THOMAS GUTHRIE was born
in Brechin, in the year 1803. Bearing the name of the famous martyr of
the Covenant, who also sprung from Forfarshire, he would gladly have
established a relationship with him, but k though he was not able to do
this with certainty, the probability that he was a branch of that heroic
stock had a beneficial influence on his life, determining .him to uphold
at all hazards what he believed to be the truth. His grandfather on the
paternal side was a farmer, who lived to the age of eighty-seven. He was
a devout man, and gave to the house something of the sanctity of a
church, by the solemn and fervid manner in which he conducted family
worship and besought a blessing on the daily meals. He showed great
kindness to his grandchildren, who were frequently at the farm; but the
grandmother was a stern woman and had an unpleasant dread of spoiling
her young visitors by over-indulgence. When she washed them, she rubbed
their faces with a rough towel, as if she thought they were as hard and
as destitute of feeling as her oaken tables; and once when they asked
for mustard at dinner, they got from her a reproof much sharper than
that condiment, for presuming to think of such a luxury. But with a
heart that seemed as incapable of producing kind deeds and genial words
as a block of Aberdeen granite is of producing primroses or violets, she
had a deep sense of what she had been led to regard as religious duty.
She fasted one day in the week, and spent the greater part of it in
prayer, commonly retiring to one of the outhouses of the farm that she
might be undisturbed in her communion with God.
Thomas Guthrie’s father was a merchant in Brechin, and was for some
years Provost of the town. He was a worthy, godly man, but it was from
his mother that Thomas inherited the finest features of his mind and
character. She did most in preparing him for his high and useful career.
He never forgot what he owed to her influence, and when eminent and
honoured as a leader in the Christian and philanthropic movements of his
time, said, “ It was at my mother’s knees that I first learned to pray;
that I learned to form a reverence for the Bible as the inspired Word of
God; that I learned to hold the sanctity of the Sabbath; that I learned
the peculiarities of the Scottish religion; that I learned my regard to
the principles of civil and religious liberty which have made me hate
oppression, and whether it be a pope, or a prelate, or a patron, or an
ecclesiastical demagogue, resist the oppressor.’’
The Sabbath was strictly observed in the home at Brechin; whistling on
that day was reckoned a deadly sin, and Thomas and his brothers were
accustomed to show their feeling as to the difference between the
Sabbath and the fast-day in point of sanctity, by indulging in one short
whistle on the latter. It was too much to expect children to be as
serious as grown-up people without finding weariness in the Sabbath; but
it was no small advantage to the future preacher that so many hours were
spent in reading the Bible, for he then became familiar with its
stirring incidents, its glowing poetry, and sublime doctrines, and had
large portions of it indelibly impressed on his memory. The only other
book for which he had any affection, that was available on the Sabbath,
was a rudely-illustrated copy of the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” but this he
could not always have, for one of his brothers often contested the
possession of it with him. Though not a dunce, he did not show any
special aptitude for study in the different schools he attended in
Brechin, but he was not behind any of the boys in fighting, swimming,
climbing and other athletic sports. In boyhood he had some narrow
escapes from death, one of which may be mentioned. He and a brother went
one Saturday to their uncle’s farm at Maisondieu, about a mile from
Brechin. They found their uncle’s gun, and not supposing that it was
loaded, amused themselves by pointing it at each other and snapping its
flint-lock. While they were so doing, the gun went off; the charge
struck deep into the wall, and their boyish fun was changed to horror as
they saw how, but for the watchful care of God, one of them would have
been at that moment a bleeding corpse.
When twelve years old, Thomas set out, under the care of a young man who
acted as his tutor, for the Edinburgh University. They had one apartment
for bed-room, parlour, and study; and cultivated science on oatmeal,
fresh herrings and potatoes, though this plain fare was occasionally
varied by richer viands supplied by a chest sent from Brechin, and
showing by its contents how tenderly the mother thought of her distant
boy. During some of Thomas’s later sessions his younger brother lodged
with him, and the mistress of the house was frequently drawn to the door
of their room by what was to her unusual with students, audible reading
of the Scriptures and prayer. Memories of their godly home clung to them
in the great city, and they continued the household worship to which
they had been accustomed from infancy.
