BY THE REV. CHARLES THOMSON, OF NORTH SHIELDS
(LATTERLY FREE CHURCH MINISTER, WICK).
I.
THE Highlands of Lesmahagow, Muirkirk, Avondale, and Douglas, form a wide and dreary tract of bleak mountains, desert muirs, and almost impassable bogs and morasses. To the agriculturist, or the lover of the grand, the picturesque, or the beautiful in landscape, those cold and misty mountains, and the dull and dismal wastes, stretching out for miles around their base, present no attractions whatever: neither are there any classic reminiscences associated with them. But not without interest are the Muirlands of Lesmahagow to the “Westland Whig,” for, in their brown and barren deserts his forefathers found refuge from the fury of their persecutors: and, frequently from their rugged ravines, and almost inaccessible morasses, the cry of him that was ready to perish, or the psalm of praise or of supplication, commingled with the bleatings of flocks, the wailings of the wild curlew, and the roar of the mountain storm, ascended, and entered into the ears of the Lord God of Sabaoth; who is at once the God of nature, and His people’s God—the God of their salvation.
Innumerable anecdotes are still told respecting those holy men, by their descendants, not a few of whom yet inhabit the district; and the shepherds, as they follow their peaceful occupations, still converse with horror about “Bludie Claverhouse,” and the “killing times”; and are delighted to point out to the Christian antiquary the retreats of the “Martyrs”; and to show the places where God hid his servants in the shadow of his hand, when the ministers and elders of his Church met to consult and pray for “Scotland’s covenanted work of Reformation”; and where
“Leaning on his spear—
The lyart veteran heard the word of God,
By Cameron thunder’d, or by Renwick pour’d
In gentle stream.”
The people of Lesmahagow, generally, were in those fearful days, steadfast and immoveable in the work of the Lord; and were much honoured in being accounted worthy to suffer for His name. The venerable historian of the “Sufferings of the Church of Scotland” informs us that they were pillaged by finings, and “spoilings of their good”; and that a strong garrison was placed in that parish to overawe the people, and to prevent them from giving assistance to the persecuted Presbyterians; and that moreover the whole inhabitants, above sixteen years of age, both men and women, were ordered, in 1680, to appear before appointed authorities, and make oath whether they had, or had not, received into their houses, or otherwise relieved, any of those who had been proscribed by the Government. Wodrow further gives us a list of thirty-nine who had been compelled to flee from home for their lives; and informs us that, in the rolls of the period, he found the names of sixty who stood criminally charged with having “resetted,” that is, received into their houses their persecuted brethren; or, with having held conversation with them, which action the persecutors, in their rage against the saints of the Most High, had converted into a heinous offence; or, with having absented themselves from the ministrations of the wicked and “feckless” curates, who had been obruded into the pulpits of their own rightful, able, and holy ministers. The words “bishop” and “curate” are used, to this day, in the vernacular dialect of Clydesdale, in a manner which sufficiently denotes the opinion entertained by our covenanting forefathers, of the two classes of episcopal clergy with which they were best acquainted. A mother will often address a fretful, discontented boy, whom nothing will please or pacify, by the style and title of “cankert bishop”; and, of a slothful, dronish person, it is said that he is a “perfect curate”; or, of a maundering individual, who speaks much, but little to the purpose, that he is a “puir claverin’ curate.”—(See Jamieson’s Supp. to Scott. Dict.—Word Bishop). The following is a character of those curates, drawn by a bishop who was much employed in endeavouring to saddle episcopacy on Scotland, and must, therefore, be as favourable as truth could possibly warrant—”They were generally very mean and despicable in all respects. They were the worst preachers ever I heard; they were ignorant to a reproach, and many of them were openly vicious. They were a disgrace to their orders and to the sacred functions,
and were indeed the dregs and refuse of the northern parts. Those of them who rose above contempt or scandal were men of such violent tempers that they were as much hated as others were despised.—(Burnet). When to this is added the consideration that they were willingly employed by Government, as informers against those holy men, into whose pulpits they had intruded themselves, could it otherwise be that they should be abhorred—and that justly—by the Presbyterians?
The first act of flagrant persecution to which the servants of God in Scotland were subjected, after the restoration of Charles the Second—which event was greatly brought about by the loyal exertions of the Presbyterian ministers, and which exertions, Charles requited, by persecuting, even unto death, the very men who had set the crown upon his head—was the seizure, and imprisonment, by the Committee of estates, of ten ministers, and two ruling elders, one of whom was Andrew Hay of Craignethan, who had met to draw up a humble address and supplication to his majesty on matters affecting religion. This illegal and unprecedented step was taken, on that very day on which, a hundred years before, the religion of popery was abolished in Scotland, and the blessed Reformation established in its stead: and from that day forward, for twenty-eight long years, Charles II. and his brother James, scrupled at no measure, how lawless soever, or satanic, it might be, to enslave the free kingdom of Scotland; and to subjugate her independent and glorious church to the yoke and bondage of the Ruler of the darkness of this world—that fallen spirit who wrought so powerfully in those two children of disobedience, and led them captive at his will.
Andrew Hay made his escape when his brethren were apprehended; but he was afterwards taken, and imprisoned. In 1685, the council allowed him to be liberated in consequence of sickness, but confined him to the town of Edinburgh, under a bond of 10,000 merks, to appear when called; and ordered his former bonds, granted at Glasgow to be given up.
