| | | <1844> | | If the traveller, journeying along the great highway which stretches | north and south through Scotland, will turn eastward when he | reaches the ancient kingdom of Fife, and find his way through | certain narrow, old, and unfrequented roads, he will perchance | discover the archiepiscopal city of St. Andrews. We know no | place that, both for its historical associations, and the remarkable | character of its architectural remains, better deserves a pilgrimage; | yet it has never yet found its way into the good company of the | regular visiting list of the lion-hunter. St. Andrews, indeed, | demands a special journey; for it is not on any of the grand routes. | St. Regulus, when he made his

"location,"

overlooked | the accommodation of steam-boats, and thought not even of that | antiquated method of conveyance, a stage-coach. The harbour is a | bad one, full of shoals and sunken sand banks; and in the steamers | passing north and south, no farther notice is generally taken of the | venerated spot, than what is contained in certain frantic | ejaculations, such as ~~

"Stewart, Steward! are we | nearly through the Bay of St. Andrews yet?" | ~~ " Is there no end to this Bay of St. | Andrews?"

Yet have we seen, on special occasions, when a | continuance of soft west winds had smoothed down the restless | ground-swell of the dreaded bay, a group of curious inquirers | clustering on the deck, and gazing, with mysterious interest, on the | distant ragged line of towers and steeples rising black against the | warm sunset, like the back-ground of one of Guyp's landscapes. It | never failed, on such occasions, that there was | someone more | learned than the rest who could speak of St. Regulus, and | Archbishop Arnold; of Knox, Buchanan, Wishart, and Beaton; and | who could excite a fearful interest by endeavouring to mark, upon | the dusky line of low rising grounds surrounding the ruined city, a | spot still darker than the rest, marking the Magus Moor, on which | was performed one of the most frightful tragedies ever caused by | persecuting despotism working on frantic fanaticism. There were | few who thus saw the great variety and huge size of the | architectural remains, who did not form an internal resolution,

| "some day or other,"

to visit these mysterious relics; but, we | believe, in the general case, other scenes and events wore out the | impression, and the visit was seldom made. Obstacles, indeed, | were apt to present themselves, which your ordinary tourist never | thinks of overcoming. When we last visited St. Andrews, some | twelve years ago, it was a peculiarity of that distinguished city, that | it had no stage-coach communication with the rest of the world. | We have heard a rumour that this is now amended; nay, were | somewhat startled the other day, by beholding the venerable name | of the Archiepiscopate, printed in flaring red letters, associated | with some vulgar announcement about those inside, and fares | moderate. This occurred last summer. We know not whether the |

"enterprising company"

have had courage to keep up the | communication between the world we live in and these unknown | regions. Moreover, we have heard, on good authority, that a | certain adventurous steam-boat, containing a pleasure party from | Dundee, did actually bring-to at the pier of St. Andrews, much to | the surprise of the denizens, who, theretofore, had no more | practical knowledge of