While in Edinburgh, Thomas occasionally attended the Old Greyfriars’
Church. With some of his fellow-students he used to sit on the
unoccupied space in the elders’ pew, a raised platform in front of the
pulpit. This was thought an intolerable presumption, and the youths
going one Sabbath to their usual place in the church, found the pew-door
locked. Most of them were retreating down the aisle, when Guthrie sprang
over the door, and the others took courage and followed him. Years
after, when he preached his first sermon as minister of the Old
Greyfriars, one of the members of the Church felt sure he had seen the
face before, and whispered, “That’s the same long student who jumped
into the elders’ seat.” His college course was. continued through eight
years, four of which he spent in literary and philosophic classes, and
four as a Divinity student; but still being too young to be licensed as
a probationer, he spent two additional years in Edinburgh, studying
chemistry, anatomy, and natural history. When he had nearly completed
his stay in Edinburgh, he was suddenly called to Brechin to see his
father for the last time.
By the death of his father the awful realities of eternity were brought
near to him, and he was impressed by what he saw of the power of faith
in Christ to sustain the soul in nature’s extremity. It has been well
said, “His heart was awed and made tender by affliction just when his
hand was on the pulpit-door.” Before being licensed as a preacher, he
had to preach a trial sermon in the old cathedral church in Brechin. As
he was well known in the town, a large congregation assembled to hear
him, and he was abashed and almost petrified when he looked from the
pulpit on so many faces, but secured himself from the ignominy of a
break-down by reading his sermon. But he had determined not to be a mere
pulpit-reader, and the following Sabbath, after much anxiety, succeeded
in delivering a memoriter discourse in the parish church of Dun.
The high position his father had held in Brechin, secured for him such
influence that he had the offer of one of the best livings in Scotland,
but as his acceptance of it would have brought him into slavish
relations with the Moderate party, he manfully declined it, and was ever
after thankful that he had been able to make such a sacrifice to
principle. No suitable opening presenting itself, and being in easy
circumstances, he went to Paris as a student at the Sorbonne. Returning
thence to Brechin, but still without a call to a church, he took charge
of a Bank Agency which had been held by his father and a deceased
brother. His purpose was to fill the vacant place until his brother’s
son should be old enough to take it; and so efficiently did he go
through all its duties, that one of the bank authorities said to him,
“If you only preach, Sir, as well as you have banked, you will be sure
to succeed.”
At length he was able to enter on his ministerial course. In 1830, he
was ordained as minister of Arbirlot, a parish near to Arbroath. He
succeeded a minister named Richard Watson, who boasted that he had
challenged John Wesley to a public disputation in Arbroath, and never
forgot to add that the latter had declined the challenge, “which,” says
Dr. Guthrie, “he might have good reasons for doing other than the fear
of Richard Watson.” He was very penurious, but perhaps scarcely made so
forlorn an appearance as another minister of whom Dr. Guthrie writes,
who working one day in his garden in ragged clothes and battered hat,
was startled by seeing the carriage of the proprietor of the parish
driving up to the manse. He could not retreat, and dare not be
recognised in such a plight, so pulled his hat over his shoulders,
struck out his arms, and improvised himself into a scarecrow. He stood
still enough while his visitors passed up the garden-path, then slipped
in at the back-door, and quickly appeared before them in his Sunday
clothes.
Though the manse and church were in a ruinous condition when Mr. Guthrie
went to them, he was soon able to effect improvements; and with a
bright, affectionate wife by his side, healthful sea-breezes to
invigorate his body, beautiful scenery to charm his eye, and pastoral
duties to call out all his mental powers, his Arbirlot life was a
succession of as happy days as have ever fallen to the lot of a country
clergyman. His parishioners were on the whole decent people, but he had
trouble with a few of them. A farmer, who in wealth, intelligence, and
social influence, was the principal man of the parish, had insisted one
rainy harvest on his labourers working in the fields on the Sabbath. As
members of the church they were amenable to discipline, and though on
explaining the circumstances, and expressing regret for what they had
done, the Kirk Session dealt leniently with them, their master made a
great stir, and talked largely about ecclesiastical tyranny. But he was
silenced by the loss which befell him; for while the farmers who waited
till Monday got in their com in good condition, his, being damp, heated,
and was much damaged.
The Sabbath was a great day in Arbirlot while Mr. Guthrie was there. In
the morning numerous groups of people, with Bible and Psalm-book in
their hands, were seen walking along the roads leading to the church.