In 1666, numbers of the Presbyterians of the West, goaded to madness, by the most atrocious oppression, rose, and marched upon the capital, claiming redress of their intolerable grievances. They passed through
Lesmahagow, and were met by William Lawrie, the laird of Blackwood, who vainly strove, at Lanark, and twice afterwards during their march, to induce them to lay down their arms. For these peaceful services, he was, after several imprisonments, tried in 1683, for countenancing the “rebels.” The crimes laid to the charge of Blackwood, are manifest, says the indictment, from the circumstance, that by far the greater number of his tenants were in the “rebellion;” and were, after the defeat of the “rebels” at Pentland, actually received back by him, and allowed to farm his lands as before. Among those tenants (who thus are stigmatized as “rebels,” merely because they neither would tamely allow their liberties to be trampled in the dust, nor change their religion, at the beck of a profligate king, and of his equally profligate courtiers, were John Alston, son of John Alston, miller, who is charged with having murdered, that is, slain in battle, Cornet Graham, one of the persecutors; Thomas Allan, in Mungriehill; John Rae, in Kirkmuirhill; John Rae, his son; and Thomas Watson, in Chapel, who was afterwards killed at Ayrs Moss. William Lawrie was, of course, found guilty; and was adjudged to be “taken to the merkat-cross of Edinburgh; there to have his head severed from his body; his name, memory, fame, and honours to be extinct; and his lands to be forfeited to his majesty, for ever”—a sentence for which the shameless and greedy king formally thanked the lords who passed it. Lawrie was, however, respited from time to time, till at last, about a year after, his sentence was, upon a petition from the Marquis of Douglas, which procured the intercession of the Council, remitted.
James Thomson was farmer of Tanhill, on the west side of Leshmahagow parish, from which farm the family departed about 1780, having, it is said, possessed it as “kindlie tenants,” for about 350 years. No particulars are known respecting him, except that he fell at Drumclog, and was interred in the church-yard of Stonehouse, where the Thomsons, formerly of Tanhill, have their burying-ground. On his tomb is the following inscription:—
“Vive memor lethi, fugit hora.
“Here lies James Thomson, who was shot in a rencontre at Drumclog, June 1st, 1679, by bloody Graham of Claverhouse, for his adherence to the word of God,
and Scotland’s covenanted work of Reformation. Rev. xii. and 11th. Erected, 1734.
“Memento mori.
This hero brave, who doth lie here,
In truth’s defence he did appear,
And to Christ’s cause he firmly stood,
Until he sealed it with his blood.
With sword in hand, upon the field,
He lost his life, yet did not yield.
His days did end in great renown;
And he obtained the martyr’s crown.”
James Thomson’s descendants, of whom the writer of these “Notices” is one, have been very numerous; and the God of providence and of grace appears not to have deserted the children of the righteous. In 1832, sixty-eight males and sixty-eight females had legitimately descended, in the male line, from this Christian; of which numerous offspring, it may be said, that, though chiefly in the lower walks of life—peasants, as James Thomson himself was—none of them have been forsaken, nor any of his posterity
“For bread we have beggars been.”
Many of them have been ruling elders of the Church of Scotland, to which they have continued devotedly attached, and, proud of their descent from
“Parents passed into the skies,”
they have caused their ancestor’s tomb to be renewed, at their mutual expense, and the ancient inscription, which had been much effaced, to be restored. “The just man walketh in his integrity, his children are blessed after him.” Of this martyr, Thomas Thomson, of Whiteside, Lesmahagow, is the great-great-great-grandson and representative.
John Thomson, farmer in Tanhill, the only child of James, just now mentioned, was, along with his wife, imprisoned for religion in the castle of Blackness.
Thomas Weir lived at Waterside, on Logan Water. He was at Drumclog, and fought on horseback. When Claverhouse and his dragoons fled before the small band of Covenanters, the reins of Weir’s bridle broke, and he lost the command of his horse, which carried him into the midst of his enemies, by whom he was instantly shot. His body was interred in the church-yard of Lesmahagow, where his son Gavin, who was proclaimed a
fugitive and a “rebel,” in 1684, subsequently occupied the same grave. On the tomb-stone is the following inscription, which is a little effaced:—
“T. W. B.
16-0.*
“Here lies Thomas Weir, who was shot, in a ren-
counter at Drumclog, June 1st, 1679, by bloody Graham
of Claverhouse, for his adherence to the Word of God,
and Scotland’s covenanted work of Reformation. Rev.
xii 11
“As also Gavin Weir, in Waterside, who departed
this life, July 25th, 1732, aged 79.”
George and Robert Weir, who probably were re-
latives of Thomas, were, with George Draffan, taken
prisoners at Bothwell Bridge, and sentenced to banish-
ment. The ship was wrecked off the Orkneys, and the
two Weirs, along with one hundred and ninety-eight
other sufferers, being closed under hatches, were
drowned. George Draffan escaped, and was carried to
America.
The Marion Weir of Cumberhead, who was the first
to visit the widow of John Brown of Priesthill, after he
was martyred by Claverhouse, and Mary Weir, the wife
of David Steel of Skellyhill, were probably connections
of the same pious family.
John Wilson and John Smith, of Lesmahagow,
were shot in February, 1685, by Colonel Buchan and the
Laird of Lee. In the beginning of March following,
Lieutenant Murray shot John Brown of Blackwood, in
the same parish, who had quietly surrendered himself,
upon promise of quarter. The white snow was
crimsoned with the martyr’s blood. His body was
buried, under the cloud of night, in the field before
Blackwood House, where he had been so treacherously
murdered; and the following epitaph was engraven upon
his tomb:—
“Murray might murder such as godly Brown,
But could not rob him of that glorious crown
He now enjoys. His credit, not his crime,
Was no-compliance with a wicked time.”