"smoked ships with chariot wheels," |

than the Chinese; but whether this attempt has been repeated, | our authority saith not. At all events, however, it is clear, that the | adventurous spirit of modern discovery, bids fair to reopen the | communication between St. Andrews and the civilized world. | Our pilgrimages to St. Andrews have been winter excursions. The | natural scenery around it is naught; and it is at the season that it | receives its most characteristic class of inhabitants ~~ the remnant | of those who linger about its venerable university. In the summer | season we are told that sundry red-faced, quick-walking Dundee | citizens, with first-rate appetites, squat their fine families along the | borders of the links, for the benefit of the sea-bathing, and the fine | bracing air. To find St. Andrews with such occupants, is as | incongruous as the rencounter of the French traveller, who, when | he had penetrated to a distant and, as he believed, hitherto | unknown temple on the Indus, found a party of English ladies, with | pink parasols, pic-nicking at the gateway. In winter, these | migratory birds are gone, and the city is left in the peaceful | possession of its native rookery. Looking through the vista of a | long and wide street, you will see, perhaps, no other human being | than a professor, in his Geneva gown, stalking along with | measured step, and with a countenance on which you find deeply | impressed the fact how very difficult it would be to beat into the | head behind it any notion which is not fully a hundred years old. | Perhaps the scene is a little more lively ~~ five or six red specks | are seen advancing in the distance, and as their bulk enlarges in the | retina of the eye, you perceived that they are so many students in | their scarlet cloaks, each with his Collectanea or his Euclid under | his arm, and looking, as Fox said of | Thurlow, . A staid sedateness, as of Sleepy-hollow, | marks their walk, and shows the influence of the place ~~ the | power of the genius loci in subduing to its | solemn tone the natural buoyancy of youth. What a new world | there is to open on their spirits when they are removed from among | the lumber of old tottering opinions, and set down in the busy | whirl of modern useful active existence! | The entry to St. Andrews is very striking. It is under a massive | low-browed Gothic arch, slit for a porticullis; and well fortified, | according to old | | notions of fortification, with angular turrets and a battlemented | parapet. When you have passed through this, the ancient city gate, | a broad street stretches out before you, full of the remains of | ancient magnificence, still grand in their decay. Here a large | mansion in the rich old Flemish style rears its lofty narrow gable, | with its endless variety of carved mouldings, its deep-set small | windows, its stacks of tall chimneys, and its rocket-shaped turrets | ~~ the hotel of some dignified ecclesiastic, or of some great baron, | who, with all his power, was still but a retainer of my Lord | Archbishop. Near it are the broken Gothic windows of some | chapel or cell, still showing traces of their rich and beautiful | workmanship. Ever here and there the whole side of the street is | pierced by narrow winding passages, or low, dark, arched | door-ways, which hold out irresistible inducements to the prying hunter | after the old and picturesque. But there are obstacles to be | encountered. When you are in the act of groping your way to the | entrance of that very inviting-looking mouldering crypt, a grunt | from within tells you that the premises are occupied. Its next | neighbour, perhaps, presents a couple of large good-natured eyes, | staring out at you from betwixt two goodly horns; and you | discover that a milky mother of the herd is lost in a ruminating | reverie, endeavouring to discover what manner of man he can be | who is rummaging about in those desolate ruins. Altogether the | remains of human occupancy, which still cling about these | mouldering fragments, seem to us to render more striking the | contrast between the present decay and the former greatness of the | city. Among utterly deserted ruins, such as Tintern, Melrose, or | the Rheinfels, the materials which man had subjected to the | dominion of art seem as if they had relapsed to their old state of | nature, and bore no mark of man's handiwork. But here everything | reminds you not so much of change of state as of decay. The | window from which a proud Archdeacon looked out upon my Lord | Archbishop's coach, with its mounted attendants in their silver | lace, dreaming of the crooked paths by which he too might some | day or other reach the steps of an Episcopal throne, is still a | window, and still there are human beings behind the casement; but | it is dusty and cracked; and here and there a portion is boarded up, | and the fragments of a heavy, oaken, carved shutter flap against it | in the wind. What a silence there is as you pace along this wide | street, unless the east wind be howling among the broken archways | and crumbling-turrets, or the rising tide be flapping heavily on the | ledges of rock which slope downwards into the sea! Human | beings are scarce ~~ yet St. Andrews is not devoid of vitality. The | number of ducks and hens is truly marvellous: one wonders who | can eat all the eggs; and the pigs and cows, as we have already | hinted, are a pretty extensive community. | As he wanders hither and thither, the stranger will find that this, by | which he has entered, is not the only street in St. Andrews | conspicuous for its width and the interesting character of its | buildings. If he has nourished a taste for Gothic architecture, he | will be especially delighted with the singular beauty of the chapel | of St. Salvador, and especially wroth with the barbarism which has | let it lapse into its present state. This structure has had a strange | history. It was built in the middle of the fifteenth century, by | Bishop Kennedy, the grandson of King Robert III. The remains of | the worthy founder were deposited within its walls, beneath a tomb | of black marble, which, though broken and battered in a succession | of assaults, still shows that at one time it must have been one of the | most gorgeous specimens of open Gothic work in Europe. It is | said that, about the year 1683, some knowing individual suggested, | that at the time of the Reformation treasure might have been | hidden in this mausoleum, and a search was instituted. The | treasure-hunters appear to have been far more fortunate on this | occasion than such people proverbially are: they disinterred six | silver maces of large size, one of them weighing 20 lbs. Whether | the legend about the finding be true or not, the best elements of the | story, the maces themselves, exist all, , as Sam Slick | would say. But let us hear what Mr. Lyon saith of this monument | and the chapel wherein it stands, and their united fate: ~~ | | | | Before we go farther, let us bestow a few moment's consideration | on the many illustrious men whose voice the mouldering walls | around us have heard close by, while distant lands have echoed to | the sound. Among those whose memories are more or less | illustrated in Mr. Lyon's volumes, foremost of all in mental | greatness is George Buchanan, who, with his honest Scotch name, | is perhaps the only Latin poet, since the days of Prudentius, whose | verses would not have stirred up convulsive laughter at the table of | Maecenas. He was a political philosopher as well as a poet; a bold | speculator on popular rights; a sort of classical Cobbett ingrafted | on a classical Burns. Here, too, we stand on one of the most | memorable theatres of the exertions of him

