By the Rev. ALEXANDER COOK, Stratherrick.*
AMONG numerous straths branching off from the great Caledonian valley of Scotland, Stratherrick is a remote and thinly-peopled locality, of pleasingly diversified scenery. Few of the more celebrated Highland resorts surpass its varied ranges of hill and moor, its glens glistening with tarns, its water-falls and mountain passes; and, many accordingly are its visitors, often from distant lands, who take a hasty or more leisurely survey of its grand and impressive features. With deeper and more penetrating view, the occasional scientific visitor reads, in these features, some portions of the early history of our globe, and describes traces of the mighty operations of nature, in the course of which our island may have first emerged from the deep. But there is a world of mind in the most secluded glen inhabited, which presents no less impressive moral and spiritual features, to all who “have senses exercised to discern” them. And in a race, isolated by language and locality, like our Celtic mountaineers, and but recently transformed from barbarism to Christian civilization, the benign progress of the gospel has left some very distinctive vestiges, which it were deeply interesting and instructive historically to trace. To this inner scene we invite our readers, when we relate to them the life of a humble cottager of Stratherrick, remarkable for some more than ordinary trials in her Christian course. At the outset, the narrative presents illustrations, though quite fragmentary and limited, of that historical process to which we have referred—the progress of
*This interesting account of Elizabeth Fraser was published in a booklet form by us a number of years ago and is now reprinted in the Magazine.—The Editor.
evangelical religion in the Highlands. In this respect, but especially as exhibiting some peculiar phases of Christian character and trials, the subject will not, we think, be found unworthy of attention by those who delight to trace the ways and works of the Most High, not only in external nature, but in the higher kingdom of grace.
Having gone to reside in Strathfarigaig (to use the native Gaelic name), about seven years ago, the attention of the writer was soon directed to the subject of the present sketch. Although in the humblest station, and acquainted with no other language than the Gaelic, her religious character and active benevolence commanded universal respect, and exercised an important influence, not only on professing Christians of different stations, but even on the careless and ungodly. She was assiduous in attending on religious ordinances, and laborious in ministering at the bedside of the afflicted, far and near. She had a mild dignity and weight about her, combined with ardour, marking no commonplace character, and her countenance might be distinguished in the worshipping assemblies by the varying emotions characterising a hearer, intelligent, devout, and public-spirited—as anxious for the preacher and the worshippers as for herself. Without that accurate and nice discernment which is the gift of some Christians, and partly results from enlarged intercourse with experienced believers, like the refined aesthetics of advanced civilisation, her sympathies towards all were, in some respects, enhanced by this defect. We learned that the course of this interesting person had been one of sore affliction, but of singular preservation and deliverance; that she had emerged from the darkness of long-continued despair to the brightness of spiritual comfort and joy. Little could she or others conjecture what a dark passage was yet before her, or that a strange closing scene of tempest, and ultimately sweet and gracious calm, was yet between her and the haven of heavenly rest.
The idea of writing some memorial of this humble disciple was suggested by the request of her friends after her death, but laid aside for a time as having difficulties out of proportion to its importance. It is not easy to exhibit, in writing, a phase of Christian character, at once minute and isolated, in a way appreciable by those in widely different circumstances and associations. It is difficult always to separate the ore of practical saving truth from what is merely local and adventitious, in such a manner as to preserve individualising and characteristic traits. Besides, the workings of uneducated but energetic minds, untrained, too, in early life, even by stated religious ordinances, often exhibit an amount of irregularity which cannot fail to be mistaken for superstitious enthusiasm, if the unchanging lineaments of Christian, scriptural religion be not also steadily traced and kept in view. But these are the same essentially in all, whether poor or rich, educated or illiterate; nor are there complexion-varieties, unworthy of a careful record.* The promise of the new covenant is fulfilled to all the regenerate—”They shall all know me,” saith the Lord, “from the least to the greatest.” And, hence, the experience of any one may be of use to others in widely different
*No intelligent person would think minutiae of Pathology or Anatomy unimportant and writers of light literature no longer ridicule the Naturalist for attending to shells or insects. The progress of evangelical religion may be expected to command equal respect in religious literature for minute but characteristic details of Christian experience and life.
circumstances and spheres—”the short and simple annals of the poor,” not only to their own class, but to Christians of education and rank.
SECTION I.
BARBARISM IN STRATHERRICK IN 1770—MISSIONARY PROCESS BY WHICH HIGHLANDS EVANGELIZED—ELIZABETH’S EARLY PIETY AND FERVOUR.