In the summer of the same year, Joseph Wilson of
Lesmahagow, the brother, it is probable, of John, already
*A piece is broken off the stone in this date. T. W. B. pro-
bably denote “Thomas Weir, born.” but, if so, the date of his
birth is obliterated.
mentioned, was shot, along with other two men, at Knockdon Hill, near the Water of Kyle, by a party of soldiers who overtook them, and learned from their own admission that they were returning from Galloway from hearing James Renwick preach in the fields. They were not allowed time even to pray; but the safety of their souls did not depend upon their prayers, but upon their interceding Head.
(To be continued.)
Resolution by Southern Presbytery on Sabbath Desecration.
THE Southern Presbytery of the Free Presbyterian Church of Scotland strongly protests against the daring profanation of the Sabbath Day by the L.M.S. and the L.N.E. Railway Companies, and such as use ‘buses or street cars, despite God’s explicit command—”Remember the Sabbath Day to keep it holy—on it thou shalt not do any work—nor thy man servant nor thy maid servant.” They would seriously warn them of the enormous guilt they incur before God, and are also bringing upon a thoughtless and irreligious public by catering to their sinful propensities.
The Presbytery would seriously warn the employees of these companies of their awful guilt in working on the Sabbath Day (except works of necessity and mercy), and would humbly but very seriously advise them to form themselves into a Sabbath Observance Union in order to put an effective stop to such sinful practices.
All true Christian shareholders in these Sabbath-desecrating concerns should withdraw their money from them because they are incurring guilt by allowing it to be used in such a God-dishonouring way.
The influx of Roman Catholics has greatly augmented this degrading sin, and would-be Presbyterian churches, though they declaim against it, countenance it at the same time. Such are warned to keep clean hands.
He is such a Judge, that there is no repealing of His sentence.—Caryl.
Bartimeus An Dall.
(Air a leantainn).
Ann an so tha an ath-ghineamhuinn air a h-eadar-dhealachadh o iompachadh. Tha Dia a pilleadh an duine, ach tha an duine fein, air dha bhi air a ghlusad mar so a pilleadh le uile chridhe. Is e so latha cumhachd mòr Dhé, agus an latha sam bheil am peacach air a dheanamh lan-thoileach (Salm cx. 3). Tha Fisher ‘na leabhar cheisdean, ag radh “Gur e iompachadh glusad spioradail an duine gu h-iomlan a dh’ionnsuidh Dhé, ann an Criosd, mar an toradh, tha air ball a leantuinn an atharrachaidh mhoir is a’s ceann nàduir tha oibreachadh san ath-ghineamhuinn.” Tha an teine a dhuig a ghrian, ag iarraidh gu’n dàil chum na greine. Is i an ath-ghineamhuinn dùsgadh na làsair neamhaidh so: is e iompachadh a glusad suas, a chum Dhé. Is i an ath-ghineamhuinn gniomh Dhé; tha iompachadh a teachd a ghnàth ‘na lorg. Far am bheil gràs na beatha, ann an sin bithidh beatha gràis.
- Cha’n e an solus a dh’fhosgail suilein Bhartimeuis; agus cha dean an fhirinn dhith fein am peacach ath-nuadh-achadh. Cha leighis e suilibh dalla solus a dhortadh orra. Cha’n ath-nuadhaich e peacach firinn ghloirmhoir Dhé, a sparradh air àire. Bha Bartimeus cho dall aig teas a mheadh-oim latha, is a bha e, ri dorchadas na h-oidheche. Feudaidh am peacach bhi cho dall fuidh sholus an t-soisgeil is a tha e am measg duaichnuidheachd iodhol-aoraich. Tha am peacach a fuathachadh an t-solus. Tha e ga fhuathachadh do bhrigh gur solus e. Tha e fuathachadh Dhé, agus is solus Dia. Tha an fhirinn a taisbeineadh cliu Dhé, agus tha i air a fuathachadh ‘nuair tha esan air fhuathachadh. Tha an inntinn fheolmhor ‘na naimhdeas an aghaidh Dhé (Rom. viii. 7), agus uime sin cha’n ‘eil i umhail do thoil Dé, ni mò tha ‘n comas di bhith. Nach làidir a chainnt so! Nach eagalach an coimh-cheangal tha eadar na nithibh sin. Naimhdeas iomlan an aghaidh Dhé, agus eas-umhlachd d’a thoil a sruthadh bho sin. Uime sin mu’n comasach e gu’m biodh Dia is a lagh naomha air an gràdhachadh, feumaidh feoilmhoireachd an anama bhi air a sgrios, agus is e sin obair an Spioraid Naoimh a mhàin. Ciod sam bith oifig na firinn ‘sa chuis, cha dean an fhirinn dhì fein cruthachadh nuadh; is e Dia a mhàin a ni sin.
