ; that the Lord

jfohn Mackintosh,

407

astime.
I have
pensive
rd self-
;o have
;arth at
among
bar to
:eel im-
trongly,
/iolence
as the
igns for
see my
mother,
^sary for
instinc-
Iwrite it
d more
iter the
lyself, I

Burn
lich his

[1850.

letter,

tressed

levere ;

f., and,

rength

Lord

has given you such a sweet resignation to His sovereign
and all-wise will ; that the suffering has been turned into
a blessing for you ; that your faitk in Him has been
made strong, so that you discern love in the affliction ;
and that His grace within you has enabled you to say,
" Lord, I am not my own, but Thine ; bought with Thy
blood, and dedicated to Thy service \ do with Thy ser-
vant as Thou seest good and best." I feel anxious
about you, and therefore hope you will not keep me
long in suspense, but write me soon how you now are,
and whether you can say an amendment is visible.
" The Lord grant it ! " has been my very frequent
prayer. Of course had I been at Geneva, I would have
joined with William in urging your return ; and as you
have done but what was right, I need not be silent on
my personal disappointment, which is but the expression
of my love to you. Yes, I had been looking forward, I
may say buoyed up by the prospect of our meeting, and
felt my heart sink when my hope was blighted ; but to
God's will I must also bow, and believe (though I can-
not yet feel) that here, too, all is for the best. I felt,
and still feel, like a ship in a troubled and dreary sea,
wanting half its hands. I have not been so desolate in
spirit since the day after you left me at Lausanne — per-
plexed and weighed down ; but without moon, stars, or
inward light, I hope on — the morning must come — its
first dawn will be when you write me cheerily (but faith-
fully) of yourself. I expected to have been comforted
in seeing dear Meyer at Tubingen, as he wrote me from
Lyons, and thus hearing from him of you, as well as
solacing myself in his friendship and advice. I waited
there a week for him beyond my time ; but he neither
came nor wrote, so that I began to fear he also was

4o8

Memorials of

It:

unwell. At last I moved to Stuttgart on the 2d of
September, quite undecided what to do. The Kirchen-
tag, or Assembly of German divines, as you probably
know, was to take place here on the loth ; and I used
this as an excuse for delay in deciding my plans, re-
maining for it, and seeking God's direction. The inter-
vening week I spent profitably, at least, in inspecting
very thoroughly the gymnasium in all its classes, for
which I had permission, and comparing it with our own
system. At last came the Kirchentag, which has occu-
pied this entire week from Tuesday. I have attended
indefatigably all its meetings ; and by going early,
generally secured a good place for hearing and under-
standing. A few words upon it may interest you. First,
it was numerously attended. Some hundreds of pastors
and others, from all parts of Germany to the most
remote. I saw there your friends Tholuck and Julius
Miiller ; Sack and Domer from Bonn ; the two Krum-
machers ; Stahl, and some lay noblemen from Prussia
and Berlin; representatives from Hamburg, Bremen,
Schleswig-Holstein, the frontiers of Holland, Frankfort,
Hesse, Saxony, Hungary, Bavaria — and, in short, every
hole and comer of broad Germany. Nitzsch was pre-
vented from coming, but UUmann and other distin-
guished men were also there. The hospitality of Stutt-
gart was truly Scottish. Every stranger, on presenting
himself, was presented with a card of admission to the
meetings. Oratorios, and leading sights of the city, with
a full description of the latter, and with the offer of
quarters in a family if he wished. Business began each
day at eight or nine, and lasted till three ; then a table-
dhbte in three different locales ; at five, friendly inter-
course in the Museum or its beautiful garden ; in the

'John Mackintosh.

409

t :

evening, Oratorios (very splendid) ; or meetings of com-
mittees to arrange business, also open to the public.
The greatest unanimity has prevailed in the discussions ;
and these have embraced almost every conceivable means
of furthering the kingdom of Christ among the German
people, from the sanctification of the Sunday (with which
their discussions opened) to Bible and tract circulation,
itinerant preaching, prison visiting, school evangelization,
family worship, and many other important, and even
minute, questions. In one word, the object of their
meeting, besides the indirect one of promoting unity of
spirit and love among the churches and brethren, is
statedly the Home Mission. There is no doubt that the
idea of such an annual assembly arose out of the Revolu-
tion of 1848, this being now their third meeting since
that year (the first two were at Wittemberg) ; and that
on this account they are favourably regarded, and even
encouraged, by the still despotic governments ; but how
fair a child, and how rich in fruit is this, through God's
blessing likely to become for Germany, and through it
for all lands ! I desire nothing further to confirm me in
the faith that the Revolution has been overruled by God
for the furtherance of His kingdom. No one present
could fail to be convinced, that in it was the germ of a
second Reformation for Germany, more profound in ex-
perience, and more lasting than the first ; and under this
inspiration many who have lived through the troublous
times, which conduced to the Revolution, could not
forbear from weeping at the vision of the rebuilding of
their Zion, which they had never expected in their days
to witness. Earnest, earnest were the prayers, and
sensible the presence of the Spirit of God among them ;
and an onlooker, whose heart was with them, could not

Memorials of

fail to be deeply moved, to share in the benediction, and
to desire even to join in bearing stones for the work.
And there were some English missionaries there not
inactive ; and England and Scotland were often quoted
in the speeches, though the prevailing tone was strictly
national and original, and could not, and ought not to
have been otherwise.'

While at Stuttgart, he had the happiness of making the
acquaintance of the poet Dr. Knapp, whose beautiful
hymns are familiar to the German Church.

* Sept. 26. — At eight to Dr. Knapp ; very kind recep-
tion. Spoke partly in English and partly in German.
He is an intense admirer of Shakspere : thinks him far
greater than Homer, Dante, or Goethe. Macbeth mar-
vellous ! Act ii. scene 2, unsurpassable ! He made me
read it Spoke of Goethe, Byron, Shelley, Cowper — all
in language highly poetical and full of just remarks.
He is going to Berlin, and offered to take me with him.
Rieger came in and concluded our interview, which
lasted an hour, by playing me some airs from Beethoven.'

Mackintosh spent the first two weeks in October at
Kornthal, a village — described in the next letter — near
Stuttgart. From thence he wrote me some account of
the state of theological education and religion in Wiir-
temberg.

TO THE REV. N. MACLEOD.

' Kornthal, Oct. 5.
*. . . As to Itnly, its very names have power to sweep
the soul in all its ham'^nies, and I believe and trust
that the vibration with me, will cease only with life. It
is now a sweet dream — a gorgeous vision ; the curtain of
the past has for a short season been raised before my

yohn Mackintosh,

411

eyes : it has fallen again, but the unutterable things 1
have beheld are mine for ever ! I might have told you
my emotions on seeing Dr. and Mrs. Black at Naples ;
how my heart went out to them for auld lang syne, and
for the circumstances that brought them there ; how we
spoke of home, of you, and the Doctor, and made Naples
for the time Scotland ; and yet Scotland, and Dr. Black,
and I, and all of us, were subjected to the magic of a
Naples sun, and sky, and bay, and mountains. Since
then I have heard of them no more, but my thoughts
have followed them. . . . The transit of the Alps is to
no man an ordinary moment, and I know not whether
I felt bigger, when descending from the Spliigen to Chia-
venna, with the whole jar of youthful association ready
to be discharged, or in descending upon Innspriick, the
jar refilled with what must serve for manhood and old age.
. . . And now Germany, the vanquisher of old Rome, that
first shook the gates of new, and may yet, one day, by
God's grace, overthrow them — a noble land, never per-
haps more rich in promise than at the present moment
Two months of summer, as you know, I spent at Tiibin-
gen. It has a Roman Catholic and Protestant Theo-
logical Seminary, both well supplied. ^ Unlike the usual
practice in Germany, the students in either live within
the walls, and are thus subjected to a thorough training
and surveillance. Indeed, in all its departments, the
little kingdom of Wiirtemberg is, one may say, admirably
ordered, and always aiming at something higher, and
still more efficient. The preparation of her pastors is but
one instance of this. Those of her youth who have
already, at an early period, determined on being minis-
ters, may go to one of four preparatory gymnasia, where
they remain from the age of fourteen to eighteen, live

■■4s!

A.^2

Memorials of

within the walls, have their expenses in a great measure
paid, are instructed in a most thorough manner in Latin,
Greek, Hebrew, their own tongue, and another modem
language ; in History also. Logic, Ethics, Mathematics,
Natural Philosophy, Church History, and religious know-
ledge, besides Music and other lighter accomplishments.
After this, upon passing an adequate examination, they
are admitted into the Theological School at Tubingen,
where, during the first year and a half, they attend chiefly
lectures on Psychology, Metaphysics, and Ethics in the
University ; making these subjects their principal study,
along with perhaps one course in the Theological depart-
ment each half year. The remaining two years and a
half are devoted exclusively to Theology. The Roman
Catholic students have two preparatory gymnasia, and
follow, I believe, the same rules. If a student have
studied at another g)ntnnasium (the' education is generally
admirable in Wiirtemberg), and be able to pass the pre-
liminary examination, he can still enter the Theological
Seminary. Of the four Professors in the Protestant
School, three are men not only evangelical, but emi-
nently pious. These are Drs. Schmid, Beck, and Lan-
derer; the fourth, however, is a kind of giant in his way,
being the famous Rationalist, Dr. Bauer. I am afraid
his intellectual influence carries nearly two-thirds of some
one hundred and sixty students with him ; the rest are
otherwise minded. There exists genuine piety among
the students ; indeed, the Suabian character, so full of
sentiment and yearning after the unseen, presents a
favourable field for its development ; but this very ele-
ment has also led them away after the visions of a -^
Schelling or a Hegel, while the reaction from it has
perhaps produced a Strauss. These three men, by the

yohn Mackintosh,

way, were all at one time students in the Theological
Seminary of Tiibingen ! On leaving the seminary they
may proceed as vicar to some clergyman, in which post
they remain often many years. Some twenty of the
most talented, who have passed the most distinguished
examination, are recalled after a few years of such ex-
perience, to resume their studies in the University ; and,
as sort of Fellows, direct the studies of the younger
students both there and in the gymnasia, and take a
general superintendence of a certain number living in an
adjoining room, and coming constantly in contact with
them. They try their hand, too, occasionally in lectur-
ing, and may one day become professors.

* ... In the Church of Wiirtemberg there are very
nearly a thousand employed pastors; they have three
gradations of rank ; and the Church, in its S)rmbols and
constitution, is strictly Lutheran. Of these one thousand
perhaps two hundred are Pietists^ a name here synony-
mous with Methodists, or those who are earnest in their
religion. Unlike Methodists, however, they are within
the Church, and date throughout all Germany, as far
back as the time of Spener, in the seventeenth century.
Chiefly through their endeavours, the spark of true re-
ligion has never been extinguished. A large number of
the Lord's hidden ones have always underlain the more
noisy infidels and rationalists, whose sound alone has
come to us; and this is attested by the unexampled
mass of Christian hymns in which the German language
is so rich, and Christian household books, composed
and written throughout the whole course of years since
the Reformation. The Pietists have frequently changed
their ground according to the necessity of the times, I
mean in theological and ecclesiastical matters. Their

\w&\

'i\

414

Memorials of

main object has been to preserve life, and from this they
have never swerved ; but in the time of Spener it was to
be done by opposing a dry adherence to confessions
and dogmas, and adhering more closely to the Bible,
the living Word. In more modem times they are often
the vindicators of confessions, since men have so far
swerved from all positive belief. The shades, however,
that prevail among even the orthodox are here so nu-
merous, that I have not yet been able to master them.
Many of the Pietists, while evangelical in the main, enter-
tain opinions on many points which we would condemn ;
and, indeed, I should say generally that Germany must
still, for many years, present the appearance of a country
from which the floods are abating, and where dry land
and water are not yet distinct That the floods are
abating is an undoubted and glorious yarf. . , .

* But I must now be done. Behold me in Komthal,
an interesting little colony of Christians, as you know,
in the neighbourhood of Stuttgart, founded under Hoff-
man, somewhere about the year 1818, by some pious
families, who, displeased with some Rationalist changes
introduced into the National Church, were preparing
ior conscience' sake to quit their country, when the
king granted them this valley, divided into httle pro-
perties, where they have liberty to choose their own
pastor and schoolmaster, to use their own hymn-book,
and to introduce such other practices as they think good.
They are quite independent of the Consistory, but gene-
rally choose their pastor out of the National Church.
They also elect their own mayor or provost. In most
matters they strictly resemble the Lutheran and Na-
tional Church. They have, however, evening worship
in the church, frequent meetings for brotherly edifica-

yohn Mackintosh.

415

tion, and altogether appear to realize a very delightful
religious life. An establishment for young men and
young ladies, from all parts (some from England), has
been also founded here. . . .

' O how my heart yearns for home ; but I dare not
think of it. Depend upon it, I lead no luxurious life
abroad — Newman himself not more ascetic ; but I think
I am deriving profit here, and, if I live, may have time
yet to work. Were I to consult ease and pleasure, I
should come home ; were I to consult happiness, I
should seek a parish or a flock ; but as yet it may not
be. Now, dear Norman, may God bless you, and bless
your work, and lead and discipline you from day to day,
as He does every one who is indeed His child. — So
prays, I may say daily,* eta

He suffered much bodily pain while in Komthal,
though not an expression indicative of such suffering,
now or at any time, ever appears in any letter. But in
his Diary he says : —

^ Sunday^ Oct. 6. — (Komthal.) — Have to-day fasted—
service again at seven. Outwardly I am very wretched
here \ but it makes me cry loudly to God, seek my
comfort in Him, recognise it as His orders, and seek
thus a childlike spirit of submission and tractableness.
Heavenly Father ! bless it to these ends. Wean me
wholly from the world ; engage my whole heart in living
for Thee and my neighbour. Overcome the selfishness
and love of ease so inherent in me, and fulfil towards
me Thy purposes of love in Christ Jesus !

* Of course, with all this roughing my cough and chest
pains increased ; but I comniit all to Him whose I am,
and whom I desire to serve.

.41

4i6

Memorials of

^ Monday y Oct. 14. — (Kornthal.) — Here, too, the Lord
has had me in His school, and seen fit to discipline me
chiefly through bodily hardship and suffering, the neces-
sity of which I recognise. Though the fruits are not
what I could wish, and He may see meet yet further to
visit me; yet I trust I have not yet wholly lost the
blessing of a more chastised and docile heart ; an
aroused desire to live not to myself, but to Him; to
have my treasure in heaven, and live a stranger on the
earth, in greater love also, and childlike waiting on His
leading. Blessed Lord ! who seest what I write, and
knowest the condition of my heart, and what is good
for me better than I, only leave me not. Give me from
day to day tokens of Thy nearness and communion with
Thyself. Give me a devoted, loving heart — a broken
and contrite spirit. Give me to serve Thee, and I am
ready to receive what else cometh from Thy hands. I
pray for holiness more than happiness. Amen.'

