Rab and His Friends and Other Papers

"That glorious form, that light unsufferable,And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,"

he lays aside. The Word dwelt with men. "Come then, let us reason together – "Waiting to be gracious – "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock; if any man open to me, I will come in to him, and sup with him, and he with me." It is the father seeing his son while yet a great way off, and having compassion, and running to him and falling on his neck and kissing him; for "it was meet for us to rejoice, for this my son was dead and is alive again, he was lost, and is found." Let no man confound the voice of God in his Works with the voice of God in his Word; they are utterances of the same infinite heart and will, they are in absolute harmony; together they make up "that undisturbed song of pure concent one "perfect diapason but they are distinct; they are meant to be so. A poor traveller "weary and waysore," is stumbling in unknown places through the darkness of a night of fear, with no light near him, the everlasting stars twinkling far off in their depths, and yet unrisen sun, or the waning moon, sending up their pale beams into the upper heavens, but all this is distant and bewildering for his feet, doubtless better much than outer darkness, beautiful and full of God, if he could have the heart to look up, and the eyes to make use of its vague light; but he is miserable, and afraid, his next step is what he is thinking of; a lamp secured against all winds of doctrine is put into his hands, it may in some respects widen the circle of darkness, but it will cheer his feet, it will tell them what to do next. What a silly fool he would be to throwaway that lantern, or draw down the shutters, and make it dark to him, while it sits "i' the centre and enjoys bright day," and all upon the philosophical ground that its light was of the same kind as the stars', and that it was beneath the dignity of human nature to do anything but struggle on and be lost in the attempt to get through the wilderness and the night by the guidance of those "natural" lights, which, though they are from heaven, have so often led the wanderer astray. The dignity of human nature indeed! Let him keep his lantern till the glad sun is up, with healing under his wings. Let him take good heed to the "sure" [Greek] while in this [Greek] – this dark, damp, unwholesome place, "till the day dawn and [Greek] the day-star – arise." Nature and the Bible, the Works and the Word of God, are two distinct things. In the mind of their Supreme Author they dwell in perfect peace, in that unspeakable unity which is of his essence; and to us his children, every day their harmony, their mutual relations, are discovering themselves; but let us beware of saying all nature is a revelation as the Bible is, and all the Bible is natural as nature is: there is a perilous juggle here.

The following passage develops Arthur Hallam's views on religious feeling; this was the master idea of his mind, and it would not be easy to overrate its importance. "My son, give me thine heart;" – "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God – "The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God." He expresses the same general idea in these words, remarkable in themselves, still more so as being the thought of one so young. "The work of intellect is posterior to the work of feeling. The latter lies at the foundation of the man; it is his proper self – the peculiar thing that characterizes him as an individual. No two men are alike in feeling; but conceptions of the understanding, when distinct, are precisely similar in all – the ascertained relations of truths are the common property of the race."

Tennyson, we have no doubt, had this thought of his friend in his mind, in the following lines; it is an answer to the question, Can man by searching find out God? —

"I found Him not in world or sun,Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye;Nor thro' the questions men may try,The petty cobwebs we have spun:"If e'er when faith had fallen asleep,I heard a voice 'believe no more,'And heard an ever-breaking shoreThat tumbled in the godless deep;"A warmth within the breast would, meltThe freezing reason's colder part,And like a man in wrath, the heartStood up and answer'd, 'I have felt.'"No, like a child in doubt and fear:But that blind clamour made me wise;Then was I as a child that cries,But, crying, knows his father near;"And what I seem beheld againWhat is, and no man understands:And out of darkness came the handsThat reach thro' nature, moulding men."

