"August 10, 1826.
"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND—I am
really ashamed of not writing sooner; and yet it has not been for want of
inclination. I have been waiting for an opportunity to send; and I write
this, expecting that I may be able to send it by Miss Cathcart. It is not
often that a day has passed without remembering you before the Lord. Now
that I have no Christian friend (indeed no friend at all) near me, I find
it, indeed, a delightful exercise, to meet my brethren and sisters in the
Lord at a throne of grace. You have been long a prisoner, and I am now an
exile. Yes; I am indeed banished from all that I love in this world; and I
sometimes think that the Lord may be thus preparing me for the trials of
the missionary life, by debarring me the privilege of Christian
intercourse. I am often much depressed; and this convinces me that
I have not yet given my whole heart to God. I think I can see that I have
been sent here for good. The Lord often leads us into the wilderness, to
speak comfortably to us. He breaks the cisterns we have hewed out for
ourselves, to lead us to the life-giving fountain. It is perhaps well for
us, when communion with God is our only enjoyment; and so it is with me
from necessity.
"I was glad to hear that
you had had some little respite, so as to be able to wait upon God in the
assembly of his people. How amiable are his tabernacles! What must heaven
be, where the Sabbath is eternal, and the temple is the Lord himself!
—‘Yet a little while,’ (in your case a very little while at the
longest), ‘and he that shall come, will come, and will not tarry.’
"I have been reading Samuel
Rutherford’s letters of late, and have been much delighted with them. What
advances he had made in the way of holiness! I think, in the present day,
Christians are apt to be content with too little. There might be more of
that knowledge of God and of his Son, which is eternal life, — even in
this world, if we would but seek for it more earnestly. It is not enough
to enter the strait gate, we must also walk in the narrow way.
Sanctification is part of our salvation. And hence it is, that our most
gracious Father sees meet to visit his children (as you can testify) with
manifold afflictions and temptations, that the trial of their faith being
much more precious than that of perishable gold, might be found unto
praise, and honour, and glory, at the appearance of Jesus Christ. I doubt
not, you can testify that the furnace of affliction is a refining surface.
"My dear friend, I should value a
letter from you very much. My experience in the Christian life amounts to
nothing more than a discovery of my wretchedness, and a wish for
something better. I can write little to comfort you, -- I can only
complain of short-coming. My own deadness and indifference, often make me
doubt whether I have yet tasted that the Lord is gracious. I know not
anything so calculated to confirm and strengthen the faith of an infant
Christian, as the testimony of an aged saint,— especially an aged
sufferer, who can tell that all the promises of God are yea, and amen. It
is true, our faith should need the aid of no auxiliary evidence, when we
have the promise, — nay, the oath of Him who cannot lie. But it does need
it. I feel my faith often mingled with distrust. And even when I can say
‘I believe,’ I have need to prefer the petition, ‘Lord, help my unbelief.’
If you are so much recovered, as I have some reason to hope, from what I
have heard, perhaps you may write a few lines of encouragement to
"Your most affectionate brother in
the Lord."
"August 15, 1826.
"MY DEAR FRIEND — I thank you
for your kind and undeserved letter, and rejoice to hear of your attempt
to illuminate the dark places of our own land. I am anxious to hear of the
success of your plans. I have been led in the very consideration of the
missionary question, to regard more attentively the state of our own
country as to religious knowledge. It has been the increasing argument of
my friends, against my intention of going to the heathen, that there is
much yet to be done at home. The force of this argument, I feel to a
certain extent; but I find it is apt to be urged sometimes, by those very
persons who are slumbering on as if nothing were to be done at all. There
is much to be done at home; and there is need for very vigorous exertion.
There are many, in this nominally Christian country, who are quite
ignorant of what true Christianity is. This is, indeed, a dreadful
thought, when we consider how many true Christians are scattered
over the land. Take the case of some deadly bodily disease, (an
illustration which has been so often put), and think how we should look
upon him who could calmly sit still, and see his neighbour or his townsman
drop into the jaws of death, while he was acquainted with a remedy, whose
application, experience had proved to be, a certain cure. Would it be an
excuse for this indifference, that an unaccountable prejudice existed
against the remedy in question, or that it was one of the fearful symptoms
of the disorder, that the unhappy victim imagined himself in good health?
Suppose even further, that dispensaries were established through the land,
where the medicine was distributed gratis, to all who chose to
apply. (But, alas! I almost had forgot that in order to complete the
analogy here, I must further suppose, that at many, nay at the
greater number of these dispensaries, a counterfeit drug was
given for the real elixir.) Would humanity think it too much, in such
circumstances, to walk from one scene of wretchedness to another, and
earnestly recommend to the unhappy sufferers, the use of a specific of
such sovereign virtue? Is it true, that a malady is actually raging in our
own land, — in our own town, in our own neighbour’s house—it may be in our
own family, a malady so dreadful, that the whole sum of human
wretchedness, in all its sad forms of bodily pain or mental anguish, can
give but a faint idea of it, and is indeed, but one of its least
fearful consequences? Is it true, I say, that we believe such a fell
disorder to be raging at our very doors; and believe, too, that we have
discovered a sovereign antidote to its baneful influence, and yet scarce
put forth a finger to administer the balm of life to our fellow-sufferers?
I do think, my dear sir, that private Christians must do more than
they do, if they would stand clear of the blood of those who perish around
them. They are not called to minister in public, — but might they not do
much in preaching the Gospel from house to house. In the supposed
case of bodily disease, would it be an excuse for indifference or neglect
on the part of any one who had the means and opportunity of usefulness,
that there were physicians in the land, whose business it was to
attend to the sick? And is not the case quite parallel? I did not intend
to fill my sheet in this way; but when I get into a subject, I often find
it difficult to leave it. I forget that I am writing a letter, and not an
essay. I have attempted to get some people to meet with me here; but there
is no village quite near, and it being harvest, it has quite failed in the
meantime; but I mean to make another attempt after the harvest is over. I
am confined, in the meantime, to private visiting, and the distribution
of tracts. This, I think, a means of usefulness, which ought to be
neglected by none who would attend to the injunction, —‘In the morning sow
thy seed,’ &c. I have thought a good deal of Ireland of late. It has
strong claims; still, I think the heathen have stronger."
"August 16, 1826.
"MY DEAR FRIEND — It has not been
forgetfulness, or want of inclination that has kept me from writing
sooner. I have often thought of writing; but I feel, that the whole favour
of this correspondence is on your side, for I have little to communicate
that can be interesting to you. My only motive for troubling you
with a postage, would have been the hope of eliciting a letter from you in
return; and this, I thought too selfish a motive to allow myself to be
influenced by it. But, at your request, I will write to you, as the desire
to comply with this will be a sufficient apology for an uninteresting
letter. I am here quite retired from the world. Colonel M sees very little
company, and even with that little, I can mix as little as I choose. I
dine, in general, with my pupil, (at my own desire,) and spend
nearly the whole day in my study. This state of seclusion has its
advantages and its disadvantages too. There is much time for the study of
one’s own heart, and for the contemplation of an unseen world. But the
mind is apt to prey too much on itself. There is none of that reciprocal
sympathy, which is so delightful; which, by dividing our griefs, can
almost remove our sorrow; and, by partaking our happiness, does not
diminish but multiplies our joy. I have no one here who is like-minded
with me; and in these circumstances, my spirits sometimes sink very low. I
know this is very sinful, for God is here, and the access to his throne is
here as free as in the bosom of Christian society. This, indeed, is my
only enjoyment;
"‘That were a grief I could not bear,
Didst thou not hear and answer prayer;
But a prayer-hearing, answering God,
Supports me under every load.’
"Sometimes when I enjoy a
nearer approach to God, I can, indeed, feel that the loss of Christian
fellowship is more than made up; but, in seasons of coldness and
indifference, there is none to stir me up, and nothing that can
give comfort. But it is well that it is so. It is well to be compelled
to have continual recourse to a throne of grace. How sinful for a
Christian ever to think of despondency, with such glorious hopes, and such
precious promises to encourage him. But sin will damp the most glorious
hopes, and unbelief will render unavailing the most precious promises.
