BY THE REV. JOHN R. MACKAY, M.A., INVERNESS.
(a) A story in which John Grant refers to his natural state.
JOHN GRANT, although he lived so long a distinguished Christian life, had reason, in reference to his pre-conversion days, to join with the Apostle Paul in saying, “For we ourselves were some time foolish.” The following authentic story will illustrate this:—When John Grant was in Strathy he had for a neighbour a certain Mrs. MacLeod, a pious woman—a widow at this time—who had been left with a family of at least four boys. The eldest of the boys was useful to John Grant in looking after his horse, and in doing other kind turns for him, and John naturally took an interest in the fatherless boy. Once upon a time the boy discovered a wild bird’s nest in the heather, and, as boys will, prized his discovery. Another boy, however, came to know where this particular nest was, and, ill-naturedly, harried the nest. When the boy MacLeod came to learn what this neighbour boy had done he was very indignant, and gave a good thrashing to the boy that had harried what he regarded as his nest. The mother of the boy that got the thrashing came to complain to Mrs. MacLeod of her son, and the latter, taking her neighbour’s report against her own boy for truth, was about to chastise him for his conduct. But when he saw what his mother was meaning
to do, he set off, and rested not until he got to stand behind the chair of John Grant, whom he looked upon as his protector. Mrs. MacLeod followed her boy into John Grant’s house, but when she asked him to be delivered up, John Grant steadily refused. When she submitted that she was a widow woman, who had the care and responsibility of her son, and that she felt bound to chastise him for his conduct, John said that he would not give him up until first of all he related to her something about himself, and if after that she would persist in whipping her boy, he would not stand in her way. What he had to tell about himself was to the effect that, when he was a young man or lad, he attended a funeral where strong drink had been freely indulged in, with the result that the funeral party came to quarrel badly among themselves. “I let down,” said John, “the bier three times that day to engage in a fight. But that fight was made very bitter to me afterwards. What do you know,” continued John to Mrs. MacLeod, “but this fight may yet become as bitter to your boy?” John Grant told this incident with such feeling that Mrs. MacLeod had no heart to carry out her purpose of chastisement in regard to her boy.
[The writer had this bit of information concerning John Grant’s unconverted days from the late Mr. William MacLeod, Strathy, younger brother of the boy MacLeod.]
(b) John Grant’s Conversion.
Mr. Auld says: “John Grant underwent a saving change in early life. A friend writes us, ‘that before leaving his native place he was for a considerable time under such deep convictions of sin as to be almost driven to despair, in which state of mind he attempted to ford the river of Kildonan while in flood. That his life was preserved was a miracle, and that he landed on the opposite side a new man was a still greater miracle. This circumstance is graphically and beautifully described in a Gaelic Elegy, written shortly after his death, by Mr. Joseph Mackay.'”
Some of the readers of the Magazine will appreciate the lines of the Elegy to which the allusion particularly is made:—
“Do bhrèith gun dàil, o bhròinn a’ bhàis,
Le aisead a bha ‘na miorbhuil,
‘Sann air an t-snàmh chaidh thu gu tràigh,
‘S gu staid nan gràs, ‘s na diadhaidheachd.”
(c) John Grant’s Disposition.
The following incidents may be taken as illustrative of his external gruffness on occasion, of his deep tenderness, and of his genuine sympathy with those in distress of any kind:—
(1) The late John Sutherland of Badbea knew John Grant well and admired him greatly. John Sutherland had two neighbours of whom he thought well, as pious men, and he spoke to them often of the marvellous manner of a Christian man that John Grant was. Once upon a time John Grant visited John Sutherland,
and the latter, thinking this would turn out to be a great spiritual treat to his pious neighbours, sent them word to come and share with himself the fellowship of John Grant. They came, but towards them John Grant assumed so stern and unbending an attitude that after a while they lost heart and went away. John Sutherland felt for his neighbours, and, as he knew their worth and respected them accordingly, convoyed them for a little distance from his home. Great was his surprise, on returning to the room where John Grant was, to find his guest lying on the floor, and bemoaning himself in words which were somewhat in the following sense: “What an unnatural man I must be, when not even the Lord’s own people can put up with me! But if those friends had only had the patience to wait until I had got over to the other side of the leaf, and I was enabled to declare some of the things that the Lord did for my soul, and they, too, were free to confess what He did for themselves, and we should thus become united together in the love of Christ, as long as I lived it would bring joy to my heart to see so much as a winged bird from the place of their abode.”
(2) When the Rev. Finlay Cook was missionary-minister of the nations of Achreny, Halsary, and Halladale, there lived somewhere within his district a very pious man—Donald Sutherland to name—who was also subject to periods of great despondency. On one occasion this Donald Sutherland was very ill, and John Grant, who was also then living in those parts, accompanied Mr. Cook to see Donald. They found their friend writing very bitter things against himself, and speaking of himself as of one for whom only the blackness of darkness was reserved. John Grant took this way to help him out of the slough. He said that he would himself catechise Donald, with a view to ascertaining what marks of true grace Donald, after all, bore; and Mr. Cook was asked to note the marks, as they were discovered, on a slate that was at hand. The catechising is said to have gone forward on these lines:—
John Grant: “Tell me, Donald, if all the books you ever came across in your sojourn were pretty much alike to you.”
Donald: “Oh, no one in his senses but knows that the Bible is an incomparable book.”
(Mr. Cook was told to put this down as mark No. 1.)
John Grant: “Tell me, Donald, if it mattered little to you what your companions in time should be.”
Donald: “Even if I am lost, I can truly say that I had no companions but the Lord’s people.”
(Mr. Cook was told to put this down as mark No. 2.)
John Grant: “Now, Donald, I will put it to your conscience, if really you think you could live always without prayer.”
Donald admitted that he thought he could not, whereupon John Grant said to him: “Now, Donald, I will tell you what must happen when you go, as you say, to the place of woe. First
of all you will ask for the book of your choice. You will be told that it is not there. Then you will ask for the people of your choice, and you will be told that none of them is there. Then, missing book and friends, you will look out for a corner to pour out your sorrows in prayer. When Satan sees you, he will be sure to come up and kick you out, saying, ‘Out, out of here with you; the like of this was never seen in the pit before.'”
It remains to be stated that the catechising had a salutary effect upon Donald Sutherland’s mind, in giving him a lift towards freedom from the slough of despond.
(3) The late Mrs. Gordon, Culfean, Strathalladale, was one of the most loving and gracious Christian women whom it was our lot to know. One heard her say that she became a widow—(she had been married to an officer in the Army)—when not much over twenty years of age. She was on the point of distraction with sorrow. When thus afflicted, John Grant called to see her. She set down something for him to eat. In asking a blessing he used words like these: “Thou art the Wonderful, the Counsellor. When Thou givest counsel to the sea, it refuses to drown; when Thou givest counsel to the fire, it refuses to burn. Give counsel to the sore grief that is felt in this house, and Thou wilt spoil the grief of its iron edge.” The words, she said, were spoken with such unction that she felt that, with the petition, the iron edge was taken off her trouble, and she was ever afterwards enabled to bear her loss with that patience which she thought becoming a Christian woman.