While in Stuttgart he examined, as I have already
noticed, with great attention each day for two weeks, the
system of education pursued in its schools. The results
of his observations are communicated in a letter to his
friend Mr. Balfour, written at a later date, and which I
cannot refrain from publishing in the Appendix, as the
information which it conveys may prove interesting, for

own sake, to many readers.

lackintosh returned to Tiibingen at the end of Octo-
ber, and resumed his routine of study. His friend, Mr.
Hamilton, had been in Denmark, and w" ^ m

when the following letter was written to ^

'T 3, ^

'. . . Both your letters haveafi^ d me . tht first,
I sorrowed in your sorrow, and the. scconi i gives hints

yohn Mackintosh.

417

of more disasters, I trust not so intimate and near.
Your wanderings have interested me too, though in
your last you are more laconic. I should greatly like
to have not one but many talks, to cream you of your
experiences, and make the thread of your recent life
more apparent to me. How very different must have
been your earth and heavens in the north, and mine at
Rome ! In all that regards not the sure and certain
anchorage of the soul, I feel how much we are moulded
by our circumstances. My experience since I last
wrote you has been very manifold. I would not will-
ingly part with it, nor with the belief that the Lord has
led me through it, like a shepherd, for my own good, if
not also for that of others. Amid the many temptations
to forgetfulness of Him, which these last years have
presented, I have ever felt His hand about me, whether
with the rod to chasten and correct, or with gentleness
to attract and bind more closely. It is this experience
that makes me think I am following His will in thus
lingering in other lands, instead of at once entering on
His more immediate service. We are not our own, but
bought with a price, and dare not lightly follow our own
ways. I trust that your experience has been of a kindred
nature, although no two are disciplined alike, and that
in the retrospect of an equal term of expatriation you
can look back upon more solid profit, and more direct
leading of the Lord than I.

* I still revert in thought to the glories of the past
winter, often thinking it must be a waking dream ; but
that the impressions, forms, sentiments then amassed,
are as real and vivid, if not more so, than any other of
my mental being. I lost for a time the Italy of my
youthful fancy, to be replaced by one no less beautiful

2 D

4i8

Memorials of

and more instructive ; and now, to my delight, I find
that I can again possess both, and live at will in the
ideal or real. It is never without regret that we part
with what has long been familiar to us : this feeling I
naturally experienced at first in Italy ; so what was my
joy on discovering the other day on looking at some
Italian scenes, that I could regard them as of yore or
of yesterday I *

TO HIS YOUNGEST SISTER.

' Tubingen', Nofv. 2.
*. . . I am just finishing the Wallenstein, which I
never before read in the original It is buff to Faust ;
and even the poetrj' does not impress me so much as
when I read it in translation in more bijssom-loving
days. I think Schiller is but a lady-poetess compared
to the manhood of Goethe. Yet I like the man cf
course far better. Still, even on his own ground, of the
tender, the enthusiastic, and the beautiful, the cold old
heathen by his art can surpass. I compare Coleridge's
translation with it He has taken strange liberties often
with the text, overhauled the whole structure of the
play, left out large bits, and now and then expanded
little ones, perhaps on the whole judiciously; but I
have caught the knave in some actual blunders, which
leads me now and then to suspect that he has skipped
passages, because he found their construction hard;
nevertheless both are glorious. Tell me what you are
yourself doing or contemplate doing. May God be with
yoU; darling love, this winter, and lead you in His own
blessed ways. Be instant in prayer. Study the Gospels
much. Try and make out a picture of the life of Christ,
by taking Matthew as your text — comparing him with

yohn Mackintosh.

419

the other two, and then ending with St. John. We
cannot love Him whom we have not seen, unless through
faith His matchless form be revealed to us, and this can
only be in the description of His life and character. I
am sure you would find such a study, meditatively
pursued, most interesting and profitable. It is my
comfort to commit you into his hands. I am lonely
enough here ; so write me now and then ; not but that I
have friends, and good friends, but no countryman. . .

' It is very true that human hearts and sympathies
link us to places more strongly, and dwell more sweetly
in the memory than any other kind of association. It
is for this reason I should like to have some congenial
spirit with me in my wanderings, be they vagabondish,
or like those of the wise men of yore who traversed the
earth in search of wisdom ; or like those of my name-
sake, who abode in Fadan-aram to be out of harm's
way at home, and got himself married But this is not
my intention.'

, rl

|>wn
)els

^ith

TO R. BALFOUR, ESQ.

•TUBINGBN, NkA>. II, 185O1

*My very dear Balfour, — I received your truly
welcome letter at Naples. Since then I seem to have
lived through several summers and winters, and marvel
constantly that the date must still be 1850. When I
tell you that, towards the end of February last, I was
bathing in the Mediterranean, and that since then I
have witnessed periods of snow and sunshine, you will
understand how even physically I may use this language;
how much more when memory goes back over the
nations, customs, and costumes through which I have
wandered ! I do not know that in the view of a life of

^-n

4^0

Memorials of

direct service, should my Lord and
me to it, 1 would willingly give up one

labour in His
Saviour call

week of all this experience ; and what is more, I have
endeavoured, so far as in me lay, to follow and not to
go before the inclinations of His leading hand. If I
have been mistaken in this, I have been mistaken in all
my calculations for the inscrutable future. I have a
rich feast, too, in the recollection of the past ; but at
the time, He who knows when to lay on chastisement
and when to remove it, did not suffer me to forget
Himself amid the glories of that nature, whose associa-
tions are so much linked with various forms of heathen-
ism. I left Italy, I trust, in many ways a wiser man ;
and now in Germany I am seeking to follow the same
pillar of cloud by day and fire by night, as even figura-
tively I may appropriate it, and finding, I may add, the
same indications of His love and care as my conscience
and past experience tell me T most need. They are
alluded to in Heb. xii. ... *

* I could say much to you of religious matters in
Wiirtemberg, in Germany, also of Tiibingen, but space
forbids. God willing, I am here for the winter ; but in
the loss of B. M., I feel myself bereaved, as you may
suppose. Pray write me here, and soon. Give him
my fervent love: I shall answer his dear letter soon.
Remember me, too, again to Mrs. Balfour, to your
brothers ; to Cleghom, and all friends, to whom I am
as Lazarus in more respects than one. — Accept again my
congratulations and fervent well-wishes, and believe me,
my dear Robert, ever your affectionate friend,

* John Mackintosh.

*P.S. — How dark the horizon of the Continent — of
' The rest of this letter will be found in the Appendix,

ii
Hi

yohn Mackintosh,

421

Ihe world ! The thunders about to break out are con-
trolled by no human hand !'

There was one Christian friend then near Mackintosh,
and who still resides in Stuttgart, to whom he alludes in
several of his letters, and whose motherly love to him,
when he stood most in need of it, will be ever green in
the memory of his family ; and to her he thus wrote : —

-t\ SI

s in
ace
in
may
him
on.
our
am
my
me.

-of

TO MISS HODGES.

♦Tubingen, Nov. 14.
* I have received several kind messages from you and
the others, and so shall no longer deny myself the plea-
sure of writing you a few lines. You have had sorrow
among you, for which I feel ; but I trust that the Lord
Himself has bound up the broken heart. What chiefly
grieves me, is the tidings communicated to me to-day
of Madame Serre being so poorly. I trust this is due to
transient causes ; but it is well to be prepared, and to
accept of every monitor. Whatever brings our naturally
callous souls into closer contact with God and the un-
seen world, must be good. Well for those who have
been taught to live dependent every day for life, and
breath, and all things, on the great source, when that
source is our Father and our Lord. But God's dealings
are so merciful with us, that as we approach eternity He
usually gives us that which through life we have alter-
nately possessed and lost through the infirmity of oul
natures. May such be the blessed experience of Madame
Serre ! May the Saviour reveal Himself to her through
the Spirit, in all his attractiveness and mediatorial suffi-
ciency, as the bearer of her sins and sanctifier of her
soul, as He who is God and man, and whose presence
makes heaven.

422

Memorials of

* I have little personally to tell you ; my heart homes
itself among you at Stuttgart ; and the thought of seeing
you all again, makes the time fly quickly, and affords a
delicious break in the winter prospect. My friends here
are very kind, and become dearer and dearer.'. • •

TO THE SAME,

*/^0V. 23.

*Your little packet was duly put into my hands on
Thursday morning. I am not worthy of your regard or
solicitude, but receive it as from the Lord. Thanks,
thanks for your very great kindness. . . .

' How happy I am to hear of Madame Serre being
again raised up ! If it please God, I trust we shall have
a rejoicing house at the season of sober joy and Chris-
tian mirth. I trust, too, that Miss.B. will have received
comforting news of her sister's health, so that no brow
may be clouded. For my own health, it is much as it
was. I am next to certain that, with God's blessing,
my native air or any cold climate would quite restore
me ; but I always think (23d November) winter must
come, and that is my native air wherever I find it ; and
then the advantages which I see from continuing my
studies yet a little while abroad, while, once home, it
would be almost impossible to come away again. I en-
deavour to know the Lord's will, and think that I am
ready to do whatever He plainly indicates to me. In
spite of cough and weakness, my head is clear for study ;
and this makes some little progress, so that here is the
temptatirn. But enough of a mauvais sujet.

'Last Ljnday I thought I descried, in church, a
stentorian head and throat that might serve for ten men,
which could only belong to one individual in these

yofui Mackintosh,

4»3

parts — T mean Dr. Knapp. The mystery was soon ex-
plained to me by Carl Rieger, who had met him with
his bride. The latter appears to have captivated him
much, and I wish them much happiness. How nice
that German practice of iSting everything with flowers,
and green leaves, and boughs ot trees, so that external
nature is always made to minister to joy. I doubt not
it was so in Eden, and will be so again universally.'

TO HIS MOTHER.

♦Tubingen, Nov. 28.

* My darling Mother, — I received your second most
dear letter a few days ago. It is a luxury to write to
you ; but you fully see now there must be intervals, as I
have not only Scotland, but the different halts I* have
made in my travels to correspond with. Would I could
take a run to you at coming Christmas ! but I must
content myself with thinking of a short visit to Stuttgart
(only four hours' drive from here), where I shall pro-
bably go, not for its own attractions, but to enjoy the
sight and intercourse of a happy family — part French,
part English, part German — whom I came to know
while there in September. The centre of this group is
a French pastor's widow, Madame de Coutouly ; very
Christian and very engaging. She has a quantity of
little French boys and French girls, who frequent school,
and so speak German too. Her mother, an elderly
Genevese lady, lives with her among the grandchildren ;
but the chief attraction is an English lady. Miss Hodges,
such a refined, kind motherly character, as could only
be produced across the channel. . . .

* Nowhere do I picture you so well, or speak to you
in spirit so freely, as at Laurel Bank, where it «eems to

424

Memorials of

me you enjoy and are sensible of many blessings. O
once more to share them with you ! and this I look
forward to in the Lord's goodness. I never felt you
unequal in spiritual things to my experience, but the
reverse, as I think I have expressly told you ; but I am
naturally somewhat silent, and often felt my joy to be
complete to be with you in the same house, in the same
room, though we should not directly speak except at
intervals. On the whole, however, I think we had
many sweet hours and walks together, and the Lord
grant they be only interrupted for a season ! What I
thirst to read is Chalmers's Life; one of the few men
whom I love and reverence almost to idolatry. Ever
since I came here, I have been possessed with an enor-
mous zeal for study. "Nothing new," you will say;
but it seems new, while the fields opened up to me are
so new ; and at home I often forced myself to read
from duty — the will taking more the leap than the actual
appetite. Church History, or better, the History of
Christ's kingdom in its first founding by Himself and
His immediate followers, as well as down the stream of
the intervening centuries — this is perhaps under various
points of view my chief present study. There is a very
distinguished Roman Catholic Professor of Church His-
tory here — for Tiibingen has a seminary for Roman
Catholic as well as for Protestant students of Theology ;
and as at Rome, the lectures were discontinued, until
shortly before I left, owing to the state of the city. I
take the opportunity here of hearing what he has to say
for himself and for his Church. Through his lectures
I have been led to read some of the writings of the
earliest Christians which still remain, and to remark in
them, on the one hand, the great disparity between

John Mackintosh,

425

their letters and those of a Paul or a John ; but, on the
other hand, the beauty, simpUcity, and freshness of
much which they contain, as well as the testimony they
bear to the gospel narrative. All this is good and
valuable, for we are too apt, in Scotland, to feel at least
as if Christianity appeared and ended in the period
comprised within the New Testament ; and then reap-
peared first again in Scotland at the Reformation. We
know better indeed ; but it is well to feel it by making
acquaintance with the Christians themselves. But the
fields of study are endless, and all I can hope to do is
to pave the way for traversing them afterwards one by
one, should the Lord permit, and as He leads me. The
knowledge of German is for this indispensable, as they
alone have gone profoundly into the past, and brought
to light a mass of knowledge, that throws light on Scrip-
ture, and every department of study.'

TO A. BURN MURDOCH, ESQ.

* Tubingen, Dec. 7.
* I do not doubt that the Lord has yet work for you
in store, for which he is disciplining you, as the old
monk said to Luther. There is a discipline of the spirit,
through which we learn far more than can be taught by
books, or than mere book-learning can give. This will
throw more light upon the Word of Grod than all other
studies, and yet this should be their chief end ; and it
can prepare better for winning souls and feeding those
won, than all other preparation — ^which is yet ostensibly
the object of students of Theology. This you well know,
and, I doubt not, have found your consolation in it,
albeit for the present the trial is grievous. Even in an
intellectual point of view, periods of, so to speak, involun-

5 1!

