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In my fervid imagination, the Pulpit and the Bar “loomed in the distance,” as fields for the exercise and display of my abilities. Had I studied for the Pulpit I would, no doubt, have been like Queen Elizabeth, of happy memory, a “Bright Occidental Star.” Had I tried the Bar I might have been Lord Chancellor of England; or had I thrown myself into the arena of Politics I would, in all likelihood, have been Premier. The only position for which, I felt, nature had not designed me was a General. I was always inclined for peace—peace at any price—so that had I been member for Paisley in the House of Commons, at the time of the Russian War, I would instinctively have joined the Cobden-Bright party, and then Peace and Love joined together might have crumpled up our northern enemies. I believe, however, that war is necessary to establish Peace. With a rampant foe, it is absurd to reason about Peace and arbitration. A blow is the only argument—it convinces, if it does not convert—as Shakespeare says:
“In peace, there’s nothing more becomes a man,
As mild behaviour and humility;
But, when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Let us be tigers in our fierce deportment.”
I recollect well that when at school my peace propensities began to develope. When the Hutcheson Boys—that’s a softer expression than