II. Dh’iarruidh’n a nis labhairt mu mhéud, is mu ghloir, an atharrachaidh so. Tha mi a ris labhairt a mhain mu’n atharrachadh bha air oibreachadh leis a mhiorbhuil so air corp Bhartimeuis. Cha’n ‘eil e idir ri shamhlachadh ris a so, ‘nuair tha a ghrian a dearsadh a mach o na neoil, a’s deigh moran laithibh stoirme, ged tha an sin slios dutchca air a dheanamh maiseach le a gloir, na h-eoin a briseadh a mach le ceilridh, agus cridheachan mhorain a’ deanamh aoibhneis ann am faicinn na speuraibh a nis rèidh is ciuin. Tha an ni so a giulan ‘ar smuaintibh air an ais a chum an latha, ‘nuair a thubhairt Dia “Biodh solus ann (Gen. i. 3),” agus a thaisbein e do bheachd nan ainglibh aoibhneach saoghal nuadh maiseach le dealradh a ghnuise fein. Is e so an samhladh is freagarraiche. Oir ann an so mar an ceudna ann an uchd an deoraiddh bhochd so, bha saoghal do dh’fhairchidhean, is do mhothaichidhean, tha ni’s gloirmhoire eadhon ‘na oidheche, is ‘na leirsgrios, na an talamh no a ghrian; oir ciod e an cruthachd marbh ciod sam bith a mheud, ann an coimeas ri ànam neo-bhàsmhor? Rinn dorchas gu’n teagamh sam bith a chòmhdaich fada, agus tha gliocas air a dhùnadh a mach bh’uaith. Ach a nis labhairt am focal cumhachdadh ceudna, agus tha an saoghal beò so, air a shoillseachadh gu h-obann trid a dhoimhneachdan gu h-iomlan. Saoil sibh, an e nach robh òran molaidh aig na h-aingil air son mar an ceudna!
Agus co a ghabhas air labhairt gu h eutrom mu’n obair sin, anns an do dh’àithn Dia do’n t-solus soillseachadh a dorchas, a thoirt dhuinn solus eolas a ghloire ann an gnuis Iosa Criosd (2 Cor. iv. 6). Nach cainn’t chothromach e, a radh gu’m bheil an ath-bhreith ‘na h-atharrachadh mòr? Nach ni air an coir dhuinn a ghnath beachdachadh le iongantas, agus labhairt uime le urram? Nach aobhar iongantas siorruidh e, gu’m biodh truaghan ciontaich, tha marbh fo choruich Dhé, ‘na fhear comh-pairt do bheatha Dhé, is do nàdur na diadhachd (2 Peadar i. 4), agus a bhi air uchd-mhacachadh chum na teaghlaich neamhaidh? gu’m biodh e air a thogail o dhuslach a bhàis gu suidhe maille ri prionnsaibh air a bheinn neamhaidh; gu’m biodh e air a thogail suas, o thruaillidheachdan traillleileachd ifrinneil chum saorsa, is urram, chum naomhachd is sonas mic an Ti a’s airde? Seadh, tuilleadh gu’m biodh e ‘na chomh oighre maille ri Criosd (Rom. viii. 17), agus gu’n suidheadh e maille ris air a Righ-chaithir (Taisbean iii. 21), agus gu’n rioigh-aicheadh e maille ris ann an aonadh neo-sgaruichte ris agus ann an comh-pairt maille ris gu siorruidh air onoir a rioighachd, agus a shàgartachd (Taisbean i. 6) O nan robh
eadhon aon eiseimpleir air a so ann, nach biodh e air son gloir Dhé, agus ‘na iongantas ann an neamh gu siorruidh? Agus am bheil e deanamh an iongantais ni’s lugha, ‘nuair nach ‘eil againn ach ‘ar suilean a thogail suas, agus feuch aireamh mór nach urrainn neach air bith aireamh, de na h-uile chinnich agus threubhaibh, agus shluaghaibh, agus theangannaibh nan seasamh an lâthair na righ chaithreach, agus an lâthair an Uain (Taisbean vii. 9)?
Is maith a dh’fheudas abstol a ghràidh eigeach a mach le iongantas air nach urrainn dha cainnt a chur;— Feuchaibh ciod a ghné ghrùidh a thug an t-Athair dhùinne gu’n goirteadh clann Dè dhinn? Agus mar tha anam a lasadh suas ann am beachdachadh air a ghloir ri teachd, am feadh tha tha e ag aideachadh gu’m bheil e na ni tha dol thar tuisgse, tha e ris ag eigeach, A’mhuintir mo ghràidh, a nis is sinne.mic Dhé, agus cha’n ‘eil e soilleir fathast ciod a bhitheas sinn ach a ta fhios againn ‘nuair a dh’fhoillsichear esan gu’m bi sinn cosmhuil ris; oir chi sinn e mar a ta e (Eoin iii. 1, 2).
Is maith a dh’fheudas na naoimh, ann am beachdachadh gu siorruidh, air an Uan bha air a mharbhadh, mar bhonn an sithe agus mar am bràthair a’s sinne, a sheinn ann an òran a bhios gu siorruidh nuadh, ” Dhasan a ghràdhaich sinn, agus a nigh sinn bho ‘ar peacaibh na fhuil fein, agus a rinn righrean agus sagartan dhinn do Dhia, is dà Athairsan, dhasan biodh gloir agus cumhachd gu saoghal nan saoghal ” (Taisbean i. 5, 6).
Agus nach mol sinn le cliu co-ionnan Spiorad maith ‘ar Dé, o’n robh sinn air ‘ar breth a ris (Eoin iii. 5), agus na threorachadh anns am bheil dearbhadh againn air ‘ar n-uchdmhacachd (Rom. viii. 4) agus le a chumhachd eifeachdach, a bhitheas sinn air ‘ar cumadh ris an iomhaigh air son am bheil sinn ag osnaich? An e nach cluithaich sinn esan is e Spiorad nan uile ghràs (Sech. xii. 10); na beatha (Rom. viii. 2), an uchd-mhacachd (Rom. vii. 15), na h-urnuigh (Rom. viii. 26), na saorsa (2 Cor. iii. 17), na comhfhurtachd (Eoin xiv. 16, 17), an naomhachaidh (I. Cor. vi. 11), an tarruing am fagus (Eph. ii. 18), na gloire, agus Dhé (I Pead iv. 4). An urrainn ‘ar moladh a bhi thar tomhas, air an obair sin air an robh uile chumhachd na Diadhachd air a cleachdadh, agus leis am bheil iomlaineachd buadhan an Athar, a Mhic, agus an Spioraid Naoimh gu bhi ann an rathad sonruichte ri fhaicinn gu siorruidh? Cha’n ‘eil Neander a labhairt air mhodh ro laidir ‘nuair tha e ag radh, mu phàirteachadh beatha Dhé ri daoinibh “gur
e so am miorbhuil is mò, fior sheadh, agus crioch gach miorbhuil eile, is na mhiorbhuil tha ri fhaicinn ‘sna h-uile linn.”