Perfect happiness can be attained only by the attainment of perfect
holiness: while sin wars in the members, there must be a want of
enjoyment. I feel that it is sin which separates between my soul and God.
I am sometimes discouraged to think that I have now seemed to myself a
believer for a considerable time, and yet I look in vain for a progress in
holiness and likeness to God. If I have advanced at all, it has been in
the discovery of my own utter worthlessness. I do feel more than
ever, that I am poor, and miserable, and wretched, and blind, and naked. O
that the Lord would discover to me more abundantly the riches of his
grace, and let me feel more the presence of that Comforter, who is
assuredly with me, if I have not received the grace of God in vain.
"I have few opportunities
of usefulness here; and this is sometimes a cause of sinful
discouragement. I attempted a meeting, which failed, owing to the hurry of
the harvest! I have visited most of the cottages near, and distributed
tracts, in which employment my little pupil is very willing to assist me.
I have discovered one house of mourning, a family that has been much
afflicted; there is a willingness to listen to divine things. I went with
a person last Sabbath, who preached on an outside stair, in one of the
lanes of Glasgow. I confess that it was not without trembling, and some
degree of reluctance, that I consented to conclude the service by prayer.
The people who gathered around us, I am convinced, cannot be reached in
any other way. O! to be willing to be accounted the off-scouring of all
things for Christ’s sake. I have seen Mr. Burnet, and have promised to
take Ireland into consideration, in making up my mind as to the course of
life by which I can most glorify God. I still feel the claims of the
heathen to be the strongest, although some very highly respected friends
here, think I might be more useful at home. I trust my only wish is, to
know the will of God."
The following extracts are
from various letters, written to his friend, William Scott Moncrieff in
the months of July and August.
"From what you say of your
friend, I suppose he has made an engagement with Mr. G—. I trust it will
turn out for the mutual benefit of himself and his pupils; indeed, why
should I say, I trust? (which is always an expression of some degree of
distrust;) we know that all things work together for the good of them that
love God. I rejoice to hear of your intended return to St. Andrew’s; you
must stir up the embers of the flame that has been kindled. There is much
to be done, my dear friend, everywhere; and I think every Christian,
however obscure, must feel in some degree with the apostle, that there is
a woe pronounced against him, if he publish not the joyful intelligence
with which heaven has favoured him. It is well that death should sometimes
deprive us of a familiar acquaintance, or a dear relative; for the death
of thousands whom we have never seen, or at least never known, has been
scarcely sufficient to prove to us, that we may die; and all the
warnings we receive fail of practically convincing us that we must.
How difficult to conceive the true ratio of the finite to the infinite, of
this brief life to that never-ending existence into which it ushers us.
And, if difficult to conceive, O, how difficult practically to feel it!
There is something delightfully pleasing in the ‘little while’ of the New
Testament, if we are waiting for our Lord; but, if careless and
indifferent, or afraid of his coming, how alarming the idea, that ‘the
Lord is at hand!’ Let us gird up the loins of our mind. Let us devote all
our time to the service of our Master; ‘now is our salvation nearer, than
when we believed.’ Our friends are parting from us on every side, and we
are scattered over the wide world. It is all well; ‘this is not your
rest.’ Let our hopes rest on nothing short of heaven. It is true, that the
communion of the saints on earth resembles the intercourse of just men
made perfect; but O, what a resemblance! How unlike these grovelling souls
to the spirits around the throne! And these corruptible bodies, how vile
compared with those immortal forms, which shall be fashioned like the
glorious body of the omnipotent Sovereign of the universe! And even our
communion with God here, how distant, how much interrupted by sin,
or obscured by unbelief! How few, and far between the visits of our
Saviour’s love, when we think of that place where they ‘cease not day and
night to praise him;’ and where they have no need of a temple, for ‘the
Lord God and the Lamb are the temple thereof.’ Let us hold fast our
confidence, and run with patience, looking unto Jesus; and, ere a few more
years have rolled over us, we shall join that ‘multitude which no man can
number.’
"You could not have sent me
anything more appropriate than Stewart’s Discourses on the Advent. You
know me too well to need to be told how I felt when separated from you
all, and without a single individual to whom I could speak with freedom on
the subjects nearest my heart. Mr. Stewart’s book I have found a
delightful companion. If I can guess at his peculiar views of the
Redeemer’s advent, through the veil of modesty which almost conceals them,
I am scarcely prepared entirely to agree with him. I have been so
accustomed to dwell with pleasure on those brighter times to which
prophecy seems to point, that the bare possibility that the Lord may come
to-day, or to-morrow, seems to blast all these delightful hopes; ‘a
multitude, which no man can number, must first be gathered out of every
tribe, and kindred.’ Still, as Mr. Stewart observes, this may be very soon
accomplished. Oh, that we may be looking for, and hastening on, the coming
of the day of God!
"I have a great dislike to
writing letters, but nothing gives me greater pleasure than to receive
them. I guess that this is pretty nearly the case with some of my friends,
and therefore a consideration of the golden rule should lead me to like
the task of letter-writing better. I am most particularly anxious to hear
from my friends, since I came to this solitary place; and a friendly
letter, always pleasing, will now be doubly sweet. The words, and the
looks of friendship I cannot now enjoy. Its written communications are all
that are left to me. How unthankful we are ever apt to be! What a
privilege is it that we can convey our thoughts to an absent friend!
Without the noble invention of writing, a few miles would separate us more
effectually from our friends, than half the circumference of the globe
can, possessed as we are of this wonderful medium of intercourse. But,
after all, epistolary correspondence is but a poor substitute for personal
intercourse. We have symbols to express our thoughts, but we have no
written characters that can express that peculiar vividness of impression,
or tenderness of feeling which is conveyed by the eye, the features, and
the very tone voice of a present friend. The words of a letter are in some
respects dead, like the characters that represent them, while the words of
the friend with whom we converse, and even the ideas, which these words
express, seem to borrow life and loveliness from the lips and countenance
that give them utterance. 1 have been writing several other letters
to-day; and I believe that, in all of them, I have been mourning over the
loss of friends, and lingering on the recollections of other days. And yet
I feel that it is wrong to do so. This is a world of change; and, if our
affections are set on any, even the worthiest of the objects that flit
before us, our happiness will be but short-lived. If we be risen with
Christ, let us set our affections on things above. If we would faithfully
serve our Master, we must not look for a life of ease here, or even of
enjoyment; we must ‘endure hardness as good soldiers of Jesus Christ.’ I
do little else than study, and walk with my pupil, who is a very
interesting boy. I have only been to ride once; I went to call with
Colonel M at Lord Douglas’s, but my horse ran off with me three several
times; I was very thankful to have escaped safe, and have not thought it
prudent to risk my life in such circumstances since. Colonel M promises to
get a pony, which I can ride, soon. Let it be our great object in our
letters to provoke each other to love and to good works; for all is
trifling, that does not bear directly or indirectly on eternity."
"I relish my solitude much
better than I did. I am utterly confounded to think of the unnumbered
mercies the Lord has heaped upon me, and on the discontented ungrateful
feelings, I have often indulged. I have had a long walk this evening,
visiting from cottage to cottage, with the view of collecting a few young
people to form a weekly meeting. Great backwardness is manifested; and I
have but faint hopes of its succeeding. I regret that I had so little
Christian intercourse with you, and my other friends, in Edinburgh. I find
that the bustle of travelling, and the excitement of new scenes and new
circumstances, have a strong tendency to destroy spirituality of mind."
A letter from his friend
C., appears to have contained some intimations of a very afflicting and
painful nature, respecting the workings of his mind. It produced the long
letter, which follows:
"MY EVER DEAR C. --Your last letter
was, indeed, a most overwhelming letter, and did I really know any remedy
for your mental distress, it were indeed cruel to have delayed so long to
administer it. But I have been perplexed and confounded. I have resolved
to write and yet tremble to take up my pen. I have delayed thus long, to
meditate and to pray. When the spirit of my friend was wounded, — so
severely wounded, I feared to take the knife into my own unskilful hand;
and it seemed to me wisest to apply to the great Physician of the soul.
