By John Bunyan.
BY this time Christiana was got on her way, and Mercy went along with her; so as they went, her children being there also, Christiana began to discourse. ‘And, Mercy,’ said Christiana, ‘I take this as an unexpected favour, that thou shouldst set foot out of doors with me to accompany me a little in my way.’
Then said young Mercy (for she was but young), ‘If I thought it would be to purpose to go with you, I would never go near the town.’ ‘Well, Mercy,’ said Christiana, ‘cast in thy lot with me; I well know what will be the end of our pilgrimage: my husband is where he would not but be for all the gold in the Spanish mines. Nor shalt thou be rejected, though thou goest but upon my invitation. The King, who hath sent for me and my children, is one that delighteth in mercy. Besides, if thou wilt, I will hire thee, and thou shalt go along with me as my servant. Yet we will have all things in common betwixt thee and me: only go along with me.’
Mer. But how shall I be ascertained that I also shall be entertained? Had I this hope from one that can tell, I would make no stick at all, but would go, being helped by him that can help, though the way was never so tedious. Chr. Well, loving Mercy, I will tell thee what thou shalt do: go with me to the Wicket-gate, and there I will further enquire for thee; and if there thou shalt not meet with encouragement, I will be content that thou shalt return to thy place; I also will pay
thee for thy kindness which thou showest to me and my children, in the accompanying of us in our way as thou dost. Mer. Then will I go thither, and will take what shall follow; and the Lord grant that my lot may there fall, even as the King of heaven shall have His heart upon me.
Christiana was then glad at heart; not only that she had a companion, but also for that she had prevailed with this poor maid to fall in love with her own salvation. So they went on together, and Mercy began to weep. Then said Christiana, ‘Wherefore weepeth my sister so?’ ‘Alas!’ said she, ‘who can but lament, that shall but rightly consider what a state and condition my poor relations are in, that yet remain in our sinful town? and that which makes my grief the more, is, because they have no instruction, nor any to tell them what is to come.’ Chr. Bowels become pilgrims: and thou doest for thy friends, as my good Christian did for me when he left me; he mourned for that I would not heed nor regard him; but his Lord and ours did gather up his tears, and put them into His bottle; and now both I and thou, and these my sweet babes, are reaping the fruit and benefit of them. I hope, Mercy, that these tears of thine will not be lost; for the Truth hath said, that ‘they that sow in tears shall reap in joy’ and singing. And ‘he that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.’ (Ps. exxvi. 5-6).
Then said Mercy,
‘Let the most Blessed be my guide,
If’t be His blessed will,
Unto His gate, into His fold,
Up to His holy hill:
And let Him never suffer me
To swerve or turn aside
From His free-grace and holy ways,
Whate’er shall me betide.
And let Him gather them of mine,
That I have left behind;
Lord, make them pray they may be thine,
With all their heart and mind.’
Now my old friend* proceeded, and said.—But, when Christiana came to the Slough of Despond, she began to be at a stand; ‘For,’ said she, ‘this is the place in which my dear husband had like to have been smothered with mud.’ She perceived also, that, notwithstanding the command of the King to make this place for pilgrims good, yet it was rather worse than formerly. So I asked if that was true? Yes, said the old gentleman, too true: for many there be, that pretend to be the King’s labourers, and say they are for mending the King’s highways, that bring dirt and dung instead of stones, and so mar instead of mending. Here Christiana therefore, and her boys, did make a stand: but said Mercy, ‘Come, let us venture; only let us be wary.’ Then they looked well to their steps, and made a shift to get staggering over. Yet Christiana had like to have been in, and that not once or twice. Now they had no sooner got over, but they thought they heard words that said unto them, ‘Blessed is she that believeth, for there shall be a performance of what has been told her from the Lord. (Luke i 45).
Then they went on again; and said Mercy to Christiana, ‘Had I as good ground to hope for a loving reception at the Wicket-gate, as you, I think no Slough of Despond could discourage me.’ ‘Well,’ said the other, ‘you know your sore, and I know mine; and, good friend, we shall all have enough evil before we come to our journey’s end. For it cannot be imagined, that the people that design to attain such excellent glories as we do, and that are so envied that happiness as we are; but that we shall meet with what fears and snares, with what troubles and afflictions, they can possibly assault us with that hate us.’
And now Mr. Sagacity left me to dream out my dream by myself. Wherefore, methought I saw Christiana, and Mercy,
*Mr. Sagacity.
and the boys, go all of them up to the gate: to which when they came, they betook themselves to a short debate, about how they must manage their calling at the gate; and what should be said unto him that did open unto them: so it was concluded, since Christiana was the eldest, that she should knock for entrance, and that she should speak to him that did open for the rest. So Christiana began to knock, and, as her poor husband did, she knocked and knocked again. But instead of any that answered, they all thought that they heard as if a dog came barking upon them; a dog, and a great one too; and this made the women and children afraid. Nor durst they for a while to knock any more, for fear the mastiff should fly upon them. Now therefore they were greatly tumbled up and down in their minds, and knew not what to do: knock they durst not, for fear of the dog; go back they durst not, for fear the keeper of that gate should espy them as they so went, and be offended with them: at last they thought of knocking again, and knocking more vehemently than they did at first. Then said the keeper of the gate, ‘Who is there?’ So the dog left off to bark, and he opened upon them.