This is a subject of the deepest personal as well as speculative interest. In the works of Augustin, of Baxter, Howe, and Jonathan Edwards, and of Alexander Knox, our readers will find how large a place the religious affections held in their view of Divine truths as well as of human duty. The last-mentioned writer expresses himself thus: – "Our sentimental faculties are far stronger than our cogitative; and the best impressions on the latter will be but the moonshine of the mind, if they are alone. Feeling will be best excited by sympathy; rather, it cannot be excited in any other way. Heart must act upon heart – the idea of a living person being essential to all intercourse of heart. You cannot by any possibility corddialise with a mere ens rationis. 'The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us,' otherwise we could not have 'beheld his glory,' much less 'received of his fulness.'" 44

Our young author thus goes on: —

"This opens upon us an ampler view in which the subject deserves to be considered, and a relation still more direct and close between the Christian religion and the passion of love. What is the distinguishing character of Hebrew literature, which separates it by so broad a line of demarcation from that of every ancient people? Undoubtedly the sentiment of erotic devotion which pervades it. Their poets never represent the Deity as an impassive principle, a mere organizing intellect, removed at infinite distance from human hopes and fears. He is for them a being of like passions with themselves, 45 requiring heart for heart, and capable of inspiring affection because capable of feeling and returning it.

Awful indeed are the thunders of his utterance and the clouds that surround his dwelling-place; very terrible is the vengeance he executes on the nations that forget him: but to his chosen people, and especially to the men 'after his own heart,' whom he anoints from the midst of them, his still, small voice' speaks in sympathy and loving-kindness. Every Hebrew, while his breast glowed with patriotic enthusiasm at those promises, which he shared as one of the favoured race, had a yet deeper source of emotion, from which gushed perpetually the aspirations of prayer and thanksgiving. He might consider himself alone in the presence of his God; the single being to whom a great revelation had been made, and over whose head an 'exceeding weight of glory' was suspended. For him the rocks of Horeb had trembled, and the waters of the Red Sea were parted in their course. The word given on Sinai with such solemn pomp of ministration was given to his own individual soul, and brought him into immediate communion with his Creator. That awful Being could never be put away from him. He was about his path, and about his bed, and knew all his thoughts long before. Yet this tremendous, enclosing presence was a presence of love. It was a manifold, everlasting manifestation of one deep feeling – a desire for human affection.46 Such a belief, while it enlisted even pride and self-interest on the side of piety, had a direct tendency to excite the best passions of our nature. Love is not long asked in vain from generous dispositions. A Being, never absent, but standing beside the life of each man with ever-watchful tenderness, and recognised, though invisible, in every blessing that befel them from youth to age, became naturally the object of their warmest affections. Their belief in him could not exist without producing, as a necessary effect, that profound impression of passionate individual attachment which in the Hebrew authors always mingles with and vivifies their faith in the Invisible. All the books of the Old Testament are breathed upon by this breath of life. Especially is it to be found in that beautiful collection, entitled the Psalms of David, which remains, after some thousand years, perhaps the most perfect form in which the religious sentiment of man has been embodied.

"But what is true of Judaism is yet more true of Christianity: 'matre pule â filia pulchrior.' In addition to all the characters of Hebrew Monotheism, there exists in the doctrine of the Cross a peculiar and inexhaustible treasure for the affectionate feelings. The idea of the [Greek], the God whose goings forth have been from everlasting, yet visible to men for their redemption as an earthly, temporal creature, living, acting, and suffering among themselves, then (which is yet more important) transferring to the unseen place of his spiritual agency the same humanity he wore on earth, so that the lapse of generations can in no way affect the conception of his identity; this is the most powerful thought that ever addressed itself to a human imagination. It is the [Greek], which alone was wanted to move the world. Here was solved at once the great problem which so long had distressed the teachers of mankind, how to make virtue the object of passion, and to secure at once the warmest enthusiasm in the heart with the clearest perception of right and wrong* in the understanding. The character of the blessed Founder of our faith became an abstract of morality to determine the judgment, while at the same time it remained personal, and liable to love. The written word and established church prevented a degeneration into ungoverned mysticism, but the predominant principle of vital religion always remained that of self-sacrifice to the Saviour. Not only the higher divisions of moral duties, but the simple, primary impulses of benevolence, were subordinated to this new absorbing passion. The world was loved 'in Christ alone.' The brethren were members of his mystical body. All the other bonds that had fastened down the spirit of the universe to our narrow round of earth were as nothing in comparison to this golden chain of suffering and self-sacrifice, which at once riveted the heart of man to one who, like himself, was acquainted with grief. Pain is the deepest thing we have in our nature, and union through pain has always seemed more real and more holy than any other." 47