From cottages and farmhouses in the parish, from the shadow of the old
abbey in Arbroath, from Boysack Muir four miles, and from Panbride five
miles away, they gathered to hear the man who was able to stir their
deepest emotions, and give them thoughts to make music in their souls
through the week. The preacher stood before them in the pulpit, no puny
weakling, but over six feet in height, and with genius in his eyes, and
holy fire on his lips. His sermons were not tame descants on the beauty
of virtue, or cold statements of doctrine given in “lang-nebbed words,”
but representations of evangelical truth instinct with feeling, and
illustrated by telling anecdotes, and by figures drawn from earth and
sea and sky. As he went on from topic to topic, the faces of the people
were now in a glow of exultation, and now wet with tears. When they left
the church, they were all prepared to endorse the verdict of the
blacksmith, who was thought a great critic, but was heard saying after
hearing Mr. Guthrie for the first time, “That’s the preacher, lads;
that’s the preacher!” At night he had a class in the church for young
people, when there were examinations in the Catechism, and a review of
the morning’s discourse, concluding with a lecture of about a quarter of
an hour long. This class excited great interest, and there was a large
congregation, consisting not only of young people, but of parents and
others, who found the meeting as profitable for themselves as for those
for whom it was specially intended.
But it was not likely that a man of such powers would be allowed to stay
long in the comparative obscurity of Arbirlot; and Thomas M‘Crie, the
accomplished biographer of John Knox, after spending a day with him,
remarked to a friend, “He will not be long there.” It was in connection
with the Voluntary Controversy that he first became prominent. A meeting
of Voluntaries was held in Arbroath, and Mr. Guthrie, with some of his
brethren and the Wesleyan minister then stationed in Arbroath, were
present. Dr. Ritchie, a clever antagonist of the Established Church,
spoke with great force and humour, and concluded a little after midnight
by challenging any one to reply, an easy way of assuming that his
arguments could not be answered, as no one was likely to take up the
matter at that hour. The Wesleyan minister protested against this as
unjust. He was invited to the platform, and was soon engaged in sharp
discussion. Mr. Guthrie and his friends felt bound to stand by him, and
followed him to the platform. The former refused to go into the subject
that night, but pledged himself to cal) a meeting in Arbroath, when he
would refute Dr. Ritchie’s statements. Several years after Dr. Guthrie
was in London, and was lunching at a chop-house in the Strand with an
eminent Wesleyan layman, who crossed the room to speak to a minister.
“Who is your friend?” said Dr. Guthrie to him on his return; “I have
surely seen his face before.” The name was given. “Was he ever in
Arbroath? ” inquired the Doctor. He was told that he was, and on hearing
this said, “Why, Sir, that is the man who made me.”
The meeting was held according to notice in Arbroath, and one of its
effects was his translation to the Old Grey-friars, in Edinburgh. He
spent seven happy years in Arbirlot, and it was not without a pang that
he left the people among whom he had laboured so successfully,—the
wooded banks, the stream of the Elliott, the cottages overshadowed by
ancient trees, the manse from which he could look on the sea in its
varying aspects of storm and calm, and the white sails passing to and
fro. But he had not hasted to go, and had there not been a clear
intimation of Providence, he would have thankfully remained in his rural
parish. Henceforth Edinburgh was his home, and its romantic features and
historic glories accorded well with his imaginative spirit. He delighted
in it himself, and delighted in showing it to visitors. “Ere the heat of
the day,” he said, “has cast a misty veil upon the scene, I take a
stranger, and, conducting him to yonder rocky rampart, I bid him look.
Gothic towers and Grecian temples, palace, spires, domes, monuments and
verdant gardens, picturesquely mingled, are spread out beneath his eye;
wherever he turns, he finds a point of view to claim his admiration.
What rare variety of hill and hollow! What happy combinations of ancient
and modern architecture! Two distant ages gaze at each other across the
intervening valley.”