Then Christiana made low obeisance, and said, ‘Let not our Lord be offended with his hand-maidens, for that we have knocked at his princely gate.’ Then said the keeper, ‘Whence come ye? And what is it that you would have?’ Christiana answered, ‘We are come from whence Christian did come, and upon the same errand as he; to wit, to be, if it shall please you, graciously admitted, by this gate, into the way that leads unto the Celestial City. And I answer, my Lord, in the next place, that I am Christiana, once the wife of Christian, that now is gotten above.’
With that the keeper of the gate did marvel, saying, ‘What, is she now become a pilgrim, that but a while ago abhorred that life?’ Then she bowed her head, and said, ‘Yea; and so are these my sweet babes also.’ Then he took her by the hand, and led her in, and said also, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me; and with that he shut up the gate. This done, he
called to a trumpeter that was above, over the gate, to entertain Christiana with shouting, and sound of trumpet, for joy. So he obeyed, and sounded, and filled the air with his melodious notes.
Now all this while poor Mercy did stand without, trembling and crying for fear that she was rejected. But when Christiana had gotten admittance for herself and her boys, then she began to make intercession for Mercy. And she said, ‘My Lord, I have a companion of mine that stands yet without, that is come hither upon the same account as myself: one that is much dejected in her mind, for that she comes, as she thinks, without sending for: whereas I was sent to by my husband’s King to come.’
Now Mercy began to be very impatient, and each minute was as long to her as an hour: wherefore she prevented Christiana from a fuller interceding for her, by knocking at the gate herself. And she knocked then so loud, that she made Christiana to start. Then said the keeper of the gate, ‘Who is there?’ And Christiana said, ‘It is my friend.’
So he opened the gate and looked out, but Mercy was fallen down without in a swoon, for she fainted, and was afraid that no gate would be opened to her. Then he took her by the hand, and said, ‘Damsel, I bid thee arise.’ ‘O sir,’ said she, ‘I am faint; there is scarce life left in me.’ But he answered, that one said, ‘When my soul fainted within me, I remembered the Lord, and my prayer came unto thee, into thy holy temple,’ ‘Fear not, but stand upon thy feet, and tell me wherefore thou art come.’
Mer. I am come for that unto which I was never invited, as my friend Christiana was. Hers was from the King, and mine was but from her. Wherefore I presume. Goodheart. Did she desire thee to come with her to this place? Mer. Yes; and, as my Lord sees, I am come; and, if there is any grace and forgiveness of sins to spare, I beseech that thy poor hand-maid may be partaker thereof. Then he took her again by the hand, and led her gently in, and said, ‘I pray for all them that believe
on me, by what means soever they come unto me.’ Then said he to those that stood by, ‘Fetch something, and give it Mercy to smell on, thereby to stay her faintings.’ So they fetched her a bundle of myrrh. A while after she was revived.
And now was Christiana, and her boys, and Mercy, received of the Lord at the head of the way, and spoke kindly unto by Him. Then said they yet further unto Him, ‘We are sorry for our sins, and beg of our Lord His pardon, and further information what we must do.’ ‘I grant pardon,’ said He, ‘by word and deed; by word, in the promise of forgiveness; by deed, in the way I obtained it. Take the first from my lips with a kiss, and the other as it shall be revealed.’
Now I saw in my dream, that he spake many good words unto them, whereby they were greatly gladdened. He also had them up to the top of the gate, and showed them by what deed they were saved; and told them withal, that that sight they would have again as they went along in the way, to their comfort.
So he left them awhile in a summer parlour below, where they entered into talk by themselves: and thus Christiana began: ‘O Lord, how glad am I that we are got in hither!’ Mer. So you well may: but I of all have cause to leap for joy.
Truth versus Fiction.
By the Late J. FORBES MONCRIEFF, C.A.
