III.
(Continued from p. 224).
Whenever he found any of his companions telling a lie, he not only separated from them, but always reproved them, and told them that they reminded him of Ananias and Sapphira, and were so like the devil. When he heard of any of them being guilty of sin, he used to take a piece of paper and write down the commandment which they had broken, and then go and hand it in at the door of their house.
He was very fond of school, and attended most regularly, both on week-days and on Sabbath evenings. Every day, when he returned from school, he took his Bible, and having sung a few verses of a Psalm, he prayed that all he had been learning at school might be blessed to him. He was very careful to understand all that he learnt, and could never be content till he had not only understood the words which he read, but the doctrines which he was taught. The words which he made use of were remarkably correct and much beyond what could have been expected from his years. One time, being grieved at his father for swearing, he advised him to go and pray. His father said he would go some other time. He clasped his little hands in evident distress, and said, “Procrastination!—Oh, you will procrastinate till time is done, and what will become of you then?” He was very anxious to have the meaning of justification and sanctification explained to him, and seemed often thinking about it. One morning, before he went to school, when speaking about the sufferings of Christ, he said, “I often wonder how God could die upon the cross. How was it, mother?” His mother told him that He took our nature into union with the divine nature, and that, though as God He could not suffer, He suffered as man. “Oh,” said he, “that is just it,” and after a little while he said, “My finite capacity cannot comprehend it.” Speaking of that passage in the Epistle to the Ephesians which speaks of Christians growing up unto the stature of perfect men in Christ, he said that what he would like to grow for would be that he might grow up unto that stature. And then he asked, “Mother, can a little boy grow up unto a perfect man in Christ?” On being told that he could, he said he was glad, for then he would not need to wait till he was grown-up.
He was fond above all things of his Bible, and would always be reading it. He liked much to read the first chapter of Genesis, about the creation of all things; and one Sabbath morning his mother noticed he had read it over four or five times before breakfast. She spoke to him about it, and he told her how much he liked to read it. “Oh, mother,” he said, “my heart grows big when I read it, and these words, ‘God said, let there be light, and there was light;’ then, repeating the words and laying the emphasis on ‘was;’ ‘and there ‘was’ light, for whatsoever God says must be.'” He was very fond of speaking about the Resurrection and the second coming of Christ, and on such occasions his face used to become quite flushed with animation. “I shall be a King and a Priest,” he would say, “on that day, and I shall have a glorious crown put upon my head.”
He was very fond of the Sabbath Day, and used to express horror at any profanation of it in the strongest way. One day, reproving his father for something of this kind, he said—”On this day Christ rose from the dead, and after Him suffering and dying to take away our sins, you would dare to profane His holy day; it frights me to look at you; and besides, what an example you are setting before me. God is very angry at you.” His father said—”Are you not ashamed to speak to your father in that way?” He said:—
“I’m not ashamed to own my Lord,
Or to defend His cause.”
One night his father came home much intoxicated, and after he went to bed, little Johnny was sitting thoughtfully at the fireside. After a little he turned round and said to his mother—”Mother, I was just thinking what a fool the devil is tormenting us in this way, when he knows that he only gives us an errand to God every time he sends my father home in that state.”
One day, coming home from school, he said that a bad boy had been pushing at him during prayer. His mother said that none prayed but the master. He answered—”But our mind prays, and when the teacher is done, my mind says, ‘O Lord, hear Mr—, and make us all holy.'” He had a great dread of offending God, and it was evident that his faith wrought by love. He often expressed his thankfulness to God for temporal mercies, and never would eat a morsel without asking a blessing.
The Late Mr Roderick Macleod.