The more I have thought of your case, the more I feel that it is beyond
the power of human relief. I have done all I can. I have entreated Him,
who alone can bind up the broken spirit, to send relief. He knows, from
dread experience, the depths of temptation; he has experienced the horrors
of an hour, when God seemed to have forsaken him, and the power of
darkness appeared to rage triumphant. I write in the full hope, that ere
now, your darkness has been dispelled by light from above; for it is light
from Heaven alone, which can dispel such darkness. You see, I have
taken a large sheet of paper at your request; but it is only because of
that request: for really, I can pretend to give no consolation. I can only
direct you to a higher source; but I can do so with the fullest
confidence, that there
you will assuredly find it.
"The metaphysics of natural
religion I have studied but little; but if I can judge from that little,
it seems to me, that the pretended demonstrations of the immortality of
the soul, and the moral attributes of God, are little better than
proofs how profoundly and ingeniously man can trifle. Much solid
argument may be expended in the investigation, and many an ingenious
method of argumentation discovered. We may have logically refuted, or
appeared to refute, the objections of an opponent; but when we come to
retrace all the steps, we find that no lasting impression is produced, —
nothing satisfactory attained. Such discussions seem to me, to end in
nothing more than the ingenious and well-calculated moves in a game of
chess. We have had some intellectual amusement; and perhaps, too, we may
have won the game, — but that is all. I have lately read the
third volume of a novel called Tremaine, where the arguments of
Clark, &c. seem to me well condensed, and convincingly stated; but the
above was my impression on perusing them. By the way, the above is no
ordinary novel; it is well worth a reading. The clear, the acute, the
matchless Brown, seems, on this subject, a trifler. Indeed, the
dark cloud of mystery which veils the spiritual world, gives us a liberty
to imagine of it what we please, and a little ingenuity is all that is
necessary to seem to prove, what we imagine, in a region wholly
unknown. The more we think, the more we are persuaded of the reality of
our own fancies, as when we gaze on the shapeless masses of coal in
a fire, or on the clouds of a confused sky, our imagination can picture
forth the outlines of animals, or castles, or forests, or any thing,
which seem to grow more and more distinct the longer we gaze. But
where have I wandered to? I might have told you in one little sentence,
that I have felt these metaphysical reasonings to be as unsatisfactory as
you do, who have dived deeper into their profundities. Let me say,
however, before leaving this tantalizing subject, that I do think the
existence, (and if the existence, of course the natural
attributes of God), abundantly proved by the objects around us. For this,
Dr. Brown says, and I think truly, that we have not to search far amid the
mysteries of nature, to find proofs; far less to tread the labyrinths of a
priori argumentation. He who sees not a Deity in the marks and
designs displayed in his own body, or in many of the most familiar objects
around him, will not be convinced by demonstration itself.
"To leave this then, — How
delightful the facts of the gospel and the well-accredited
testimony of an eye-witness from the world of spirits! But I know the
dreadful subject, which is the cause (shall I say, which was the
cause) of your doubts and your distress. Millions created for a
moment’s giddy pleasure, — and then an eternity of unmingled wretchedness.
Ah, my friend, the argument has struck my mind too with
overwhelming force; and its stroke has cut the deeper, edged, as it has
been in my case, (I believe in yours too), with the poignant reflection,
that some whom I hold dearest ‘according to the flesh,’ seem, at
present, to be walking on to the gulf of eternal perdition. But why should
I introduce this here? You can sympathize with me. Oh, if there is
ever a time that this proud heart can think with real delight of its own
insignificance and ignorance, — it is, when oppressed by this awfully
mysterious subject. When my mind has been darkened by presumptuous
thoughts regarding the justice and mercy of the Eternal, the feeble ray of
a single twinkling star has seemed like a ray of hope; and the conception
of myriads of such worlds, or clusters of worlds, if it has not dispelled
the darkness of the soul, has at least given the certain expectation, that
soon it WILL be dispelled. What are we, that
we should fathom the counsels of the eternal and omnipotent Jehovah? ‘Who
art thou, O man, that repliest against God?’ Has not God revealed to us
enough, to warrant this trial of our faith, especially when the express
assurance is given, that a time is coming, when we shall ‘know as we are
known?’
"After writing this long
letter, I am almost ashamed of it. I have written, as if I were combating
the arguments of an infidel, instead of attempting to console a Christian
brother, whom the adversary has been permitted to attack. It would,
indeed, be cruel to heal up a cankering wound, ere it had been probed to
the very bottom; but I think I am not guilty of this, when I say, that
even in that most dismal letter, there are the proofs of a regenerated
soul. Peter was given up to the temptations of Satan, that he might be
shown his own weakness. Some of the most eminent servants of God have been
left to wander even into the dreary regions of atheism for a while, as if
to show their own depravity, when unassisted by divine grace. O do not
talk of the unwilling rejection of a God! All atheists are
wilful atheists. This, I must believe, while I believe the Bible. God
has had some end in view, my dear friend, in giving you up to these
dreadful thoughts. I trust he will bring good out of seeming evil, and
that this severe trial will lead you to lie more humbly at the foot of the
cross, and to put less confidence than ever in the speculations of a
bewildering philosophy. Excuse — no, I will not say excuse, I have spoken
with the freedom of Christian love. I have not half answered your letter,
and yet my paper is quite full.
"Remember me to our dear
Nesbit, if he is still with you. The same post that brought your last,
gave me the delightful news of another added to our little band of
Christian missionaries, our much respected Rentoul. I have had a letter
to-day from John Adam, making the very solemn proposal of joining him, in
a mission to Madras, to leave this country in two years. Pray for my
direction. We return to Dysart in the middle of next month, to be there
for some time. I am glad of this, for here I am alone as to Christian
intercourse. If I were actively employed in the service of the Lord, I
think I could be happy in a desert; but here I do little or nothing. In
study, I have done a little; I have read the first book of Samuel in
Hebrew; three books of the Anabasis of Xenophon, which seems to throw some
light on the style of the New Testament. In Theology, I have studied
Paley’s Evidences pretty carefully, and Bishop Lowth’s Prelections. I have
nearly finished Dr. Pye Smith’s Scripture Testimony to the Messiah (a most
interesting work, which I beg earnestly to recommend to your perusal), and
have just commenced Mosheim’s Church History. It is late, but I can
scarcely give over writing."
His friend, Mr. Herbert
Smith, having proposed to him to assist, and co-operate with him, in some
plans of usefulness which he was pursuing, it produced the following
letter in reply: —
"TENNOCH SIDE, August 30, 1826.
"MY DEAR FRIEND — If I have delayed
a few days in answering your very interesting letter, you can easily guess
the reason. Your proposal demanded consideration and prayer. Did I make my
own feelings the standard of my conduct, I should, in all probability,
without hesitation, have answered your kind proposal with a hearty
affirmative. Two circumstances, in my present situation, have contributed
not a little to depress my spirits, the want of Christian society, and an
exclusion from active exertion in the cause of the gospel. You can
conceive then, how delightful to my imagination was the picture of a truly
Christian companion, co-operating with me in acts of evangelical
usefulness, and exciting me to more zealous exertion. Were inclination my
guide, then, you see how gladly I should have embraced your kind offer.
But this would have been wrong. In forming any plan, we must not calculate
on our own enjoyment merely. The Christian must look to higher objects.
His question must be. ‘Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?’ On
considering the matter, therefore, in this light, I feel constrained, (in
spite of my own longings to comply,) for the present at least, to
decline personally co-operating in your interesting scheme. The
difference of our religious sentiments, in a few points, has not
influenced me in the slightest degree in my decision, except in the single
point that it occurred to me, that the fact not of my being, but of
my being called a Dissenter, might probab1y impede, more than your
liberality may allow you to suspect, the promotion of a plan, which, from
its very nature, must depend a good deal for its success, on the
co-operation of churchmen of all descriptions. Had I thought of accepting,
this must have made me hesitate; but as it is, other reasons have
determined my opinion, that it is my duty to remain in Scotland for some
little time.