“TRUTH is the most powerful thing in the world since fiction can only please by its resemblance to it.” There have always been those who were opposed to the employment of fiction, either in the shape of novels for the grown-up, or fairy tales and story books for the young, even when these have been of a moral or religious nature. The following are some testimonies on this subject:—
Robert Hall wrote—”Nor can I reckon it among the improvements of the present age, that, by the multiplication of the works of fiction, the attention is diverted from scenes of real to those of imaginary distress; from the distress which demands relief to that which admits of embellishment; in consequence of which the understanding is enervated, the head is corrupted, and those feelings which were designed to stimulate to active benevolence are employed in nourishing a sickly sensibility.” “This is fine reading,” says a reviewer of a good book, “and such as we like to commend in preference to this all-prevailing fiction, which is mere wind. In the last great day men may be startled to discover how much the crime, the hollowness, the heartlessness of this generation is due to the surfeit of novels to which it is treating itself. We make our lives fictitious by feeding upon fiction.” Mr. Phelps, late American Ambassador to Britain, writes—”The everlasting repetition, through countless thousands of volumes, of the story of the imaginary courtship and marriage of fictitious and impossible young men and women; this is the staple of what is now well called fiction, because it never could exist in fact. What food for an immortal mind to live on year in, year out, as its principal literary nourishment!” “The more our young men give attention to history and other really instructive matters, the better for their minds and characters. Fiction is poor food for the soul, and those who try to live upon it must become feeble in moral sinew. There is no sort of excuse for devouring so much of the literary pastry of romance, for the more solid meats are quite as full of flavour, and infinitely more satisfying. We attribute much of the erroneous doctrine, and still more of the frivolous spirit of the age, to the drenching of men’s minds with watery fiction, to the washing out of the material whereof true manhood is made up.”
I have only once seen an elaborate “Protest against the Employment of Fiction as a Channel of Christian Influence.” It was written by the Rev. George William Butler, M.A., who
maintained that “the system is a false system; it is unlawful in principle, and injurious in its operation.” Novels for older people and fairy tales for children were both unquestionably bad. Some of his arguments were as follows:—
“Fiction is akin to falsehood . . . In any way to trifle with truth is not right. . . . The admission that a book is a fiction will not place it on the level of honest history. . . . On the whole, while we honour the motives of the religious story writer, we cannot approve the methods used, and we believe that the good that is said to be done by his story, is done rather in spite of the fictitious element, than by means of it; and that the same amount of good might be better done by safer and more legitimate means.”
“Fiction is not justified by the example of parables in the Bible. . . . In the parable a spiritual truth is told in symbolical language. . . . A parable is a comparison, an allegory is a statement in other words, but a fiction is that which is made up or false. . . . In every parable there is a spiritual transaction that underlies the narration, and withdraws it from the category of the mere illustrative story.”
“Fiction is a presumptuous forgery of the handwriting of God in providence. Having studied the course of God’s government in the world, the author is now creating a little world of his own, stored with things ordinary and things extraordinary, inhabited by men and women begotten at the bidding of his lively fancy. All is arranged as he sees fit. Now he kills, and now he spares alive; virtue and vice are requited according to his temper; successes and disappointments are disposed at his will. Things divine are not less subject to the decrees of his omnipotent pen. Now souls are converted to God; now prayers are offered up; now dire catastrophes overtake the unprepared, while blessings are showered down upon the righteous. Thus are the various dispensations of providence counterfeited, and the counterfeits are presented to Christian readers as equally
instructive with the veritable works of God.” The grace of God is out-done. The signal tokens of God’s watchful care are rendered signal and special no longer by the storyteller, “for he can recount coincidences and opportune deliverances which will, by comparison, make the actual providence appear quite ordinary. From all these inventions a grave evil follows. When counterfeit bank notes are abroad, there will be a general distrust of paper money. Who is to tell which is which? Just so is it in reference to religious anecdotes. Some are true, and properly endorsed with a trustworthy signature; others are rank forgeries. It is not always possible to discover to which class the book claims to belong; even by enquiring of the publisher you cannot always ascertain this point. Now, whereas it is well-known that the book market is stocked with providential and spiritual marvels, with which neither providence nor the spirit of God have had anything to do, a widespread suspicion is begotten amongst the public.” If the smallest events of our daily lives are redeemed from triviality by the consideration that they are specially ordained of God, “who can say that the providences which attend any man’s course are so insignificant and ordinary that a counterfeit biography will teach as much and illustrate the hand of God as well,” as a record of facts which are strictly true?
How shocked we would be if any one should compose a supplement to any of the books of the Bible, avowing the fictitious element, and protesting that the object was to illustrate the grace of God! “But, if the great things of God, as recorded in Scripture, may not be thus tampered with without profanity, is there not something of the same profanity in forging the signature of the King of Heaven in the books of His providence and of His grace?”
Is the fiction writer not placed in this dilemma? “Either he must atheistically leave out God, or presumptuously introduce His name amongst fancies and inventions,” and is there not something shocking in the introduction of holy and eternal topics
in the midst of the conceits and fancies of the brain. “Shall the puppets of my own creation be made to pray, and to become the subjects of saving grace? And shall the Almighty Himself be represented as playing a part in the story? Surely this is presumption?”