4^6

Memorials of

taiy repose are highly useful Our faculties will not bear
constant straining, and if not suddenly cut off, I believe
that every man can only accomplish a certain amount in
life, be it all at once, or be it by fits and starts, or be it
gradually. Scherer is only another instance of this. He
worked with all his might for some ten years ; and then
the capacity gave way, and he must lie nearly fallow for
the next two. In my own humble sphere, I find that after
a time of compelled idleness, I can make more out of a
book in a day, than just at present, for instance, I can in
two ; but all this prosing is just to remind you of a fact,
which may assure you that your time is not at present
lost When God restores you, you will take your revenge
on future hours. . . . Soon after the Kirchentag, and a
long inspection of the Stuttgart gymnasia, schools, etc.,
I made a short excursion to Komthal, of which you may
remember to have read in Scherer's Reformation. It is a
small village, situated in a commonplace sort of valley,
some miles to the north of Stuttgart, and was founded in
1818, with royal permission, by a number of families
who were displeased with Rationalist changes then intro-
duced into the church worship, specially its psalmody
and liturgy, and so thought of leaving the countiy. A
shrewd and pious buigomaster, named Hoffmann (father
of the Stiffs Ephorus here, and late of Basel), managed
the whole affair. The colonists are chiefly of the working
classes, but some of higher rank have since joined the
community, which, somewhat like the Hermhuters, is
distinguished from others by a daily church service,
frequent brotherly conferences — or Erbauungs-stunden,
as they are called, and a very strict and peaceful outward
life. I was very much pleased with the various arrange-
ments and individuals of the community. The pastor is

yohn Mackintosh,

427

a very dear man. He also presides over a very excellent
and economical establishment for young ladies. The
vorsteher or provost, the schoolmaster, the hausvater of
a Poor Children's Institution, the masters of a Boys'
Boarding-house — the patriarchs of the village, besides
others having no official position — all had their individu-
ality as Christians and men, which came out in the
various Christian conferences and in private intercourse ;
and yet all had a oneness of love and aim, that made the
private and social exhibition of the life of God a very
real and a very beautiful thing. I stayed a fortnight
there, and then left it with regret, back to a more solitary
working out of the Christian idea, which should yet also,
when possible, be a social one. The old men, in parti-
cular, reminded me much of some Scottish worthies whom
I know, and who are also not rare with us ; but I must
remark of them, as of my Christian friends generally in
Wiirtemberg, that their piety strikes me as more biblical
and less doctrinal or confessional than ours. Christ is
always the beginning, end, and centre of their love and
confidence. I enjoyed in Stuttgart another opportunity
of witnessing an assembly of pastors — a voluntary meet-
ing of the evangelically disposed in Wiirtemberg, which
takes place twice a year for mutual edification, chiefly as
it has no church authority; but also for the discussion of
public matters which they can further indirectly. There
were some seventy or eighty present, and the meeting
was delightful.

* The theological subject to which I have chiefly
buckled myself, is what is here called Einleitungy and
this for the New Testament It relates to the history,
authorship, caiionicity, and text of the various books —
a very important subject at present, as you know, and

lift

■J.

■II

• _ ,

f,j-, .

i;*!* i

ik J

428

Memorials of

standing at the threshold. I am reading Hug; but
gather views and information wherever I can. There
are some very good exegetical lectures in both seminaries
which I should like to attend, and by and by perhaps
may, to learn at least their method, since I cannot now
hope to have so gone through with a Professor, many of
the books ere entering on their practical exposition.
Dogmatik and Symboliky I must also at present defer ;
but oh ! I blush on all these heads, when I see the
superior acquaintance of the German students: not,
however, that they are on that account, somehow or
other, better qualified than ours for pastoral work. The
Lutheran Church, in its doctrine and workings, is for me
an interesting phenomenon ; but at present I am becom-
ing acquainted with it chiefly through observation and
conversation. I see more and more how much might be
learned advantageously with my opportunities, but sigh
daily that there are not some with me who, through
superior capacity (though not will !) could make a tenfold
better use of them than I can do ; yet I trust they will
not altogether be thrown away. The Professors whom I
know are very kind. My friends among the Repetents
(I think I have explained to you who they are) are like-
wise so, and give me books and all I can desire. I
have formed, too, some nice acquaintances among the
students ; and enjoy particularly a prayer-meeting some
of them have twice a week, in one of their rooms, on
Sundays and Thursdays, on the latter of which, a pious
Repetent presides with very great benefit to its edifica-
tion. Finally, I live for work, and find the days fly ; but
after all, the result is small. I have omitted to men-
tion to you that with Hefele, I am reading through the
JPatres Apostolici, and find them very interesting.'

John Mackintosh,

429

TO MISS HODGEa

* December 13.

* My dear Miss Hodges, — I have waited a few days
before acknowledging your last " rebuke," that I might
be able to say something about it I say rebuke^ for I
feel myself unworthy of your concern, being a very sorry
fellow at best, and your kindness smites me as something
I don't deserve. Nevertheless, I will not deny there is
something very, very grateful to the spirit in it, when one
is far from home ; and I shall therefore only thank you
anew, and take the liberty of feeling a good deal more
than I express. This glorious bracing frost has sent
health and energy through all my veins, which I trust
will last, and for which I thank God.

* I cannot, therefore, say how far the remedy is due
to the new breakfast diet ; but this I will say, that it is
most capital stuff; and I want my friend Carl Rieger,
whom the name Racahout tickled very much, to come
soon, and know it by experience. Again, then, many
thanks ; — and to talk of sending more ! . . .

*I have a strange feeling as if I were going home
at Christmas, but it is only to Stuttgart; and yet the
knowledge of you, and your dear family circle there, has
something in it very hotnish. I trust the Lord will give
me as much happiness as I anticipate, for through Him
all blessings flow. It is a time of joy, but must begin
to be pervaded with what is heavenly.'

TO HIS SISTER, LADY GORDON GUMMING.

• Tubingen, Dec. 21.
*My darling Jenny, . . . Let me wish you joy, and
congratulate you on the birth of a son. May the time
come when I shall see them all three under the shadow

i H

43®

Memorials of

of their mother! To be sure, I admire human beinga
more than anything else upon earth, and would now
sooner undertake a journey to see your little oijes than
to see Rome ; and you may take me at my word. In
truth, I yearn to see you again, and the old woman who
is perhaps still with you, and the native land ; and God
bring it about in His own good time !

' My life, since I cast root here, has been so entirely
devoid of outward incident, that I fear it wovtld little
interest you. I find very inviting fields of study opened
up on all sides, through the key of knowing German, and
the incitement of lectures and learned society. Whether
I shall bear much harvest away with me, my feebleness
of body and mind makes me sometimes doubtful. The
studies, however, once begun, can be carried on through
life, if that be granted. I have the old struggle with
existence, for which I am not unthankful, as it reminds
me there is a world to come, and that we are but pilgrims
and wayfarers here, and so my story ends.

* The natives of Wiirtemberg think it the most lovely
country in the world. With an eye pampered as mine
has been, I can see little distinguished beauty in any
part I have yet visited; but I have not yet seen the
Black Forest — and that is its crown. Give me but a
blink of the Moray Firth, as you have it fi-om Price's
or the Lethen hill — the old cry of " Let's push on the
ponies, or we'll be dead late !" — six o'clock on a glorious
August evening, just descending on Barclay's church —
with the Ross and Cromarty hills, and the bay, and the
Strathglass hills sawing the western horizon, and the
Nairn spire in the foreground ! — ^give me but a blink of
this, I say, once more, and I know not but I will let
you wipe the puiple Apennines and the Mediterranean,

'John Mackintosh,

43 >

ovely

mine
any
the
ut a
ice's
the

lOUS

;h—
the
the
of
let
an,

and old Rome itself, completely out of my remembrance.
Nay, my heart turns sick at the bare thought ; and if a
sound sleep does not sober my spirit, must take out my
place by to-morrow's Eilwagen^ to see once more a
paradise that needs no restoring. Forgive this sally,
but, citizen of the world, I am offspring of old Scotland,
dust of her dust, and Jenny's doating, doating brother I
I am going to Stuttgart for a few days at Christmas, to
pick up a little English in a family I know there. All
happiness and every blessing be with you ! Greet Sir
William and all your bairns from me ; and the old lady
also, should she still be with you, and whose birthday I
shall not fail to remember. Think sometimes on your
superannuated brother, and send him a stave if you have
leisure, pen, and paper, permitting and believing him to
be in extenso^

Mackintosh spent the Christmas holidays, and entered
upon 1 85 1, with his friends Madame de Coutouly and
Miss Hodges, at Stuttgart He returned immediately
afterwards to Tubingen.

TO MISS HODGES.

* Tubingen, Jan. 4.
* My very dear Miss Hodges, — In spirit 1 am with
you still at Stuttgart, and it seems even strange to write
to you instead of speaking. How sweetly those days
flew by-— all too fast ! but I feel that for me they have
not been unprofitable — their effect I still feel, and hope
long to feel with still deeper impressioa I mean, that
not to speak of the merely natural joy arising out of the
sight of a happy united Christian family, in all stages ot
the progress of life, as well as of spiritual development,
I derived from the example of Madame de Coutouly

■.'■4

43*

Memorials of

and others, and from my intercourse with you, I trust a
fresh impulse to make the Lord my friend and example,
and to live in humble, admiring, self-forgetting fellow-
ship with Him. You have known, I have no doubt,
what it is to have the spirit sometimes barren ; so that
that Book which was formerly better than thousands of
gold and silver; and that Name, which to them that
know it is as ointment poured forth, and that com-
munion which makes earth a heaven is no longer what
it was. The Christian, after some experience, knows
that this state, though mournful and burdensome, does
not argue so much as it at first sight seems to do. How
precious, however, when the dew once more descends
from heaven upon his soul, and he is melted under the
renewed pledge of his Father's love, and can only sit at
the feet of Jesus to admire and praise — anew make him-
self over to Him who loved him in his state of sin and
death, as He now loves him amid relapses, ingratitude,
and unprofitableness. Well, those two contrasted states
have lately in some respects been mine, and I bless God
that in this case the second succeeds the first. For
this, then, let me thank Madame de Coutouly and you ;
although I do not wish you to express it to her. You
may, however, say how grateful I am for all her most un-
deserved kindness and forbearance — a gratitude which,
like most of my countrymen, I have almost a pride in
feeling deeply, and expressing feebly. May the blessing
of the Great Father rest on all your dear family ! I
send love to each, and whoever seems to prize it most
may receive a double shaie. The joumey/n^w Stuttgart
was very different from that to it ; and the night-travel-
lers seem to have felt the same. A thick fog accom-
panied and received me. ... I am so glad I know

'John Mackintosh,

433

your little room, and the history of its portrait gallery.
May the Lord reward you for all your kindness, and
if I be a disciple, He no doubt will 1 — So prays daily
your very attached friend, John Mackintosh.'

)St

irt
;1.

►w

TO HIS SISTER, MRS. SMITH.

•TuiUNr.EN, Jan. la
* I was truly delighted to receive your letter, so kindly
thought of at this season ; and, to show my gratitude,
lose no timo in answering it I do indeed give thanks
to God with you for His wonderful goodness in restoring
you so thoroughly, and I humbly pray and trust that the
tender heart, the obedient will, the childlike confidence
in Him, which the Spirit of God begets in us, when we
are first brought out of sore trial, may, by your diligence
and constant dependence on His grace, be perpetuated
and kept alive in you. There is no life so blessed, as
every Christian knows, as that of a daily communion
with our Father in Christ. None, alas ! so prone '\\\-
sensibly to degenerate into form and routine, when the
real effluence of heaven is no more. . . .

*I should greatly enjoy to hav» been with you, in
Dorsetshire, to see the old English Christmas customs,
where they are perhaps best preserved. How foolishly
do people write of other countries spoiling us for our
own ! I cry and moan daily lor the inferiority of every-
thing here (and elsewhere, where 1 have been at this
and other seasons), to what my memory retains of the
dear old land ; not but that the practice of the Christ
Tree (which 1 am told is also to be found in some parts
of England), is very pretty, and pleased mc much. At
the house in Stuttgart where I was then a guest, a very
iplendid one was set up. It is generally a young and

2 £

434

Memorials of

verdant fir newly taken up. The branches are glorified
with myriads of little tapers, dazzling gold and silver
bells, and presents of all kinds to be afterwards dis-
tributed. The joy and wonder of the children on being
first admitted is indescribable; and what particularly
pleased me, old and young are once more placed upon
a level, and receive and enjoy their little pose of pre-
sents about equally. The belief is, that there is a
mysterious connexion between the Christ Child, and all
the good things and happiness then enjoyed. The
Church here is Lutheran, and resembles very much, in
all its rites, the Church of England ; so that there was
no lack of holy reminiscence furnished by church ser-
vices, y^/w, etc. . . .

* The inexhaustible Christian worth of Miss Hodges
captivated me, and did me more good spiritually than
perhaps all else. I am now once more at Tiibi ^ r -
in all outward respects a highly »;ienjoyabIe place. I
often think how little one person is qualified to judge
of another's condition or of another's duty. If you
knew, dearest, how your sharp but not lasting suffering
does not perhaps come up to mine — spread over my
life through a body not acutely ill — but seldom well,
and often weighing down mind and soul ; you would
not fancy that my life was all enjoyment, either here or
in Italy, or except at favoured intervals. I have a high
object in staying abroad, which, so far as I am not de-
ceived, has God's approval ; because it has His service
alone in view, but nothing else would induce me to
rough it as I do.'

TO THE REV. N. MACLEOD.

'TuBiNC.EN, ')an. 23, 1851.
*. . , I have never known, nor expect to know, •

!:i r

yohn Mackintosh.

435

finer developed people than the Christians of Wiirtem-
berg. They have the advantage of learning their
Christianity rather from the Bible than Confessions, and
so it takes a healthy, simple, undoubting form, which
with us too often, by gentle and simple, is wanting.
Not that our folk study the Confession for themselves ;
no, the/ read their Bibles, but it is the teaching of the
school and of the pulpit, so unceasing, that colours all
their views ; and so, in general, reduces the matter to
one dead level, where it would be hard to say, if asked,
which is the cardinal doctrine of Christianity. The
Bible, if read in its own light, leaves one in no doubt
about it. It is Jesus Christ manifest in the flesh, suf-
fering on the cross, received up into glory ; and, for the
sinner, all others should have weight as they have more
or less nearly to do with this. Our system, however,
begins with the eternal decree, and leads us on to final
judgment ; so that, in fact — I have experienced it — the
awakened sinner does not know at first whither to turn
— to election, or to what ; and perhaps only after long
searching, is Christ Himself, he knows not how, pre-
sented to his eyes, exhumed as it were from this long
and artfully-linked catena; but I have mixed my meta-
phor, and must for " exhumed " write " disengaged."
How beautiful the confidence of the Christian's approach
to God here — Lieber Vaierl he cannot doubt, for His
love sent Jesus — Dti treiier Hciland ! We have still
very Jewish, distant, and awful thoughts of (jod. ^Ve
see Him not enough in the Son, and very few and im-
perfect thoughts of the Son, who yet must be our life.
The other " doctrines," as we call them, if they do not
shut Him out, seem to throw Him into the background,
as effectually as do the " saints " of the Roman Catholic
Church. When will it be otherwise, and our religion

'in

43^

Memorials of

become a more simple and a more loving one ! This
will only be when we adhere to the Bible, as our text-
book, more closely in school and pulpit, and learn our
Christianity and Theology there, Tiherc everything has
its due prominence. 1 recognise this as the grand result
of German experience ; and yet it is but a return to the
principle of the Reformation, too soon, however, aban-
doned. Now as then, and ever, the Bible must be
mighty to the pulling down of strongholds (be they what
they may), and the building up of a sound and living
piety. There was long, and still is, a' tendency favoured
by Schleiermacher and even the Moravians, to detach
Christ from the Bible ; but the evil consequences of
this are seen, — and now a Bible, that is, a Christian
Theology, is the cry. Forgive this long dissertation,
dear Norman, but it has been involuntary. For the
" thousand little unremembered acts of love and charity,"
this people is to be loved. I need not specify, though
my heart would.'