"who never feared | the face of man,"

~~ stern John Knox, the Mirabeau of the | Scottish Reformation; who, after leaving St. Andrews a degraded | captive, seized in the company of a band of profligates and | assassins, came back upon it with the bosom of destruction, to | sweep its archiepiscopal greatness from the face of the earth. | Here, too, Beaton and Wishart acted their mutual parts: of them | hereafter. John Major, illustrious abroad for his writings on | Lombard's Sentences, and better known at home for his History of | Scotland, was provost of St. Salvador's college. He was | Buchanan's tutor ~~ far behind his scholar in Latinity, but his | superior in scholastic philosophy; and, if we may judge from the | opinions expressed in his writings, the person who imbued the poet | with his bold political philosophy. The

"Admirable Crichton," |

a person of another character, but conspicuous enough to | make a reputation for any ordinary locality, was a student here; | and, if we mistake not, he stands in his cap and gown beside the | more truly illustrious Napier of Merchiston, in Wilkie's picture of | the preaching of Knox. If we go to vernacular literature, we are | still rich in names. First comes Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, a | man for Fifeshire, where he was born and educated, to be proud of. | Then have we Sir James Inglis, to whom is attributed that quaint | and plaintive essay, in poetic prose, called "The Complaynt of | Scotland;" and Archdeacon Bellenden, the translator of Boece; and | Archbishop Spottiswood and David Calderwood, the historians. | What Scotsman who loves his native literature had not heard of | William Dunbar, of Gavin Douglas the translator of Virgil, of Sir | Robert Ayton, of Sir George Mackenzie, and of that sarcastic old | statesman who vented his bitter spirit in the best alliterative title in | our language, "Scott of Scotstarvet's Staggering State of Scots | Statesmen?" There are other names, moreover, obscure in this | country, perhaps, but well known in their day in the learned world, | who may be ranked as Athenae of St. Andrews; there was Henry | Scrimgeour, the mathematician, and his namesake, the editor of the | Greek version of the Novels; Sir Robert Murray, the founder of the | Royal Society of London; Craig, the feudalist; and Peter Young, | the Biblical critic. There are other men, too, that some would | place in a more conspicuous niche than many of those we have | above enumerated: such as Robert Rollock; the two sturdy and | bigoted Melvilles; John Davidson, who forced his unwelcome | doctrines down the throat of King James; and precious Mr. Samuel | Rutherford, whose very pungent letters still adorn many an | ingle-neuk, and are, we daresay, a wholesome and cheering mental food | to those who have digestion for them. And now let us finish our | sketch of the great names of St. Andrews, with the emphatic | statement appearing in the book in which they are mentioned, | namely, . | We have not yet spoken of the cathedral, a building 358 feet long | within the walls. Looking along the great street by which we have | supposed the stranger to enter the town, he will see several | detached and shapeless masses rearing their heads in air, | indicating, by their unwieldy-looking greatness, how vast the | whole harmonious mass must have been. What teeth and claws | John Knox and his followers must have had, to have torn to | fragments a mass of stone and lime like that! , was the | saying of Knox; a mischief-making adage, which, like many other, | has passed for sterling metal because it rings well. It is true that | the mitre, the cowl, and the tonsure, are gone; but have the bigotry, | and spiritual pride and priestcraft of which they were the outward | and visible signs, disappeared along with them? Ask Puseyism, | with its divine right by apostolic descent! ~~ ask | Non-Intrusionism, with its stronger divine right, sometimes claimed | from a source little short of immediate inspiration. If the | majesty of the | | Gothic roof sometimes withdrew the eye and the imagination from | humble and devout thoughts, what may be the precise effect of | performing the services of religion in a precipitous glen, in order | that it may be the more startlingly told how in the old days of | blood, the persecuted remnant, with their scouts upon the hills, | were driven to worship in such a spot? If the presence of mural | monuments and pictures, and long lines of effigies of pious men | were apt to excite the imagination, do our modern revivals leave no | traces of their influence on weak and nervous minds? | But we are of those who would rather seek good than evil in all the | great departments of the Christian religion; and none have we seen | in which there is not so much of the former as to call forth | reverence. The most enthusiastic portion of the Presbyterians of | Scotland have lately sealed their testimony to the honesty, if not to | the wisdom of their views, by an almost unexampled self-sacrifice | ~~ honour to them for that act, if it were the only one by which | they had ever proclaimed to the world that conscientious | conviction has still no despicable army of passive champions. But | this is an act we can admire, yet keeping undiminished our regret | that the mighty fanes, reared in a holiness of feeling as pure as is | consistent with the enlightenment of the age in which they were | raised, should have been so ruthlessly destroyed by