“Fiction unfits the mind for apprehending truth”—inducing mental lassitude. “The study of fiction hardens the heart,”—schooling it into deadness and indifference. “Suppose a firm believer in hydropathy, homeopathy, or any other medical system, were to sit down and compose stories of invalids restored to health, would his own persuasion of the truth of his system, or the perfect similarity of his supposed cases to real ones which might be cited, shelter him, even amongst his own party, from a shower of very ugly names? And is a believer in Christianity to be applauded for supporting his creed by narrating circumstances which, though they never did happen, yet were in essential features like those that do?”
It is in vain to hope to make the Gospel popular, and to take Satan captive by compromises. “Oh, but,” it is said, “the class of readers whom we desire to reach will not read your good missionary biographies, and careful histories, and intellectual treatises; they must have something that will interest them. They have chosen the novel as their favourite style of reading; why, then, may we not meet them in their own path, and, “becoming all things to all men” sanctify the thing to them? This is the reason why we write story books for children, and religious novels for the older people.” It is with some such notions as this, that our two great Tract Societies have admitted such a vast amount of fiction into their list of books. It is thus that nearly all the religious magazines have assigned a place for a “serial” in every number. “It is all in vain. Satan never did cast out Satan and he never will. Compromise of principle never did avail in the establishment of principle, and it never will. We are not to do evil that good may come. The Apostle Paul
solemnly disavowed the use of “enticing words of man’s wisdom” as a means of grace; and God will not own them now. The good seed of His Word will prevail; and not this sowing with mingled seed, which carnal policy suggests.”
“As to those who will not feed on wholesome food (and no other will contribute to strength and growth), their spiritual appetite must be restored by fasting, or by well-timed medicine, and not by these highly-spiced dishes: or, if they will have such things, let the world cater for itself, for never does the Church of Christ so squander its energies, as when it leaves the Word of God, and faithlessly attempts to substitute some lower agency in the place of the Gospel. Fiction apart from the positive harm it does, also does harm negatively, namely, by displacing more profitable literature,” of which, in these days, there is no lack. “Fiction tends to create a distaste for truth.” History, travels, biography, etc., are looked upon as dry and heavy, especially when something of these can be had sugared over, and in more lively forms. “The tendency of the reading of fiction is to vitiate the pure appetite for, and to destroy the keen enjoyment of the truth.” The subject-matter of most works of fiction, even if true, would be unprofitable. The small talk which constitutes the bulk of the matter of the ordinary novel, is as the talk of the lips that “tendeth only to penury”. The writer of the Protest from which the above quotations are made concludes by showing that: “The imagination may be better employed than in writing or reading works of fiction.”
It has always seemed to me a pity that our large Tract Societies and similar publishing houses, which have done noble work for the cause of truth, should lend themselves to promote the increase of works of fiction, or literature resembling in any way the sensational kind which does so much to deprave the taste of both old and young. Mr. Spurgeon complains of the Religious Tract Society publishing handbooks on cricket and football. He says: “We hardly see what the Religious Tract
Society has to do with these sports. It would be fairer to the publishing firms if these subjects were left to them. The Society will have a wide enough field if it minds its own hallowed business.”
Is he not right? Great as the blessing is which has attended the work of such societies, might it not have been vastly greater had they bent their whole energies and devoted their whole influence to the production and circulation of what belonged to their legitimate business, instead of being weakly led away by the desire to “keep up with the times.” It is indeed sad to see Religious Tract Societies, and societies established for the very purpose of propagating Christian knowledge, pandering to the tastes of the people, and sometimes employing writers whose religion, if not conspicuous by its absence, too often expends itself in a few moral reflections.
It is also to be deplored that so few booksellers appear to be actuated by any right principle in regard to what they sell. No doubt many of the small dealers who sell “penny dreadfulls,” and other pernicious publications, have no adequate idea of the evil which is done by these, nor of their own responsibility in the matter. With many of them “evil is wrought from want of thought”; but how many better-class booksellers there are who sell much that is questionable, or even undoubtedly bad, and who seek to justify themselves on the plea that there is a demand for such literature, and that it pays them to supply it. A miserable plea, truly, for anyone professing to be a Christian.— “Our Reading” by J. Forbes Moncrieff, C.A.
Woman’s Dress.
HOW should a woman professing godliness dress? how adorn herself? ‘In modest apparel’ (1 Tim. ii. 9). With ‘shamefacedness,’ i.e., with no intent to draw the eye (1 Tim. ii. 9). With ‘sobriety,’ i.e., with nothing conspicuous (1 Tim. ii. 9). Not with ‘braided hair,’ or with ‘plaiting of the hair’ (1 Tim. ii. 9; 1 Pet. iii. 3). Not with ‘gold’ (1 Pet. iii. 3).
Not with ‘pearls’ (1 Tim. ii. 9). Not with expensive clothing (1 Tim. ii. 9). Not with clothing as an adornment (1 Pet. 3 iii).