The time was now, alas ! rapidly approaching when
those letters which for years had been welcomed by his
friends, could be written by John Mackintosh no more ;
when those delightful studies, in which from his youth
he had engaged with so much ardour, could be pursued
no more — no more at least here in this earthly school ;
and when those delightful labours which he daily longed,
as a minister of Christ's Church, to share with his
brethren at home, and for which he had prepared him-
self with such untiring earnestness, were to be resigned
— though doubtless only for others higher and nobler
elsewhere, in the great and wide kingdom of His loving
Lord.

'John Mackintosh,

437

The wound received on that fatal day in spring, while
ascending to Arpino, had ever since been doing its work
of destruction, with no little pain and weariness to the
patient sufferer. Only in his Diary, written for himself
alone, is there any direct evidence of such sufferings;
for while sensitively shrinking from making himself at
any time the topic of conversation, he had always a
peculiar repugnance to allude to his bodily ailments ;
and even now, when these had, for the first time in his
life, assumed a character which greatly alarmed his
friends abroad, yet, from ignorance of his imminent
danger, and an unwillingness prematurely to alarm his
family, and thus probably induce some of them to un-
dertake a journey in the midst of winter, in order to
afford that assistance which, in his opinion, was not then
required — he avoided mentioning the feeble state of his
health in any of his letters, except to two of his corre-
spondents, on whom he enjoined the strictest secrecy.

He thus, for example, wrote to his friend Professor
Forbes, dated Tubingen, January 21) : — * I long very
much to see you again, and must explain why I am still
here and not at home. My object throughout in my ex-
patriation has been, God knows, not to enjoy myself,
but to qualify myself as far as possible for his future ser-
vice,' and then, after giving some details about his health,
he adds, *my strength is therefore much diminished,
and I have some unpleasant symptoms in my right lung.
The doctor, however, whom I consult, counsels me not to
move, and I therefore wait, trusting through care and the
blessing of God to overcome once more what seems
dangerous. You will pardon my writing at such length
about myself, as you ask me to be explicit, and I feel
towards you as a father. I again beg you earnestly to
keep my secret entirely to yourself, as it would only

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438

Memorials of

cause premature and fruitless anxiety were my dear
mother to know it ... I beg your prayers, my dear
sir, and your counsel, although, of course, I must be
somewhat guided by my physician here ; and again,
earnestly urging you to secrecy, I remain, your grateful
and attached J. M.*

And thus also to Mr. Hamilton, who was still re-
siding in Berlin : —

•TuRiNGEN, Fel>. 5, 1851.
* You are a man, and I may therefore trust you with a
secret — if yon betray me, I have done with you ! Well
then, in ill-fated Italy, — certainly in part through my
own folly in walking from Rome to Naples (over en-
chanted ground), with a heavy knapsack on my back,
amid the rains of spring, — I contracted a bad cough. The
summer months here greatly restored me ; but the fatal
weather we have had since October — constant rains and
fogs, and damp sunshine — have renewed it with such
virulence, that my strength is well-nigh quite gone,
and I am full of pains. I have not thought it advisable
to tell any of my friends of it, as the Lord may yet bring
me through ; and at this season of the year, they could
only be anxious, and do nothing. Therefore you are on
your parole, as you value my friendship. For this weak-
ness* sake, you will forgive a shortish letter. My friends
here, especially among the Repetents or Theological
Fellows, are unceasing in their kindness ; and indeed,
if I recover, I shall be glad from all sides to have learned
the deep heart of the Christians of this little country —
for my sphere of acquaintance is pretty wide. My studies
are, of course, sadly interrupted ; but my zeal hunts like
a red-hot coal^ and I have learned, and am yet learning,
things in my sore suffering, which affliction only can

'John Mackintosh,

439

-il

teach, or, I might say, the Spirit of God only through
affliction. I desire your prayers.'

But having thus written of himself, he resumes, in the
same letter, the old favourite theme of study, as if many
years, instead of only a few weeks of litie, were yet in
store for him ! —

' For many years I have had perhaps, alas ! the same
centrifugal tendency as yourself, that is, I studied my
Bible and cultivated my heart : but took more readily to
any other study than Theology, partly feeling that other
studies were the outworks, and had an indirect bearing
on it, so naturally I began at the bottom with those
first : and partly that Theology must be the study of my
after-life, and they could probably find no place there.
Here, however, I was weaning myself from this influence,
or at least keeping it in the background ; and under the
stimulus of good lectures, which are better here than
with you, fairly buckling myself to the subject. The ex-
cessive ferment of opinion, too, where there are, as here,
Roman Catholics, Protestants, Christians, Hegelians,
and all shades of thinking, have set me keen on edge,
and many a book, which, when I was in the Hall,
scarcely awoke a feeling in my mind, I should now
devour. In fact, I am enamoured now of theological
study, in all its branches ; " yet not the more cease I to
wander where the Muses haunt" — poetry, literature, phi-
losoi)hy, have also their undying charms, and I should
like to have the strength of ten men to study them as I
could wish : — but who is writing ? at present the hun-
dredth part of a man, and one who even at best is weak,
except in will. Now I must stop, and trust, should God
bring us together, to tell you of the Theologians here/
etc.

440

Memorials of

Various entries in his Diary, during the period of his
sojourn in Wiirtemberg, disclose the state of his health.
He says, as far back as

* Sufiday^ June 30. — (Stuttgart) — Walk and medita-
tion in gardens at six in the evening. Returned about
eight. During this walk I reviewed the past, with much
self-recrimination for these latter months ; when, how-
ever, illness, weakness, travelling, and many other causes,
have combined to throw me back in spirit. Lord, have
mercy upon me j anew I endeavour to make myself over
to Him, to renounce self, and to consult entirely His
will ! Graciously bring those desires and resolutions to
perfection, Heavenly Father, for Jesus Christ's sake !*

Subsequent entries tell of increasing illness of body,
and increasing confidence in God.

* Saturday, July 13. — I think I am substantially
better, though still very delicate, and requiring the
utmost care and attention. A slight exertion is enough
to tell me that both my lungs are more or less affected.
God grant this entirely pass away, if such be His will I
My soul has not been so lively as it was last week ; bui
yet I feel drawn to<vards Him, and the thought of to-
morrow is sweet. Lord, make it really so !

^Scpt. 18. — My health low, and rather joyless ; but I
bless God, and desire in Him to take courage, and to
cast all my care upon Him.

Sept. 19. — Both lungs are now very painful, and
through ill health my days, in the main, dreary. O
Lord, I cling to Thee ! Thou wilt not leave me ! Sanc-
tuy my suffering to the bruising of my soul — which, alas I
is under all unsoftened — and to the increase of my union
with Thee. Above all, take me out of self, and fill me
with love and zeal for Thee and my neighbour. My
hardest burden of all is an unloving heart.

yohn Mackintosh,

441

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* Stuttgart, Sept. 29. — To-morrow I leave my present
lodgings, where I cannot study from ill health and cold ;
yet I doubt not the Lord sent me hither; and now
again, as a child, I desire to be led by the hand. For-
sake me not, O ( lod and Father of my Lord Jesus Christ !
Bless this dear family in each member, that has shown
me so much kindness, and bless my several other bene-
factors. Amen.

* Tubingen, Oct. 27. — I have not yet got into working
trim. In the mornings I am stupid and cannot study.
Then at ten, when getting better, have to go out In
the evening, I read well ; but it never sticks to me like
morning work. Sad indigestion and cough ; yet the
desire of my soul is after God — childlike submission and
obedience — looking up at every step for the Master's
guidance and help. This morning spoke to Henry, the
boy who attends me, on Bible reading and the one thing
needful. I am eager also to find out some direct em-
plovment for the Lord, and wait in prayer. My God, I
will through Thy grace put my trust in Thee, amid all
darkness and discouragement \

* NaiK I. — ^At two, heard Hoffmann ; and then sat a
little with Auberlen. Cough very bad, and on leaving
the Stift, spat some blood. Called on to get sanc-
tion for attending communion.

' Nov. 8. — I am sore hadden doon by this cough, and
know not how far it is dangerous. Lord, I am Thine ;
care for me !

* Sunday, Not*. 9. — How very uncertain I am of my
future ! Wellington could not have longed for Blucher
as I do for winter, for I see no other help from this
tearing and wearing cough. But thou knowest my way ;
give me a lowly, loving heart, and obedient, following
sDirit.

442

Memorials of

* Nov. lo. — My cough no better ; and the phlegm I
expectorate seems to come from an inexhaustible foun-
tain. Auberlen — kind fellow 1 — counselled me to consult
Dr. R., which perhaps I shall do. The pain is not great
O Lord, lead me as a shepherd 1

*■ Nov. 12. — Attacked Bauer's rationalistic book, but
felt stupid — so gave it up ; and, after a cup of coffee,
wrote Balfour a long letter on German schools. My
own future dark as that of Germany.

* Nov. 14. — Day cold ; so cough much better. On the
whole, quite a respite, for which I desire to bless God.
Last night, as I rolled and tossed in much pain, my
thoughts of remaining here were very dark, and where to
go, query ?

^ Nov. 15. — Sad night of coughing; but I am begin-
ning to think lightly of it. '

' Nov. 29. — Cough very outrageous, and great pain in
both lungs.

* Sunday ^ Dec. i. — At eleven, to church ; partook of
the sacrament. Cough and weakness increased.'

It is sad to record such days of suffering. But it is
pleasing to know that the sufferer was among Christian
friends who sympathized deeply with him, and whose
fears were greater than his own. Among those, I may
mention Dr. Hoffmann — long known from his connexion
with the Missionary Institute at Basel, then head of the
Theological Seminary of Tubingen, and now chaplain to
the King of Prussia — as one who was the much-valued
friend of Mackintosh, as he is and has been of very
many : Kostlin, Rieger, Auberlen, with others of the
Repetents (or Fellows), loved him as a brother, and were
his daily visitors. But Miss Hodges felt as if, in a
mother's absence, he was her peculiar care. She had
long implored him to consult a physician ; and before

yohn Mackintosh,

443

parting from him at Cliristmas made him promise to do
80. Accordingly, early in January, he consulted Dr. R.
of Tubingen, and thus wrote to Miss Hodges : —

* Mindful of my promise to my dear friend, who takes
more interest in my health than it merits, I saw within
two hours the long adjourned Dr. R. I told him how
my cough and I had been companions — none of the
most amiable — for nine months, and spread no gloss
over the case ; on the contrary rather darkened it He
recommended me a little Tisan tea, and the drinking of
Niedererau wasser. Lectures he allows, as the rooms
are well warmed (all too well), and said it was only a
too long neglected catarrh. All this was hi^ ' ';' satisfac-
tory ; but, as you see, will never mend the matter, nor
indeed can any physician by his recipes — but only the
Great Physician, who orders the seasons, and directs
our steps favourably in other minor matters. I do not
think myself that it is more than a rod temporarily
sent, and whose blessing I must more and more seek to
discover. I also changed my abode the day of my
arrival, and have come into a room with the usual
disproportionate amount of windows and doors, which
makes one think with gratitude of the window-tax in
England. This I hww^ that a well-sheltered room, with
even ordinary weathei would soon cure me ; but it is
not to be had. The family, however (Wildermuth), with
whom I now live, I enjoy very much ; and Mrs. W. is
as anxious to make me well as could be my mother,
or — you. There are children and a grandmother, and
both, you know, please me. Forgive my writing so
much about myself ; but you have yourself led me on to
so bad a habit at Stuttgart, which I must endeavour to
overcome.'

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He again writes to her : —

* January 21.

* My very dear Miss Hodges, — I have received your
two very affectionate notes, and would have written
sooner, had it not been for weakness. I shall forbear to
thank you for your interest, taking it now almost as that
of a very near relative. ... I am aware now that my
illness has taken quite a new turn since I saw you ; that,
in short, the right lung is affected as it was not before.
My strength, too, entirely left me, and my sleep ; but
both are gradually, I think, coming back, and while
(without, however, such heavenly feelings as you de-
scribe) I feel resigned to the will of my Father and
Lord, and know it must be best, I have yet times when
that verse comes unsought into my mind : " I shall not
die, but live, and declare the work of the Lord." I
soHcit your prayers, that I may receive a meet and be-
coming spirit for my situation.

* All doctors recommend me to remain here at this
unfavourable season for travelling; and they do not seem
to anticipate anything very rapid in my decline, so that
I have deemed it wisest, from my intimate knowledge oi
my mother's character and how it would affect her, to
say nothing yet about it to her. I have told her, indeed,
that I am poorly, and scolded her as only a son can, for
a very long delay in writing me ; but this, you see, is not
at all in the vein you desire. I shall say no more at
present, not being strong. . . .

* Nothing can exceed the kindness of my friends here,
and I am only ashamed to excite so much interest and
sympathy. The Lord reward you for all your goodness
out of His abundant fulness 1 *

All this alarmed his kind friend so much, that, though

yohn Mackintosh,

445

in delicate health herself, she determined to risk a
winter's journey to Tiibingen, to know personally how
he was. By this time he had returned to the inn, from
lodgings which he had for a few weeks occupied. In
reply to her letter, announcing to him her determination
to visit him, he thus writes : — r .