Elizabeth Rua, as I shall call her (the English orthography nearest in sound to the name by which she was known) was born in the most remote and hilly part of Stratherrick, about the year 1790. Her father was a respectable pensioner from the army: her mother claimed near kindred to an eminent minister of the Scottish Church, who, at the close of the century, published a profound theological work. His parish was in a district of the Highlands comparatively early brought under evangelising influences, of which his own labours formed an important continuation; while Stratherrick and most of the contiguous straths were in a state of almost primitive barbarism. With a teeming population like that of Ireland in our own time, the Highlanders seem to have resembled their fellow-Celts then in the barbarous revels at wakes, funerals, and weddings, which are described in such publications as Sir C. Hall’s, or Carleton’s “Sketches of the Irish Peasantry.” Ferocious feuds, too, were still rife among the remnants of the clans, and many a locality is associated, in the stories of old people still living, with some conflict or deed of violence in those days of moral and spiritual darkness. Nor were the ministers of religion placed in the various parishes efficient in counteracting this state of matters. It was indeed according to the Scripture expression, “like people, like priest.” The parish pulpits, with a few bright exceptions, were rendered powerless for good by moderate occupants, a class of ministers so well described by Sir Richard Hill:—
“A moderate divine is one who has a very moderate share of zeal for God. Consequently, a moderate divine contents himself with a moderate degree of labour in his master’s vineyard.” [Anxious chiefly to enjoy their stipends in peace, such ministers would be very moderate in re proving prevailing wickedness, but hostile to any more devoted labourer who crossed their path.] “A moderate divine is always very cool and calm in his pulpit; he never argues, except when he is preaching against such fathers of Israel as the pious and lowly Mr. H., and then a moderate divine loses all his moderation. A moderate divine is usually an advocate for card parties, and for all assemblies except religious ones,* but thinks no name too hard for those who assemble to spend an hour or two in prayer, and hearing God’s word.”
But the piety of an earlier time had originated an evangelistic process, which, neither the violence nor the spiritual torpor of the period could now arrest. At the beginning of the century, the Church of Scotland, as restored by the Revolution Settlement from the storms of persecution, though weak and defective, was essentially a sound and living Church; nor did the evangelical element, in its councils, succumb to the canker
*It is curious to find this character reproduced in our own day in the Established Church of Sweden. “There is no new thing under the sun!”
of Moderatism before 1737. Long ere that time the Christian sympathies of its godly ministers had been drawn forth by the spiritual destitution at once of the Highlands and of “foreign parts,” and their missionary zeal took shape in the Society for Propagating Christian Knowledge, instituted in 1709. It was this Society which, in 1743, sent the holy missionary Brainerd to gather such a glorious harvest of souls among the Indians of America. And scarcely less successful in the aggregate, though proceeding by slow and unobserved degrees, was its numerous but humble missionary agency throughout the Highlands—teachers and catechists, by whose labours the good seed was sown in many wild and barbarous districts; and who set processes in operation, by which, in combination with eminent ministers, now and then raised up, multitudes of souls were gathered into the fold of Christ. As instances of this final result of the rich harvest, following a lengthened course of spiritual culture, we may point to the state of such districts as Easter Ross, or Strathnaver; and Kildonan in Sutherlandshire, 60 or 80 years ago, which were full of Christian men and women, illustrious in their humble sphere for spiritual maturity, wisdom, and unction. On the other hand, only the commencement of this process was observable in Stratherrick at that time, and long afterwards. Teachers or Catechists, and some solitary private Christians, the pioneers or substitutes of the gospel ministry, were the only efficient instructors in her native place, and in the surrounding districts, during Elizabeth’s infancy and early days.
One devoted teacher in Stratherrick, about eighty years ago, named Macgregor, is still remembered as having been the means of the conversion of several of his scholars, who, in their turn, became witnesses for Christ, and whose names are still cherished in the district. Macgregor succeeded in abolishing the horrid practice of dancing at wakes, at which the widow, or nearest relation of the deceased, was expected to lead the first reel! A more grievous remnant of heathenism and means of preventing “the living” from “laying to heart the lessons of the house of mourning,” could scarcely be mentioned. Somewhat later, a godly man, named Donald McDonoghie, used to repair to every wake of which he heard in the district, to prevent their playing at games, and to engage—sometimes amid scorn and ill-usage—in divine worship. The opposition raised against such evangelistic labours was great. Indeed, Macgregor was obliged by obloquy in his old age to retire from the field of labour. But the seed sown was not scattered to the winds; under the eye of the great Husbandman it took root and grew, though by slow degrees, and like a rare and tender crop in uncongenial soil.