Observe, there are three points as to the clothing of the body. Let it be modest, let it be inexpensive, let it be unobtrusive. There are two points as to the sort of decoration to be avoided: no jewellery, no fanciful dressing of the hair. And there are two points to be observed as to adorning: ‘a meek and quiet spirit,’ ‘good works.’
Surely a woman professing godliness should be careful in this matter which the Holy Ghost has not considered unimportant. Surely she could clothe herself in all ‘modesty,’ ‘shamefacedness’ and ‘sobriety,’ while she adorns herself with ‘a meek and quiet spirit,’ and with ‘good works.’ Now if she be thus adorned she will not be anxious to attract the gaze of admiration by heaping jewellery upon her person, or decorating it with costly clothing, nor will she be much busied in the way she arranges her hair. If given to good works, she will have neither time nor money for the decoration of her body. The above is merely a summing up of Paul’s and Peter’s thoughts in the matter, as found in 1 Tim. ii. 9, and 1 Pet. iii. 3; and as it has made these thoughts very clear to my own mind, I now write it for others who may be exercised on the subject, and are honestly anxious to walk in simple obedience to the Word of God.—The Christian Treasury.
Nadur an Duine ‘na Staid Cheithir Fillte.
(Air a leantuinn bho t.-d., 314.)
CEANN I.
ATH-GHINEAMHUIIN.
“Air dhuibh bhi air bhur n-ath-ghineamhuin, cha’n ann o shiol truailidh, ach neo-thruailidh, le focal an Dé bheo agus a mhareas gu siorruidh.” 1 PHEAD i. 23.
A nis, a chum an comhara so na h-ath-ghineamhuin a chur ann ‘an solus ceart, thoir fainear na trì nithe so; (1.) An gràdh so do na braithribh, is gràdh e a ta dhoibh mar bhraithribh;
tha sin a’ toirt gràidh dhoibh ann an seadh a’ bhonn-teagaig, ‘nuair is e gràs no iomhaigh Dhé annta, ard-aobhar ar gràidh dhoibh. ‘Nuair a tha gràdh againn do na daoine diadhaidh air son an diadhachd, do na naoimh air son an naomhaechd; tha gràdh againn do Dhia annta, agus mar sin feudaidh sinn a chodhunadh gu bheil sinn air ar breith o Dhia: “Oir ge b’e ghràdhaicheas an ti a ghin, gràdhaichidh e mar an ceudna an ti a ghineadh leis,” 1 Eoin v. 1. Feudaidh cealgairean gràdh a thoirt do na naoimh, air son an daimh shaoghalta dhoibh, air son an deadh choludar; a chionn gu bheil iad de ‘n aon bharail riu féin ann na puncan diadhaidh; agus air son iomadh aobhar eile, d’ an leithide sin, leis am feud daoine aingidh gràdh a thoirt do dhaoine diadhaidh. Ach is sona iadsan, as urrainn gràdh a thoirt doibh air son a’ ghràis a ta annta; air son an naduir agus an gné neamhaidh; d’ an urrainn an neamhnuid so a spionadh á otrach nan anmhuinneachd a ta annta agus mu ‘n cuairt doibh; a ni greim air agus a ghràdhaicheas iad air a shon (2.) Is gràdh e bhios air a thabhairt do na h-uile, anns am faicear gràs Dhé. Iadsan aig am bheil gràdh aca do na naoimh uile, Eph. i. 15. Biodh gràdh aca do na h-uile, a ta a reir am beachd-san, a’ giulan iomhaigh Dhé. Iadsan nach urrainn gràdh a thoirt do neach gràsmhor ann an luideagaibh, ach a bheir gràdh dhoibhsan a mhain a ta caitheadh deadh thrusgain cha’n ‘eil an gràdh so do na braithribh annta. Iadsan aig nach ‘eil gràdh ach do chuid a ta d’ am barail féin, ged nach ann doibhsan a mhain a thug Dia gràs; is anama iad a ta tuilleadh is cumhann gu bhi air an eur am measg na eloinne. Ciod ‘sam bith na puncan ‘sam bheil daoine dealachadh uainn ‘nam barail no ‘nan slighe, gidheadh ma tha iad a’ taisbeanadh còrdadh ruinn ‘nan gràdh do Dhia, agus do’r Slanuighear Iosa Criosd, agus ann an giulan ‘iomhaigh-san, bheir sinn gràdh dhoibh mar bhraithribh, ma tha sinn féin de ‘n teaghlach nèamhaidh. Agus, (3.) Ma tha ‘n gràdh so amnainn, mar is mó tha de ‘n ghràs so a’ taisbeanadh aig neach ‘sam bith, ‘s ann is mó bhios do ghràdh againn dha. Mar is dèine
tha teine naomh a’ ghràis a’ lasadh ann an neach ‘sam bith ‘s ann is mó lasas teine a’ ghràidh ann an eridheachan fior Chrios-duidhean doibh. Cha’n ‘eil na naoimh, mar a tha iomadh de dhaoine a ta ‘gan deanamh féin ‘nan cinn-iuil do mbuinnтир eile; agus a’ tabhairt gràidh dhoibh cho fad ‘sa tha iad am barail gu bheil iad cosmhuil riu féin. Ach ma tha choslas orra barrachd a bhi aca orrasan, agus an dorchachadh; tha ‘n gràidh air a thionndadh gu fuath agus farmad, agus ni iad dìchioll air a’ chliu a bhuneas do ‘n eisimpleir dhiadhaidh aé’, a thabhairt uatha; do bhrigh nach ‘eil blas aca air ni ‘sam bith ‘san diadhachd, a ta ‘dol thar an tomhas féin: Tha na tha de bheatha agus de chumbachd na diadhachd a’ taisbeanadh ann am muinntir eile, a mhain a’ dusgadh a’ ghearrain mhi-runaich ‘nan eridheachan féin-speiseil. Ach air an sonsan a ta air am breith a ris, tha ‘n gradh agus an aigne dhoibh a reir an tomhas de ‘n iomhagh dhiadhaidh a ta iad a’ toirt fainear annta.