There is a sad pleasure, – non ingrata amaritudo, and a sort of meditative tenderness in contemplating the little life of this "dear youth," and in letting the mind rest upon these his earnest thoughts; to watch his keen and fearless, but childlike spirit, moving itself aright – going straight onward along "the lines of limitless desires" – throwing himself into the very deepest of the ways of God, and striking out as a strong swimmer striketh out his hands to swim; to see him "mewing his mighty youth, and kindling his undazzled eye at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance:"

"Light intellectual, and full of love,Love of true beauty, therefore full of joy,Joy, every other sweetness far above."

It is good for every one to look upon such a sight, and as we look, to love. We should all be the better for it; and should desire to be thankful for, and to use aright a gift so good and perfect, coming down as it does from above, from the Father of lights, in whom alone there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.

Thus it is, that to each one of us the death of Arthur Hallam – his thoughts and affections – his views of God, of our relations to Him, of duty, of the meaning and worth of this world and the next, – where he now is, have an individual significance. He is bound up in our bundle of life; we must be the better or the worse of having known what manner of man he was; and in a sense less peculiar, but not less true, each of us may say,

– "The tender grace of a day that is deadWill never come back to me."

– "O for the touch of a vanished hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!"

"God gives us love! Something to loveHe lends us; but when love is grownTo ripeness, that on which it throveFalls off, and love is left alone:"This is the curse of time. Alas!In grief we are not all unlearned;Once, through our own doors Death did pass;One went, who never hath returned."This starRose with us, through a little arcOf heaven, nor having wandered far,Shot on the sudden into dark."Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, 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."

Vattene in pace, alma beata e bella. – Go in peace, soul beautiful and blessed.

"O man greatly beloved, go thou thy way till the end, for thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the end of the days." – Daniel.

"Lord, I have viewed this world over, in which thou hast set me; I have tried how this and that thing will tit my spirit, and the design of my creation, and can find nothing on which to rest, for nothing here doth itself rest, but such things as please me for a while, in some degree, vanish and flee as shadows from before me. Lo! I come to Thee – the Eternal Being – the Spring of Life – the Centre of rest – the Stay of the Creation – the Fulness of all things. I join myself to Thee; with Thee I will lead my life, and spend my days, with whom I aim to dwell for ever, expecting, when my little time is over, to be taken up ere long into thy eternity." – John Howe, The Vanity of Man as Mortal.

Necesse est tanquam immaturam mortem ejus deflcam: si tamen fas est aut flere, aut omnino mortem vocare, quâ tanti juvenis mort alitas magis fin it a quamvita est.

Vivit enim, vivetque semper, atque etiam latius in me-moria hominum et sermone versabittir, postquam ab oc-ulis recessit.

The above notice was published in 1851. On sending to Mr. Hallam a copy of the Review in which it appeared, I expressed my hope that he would not be displeased by what I had done. I received the following kind and beautiful reply: —

"Wilton Crescent, Feb. 1, 1851.

"Dear Sir, – It would be ungrateful in me to feel any displeasure at so glowing an eulogy on my dear eldest son Arthur, though after such a length of time, so Unusual, as you have written in the North British Review. I thank you, on the contrary, for the strong language of admiration you have employed, though it may expose me to applications for copies of the Remains, which I have it not in my power to comply with. I was very desirous to have lent you a copy, at your request, but you have succeeded elsewhere.