"our | Protestant ancestors."

Among things to be admired, as | among the finer elements of human feeling, we know nothing more | beautiful than the devotional spirit out of which the sacred | architecture of the

"dark ages"

came to its rich maturity. | The specimens of modern Gothic which spring up around us can | no more bear comparison with the master-pieces of the fourteenth | and fifteenth centuries, than the French wreath in a lady's | head-dress with the genuine flowers of the field. We make our buildings | for outward show ~~ to produce the best general effect at the | smallest charge. Hence the church, or monument, or whatever it | may be, looks very picturesque at a distance; but a near inspection | shows the paltry shifts by which the effect is created. The spirit | which actuated the Gothic architect was to produce a work, not to | please the eye of man, but to substantiate an act of homage before | Him who seeth in secret. Hence there was no slurring over of | work ~~ no mere efforts to produce an impression from this or that | point of view. Whether it were in the vaulted tombs shrouded in | darkness beneath the feet or the worshipper, or the tower, raised | too far towards heaven to be scrutinised by his aching eye, the | workman had made all things as beautiful and as perfect as human | taste and human hands could render them. It is thus that on the | great steeple of the cathedral of Strasburg, the open Gothic work | which hangs like lace upon the solid masonry, 400 feet from the | ground, is as rich and delicate as if it had been made to be admired | every day in a queen's drawing-room. We are not going to | advocate the restoration of costly church architecture, or to hold | that the people may not find better ways of spending their money. | But we maintain, that when they had once come into existence, the | destruction of these noble fabrics was disgraceful to those who | perpetrated it; and that a sympathy with such acts at the present | day, is a sign of bad feeling, as well as bad taste. All honour to | those worthy citizens of Glasgow, who, strong in their | Protestantism, yet refused to allow the destruction of their | cathedral; a goodly building in itself, yet evidently far inferior to | what Elgin and St. Andrews have been. To our understanding, | there is something appropriate to this subject in the following | beautiful remarks on the Roman Catholics by Sir Thomas Browne: | ~~ . | | We have given some sketch of the present appearance of St. | Andrews; lamented the cause of its dilapidation; and spoken of the | worthies with whose memory the spot is associated. Let us now, | taking Mr. Lyon as our guide, cast a glance along the most | remarkable events of its history. Eastward of the other remains of | the cathedral, and bearing a distinct architectural character, there is | a tall, narrow, square tower, to which is conceded the reputation of | being the oldest specimen of ecclesiastical architecture in Scotland. | It is called, after the memory of a holy man whose name is | connected with the ecclesiastical legends of the spot,

"the | tower of St. Regulus."