"There is a sort of
understanding, (although no positive agreement,) that I remain in Colonel
Morland’s family for a year. I have now been nearly four months. Here I
have only one pupil; and, of course, much time for study, which I think
invaluable, as I know not how soon my opportunities of study may be past.
I am particularly anxious to study closely the original Scriptures, in
case of being employed in the very responsible work of translation. This
reconciles me to a retirement from active exertion in the meantime,
although even in that point, I hope to be able to do a little in the
neighbouring cottages. I should feel it cowardly to fly from a station
where God has placed me in his providence, perhaps from some gracious
purpose, merely because it deprives me of some pleasures, for which the
Lord himself knows well how to compensate. The soldier in the camp must
not murmur, because he wants the comforts of domestic happiness. To all
human appearance, indeed, there is little prospect of my doing anything
here, to promote the knowledge of the truth, except through my pupil.
"On the subject of
missions, every prayer strengthens my purpose. I am aware of the glare of
romance, which fancy may throw round the idea of Christian expeditions to
foreign lands; but I have tried to make due allowance for this, and have
prayed that a youthful imagination might not lead me astray. The result
is, I am every day more and more convinced, that my convictions in regard
to this matter, are founded on Scripture. It is impossible, within the
limits of a single sheet, to state the grounds of these convictions. I
have written something on the subject, which I may, perhaps, have some
opportunity of communicating to you in one shape or other. I have taken
medical advice, and am told, that my constitution is more likely to stand
in a warm climate, than if it were more robust; but no definite opinion
can be given on the subject. The same post which brought yours, brought a
letter from our friend John Adam, announcing his intention of going to
Madras in two years, and asking me to accompany him. This is at present
under consideration, and my decision may affect my more immediate plans.
My present plans are, if the Lord will, to remain here till May or June
next year, and then pay a farewell visit to my dear relations, before
leaving them for ever in this life. It is a long time to look forward to
next summer; but should you continue where you are, and think I could at
all assist you, I may then, by the divine blessing on my studies, be able
to give more efficient assistance for a month or two. In the meantime, I
shall pray for your success, and perhaps you will have the kindness to let
me hear soon how matters prosper."
Various friends interested
in the religious welfare of Ireland, having requested him to take its
claims on himself into consideration, he wrote the following letter
to the Rev. John Burnet, of Cork, which I insert, not only as a part of
his history, but to show the comprehensive views he could take of a
subject, and how deeply he interested himself in everything which related
to the kingdom of Christ: —
"TENNOCH SIDE.
"MY DEAR SIR — I have had but a
short notice of this opportunity of sending. The following are the queries
that occur to me at the moment: —
"1. What is the proportion
of professed Protestants to Roman Catholics; and what the state of
religious knowledge and practice among the former?
"2. What the proportion of
evangelical ministers in the Church of Ireland?
"3. What the number and
character of Protestant Dissenting ministers? I include Presbyterians of
course.
"4. Are any Itinerancies
undertaken by resident Irish ministers, and to what extent?
"5. What is the number and
character of the Hibernian Society’s Agents? Are the readers also
preachers, or are they all pious men? Of course, you understand me
to mean, as far as our imperfect judgment can decide.
"6. What is the number of
the Hibernian Society’s schools, and how taught? Are the schoolmasters
understood to be pious men? Is religious instruction the professed
object of these schools, or only common education?
"7. Does the Hibernian
Society support any preachers; and if so, how many? Are the two
you mentioned, their agents?
"8. Do the people manifest
a willingness to hear? And can you allude, in general terms, to the
success that has attended the efforts already made?
"These queries will, at
least, show you, my dear sir, how ignorant, perhaps how criminally
ignorant I am, of the state of the interesting country in which you
labour. I could multiply more inquiries, of a similar description; but I
think, under these, you may arrange any information your time may permit
you to communicate. If anything else should be suggested by these, and
your engagements permit, you will have the goodness to mention it. I
should be glad to hear arguments too, if any particularly present
themselves. I promise solemnly to consider the matter before the Lord, and
to lay it before such of my companions, as I think, might be fitted for
the work. In the meantime, I honestly acknowledge to you, that I feel the
claims of other parts of the world to be stronger. I trust my only wish is
to know the will of God in this matter. I feel my ignorance and incapacity
to judge, but he leadeth the blind by a way they know not. When you see
Captain Felix, have the kindness to give him my respects. Excuse this very
hurried letter, as it gets late. The Lord bless you in your labours."
While this letter shows his
willingness to submit to whatever might appear to be the will of God in
regard to the field of labour; it still discovers how much his heart was
set upon the great object to which his life had been devoted. In the
letter which follows, to Mr. Adam, he gives full scope to his feelings,
and refers again to the difficulty of obtaining the consent of his
friends.
"DYSART HOUSE, September 17,
1826.
"My VERY DEAR JOHN — I dare
say you expected an answer to your interesting letter long ere now, and
have been attributing my silence to my wonted carelessness. But in truth,
this is not the case. I was cheered with the prospect of a short visit to
Perth, soon after receiving yours, and I thought it better to defer
writing till I should know the mind of my friends concerning your very
important proposal. My own opinion, excepting in so far as that of my
friends and other circumstances might affect it, was fixed almost as soon
as I read your letter. With a deep and increasing conviction of the duty
of going to the heathen, and with a strong impression of the advantage,
and in my case, almost the necessity of a known and tried
companion; this latter circumstance, seemed to me of itself, sufficient to
turn my attention to a portion of the missionary field, of which, I
confess, I had never before seriously thought. The language of Ruth to
Naomi, is the sincere expression of my feelings, when I read your
proposal. But notwithstanding this, I do not yet feel quite at liberty to
seal the contract, as you express it.
"On consulting my friends I was
astonished to find them even more opposed than before. There seemed to be
even some disappointment, that I had not, by this time abandoned the idea
of being a missionary altogether. Had the impulse on my mind been a mere
boyish fancy, in all probability, this would have been the case, exposed
as I have been to influences altogether unfavourable. But I trust there is
no enthusiasm in supposing, that the impression has been made by the
Spirit of God, when time and meditation and prayer, make it deeper and
deeper. Still my relations are quite against my views. The first argument
is weakness of constitution. Most unfortunately I happened to have
a little cold on this visit home; and you remember I was rather unwell
when you were with us. These trifling circumstances make my friends feel
more confident in their argument. I confess that I have felt the force of
this objection very strongly; but, after due consideration, it does not
seem to me sufficiently strong to warrant the plea of inability to enter
on missionary work. I consulted the physician of Colonel Morland’s
regiment on the subject. His opinion quite coincided with what I had often
heard before — that no physician could predict how any particular
constitution would suit a hot climate; but, in general, persons of a
thin spare habit were more likely to stand, than those who were
stouter. This argument, you see, then, I could get over, but there is
yet another, which my parents have strongly urged, and which is of so
painful a nature, that were you not my most intimate friend, I should not
lay it before you.
* * * * * *
I confess that, all along,
it has weighed deeply with me, and has produced a greater willingness to
submit to the wish of my friends, in putting off; for a little, the final
decision. But we must not be distrustful. All things are possible with
God. How far ought these circumstances to weigh with me? I confess, they
make me hesitate to give you a decided answer, which else I should do,
with all my heart, in the affirmative."
The last letter which I
received from him, was dated September. In this letter, he expresses
himself with his accustomed affection, and unbosoms to me all his
anxieties. Part of it, as well as of the preceding letter, I am obliged to
withhold, from motives of delicacy, though it relates to his chief
difficulty in accomplishing the acquiescence of his parents in his leaving
this country.
"DYSART HOUSE, September, 1826.
"MY VERY DEAR SIR — I know,
that of late, the fatigues and anxieties of public business must have
pressed on you with more than ordinary severity; and when at home, a few
days ago, I heard that in addition to this, you had been visited with
bodily distress. In these circumstances, it may seem presumptuous in me to
encroach on your time and attention, but I trust you will forgive me.