But the city has its darker side, and vice in its most repulsive forms,
and misery to fill the heart of the spectator with dismay, mingle
strangely with those grandeurs of precipice and pinnacle, storied rock
and stately streets. From the first, Mr. Guthrie threw himself into
earnest efforts for the neglected and heathenish thousands which throng
the dark wynds and alleys of this Northern Athens. He was appalled by
the wickedness and destitution which made themselves known to all his
senses; but he had confidence in the power of the Gospel to transform
and elevate the vilest and lowest in those foul and crowded
neighbourhoods. On one occasion, looking from the George IY. bridge on
the dingy houses, the filthy street, and squalid people below, he felt
sad as he contrasted the scene with the one he had left, “its singing
larks, daisied pastures, decent peasants and the grand blue sea rolling
its lines of snowy breakers along the shore.” While thus musing, a hand
was laid on his shoulder. Turning round, he saw Dr. Chalmers at his
elbow. The great man looked on the scene, and then with enthusiasm
glowing on his face, and arm raised as if in exultation, exclaimed, “A
beautiful field, Sir; a very fine field of operation.” Mr. Guthrie
applied all his powers to the culture of that field, and had the
satisfaction of seeing that his labours were not in vain.
Greyfriars was a collegiate charge, but he went to Edinburgh with the
understanding that as soon as arrangements could be made he should have
his own church and pastoral district. The new church was opened in 1840,
the pews and aisles were filled every Sabbath, and people even sat on
planks placed on the rafters near the ventilating apertures in the roof.
The right of the people of the district to sittings was strictly
observed: this was necessary, for otherwise they would have been crowded
out of the church by visitors to the city, and people from other
parishes, intent on hearing the eloquence of the now famous preacher.
The poor sat comfortably in pews, while noblemen and great ladies and
representatives of the wealth and genius of Scotland were standing in
the passages, and were thankful even in that way to participate in the
benefits of Mr. Guthrie’s ministry. He had the good sense not to spoil
himself when he went to Edinburgh by shrinking his broad poetic nature
and his simple energy of speech into the dimensions of a classic model.
He believed that what reached the hearts of the people in the village,
would reach the hearts of the people in the city, and he would not clip
the forest-like exuberance of life which characterised his sermons, to
the formal pattern of a Dutch garden. He studied the art of preaching
thoroughly, but he preached in his own way; yet we must not think of him
as a mere pulpit-artist, caring only to fill up an hour with a
succession of word-pictures, or to stir the Scottish blood of his
hearers with anecdotes of Scottish heroism. Picture and anecdote were
made subservient to the enforcement of Christian truth, and he sought,
and often rejoiced, in the salvation of those who heard him.
Could he have ordered the activities of his own life, they would have
been to the close those of a preacher and a Home-Missionary. He coveted
no higher honour than that of a minister, preaching . the everlasting
Gospel and reclaiming and evangelising the wretched families in the
wynds and streets of his parish. But the Providence of God laid on him
the task of secessionist, social reformer and popular author. Though not
one of the foremost in the Disruption Controversy, he was decided in his
opposition to what he regarded as an unwarrantable and ungodly
interference with the spiritual independence of the Scottish Church.
Much as he loved that Church, he would not remain in it, when its
movements were trammelled by secular authority; and when he left his
home for the General Assembly on the morning of May 18th, 1843, he said
to his wife, “Well, Anne, this is the last time I go out of this door a
minister of an Established Church.”
Twenty years after his heart was thus stirred by memories of the great
day on which so many ministers severed themselves, at the bidding of
conscience, from the emoluments, the social advantages and endeared
associations of the Establishment:—
“There is something more eloquent than speech. I am bold to say that
Hall, Foster or Chalmers, never preached a sermon so impressive or
sublime as the humblest minister of our Church did when he gave up his
living to retain his principles, and joined the crowd that bursting from
the door of St. Andrew’s Church, with Chalmers at its head, marched out
file by file in steady ranks—giving God’s people, who anxiously thronged
the streets, occasion to weep tears, not of grief but of joy, as they
cried, ‘They come! They come! Thank God, they come!’.... We did not come
out a small and scattered band; but on the day of the Disruption burst
out of St. Andrew’s Church as a river bursts from a glacier—a river at
its birth. In numbers, in position, in wealth, as well as in piety, our
Church, I may say, was full grown on the day it was born. Above all, and
next to the prayers which sanctified our cause, we were followed by a
host of countrymen, whose enthusiasm had been kindled at the ashes of
martyrs, and who saw in our movement but another phase of the grand old
days that won Scotland her fame, and made her a name and a praise in the
whole earth.”