Dates are perilous things to meddle | with, when we are divested of all contemporary authority; and we | can hardly venture seriously to set down that to which this building | is traditionally referred. It presents, however, the character of | great age; and we would not undertake to deny that it may have | witnessed the worship of those Culdees who, differing in some | respects from the observances of Rome, are supposed to have been | a stream fresh from the original fountains of Christianity, which | had percolated to the remote deserts of Ireland and Scotland. The | foundation of the cathedral of St. Andrews marks a period of | triumph and national emancipation. Robert the Bruce had | conquered at Bannockburn, and he resolved to leave to posterity | this commemoration of thankfulness to the God of Battles. Might | not this feature in its history have alone been sufficient to save it | from destruction? ~~ The Swiss still religiously preserve the | chapel erected on the spot where Tell leaped on shore. It was not | till the year 1472 that the Bishops of St. Andrews were endowed | with metropolitan rank; and in the meantime, some strange | personages, and oddly constituted vehicles of apostolic descent, | appeared among them. The following is a sketch of a fighting | bishop, precisely the sort of person Philpotts would have been, if | he had lived in that age. | | Poor Bishop Stewart! he exactly represents what at the present day | would be the modest laborious student giving place to the | venomous party pamphleteer. It was in 1413, and in the episcopate | of Bishop Wardlaw, that the university was founded: strange | combination of darkness and light, that he who furnished the sling | and the stone for thus smiting infallibility on the forehead, should | have been distinguished as a persecutor of those who dissented | from the infallibility of Rome. During all the days of the grandeur | of St. Andrews, and the power of Episcopacy in Scotland, there | seems to have been little peace. Kings would quarrel with Popes, | and prelates would be put at their wits' end to solve the question, | whether the physical arm close at hand or the spiritual arm far off | were the more to be dreaded. Then, the division of the Popedom | created endless intrigues and uncertainties, and these were | succeeded by a battle for existence. For more than a century the | fire of Protestantism was crushed and beaten down, but it was | never extinguished; and it smouldered on, only to burst out with | fiercer energy. | In 1546, was acted the double tragedy of Wishart and Beaton. Mr. | Tytler has had the merit of setting at rest, from documents which | admit of no gainsaying, the merits of the conduct of our martyr. | The discovery is not a pleasing one, but it is the truth; and truth is | the essence of everything that is valuable in history. Some Roman | Catholic authorities had stated that Wishart was concerned with the | conspirators who plotted the of Beaton; but as it is the duty of | Protestant readers to disbelieve all statements made by Roman | Catholic | | writers, this of course passed for nothing. Mr. Tytler discovered in | the State Paper Office, however, a communication from Sir Ralph | Sadler, and some other English statesmen ~~ one of them a bishop! | ~~ to Henry VIII., intimating that one Wishart had come from the | Laird of Brunston and others, commissioned to offer their services | to send the Cardinal out of this wicked world, provided his Majesty | would come down handsomely for the job. The sagacious Sadler | remarked that it was an ugly business for a king to be concerned | in; said, at the same time, there was no doubt he would feel deeply | grateful to those who accomplished so meritorious though | unpleasant an action; and recommended the conspirators to | proceed on speculation. This they declined to do in the meantime; | but it appears that they afterwards changed their mind, and | performed their job in a very deliberate manner. The answer to the | charge that George Wishart was concerned in this affair is, that the | person who negotiated it may have been some other Wishart. If | there had been anything in the putting to death of the head of one | party by the members of another, very abhorrent to the feelings of | the leaders of the Reformation, one might pause before believing, | unless on very strong evidence, that a preacher of religion ~~ a | man of abstemious habits and of rigorous moral virtue in other | respects ~~ was guilty of conniving at assassination. But Knox | speaks of the way in which the assassins got their project | accomplished as a capital joke; and the contemporary reforming | annalists in general by no means treat it with reprobation. | Moreover, Cardinal Beaton is entitled to a charitable estimate of | his character; and if it appears that in putting Wishart to death he | was only check-mating one who had the same design upon | himself, he is entitled to whatever palliation his cruel act may | receive from such a motive. But there is one little fact which cuts | the ground from beneath any such vague controversy. One | Wishart goes with a commission of the most confidential and | perilous kind from the Laird of Brunston. George Wishart, the | martyr, was the confidential adviser of that same Laird of | Brunston, and sought refuge with him when pursued by the | Cardinal. Is there any practicable room for doubting that they are | one and the same man? | The

"brute populace,"

or

"the rascal vulgar,"

as | they are otherwise called, though they be not the most | discriminating or discreet, are by far the most honest agents in such | crooked, treacherous, and bloody times. The people, who had not | plotted the murder of Beaton, grew furious when they beheld the | tortures of his victim; and worthily and righteously so: for the | populace whose blood boils not at such scenes, is sunk in a | diseased and deadly moral lethargy. The next step was the murder | of Beaton himself; and here the popular feeling recoiled, for a | time, against those who perpetrated this deed of violence. Mr. | Lyon adopts Tytler's narrative of this event: he could not take a | better. When Kirkaldy, Leslie, Melville, and the conspirators, had | killed their man and shut the castle gate, they commenced a roaring | time of it, ~~ drinking, swearing, gambling, | etcetera, etcetera. . But | Knox was not Cato. He entered the fortress, not, it may be | presumed, to join in the orgies of the conspirators, but certainly to | join in their councils. He brought with him his young pupils, and | their parents the Lairds of Ormiston and Land-Niddry. These latter | were probably very much in their element; but it was surely a | strange place, both as regards bodily and mental risk, for the young | folks. Beaton had been running up fortifications round his castle; | and these were of infinite service to the persons who had so | unexpectedly succeeded