Though circumstances have separated both of us from the place where I was
wont to look up to you as my pastor, where our family regarded you as one
of their most intimate and most highly valued friends; yet I cannot help
feeling, as if these close and endearing relations subsisted between us
still. When in perplexity how to act, my mind involuntarily turns to you
as the person most fit to direct me; and when any affliction distresses
our family, I still seem to feel that we have a claim upon your sympathy,
even though I know that you are surrounded by so many, who have now
stronger claims upon your affection and your friendship. It may be wrong
to feel thus; but if so, I must just repeat it — you will forgive me.
"When I wrote last to you, I had the
intention of offering myself to the London Missionary Society this summer.
The only impediment was the opposition of my friends. I had already
refused a good situation, without consulting my father. He was rather
displeased. On the offer of a second, I thought it right to submit to his
decision. His letter desiring me to accept, and your answer to my
last letter, came by the same post. I was a good deal perplexed; but at
last, against my own inclination, I submitted to parental authority. I
thought this acquiescence might reconcile my parents to my ultimate
design, which I still kept steadily in view. In this I am disappointed.
They seem to have expected that time and new scenes of life would efface
the impression. On a visit home, last week, I found their opposition to my
leaving this country more determined than before.
* * *
"I will never cease to
hope, I will never cease to pray. These are calamities, which my remaining
in this country cannot alleviate, and yet they unnerve all my fortitude in
the view of parting. Tell me how far you think this trying dispensation of
Providenee ought to weigh with me. Mr. Adam writes me, that he thinks of
offering himself to the London Society, with a view to a station at
Madras. I know the directors do not give the young men their choice as to
the station they are to occupy; and, indeed, it would be wrong to do so. I
trust I am ready to go to any part of the world, where they think I may be
most useful; but still I feel that the presence of a tried and beloved
friend would be a mighty stimulus to exertion, and a great solace in
trials. He talks of going in two years. Did the directors agree to such an
arrangement, when should I be required to come before them? In my present
situation, I have only one pupil, so that I have a few hours for study. I
have applied pretty diligently to Hebrew this summer; and have studied
carefully, Paley’s Evidences, Dr. Pye Smith’s Scripture Testimony, Bishop
Lowth’s Prelections. I go on with Mosheim’s Church History, and Home’s
Introduction. We are, at present, at the Earl of Rosslyn’s house here,
where we shall continue three or four weeks. I cannot tell what my plans
are at present. I am quite confused. I think I shall stay over the winter,
at all events, in this family, unless the Lord, by the indications of his
providence, seem to point out some other path. I find Lord Rosslyn
exceedingly kind and attentive. I trust, the peep I have had at the pomp
and luxury of the world, have tended to convince me more decidedly, that
it is an unsatisfying portion. My pupil gives me great satisfaction. He
has a very good mind. He is only ten years of age, and yet enters with
delight into the study of astronomy; philology he is also very fond of. I
have conscientiously taught him the doctrines of the gospel. His judgment
approves them; and sometimes I have thought his heart was impressed. If
the Lord choose him for himself, he may be eminently useful in the Church.
His talents, and family connections, open the way to very high stations."
He refers in this letter to
his reading, of his diligence in which, abundant evidence remains among
his papers. Besides attention to the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures, and to
his classical reading, he abridged during this summer and autumn, with
great accuracy, Home’s Introduction, Paley’s Evidences, Dr. Smith’s
Scripture Testimony to the Messiah, and Mosheim’s Ecclesiastical History.
That he was not inattentive to other things, is very evident from his
letters.
In consequence of this
letter, I wrote to his father some time after, urging the necessity of no
longer opposing a desire which seemed so evidently of God, and pointing
out the consequences of persisting in resistance. I believe this, and
other things, contributed to produce the desired effect; and John was
satisfied, that when the time came, he would no longer meet with
opposition from his parents. It is gratifying to me to be able to state
this; as it must be a source of satisfaction to them now, to reflect that
their resistance could have had little or no influence on the cause of his
early removal. My answer to this letter, which was delayed in expectation
of hearing from his father, he never received. It was written the day on
which he died, and was received in Glasgow on the day of his funeral. A
few more letters and papers will conduct us towards the closing scene.
"DYSART HOUSE, September 28,
1826.
"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND — I am
covered with shame on reading your very kind letter, and especially on
observing its date. I will make no apology, but simply beg you to forgive
me, and not to attribute my carelessness to want of affection, or even to
forgetfulness of one of my dearest friends, and most highly esteemed
companions.
"Your letter was, indeed, a
refreshing one. Affliction is a blessing; and, I doubt not, that on
looking back on the late trying dispensation of the Lord towards your
family, you feel it good for you to have been afflicted. Your letter found
me grovelling in the dust, wrapt in selfishness, and sunk in depression;
brooding over my own vileness, and mourning the loss of privileges I had
never deserved; yet, regardless of the inestimable blessings which still
remained. Such a letter was quite the medicine for my distempered mind. I
forgot myself in sympathizing with your affliction; and the deep
impression which a near view of eternity had made upon you, was, I trust,
in some degree communicated to myself. O how difficult to keep up a
rational conviction of the relation between time and eternity! How
does our practice give the lie to our profession!
"29th. I have been here a
fortnight, and am likely to remain a fortnight longer, for which I am
truly thankful. Here I am surrounded with Christian friends; and the value
of such a privilege I feel more than ever, since I have had some
experience of its loss. There is, indeed, an inexpressible heaviness in
having no one like-minded. I have temptations here too, but I trust the
Lord will uphold me. I am a good deal alone; but I must mingle a little
with the society here; and to one accustomed to move in the humblest walks
of life, the drawing-room of a peer is not the place to learn humility, or
to be more deeply impressed with the realities of an unseen world. Yet, I
trust, this peep at the luxury and pomp of the world may be sanctified to
me. In what very trifling do the votaries of fashion spend a life, which
must determine their condition in that eternal state, into which time soon
will usher them! Surely, man at his best estate, is altogether vanity. I
have just come from the sick bed of one of the servants, who has been ill
since I was here last. He is in a very interesting state; and, I trust has
found comfort in looking to Jesus. I am anxious to hear of your brother’s
parish. I trust the Lord causes his work to prosper. I know you have been
active in assisting him. Tell me the nature of your exertions. Herbert
Smith was to begin, when I heard from him, meetings like ours in St.
Andrew’s. Henry Craik and John Brown have commenced them in Exeter. Did
you see Henry before he left? You know he succeeded Nesbit, who will be in
Edinburgh soon. John Adam means to go to Madras, probably in two years. He
proposes that I accompany him. I am in considerable perplexity how to
determine. Pray for me, that I may not be left to do my own will. Perhaps
you know that W. Alexander, and W. Scott Moncrieff return to St. Andrew’s
this winter. What are your plans?
"I have been a good deal
depressed at the thought of my uselessness. I have done little to promote
the glory of God this summer; and in study, I have effected very little.
My pupil gives me encouragement. I trust his mind is pretty thoroughly
imbued with those precious truths, of which I found him very ignorant. At
times he has seemed affected. The Lord deepen and preserve these
impressions. Last Saturday night, I was much interested and affected by
what he said in the middle of our usual exercise, he stopped, and said
very earnestly, ‘Eternity!’ Mr. Urquhart, ‘eternity! I have had a thought
of that which I never had before.’ Unwilling to interrupt his feelings, I
paused, and fixing his eyes on the fire, he said, in a little, with a tone
of deep earnestness: ‘Well, I never was impressed till now with the
necessity of believing immediately on the Lord Jesus Christ.’ Such
impressions may wear off; but I trust they will return. I am not without
the hope, that the Lord may raise up this child to be eminently useful in
his church. He is a very original thinker, and pursues science and
literature with an ardor that is not common at so early an age. I am not
sure whether to address to Edinburgh or Kirkliston. I enclose this to our
mutual friend, W. Scott, who will know where to find you. Write soon, and
be particular in telling your doings and your plans, to your ever
affectionate," &c.