Mr. Guthrie was appointed one of a Deputation to plead the cause of the
Free Church in England, and on his return said at a public meeting:—
“The people of England did not help ns out of pity; but on principle. We
made no lachrymose stories to them. In fact it was suggested to ns by
one of our best friends —I mean Mr. Bunting, son of the celebrated Dr.
Jabez ' Bunting—that we were not the right sort of Deputation at all;
that we were far too merry-looking men; that the Deputation ought to
have been composed of rueful, lachry-moserlooking fellows—men more like
martyrs than we were, who would have had a much greater effect upon the
people of England. Why, a clear conscience makes a sunny face, and it is
not easy for a man to look unhappy who feels himself far better with a
hole in his coat than a hole in his character.’*
Large sums were raised by the Free Church for the erection of churches
and school-houses and for the Sustentation and other Funds, but it was
felt that there was still one great want, that of manses for the
ministers, many of whom were lodged in inconvenient and even wretched
dwellings. It was accordingly resolved to secure £50,000 at once, and
£100,000 ultimately, for the purpose of providing suitable homes for
them. At the suggestion of Dr. Chalmers, Mr. Guthrie was requested to
travel through the country, making appeals both in public and private
for the Fund. He accepted the task, and such was his success that in
twelve months he was able to announce promises to the amount of
£116,000. His biographers write:—
“The raising of the Manse Fund was Mr. Guthrie’s greatest service to the
Free Church, and many a sweet dwelling, by sea-shore and in highland
glen, will long remain his monument. In the course of his joumeyings in
after years, even in the Ultima Thule of Shetland, he had the unique
satisfaction of seeing substantial dwellings he had helped to rear,
surrounded by gardens and greenery, and occupied by men of God and their
families, whose comfort he had been honoured to promote; and we can
testify to the loving welcome he received from the peaceful groups at
these manse firesides.”
But Mr. Guthrie’s benevolence did not exhaust itself in efforts to
provide homes for his brethren in the ministry. The condition of the
starving, neglected children of Edinburgh pressed on his heart, and he
meditated plans by which both to feed and educate them. Strolling one
day with a friend through “the romantic scenery of the crags and green
valleys round Arthur’s Seat,” they came to St. Anthony’s Well, and
sitting on a black stone near to it, began to talk to two boys who were
there with their tins, in the hope of getting a few coppers by drawing
water for visitors. Mr. Guthrie ascertained their history, and by way of
experiment said to them; “Would you go to school, if beside your
learning you were to get breakfast, dinner and supper there?” One of
them with a sudden flash of the eye started up, and exclaimed: “Ay, will
I, Sir, and bring the haill land too! ” and then, as if afraid that
three meals were too much to expect, added,“I’ll come for but my dinner,
Sir.” A large room under Mr. Guthrie’s church was fitted with apparatus
for making soup and porridge, and a number of ragged children were got
together and fed and taught there. The scheme widened, and in a year
there were three Ragged-Schools in Edinburgh, with an attendance of two
hundred and sixty-five children. In furtherance of his object Mr.
Guthrie published his “Plea for Ragged-Schools,” which touched many
hearts, and was the cause of good even in distant regions. In 1848 a
Barbadian merchant visited Scotland and was taking back with him about
£2,000 worth of goods. He was wrecked on one of the West Indian Islands,
and all his property was lost, with the exception of a copy of the
“Plea,” which was washed on the beach. It was handed about, and led to
the formation of a Ragged-School for negro children.
Mr. Guthrie’s work in Edinburgh assumed such proportions, and rose to
such importance, as to become matter of national interest. It involved
him in toils and discussions, not always of the most agreeable kind, but
his name was honoured as that of a true philanthropist, and men
illustrious in statesmanship and literature came forward with eloquent
eulogies of the noble spirit evinced by him in his struggles with
destitution and ignorance. And not only did such men as Thackeray,
Ruskin and Gladstone extol his labours, but even lips accustomed to
vilest blasphemies had a word of praise for him. In an unlicensed
drinking den in Glasgow, a number of low drunkards were making remarks
not at all complimentary to ministers, when one of them interposed with:
“I’ll tell you a gude man, a really gude man.” “Wha’s that?” asked three
voices at once. “Weel,” was the reply, “that’s just Tam Guthrie.” “Ay!