THIS worthy man served for a short season on two occasions at Stratherrick. He was a native of Coigach. It was there we came to know him first. In 1893 he did not hesitate to show his disapproval of the notorious Declaratory Act by casting in his lot with those who stood out against it. He led a blameless life, adorning the doctrines which he believed and the profession which he made by a careful walk and conversation. The writer is not in a position to state what instrument the Lord used for turning Roderick from the broad way in which all the race run by nature to their eternal ruin. It was clear that it was the Lord who began a good work in him, and that he carried it on till the day of his death. Possessed of a clear voice and a clear intellect, he could on the Question Day and while addressing a meeting carry his hearers with him, instructing them and edifying such as had grace. He never wearied his hearers as some are inclined to do by long discourses. He knew in himself that the flesh is weak, and that if once the speaker loses the attention of his hearers that it is wiser for him to stop. As a leader of singing in Gaelic he had few to surpass him in his day. Many a day we enjoyed him leading the singing in the congregation, and now that he is gone so that we can hear him no more either singing or speaking to “the question,” we mourn his loss, but what is loss to the Church militant is gain to the Church triumphant. Roderick was left a widower early in life, and when his family grew up and left him at Coigach, he had to leave his old home and reside with a married daughter in Aberdeenshire, where he could not get his own Church connection: hence he often came our way, and agreed to supply Stratherrick, which was vacant at the time. Our people there were delighted to have him. It was while ministering there that he had a stroke of paralysis, and although he lived for a time after, he was never able to do anything connected with the Mission. He passed away to his eternal rest at his daughter’s house, and was buried at Badenscallie.—E. McQ.
We must learn to make our evils, our great good; and to spin comforts, peace, joy, communion with Christ, out of our troubles, which are His wooers, sent to “speak for us,” to Himself.—Rutherford.
The Late Mrs Mackay, Sydney House, Lairg.
THIS worthy woman was born at Lairg Muir, near the spot where she died. It was while reading the Word of God in private the Lord began to deal with her soul. During the time she was under law work she used to hide herself with her book from her husband and every other person in the house, but when she came to the Word that gave her liberty she did not mind who would see her. Her husband, who was a most loving man, was at that time, like the rest of the human race, caring little for these things, died many years before her. He, also, before his end in this life underwent a great change, and the two of them were the real friends of those who feared the Lord. Mrs Mackay was a most prudent woman. She knew when to speak and when to be silent. She was also a discerning person, who would not “cast pearls before swine.” She knew the plague of her own heart, and those who felt it most were those she liked most. The writer of these lines knew her well for many years, and to him she appeared above many, like the women described in the Word of God—”Keepers at home, ruling well their own house, showing meekness, gravity, adorning their profession.” Prosperity did not elate her. Trouble and adversity did not make her murmur. Thus lived and thus died Mrs Ann Mackay, and in her death we may in reality say we lost a real friend, but what is loss to us is gain to her. May the Lord who led the mother and the father lead their two sons who are left. To them we extend our utmost sympathy.—E. McQ.
How David Steven, Bower (Caithness), Forsook Dancing.
IN his youth David Steven, Bower, like so many of the young of his own day and ours, lived as if the only serious business in life was pleasure. When the Spirit began to strive with him he was ill at ease, but found it very hard to give up the exciting and exhilarating pleasures that held him as a captive. He felt as others have felt, that it was not easy to serve two masters. “After a time,” says Mr Auld, “his convictions returned with greater force. He then en-
deavoured to compromise the matter by joining a fellowship prayer-meeting in the neighbourhood, while he still continued to be musical performer at the dancing parties. This compromise was broken up in a very unexpected but effective way. He was one day, with his instrument under his arm, on the road to a ball. A woman in the district who had earned for herself—we know not how—the awful name of “Maggie Hell,” meeting David, accosted him, and in strong terms upbraided him for his inconsistency. ‘You worthless fellow,’ said she, ‘going on in this way: praying ae day and playing the fiddle the next to the dancin’ folks the other day—a bonnie kind of religion indeed.’ David stood like one petrified. What! thought he; is it come to this: that I am the scorn of even Maggie Hell? He turned on the spot, went home, and laid up his fiddle. He was never again taken down to be used in public—the dancers that day finally lost their musician.”—”Ministers and Men in the Far North.”