* yanuary 27.
* My very very dear Friend, — I received your note
this forenoon, and cannot delay replying to it Filially,
humbly, but imperatively, you must not come. And J
will tell you why : First, nothing further could be done
for me than is done. The landlord shows me every
attention ; has given me outer windows — a screen for
my bed, etc. His mother, who superinter Js the house,
pays me frequent visits to know what I would like.
My other friends care for me not only spiritually, but
even in other little matters that go to the heart, and
make me think I have fallen among the Christians of
the first century. Next, your visit would so excite me
by its extraordinary kindness, that I know I should suffer
for it I should be tempted also to speak too much (as
I am every day), and this is injurious ; and I could not
hinder myself from endeavouring to act as a strong man,
and show you all the attention in my power. I have
put those reasons first, because they will have most
weight with you ; but what shall I say about my anxiety,
should you, who are by no means strong, and now some-
what unused to travel, undertake a journey over those
bleak hills, and thus, and in an inn, run many risks 1 I
should not feel at ease for weeks after, even should you
escape immediate harm. And you know your first duty
is by no means for me, but for the many to whom you
have been so long another mother. I know you will
])ardon my frankness, perhaps presumption, in thus

♦i

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%

446

Memorials of

writing ; but my feelings are those of profound respect
After long waiting, I had a letter from my dear mother,
and, of course, the son and not she was at fauh. They
send me some letters from the post j but only now and
then the Poste Restante ones, so that it had lain there
nearly a week, while I was unable to go out. It was
written exactly on my* birthday, the 9th. This lettei
opens up to me the probable leadings of God's pro-
vidence. She is very anxious that my sister could per-
haps with me pass this summer abroad. I am not sure
that she does not include herself in the plan. She
wishes me accordingly to come home in spring, and
fetch her or them. This may perhaps be impossible ;
but it will lead me gradually to speak of the cough, and
how my strength is reduced by it ; and I think it will
not be difficult to find another escort. Thus, unsought
on my part, we shall come together. How happy should
I be, did my strength permit me, to escort you home
and them back ! but this is in God's hands. The doctor
visited me lately, and after I had told him how I rarely
slept at night, had violent perspirations, pains in all my
upper man, and not the strength of a child, he still per-
sisted, on my asking him the question, that it was
nothing serious. I don't know what to think. Blessed
be God ! if his encouragements be delusions, I am in
no way dependent on them ; but on the will of Him
whose I am, and who will do with me as seemeth to
Him good, in perfect wisdom. Farewell I Excuse the
badness of the writing, but my hand shakes. The Lord
reward you for a kindness which, in this last proposal,
has almost overcome me.*

But in spite of all such persuasion to the conf-^ary,
Miss Hodges proceeded to Tubingen as she intended,

John Mackintosh^

447

and took up her residence in the same inn with the in-
valid. The morning after her arrival he addressed to
her, from his room, the last notes of his which I have to
record : —

* Mv VERY DEAR Friend, — I hope you have passed a
good night, and are to-day refreshed. I hope also all
your wants have been attended to. Through the good-
ness of God, I am to-day better than I have been for
some time. My zenith is from half-past ten or eleven
till one o'clock, when I should like to be with you ; but
if you plan going out during part of that time, let me
on no account be a hindrance. Perhaps you will let
me dine beside you to-day.

* My heart is full ot praise, if it be not a treacherous
heart ; and oh ! what am I, that the Lord's people should
concern themselves with me % Bless the Lord, O my
soul ; and all that is within me, bless His holy name ! —
Your affectionate and deeply grateful, J. M.

'^ P.S, — I fear I cannot come to you; but perhaps
you will venture to come to me. We need not speak
much. You were to have had tea, Carl Rieger said.
If you have not yet had it, perhaps you will take it in
my room, and I will see to all your wants.'

The Diary which had been faithfully kept for so many
years, now ends on Saturday, December 21. Its last
entry is a prayer, recorded on many a preceding page,
and which was soon to be answered, as it had never
been before, nor could ever indeed be in this world : —

* The Lord lift up the tight of His countenance upon
meP

'■ I'll

r'l

448

Memorials of

CHAPTER XVII.

John Mackintosh's Friends in Scotland hear of his Danger— They join
him at Tubingen — Darkness and Light — He is removed to Can*
stadt — Life at Canstadt — Last Days — Death — Burial.

Upon Thursday the 5th of February a letter was re-
ceived at Laurel Bank, informing Mrs. Mackintosh that
her son had been seriously ill for some months, and was
now rapidly dying !

The accuracy of this intelligence, so sad and unex-
pected, could not be doubted. The letter had been
written from Tiibingen by one of John's most intimate
friends, who, with deep concern and alarm, seeing him
daily becoming more feeble, took, very properly, upon
himself the responsibility of communicating to Mrs.
Mackintosh, through a correspondent in Scotland, what
he had reason to fear his suffering fellow-student, from
ignorance of his danger, had too long concealed.

The day after this information was received, Mrs.
Mackintosh and her daughter, accompanied by their
relative, Mr. Strong, started for Tiibingen. I resolved
also to visit him, though the time which then seemed at
my disposal would only permit of my being with him
for a day or two. But if he was dying, I might thus see
him ere he died; and though one day only could be
passed ?ji his society, such days we all feel become to

yohn Mackintosh,

44^

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us years, and form a portion of our after lives. In the
event of his being able to journey homci I might be
of use.

I left, accordingly, for Tiibingen upon Tuesday even-
ing, the nth, in good hope, I confess, that while there
must have been from his state of health much cause for
anxiety, there possibly was not any for despair as to his
ultimate recovery ; or surely his letter to me of so late
a date as the 23d of January, would have contained
some allusion to a condition so precarious.

Pushing on, day and night, as rapidly as possible — yet
delayed twenty-four hours by thick mist on the Rhine —
I arrived at Tiibingen at two on the morning of the 17th.

It was a clear frosty night The full moon shone
from a cloudless sky \ and the sound of my solitary steps
alone was heard in the silent streets, as I made my way
to the hotel to which I was directed. But where was
John Mackintosh? Was he still in the town? Had
his friends arrived % Maybe they had come, and de-
parted again with their precious charge homewards, or
to the south ? Or, what if all was over !

On gaining admission to the hotel, I could not refrain
from immediately asking the boy who half-asleep slowly
undid the door — ^though my eager questionings seemed
vain — * If he knew ot any English gentleman, residing
in Tiibingen, who was in bad health V ' Yes ; he knew
Mr. Mackintosh f * Was he still in town V * He was ;
and two days ago his mother and sister, with a friend,
had come to see him.' * Where did he live V * Here.*
* Where ! in the hotel V * Yes ; his room was up stairs !*
In a few minutes I was standing in breathless silence at
his door ; and, with strange thoughts, heard his hollow
cough within !

a F

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15
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450

Memorials of

Next morning early, I saw Mrs. Mackintosh and her
daughter, and found them alone ; Mr. Strong having
been obliged to return to Edinburgh. They were in
great distress. John's case was worse even than they
had anticipated ; and had been pronounced hopeless by
the doctor, who also said that he had not many weeks
to live. To add, moreover, to their sorrow, he had
received them in the most unaccountable manner — with
coldness, almost with sternness — as if irritated and
annoyed by their presence !

A friend from Stuttgart, on the day previous to their
arrival at Tiibingen, had informed him of their coming.
But it was several hours after they reached the hotel
before he would see them ! and then only after writing
a note from his room, expressed in a tone utterly unlike
himself; and when they did at last meet, the great
change visible in his bodily appearance was not more
striking and painful than in his manner to them both.
They had seen very little of him since, and that only
when specially invited to his room for a short time.

Oh ! how strange for such an one thus to act at such
a time, and to those he most loved on earth ! and of
whose not coming to Wildbad, near Tiibingen, he had
written so lately in his Diary : * The road to Wildbad is
henceforth for me gloomy and leading to gloom, and
utterly unwalkable!' Very mysterious all this was to
us at the time \ and, to the lonely mourners, a deep and
poignant sorrow !

What could be the meaning of this state of mind?
Was it from a strong will, crossed in its plans, presumed
to be wisely made — and not yet bending itself to a higher
will? Was it nervous fear, lest the quiet and repose
which he deemed necessary for his recovery might be

yohn Mackintosh,

451

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against the slow but sure progress of overpowering
weakness and decay ! Or was it not possible that Satan
might thus tempt or torment him ere the last and final
victory of the Christian was achieved !

These and many similar perplexing thoughts passed
in rapid succession through my mind, as I listened to the
sad details of the two previous days, since those sufferers
had met at Tubingen. And I cannot pass over, as of
no moment, things which at the time were so terribly
real ; nor have I any wish to conceal from the reader,
who has perused with interest these memorials of a
good man's life, such a portion of it as this, merely
because exhibiting a character in painful contrast to
that of every other, and the very opposite of what all
who knew John Mackintosh best would have looked
for in any circumstances, more especially in those, so
peculiarly touching, in which he was now placed by the
coming to him of his dearest friends amidst common
sorrows, heavy to be borne. But such times of real or
apparent darkness and confusion, when they befall a
Christian, have a teaching for others in like trials — it
may be of warning and it may be of encouragement — as
much as days and years of unbroken sunshine can afford.

I now longed the more to see my friend ; and accord-
ingly wrote to him a note announcing my arrival, and
asking when he would see me. I received an immediate
reply — * Come now.'

When I entered his room, he was seated on a sofa
reading, with a large screen between him and the door.
Before him was his desk, and a table loaded with books.
His chest was wrapped in a plaid ; his winter walking-

452

Memorials of

l\:

coat, buttoned to his throat and ears, partially concealed
his face ; his dark eyes, always so peculiarly mild and
loving, flashed beneath his long black hair with an
intense and painful lustre ; while his cheeks glowed with
spots of crimson.

The moment he saw me he smiled, and, stretching
out both his arms, without rising from his seat, emljraced
and kissed me, while he breathed my name in a whisper
scarcely audible ; then, after one or two remarks, he
made a sign to me to be seated and to take a book,
while he resumed his own, saying, * I am holding com-
munion with God ! ' and so we both sat in silence.

I soon made an excuse to leave the room, and I did
so more perplexed than before, and thought for a
moment that his mind was affected — all was so strange
and unnatural. What was to be done? There was
one resource for us all — prayer; but beyond that, all
seemed dark !

During the afternoon when passing the dining-hall —
for he dined and walked by himself — I watched him for
a long time as he sat, motionless as a statue, beside the
large stove. By and by I joined him, and, without
alluding to his illness, began to tell him home news,
and to recall scenes and stories of the olden time;
and to speak of our mutual friends whom I had lately met,
until, after an hour had thus passed, in which he had
listened in silence but with evident pleasure, he whis-
pered, 'How very strange is the power of mind on
body ; if you had not been there telling me these things,
I should have been sitting in torture and in prayer !'
He then bade me leave him and return to him at a later
hour, which he mentioned. I had found an entrance
to him by the door, ever open in him, of old memories,

\%\

yoJm Mackintosh,

453

news,
I time ;
met,
had
I whis-
Id on
lings,
|iyerr
later
ranee
)ries,

and I was resolved to try others still more wide — his
love to mother and sister, and his duty to God.

When we met again, at a later hour, I led the conver-
sation to his state of health, and to the coming of his
friends to see him, and the reception which tliey had
met I told him how, although he had tried, from the
kindest possible motives, hitherto to conceal his illness,
and its history, from his mother, all was now perfectly
known to her, and that she had made up her mind to the
very worst;, if such was God's will ; and how his illness
was not such a pain to her as his apparent coldness and
unsympathizing manner ; and then, appealing to his con-
science, I pointed out how unworthy all this was of him
as a son and Christian, and how totally different from
what I had ever known or heard of him during his pre-
vious life ; and, as I spoke these and many other things,
I saw his expression totally change, until at last he
thanked me most warmly, saying that a weight had been
taken off his spirit ; that he was greatly relieved and
soothed ; for — to end this painful story — as I was after-
wards informed by him, he was under the impression
that his mother was yet in ignorance of his state, and he
feared to agitate himself and her by the discovery ; that
he thought himself in no immediate danger ; that con-
sequently there was no necessity for any one to have
written to his mother and sister, or for bringing them
abroad to the hazard of their health, during the inclement
season of a German winter ; that he had believed per-
fect quiet essential to his recovery ; that, above all, he
had an iron will, and when he had made up his mind to
a thing, did not readily give it up, — that these and such-
like ideas, working in a frail body, had indeed most
sinfully affected him. * But,' he added, * my Master, who

454

Memorials of

brought you all here, was more loving to me, as He ever
has been, than I was to myself 1' He soon after sent for
his friend who had written to Scotland without his per-
mission, and though he had before refused to see him
for daring to take this liberty, he now kissed him and
forgave him. We all met in his room for some hours
the same evening : he seemed a different person. In
spite of the pale and altered contenance, the old familiar
look of gentleness and love had come again, and was
beaming on us all, as he gazed in silence around him.
I had brought Tennyson's In Memoriam with me, and
he heard with delight some of its exquisite contents.
Our conversation at last turned upon high themes — of
heaven and the nature of its blessedness. Lest he should
strain his lungs, and perhaps again cause haemorrhage, he
spoke little, only in a whisper, and that to his sister, who
happened to sit beside him on the sofa. Some allusion
having been made to fears of death, his countenance
brightened as he said with a smile, * I thank God I never
had one. Oh ! to be with Jesus ! ' And then at another
turn in the conversation, when speaking of the happiness
which would be derived from the society of the saints,
and of Christian friends whom he had known ?»nd loved,
and with whom we had laboured here ; he repeated the
names of several whom he longed to see again : I shall
meet my grandfather. Aunt Kate, Mr. Graham Speirs,
Dr. Chalmers, and all such dear friends.' And so the
evening passed in great sunshine and calm, and was con-
cluded by prayer and praise. I selected a Psalm, which,
in spite of trial, we now felt to be peculiarly appropriate
— the 103d ; and, to link us still more with other days,
with home, and scenes of peace, I * gave out the line *
before singing it, and my tune was Coleshill; for both

'John Mackintosh,

455

ays,
both

psalm and tii»i:?, thus sung, are associated by every
member of the Scottish Church with seasons of holy
communion, and never fail to summon up vivid pictures
and undying memories from the past — of the old Church
where he used to worship, and the churchyard where his
dearest he interred — with the once familiar faces and
forms of Christian friends now no more ; and to recall
also periods of his life in which perhaps, more than in
any other, he enjoyed fellowship with God. It was
indeed a tranquil meeting, and when it was over he
asked me to remain with him alone ; and then he
poured out his heart, and said how much he was
soothed, and, in his own humble and loving way, ex-
pressed his gratitude and joy at having us with him ;
his immense relief, too, in knowing that his mother and
sister were fully nrepared for whatever might happen to
him, in God's providence, and that they were so calm
and resigned.

Thus the day, whose morning was so dark and troubled,
ended in an evening of heavenly serenity and peace; and
all our hearts were very full as we retired to rest indeed,
acknowledging the good hand of our God upon us, and
committing the future to His care.

The next two days spent at Tubingen were days of
continued and increasing peace.