you’ve said it now,” was the remark of another; “I believe Dr. Guthrie
to be as gude a man as ever waggit his head in a poopit; he’s different
frae the ithers a’thegither; he practises mair than he preaches.” But
Mr. Guthrie’s greatest satisfaction was in seeing the change effected in
the wretched objects he took under his care. On one occasion cards of
invitation to a soiree were sent to all the old scholars that could be
found in Edinburgh, and of that gathering he wrote:—
“The hour of reception arrived. The tread and shuffling of many feet
rose on the stairs. The living stream set in, in a constant succession
of sober, well-to-do-like young men and women. Wives, once Ragged-School
girls, were there with blushes and honest pride, introducing their
husbands to me, and husbands once Ragged-School boys, their wives. There
they were all dressed, some even genteelly; without a rag on their
backs, or a trace of wretchedness in their bright and happy faces;
self-supporting, upright, earning by honest industry wages that in some
cases reached the thirty or forty shillings a week of the skilled
workman, shopman or clerk. It was a marvellous sight! I was ready to
ask: Are these my Ragged-School children? ‘ he Lord hath done great
things for us; whereof we are glad.’ They were one hundred and fifty in
all! What happy faces theirs were! How joyous to meet again within these
walls! . . . . The evening flew away on lightsome wings: songs were
sung, good counsels given, prayers were offered and blessings asked. We
lingered over the scene. Nor could I look on that gathering of young men
and women, so respectably clad and wearing such an air of decency, and
think what but for the Ragged-School they would have been—without tears
of joy and gratitude to God welling up to the eyes. It was our Harvest
Home.”
Mr. Guthrie was also distinguished as an advocate of Temperance
principles. While in Arbirlot he saw comparatively little of the misery
occasioned by drink, but in Edinburgh the evil was presented to him in
frightful forms at every turn, and he resolved to do his part in
counteracting it both by example and influence. He rendered great
service to the cause of Temperance by his genial and eloquent speeches,
and also by his beautiful little book, “The
City: its Sins and its Sorrows.” It was popular from the first, and
having been published by the Scottish Temperance League at a reduced
price, has had a circulation of over fifty thousand copies.
Mr. Guthrie’s efforts for the Manse Fund told seriously on his
constitution, and for two years he was compelled to rest, but in 1849 he
was able to resume his ministry to the extent of preaching one sermon on
the Sabbath. In the same year he received the degree of Doctor of
Divinity from the University of Edinburgh ; a distinction gratifying to
him as coming from his Alma Mater, and as indicating good feeling on the
part of those from whom he was ecclesiastically separated. Through, all
the stages of his ministry in Edinburgh he was highly popular, and the
church which had been built for him after the Disruption was always
crowded when he preached. Few men have excelled him in the art of
pictorial representation. He was once suggesting some change in a
picture, when the artist said, “Dr. Guthrie, remember you are a preacher
and not a painter.” “ I beg your pardon, my good friend,” he replied, “I
am a painter; only I paint in words, while you use brush and colours.”
In advising a young preacher he wrote: “Mind the three P’s. In every
discourse the preacher should aim at Proving, Painting and Persuading;
in other words addressing the reason, the fancy and the heart.”
His own sermons were exemplifications of the above rule, and his hearers
were often strangely charmed by the power, the vividness and pathos of
his words. One Sunday afternoon, a man having the appearance of a
Highland cattle-drover was in St. John’s.. He was evidently enraptured
by what he heard, and as the Doctor concluded one of his grand and
picturesque illustrations, he turned round to the crowd behind him, and
audibly exclaimed: “Ha, Sirs ! but I never heard the like of that.”
Another time Dr. Guthrie described a wreck and the launching of a
lifeboat to save the crew. So distinctly did he present the scene, that
a young naval officer, in front of the gallery, started to his feet and
began to take off his coat in preparation for manning the life-boat, and
was only recalled to consciousness of the place and the time by his
mother laying hold of him and drawing him back to his seat. Strangers
coming to Edinburgh thought it as necessary to hear Dr. Guthrie, as to
see the Castle and the Calton Hill; and noblemen and titled ladies,
authors and artists, might have been seen crammed with peasants,
mechanics and poor women in pews and aisles, all listening with equal
eagerness to the magnificent periods of the orator.