A nis, nam bu mhaith leibh cleachdamh a dheanamh de na nithe sin a chum eolas fhaotainn air ‘ur staid, Chomhairlichinn duibh, (1.) Cuid d’ur aimsir a chur air leth, ‘nuair a ta sibh aig an tigh, gu ath-bheachd a ghabhail air ‘ur staid; agus feuchaibh ‘ur staid leis na chaidh a radh. Is iomadh iad aig am bheil comfhurtachd agus soilleireachd mu ‘n staid aig searmoin, a ni ann an ùine ghoirid, a chall a ris: Do bhrigh, am feadh ‘sa ta iad ag eisdeachd an fhoicil air a shearmonachadh, gu bheil iad a’ soerachadh air, ach cha’n ‘eil iad a’ smuaineachadh air na nithe sin gu suidhichte agus gu h-athaiseach ‘nuair a ta iad ‘nan aonar. Tha ‘n gniomh tuilleadh is obann agus goirid gu comhfurtachd bhuan a thabhairt. Agus tha gu trie cho beag smuaineachaidh uime, as gu bheil ‘teachd gu droch erioch. Air an aobhar sin, tòisich air an obair so aig an tigh, an deigh dhuit guidhe gu duraechdadh ann an urnuigh ri Dia air son a chòmhnath innte. Na bi gearan nach ‘eil ùin’
agad, fhad ‘sa bhios an oidche leantuinn an là ghniomhaich; no nach ‘eil àit’ agad, fhad ‘s a tha na machraichean agus na saibhlean ri ‘m faotainn. (2.) Ath-nuadhaich t’ aithreachas an lathair an Tighearna. Feudaidh cionta, do nach do ghabhadh, aithreachas, a ta ‘na luidhe air a’ choguis, t-uile shoilleireachd agus do chomharan gràis a dhorehachadh. Tha e brosnachadh |Spioraid an Tighearna gu imeachd; agus an uair a ta esan air falbh, tha ar solus a’ dol as. Cha’n iomehuidh an t-àm do ‘n Chriosduidh a bhi leughadh a chomharan, ‘nuair a ta choinneal air a eur as le lot cionta éiginn a ta luidhe air a choguis.
‘San àite mu dheireadh, Dean feum de chomasan an naduir nuaidh: Biodh gràsan an Spioraid Naoimh annad, ‘gan taisbeanadh féin le bhi gnìomhach. Nam bu mhaith leat fios a bhi agad ma tha teine naomh air fhadadh ann ad uehd, ‘s éiginn duit an eibhlle sheideadh; oir, ged tha teine ann, agus ged is eibhlle beò i, gidheadh, ma tha i fuidh ‘n luaidh, cha toir i solus duit. Suidhichibh rùn daingean ‘nur eridheachan, tre ‘n ghràs a ta ann an Iosa Crìosd, gu aontachadh leis gach dleasnas aithnichte, agus gu faire an aghaidh gach peacadh aithnichte; air dhuibh togradh inntinn a bhi agaibh, gu bhi air ‘ur teagasg anns na nithe nach aithne dhuibh. Nan orduicheadh anama gràsmhor mar so an rannsachadh mu ‘n staid, tha e ro-choslaich gu ‘n tigeadh iad gu deireadh solasaich. Agus nan gabhadh dream eile a leithid sin de bheachd cudthromach, agus nan deanamh iad deuchainn fhirinneach air an staid, ‘gan eur féin ‘nan seasamh an Iaithir eathir an coguis; dh’fheudadh iad sealladh an àm iomehuidh fhaotainn air an graineileachd féin. Ach tha di-chuimhn’ air féin-rannsachadh, a’ fagail a chuid is mó de dhaoine fuidh mheallaidhean brònach, an thaobh an staid; agus tha mòran de na naoimh féin leis a sin a’ call beachd solasaich air gràs Dhé annta.