"You are probably aware that I was prevented from doing this by a great calamity, very similar in its circumstances to that I had to deplore in 1833 – the loss of another son, equal in virtues, hardly inferior in abilities, to him whom you have commemorated. This has been an unspeakable affliction to me, and at my advanced age, seventy-three years, I can have no resource but the hope, in God's mercy, of a reunion with them both. The resemblance in their characters was striking, and I had often reflected how wonderfully my first loss had been repaired by the substitution, as it might be called, of one so closely representing his brother. I send you a brief Memoir, drawn up by two friends, with very little alteration of my own. – I am, Dear Sir, faithfully yours,

HENRY HALLAM

"Dr. Brown, Edinburgh."

The following extracts, from the Memoir of Henry Fitzmaurice Hallam mentioned above, which has been appended to a reprint of his brother's Remains (for private circulation), form a fitting close to this memorial of these two brothers, who were "lovely and pleasant in their lives," and are now by their deaths not divided: —

"But few months have elapsed since the pages of In Memoriam recalled to the minds of many, and impressed on the hearts of all who perused them, the melancholy circumstances attending the sudden and early death of Arthur Henry Hallam, Esq. Not many weeks ago the public journals contained a short paragraph announcing the decease, under circumstances equally distressing, and in some points remarkably similar, of Henry Fitzmaurice, Mr. Hallam's younger and only remaining son. No one of the very many who appreciate the sterling value of Mr. Hallam's literary labours, and who feel a consequent interest in the character of those who would have sustained the eminence of an honourable name; no one who was affected by the striking and tragic fatality of two such successive bereavements, will deem an apology needed for this short and imperfect Memoir.

"Henry Fitzmaurice Hallam, the younger son of Henry Hallam, Esq., was born on the 31st of August, 1824; he took his second name from his godfather, the Marquis of Lansdowne… A habit of reserve, which characterized him at all periods of life, but which was compensated in the eyes of even his first companions by a singular sweetness of temper, was produced and fostered by the serious thoughtfulness ensuing upon early familiarity with domestic sorrow.

"'He was gentle,' writes one of his earliest and closest school-friends, 'retiring, thoughtful to pensiveness, affectionate, without envy or jealousy, almost without emulation, impressible, but not wanting in moral firmness. No one was ever more formed for friendship. In all his words and acts he was simple, straightforward, true. He was very religious. Religion had a real effect upon his character, and made him tranquil about great things, though he was so nervous about little things.'

"He was called to the bar in Trinity Term, 1850, and became a member of the Midland Circuit in the summer. Immediately afterwards he joined his family in a tour on the Continent. They had spent the early part of the autumn at Rome, and were returning northwards, when he was attacked by a sudden and severe illness, affecting the vital powers, and accompanied by enfeebled circulation and general prostration of strength. He was able, with difficulty, to reach Sienna, where he sank rapidly through exhaustion, and expired on Friday, October 25. It is to be hoped that he did not experience any great or active suffering. He was conscious nearly to the last, and met his early death (of which his presentiments, for several years, had been frequent and very singular) with calmness and fortitude. There is reason to apprehend, from medical examination, that his life would not have been of very long duration, even had this unhappy illness not occurred. But for some years past his health had been apparently much improved; and, secured as it seemed to be by his unintermitted temperance, and by a carefulness in regimen which his early feebleness of constitution had rendered habitual, those to whom he was nearest and dearest had, in great measure, ceased to regard him with anxiety. His remains were brought to England, and he was interred, on December 23d, in Clevedon Church, Somersetshire, by the side of his brother, his sister, and his mother.