One auditor has been graphically sketched by Dr. Hanna, the colleague of
Dr. Guthrie in the St. John’s pastorate:—
“There was in the crowd at St. John’s always one conspicuous figure.
Looking only at the rough, red, shaggy head, or at the checked plaid
flung over the broad shoulders, you may think it is some shepherd from
the distant hills, who has wandered in from his shieling among the
mountains to hear the great city preacher. But look again,—the massy
head, the broad projecting brow, the lips so firmly closed, the keen
grey eye, and above all, the look of intelligent and searching scrutiny
cast around, all tell of something higher than shepherd life. It is Hugh
Miller, the greatest of living Scotchmen, never to be missed from this
congregation, of which he was not only a member but also an
office-bearer.”
In 1862 Dr. Guthrie was elected Moderator of the General Assembly of the
Free Church. At the close of the Assembly he gave an address on
“Ministerial Support,” in the course of which he introduced the
following:—
“An honest weaver in my native town, whose minister was a
highly-esteemed ‘Old Light,’ and what is more a true light, was clear
for keeping the minister’s stipend down at the lowest figure; and he
alleged in proof of the advantage of a poor stipend, that the Church
never had better, nor so good, ministers as in those days when they
wandered in sheep-skins and goat-skins, and in dens and caves of the
earth. If any sympathise with the weaver, I answer that I have an
insuperable objection to ‘dens and caves’—they create damp; and secondly
as to the habiliments, it will be time enough to take up that question
when our people are prepared to walk Prince’s Street with Dr. Candlish
and me, not in this antique dress (that of the Moderator,) but in the
more primitive and antiquated fashion of goat-skins with the horns on.”
In 1864 Dr. Guthrie was compelled by the state of his health to give up
all but a nominal connection with St. John’s; but though he could not
preach Christ as he had done from the pulpit, he was still able to serve
the cause of truth by his pen. Authorship, in which he had already been
very successful, was henceforth his principal function. His summers,
when not on the Continent, were usually spent at Lochlee, in the North
of Scotland, where a house was provided for him by the kindness of his
friend, the late Lord Dalhousie. It is a romantic spot, and with its
dark crags and ledges, its green glens and blue-grey loch, will always
be associated with the memory of the great preacher. It was amid those
scenes of blending beauty and grandeur, that he gave his last sermon,
ending a long and faithful ministry with the text, “The just shall live
by faith.” Hoping for benefit from a Southern atmosphere he went to
Hastings in December, 1872, and there he died. He had peace and joy in
the brief eventide of his life. When no longer able to glorify his
Master by active service, he mentioned the* case of a young woman whom
an old Scotch minister proposed to keep back from the Lord’s table on
account of her ignorance. As she rose to go she burst into tears and
said: “It’s true, Sir, I canna speak for Him, but I think I could die
for Himand, continued Dr. Guthrie, “I feel I cannot speak of Him as He
deserves, yet if I were to lie here a thousand years I would think
nothing of it, if it were to honour Christ.” Referring to one of his
sons who was in California, he said: “Tell him in all circumstances to
stand up for Christ.” Of a child who died in infancy he remarked:
“Johnnie was a sweet lamb, though he didna like me; he was long ailing
and aye clung to his mother. Perhaps the greatest trial in all my life
was when I lifted the clay-cold body and laid it in his little coffin,
in that front room in Lauriston Lane. He has gone before us all, though
the youngest. Ay! though his little feet never ran on this earth, I
think I see him running to meet me at the golden gate.”
Dr. Guthrie’s last days were cheered with the brightest hopes of
immortality, whilst the sympathy of friends was deep and true. On the
evening of the 21st of February, 1873, a telegram was sent by the Queen
from Windsor inquiring of his state. When he heard of it, he said, “It
is most kind.” He suffered much, but singing seemed to soothe him, and a
psalm or hymn, softly sung to the piano in the adjoining room, was often
requested. Being asked whether believers would recognise friends in
heaven, he said, “I have great sympathy with the old woman, who, when
some one doubted the likelihood of her recognising her departed husband
in a better world, exclaimed, ‘Do you really think we will be greater
fools in heaven than we are here?’”
Sabbath, February 23rd,
was his last day on earth. Lying quietly, he was heard to say, “A brand
plucked from the burning.” Midnight approached, and as his friends were
commending the passing spirit into the Redeemer’s hands, he departed as
in a quiet sleep.