"by conquest,"

as the lawyers | call it, to his estate. Singularly enough, the art of construction was, | in that age, far in advance of the art of destruction, which had to | wait for more civilized times to bring it to perfection. The Scots | were hard fighters, hand to hand; but they could make nothing of | those who stood behind stone walls and iron-clouted gates. The | government made the whole country contribute, by districts, to the | formation of an army to conduct the siege; but partly by valour and | vigilance, partly by fraud, the little band of the desperadoes held | out for more than a year. Growing wilder and wilder in their | wassail, as fortune seemed to baffle every effort of their enemies, | the awful voice of Knox was raised against their iniquities in | monitory thunders. He prophesied that, in the midst of their | downfall; and that a stronger enemy than that with which they had | then to do would be speedily at their gates. At length a French | force presented itself; and foreign skill rapidly accomplished what | Scots valour was unable to perform. | | | | The ruins of the castle of St. Andrews are always pointed out as | those of Beaton's fortalice; and the window is shown whence he | luxuriated in the view of Wishart's martyrdom; but the above | statement shows that the present castle is of a later origin, and it | was probably built by Archbishop Hamilton, a man little behind | his predecessor in courage and cruelty, but more far-seeing and | cautious. His only act of decided persecution was the burning of | Walter Mill; an occasion so

"improved"