"For continuous and sustained thought he had an extraordinary capacity, the bias of his mind being decidedly towards analytical processes; a characteristic which was illustrated at Cambridge by his uniform partiality for analysis, and comparative distaste for the geometrical method, in his mathematical studies. His early proneness to dwell upon the more recondite departments of each science and branch of inquiry has been alluded to above. It is not to be inferred that, as a consequence of this tendency, he blinded himself, at any period of his life, to the necessity and the duty of practical exertion. He was always eager to act as well as speculate; and, in this respect, his character preserved an unbroken consistency and harmony from the epoch when, on commencing his residence at Cambridge, he voluntarily became a teacher in a parish Sunday-school, for the sake of applying his theories of religious education, to the time when, on the point of setting forth on his last fatal journey, he framed a plan of obtaining access, in the ensuing winter, to a large commercial establishment, in the view of familiarizing himself with the actual course and minute detail of mercantile transactions.

"Insensibly and unconsciously he had made himself a large number of friends in the last few years of his life: the painful impression created by his death in the circle in which he habitually moved, and even beyond it, was exceedingly remarkable, both for its depth and extent. For those united with him in a companionship more than ordinarily close, his friendship had taken such a character as to have almost become a necessity of existence. But it was upon his family that he lavished all the wealth of his disposition – affection without stint, gentleness never once at fault, considerateness reaching to self-sacrifice: —

"Di ciô si biasmi il debolo intellettoE'l parlar nostro, che non ha vuloreDi ritrar tutto ciô che dice amore."H. S. M"F. L."

1

It is not easy giving this look by one word; it was expressive of her being so much of her life alone.

2

… "Black brows, they say, Become some women best, so that there be not Too much hair there, but in a semicircle, Or a half-moon made with a pen." – A Winter's Tale.

3

A Highland game-keeper, when asked why a certain terrier, of singular pluck, was so much more solemn than, the other dogs, said, "Oh, Sir, life's full o' sariousness to him – he just never can get eneuch o' fechtin'."

4

Fuller was, in early life, when a farmer lad at Soham, famous as a boxer; not quarrelsome, but not without "the stern delight" a man of strength and courage feels in their exercise. Dr. Charles Stewart of Dunearn, whose rare gifts and graces as a physician, a divine, a scholar, and a gentleman, live, only in the memory of those few who knew and survive him, liked to tell how Mr. Fuller used to say, that when he was in the pulpit, and saw a buirdly man come along the passage, he would instinctively draw himself up, measure his imaginary antagonist, and forecast how he would deal with him, his hands meanwhile condensing into fists, and tending to "square." He must have been a hard hitter if he boxed as he preached – what "The Fancy" would call "an ugly customer."

5

Toby was in the state of the shepherd boy whom George Webster met in Glenshee, and asked, "My man, were you ever fou'?" "Ay aince" – speaking slowly, as if remembering – "Ay, aince." "What on?" "Cauld mutton!"