III. Mar a fluair Bartimeus a shealladh air ball, is ann mar sin tha e tachairt ‘san ath-bhreth, is atharrachadh grad e. Tha aon mhòmaint shònruichte ‘nuair tha an duine dall faotainn a radhaire, agus ‘nuair tha beatha nuaidh a pheacaich a toiseachadh. Feudaidh e bhi annmhunn, ach thoisich e, is air son an toiseachadh a’s lugha tha feum air gniomh cruthachaidh. Tha cuis an duine dhoill ud eile, a chunnaic air t’us daoiné ag imeachd mar chraobhan (Marc viii. 24), a cuir solas air an atharrachadh so, mar air a dheanamh a chuid ‘sa chuid. Cho lath is a b’urrainnear a ràdh gu’m bu leir dha, ciod sam bith cho fann, bha an tatharrachadh mòr air a dheanamh. Ciod ‘sam bith cho dorcha, is cho làg is a bha a shealladh, bha e faicinn ann am firinn. Bha e roimhe dall; tha e nis a faicinn. Tha a stàid gu lèir air a h-atharrachadh, agus iomlan dealaichte bho’n ni a bha e roimhe. Roimhe sud, cha’n fhac’ e ni sam bith, ni mò bha e’n comas dà ni fhaicinn, a nis is lèir dha. Cha’n ‘eil atharrachadh cho mòr so gu bhi tuilleadh air a dheanamh ann an tòmhas a dhoille, agus a bha, nuair ò bhi dall, a fluair e lèirsinn idir.
Agus is ann mar so tha tachairt ann an ‘nithibh spioradail: cha’n ‘eil àite meadhonach ann, eadar rioghachdan an dorchadais agus an t-soluis, far am bheil dorchadas agus solus a meagachadh ri cheile (Mata. vi. 24). Tha iad gu h-iomlan dealaichte o cheile, agus an aghaidh a cheile. Cha’n urrainn do neach a bhi aig an aon àm na iochdaran do Chriosd, is do’n t-Sàtan, no a bhi ann an suidheachadh eadar mheadhonach gu’n a bhi deanamh seirbhis do neach dhiubh. Feumaidh e bhi fo fheirg, no fo ghràs, a bhi m’arbh no beò.
Ach gu muinntir a ghleidhèadh ò cho-dhùnaidhean cli, agus neo-mhisneachail, feumar cuis an duine dhoill ‘ud eile a thoirt fa’near gu cùramach. Feudaidh daoiné bhi m’ail ann an teachd a chum dearbhadh air an ath-bhreith. Feudaidh daoiné bhi m’ail ann an teachd a chum dearbhadh air an ath-bhreith. Feudaidh ceò is dorchadas a bhi crochadh os cionn a chrùthachaidh nuaidh. Tha am peacach gu tric a cumail ris fein, riaghailt iompachaidh, a dh’aobharaicheas dha a bhi càll a mihsinich. Tha a mhac-meanmhuiu fein, agus an eachdaraidh tha e cluinntinn mu muinntir eile a cur dathan ro mhaiseach air an fhaireachadh ris am bheil suil aig. Ach tha an Spiorad aig àmaibh a deonuchadh faireachadh a tha do nàdur, nach ‘eil an duine
tuigsinn re uine fhada, gur i so an obair air son an d’fhèith e uine cho fhada. Ann an cuis mhoran, gu sonruichte far am bheil gràs a rioghachadh nan òige, tha obair an Spioraid ‘na cheumaibh fa leth, bho dhearbhadh peacaidh gus am bheil an t-anam a sealbhachadh gu faireachdail gràdh maitheanais peacaidh, sàmhach, air a thoirt air aghaidh a chuid, ‘sa chuid, agus air mhodh nach mothaichear dha. Aig amaibh tha an Spiorad ‘na àrd-uachdranachd a stiuradh sùilbh a pheacaich, ‘nuair tha e air a shoillseachadh, gu sònruichte a dh’ionnsuidh cionta a chuid a chaidh seachad dhe bheatha, no stigh a chum doimhneachdan a chridhe, no a chùm mòralachd uamhasaich; agus agraidean laga Dhé, agus mar sin g’a lionadh as ùr le àmaghar. Cha’n e comhfhurtachd aig amaibh, tha mar cheud thoradh air an ath-bhreth. Feudar gur e fuaim gùl, a cheud fhuaim tha air a chluinntinn.
Aig amaibh eile, tha an dorchadas a sgapadh gu ro mhall, agus tha iomadh neul is duirche a dol troimhe gus am bheil an t-anam ullamh air tuiteam ann an eu-dòchas. Ach cha’n ‘eil e air fhàgail ann an cuis dhiubh sin, gu’n dearbhadh air ath-bhreth a bhi idir comasach dha.
Is lionmhor iad a dh’fheumas a radh le Joseph Fletcher naomha “Bha e gu tric na aobhar doilghios dhomh, nach b’urrainn mi àite, àm, no meadhoin m’iompachaidh ainmeachadh.”