Ach a chum gu ‘n d’ thugainn tuilleadh còmhnadh do fhor Chriosduidhean, ‘nan rannsachadh mu ‘n staid; nochdaidh mi,
agus freagraidh mi gu h-aithghearr cuid de choiribh agus amharusan, a dh’fheudas bacadh a chur air cuid de dhaoine o bheachd solasach fhaotainn mu ‘n staid shona. Cha’n fheudar aran na cloinne a chumail air ais, ged a dh’fheudas na coin greim a ghabhail deth ‘nuair a ta e air a shineadh d’an-ionnsuidh-san.
Ri leanbuinn.
An Fhianais Dheireannach aig Domhnull Cargill.
(Eadar-theangaichte le I. M.).
Bha Domhnull Cargill na mhinisteir urramach ann an Glaschu agus na dhuine treun air taobh na firinn. Chaidh an fhianais a leanas a thoirt seachad leis mun do chuireadh gu b’as e aig a’ Chrois an Duneideann, July, 27, 1681.
“I S e so an latha is aoibhneach a chunnaic mi riamh na’m chuairt air thalamh. Tha m’aoibhneas a nis air tòiseachadh nach fhaic mi gu brath air a bhriseadh. Tha mi faicinn mo chòir agus fhirinnsan, agus cinnteachd an dara h-aon, agus luach-mhòrachd an aon eile. Tha dluth air deich bliadhna fichead bho na rinn e cinnteach dhomh e; agus bho ‘n àm sin, ged a bhris mòran peacaidh a mach, gidheadh cha robh mi riamh gun dearbhbheachd air mo chòir, no fada a mach a sealladh air a lathaireachdsan, thàlaidh agus chum e beòthail mi, agus cha d’fhàg e riamh air dheireadh mi, ged a bha mi trie a pilleadh air ‘m ais. O, nochd e luachmhorachd iongantach a ghràis, chan e ‘mhain anns a’ cheud ghabhail dheth, ach ann an ath-nuadhachadh agus ann an cur an lionmhorachd mhaithneas!
Bu duine mi aig an robh peacaidhean mòra ach bu Dia Esan aig an robh tròcairean mòra; agus a nis, tre a thròcairean tha coguis agam cho fallain agus cho sàmhach agus ged nach peacaichinn riamh. Is fhad’ bho na bha misneach agam ‘dol
do’n t-siorruidheadh tre tròcair Dhé agus airidheadh Chriosd; ach bha am bàs a fantuinn ni-eiginn uamhasach dhomh, ach tha sin a nis air a thoirt air falbh; agus chan ‘eil am bàs a nis ni’s mótha leam na bhi ‘gam thilgeadh ffin an gairdeanan m’ Fhear-pòsda, agus laidh sios maille Ris-san. Agus ge be air bith eia mar a bhios e leam air a’ cheann mu’ dheireadh, ged a bhithinn air mo theannachadh le Dia, no air mo bhacadh le daoinne, gidheadh tha na h-uile ni cinnteach, agus bithidh iad gu math. Lean mi naomhachd, theagaig mi ‘n fhìrinn, agus bha mi air thoiseach anns na nithibh a bhuneas do ‘ur n-anna-ne beag, ach gu’n do smaointich mi nach b’ urrainn neach ‘sam bith ni a dheanamh gu ceart ann an nithibh mór agus follaiseach Dhé gus am bitheadh iad ceart ‘nan cor.
Agus, O! nach robh na h-uile air an rian so a ghabhail! oir an sin bhitheadh na bu lugha de mhealltaireachdan. Tha creideamh na tìr, agus eud air son bòidean na tìr air tighinn gu bhi na fhoirmealachd leisg, ghràineil agus fluathach; agus cha’n urrainn eud beòthalachd agus ceartas a bhith, far a’ bheil sluagh a coinneachadh ri geur-leanmhuinn, agus an eridhe gun a bhi air ath-nuadhachadh. Tha m’ anam air chrith ann a bhi smuainteachadh air cho beag agus a tha dhe’n ath-ghineamhuinn a’ meag mhinisteirean agus luchd-aideachaidh Alba. O! mhinisteirean Alba! eia mar a bhrath iad còraichean Chriosd agus a mheall iad anamaibh. Cha deach iad fhéin a stigh, agus iadsan a bha ‘dol a stigh, bhae iad. Reic iad nithibh Chriosd agus dlighe eaglais-san air son sàmhchair ghoirid agus mhallaiichte dhoibh fhein, a tha nis dluth air a’ ehrich; agus tha iad ni’s mó na’n aon agus ann an sith ri naimhdean Dhé, an déidh dhoibh an uile ole a dheanamh, na bha iad an toiseach ‘n uair nach d’ rinn iad ach an lamh a’ chur riutha. Agus tha eagal mór orm, ged nach bitheadh ach aon mhinisteir air an talamh uile, nach dean Dia an còr feum dhùibh; ach bithidh breitheanas uamhasach orra fhéin, agus mallachd fhada air an slioichd!