Despite the disadvantages of the time, Elizabeth grew up a well-behaved girl, careful of the Sabbath, dutiful to her parents, and kind to the people of God, to the extent of ministering to their wants. A remarkable escape she had when a little girl, deserves notice, as it accords with a frequent feature in Christian biography—the Lord’s care of His people in Providence, during the times of their ignorance. While tending cattle on the hills, a mad dog which had done much injury in the neighbourhood, came to her. Ignorant of the danger, she caressed the animal for some time, and even wiped its foaming mouth. Naturally, her parents were exceedingly anxious when they ascertained the circumstances; but she escaped without injury.
One of her earliest religious impressions was made in sleep, when a young girl. The Lord has many ways of bringing saving truth before the mind in an affecting manner, nor is there anything inconsistent with the laws of our mental constitution in the choice of the abstracted and imaginative condition of dreaming for that purpose. There may even be in it a special suitableness to the case of untutored minds, like that of Elizabeth, where the choicest and deepest workings seem often to be evolved in sleep—workings which, with a superior educational or religious training—might take the more rational shape of waking reflections and exercises. But even in the experience of the best trained minds, it is a fact, that in dreaming, results have sometimes been reached, which their best efforts when awake, could not achieve. The mind may, like the kaleidoscope, shut up in its dusty tube, get the various elements of thought to drop harmoniously into their places. What wonder then that the Author of our frame should,* “when deep sleep falleth upon man, in slumberings upon the bed,” take occasion at times to “open the ears of men, and seal their instruction?” Elizabeth dreamed she saw a lovely company, and among them, One stripped of ordinary garments, but shedding radiance on them all. A mild-looking man then came up to her. She asked him who that personage could be? “This,” replied he, “is your husband, Elizabeth.” “Is He?” said she, with surprise. Again the Stripped One (an emblem in which the Saviour’s humiliation and poverty appears to have been delineated in her mind) Himself approached her, and asked, “Do you recognise Me, Elizabeth?” She replied, “No.” Then He put her hand to His wounded side, and again enquired if she knew Him. “I do,” she now exclaimed; “such marks are found on none else than the Son of God!”
Having her young heart gained, in various ways, to Him who was “lifted up that He might draw all men into Him,” she soon felt an earnest and inexpressible desire to hear the gospel preached. A proof this, by the way, that her religion was no dream or fancy. She often travelled the long distance between Stratherrick and Redcastle, Ferintosh, etc., where such eminent ministers as the late Mr. John Kennedy and Dr. Macdonald were to be heard. Sometimes the texts on which they preached would forcibly occur to her mind in meditation before leaving home. Frequently a succession of difficulties had to be overcome in these journeys, and companions with whom she had arranged to proceed in company would draw back, and leave poor Elizabeth to make the best of her way alone. Ferries stopped her course for a time, when perhaps the means of crossing had to be providentially and unexpectedly provided, and long, weary roads to be traversed, sometimes a distance of about fifty miles, in going and returning. How precious would the supplies of Scriptural
*Job xxxiii. 15—17. This is the only scripture passage we remember, which seems to intimate the occasional employment of dreams, as a medium of impressing divine truth upon the heart in the “ordinary” gracious operations of the Holy Spirit. The records of Christian biography, in modern times, present several instances of the kind. Dr. Owen remarks on the passage, that it describes a mode of dealing usual in the early ages of the world, before the inspired word was set in writing (Works, vol. xvii., p. 433.) Even this limitation applies, by analogy, to cases like that of Elizabeth Rua. She could read but imperfectly: a translation in her language was difficult to be had in her younger days, and the living ministry of the Word was accessible only by lengthened and occasional journeys; so that she might need some peculiar methods of “sealing” the stray and scattered “instructions” that reached her mind.
instruction, and the providential lessons thus hardly earned, prove to her, when, perhaps for weeks afterwards, her mind dwelt on them in the seclusion of her glen?