It had been suggested by the invalid himself some
time before, but was now, with the doctor's consent,
resolved upon, to remove without delay to the more
genial climate, and still pleasanter residence of Canstadt

Canstadt is a small town about two miles from Stutt-
gart, and so connected with it by the public park which
unites them, that it almost forms a suburb to the capital
It is beautifully situated uoon the banks of the Neckar,

■m

456

Memorials of

now beginning to assume that importance which it pos-
sesses as a river, when, farther on in its course, it passes
beneath the shadow of Heidelberg. The immediate
neighbourhood is quite a garden, with waving fields of
corn, and picturesquely-grouped hills covered with vine-
yards, and everywhere pushing their promontories, tufted
with orchards, into narrow flat valleys, and strips of rich
intervening plains ; while the whole landscape is marked
and enlivened by white villages, and church spires * that
point as with a silent finger to heaven.' Though in
summer the abundant mineral springs and tepid waters,
which, from about thirty different sources, bubble up
around the town, attract many invalids from all lands,
and its rural walks make it a favourite resort for the
population of Stuttgart ; yet in winter the * Brunnen '
are almost deserted, and the quiet of the town is
undisturbed.

There is frequent mention in John's Diary of walks
to Canstadt. Thus he wrote when at Stuttgart : —

* Sept. 3. — Walk through the park to Canstadt ; came
upon it ere 1 expected, and greeted my old friend, the
Neckar. Stood upon the bridge thinking of plans, and
totally uncertain of what I am to do. But unto Thee, O
Lord, do I lift up my soul ; I am thine, guide me ! *

And again : —

^ Sept. 17. — To Canstadt, to call, with Neething, a
Hollander from the Cape, on Dr. Schmidt. The day
was sublime ; but it was often trying to speak vehemently
in a strange tongue, instead of gloating over and medi-
tating upon the beauties of nature. We found the Doctor
at the Brunnen, and walked up the hill ; had a ravishing
view of the Neckar valley, glorified by the matchless
sun and light. On my return home, felt a strong desire

yohn Mackintosh*

457

to change my abode for Canstadt. The Lord guide
me !'

With these pleasing associations thrown around this
spot, he was now more anxious than ever to make it his
residence.

Airy rooms, in a wide half-built street, with only a few
houses in it, were fortunately secured, and prepared for
us by the unwearied kindness of Miss Hodges. Dr. J.
of Stuttgart came to Tiibingen to accompany the in-
valid on his journey. All the books of the student
were packed by his sister at his own request, * to remind
him,' as he said, * of days of yore ' — for she used to do
this for him the night before he left Geddes for school
or college, after the summer's vacation was over.

Many friends called to say farewell ; and among these,
the excellent Hoffmann, whose visits then and after-
wards were always peculiarly refreshing.

The evening before John's departure, when exhausted
by these last demands made upon both mind and body,
he said to me, * I begin now to feel that I cannot last
long ; but as my day is, so shall my strength be.'

The weather was lovely for the season of the year ;
the sky cloudless ; the air dry and bracing ; the ground
without snow, and crisp with frost.

On the morning of Thursday the 20th, everything
being ready, and the carriages at the door, several stu-
dents assembled to bid him again farewell, and gathered
round him with affectionate greetings, when, weak and
tottering, but smiling and cheerful, he descended from
his room. All the servants of the hotel, as well as the
kind landlady, were also there — not from any selfish
motives, but with such signs of grief on their counten-
ances, as betokened singular interest in the sufferer.

458

Memorials of

Henry, the boy, who had attended him, was in floods of
tears; and even Rieka, the poor woman whose only
work was the lowest drudgery about the house, and who
used to feed his stove with fuel, was present, and while
humbly keeping in the background, covered her face
with her apron as she sobbed aloud : for during his so-
journ in the hotel, he had been kind and considerate to
them all ; giving lessons in English to one ; a Bible to
another ; and on every fitting occasion speaking lovingly
to them, as a brother, of the good which was for them
in Christ Jesus. And so when he noticed each at part-
ing, and the carriage drove off, they felt that a friend
had left them, and they truly sorrowed because * they
should see his face no more.'

He bore the fatigue of the long journey with great
patience; and in the evening once more crossed the
bridge of Canstadt, on which he had stood in Septem-
ber, 'totally uncertain,' as he then wrote, about his
future plans, but trusting God for guidance.

His new lodgings pleased him much. As he paced
through them, and looked from their windows to the
quiet scene without, he remarked with an expression of
great gratitude, *How sweet this place is! how good
God is!'

His bedroom was conveniently situated between mine
and our common sitting apartment, having a communi-
cation with both. It was soon set in order under his
own minute directions. The books were unpacked,
and with desk, thermometers, watch, ms. note-books,
etc., were systematically arranged upon his table — each
thing in the same relative position which it occupied
on, his table at Tiibingen, and probably when in Rome
also.

yohn Mackintosh.

459

The routine of his daily life at Canstadt, until very
shortly before it ended, was this : — he rose generally
about seven o'clock; breakfasted by himself immedi-
ately after dressing ; and until ten o'clock, when our
morning meal, with family worship, was past, he was
left undisturbed to his own private devotions. We then
sat beside him, conversing or reading to him — perhaps
the English newspapers, or from some favourite author
— until half-past twelve, when he dined. After dinner
he walked with me for half an hour or an hour. The
greater part of the afternoon and evening we usually
spent all together, occupied as in the morning, with
conversation, reading aloud, or listening to music ;
while he generally sat in a large arm-chair, or on the
edge of his bed, with his forehead resting on the back
of a chair, and his chest wrapped in a tartan plaid. The
day was always concluded by our meeting in his room
for reading the Scriptures, praise, and prayer. He very
often selected the chapters or the psalm, and never
failed to add his hearty amen to my prayer, and to
breathe a few words of blessing in the ears of each as
we parted from him for the night.

To these ordinary events of his everyday life may be
added the many kind visits of Christian friends — such
as the excellent Pastor Verner, who lived in our imme-
diate neighbourhood ; Dr. Hoffmann occasionally, with
other acquaintances from Tiibingen and Stuttgart I
need hardly say Miss Hodges was one of his most fre-
quent visitors, and was ever heartily welcomed by
us all.

But there were features of his inner life and character
which marked the history of those days, whose outer
incidents were little varied, making them memorable to

460

Memorials of

us who were with him, and leaving undying impressions
which I feel it almost impossible to convey by words to
others.

Very remarkable was the meek spirit with which he
acquiesced in God's appointments regarding him. Im-
mediately, for example, on his arrival at Canstadt, he
requested Dr. J. to examine his chest with care. The
doctor called, while he was, as usual, reading in the
morning in his Greek Testament. A few minutes after
the examination was over — but not before I heard pri-
vately from Dr. J. how his worst fears of his case were
realized — John summoned me to his room, and beckon-
ing me to sit down beside him, quietly asked me in his
usual half whisper, if I had heard the doctor's report
Having replied in the affirmative, I inquired whether
the results of his examination were such as he had an-
ticipated ? * No,' he said, speaking slowly and with
some effort, *much worse. I thought that maybe the
coating alone of my lungs had been affected, although
the great pain and weakness which I have experienced
might have led me to suspect something more was
wrong. But even with the lungs themselves touched, I
thought it possible for me to have lasted till autumn,
when, if I could not have returned home, it was my in-
tention to have then sent for my mother and sister ; but
the doctor tells me to-day that one lung is quite gone
and the other almost, so that I cannot live months, pro-
bably not many weeks. It is therefore now certain,' he
continued, 'that when you leave me, we shall never
meet again in this world. But I am sure God's grace
will be sufficient for you — for my mother — for my sister
— ^for us all ; and that we shall all be united in heaven.'
Then adding emphatically, 'But God is my portion.

yo/m Mackintosh.

461

His own sweet will be done ! It is the will of a Father.
It is a Father's hand that sends this, and when I go, He
will take me.'

His Greek Testament, laid aside when the doctor
entered, was then resumed, and everything went on as
before ; and he did not again allude to this morning's
interview; nor was his wonted cheerfulness for a
moment disturbed by the knowledge that his life was
surely drawing rapidly to a close. Not many days after
this, when returning from a short walk on a sunny fore-
noon, he found, to his surprise, that his strength had
so much failed him, as to make it necessary for me to
take him in my arms and carry him up stairs. But no
murmur escaped his lips, in thus parting from that outer
world which he had always enjoyed with such intense
relish. He only said : * It is likely that I shall never
walk out more.' In this meek and quiet spirit, and with
few words, he accepted his cross, met every change in
his complaint, bore every additional weight of suffering,
and parted from all that was most dear to him.

One evening, again, when he and I were alone, our
conversation turned upon the mystery, to us, of those
providential dispensations by which God often lays aside
for a time His most active and useful servants — as when
Paul was confined again and again to prison, with a
world to enlighten — or when by death God suddenly
removes them, and prevents them from doing the work
here for which then: whole previous life seemed but a
preparation. We then spoke of the honour and privi-
lege of labouring for Christ in this present world of
temptation and suffering. * The penitent thief,' he said,
^ did nothing meritorious — he only believed. But to
labour for Christ as one reconciled — to labour as a

P v.

4^2

Memorials of

privilege ! — the thought, I confess, humbles me. I have
done nothing for Him.' * But,' he added, ' I have never
charged myself with sin for not having entered sooner
upon my ministerial career. My Master has never
given me to see my conduct in that respect to have
been wrong. I was unfit ! * * I am not sure,' I replied,

* if that was the reason ; but I believe you yielded your-
self to God to be led by Him, as seemed good to Him-
self, and I rejoice that you do not regret your delay,
and that no repentance on this score stains your soul's
fair peace.' * It never does — no, never ! ' And thus he
was able to resign with meekness the [.long cherished
hope of labouring in his Master's kingdom. This blessed
disposition, always manifested by him, was not more
remarkable than the unvarying peace of mind which he
enjoyed in spite of constant pain ; and also the sunny
cheerfulness which, without a cloud, daily played around
him. I once asked him — what, if true, no one could
perhaps have discovered — whether the weakness and
unceasing pain of body did not necessarily so far affect
his mind as sometimes to produce, apparently without a
cause, darkness and depression ? * No,* was his reply,

* I have constant peace. Not always much feeling; but
I can always cling to Christ, and to the truth that He
died for me ; while often, often, bright beams oi light
and love come to my spirit from Him ! ' So perfectly
calm was he, that the approach of death, made now cer-
tain to him for the first time by the judgment of a phy-
sician, did not, as I have already said, produce the least
change even in those daily arrangements of study which
he had formerly made, in the hope of continued, at least
of prolonged life. He rose at his usual hour ; read the
same books, and in the same methodical order as hereto-

John Mackintosh^

463

fore. And so fresh were his literary tastes till the last,
that a week before his death he sent for a German
volume then newly published — the Life of Mercklin, by
Strauss ; and listened, till the night before he died, with
unabated interest to chapter after chapter, read aloud
by his sister or myself, until he ascertained the last
phase of the writer's opinions ; while he expressed his
grief that it afforded no hopes of a change in him to a
better mind.

Indeed, John Mackintosh had for so many years
habitually spent every day as if it were his last, that
now he could spend these his last days like any other.
One of his first requests, accordingly, when he knew
that Canstadt must be his home, was to procure a good
pianoforte for his sister at Stuttgart; and this having
been obtained, music became a source of enjoyment
throughout the day. But his music was not confined to
what is termed ' sacred.' While the familiar psalm-
tunes of Scotland were sung, and called forth many a
happy response of * delicious!' * glorious!' and the
beautiful hymns, too, of the German Church, with their
solemn chants, were constantly repeated ; yet as he sat
alone in his own room — the door open — or paced slowly
up and down, leaning on my arm, he asked for every
piece of music he could think of — it might be a waltz, a
passage from some of the operas, or more frequently
from his favourites Mendelssohn and Beethoven, which
he admired for their own sake, but chiefly, as he said,
because reminding him vividly of the olden time at
Geddes. And there were well-known Scotch airs he
always asked for, and never wearied hearing. Evening
after evening, as he sat near the piano, with closed eyes,
and head drooping on liis breast, he listened in silence,

! i1
I i!

! :<

\ i!

464

Memorials of

as he dreamt of other days, to the pathetic melodies of
' Wanderin' Willie,' ' Auld Robin Gray,' ' the Flowers
o' the Forest,' or * the Land o' the Leal.'

With all this, there was no excitement. His whole
bearing was singularly manly and dignified. He never
spoke of himself, or of his feelings, mental or bodily,
except, perhaps, when one of us happened to be alone
with him, and some circumstance, or inquiry on our
part, led him to break through

* The silence and the awful modesties of sorrow ! '

Thus his sister said to him one evening, * You look
happy to-night, dear.' * Yes, my pet,' he replied, * I
always am — for I can lay myself as a little child at the
feet of Jesus.' A few mornings before his death, and
after a night of severe suffering, he complained to her
ot much weakness, remarking that he had never felt
so before ; but added, * I am very peaceful and happy.*
The same forenoon he said again to me, * I never felt
as I now do. But, oh ! what a Saviour I have ! He
does far more for me than I can ask.' And for the first
time since we met, he was overcome, and wept

He never alluded, except indirectly, to his coming
death — from his extreme considerateness for the feelings
of others. Sometimes he let us read his thoughts by the
passages of Scripture, the psalm, or hymn, which he
selected for our evening readings ; as when he made me
read the chapter on the Resurrection in Corinthians ;
the description of heaven in the 7 th chapter of Revela-
tion ; or the well-known hymn —

* The hour of my departure's come ; *

asking me to repeat twice over the verse beginning—

* I leave the world without a tear.
Save for the friends I hold so dear I '

John Mackintosh,

When some v*»rcA «»

a passing remark. ' Readfh^ ' °'<=^'°»ally he made
»gain,' he said of some rfV ''*'?^' ""^^ ^S*'", and
of John, which I h^L" rtVrr" *^ '^"^ "^h^Pter
adding, when I had «edl"em'Tr«-o.hip,
I suffer much ; but oh tl,.™i T '~ *^''' Precious !
Ou« is a %ht afflic,i:t *'^';i*« ' '» "« "vealed .
»ame night that I went to hTK^ ? ™''** ""^ 'h«
coughing much. I fouL 2ht '' '^^'S him

"hage. . Remember,' he sdd .r^'""' °^ "^^o-
nervous about this; if it yZ' \ ^ "°' afraid or

often repeated by us in oth^ ylf !r ! °' °"'^' ""^
dunng those last weeks of sadS^'. ^^"^ "°' ^«<=aUed
undressing him, and jusfbrfor^ "'"'"'• ^'"='ft«'
took me by the hand, and- ""^"^ ^ood-night, he

Survives fof™e."anTl"^r*^ '«"^
Thf^fnn^ f r ^^ ^nnot but survive

«t K> take from speech its edge '— .