Bhiodh e taitneach gu’m b’aithne dhuiinn na nithibh sin, ach na biodh neach sam bith ro iomaguineach umpa. Deanadh iad na h-uile dicioll air an gairm is an tâghadh a dheanamh cinnteach (2 Pead i. 10). Is e an ni is cud-thromaiche air son na h-uile peacach, bonn maith a bhi aige air son a radh, “air aon ni tha fhios agam air dhomh bhi dàll, tha mi ‘nis a faicinn (Eoin ix. 25). Ma’s urrainn dha so a ràdh, is mu tha fianuis an Spioraid aige air fhirinn (Rom. viii. 16), tha e’n coimeas ri sin, na ni beag ged nach b’urrainn dha a ràdh, air a leithid so do latha, le leithid so do mheadhoin, bha mo shuilean air am fosgladh.
Tha lòn laidir air a briseadh leis an stoirm. Tha an crànn, an stiur, is a chaitr-iuil, air an call. Tha an stoirm air a dhòl seachad, ach tha an long bhriste air a fuadach tre’n oidhche, is tre’n cheò. Tha fadheoidh na h-uile ni foisneach, agus tha na maraichean le iongantas a feitheamh ri teachd an là. Tha an latha a soilleireachadh gu fàdalach, agus mar tha na neoil a teicheadh, tha gach suil ag oidhear-pachadh fhaotainn a mach c’ait am bheil iad. Tha aon duine ag aithneachadh sgeir air an robh e eòlach, tha neach
eile a faicinn làmh-ruig air an do sheas e gu tric, tha an treas fear a faicinn an eaglais lamh ri am bheil a mhàthair a codal ann an tosdachd na h-uaigh, agus a nis air do’n ghrein briseadh a mach, tha iad uile ag èigheach le aoibhneas gu’m bheil iad ‘sa phort bu mhiannach leo. Gu diomhair, is gu’n chuideachadh uatha-san thug fear-riagh-laidh nan gaothaibh an sud iad, agus tha iad uile a deanamh aoibhneas ‘nan teasairginn iongantaich. An urrainn dhuit a smuaineachadh gu’m biodh aon neach dhiubh, nach robh sùbhach, do bhrigh nach b’aithne dha an uair san do thearnadh iad, no co aca a b’ann le gaothaibh, no le sruthaibh a chuain a bha iad air an toirt gu port.
IV. Air beannachd an atharrachaidh so air Bartimeus—samhladh beannachd spioradail an anama sin a bhlaís gu’m bheil an Tighearna gràsmhor, is gann gur h-urrainn dhomh a bheag a radh. Tha briathraibh an t-soisgeulaiche, “air ball fhuair e a shealladh,” a toirt dhuinn eachdaraidh aithghearr air aobhar aoibhneis chaidh thar labhairt. Is maitb tha Solamh ag radh. “Tha solus nan sùl a cur aoibhneis ‘sa chridhe (Gnathfhocal xv. 30),” agus a ris ag èigheach mar neach air an robh maduinn gun neoil a dealradh. Gu deimhin is milis an solus, agus is taitneach do na suilibh sealltuinn air a ghrein (Ecclesiastes xi. 7). Nach maiseach an ni e gur gann a tha suilibh naoidean air am fosgladh air an t-saoghail, ‘nuair tha e leanntuinn an t-solus le a shuil, agus a geurbheachdachadh air le mòr iongantas. A’s deigh dha am beathachadh fhaotainn air am bheil e cur feum, is e a cheud shòlas, an solus fhaicinn. Agus d’ar taobh fein, a’s deigh dhuinn a bhi fada ‘nar priosanaich ann an seomar tinneis, tha sinn a ris dol a mach le ‘ar taice feudaidh o bhi air gairdean caraid, a mhealtuinn na gaotha ‘urair, agus a dheanamh aoibhneis ann a bhi ris a gluasad fo speuraibh Dhé, nach ‘eil a mhaise leis am bheil, a ghrian a sgeadachadh an t-saoghail, a lionadh an anama le solas ro mhor.
Ach ciod so uile do dh’iongnadh, is do dh’aoibhneas Bhartimeuis ‘nuair a chunnaic e air son na ceud àm oibríbh miorbhuileach Dhé. Dhasan bha comas lèirsinn, na ni nuadh, agus a nis aig focal Chriosd, tha solus a teachd mar shruth, is air son na ceud àm, is na lànachd a dh’ionnsuidh duine bha dall o rugadh e, is ga lionadh le aoibhneas tha dol thar labhairt. Gu deimhin air an là ud, bha solus na gealaich, mar sholus na grèine, agus solus na greine mar sholus seachd laithibh (Isaiah xxx. 26).
Christian Overtakes Faithful.
BY JOHN BUNYAN.
III.
(Continued from p. 20).
NOW when I had got about half way up, I looked behind, and saw one coming after me, swift as the wind; so he overtook me just about the place where the settle stands.
Christian—Just there, said Christian, did I sit down to rest me; but being overcome with sleep, I there lost this roll out of my bosom. Faithful—But, good brother, hear me out. So soon as the man overtook me, he was but a word and a blow, for down he knocked me, and laid me for dead. But when I was a little come to myself again, I asked him wherefore he served me so. He said, because of my secret inclining to Adam the First: and with that he struck me another deadly blow on the breast, and beat me down backward; so I lay at his foot as dead as before. So, when I came to myself again, I cried him mercy; but he said, I know not how to show mercy; and with that knocked me down again. He had doubtless made an end of me, but that one came by, and bid him forbear.
Christian—Who was it that bid him forbear? Faithful—I did not know him at first, but as he went by, I perceived the holes in his hands, and in his side; then I concluded he was our Lord. So I went up the hill.