In a neighbour, Allister M’Tan’s wife, this young Christian found a like-minded friend. When an attachment of this kind is formed in the bonds of Christian love, mutual solicitude and sympathy will be specially directed towards the spiritual welfare; and the wise man’s observation that “two are better than one,” will in this case be realised. On one occasion, Jane M’Tan slipped into a breach of the holy rest of the Sabbath, by engaging in some trifling transaction. Such a temptation might, with these simple cottagers, whose intercourse with the world was so limited, prove as fatal as some great snare to persons extensively engaged in business. Elizabeth was providentially made aware of her friend’s misconduct, and a strong impression was made on her mind, that her eternal salvation was directly imperilled in the matter. She hastened to warn her friend, who confessed her offence, expressed sorrow, and promised to be more watchful in future. But a temptation of this kind, if once yielded to, is not easily dislodged: the woman’s sister repeated the offence shortly after. Elizabeth, now impelled by still more alarming impressions of her friend’s danger, hurried once more to their house, and this time succeeded in putting a stop to the sinful practice. Her exercises at this time also took shape in sleep; but the important matter to observe is, that the Lord’s secret leadings were here training her to that tenderness and circumspection—to that holiness which becometh the house of “the Lord for ever.” Perhaps the incident gives the key to some parts of her subsequent history. Her own fearful trials were brought on, as we shall see, by some want of this tender circumspection, indicated in the exhortation to “abstain from all appearance of evil.” How should young religious enquirers watch, “lest any be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin,” or “grieve the Holy Spirit of God” by a careless, untender walk in their Christian course!
At another time, during this period, she became the means of conveying comfort to a man in a state of great spiritual depression. William M—, a small farmer in her neighbourhood, returned from a journey under a deep apprehension, occasioned by a passage of Scripture which had laid hold on his conscience. He was so excited that for three days he remained shut up from his family, and a friend whom Elizabeth met at the door dissuaded her from venturing to see him. She went in, however, and engaged with him in conversation. “Alas!” he said, “repentance at the close of life is as vain as to sow corn at Martinmas,” an emblem which his distressed mind had drawn from his own practice in farming. “Strange,” replied she, promptly suggesting encouragement from an enlarged view of his own emblem, “Strange, when the best seed that is sown, the wheat, is then sown.” The Lord was pleased to bless this simple remark for bringing before the mind of the sufferer, in his own mode of thinking, the hope of the gospel. His end, which took place soon after, “was peace.”
Generally known to the Lord’s people in surrounding districts as a lively and zealous professor,* she received, at the communion in Ferintosh, a striking incidental warning of what trials might befall her. When
that eminent minister, Dr. Angus Mackintosh of Tain, was expected to preach, intelligent hearers were wont to gather from the emotions depicted in his countenance, what was to be the strain of his discourses, according as (in the beautiful words of Cowper)—
“By him the violated Law speaks out
Its thunders, and by him, in strains as sweet
As angels use, the gospel whispers peace.”
On the Communion Sabbath, Elizabeth happened to meet the parish minister, as he was directing some external arrangements before the service began. Having observed an aspect of peculiar severity in Dr. M.’s countenance that morning, and perhaps desiring, as was natural, consolation rather than severity at such a time, with the “naivete” of a young convert, she accosted Mr. Macdonald thus—”O, Mr. Macdonald, you are to set Dr. Mackintosh to preach to us, and there is not one of us but he will kill with the law!” Mr. Macdonald’s keen eye had doubtless discerned that her course was too rapid, and that she expected to enjoy uninterrupted comfort and joy, without due humiliation and abasement on account of sin. In a kindly manner he observed to her that she was likely to get enough of the law, not in Ferintosh, or from Dr. Mackintosh, but from painful personal experience. Thus did that eminent servant of Christ exhibit towards one of the least of the flock, the wisdom, vigilance, and sympathy of a watchman for souls. In the life-long labours of Dr. Macdonald, for the evangelisation of his beloved native Highlands, how many important transactions must have occurred, more worthy of being detailed, than this little anecdote and yet we are not sure if, as the sequel showed, we could readily meet with one more characteristic of the true pastor, rightly dividing the word of truth.
*To avoid a disagreeable ambiguity, we take leave to make this change of the usual orthography. The word seems a necessity in religious literature.
SECTION II.
DESPAIR AND DELIVERANCE—RENEWED CONSOLATION AND DEVOTEDNESS.