His body was borne to Edinburgh, and interred in the. Grange Cemetery.
The funeral was imposing from the numbers who attended it, but nothing
was more touching than the presence of two hundred and thirty
Ragged-School children, who stood at the grave and sung,
“There is a happy land,
Far, far away,”
The children rescued from
squalor and vice were bright memorials of Dr. Guthrie’s work, and he was
honoured more by their simple strain, than he could have been by the
tolling of muffled bells, or by organs sounding the notes of a laboured
requiem. Though no man, with the exception of Dr. Chalmers, did more for
the Free Church, he was far from regarding it as cast in the only mould
of ecclesiasticism approved by God; and delighted in brotherly communion
with the ministers and members of other Christian denominations. His
name is justly venerated by Wesleyans as that of a generous and
appreciative friend. He occupied Wesleyan pulpits on several important
occasions—opening chapels or preaching on behalf of Missions. At the
Missionary Meeting in Exeter Hall, in 1858, when the late Lord Dalhousie
was in the chair, he said, after expressing his joy in the enlargement
and success of the Society’s operations, “I miss the presence of one of
the best, one of the greatest, men that it was ever my honour,
privilege, and delight to know. I thank God that that man is yet on this
earth, and that, though he is not able to speak for this cause, he is
still able to pray for its success. I commend him to the prayers of all
this assembly. Let your prayers be ever offered up for him, that God
would yet spare him for His Church and country; and that whenever the
hour of his departure comes, the brilliant star which has set in this
world may rise in a far better one. Since Thomas Chalmers left this
world—I speak my own sentiments and my own feelings when I say, that he
has left Dr. Bunting to be, in my estimation, one of the greatest and
best men on the earth.”
Dr. Guthrie did good service to religious literature by his pen, editing
the “Sunday Magazine,” and publishing several volumes of discourses. He
was not an expositor like Dr. John Brown, or a scientific theologian
like Dr. Candlish; but seizing the prominent truths of the Gospel,
irradiated them with poetic imagery. Illustration frequently takes up
more space than the thought illustrated; and panoramic representations
of Highland scenery or thrilling stories of Scottish heroism and
magnanimity, fill up vacancies in argument and doctrinal statement.
There is genius in almost every paragraph, but it is the genius of the
artist, not of the patient and profound thinker. But Dr. Guthrie knew
his own intellectual limitations, and did not flatter himself that he
was a great teacher, but rather strove to allure men and women to
experimental and practical godliness by giving a picturesque interest to
“the faith once delivered to the saints.” His efforts were successful,
and thousands have read and profited by his books who would not have
cared for the truth if it had been presented to them in a less
attractive form. Though his voice is silent, his influence is felt in
his works; and as soul after soul is brought to God by his graphic
delineations of the beauty and blessedness of religion, there is
additional assurance that he is one of those of whom it is said: “And
they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and
they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.”
The following is an example of Dr. Guthrie’s style, and shows how he
rejoiced in the fulness and sufficiency of Christ:—
“I have found it an interesting thing to stand on the edge of a noble
flowing river, and to think, that although it has been flowing for six
thousand years, watering the fields and slaking the thirst of a hundred
generations, it shows no sign of waste or want. And when I have watched
the rise of the sun as he shot above the crest of the mountain, or, in a
sky draped with golden curtains, sprang up from his ocean bed, I have
wondered to think that he has melted the snows of so many winters, and
renewed the verdure of so many springs, and painted the flowers of so
many summers, and ripened the golden harvests of so many autumns, and
yet shines as brilliant as ever, his eye not dim, nor his natural
strength abated, nor his floods of light less full for centuries of
boundless profusion. Yet what are these but images of the fulness that
is in Christ? Let that feed your hopes, and cheer your hearts and
brighten your faith, and send you away this day happy and rejoicing.
For, when judgment flames have licked up that flowing stream, and the
light of that glorious sun shall be quenched in darkness, or veiled in
the smoke of a burning world, the fulness that is in Christ shall follow
on throughout eternity in the bliss of the redeemed. Blessed Saviour,
Image of God, Divine Redeemer! in Thy presence is fulness of joy; at Thy
right hand there are pleasures for evermore. What Thou hast gone to
heaven to prepare, may we be called up at death to enjoy.” |