"DYSART HOUSE, October 9, 1826.
"MY VERY DEAR SISTER — I have been
long expecting to hear how my father arrived, &c. And I suppose, from this
long silence, you expect me to write first. I do not remember what
arrangements my father made about writing, when I saw him; but I certainly
had the impression, that, as I had more to excite anxiety than you, I had
the best claim to have my anxiety first relieved. How did my father
arrive? How are you all, in regard to health, &c. How is David, the person
about whom I am most anxious? These and a thousand other such questions, I
should like much to have answered. I beg that a letter may be sent
soon, as, for aught I know, we may leave Dysart in a few days. I was
much pleased with your letter, my dear Anne, and hope for a frequent
renewal of the pleasure I have in hearing from you. You ask me to write to
you about religion, and I believe the request proceeds from your heart
for, I cannot think you would allow any motive whatever to make you trifle
with sincerity on a subject of infinite importance. You know the absolute
necessity of decision in this matter. Persons of amiable
dispositions are apt to be moulded into the sentiments of those around
them, almost without the consciousness that the opinions they have adopted
are not their own, and have never had any solid foundation in their own
judgment; and, probably, have never made any serious impression on their
own heart. We must think and feel for ourselves, as every one
of us shall have to answer for himself to God. I have nothing
new to write you, my dear sister, on the subject of religion. All my
little experience of a deceitful world, and a still more deceitful heart,
tends only to confirm me in the belief of those grand truths, which the
Lord has permitted us to know from infancy. When the heart is overwhelmed
with guilt, there is nothing can give comfort, but the consideration, that
Christ has made a full atonement; and the repeated declarations of
Scripture, that, if we believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, we shall be
saved. The gospel cannot be believed, till we feel that we are guilty. It
is one thing to think of the death of Christ, when we have no
apprehensions about our state in a future world; and a very different
thing indeed to catch a glimpse of this way of escape, when justice has
shut up every other avenue, and the wrath of God seems ready to burst upon
the soul, which feels itself to be accursed. Aye, then we can estimate, in
some degree the value of a pardon, which the Son of God had to leave
heaven to procure; we can then tell something of what is meant by having
peace with God; we experience the blessedness ‘of the man whose iniquities
are pardoned.’ Now this guilt and exposure to the wrath of God, is not an
imaginary case, into the belief of which we may work ourselves. It is the
plain matter of fact. The Bible describes it most plainly, as the state of
every son and daughter of Adam. Why then will we shut our eyes to it, and
rest secure and contented, without applying to the remedy that has
beeh provided?
"It is the great evil in
letter-writing, that we can scarcely enter on a subject, when we are
compelled to leave it. Nothing worth notice has occurred since my father
was here. I have seen a little more of the folly of the world, and have
experienced more of the weakness and worthlessness of my own heart. I have
written to John Adam, about Madras, but have not yet received an answer."
"TENNOCH SIDE, October 26,
1826.
"MY DEAR SISTER — I believe you owe
me a letter; but as I am not very punctual in paying my debts in that way
in general, it may perhaps atone for some long delayed epistle, to have
sent one, at least, before it was due. I often think that my
letters are too abstract to interest you, and that this discourages you
from writing freely to me. I have seen parts of the country you have never
visited, and have sometimes thought of sending you some descriptions of
scenery, &c. But really, I have no head for description. Trees, and
fields, and rivers occur everywhere; and were I to tell you what I have
seen in that way, it would only recall the scenes you yourself are
familiar with; for I have not the tact of classifying and arranging these
elements of natural description, so as to form any distinct picture of a
particular landscape. But I have made a journey lately, where there were
no trees, no fields; there was a river, indeed, beside us, but fish never
swam in it; and in the air, far around, a bird had never been known to
fly. After this mysterious introduction, I feel obliged to apologize for
my subject. But after all, I can assure you, though you may hear people
talk with great contempt of a coal-pit, you may travel many a mile
in this world of light and sunshine, without seeing anything half so
wonderful as the coal mines at Dysart. But this I should have left you to
guess, after my description; for I fear, after having said so, I
shall fail to make you think as I say. Well, to fall upon the subject,
without further preface. Having made an engagement, the day before, with
my good friend, Mr. Barclay, who conducts the work, and who promised to
equip me for the expedition, I repaired to his house early after
breakfast. I found only one dress had been procured, which they insisted
on giving to me. I wish you had seen us as we set out. You can fancy my
slender body, wrapt in a sailor’s jacket and trowsers, which had been made
for a stout man, and crowned with an immense old hat, which had an
irresistible tendency to rest upon my shoulders. After half an hour’s walk
in this fantastic attire, during which time I afforded some merriment to
the natives, and felt now and then a little hesitation on the subject of
personal identity, we reached the place of descent. It is a perpendicular
shaft, with a wooden partition in the middle, reaching to the bottom. On
one side of this partition are placed short wooden ladders, in a zig-zag
direction, from top to bottom of the pit. Having each lighted his candle,
we addressed ourselves to the work of descending, and were right glad,
after some fatigue, and no little wariness, to find that we had reached
the bottom. At this spot, we were about half a mile from the shaft where
the coals are taken up. Mr. Barclay led the way, with a lantern, and after
we had followed for some time, we began to perceive that we had entered a
spacious gallery, the roof about twelve feet high. By the glimmer of our
candles on the right hand, the wall seemed to be solid, but on the left,
now and then appeared a spacious gloomy cavern, which seemed to turn at
right angles to the route we were pursuing, but how far we could not tell;
all beyond a few yards, was covered with an impenetrable darkness. To let
you know more than I did, when surveying these gloomy regions, we were
walking in what miners call the level, which is excavated in a
horizontal direction, (as its name imports) in a line at right
angles to the direction which the stratum dips. In this way, a level
channel is obtained for the water that accumulates, without passing from
the vein of coal, which you will easily perceive, could not be
accomplished by running a mine in any other direction. In that case, if
you follow the coal, you must descend with the stratum; if you keep a
level, you leave the coal. The caverns on our left hand, were the
workings, which are always wrought upwards; hence we had none on our
right hand. On this side a river flowed, which was supplied by
tributary streams, that issued from the caverns I have attempted to
describe, or sometimes by a water-fall, where the roof had given way.
Hitherto the murmur of the stream had alone broken the dreary stillness of
these caverns, and the feeble rays of our candles had only made visible
the darkness they could not dissipate; but now other sounds and sights
began to burst upon us; a fire was seen blazing in the distance, and a
number of motley faces, which still preserved some colours that could
reflect the light, (reflected by nothing else,) danced and gleamed before
us like the figures in a magic-lantern. The clanking of chains, and the
trampling of horses, were now distinctly heard; and a hollow sound, as of
distant thunder, grumbled through the subterranean vaults, as the loaded
baskets (I might almost call them wagons) were dragged along. We had now,
in fact, arrived at the pit, where the coals are raised by a steam engine;
and by that time, I was as much tired with my walk, as I now am in
describing it. We had not yet travelled over half the ground; but as the
rest of our journey was more expeditious, I hope to make the description
more brief. A train of empty baskets were ready to move, in which we made
very comfortable seats of straw. Our horse was harnessed, our lights
adjusted, and in a few minutes we started at full trot to explore the yet
unseen recesses of this endless labyrinth. What we saw here, was just what
we had seen before, till we arrived, after travelling another mile, at the
place where the men were at work. Here the air was very close, from the
smoke of their lamps, and we were glad to make our way back on loaded
baskets, though contrary to the laws of those realms. We took no candles
in returning, as a lamp is attached to each train of baskets. By accident
this only remaining light went out about the middle of our journey, and we
were left in darkness, of which those above ground can form no conception.
Our horse continued to canter along, as if nothing had happened, at a rate
that made it a little difficult for me to keep my seat. In some time, a
twinkling lamp again appeared in the distance, on passing which, things
went on as before. The baskets we travelled in, are set on wheels, which
move on a railway. The horses are in excellent condition, and have very
good stables in the mine. They never see the light of day, from the time
they are first lowered down. Of our return, I need not describe further.