The anticipation of Dr. Macdonald was soon justified in a surprising and unexpected way. She who had been ready “in her prosperity to say, I shall never be moved,” soon afterwards fell into depths of despondency and gloom, took to bed and lay speechless for months. The occasion of this trial, although obscure in its course, seems to have been encouragement on her part, of certain attentions, in the way of courtship, from some young men; and while there was no approach on her part to anything criminal, there appears to have been a want of that gravity, watchfulness, and self-denial, which a young Christian female of handsome exterior would peculiarly require.* Of a sudden she was induced to
*Since writing the above, we have noticed a passage in that wonderful dramatic delineation of Christian experience and religious character, the Pilgrim’s Progress, which seems to describe this very case. Faithful relates to Christian his first outset; how he escaped “the Slough of Despond,” and other initial difficulties by which his friend was so sorely tried, got through the Strait Gate and so quickly on in the way, that he passed the House of the Interpreter, and dispensed with the refreshment to be had in the House Beautiful. But Faithful’s greatest dangers lay in the repeated solicitations of fleshly lusts, from which Christian, absorbed with spiritual trials had been comparatively exempt; and though he escaped their snares, the partial “heart-consent” given, occasioned a terrible outset from Moses:—
marry, contrary to the advice of friends, and the object of her choice appears not to have been worthy of her. In a very few weeks after her marriage this distress came on, resulting, ultimately, in settled despair. Her husband returned to his native place, where he died soon after. Elizabeth, meantime, was in the most hopeless state. In vain was she brought from the house of one Christian friend to another; in vain did her beloved and valuable, though eccentric, friend, F— M—, come to see her from a distant country, and pray beside her: she would not give her hand or utter a word to him. He went away deeply burdened with concern for her, but hopeful, nay, confidently anticipating that the furnace of affliction would be ultimately for good, not only to herself personally, but in fitting her for usefulness to others.
Elizabeth was finally brought to the house of a brother’s widow, who so far from being disposed to afford the kindly attention her case required, was a drunken and unfeeling creature. Her father’s means, which might have kept her comfortable, were squandered, and herself miserably neglected. She was allowed to lie with the least possible covering, on straw, in a barn; nay, at times, savagely brought out in the depths of winter, and left in the snow, or plunged into a river, with the view of forcing her to speak and exert herself. It was all the same to her, however; the gloom of despair prostrated, yet without impairing, her faculties; and she scarcely took food sufficient to sustain life. It was a strange oversight in the few Christian friends she had in the country, to leave her to such inhuman treatment, but the apparent hopelessness of her case appears to have kept them from enquiring at her relatives about her. F— M— said it was “a house of murder,” and censured all the professing Christians in Stratherrick, for their apathy and want of prayerful solicitude. Himself, though in a distant country, set apart days for prayer on her behalf. To him, and to a young man in a neighbouring strath, Alex. F— at A—, the honour seems to have been graciously given of being the instruments, through whose secret prayers, her deliverance came. “The Lord saith, I will yet for this be enquired of by the house of Israel, to do it for them” (Ezek. xxxvi. 37).
For two years did she continue in this despairing condition, until reduced to a degree from which recovery seemed physically impossible. One evening she tried to take some cold vegetables, which were all that her cruel sister-in-law used to throw to her for food. She found that
“Now when I had got about half way up [the hill difficulty] I looked behind me, and saw one coming after me, swift as the wind! so he overtook me about the place where the Settle stands.
“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 feet as dead, as before. So when I came to myself again, I cried to him for 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 that 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 that he was our Lord. So I went up the hill.
“‘Christian.’—That man that overtook you was Moses. He spareth not, neither knoweth he how to show mercy to those that transgress his law.”—Pilgrim’s Progress.—Part 1.
her fingers had not sufficient strength to grasp them, upon which she pushed them from her, saying to herself, “It is all over with me now.” But the Lord interposed, at the last extremity, according to his promises (Deut. xxxii. 36), that “He shall judge his people, and repent himself for his servants, when he seeth that their power is gone.” Before morning, that scripture occurred to her mind, with gentle, delivering power. “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord. The Lord has chastened me sore, but he hath not given me over unto death.” This was like the first break of day to her soul. Shortly after, while slumbering, she dreamed of a minister whom she esteemed, but who had been removed to the eternal world during her illness, and consequently unknown to her. She thought she saw him in the pulpit, singing praise. After a long time, she asked, with surprise, “Are you not to begin the sermon?” “Oh,” he said, “there is nothing here but praise.” This mental glimpse of heaven, though in a dream, tended further to loose her bonds.
She was now removed to a house at some distance, where much kindness was shown her. This was in the spring of either 1833 or 1834.