Air son ‘ur luchd-aideachaidh, ‘s e mo chomhairle dhoibh, gu ‘n amhairceadh iad gu math ri ‘n ath-ghineamhainn féin, oir
tha aig a’ chuid as mótha dhiubh ri so a dheanamh fhathasd; agus gidheadh, na saoileadh neach ‘sam bith gu bheil e ann an deadh chleachdadh fior dhiadhachd, aig nach ‘eil eud a thaobh glòir fhollaiseach Dhé. Tha iarmad bheag ann an Alba, bho’ n d’ thuair m ‘anam a’ chomhlhfartaichd bu mhótha air thalamh. Tha mi guidhe ‘ur fàs ann an naomhaichd, àireamh, gràdh, diadhachd agus ionracas; agus stadaibh-se, agus sguiribh de chonnspaid ris na doine so a dh’ fhalbh ‘uainn, oir cha’n ‘eil ni bheir dearbh-shoillearaichd dhoibh ach breitheanas. Sàsueichibh ‘ur coguisibh agus theirgibh air adhart; oir mar is dluith a tha sibh air Dia, agus is fhaide a tha sibh bho fheadhainn eile, có dhiubh is naimhdean follaiseach iad, no mhinsterean agus luchd-aideachaidh meagh-bhlath, bithidh e ni ‘s fhearr.
Dh’ aobharaich mo shearmonachadh geur-leanamhuin, ach tha eagal orm gun aobharaich dith sin ni’s miosa. Gidheadh, shearmonaich mi fìrinnean Dhé do fheadhainn eile, mar a tha e sgrìobhte, “Chreid mi, agus uime sin labhair mi,” agus cha’n ‘eil droch cogais agam a’ thaobh shearmonachadh na fìrinn, ge be air bith gu de a lean sin; agus an diugh tha mi gu bhi seulachadh le m’ fhuil na fìrinnean uile a shearmonaich mi riabh; agus bithidh ‘na chaidh cur na aghaidh dhe na bha mis a’ shearmonachadh, ann an uine gun a bhi fada, air a dheanamh follaiseach le breitheanasaiabh Dhé ann an coguisibh dhaoine. Bha sàmhchair mhilis spioraid agus stroichdadh anabarrach agam an àm mo ghlacadh, bha freasdal Dhé cho soilleir ann; agus cha b’urrainn mi gu’n bhi smaointeachadh gu’n do mheas Dia e feumail a chum a ghloir mo thoirt a dh’ ionnsuidh a leithid so de chrìch, bho na dh’fhuasgail e mi bho leithid so a dh’obair. Bhiodh m’ anam gu mór air a bhuaireadl a thaobh an iarmad, mur a bitheadh gu bheil mi smaointeachadh gu bheil an t-àm goirid.
A thaobh an aobhair mi bhi fuiling, is e’ m priomh aon, “Gu’n a bhi ‘g aideachadh an ughdarrais mar a tha sin air a dhaighneachadh anns an Aichd Ard-uachdranachd agus Mhineachadh.” Is e so am t-uachdaranaichd a dhìult mi, a
bha air a chur an seilbh air cumhachd Chriosd. Agus a faicinn a chumhachd so, ni is e glòir Chriosd, air a thoirt bh’uaithhe, agus air a dheanamh thairis do’n ehrun, shaol mi e mar gu’m faicinn aon a’ eaitheamh aodach m’ Fhear-posda an déigh dha a mharbhadh; agus bho na tha e air a dheanamh thairis do’n ehrun, cha’n eil eadar-dhealachadh is urrainn sinn a dheanamh, a shaoras coguis an fhir a ghabhas ris bho bhi na fhear-comphairt do’n naomh-ghoid so air Dia; agus cha’n ‘eil ann ach a bhi mealladh ‘ur coguisean a bhi ‘g aideachadh an uachdaran shiobhalt; oir cha’n e cumhachd siobhalt a mhain a tha air a chiallachadh le a chrùn. Agus bho na tha iad cho soilleir air a chuis bu chòir dhùinne a bhi soilleir, oir a bhi air atharrachadh doigh, se th’ann a bhi ‘g aicheadh ‘ur fianuais agus a eur ‘ur n-aonta ri Esan a chreachadh.