6

I have to thank cordially the writer of the following letters. They are from the pen of Mr. Robert White, Newcastle-on-Tyne, author of the History of the Battle of Otterburn, and one of the last of the noble band of literary and local antiquarians of which "Muncaster" has so long been the seat, up to all traditional lore and story of the stouthearted Border. "In the second series of your Horo Subsecivæ. p. 162, you allude to the dog Crab being come of the pure 'Piper Allan's breed, and say that the said 'Piper Allan lived some two hundred years ago in Cocquet (Coquet) Water.' "In Northumberland and over the Borders, James Allan is generally known as Piper Allan. He was born about 1733, and after leading a strange life, towards his seventieth year he stole a horse at Gateshead in the county of Durham, and took it to Lilliesleaf in Roxburghshire, where he was apprehended and sent to Durham jail. He was found guilty, and received sentence of death, but was reprieved, and afterwards had his punishment mitigated to perpetual imprisonment. After being confined for nearly seven years, his health failed, and he was removed to the House of Correction, where he lived about five months, and died at Durham, November 13th, 1810, aged about 77 years. "Some time ago in Willis's Current Notes, which are now discontinued, an original letter of Sir Walter Scott was printed, in which is the following paragraph: – "'I should be glad to see a copy of the Alnwick work upon Allan, whom I have often seen and heard, particularly at the Kelso Races. He was an admirable piper, yet a desperate reprobate. The last time I saw him he was in absolute beggary, and had behaved himself so ill at my uncle's (Thomas Scott of Monklaw) house, that the old gentleman, himself a most admirable piper, would not on any account give him quarters, though I interceded earnestly for him, "the knave," as Davie tells Justice Shallow, "being my very good friend." He was then quite like a pauper, with his wife, and an ass, in the true gipsy fashion. When I first saw him at Kelso Races, he wore the Northumberland livery, a blue coat, with a silver crescent on his arm.' (Allan was piper to Her Grace the Duchess of Northumberland.) "The father of Jamie Allan was named Willie, and he also was a good piper, besides being an excellent fisher and a keen otter-hunter. He had two favourite dogs for the latter sport, – Charley and Phoebe, – and such was the wisdom of the former that he used to say, If Charley could speak he would sell the otter's skin.' Probably Crab may have been of this kind. "James Davidson of Hindlee was a great fox hunter, and his breed of terriers – the pepper-and-mustard class – were the best over all the country. I have seen the genuine breed long ago at Ned Dunn's of the Whitelee at the head of Redesdale. Among common dogs they were something like the Black Dwarf among men, long-bodied animals with strong short legs, wiry haired, and at the first look not unlike a low four-footed stool, such as I have seen in houses in the south of Scotland forty years ago. They were sent in to the fox when he was earthed, and fought him there. They seemed at first when out of doors to be shy, timid things, and would have slunk away from a fierce collie dog, but if he seized one of them, and the blood of the little creature got up, it just took a hold of him in a biting place, and held on, never quitting till he found to his cost he had caught a tartar." "I am now convinced, from what I have gleaned of the life of James Allan, and a notice in Mackenzie's History of Northumberland, that your Piper Allan was William, the father of James. He was born at Bellingham in 1704. He was nearly six feet high, of a ruddy complexion, and had much shrewdness, wit, and independence of mind. In early life he became a good player on the bagpipes. He mended pots and pans, made spoons, baskets, and besoms, ana was a keen and excellent fisher. In the Valley of Coquet he married a gipsy girl, named Betty, who bore him six children, and James was the youngest save one; but she died in the prime of life. He was married a second time to an unfortunate daughter of a Presbyterian minister. "Among his other pursuits, he excelled especially in the hunting of otters, and kept eight or ten dogs for that particular sport. Please turn to my previous letter, and in the passage, 'if Charley could speak,' etc., dele Charley and insert Peachem. This dog was Will's chief favourite, and such confidence had he in the animal, that when hunting he would at times observe, 'When my Peachem gi'es mouth, I durst always sell the otter's skin.' Charley was also an excellent dog. Lord Ravensworth once employed Willie to kill the otters that infested his pond at Eslington Hall, which he soon accomplished; and on going away, the steward, Mr. Bell, offered, in his Lordship's name, to buy Charley at the Piper's own price. Will turned round very haughtily, and exclaimed, 'By the wuns, his hale estate canna buy Charley! "He was a capital piper, and composed two popular tunes, 1 We'll a' to the Coquet and Woo,' and 'Salmon Tails up the Water.' These I never heard, and probably they may be lost. When his end drew near, he was something like Rob Roy in his neglect of religious impressions. When reminded that he was dying, he exclaimed, 'By Jing, I'll get foul play, then, to dee before my billie, wha's ten years aulder!' When still closer pressed to ponder on his condition, he said, 'Gi'e me my pipes, and I'll play ye "Dorrington Lads" yet.' Thus he exhausted his last breath in playing his favourite strain. He died 18th February 1779, aged seventy-five years, and was buried in Rothbury Churchyard. His son James was born at Hepple, in Coquetdale, March 1734. "The following verses on old Will are in the 'Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel:' —