Soon after F— M— returned to visit her, and she leaped up on hearing his voice, stretching out both her hands. “Elizabeth, you are yourself again,” said he. “Oh,” she replied, “there is no fear in love.” Now she became earnest in speaking to those about her, for their eternal welfare. Now the full tide of divine consolations flowed into her soul, till she could scarce sustain the pressure, and she prayed the Father to restrain the outflowing of the love of Christ, lest the clay vessel should go to pieces! One day she broke out with a passage of scripture, on which she continued, speaking or praying in connection with it, till night,—”And, behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you; but tarry ye in the city of Jerusalem, until ye be endued with power from on high.” She mourned at times, that the people of God were not around her bed, as she thought, if they had, she would have more strength to sustain the overflowing spiritual joy. Doubtless, it was a loss to her in various respects; and some of the anomalies in her history would perhaps have been greatly modified or softened, had she enjoyed intimacy with eminent, judicious Christians. Few things are more hurtful to their growth in grace, than a certain drifting away from the deep teaching of the Spirit of grace, of which believers are sometimes made sensible, a certain failure of following His gracious leadings through inadvertence and other causes. It is by “following the Lord fully” that they come to be eminently “endued,” as the disciples were, after their deep trial, “with power from on high.” But the Lord shows the excellence of His gracious work in the souls of His people, by placing them in the utmost possible variety of circumstances, some more favoured, others less so. Indeed, the few hearers of the Lord at that time in Stratherrick appeared, as we sometimes see solitary or thinly planted trees, for want of mutual shelter, misshapen by their exposure to the chill mountain blasts. Moderatism reigned in the parish pulpits, and not only were “the shepherds’ tents” (Song of Sol. i. 8) thus wanting, but there was a deficiency also of “the footsteps of the flock,” the experimental knowledge and godly example connected with the fellowship of the brethren.
She was now brought out by friends to meetings held by F— M—. At one of these, a young man named William J— was brought under the power of the truth, who proved a zealous labourer for the salvation of immortal souls, during a short but energetic course. Her friend, F— M—, completely wore out his strength traversing the remote and neglected parts of the Highlands and Western Islands, in dealing publicly and privately with the inhabitants regarding their eternal interests; and many, we have reason to believe, were the seals of his humble and despised labours. He died in the neighbouring strath to Stratherrick, and Elizabeth was by him in his last days. From the manner in which he had been drawn out in spiritual solicitude and prayer for her, her recovery had given him singular satisfaction. “Tis the death of Christ,” he used to say, “that united us, and only death will separate us in this world.” When the final symptoms of his illness came on, she went out to pray: as she was thus engaged, she thought she felt the heavenly company approach to convey away his departing spirit. It matters little whether this be thought, as herself probably deemed it, a preternatural lifting of the veil which hides the world of spirits from mortal view, or merely—what is of more consequence—the exercise of faith in prayer for a departing Christian friend giving to the mind “the substance of things hoped for,” with reference to the ministry of angels, which we know from Scripture to be real. However this might be, it strengthened for the pain of separation. She rose to go into the house, and at the door was met by the inmates, who sought to prevent her entrance, lest her feelings, in her shattered state of health, should overpower her; but she calmly told them the precaution was unnecessary; she knew that all was over.
Some time after this, when she had quite recovered her health and the use of her limbs—for a time lost through the long confinement and neglect—she was made instrumental in bringing a niece of hers to hear the word, and that “not in word only, but in saving power.” William J—, the young man before referred to, and who was afterwards and till his death employed as a missionary catechist by the late excellent Mr. Lillingston of Lochalsh—was proceeding to hold a meeting in a neighbouring village to Stratherrick. There her niece resided; and when Elizabeth, who had hurried on before William, reached this woman’s house, she was ill in bed, with four small children to take care of. Elizabeth, however, under a strong impulse of concern for her soul, insisted on her going to the meeting; and, with much difficulty, prevailed on her to allow herself to be carried to it, her husband going with them. She had not been long hearing when the word took hold—”the Lord opened her heart.” Soon her thoughts turned to her husband’s state, and she who had before been distressed with anxiety about her children, was now afraid lest such care should cause him to leave the meeting. After it closed, she passed the night watching, in conversation with William J—, on spiritual things. Some months afterwards, when very low, and momentarily expected to expire, she opened her eyes and said, “I shall yet hear him again whom the Lord made an instrument of good to my soul”—nor was her expectation disappointed. She died about a year after her hopeful conversion.
In course of time Elizabeth’s neighbours, among whom her warm and energetic Christian character commanded universal respect, built a cottage for her by subscription, and here she spent the last fifteen or twenty years of her life.
(To be continued.)