"When you have read the
above confused description, read the twenty-eighth chapter of Job, and
tell me if it does not throw some light on the sublime description there.
If not, I have failed to represent to you what I have seen. Man can,
indeed, do much; but, after all, his power is limited. He can put forth
his hand upon the rocks, and overturn the mountains by the roots. He can
cut out rivers among the rocks; he can bind the flood, from overflowing.
His eye seeth every precious thing, and the thing that is hid, he bringeth
forth to light. But where shall wisdom be found? God alone knoweth the way
thereof; and O, let us thank him with our whole hearts, that what human
skill could never have discovered, he has freely made known to us by the
gospel. Man can ‘bore the solid earth;’ but the depth, saith of this
wisdom, ‘It is not in me.’ Man can fathom the ocean and explore its hidden
caverns; but the sea saith, ‘It is not with me.’ In what a pitiable
condition is man, with all his boasted wisdom, without divine revelation.
O how thankful then should we be, that this precious gift, the gift of
heavenly wisdom, is freely offered to all! It is easily accessible to
every individual. No careful and laborious search is to be made, ere we
can discover it; no difficult task to be performed, ere we can deserve it.
‘Say not then in thine heart,’ &c. (Read the passage, Rom. x. 8; and the
parallel verses, Deut. xxx. 11-15.)
"Let us embrace with
eagerness and joy, the precious truths that God has revealed to us. Pardon
and reconciliation, and spiritual renovation, are the gifts that are
offered. They are not to be compared in value to any earthly thing. They
have been purchased by the blood of Christ, and are offered to us for
nothing. O let us not then despise or neglect these invaluable gifts,
which the possession of a thousand worlds could not enable us to
purchase!"
"DYSART HOUSE, October 13,
1826.
"MY DEAR TRAIL — Perhaps I
should have written sooner, but I trust you will not attribute
this delay to want of affection. I have really nothing particular to
communicate, except my very sincere thanks for your truly kind and
refreshing letter. I trust this will find you a preacher of the gospel,
and I am sure, if once all external barriers are removed; the state of
those around you, will constrain you to be instant in season, and out of
season. You mention having heard from our dear friend Adam; and I suppose,
he addressed you on the subject which has taken possession of his whole
soul. Have you been thinking more of the missionary work? I feel the
argument for personal engagement every day more strong; and if there are
times when I have a longing persuasion that it may be my duty to remain at
home, they are times when the chilling influence of the world has cooled
every holy affection. This convinces me, more than anything, that the
matter is of God. Did I tell you, that our friend, Rentoul, has been so
impressed with the duty of preaching to the heathen, as to have almost (I
trust, by this time, altogether) decided on offering his services to the
London Missionary Society? Henry Craik has written me, since his arrival
at Exeter, which place he seems to like very much. John Brown and he are
making some exertion for the spiritual good of the people.
"I had a letter from Mr.
Adam yesterday, who seems to think of Madras as the place of his
destination. I suppose he had begun to study Sanscrit when he wrote to
you. He goes on with it. I could have wished much to accompany John Adam,
but many circumstances seem to demand a considerable delay on my part. May
the Lord make me submissive. I know his ways are the best. Generally on
looking back, we can see that every step we took was necessary for our
welfare, although when we took these steps, all was darkness and
perplexity; ‘The Lord leadeth the blind by a way that they know not.’ It
is a privilege even to be blind, if we have such a Leader. Since we came
here, the Earl of Rosslyn’s family have been all at home, and there has
been a good deal of company. Lord Loughborough, Lord Rosslyn’s son, was
married last Tuesday.
"I feel that the near
approach of rank and fashion has a strong, though almost imperceptible
influence, in super-inducing a spirit of worldliness. Every new scene that
opens to me convinces me that the world in which we live is more dangerous
than ever I imagined, and every new temptation shows me that my strength
is utter weakness. How difficult to learn the lesson of our own utter
worthlessness! Experience alone can teach it. O that we may be enabled to
look more simply to Christ alone! In him we are complete. Through Christ
strengthening us we can do all things. I thank you for your kind present,
and for your still kinder advices. Pray for me, that the Lord would uphold
me; for I feel that I walk on slippery places. Nesbit will be in Edinburgh
soon. W. S. Moncrieff and W. Alexander, my old companions, are the only
persons I know going to St. Andrew’s.
"I hope they will be
strenuous in their exertions. We return soon to the neighbourhood of
Glasgow, where I expect to spend the winter."
"DYSART HOUSE, October 16,
1826.
"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND — I have just
been conning over your very interesting letter, by way of foraging for my
own pen, for I fear this will be a very barren and uninteresting letter.
Every line of your epistle is filled with what is interesting, so that I
scarcely know what to allude to first. The first thing that strikes me is,
that the date of this letter is exactly a month later than yours, which
was the time fixed for our dear Nesbit’s leaving you. I trust he has left
you, else I shall be denied the pleasure an interview with him, as I pass
through Edinburgh for Tennoch Side, the end of this week. But, by the way,
when your letter was written you did not know I had left that part of the
country. It is now about five weeks, since Colonel Morland’s family came
to Dysart, and on leaving our former residence, I was permitted to pay a
visit to Perth, which was doubly sweet to me, from having been removed for
a time from all who were like minded. One thing I was much disappointed
in, my parents showed a more determined opposition than ever to my going
to the heathen. I had hoped that, by this time, they would have been quite
reconciled, and I had formed my plans accordingly. I have now no plan. I
am waiting till the Lord, by his providence, point out the way to me. Even
my dear John Adam recommends delay in my circumstances. I fear he must
leave me behind him, for I suppose, to be qualified to go with him even as
an assistant, I should require to be in London immediately. But it is well
that we should have our plans frustrated. God has marked out the way for
us already, and it is very presumptuous in us to try to mark it out for
ourselves. I feel that the present is very apt to be overlooked, in laying
schemes for the future, and the opportunities of usefulness that daily
present themselves, are apt to be neglected in the imagination of still
more favourable opportunities that are to come. This is evidently a device
of Satan’s. How many precepts have we in Scripture to guard us against
delusion!
"Since I have been here, I
have seen a good deal of what is called the world. Lord Rosslyn’s
family has been at home, and there has been a good deal of company. There
is a fascination about rank, and fashion, and gaiety, and splendor, which
has an almost imperceptible influence even on the heart that is conscious
of their utter vanity. The smile of the world is more dangerous than its
frown; and the kindness and attention of those who are called great, have
a strong tendency to lead away from the simplicity that is in Christ. This
I have, in some degree, experienced.
"I do not know whether I
ever wrote anything about my pupil. He is a boy of a very affectionate and
amiable disposition: and if I am not mistaken, he has an intellect of no
ordinary cast. But he has been quite spoiled, he has never been accustomed
to obey anybody, and has never been punished for a fault. Of course, you
can see, in such a cage, I have a good deal to try me, but yet I have
encouragement too. He has been several times a good deal impressed with
the doctrines of the gospel, and though these impressions may wear off
again, at present they give encouragement to hope and pray, that the heart
which has been influenced by them, may be, sooner or later, entirely
subjugated to the Lord. I rejoice to hear of your exertion in your
neighbourhood. Persevere, my dear friend. I mean to renew my efforts to
have a meeting near Tennoch Side. Give my affectionate regards to John
Brown. I am glad to know, that, practically, he has given up his peculiar
tenets. I am not in a condition for writing on Mr. Grove’s pamphlet at
present, as it is some time since I read it, and I have not a copy here
with me. I feel in a very peculiar manner towards Mr. Grove, though I have
never seen him. I would travel a good way to meet with him. Give him my
respectful and affectionate compliments. I will not send any expression of
affectionate regard for my dear Nesbit, for I indulge a hope of seeing him
in Edinburgh. I like the general outline of the Hamiltonian System very
much. I have adopted it so far in Hebrew, as to take all the assistance I
can from our English translation, at the same time examining the
grammatical structure of each word. Pray for me, my dear brother. I have
need of your prayers, for I am in a very cold and lifeless state. Ever, my
dearest Henry, yours most affectionately."