Christian—That man that overtook you was Moses. He spareth none, neither knoweth he how to show mercy to those that transgress his law. Faithful—I know it very well; it was not the first time that he has met with me. It was he that came to me when I dwelt securely at home, and that told me he would burn my house over my head, if I stayed there.
Christian—But did you not see the house that stood there on the top of the hill, on the side of which Moses met you? Faithful—Yes, and the lions too, before I came at it; but for the lions, I think they were asleep; for it was about noon; and because I had so much of the day before me, I passed by the porter, and came down the hill.
Christian—He told me indeed, that he saw you go by, but I wish you had called at the house, for they would have showed you so many rarities, that you would scarce have forgot them to the day of your death. But pray tell me, did you meet nobody in the Valley of Humility? Faithful—Yes, I met with one Discontent, who would willingly have persuaded me to go back again with him; his reason was, for that the valley was altogether without honour. He told me, moreover, that there to go was the way to disobey all my friends, as Pride, Arrogancy, Self-conceit, Worldly-glory, with others, who, he knew, as he said, would be very much offended, if I made such a fool of myself as to wade through this valley.
Christian—Well, and how did you answer him? Faithful—I told him that although all these that he named might claim kindred of me, and that rightly, for indeed they were my relations according to the flesh, yet since I became a pilgrim, they have disowned me, as I also have rejected them; and therefore they were to me now no more than if they had never been of my lineage.
I told him, moreover, that as to this valley he had quite misrepresented the thing; “for before honour is humility: and a haughty spirit before a fall.” Therefore, said I, I had rather go through this valley to the honour that was so accounted by the wisest, than choose that which he esteemed most worthy our affections.
Christian—Met you with nothing else in that valley? Faithful—Yes, I met with Shame; but of all the men that I met with in my pilgrimage, he, I think, bears the wrong name. The others would be said nay, after a little argumentation, and somewhat else; but this bold-faced Shame would never have done.
Christian—Why, what did he say to you? Faithful—What! why, he objected against religion itself; he said it was a pitiful, low, sneaking business for a man to mind religion; he said that a tender conscience was an unmanly thing; and that for a man to watch over his words and ways, so as to tie up himself from that hectoring liberty, that the brave spirits of the times accustomed themselves unto, would make him the ridicule of the times. He objected also, that but few of the mighty, rich, or wise, were ever of my opinion, nor any of them neither, before they were persuaded to be fools, and to be of a voluntary fondness, to venture the loss of
all, for nobody knows what. He moreover objected the base and low estate and condition of those that were chiefly the pilgrims, of the times in which they lived; also their ignorance, and want of understanding in all natural science. Yea, he did hold me to it at that rate also, about a great many more things than here I relate; as, that it was a shame to sit whining and mourning under a sermon, and a shame to come sighing and groaning home; that it was a shame to ask my neighbour forgiveness for petty faults, or to make restitution where I have taken from any. He said also, that religion made a man grow strange to the great, because of a few vices, which he called by finer names; and made him own and respect the base, because of the same religious fraternity. And is not this, said he, a shame?
Christian—And what did you say to him? Faithful—Say! I could not tell what to say at the first. Yea, he put me so to it, that my blood came up in my face; even this Shame fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite off. But, at last, I began to consider, that “that which is highly esteemed among men, is had in abomination with God.” And I thought again, this Shame tells me what men are; but it tells me nothing what God, or the Word of God is. And I thought, moreover, that at the day of doom, we shall not be doomed to death or life, according to the hectoring spirits of the world, but according to the wisdom and law of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what God says is best, indeed is best, though all the men in the world are against it. Seeing, then, that God prefers his religion; seeing God prefers a tender conscience; seeing they that make themselves fools for the kingdom of heaven are wisest; and that the poor man that loveth Christ is richer than the greatest man in the world that hates him; Shame, depart, thou art an enemy to my salvation. Shall I entertain thee against my sovereign Lord? How then shall I look him in the face at his coming? Should I now be ashamed of his ways and servants, how can I expect the blessing? But, indeed, this Shame was a bold villain; I could scarce shake him out of my company; yea, he would be haunting of me, and continually whispering me in the ear, with some one or other of the infirmities that attend religion; but at last I told him it was but in vain to attempt further in this business; for those things that he disdained, in those did I see most glory; and so at last I got
past this importunate one. And when I had shaken him off, then I began to sing:—
“The trials that those men do meet withall,
That are obedient to the heavenly call,
Are manifold, and suited to the flesh.
And come, and come, and come again afresh;
That now, or sometime else, we by them may
Be taken, overcome, and cast away.
O let the pilgrims, let the pilgrims, then,
Be vigilant, and quit themselves like men.”
Christian—I am glad, my brother, that thou didst withstand this villain so bravely; for of all, as thou sayest, I think he has the wrong name; for he is so bold as to follow us in the streets, and to attempt to put us to shame before all men; that is, to make us ashamed of that which is good; but if he was not himself audacious, he would never attempt to do as he does. But let us still resist him; for notwithstanding all his bravadoes, he promoteth the fool, and none else. “The wise shall inherit glory,” said Solomon, “but shame shall be the promotion of fools.” Faithful—I think we must cry to him for help against Shame, who would have us to be valiant for the truth upon the earth.