by Knox, that it | may be said to have been, to the destruction of St. Andrews, what | cause is to effect. Hamilton struggled hard for a middle course, | and sought to bring Knox over to his views; but the latter was not | cut out for compromises. The archbishop had two strings to his | bow; but he tugged rather too hard, and snapped them both. He | was the illegitimate brother of Arran, whom he wished to see upon | the throne; and the terms in which he spoke of the young queen, | who stood between that brother and royalty, are only fit for a | Dundas after a mess dinner. In 1560 came the Reformation, which | upset Popery and struck Episcopacy with paralysis. Poor Hamilton | led, for some years, a struggling, fluttering existence, occasionally | grasping a little power; then glad to let it go, and look to his | personal safety. In 1571, he was hanged from a gibbet in Stirling, | dressed, in derision, in his pontifical robes. Let none who read | these things talk of secessions and diminished incomes, as marking | awful days for the church. | If D. Chalmers were to get the Free Church made the established | religion of Canterbury, he would scarcely operate a greater change | than the Reformation made in St. Andrews. Behold Mr. Lyon's | account of it! | | While the Reformation was in progress, the lay chiefs of the | Protestant party disinterestedly took possession of the riches of the | Church to prevent them from falling into worse hands. When the | religious polity of the new system was settled, the ecclesiastics | naturally wanted the money back; but the Lords of erection called | this proposal , and laughed at their beards. When, in | 1606, Episcopacy followed the mixed system which had | intervened, the united power of the crown and the church extracted | some morsels from their iron firsts: but they retained the bulk of | the property. It is now well known, that dread of a deep laid plan | having been formed by Charles I., for the restoration of the | revenues which had belonged to the church, was the real living | principle which animated so many of the aristocracy to concur with | the clergy in supporting the Covenant. The events which gave the | Presbyterians the upper hand are well known. Episcopacy had | been doing her work for some years with a paralysed arm; her rival | was now to start with renewed vigour like a giant refreshed. If the | Church of Rome left her pomp, pride, and greed of riches to the | Church of England, the Presbyterians of Scotland were the | legitimate successors of her inquisitorial spirit of domestic | espionage. Every little knot of men who officiated as one of the | multitudinous church courts, became the terror of their | neighbourhood; waging against those who came under their | displeasure, the weapons both of this world and of the next. Those | who are acquainted with the kirk-session records of the | seventeenth century have read a strange page in the history of the | human heart. From small beginnings, the desire to gloat over tales | of private scandal appears to have gained strength by exercise, till | it became a maddening passion. There were no charges too | revolting to be made, and no characters too high to be blasted by | them. At length came Cromwell, with his independents, into the | midst of his arena of squabbling priests. Honour to his great mind | and its comprehensive resolutions! It was no longer a question | which exterminated. When the General Assembly met, Lilburn | and his Ironsides opened the doors and cleared the room. Every | one was allowed freedom of conscience according to his own | lights, but no bands of clergy were to be allowed to meet to the | detriment of the public peace. Oliver was discreetly liberal in the | provision allowed to the clergy, but he permitted no sect to call | itself established; and if a parish appeared to prefer an | Episcopalian or an Independent to an ordained Presbyterian, they | might have him. A curious episode occurred in these transactions. | Charles II. paid a visit to the north to ingratiate himself with the | Covenanters. It was an exact parallel to the attempt of a West End | roue to act the prig to a precise city Quaker. Much as they were | inclined to place faith in any man who signed the Covenant, he | could not wholly abjure some practices which showed them that he | was not the real Simon Pure; and he in return made up his mind, | that Presbyterianism , much in the spirit in which | Talleyrand's wife declared that Napoleon's laws against conjugal | infidelity were fit only for a nation of barbarians. | The restoration of Episcopacy and the persecution of the | Covenanters under Charles II., form a chapter in history which has | of late received ample illustration. The Presbyterians had sent a | man of the name of Sharp, of obscure birth, but of sagacious and | persevering character, to plead their cause at court. The | correspondence between the agent and his employers has | fortunately been preserved, and, taken in connexion with the | events which followed, it affords one of the most complete clues | that history has preserved, to the internal workings | | of a treacherous mind. We were strongly reminded of the tone and | character of Sharp's letters, on the occasion of the evidence against | Richmond the Spy, in those passages where his comrades describe | his conduct towards them after he had agreed to betray them. | Sharp is at first all zeal in the cause; no other vista of greatness has | opened to him, but the prospect of being a principal party to the | restoration of his national church. Gradually he gets less clear in | his announcements. The shadow of some other object seems here | and there to flit across his mind, and interrupt the settled view of | his appointed purpose. He begins to have doubts about the cause, | to talk of his exertions and their inefficacy. Anon his views get | clear, but they change their direction; it is vain to hope for the | establishment of Presbyterianism ~~ he is sure of that. His | brethren must not be fools: they must act like practical men, and | take things as they get them. This is alarming. The zealous | brethren at home smell a rat, and indicate that they have done so. | Then comes the offended virtue of the honest agent, and a quarrel; | and Sharp comes back to Scotland my Lord Archbishop of St. | Andrews. | No man becomes a bitterer enemy than a renegade. Sharp's hatred | of the Presbyterians was hearty enough to have come up to | Johnson's standard of approval. When persecution grew hotter and | hotter, and the Presbyterians more and more stubborn and | untractable, the lay statesmen got tired of the business and were | anxious for a system of partial toleration; but the Church could not | abate her rights. At length the sowing of the dragon's teeth | produced the legitimate harvest. The primate was taking an airing | one day with his daughter in his coach of state; he is near home, | and is but slenderly attended. The coachman begins to be | suspicious of some uncouth figures on horseback, who seem | crossing the moor towards them, like men who were not taking that | direction without a purpose. The horses are urged forward. Alas! | it is all in vain to dream of outstripping, with that lumbering | vehicle, men driven on by the demons of fanaticism and hate. The | coach is surrounded, and the old man dragged forth and cleft by | the broadswords of his assailants, amidst his own prayers and the | shrieks of his daughter. In one of the churches of St. Andrews | there is a large marble monument to the memory of the | Archbishop, on which the scene of the murder has been | represented in sculpture by a Dutch artist. In the silence of the | house of God, the spectator experiences some strange and solemn | feelings as he gazes on this embodiment of a deed of violence, | which teachers so terrible a lesson of the effects of religious | intolerance. | The history of St. Andrews, down to the epoch of the Revolution, | is substantially the ecclesiastical history of Scotland. It thus | happens, that the incidents suggested to our notice by the local | history we have made our text-book, have carried us through those | periods of Scottish church history which, in our article on | Episcopacy in our last number, we found it expedient to leave | unnoticed.