"TENNOCH SIDE, November 16,
1826.
"MY DEAREST FRIEND — For some
time back, I have every day been thinking of answering your very
kind letter. I had actually sat down some days ago, but finding I had
nothing of importance to communicate, I felt unwilling to break, without a
cause, upon your very valuable time. But I cannot resist the pleasure of
conversing with you for a little, for it is now some time since I have
talked with a Christian friend.
"You know I have been a
wanderer since I wrote to you, and perhaps it may amuse you to give some
account of myself! But I have such a memory. I had forgot that I had
written to you from Dysart. In passing through Edinburgh I saw Scott and
Tait, and Alexander, of whom, the last alone has returned to St. Andrew’s.
I have heard that Rentoul intended going, but not from himself. Alas, poor
St. Andrew’s! I am anxiously expecting a letter from Alexander. Craik left
Edinburgh without giving any account of the Missionary Society’s book,
which he had as secretary; and I had great difficulty in compelling
Alexander to write about it. By the way, I have heard Duff is returned. I
trust he will be staunch and zealous. I mean to write to him soon. Since I
am in the way of giving news, I may mention, that I had a letter the other
day from our old friend Hoby, accusing both yourself and me of not
writing. He has ‘pitched his tent,’ as he expresses it, at Weymouth, being
disappointed in his attempt to find a settlement near the Metropolis. His
letter breathes a strong missionary spirit. ‘It is impossible,’ he says,
‘to think of going now; but would to God I could find a more
extended sphere of usefulness among the heathen, than I am likely to find
here.’ This, in part, I do not quite understand, for it would appear, that
there is abundance of work at home, for those who cannot go to
heathen countries.
"I am back to my hermitage,
and have been here for three weeks. All around is more dreary now than
ever; and, in other respects, external circumstances are no better than
they were, and yet I know nothing of that strange dejection which pressed
so heavy on me before. I wish you would destroy anything I wrote to you
then; as, if I wrote as I felt, I must have appeared to you little other
than a fool or a madman. I cannot help thinking, on looking back, that I
was afflicted with a lighter species of the most dreadful malady that can
visit a rational being. I do in earnest thank the Lord that I now enjoy
not only health of body, but that littled valued, but highly precious
blessing, soundness of mind. I cannot say that the advice of your last
letter did not damp me a little. But you are right, I must wait till the
Lord direct me. If you must go without me, I think I can bear it. All my
experience tells me that I want a tried friend to lean upon, (a sentiment
by the way, which you strangely misinterpreted in a letter to Scott;) and
such I hoped you might be to me. But I see my error, I must lean upon
Christ. I am more convinced than ever that happiness depends little on
what is without. O, for a closer walk with God! for this alone, in any
circumstances, can give true enjoyment. I have seen a good deal of the
gaiety of the world since I saw you.. It is all vanity. I have learned
that lords and ladies are just men and women. It is probable that we
return to Lord Rosslyn’s at Christmas, to remain some time, so you see I
am quite a pilgrim. ‘We have no abiding city here.’ That reminds me of a
delightful month at Homerton, and of many a change since."
"TENNOCH SIDE, November, 1826.
"MY DEAR FRIEND — I trust you
continue to enjoy, in some degree, the measure of health and freedom from
pain, which you did when I last had the pleasure of seeing you. But the
uncomfortable weather we have had for some time, almost forbids me to
think so. Whichever way it is, I know that you refer it to the Lord, who
doth all things well. It is in kindness that he afflicts, and it is in
kindness too, that he sometimes gives a short respite from suffering.
Perhaps it is in such seasons that the benefit of affliction is most felt.
In the midst of severe distress, the most serene mind must be agitated;
and it is difficult to feel that the Lord afflicts, because he loves us.
In such circumstances David was beginning to fear that the Lord had
forsaken him; it was only by escaping from himself, as it were, that he
could find comfort. ‘This is my infirmity,’ said he, ‘I will remember the
years of the right hand of the Most High;’ or, as some translate it, ‘the
change of the right hand of the Most High,’ that is, his varied
dispensations, in dealing with his people. But when severer suffering is
for a while removed, there is often a holy calmness that pervades the
soul, and the remaining affliction, instead of ruffling the mind as
before, has a soothing influence; and, like the exercise of fasting, melts
the whole soul into willing submission to the divine will. It is with
bodily affliction, in some respects, as it is with the diseases of the
mind—
"When the wounds of woe are healing,
When the heart is all resigned,—
‘Tis the solemn feast of feeling,
‘Tis the Sabbath of the mind.’
"This sacred repose I am
sure you have often felt, and have thought the trouble well worth the
bearing, which yielded such peaceable fruits. Such seasons are the
earnests of that rest which remaineth for the people of God. It is an
acquiescence in the divine will that causes this holy calm within the
breast. How sweet and sacred must that rest be, which remaineth for
us! Then all the dispensations of God will have wrought together in
producing perfect resignation to the will of our Heavenly Father.
Surely this must be perfect peace. Let us welcome, then, all that fits us
for such a state of holy enjoyment. All things work together for
our good. You will excuse me for writing on a subject of which I may be
supposed to know little. True, I have had little bodily affliction; but I
have not lived eighteen years in such a world, without tasting the
bitterness of sorrow. You know some trials that have pressed heavily upon
me. You have been long severely afflicted, and if anything I can write can
suggest any consolation, I shall esteem it a high honour to have been
permitted to minister to one of the saints."
"TENNOCH SIDE, November 30,
1826.
"MY DEAR TRAIL — The
important subject of your letter has been much in my thoughts, and often
in my prayers since I received it. I have felt a reluctance to write, from
a feeling of the deep responsibility of influencing you in so momentous a
matter, and from a consciousness of utter unfitness for the task you
impose on me. On many accounts I am not the person to advise you. The book
of Providence is often difficult to interpret, and I will not pretend to
offer an opinion on the particular passage of it, you have laid before me
in your own history. We do well to remember, however, that the devil can
quote from this declaration of the divine will, as well as from his
written word, to give effect and plausibility to his temptations. Perhaps
we can never be sure that we interpret the divine Providence aright, in
deciding a doubtful question of duty, except when the mind has been duly
exercised by prayer, in regard to the subject connected with the
particular event, or chain of events under consideration. If the mind thus
prepared has a particular bent, which is favoured or not opposed by
external circumstances, I think in such a case we have rational grounds
for supposing that prayer has been answered, and the desired direction has
been given. Since supernatural communications have ceased, I see not how
prayer can be otherwise answered. And there is no scope for the working of
enthusiasm in obeying this inward impulse, when we limit it by the
declarations of Scripture, and confine it to those points of conduct which
as you observe, are left undetermined by the sacred word. This is the
course you have pursued, I doubt not. It is the course I have tried to
pursue. The Lord will direct us, my dear Trail. He who has made the path
plain hitherto, will direct us still. I am tired of laying plans, they
have been so often frustrated. After all, I see that I have been ever too
anxious about the future, and all such anxiety is useless, for the Lord
will lead the blind by a way that they know not.
"My views with regard to
missions are still much the same. The gospel is for mankind, for the
world; and why should one little island contain nearly all the
messengers of peace? The little success in some parts is no
discouragement, nor does it even show that men had run where they were not
sent. Remember the first attempts in Otaheite. Consider the continent of
Asia. John Adam remains in London, preparing, I suppose, for India. I say
nothing of Rentoul, as I hope you have met him at St. Andrew’s; if so,
remember me very affectionately to him, also to Duff, and W. Alexander.
Craik and Brown remain in Exeter. I have not yet heard of Nesbit’s arrival
in Scotland. I am anxious to hear how matters go on in St. Andrew’s this
winter."
He wrote, in the month of
November, a paper on "Fiction as a Medium of Religious Instruction," which
was inserted in the Christian Herald, a periodical work, published in
Edinburgh. [See Appendix M.} |