Christian—You say true; but did you meet nobody else in that valley? Faithful—No, not I, for I had sunshine all the rest of the way through that, and also through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Christian.—It was well for you. I am sure it fared otherwise with me; I had for a long season, as soon as almost I entered into that valley, a dreadful combat with that foul fiend Apollyon; yea, I thought verily he would have killed me, especially when he got me down and crushed me under him, as if he would have crushed me to pieces; for as he threw me, my sword flew out of my hand; nay, he told me he was sure of me; but I cried to God, and He heard me, and delivered me out of all my troubles. Then I entered into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and had no light for almost half the way through it. I thought I should have been killed there, over and over; but at last day broke, and the sun rose, and I went through that which was behind with far more ease and quiet.—”Pilgrim’s Progress.”
As a general rule, there is a regular flight of steps from “no Sabbath” to “no God.”—Bishop Ryle.
Noted Ministers of the Northern Highlands*
IN giving a review of this book, for reasons on our side, we undertake to do so with diffidence. When we ask ourselves, however, what especially is necessary for the authorship of such a book, we think that there is required at least (1) Accuracy of statement, not omitting dates nor putting a gloss upon statements in documents to suit religious views; (2) Spiritual sympathy with these men in as far as they followed Christ; and (3) The suitable presentation of material.
So, first, such an author must be exceedingly accurate. “It is required in a steward that he be found faithful.” It is required in a writer after this historical and evangelical manner that he be found accurate as to the facts as far as known or recorded. Such an author must largely be a copyist, in a good sense, copying what he obtains from the resources at his disposal. When men like Dr Hay Fleming and others of that ilk are proven to be reliable, gratitude and cordial acknowledgment is due them for their labours. Mistakes undoubtedly will occur in the most painstaking efforts to ascertain and state facts, but the ideal, and endeavour, remain. For instance, you will find from a quotation in this book that Dr Kennedy states that Norman Macleod left college of his free will. Our author finds that Norman Macleod was “rusticated” or dismissed, and so the previous view, which was of course according to the best of Dr Kennedy’s knowledge, has to be revised. It must have cost much labour and painstaking research to find out much concerning Mackillican, Ross, Robertson, of Kingussie, and others brought before us in the volume.
Then, secondly, spiritual sympathy is needed if one is to give a true and useful account of these witnesses. They were misunderstood, misrepresented, maligned by dignitaries in Church and State. Hog and Mackillican were imprisoned in the Bass Rock, and found it, notwithstanding the intention of their persecutors, to be the confines of Immanuel’s land. “All things work to-
*Some Noted Ministers of the Northern Highlands, by the Rev. D. Beaton, Wick. Price, 5s; post free, 5s 4d. Printed at “Chronicle” Office, Inverness.
gether for good” to God’s people, but that does not justify persecutors nor lessen their guilty load. These ambassadors of Christ were the honourable even among the honourable. Their Lord endowed them with great gifts “to each according to his several ability,” and each would acknowledge, “By the grace of God I am what I am.” They were under-shepherds who knew their need of Christ and Him crucified as their only source of eternal life. When asked by the Master at the Great Day, “Didst thou keep the word of My grace committed to thee?” these will be able to say, “Yes.” Many another one will have to say, “We kept the ecclesiastical or civil law of our day, whether according to the Word of the Lord or not—we had to keep our livings or stipend and glebe.” These were men who had in the very marrow of their souls the faith which was once delivered to the saints. Faithfulness to the truth of God, for their own souls, for life and conduct, for all matters pertaining to Church and State—self-denial, integrity, sagacity, holiness, love, zeal, with the utmost tenderness to the penitent, and prayerful fellow-feeling toward the godly who groan being burdened, these were the principles and the graces which were prized by them in their generation, and this is made amply evident in the clear and useful narratives of this book. They had their failings in this world, some of them more noticeably so than others. “O that black Presbytery,” cried Alexander Pope, after being cajoled to vote against John Sutherland, of Halkirk. Sutherland’s prediction came true. Nor does the author overlook some of the doctrinal peculiarities, say, of Fraser of Brea or Stewart of Moulin. We venture to think that they themselves were not exactly feeling happy with their intellectual conclusions. Would not Fraser of Brea have been satisfied with the Atonement as “Infinite” and “Definite?” Were not their hearts ahead of their heads? We may here note some of the names of these defenders of the faith and breakers-up of fallow ground. Some of them, we all, probably, read of already, as Hog, Sage, Dr Macdonald and others down to Cook. Others however, are brought before us whom we know much less of, as John Mackillican, Daniel Beaton, Angus Macbean, John Robertson (the spiritual father evidently of Dr Macdonald), also Alexander Stewart, Dingwall, and others. We would re-tell some of the incidents recorded were that possible here. If we have not whetted any appetite by our indications and endeavours, it is not exactly for want of will. However, if we wish to have a
copy on the home-shelves it may be well to secure one, as the volume will have an interest for those who study the history and local conditions of the districts referred to, quite apart from acquiescence or otherwise in the religious convictions either of the author or his subjects.
Lastly, we have the question—Is the presentation of the author’s material suitable? Mr Beaton does not require an epistle of commendation regarding this. So we leave that point. He throughout indicates his sources—Presbytery Records, etc.—for those who wish to glean for themselves. The reader will find that the book can be taken up in season or out of season, for the refreshing of mind and heart, and be able, we frankly believe, to say that the author is “a succourer of many and of me also.” There are many beautiful remarks which are like precious stones, along with the gold and silver, in the build of the book. Such are those of Lillias Dunbar on the Plant of Renown, and the apt use which Mr Beaton makes of Mrs E. B. Browning’s reference to Cowper is worthy of notice. It is applied by the author to one of these godly men as he was nearing the end of the valley in this world, namely, that “a helpless hand to Christ’s Cross was clinging.” So much for the sketches of “Some Noted Ministers of the Northern Highlands.” “The righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance.”—D. A. MacF.