FROM “MEMOIR OF JOHN URQUHART,” STUDENT, ST. ANDREWS (1808-1827).
THE following letter was written by Mr. John Urquhart, known to readers of biography as “the earnest student.” Born in the city of Perth in June, 1808, of parents belonging to the Congregational body, he entered the University of St. Andrews at the early age of fifteen years. There he proved himself a student of the greatest diligence and highest distinction. Before the end of his second session at the University he gave evidence of having passed through a saving change, and soon proved a bright example of true godliness. In his third session (1824-25) he sat in the class of Moral Philosophy, then conducted by the famous Dr. Thomas Chalmers. John Urquhart gained the first prize in this class, and became very intimate with the professor, who formed the highest opinion of the character and gifts of the young student. A missionary society was formed during the same session among the students of the University, and Urquhart was deeply interested in it. Eventually he came to the conclusion, after deep and prayerful consideration under, as he believed, the movings of the Spirit of God, that he should devote himself to the work of preaching the Gospel to the heathen—a task much more difficult a century ago, so far as outward circumstances are concerned, than it is now. But the Lord, in His mysterious providence, did not permit the earnest student to carry out the desire of his heart. John Urquhart was of delicate constitution from his infancy, and his friends, who fully appreciated his motives, opposed his design. Their fears concerning his health were sadly realised, for on the 10th of January, 1827, he passed away at Glasgow at the age of eighteen years and six months. John Urquhart’s intense desire for the salvation of the heathen was, however, not fruitless. The eminent Dr. Duff was one of his fellow-students, and the deep and solemn impression produced upon his mind by Urquhart contributed, under divine guidance, to his devoting himself to the cause of the Gospel in India.
ST. ANDREWS, 10th February, 1825.
MY VERY DEAR BROTHER,—I have often wished, my dear David, to have some closer intercourse with you than I have yet had on religious subjects, either by conversation or by letter. The latter method is the only one in my power at present; and in some respects I think it the most advantageous, as we can express our sentiments both more deliberately and more freely than we perhaps could in personal intercourse. I hope you will not think me obtrusive in bringing this subject before you. Believing, as I do, that not only a right understanding of the Gospel but also a real belief of its truths is necessary to our happiness, either here or in that mysterious state which is after death, you cannot surely wonder that I should be anxious to know the feelings of my dearest friends in regard to this important subject.
We, my dear brother, have enjoyed very distinguished privileges in having a knowledge of the Gospel from our infancy. But although early religious instruction is a most inestimable blessing, it has also its disadvantages. We who know the Gospel, and whose early prejudices (the strongest of all prejudices) are in favour of the Gospel, are very apt to rest in our knowledge, or in our attachment to certain religious opinions, as a proof of our faith, and consequently of a state of safety in regard to another world. Now, I think it is of the very greatest importance to remember that there can be no belief where there is no feeling. In the ordinary affairs of life we are disposed at once to admit that a man cannot believe anything without being suitably impressed by it. And how, then, should we be for a moment deluded into the opinion that in this one instance, where the truths are calculated to make the very deepest impressions—in this, and in this alone, these truths can be believed without being felt? Would you think me censorious if I should say I feared you were not a Christian? Would you not be quite startled if I said I suspected you to be an infidel? I do not mean, my dear David, to make either of these assertions, far less to do so in a spirit of censoriousness. But I will confess to you that I have an uncertainty of the matter which fills me with the greatest concern on your account. We start at the name of infidel. And we are very apt to think that a man may be unregenerate and yet very far removed from anything like infidelity. We are very apt to think that there may be such a thing as a half-Christian, one who is almost a Christian. But it is silly to be deluded by mere names. The Bible tells us that ‘he who believeth shall be saved, and he who believeth not shall be condemned.’ We are told of no transition state in another world, half-way between heaven and hell, or nearer the one than the other. No; we must either rise to inconceivable glory or sink into unutterable woe. The grand question is: Do we believe the Gospel or do we not? This, and this alone, fixes our after state. If we believe, we shall reign with saints and angels. If we do not believe—if we have hesitated whether we should receive the Gospel or not—if we have been even almost persuaded to believe, and if, moreover, we have been possessed of all the knowledge and even all the graces that can adorn an unregenerate character—still, notwithstanding all, if matters stop here, we must be condemned throughout eternity to herd with the very outcasts of society, with blasphemers and atheists, with liars and murderers. This is a very fearful view of the matter, but is it not the view which the Scriptures present? And it is this view of the matter that leads me to fear and even (I acknowledge) to suspect that my own brother may be among the number of those who are securely, and even cheerfully, walking on to the pit of endless perdition. This is an awful thought, and I have felt its awfulness. Often have I wept from the bitterness of the thought that we may soon part, never to meet again. And excepting the prayers I have offered for my own forgiveness, the most earnest petitions I have ever presented at the throne of mercy have been those I have put up for a brother’s salvation. I believe there is an efficacy in prayer, and I am not without the hope that these prayers will be answered. I have sometimes thought that I could see that you had a conviction that all was not right with you; that, after all, there was a something in Christianity which you had not experienced. I could remember that such was the state of my own mind when the Spirit of God first strove with my rebellious heart, and the hope dawned upon me that this might be the beginning of His working on your mind. That hope has often been blasted by your indifference or your open rebellion against God; but, though often blasted, I will still continue to cherish it. The Lord grant that it may be realised!