^=^:*d^^-^-'^-tHeba;,ad.the

*My wound is deen • T r •

jj.etHouth:^;^^-rt^;

A^demebythebmkenbush ^
iiiat grows on yonder %e lee.

466

Memorials of

* O bury me by the braken bush,

Beneath the blooming brier,
Let never living mortal ken
That ere a kindly Scot lies here !*

In this manner, and on such rare occasions only, did
he speak of his death.

In recalling those days at Canstadt I cannot remem-
ber a single instance of selfishness in word or deed,
shown by John Mackintosh, which for a moment dark-
ened the sunshine of gentle love in which he lived and
moved. As far as unceasing pain would permit, he
seemed entirely to forget himself and his sufferings, in
his unwearying thoughtfulness about others. This was
seen in his innumerable little acts of considerateness
about everything which might please or contribute to the
happiness of those around him, or in any way lighten
that burden which his state could not but impose upon
them, however cheerfully borne ; and the same feeling
was constantly manifested in the kind expressions with
which he received those attentions which he necessarily
required, but never in any degree exacted.

I cannot help relating here a characteristic instance of
his unselfish thoughtfulness about others. * Go to Stutt-
gart,' he said one day to me, and handing me a list of
things worth seeing, which he had noted down in pencil,
added, * Now be sure and see those things, and tell me
all about them. Call also at Ne£f's, the bookseller, and
ask him for the parcel I left with him, and bring it to me ;
till then I won't tell you what it is.' On asking the
bookseller for the said parcel, I was told that Mr. Mac-
kintosh had given such particular orders about its de-
livery, that without a written order he was pledged not
to give it up to any one, and give it up to me he would

yohn Mackintosh,

467

not ! The written order having been obtained, to satisfy
the conscientious bookseller, the parcel was brought
down upon a subsequent day ; and proved to be Vasis*
large panoramic view of Rome, which John in spite of
weakness and weariness had as I find in his Diary,

* hunted Rome' to obtain for me the day before leaving
it, and had carried with no small inconvenience during
all his journey northward, and now presented himself,

* to be hung up in my study !' There it now hangs, the
memento of a kindness which ever busied itself how to
gratify others, and which I have never seen equalled.

Till the last moment of his life he embraced every
opportunity of doing good by fitting words of counsel or
of comfort. There were different periods in the day
which were generally chosen by him for seeing each of
us alone, as this was less fatiguing than always having us
together. For instance, he sent for his mother first after
breakfast ; then for his sister ; while the night-time was
my peculiar portion. On such occasions he became
more personal and earnest in his communications.

One night, fbr example, when all had retired to bed, I
was with him alone ; when sitting with his hands clasped
upon his knees, his eyes shut, and his head bent forward,
he thus addressed me in short sentences — spoken under
breath, uttered slowly, and very solemnly : — * Humble
yourself as a little child. Follow your Master — do not
go before. Pray, pray, pray without ceasing ; wrestle in
prayer with God. Our natural temperament cannot be
destroyed, it must be regulated. Walk in the Spirit, that
will do it. " If any one will follow me," says our Lord,
" let him take up his cross daily''' " Be holy, for I am
holy." Oh ! it is not easy to realize the life of God in
us all the day.' *Have you been able to do it? I

468

Memorials of

asJced. He nodded and smiled. * It was long with me,'
he replied, * a fearful battle. With every one it is a sore
battle at first But it must be done ; and when done,*
he added, opening his eyes and with an expression of
joy, * it is inexpressibly — inexpressibly delightful 1' ' We
should have our house,' he continued after a pause,
'well ordered before God. Everything in it should
as much as possible reflect heaven ; for heaven must
in everything begin here. We should esteem in our
house the Bible as the best, the sweetest book. I
love the custom, in pious families in Wurtemberg, of
reading it after dinner. We must daily live above
carnal joys. The Spirit of God must pervade every-
thing, that we may live holy, live calmly, and' — again
opening his eyes and speaking emphatically — * live
cheerfully. When disposed to- exceed in anything, we
should pause and ask such questions as these : — Will
this please God ? Will it grieve the Spirit of God that
dwelleth in me ? O the blessedness of the divine life !'
* How think you shall it be best attained ?' I asked. * I
should say, begin soon with prayer. Let your first
thoughts in bed be given to God. When you rise kneel
down and humble yourself before God as a child, that
He may lead you all the day long. Think of God when
you are dressing. After that, read, meditate and pray.
Prayer should never be put off till after breakfast.' Then
rising up in his chair, looking with great earnestness, and
speaking with energy, he said, * This I have found to be
of inexpressible importance. If our devotions are deferred
till the interruption^ of the forenoon, the devil may get
on our back, and ride us all day!' *I love,' he added, 'to
give God my first, my clearest, my fi-eshest thoughts and
hours.' On asking him more particularly as to his own

yohn Mackintosh.

469

method of devotion, he said, ' I commune with God
through His Word anil Spirit. I do not on such occa-
sions read critically. If difficulties present themselves,
in the meantime I pass them by. When any verse
occurs which is peculiarly suitable to myself I dwell upon
it As I read, I cry constantly to God for His Spirit
After that I pray at length. I have no prescribed time ;
but try and enjoy it as long as possible. Last winter in
my reading, I confined myself to the three Gospels. I
am now reading through John's Gospel. I have been
living and feasting on the life of Christ'

As I sat listening, in the deep silence of night, to those
utterances addressed to me by one who had lived the
truth which he knew, and was now in perfect peace,
going to meet Him whom he had long sought and served
with so much earnestness and love, my spirit felt no less
than awed before him ; and what he then spoke to me,
I that same night wrote down, that when perusing it, if
spared to do so, in future years, it might quicken me to
greater diligence in following his steps ; and as the words
were then written, so are they now given to the world, that
others may learn of him, and know how true and good he
was, and by what means his rare excellence was attained,
and his great peace enjoyed.

In this same spirit of seeking to benefit others, he
often addressed his sister, perhaps in a few words breathed
into her ear, when bending over him to bid good-night
* Good-night, my pet Seek God as a little child. Be
humble. Speak to ^qsms face to face.' Or, 'Be instant
in prayer, dearie. Pray always for a broken spirit. See
how infinitely above this world's joys Christ is. Persevere
— fear not — God will do it '

To his mother he spoke as a son, words of strength

470

Memorials of

and comfort ; with humble acknowledgments of any
defects in conduct he might have exhibited, when under
her more immediate charge. He was fond also of hear
ing from her the most minute details of all the people
about Geddes, especially those with whom he had en-
joyed Christian fellowship.

The arrival of the post was always welcome, as bring-
ing letters from friends, and news of home. He also
wrote to several of his old correspondents ; at first by
scrolling himself a pencil copy of what he wished his
sister to write for him ; and latterly, when his strength
failed, by dictating to her. He mentioned also the
names of many to whom he desired letters should be
written, if he became so unwell as to be himself
unfit for the discharge of this duty. These letters told
all the same tale, of an illness which he knew must be
fatal, and also of a peace which he knew nothing could
ever take away !

Two or three weeks before his death, he dictated
the following — his last — letter to his friend Professor
Forbes : —

* Mv VERY DEAR SiR, — The kindness of your letter
overpowered me, but more, it sustained and comforted
me. Since I wrote you, I have indeed been brought
very low, and think my end must be soon. I suffer
greatly from pain in the spine, which has been weakened
by so much expectoration. So sometimes I can find
rest in no position ; yet the Lord has never yet tried me
above what He gave me strength to bear, and His good-
ness to me is infinite. This light affliction over, and
then His own presence !

*My family are a great comfort to me. Your name is

yohn Mackintosh.

47»

written on my heart, and I can never forget all you*
gentleness and kindness. If it be the Lord's will to
take me home, it is my joy to think that we part only
for a season. I would have written you sooner, had not
our removal to this place prevented me. I desire to
be most kindly remembered to Mrs. Forbes and the
dear children ; and ever am your devotedly attached
and grateful J. M.

^P.S. — I know I have your daily prayers. The ground
of my confidence is the alone merits of my dear
Redeemer.' '

I was now, alas ! obliged to part from my friend and
to return to Scotland. When \ left home, upon the
nth of February, I had little hope of being able to
remain with him till the nth of March — for I was then
on the eve of removing from my former to my present
charge. But the political difficulties which at that time
hindered the formation of a ministry, and the appoint-
ment consequently of a Home Secretary, delayed also
the issuing of my presentation, without which my trans-
lation could not take place; and thus my sojourn abroad
was extended to a period much longer than I could
possibly have anticipated. But letters received from
home now seemed to demand my immediate presence ;
yet they placed me in trying circumstances, in which it
was not easy to decide between conflicting duties and
conflicting feelings. I resolved to refer my case to my
friend, well knowing how wisely and unselfishly he
would advise me. The day after I did so, he called me
to him, and said, *I have thought calmly and prayerfully
over all you have told me ', my verdict is, go I If I
thought that my end was near, I would as decidedly

472

Memorials of

say stay^ that you might be with me to the last But I
think it probable that I may live for a month yet. So
we must part now. Then, besides your arrangements
about Glasgow, your people in Dalkeith may require
you. There may be sick ones wishing to see you;
your sister is alone, etc. etc. Then, after saying some
loving things about the time we had spent together, he
added : * The Spirit of God, the Teacher and Comforter,
is with me. You know now all my feelings, and just
act with a good conscience.* I saw Dr. J. upon the
the loth, and he also said that it was quite possible he
might yet live several weeks, and that certainly he did
not think him near death. As I could not, therefore,
'with a good conscience,' remain so long as to have
the satisfaction of being with him and his family * to the
last,' I resolved to leave him early on the morning of
the nth.

The evening before, he seemed to have considerably
revived. He had been able, but not without much
effort, prompted by love to others, to sit several times
during the previous days to an artist for his likeness.
This last day he had enjoyed music and reading, and
we met as usual in his room for family devotion, feeling
indeed that we should never again all praise God
together in this world. But in the middle of the night
he suffered so much from his harassing cough, that I
sat beside him, and remained with him till morning.
In reply to my inquiries when I entered his room, he
said, * I have endured agonies of body for the last two
hours ; but they have not affected my spirit — I have
perfect peace. Could I sing, I would sing, " Glory to
God ! " ' He then asked me to read some hymns and
passages of Scripture to him from time to time, and also

yohn Mackintosh.

473

to pray with him. And thus the night passed ; and the
morning came ; and soon six o'clock struck — the hour
at which I must leave him. Of our parting, I shall not
speak. But I little thought at the time that God had
graciously permitted me to begin with him his last day
upon earth !

I left him in charge of Jane Miller, Mrs. Mackintosh's
old and valued attendant, who had accompanied her on
her journey ; and who, when at Geddes, had almost in-
deed been the sick-nurse of Mr. Mackintosh during his
last illness.

Miller found him very restless ; nor could she by the
unwearied application of the prescribed remedies afford
any ease to his oppressed chest and pained body, which
' suffered everywhere.' He asked her to read hymns and
texts of Scripture to strengthen him; and afterwards
inquired much about his father : — * Did he suffer much ?
As much as he did ? Was he as impatient as he was %
Did he bear pain better? ' etc

His mother and sister came to him early. At break-
fast-time, he was able to take some food. His uneasiness
continued. As he leant his head upon the back of a
chair, on which he asked his mother to sit to be near him,
he repeated often the earnest prayer, * Lord, not ray will
— not my will — but Thine be done ! '

A letter to him from his friend Professor Forbes, was
deUvered by the forenoon post. He expressed a wish
to have it read immediately, and was cheered by its
contents. It was in reply to the last he had ever
written, and was also the last he ever received.

Miss Hodges arrived about midday ; and soon after,
his oppression in breathing becoming very severe, they
began for the first time to think that death was near.

474

Memorials of

Miss Hodges said to him, * Jesus is always with you.*
'Sometimes,' he replied. But as she repeated a few
texts of Scripture, and prayed at his request, a gleam of
joy, marked by all, lighted up his countenance, as, with
shut eyes and clasped hand, he smiled, nodding assent
to each uttered truth. He asked the window to be
opened, and tottering to it in his dressing-gown, had his
chair so placed as to be able to extend his arm into the
open air. It was a day of great beauty. The sun shone
brightly, and with almost a summer heat ; and already
the sounds of spring were heard from the birds in the
surrounding orchards. The same oppression returned
later in the afternoon, in a still more aggravated form.
Dr. J., who had been sent for, made him immediately
return to bed, and did everything that skill could suggest
to relieve him ; but was soon obliged to inform his friends
apart, that his end was fast approaching. He lay in
silence upon his bed with his eyes shut, and, in silence,
all stood around him. About four o'clock, he opened
his eyes, and motioned to his mother first, to come near
him and kiss him. His sister came next, and he said
to her, 'Love Jesus.' And after this, he bade each
farewell, and to each repeated the same counsel, ' Love
Jesus.' 'Any one else in the room?' he asked. Marie,
the kind daughter of the landlady, approached, weeping
bitterly. He thanked her for all her goodness to him
during his illness, and requested that she should send
her mother and sisters up stairs to bid him farewell.
They came, and he spoke kindly to them. Having
motioned to his sister to sit beside him, he drew her to
him, again kissed her, and began to speak to her ; but
his lips were cold, and she required to put her ear
almost to his mouth to hear what he said. But so calm

yohn Mackintosh.

475

and self-possessed was he, that he gave her minute
directions even then how to get his portmanteau which
he had, months before, sent to Berlin when intending to
study there \ and how, too, she could find in it the key
of his desk at Lasswade, in which his will was depo-
sited. He then requested to know how much she pro-
posed giving the doctor, inentioning at the same time a
sum which he thought generous and becoming. Then
beckoning to the doctor, he thanked him for his great
attention, and begged him to tell him truly how long he
thought he had to live. The doctor replied, * Perhaps
not many minutes.* After a pause, he began to repeat
the names of his near relatives — * Jane ; Alick ; Chris ;
James ; Ned Smith ; uncle ; my aunts ; Tom. Tell
them all to seek Jesus.' Then, in the same way, he
enumerated his old friends : * The Professor ; Madden ;
Bum Murdoch; Shairp; Boyle; Dr. Duncan; Charles
Brown ;' and others, whose names his sister could
not distinctly catch. *A11 my friends at Tiibingen,'
he added. He spoke about me also. Soon after, he
said, * Read.* Miss Hodges took up the Bible — for she
deemed the task too trying for either his mother or
sister. But he had told his mother some days before,
that when it came to the last she was to read to him
from a little book containing texts of Scripture selected
for the sick and dying, and which he was in the habit of
using ; and now, as if remembering this, the moment he
heard the voice of Miss Hodges, he opened his eyes,
and with earnestness, said, * No. My mother ! my
mother !* She was strengthened to minister this comfort
also to him. The last things read to him were the first
two verses of the 43d chapter of Isaiah, the hymns —
•The hour of my departure's come ;' ' Hark, how the

47^

Memorials of

adoring hosts above ;' and the 23d Psalm. When these
were ended, he said to his sister, *Bury me beside
Chalmers ;' and after a short pause, * Jesus ! oh, Jesus !'
He then lay again in silence, with a look of deepest
calm and peace ; but spoke no more. Once only he
opened his eyes, and gazed on all around him, as if
bidding them farewell. The setting sun filled the room
with a flood of light. At five o'clock, the church-
bells were ringing their glad evening chimes; and as
they rang, he left his friends on earth, and met his
Saviour.