I have written these lines for your own private perusal, and therefore I laid aside that veil of propriety by which, in ordinary life, we are accustomed to conceal our feelings, and I have laid open my heart before you. I do not think you have the hardness to laugh at my concern on your account; but if even this should be the effect of this letter, still I shall not regret that I have told you all I feel. This letter has been preceded and accompanied with prayer, and part of it has been written in tears. God is sometimes pleased to work by the most insignificant agents; and I am not without the hope that, by the blessing of His Spirit, these confused expressions of a brother’s heart-felt desire for your salvation may be made the means of softening your heart and leading you to receive the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ with humility and with joy.
There is one circumstance, my dear brother, that has especially led me to open my heart before you at present, and to urge thus solemnly and earnestly upon you the acceptance of the Gospel. You have heard, probably, that I have determined to spend my life in preaching to the heathen. I feel that even the innocent pleasures of this life are, all of them, unsatisfactory, and in many instances tend to draw the mind from heavenly objects. And from all the information I can collect, I am convinced that I can serve my God more effectually by declaring His name where it never has been declared before, than by repeating the Gospel to those who have often heard and as often refused it. But the thought that I am soon to leave this land, never to return, makes me feel it a more urgent duty while I remain to press the truths of the Gospel on the attention of those who are my countrymen, and especially to warn most solemnly, and most earnestly to persuade, those who are dearest to me by the ties of nature. A few months, my brother, and our earthly intercourse must be for ever at an end. Shall I hope to meet you in heaven? O, give me an answer to this question, for on yourself its answer depends. I confess that, in the prospect of leaving my parents, one-half of the great burden that lies upon my mind would be removed could I confidently rely on the religious principles of my sister and especially of yourself, who in a short time will be their only son, and almost their only earthly protector. There are occurrences that must here present themselves to your mind, which you must know wound my feelings most deeply in the prospect of separation; but these I will not call to mind. O, that the God of the families of Israel may cause His peace to abide upon my father’s house!
You know that my parents feel deeply at the thought of my departure. I am sure that if they could feel a thorough confidence in you, my brother, it would go far to reconcile them to what I believe to be the will of God concerning me. I know, my dear David, that you are often placed in difficult circumstances, but a belief of the Gospel and a spirit of prayer will go far to enable you to act calmly and meekly under the most trying circumstances. Believe in Jesus Christ and look to Him, and in looking to Him you will reflect His image—you will become like Him. Thus, and thus alone, will you learn, like Him, when you are reviled, not to revile again, and even when you suffer, not to threaten.
You see, my brother, I have many reasons for urging upon you these solemn warnings and earnest entreaties. I beseech you to believe in Christ. I beseech you to take His yoke upon you and learn of Him, for ‘his yoke is easy and his burden is light.’ I beseech you to learn of Him to be meek and lowly. I entreat you to do these things if you would save your own soul; if you would fulfil the best and most earnest wishes of an affectionate and only brother; if you would, in some degree, alleviate the sorrow of one who is soon to part with all he holds dear on earth; and, finally, if you would comfort our bereaved parents—if you would make up the breach which the resistless hand of death has so lately made, and which the imperious calls of duty soon must make again in that little family which I must try to think no longer my home.”