They knelt around that quiet bed \ and she who bore
him was able to praise the Lord, who had redeemed him
and taken him to Himself!

^.^.

^.^^'^*'*^

A few days after this, his remains, now in the metal
coffin in which they were to repose in his own country,
were conveyed — as the law in Germany required — from
the private dwelling in which he died. Two or three
German friends followed the bier to its temporary
resting-place. Miss Hodges was one of them. They
bore him to an old Lutheran Chapel, situated in a
picturesque and sequestered spot in the immediate
neighbourhood of Canstadt, and which we had often
admired. The weather still continued serene, and
nothing could exceed the loveliness of that evening.
As the small and unknown procession moved along, an
organ, somewhere in the town, was pealing out a solemn
German hymn, and its echoes, borne upon the silent
air, more or less faintly accompanied the mourners on
their way. When they reached the Chapel, the moon
was dimly visible in the deep blue of the cloudless sky ;
and, though the valley was in the shadow, the last rays

^\H

yohn Mackintosh.

477

of a gorgeous sunset lighted up with a purple radiance
the trees which crested the surrounding hills.

The coffin was placed beneath the altar and the cross.
Those who laid it there, before departing, stood for a
short time around it, apparently engaged in prayer.

Upon Sabbath evening, his mother and sister were
enabled, in great peace, to spend some time alone beside
him.

The same kind relative who had accompanied his
aunt, Mrs. Mackintosh, when she went to Tiibingen,
now returned to Germany, and brought the bereaved
ones home.

The 9th of April was the day of burial in Scotland.
The funeral was a private one \ but permission to follow
him to the tomb was cordially given, as requested by
themselves, to some of his fellow-students of Divinity
from the Free Church College ; and also to a few old
friends — many of whose names he had uttered when
dying, and which are familiar to the reader.

This day of burial was also one of calm beauty, like
those which had shone upon him at Canstadt. Arthur's
Seat and Salisbury Crags, in the transparent air, appeared
to look down upon us. We heard the lark, singing over-
head; and all was bright and peaceful, as the com-
panions and friends who loved and honoured him, slowly
and silently carried him to his grave, and buried hira
* beside Chalmers.*

' His memory long will live alone

In all our hearts, as mournful light
That broods above the fallen sun.
And dwells in heaven half the night

- * Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace!
1. y Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,

Memorials of

While the stars bixrn, the moons increase^
And the great ages onward roll.

Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet,
Nothing comes to thee new or strange!

Sleep full of rest from head to feet ;
Lie still, dry dust, secure of change I *

A monument was soon after placed over his remains,
having this inscription on it : —

ERECTED

BY HIS COMPANIONS AND FRIENDS

TO THE MEMORY OF

JOHN MACKINTOSH

YOUNGEST SON OF THE LATE

WILLIAM MACKINTOSH OF GEDDES

Born qth yanuary 1822

DIED AT CANSTADT, IN GERMANY

XUh March 1851

AND

BURIED BY HIS DYING REQUEST

NEAR THE GRAVE OF CHALMERS

HIS REVERED INSTRUCTOR

* An example of the believers, in word,
in conversation, in charity, in spirit,
in faith, in purity."

TO t%v Xpiirrbf — t6 iiro6aP€iy K^pSau

ims.

APPENDIX-

NOTES ON SCHOOLS IN STUTTGART.

* 1 HAD often heard of the celebrity of the General School anA
Gymnasium system here pursued, and enjoyed a very long and
ample opportunity of inspecting it in its several departments, and
becoming conversant with its system and working. I shall endea-
vour, as far as my memory will permit me, to give you some of the
results of my observation. I shall begin with the lowest step of
what is a gradual and well-organized educational scale. I may
premise that my observations were made at Stuttgart, where the
system general throughout WUrtemberg, is yet, as might be ex-
pected, best represented. And first the German or Folks' SchooL
All children are obliged to attend school from the age of six till
fourteen. In these schools they learn their own tongue, writing,
counting, geography, history, religious knowledge, and singing.
These, so far as I remember, are the only things. The hours of
attendance are from seven till ten, and one till three, so that the
more advanced boys have ample time to be useful to their parents :
the girls to learn sewing, knitting, and other useful qualifications.
The holidays do not occupy more than two months in the year, at
different periods. The education appeared to me to be very
thorough, but, in most respects, not very different from our own,
nor better than in our well-appointed schools. :If the number,
however, of the same standing exceeds thirty or forty, they have at
once parallel classes and parallel masters, to avoid too great a dis-
tribution of interest. In the higher classes, one of the city ministers
assists weekly in the religious instruction to prepare the children
for Confirmation at fourteen, after which they are ushered into the
world. So begins and so ends the education of the mass of the

480

Appendix,

people, so that there is not one individual among them who cannot
read and write, and who is not acquainted with the name of Jesus,
and the truths of revelation. For those in a higher platform in
society, is provided a separate training. Here, at six years, and it
is again compulsory, the children are all sent to the Elementary
School, where, as its name implies, they are taught the elements
of their future knowledge. On quitting the Elementary School
at eight, a further ««|Wi»tlaai Calce* pUoc^ auMl this I think truly
admirable. Those who mean to pursue merely mercantile or me-
chanical occupations, proceed to the Real, or, as we should perhaps
say. Industrial School, where the whole organization is as thorough
and perfect as that of which I shall next speak, pursuing the same
immediate aim, of cultivating the intellectual powers, but as having
u different mediate aim, employing different and more appropriate
materials. Here, as indeed in all the schools, the mother-tongue
is carefully cultivated, not only in the development of its grammar,
s)mtax, and, in the higher classes, the riches of its literature — but
in frequent compositions criticised as vigorously as we do the dead
languages. This then, I say, is common to all the schools, in all
tlie ■\arious stages of progress, and is most worthy of attention.
In the Real School, however, a living language takes the place of
Latin and Greek. In Wiirtemberg, it is French. This language
is studied in all its minutiae, and has about as large a space of time
assigned to it as is usual with us to Latin or Greek. In tliis manner
the intellectual benefit is about the same, and in the end the
tradesman or mechanic finds himself a citizen of two countries,
possessed of a positive acquisition which he can employ and appre-
ciate through life. The Real School is divided into a lower and
an upper. In the former they must remain from eight to fourteen.
In the upper it is optional with him, and the practice is usual to
continue yet other two years. In the lower school, then, German,
French, Arithmetic, Mathematics, History, Geography, Religious
Knowledge, and Singing, are the main branches of education.
The number in each class is never allowed to exceed thirty, so
that at Stuttgart there are generally three parallel classes for each
year. In one of the lovvtst of these it is optional to learn some
Latin, as girls learn it, to know the French roots. I may mention
ere I forget it, that in all the schools the children or boys sit habitu-
ally before desks, as in our writing-rooms — a sign how much com-
position is cultivated, and how early and universally they are

Appendix*

4S1

initiated Intd the practice of taking notes. Another grnnd point
pervading all the schools, which I may also mention here, is this,
that no sch(^lar is allowed to pass into a higher class, without pass-
ing, at the end of the previous year, a satisfactory examination,
before the master of that class, in composition and some other
leading sul)ject. In the upper Real School the same subjects are
continued, but the student, according to his destination, has now a
wider option. He may add English or Italian to his French. He
may learn Bookkeeping, etc., for his profession. If, however, he
is not to be a merchant, but a mechanic, an engineer, or an archi-
tect, he then studies the elements of Natural Philosophy, of Che-
mistry, Drawing, and the like, and pays special attention to Mathe-
matics. All this prepares him to pass into the Polytechnic School,
wliere the higher Mathematics, Design, Modelling, practical
Mechanics, practical Mathematics, Architecture, Chemistry, and
the like, may be carried out for three, four, or five years, so that
the students may leave this last at an age varying from nineteen to
twenty-one. On paper these several stages may appear very intri-
cate, but in reality they are most simple and most admirable. I
well remember, for instance, how a friend of mine in Scotland, who
was to be an engineer, was left to hunt out his various classes, and
in soma measure to bungle his education, while here the whole
sequence is presented, directed by the best experience. But to re-
turn to the main steps of the ladder, and come to the highest, which,
in point of fact, I visited first, I must introduce you to the Gym-
nasium. Hither come the other swarm of youth thrown off by the
common Elementary School. It too is divided into lower and
upper, — the former embracing those from eight to fourteen, the
latter from fourteen to eighteen. Here you will at once perceive
one of its leading advantages over our system. Those who are
in a hurry to be done with their education, having been eliminated
at the threshold — the stattis piipillaris may be continued to the
eighteenth year, when indeed the boyhood ceases, but not earlier
than manhood usually begins. In point of fact, it embraces that
all-critical transition-period, when so many of our youth, prema-
turely reckoned men, make shipwreck of themselves intellectually
and morally for life. Its difficulties, which lie deep in the human
nature, are not entirely overcome even i)y the Gymnasium system,
but they are modified and controlled, so that intellectually and
morally I beUeve the gain is great In the Lower Gymnasium,

a H

482

Appendix,

German, Latin, Greek, History, Geography, Arithmetic, Mathe-
matics, and Religious Knowledge, are the chief branches. In the
first four of these, I was struck with the superior accuracy and
scholarship to what is common among us. First, as in all the
classes of all the schools up to the age of fourteen, the same master
teaches all the branches, and so each is invested with an equal
dignity. Next, the masters are stationary, and so become more apt
in their respective departments, while the student, with soiae dis-
advantages, obtains a wider and deeper range of knowledge, and
has a certain new stimulus each year from a change of hands. Fur-
ther, from the limited number and the examination before entering,
the students are kept more together, and each feels himself more
individually exercised. Thus, too, those long and dreary tracts of
time devoted to general parsing and repetition, for the boobies are
enabled to be divided, and what is given in its place ? — a real and
schclarlike acquaintance with the idioms and niceties of the Isin-
guage. Furthermore, more abundant composition ; no dog-I^ai'in
or Greek is permitted — and I am ashamed to say that when I lel't
the Academy, and to this day, I know no better (but this is a secret).
First, you will xxndcrstand that the teacher must be himself more
than a mere grammar scholar, and second, he conveys this scholar-
ship to his pupils by pointing out, on all occasions, the diflfereric*
between the genius of his own language .and the other, and making
him in the class, from simple phrases upwards, furnish the equiva-
lent in the two tongues, and point out nice shades of meaning
between nearly similar expressions and constructions. The amount
of scholarship thus possessed, even by very young boys, made me
blush. In Greek, from the commencement they not only write,
but pronounce after the accents. In all the years of the Lower
Gymnasium, they are confined to well-selected passages from vari-
ous authors, and only in the Upper do they read them in the origi-
nal. History, again, is never separated from Geography. Each
student has his atlas before him as he studies the other. In t he
junior years, they amass facts, names, dates, etc, and very tlo-
roughly, by being taught by the same master with classics. In tAe
higher years, but in the Upper Gymnasium, it is more as Hannah
proposes it — that is, periods are taken and more philosophically
handled ; but a general knowledge of the whole stream must and
should be first there. O what a blank is this in my dire experi-
ence ! Were I a teacher, I would so philosophize chielly upon

Pit

Appendix,

483

Greek and Konian history. Our generation is the first that has it
In its power to do so, and all the lessons and training may be
Icijxned there. Indeed, marvellous as is the influence of those an-
cient languages on our own, the intluence and analogy of their his-
tory is far greater. With them, then, as the text, and a knowledge
of the facts of modem history to work upon, the i)hilosophy, in its
principles, and even in many of its details, may be pointed out for
the whole stream. In the Upper Gymnasium, the students' scholar-
ship is carried up to Plato in Greek, and the highest works in Latin,
lie is thus prepared for the University. French he has begun in
the 5th year of the Lower Gymnasium, and it is still carried on.
English and Italian may now, however, be adilcd. lie also has it
in his power to study Hebrew ; and Theologians must do so. But
cliielly he is now taught in the two higher years the elements of
J./Ogic and of Moral Philosophy, and Church History is substituted
for his previous Bible Knowledge. This, too, is a groat advantage.
In regard to the Religious Instruction, it is chiully taken direct from
the Scriptures, sometimes, in the higher classes, with the use of a
systematized book. The problem is here, as with us, how to make
the education moral and religious; and the conclusion, as with us,
seenas to be that our leading and main point is the personal char-
acter and the personal influence on each pupil of the man himself.
Where this is wanting, even Bible instruction may be [)erverted,
and at all events become a burden instead of joy and lio.iith. After
the final examination the student enters the University — but here 1
have little good to relate, and so drop the curtain. I fear I have
given you a very incoherent and inadequate picture of what occu-
pied my eager and almost exclusive attention for nearly three weeVj
—but you will tak^f the will fur the deed,'

CANADIAN COPYRIGHT EDITION.

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THE

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Being Memorials of John Mackintosh.

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-1

THE OLD LIEUTENANT
AND HIS SON

BY THE LATE

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TORONTO.

^HE GOLD THREAD.

^ ^torj) tot tij, ^ounj.
Bv NORMAN MACLEOD, D D

: — -....D.w„^:^•""^-"--

Prom the Caledonian iv/r

It IS impossible to mv. ! ' ^^^^^ ^"^ be a Corn T„»

'™» poet As liWe Ericf .het * J' r'-^" »'-P^ Dr. Macleod™"
-"g this «,„g ,_ '"'^-' » 1- half-waking d«an, a nm. s^Za

With th- "°'"ing else to do. ^
A„^ . * ""'■sing birds I Vii
H^ we laugh at the .„!:'"'

Pouncing on hfm i,?!,'" V'

When winter comes with e-
All the"tve"f"''' temTestTl!ol"°"'

I furnish up a ho:«." ^"'^ »°"««
^^CKa!/j^l--«.

AnJ'^^i^iteK;tt^-.-

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Ha.fa,h./ha,ha^Ch!,;ha.h.

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innot

as a

of a

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lat